10 Ways to Increase Your Yearly Income.

*By integrating these methods into my professional lifestyle, I was able to increase my gross by 32.4% in just one year. Add another 32.4% to your annual income and view the projected number. That should give you the ammunition to read further.

Disclaimer: I’m not guaranteeing a fixed 32.4% increase for everyone each year. You could generate up to if not more depending on how ambitious you are. This factor of the equation is simply up to you.

10. Be About Your Business.

  • That’s pretty self-explanatory , but just incase you didn’t understand: Put your priorities first.
  • No one can hinder your ambition away worse than you.
  • Stay focused on the main goal.

9. Game Plan: Prioritize

  • What things need to be done first? Sense of Urgency is imperative when increase is the subject.
  • How much time can I devout to each project?
  • Meditation time or regrouping with yourself: aka lunch is another must. Take a break daily, don’t deplete yourself.

8. Keep Yourself Motivated.

  • Family
  • Monetary
  • Recognition
  • What motivates you daily?

7. Network and Meet people.

  • You never know who could be sent in your path for a reason. Be personable.
  • Attend events or professional gatherings. Keep business cards handy if they have your name on it.

6. Know your projected P/L* numbers.

  • *Profit (How much are you making?)
  • *Loss (How much are you spending?)

5. Always Strive for Growth.

  • Look at short and long-term growth, and what you need to do to increase your worth. Education and/or training?
  • Take those needed steps and stay focused.

4. Stay Focused.

  • Its easier to be distracted than to stay focused.
  • The latter will always keep you successful.

3. Be Careful of Those Closest To You.

  • The worst thing is to keep people closest to you with the wrong attitude. They’re not really a part of your vision, and may not genuinely care if you succeed. Eliminate those individuals immediately.

2. Assess Your To-Do List.

  • Follow-up on your plans and timeline.
  • Review daily, weekly and monthly to ensure things are getting done as you intended.

1. Stick To Your Morals And Follow Your Instinct.

  • If you don’t believe in something, be honest and save yourself the agony.
  • It is better hold a firm no than go against your own values.
  • You set the standards, so hold yourself accountable at all time.
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LA ✈️ UK & Back to PA.

7/24/16

I’ll just come right out and say it: this celibacy journey is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. Not only have I been abstaining from sexual intercourse, I’ve focused a lot of my energy into trying to catapult my professional career to the next level. Working 50+ hours a week combined with a “no-sex” diet equals a lot of cheesecake and emotional eating. Going to the gym is satisfying in the moment once I muster up the energy to finally get there. I won’t kid myself; I still felt the urges to express a “bad girl” factor, so the gym and clean eating seemed like a lot of “good girl” all at once. I needed to make love to cheesecake. A lot of cheesecaking has been going on right now.

Throwing myself into work hasn’t been completely horrible, definitely stressful but not horrible. I’ve taken on a multitude of projects in attempts to keep me occupied, gained new clients for my company, traveled to LA for a half vacation half business trip, and managed to meet a British Gent in between. Sometimes I don’t realize all of the things that I actually do until I visually see them in writing. In a matter of two months, I did a bucket list of things that some people spend their lifetime trying to do. This is where I insert the smallest pat on my back and remember to be grateful for all the feats I experience and overcome in such a sort time.

With all the traveling, dating and overwhelming feelings that I would’ve normally concealed in sex, I’m handling head-on in celibacy. This is no walk in the park or “hee-hee, ha ha” situation. Everyday feels like another day that my patience is running low and getting weary. I want sex. Good sex. Memorable sex. Sex that will lead to something real with someone just as real. 

I’ll know I’ve completely lost it when I start grinding my teeth down in my sleep. Chain dating hasn’t made anything easier either. I end up wondering if every guy is thee guy worthy enough to have sex with, so you can imagine how things in my mind may escalate quickly and I end up yet again, heartbroken and making out with cheesecake.

British Gent, I can’t even consider him much of a gentleman. Again not horrible, but there’s always that notion of not settling. Call me picky, but I tried to imagine settling and of course in my mind we were a great episode of “Pleasantville”. In real life, he was standoffish with little to no desire for commitment. Obviously, there were signs he displayed that I tried to overlook. He always wanted to chat via Skype but never wanted to make eye contact. I even noticed in many of his pictures, he didn’t make contact with the camera and if he did he was wearing sunglasses. Call me crazy, but I took this as a sign of someone with commitment issues. He won’t even commit to the viewfinder on the camera for goodness sakes.

