Category Archives: One Word

3-D Wedding

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My brother is getting married.

My opinion is irrelevant. He is going to do it.

I am choosing to be Switzerland. I am neutral (mostly).

My job is 3-D management:

  1. Date – I need one.
  2. Dress – I need one.
  3. Drinks – I need more than one.

So, my goal for the next few months is to find a dress that I look not terrible in (nobody is supposed to care what I look like anyway, I just can’t look too terrible for the two pictures I need to be in).

I also need a date to this thing. Someone who is fun and distracting. Someone who will keep my cup full and not judge me on any of my behavior that day (so they will need to know me well enough to know how cool I am regardless of how not cool I behave that day).

I will need drinks. Swiss people drink, right? Chocolate won’t cover it.

The wedding is March 23rd so I have some time to work all of this out.

Yes, I joined a dating site.
No, I had no patience for it.
Yes, I have met a couple of interesting people… only one of which I consider an actual viable option.

Naturally, I can accept that whomever I ask to be my date to this wedding could turn in to something more, but that is not the original goal. It would be a happy side effect.

Because I have all these verify specific goals, I think my word for the year is going to be “Intentional”. That is the only way I can see this working.

I’ve been BRAVE, and it was amazing.

Now that I’m BRAVE, I need to be Intentional.

So, let the dating begin!

Enter Stranger

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Halloween night 2010 was Kaima’s going away party.
To say I was a hot mess would not begin to cover how I was feeling.

I remember plenty from that night, including meeting a rather good-looking individual and being struck dumb by the way he said my name. “Kiki. Wow. That’s an interesting name. It’s nice to meet you, Kiki.” Beyond that, I remember him spending the rest of the evening talking to a brunette. Not that it mattered much, Kaima was leaving and my heart was broken.

As I struggled with the pain of losing him and moving on with my life (Enter A Certain Stubborn Bear), I forgot that moment when a stranger said my name.

Exit A Certain Stubborn Bear.

Enter fresh loss. And pain. Enter being BRAVE. Enter being alone. Enter YOLO.

And one day, while serving at church, Enter Stranger.

He said my name again. We might have talked for all of 5 minutes max, but I was again struck.
This time I went hunting for the Stranger on Facebook. To no avail. He was hidden from me and, apparently, lost forever.

Off and on I would remember to look for him at church, but that was more off than on and he again faded into a dim memory.

And then I decided to be Intentional this year.
And I decided to start dating.
And Facebook decided to send me an email, “Do you know these people?”

And there he was: The Stranger.

I thought about it, and finally decided to send him a message. I asked if he wanted to be friends. I mean, who WOULDN’T want to be friends with ME? However, he had never found me on Facebook and, let’s face it, I’m pretty easy to find so I had to check first.

Of course he wanted to be friends (he’s not an idiot).

 

Timbales Practice

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Two weeks ago I was about ready to give up. I wasn’t progressing as quickly as I would have liked (which is code for almost not at all). Granted, I wasn’t practicing nearly as much as I should have either (which is also code for almost not at all). With the help of some friends being driving inspirational motivators, I accepted that quitting was not in me. But something had to change. So I made up a personal challenge: To practice every day for at least 20 minutes. It wasn’t easy. I had to put off my start day because I got super sick, but that only made me more determined. So my first day of my challenge I practiced my timbales while fighting a splitting headache. Water became my best friend. (Hydration is important!)

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(Yes, that is a frog tattoo. Yes, it is real. No, the one on my arm is just a henna tattoo.) My instructor had written out the first minute of a song for me to learn and I am beyond thrilled to announce that, after just 5 days of practicing, I can hold my own with the song! THAT was the kind of progress I was looking for! Hello, my name is Kikita, and I am a bad ass drummer chick! đŸ˜‰

YOLO

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You. Only. Live. Once.

It’s a mantra for those of us being BRAVE this year. (And by “us” of course I mean “me”)

I went out for Dim Sum with some people from work, “Kikita, would you like to try chicken feet?”

Bring it.

 

I’ve always wanted to know what it was like to ride on the back of a motorcycle.
I made it happen.
It was terrifying and wonderful at the same time.

I’ve wanted to have braids in my hair forever. Not corn rows, just braids. I thought I could rock it, but was worried because some white people look REALLY STUPID with them.

There was only one way to find out…

I bought the hair.