The way we met was a modern day Pretty Woman scene (minus the prostitution of course): “We met while he was out of town on a business trip…”. That was the beginning of the story, however the way I scripted the end was far from the way it actually happened. Thankfully, I managed to get out of the situation without sexual intercourse. (You can sarcastically insert, “Yay you” here with a bunch of eye rolls). I’ll completely understand.

He wasn’t the only one I dated without giving away the cookies, just the only one I really wanted to attempt something serious with, and the furthest international zip code. He was like something you order off EBay or Instagram: You know there’s risk involved but you’re willing to take it anyway.

The GodMother

My number one goal in life is to teach the unteachable, and guide the misguided. There are those who have been counted out for one reason or another, whether it be their financial, demographical, racial or educational background. These are the individuals that I aspire to teach because for some reason, I could’ve once been in their shoes. Untrainable, unreachable and definitely a lost cause by various definitions. The greatest part of my story is that I was fortunate enough to have a handful of people who believed in me. They believed so much, that I had no choice but to believe them also.

The first person outside of my family to see something in me was my first grade teacher, Mrs. Preggler. Unfortunately I wasn’t a shining star in her classroom or academically with my stellar grades. No, I was the outcast on her playground who taught all of her students about sex. I can still recall that day I stood in the middle of the playground, educating a bunch of elementary students that they were actually brought into this world because their mommy and daddy had sex. There wasn’t any stork, birds or bees. Their mom laid on her back, and their dated inserted his penis into her vagina. That was how they came into this world or (ended up on the playground that day). That was my explicit conversation to a group of bewildered kids.

Talk about the horror on their first grade faces when I exposed their parents’ truths, and the horror on my first grade teacher’s face when she eventually had to sit me down and tell me she would have to tell my mom. The horror came full circle when I burst into tears, and informed my teacher there was no way in hell she could tell a Jamaican mother that her child got in trouble in school. Much less the contents of the trouble. I assured my teacher I would come back to school with my behind split in half if she told my mother.

That was the first time I had someone believe in me. She believed in my truth, and I’m pretty sure that first grade teacher took my secret to her grave. From that moment, my destiny of leading and mentoring others became my purpose. My first grade teacher mentored me about sex and made me promise to never talk about sex on her playground again. I promised and learned my lesson. Teaching my peers about sex in exchange for my behind was nota question at this point. Those little white babes would’ve had to learn about sex on someone else’s watch.

Fast forward more than two decades later, my purpose is to not only teach and mentor others about adult topics, but how to become a great human. I’ve realized in 2018, we may need a refresher course of what it means to be a great human now more than ever. Through my education and experience, I’ve had no choice but to be a greater, stronger, yet ethical person and I love to share what I’ve learned with others. If I didn’t share what I’ve learned, I believe I would be doing those inspiring individuals that believed in me a great disservice.

Fur Collar & Vans Sneakers

Sometimes the best things in life happen when we just let life happen. Let’s marinate on that thought for a moment: Let. Life. Happen.

I let life happen with a Cuban tattoo artist and a 6’8 Music Therapist, and came home from both encounters still a proud celibate woman. I can let life happen. I don’t have to give up sex just to live life. God forgive me, but I’m no Virgin Mary. I am merely more in-tuned with my worth and the value of my puss*. There’s been so much going on between Fashion Weeks, growing professionally and figuring out what I want personally, I just couldn’t see myself succumbing to the temptations of penis right now. Sex would just complicate things, and I have enough to tackle. Despite all of the items on my plate and penis proposals,  I’m realizing my family is highly important to me. My Grandmother is going through a lot of health related issues, so for anyone wondering where I’ve been: There is your answer, I’ve been sitting with my Grandmother on my days off skimming as many fashion shows as I possibly could. There’s been a couple times I’ve felt like I was going to lose it, I can’t recall the last time I’ve truly taken a day off. Thank God for an amazing support system and a monthly fashion magazine purchase because I’m not quite sure how else I would stay sane. 

  
A big dilemma for me was whether I should have sex with the Cuban tattoo artist or not (6’8 Music Therapist wasn’t even in the running after our first date). In the midst of the madness, sex seemed like a quick fix to my growing anxieties. 

“Tattoo Artist” was so sexy, I couldn’t stand it! I knew he was a ladies man. It was written all over his handsome ass face. He was just my type: 6’1, tattoos (over 40 to be exact), gages, thick full-pink lips, a messy comb-over hair style and an awesome footwear collection which included some of my favorite classic black Vans sneakers. He was visual eye-candy, all 6 feet plus of him with this amazingly mannish beer- belly. It wasn’t a gut; just a belly. One of those stomachs you’d find yourself rubbing while you “Netflix and Chill”, but I knew with every fiber in my body, I wouldn’t be the only one he’d be watching Netflix with. It was agony just to even think about. “Tattoo Artist” was literally one of those things you’d want to own just to be able to say,”Look at what I have!” I didn’t even consider him as the person he was, just a thing. An accessory to show off, but not necessarily the best mental catch. Yes he looked awesome, but would he support me emotionally the way I needed a man to? I battled a few nights not driving to this guy’s house just to give him a taste. Everytime I almost came close, God stopped me directly in my tracks.   

  
“Tattoo Artist” couldn’t understand how much self -control I had, he was obviously used to women throwing themselves at him. I tried to explain it was like my love of cheesecake: I love it, but I won’t eat it. If I start eating it, I won’t want to stop so I’d rather not eat any at all. Of course I’d eventually treat myself to a slice or two, but now just wasn’t the time to fall off the wagon. No matter how much I love cheesecake or his looks for that matter. I can look at cheesecake, I just won’t touch it.

He must’ve grown weary of me teasing him. How many times have you made out with someone for over three hours? Three hours of just kissing made me the ultimate “dick teaser”, but I couldn’t give it up only after two dates! Our first date was like finding your new favorite heels. Every time you think about it, you smile. I wore my infamous red and black harness bra, with an all black attire, black sneakers and my fur collar opened enough to show off my bra and chest. By the time of our second date, we built enough sexual tension through two rounds of pool to make me fantasize about him taking me directly on the table (God forgive me). But I kept my composure, even while being in a close-knit proximity of the car. I let him tongue me down for an entire three hours with conversation in between, without even pulling out a tit. I wasn’t fully aware of how much willpower I actually had until that experience. Our kisses were like fire upon fire, I don’t think I’ve ever kissed anyone that deeply. My insides were tingling, but I just couldn’t give him me without fully knowing where we were going. He didn’t give me any answers, and ultimately I only wanted him for his looks. I eventually realized I wasn’t attracted to anything about him past his physical features, so where would we go beyond sex? 

    


    I let our dates happen because that was part of the universal plan. Sometimes just through dating, you learn so much about yourself: you learn your likes from your dislikes. However, having sex would’nt have taught me anything other than what he could possibly do with his penis. If the sex was horrific, that would’ve not only been a waste, but a major setback. I’m on the mission of growth. I’m not interested in intentionally setting myself back. 

Let life happen exactly the way it’s supposed to happen. Even if that means “it”never even happens..


Peace, Love and Growth,
Tamara Styles.



“All I could do, is just offer you. My love.” ~Prince


RIP   

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,
Tamara💋

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

Drugstore Vs. Department Store Makeup

The past couple of days of my life have been on more Red Bulls than snow on the ground. I don’t know what the hell is going on but things are moving at a rapidly fast pace, so much that I now find myself up at 2 in the morning when I have a client scheduled this afternoon (nice). Not the time for an insomnia attack. One week life is moving turtle-slow, the next you’re wishing things slow down!

 

For those of you thinking this post was going to be just about makeup, there are great finds in the drugstores but there is nothing like department store makeup. The end, now move along honey. Those of you that know me by now, know that it isn’t just about the makeup here. There’s always more to it. Lets be honest with one another: If we could afford only department store makeup, would we ever consider drugstore lines? Or for my “Well, there’s good finds in the drugstores” ladies, who would you marry? Say for instance, Mac and Target (makeup not the entire store) propose to you. You’d take that Mac ring and give the forehead kiss to Target. Sorry, but not sorry!

I attended a skincare training on Tuesday, and guess where the instructor happened to be from? Minnesota! Of all the states, cities, and metropolitan areas a skincare instructor could come from they had to pull her from Minnesota right? Just my luck! (For you newbies, Minnesota is where my “heart throb” is.) I’ve been tight-lipped on spilling the tea about “Minnesota” after the whole Vegas ordeal because as any girl would be, I was kind of heartbroken walking around like life was peachy. Inside, it was utter torture. “Minnesota” and I met, kissed in Vegas and the rest was history! So automatically I felt a kindred vibe to this instructor (not to mention her personality was so welcoming- it must be a Mid-West thing!) and felt inclined to be forthcoming about my Minnesotan Irish sweetheart.