I made the appointment.

I sat.

And sat.

And sat.

And then I was done.

I have braids now.

 

My family HATES them. My mother was very diplomatic. She said she loves the braids, she just doesn’t love them on me. My sister, however, said they look horrible on me and she hates the color and I look bad and she proceeded to stomp around.

Most of my man friends love them. A couple asked that I not call them until I take the braids out and go back to being myself.

One idiot went so far as to say, “Why don’t you leave braids to black girls?”

I love them. I love the color of brown. I love how the blue pops and the purple blends. I love how I can tie them in a knot.

I was not ready for how much attention they would bring. It has taken some getting used to. Everywhere I go, eyes are on me. That alone would make me think twice about getting them again. The other reason was just sitting for 8 hours was brutal.

Yes, I can wash them. That was an adventure in itself. I’ve learned that I have quite the sensitive scalp. The moment the water hit the exposed places on my scalp, I got chills. They didn’t stop. It was wild. And DRYING my hair… It’s been two days and my hair is STILL wet. đŸ˜‰  (Ok, that’s not true, but I swear it took a long time)

If I HAD looked like an idiot (which I don’t think I do), hey, it’s just hair…

Besides, YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE!!

A Different Kind of Brave

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My word for the year is BRAVE.

Another way to say BRAVE would be FEARLESS.

I am not trying to force it, I want it to just be the way I am. I want to fully embrace it.

But I have been missing a huge piece of it.

Here’s how I’ve been practicing being BRAVE:

Me: Hey [Friend who rides a motorcycle]! I have never ridden a motorcycle before! Would you take me for a ride?
Friend: Sure!

Unfortunately, we have rescheduled this ride so many times, it might be next year before it finally happens.

Speed dating! That was a way to be BRAVE.

But I have been confronted with new ways to be BRAVE and it is a lot tougher than I thought it would be.

The truth is that I am at church twice a week. O_O
And I keep that suuuuuper quiet. It’s like I’m ashamed to admit it.

A few Saturday nights ago, I went out dancing and happened to be wearing all white. I looked like a santera.
And some santerĂ­a guy noticed.
And he wanted to talk religion with me.
It was like he was trying to impress me with how much he knew about SanterĂ­a.
And it felt like he just wanted to connect with someone on that level.
So I let him talk. I let him think I was a santera. I made understanding sounds about the ritual dances. I told him to keep quiet about the chicken sacrifices because “People just don’t understand, you know?

It had been my moment to be BRAVE and admit that, while I love Afro-Cuban dances and know about SanterĂ­a, I don’t practice it. That I, in fact, go to church and believe in the whole Jesus thing. BRAVE fail.

Why should I care what some bad ass dancer thinks of me? (Ok, the answer would be that there is a considerable shortage of bad ass dancers out there and if one shuns me then that is one less I get to dance with and one shunn could lead to more shuns and I’d be left with only a couple of good dancers to dance with and would spend most of my nights sitting and waiting until it was my turn to dance with them again.)

Obviously, I have my work cut out for me.

Being BRAVE is harder than I thought.

Being BRAVE isn’t about jumping out of planes or riding motorcycles, it’s about facing the scary things and sometimes the scariest things to face are other people.

Independence and Cuban Churros

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O.D. Churroman was my source for churros on this side of the continental United States.

Mami is capable of making churros, but I have failed to get her to make them for me.

Last weekend it was so cold you could see your breath. It wasn’t until Mami was already over (to watch our show) that we thought about churros.

It has been cold and raining all day. I asked Mami is she would be coming over to watch our show and would she like to make churros together? It was just too cold and rainy for her. The show would just have to wait… as would the churros.

That was when I decided it was time to stop waiting for someone else. It was time for me to make my own churros.

So I did.

I took 1 cup of flour.
I added 1 cup of water. (Because I’m a lactard and didn’t have any milk in the house… not even Lactaid, otherwise I’d use 1/2 a cup of water and 1/2 a cup of milk)
I added a bit of salt. (Because I forgot about softening the butter and didn’t feel like waiting)
I remembered that O.D. Churroman added anise to his churros, so I added some anise.
Abuela had already told me where to find her “churrera” so I pulled it out, heated the oil and fried away!

I made my own churros cubanos.
I did it without O.D. Churroman.
I did it without Mami.
I am an independent woman.