As our instructor came around testing products on our hands, I just beckoned out all the polite questions I could about Minnesota, never really having been there. I was like a giddy kid. “Is it really, really cold? How do you guys get around? How’s the plowing over there?” I’m just all questions because I need to know! I eventually want to visit! Then she asks the question, “Do you know anyone in Minnesota?” and like word-vomit, I’m spilling out the word “boyfriend” like a love-sick teen (OMG). To make matters worse, she announces to the whole entire training room about how she and I were talking about my boyfriend in Minnesota…blah, blah, blah. Instantly, I was over-the-top embarrassed. If I didn’t have so much melanin in my skin I would’ve turned bright red at that very moment. “Oh my God,” I thought to myself. I just put my foot entirely in my mouth. I could feel the room instantly getting hotter and my temperature rise at the thought of “boyfriend” echoing around the room. “What the fu*k did I just say?” I felt my boss behind me, burning eyes into the back of my head saying, “B*tch that is not your “boyfriend“. I spent the entire next day freaking out. One thing I dislike is my character on the line. Am I optimistic or delusional? I start questioning every choice I’d ever made that morning. I’m not a habitual liar, especially not about any damn man. Ask me why I’m late, the answer is always traffic even when it was indeed my makeup routine. But other than that, I try to keep a pretty clean mouth.

So there I am, walking around devastated thinking my boss will out me or question my trustworthiness because I spewed out the damn word “boyfriend”. It was 9 am in the morning, way too early for my liking. Now that I look back, yes there are a ton of other things I could’ve named him but definitely not boyfriend. For one thing, I’m pretty sure I’m passed the boyfriend age. At some point in a girl’s life, the term “boyfriend” is null and void. If he isn’t your man by now, have several seats darling. I had to do something. I racked my brain trying to figure out how the hell to pull myself out of this, so the best scenario was to actually just talk to him about it. The truth is Minnesota and I are indeed in a really good space. After sending him a message via Facebook with three simple words, asking for his number, almost immediately he replied back to me. I asked my two-year old cousin if I should text him. In the most innocent voice she responded, “Uh-huh.” I couldn’t resist. At two-years old she is definitely too pure to steer me wrong.

Once we left Vegas, things (I) got crazy, and we took a break. A much appreciated break I can look back and say to not only him but myself, “I made a mistake.” Like the gentleman he is, he welcomed me back with long-distance open arms. I’ve dated, hit on guys, and extended myself to other possibilities but he is my virtual ‘sigh of relief’. This is a man I can express my business plans to and have him give me crucial feedback, send all my naked ‘selfies’ and receive rather intimate ones in return, or I can call and vent to about anything and receive a level-headed response. Yes, I immaturely threw out the word “boyfriend”, but he is not far from it either. I’ve dated guys after him that weren’t worthy of even knowing my panty size, so I began to withhold more and more of myself to undeserving pieces of meat (literally). I don’t need a man looking at me expecting sex. That’s another ship that has sailed. When a man flies you out to Vegas for your very first date and single-handedly sweeps you off of your feet, it’s going to take a lot of persuasion to get to know me on a physical level.

Minnesota is not my boyfriend, but he is definitely department store makeup. He gets me, he has my color and is worth the investment. I came across an article that talked about not being emotionally available for a relationship, and I honestly feel that is very much-so me. I think I want a relationship until I actually get into one, and I’m draining myself entirely into it. Not only am I not emotionally available but partially physically as well. I don’t want “Friends With Benefits”, and I don’t want to jump into another situation where I’m giving so much to my personal life that I’m losing and sacrificing my professional one. He and I talked for an hour about what we want and he honestly admitted he jumped into a situation with me, yet ironically I couldn’t admit to him that I did the same thing. I broke up with an ex in August and was seeing Minnesota by October. Did I really give myself the time to heal? Or did I rush into something not wanting to be alone? We jumped into something and I know I fell, but I’ve never thrown around the “L” word to him (Bye ship!). He is not my boyfriend, but he, I still believe to this day is my soul mate. Until I meet someone else to prove me wrong, I will continue to wait and focus my energy on my passion. He upped the ante of what a gentleman should embody and the level of support you should receive from said “boyfriends”. You never know, sometimes life just blesses you with an “Ante Upper”, and Minnesota could be just that. Once you find the right shade of department store makeup, drugstore foundation just doesn’t feel the same. I simply refuse to sleep with anymore drugstore makeup, so I’ll continue holding out for that department store quality.

 

Say “No!” to drugstore boyfriends. Save your “cookies” for department store ones.

 

Fashionably Yours,

 

Tamara