Confession of an Internet Supermodel

In a nutshell, and in a lot of words, here’s the story of my rise and eventual dismount from Internet Supermodel ‘stardom.’ Seriously, this is a long read, so you might wanna get comfortable. 

My God-given talent was/is comic/graphic art. And probably writing, too, but that's still out for debate.

However, for a really long time – I wanted it to be modeling and acting. Mostly acting, but I thought I could transition to acting from the modeling industry – you know, like Cindy Crawford (Fair Game w/ William Baldwin). And so, I wasted my natural talent in favor of looking for attention – because really, that’s probably what it was about (#issues). It was me wanting to be noticed. Nowadays we have social media; back then, you had to legit go old school and work to be seen. 

No one really notices comic book artists except other comic book artists, friends, family … and fanboys/girls. And while it’s cool to be all things nerdy now, back when I was a kid, being a nerd meant you got to sit at the corner table at lunch and you don't get to have a boyfriend. 

Plus, there was no big money in comic book illustration.

But if you’re an actor/model, you’re global; and people notice because you’re EVERYWHERE. And there’s a s*** ton of money in it if you’re lucky. Who wouldn't want that? Right? Right?! 

I learned anyone can be a model.

It’s the truth! All you need is a willingness to accept a modified version of what you think of as success in the modeling industry as well as a certain amount of naivete ... or stupidity. 

Both of which I had plenty. 

My first experience in modeling happened before the Internet while I was still in high school. I was approached by a photographer in the mall who said he would give me copies of the photos if I agreed to model for him.

Like an idiot, I thought, “this is my big break. People get discovered in malls all the time! Right?”

Yes, by predators, pedophiles and pervs … But my mom, surprisingly, was on board, and somehow she got my dad to agree to it as well. It was really surprising considering the photographer’s list of things to bring included lingerie. My mom provided a very modest nightgown.

Very modest.

It wasn't even this
professional looking.
Hashtag, "Wronkled
Up Bed Sheets."

So, I found myself at the photographer’s house a few nights later, in a back bedroom studio, while my parents waited. They had no idea this guy wanted me to take off the nightgown he had requested I bring to the shoot – at 16 years old. I also never told my parents he tried to convince me that models had to learn to get naked before they could make it as a model at all.

The guy turned out to be nothing more than a pervert that wanted to get under-aged girls naked. Turns out, there are a lot of those out there, waiting for stupid girls like me. My heart was broken.

That was just the first of many failed attempts at breaking into the entertainment industry. I say breaking in because if I belonged there, I’m sure the doors would have been open for an easier entrance. 

But, once the Internet happened, it was like a backdoor to a place I wasn’t supposed to be …and I was in for a little bit.

ANYONE can be a model? Even ME?

I was an adult before the Internet became a thing. Let me tell you how much easier it is to do things like find agents and photographers online. It’s also easier to be victimized by scams aimed at Hollywood hopefuls - like me. Fortunately, regardless of ease, I was still too poor (and a little too cheap) to invest much money in things like getting an agent, my portfolio, headshots and classes. Of which I later learned shouldn’t have cost much - if any - money at all.

But I had just enough money and stupidity to waste on making decisions that got me nothing except an empty wallet and disappointment.

I might as well have flushed all that
$$$ down the toilet. 

Soon, though, I had to put my aspirations of being famous on hold because I didn’t have any more money to throw at people like I didn’t need it anymore. I got a real job and started trying to save to move to a land of better opportunities. 

You know, where there was a better chance for me to get swindled out of even more money or accidentally fall into porn.

Luckily, that never happened because real life swept me up in its current – far away from those dreams and into real life and being a mom. And for a while, I went back to pursuing my art and my back up dream of comic book illustrating.

Real life stuff.

Then the Internet was born sometime after the birth of my only child. Not the DOS based BBS systems or even the AOL chatrooms. I'm talking full-blown Google and social media. It was a magical place of knowledge, opportunity and, seemingly, a way to fulfill my hopes and dreams.

Not really. 

It was just easier access to misinformation and more predators willing to tell you anything to take your money, dignity, hopes and dreams and destroy them in a really ugly way. But now they didn’t have to come to you in a mall, because you are going to them via the cyber-highway. God help me if I ever do somehow become widely known, because there are some photos of me I’d dig my own grave to get away from.

Mom, Dad … I’m sorry. But I digress.

So, with the help of the Internet, I was able to model – somewhat. There is always a photographer building his/her portfolio that is willing to trade their time and talent for prints or a CD. 

Who needs this many pictures of themselves?

And I have a lot of prints and CDs for everyone’s time. Like … seriously, I may have hundreds of CDs totaling thousands and thousands of photos.

The Internet made it possible for me to get in front of the cameras of a lot of photographers – seasoned and beginners. It helped my self-esteem and kept my body dysmorphia at a manageable level. But it was also an education in reality.

One of the first TFP shoots I ever did -
 post baby. Photo credit:
Savage Photography

Like … in reality, I would never be a supermodel. I am too short and built like a tall, curvy person … just on a small person’s frame. So, I was basically phat. 

Further research revealed that legit models and actors had legit agents and got paid. Those legit artists lived in legit cities with legit ties to legit studios, castings and projects.

Not Fayetteville, North Carolina, where the only legit anything was the scam to idiot ratio.

And even though I sent my new talent packets to several (read: ALL) out of town agencies … I fell short of the ‘legit’ criteria to be what the industry would call a real, paid model.

But ...all this new knowledge came with a consolation prize – I could be a B-level model if I was willing to bend the rules a little and travel - on my own dime. I might not be ideally located to prove my A-List potential or tall enough to grace the cover of …well, any magazine, but …

One of my favorite shoots. Photo credit:
Eric Foltz. 

At 5’1”, I could be a bikini, nude or glamour model for a lot of photographers – for their own portfolio or even stock images for ads. If I was lucky enough, maybe one would trade for headshots so I could try my chops at acting in local, independent films - eventually. All I had to do was sign up on networking web sites dedicated to introducing wannabe models to people in the industry who could help by creating opportunities for exposure and portfolio development.

I look sooo hungry.
Photo Credit: Tom Sapp

So, I created an online portfolio on a few of the bigger sites thinking this would jump-start my ‘career.’ Within days (months), I was Insta-famous. If you typed my name in Google, I owned the first five pages. Okay, I might be exaggerating a little, but not much. 

However, after a while, I realized something important.

Although a lot of photographers wanted to take my picture, I wasn't getting legit, paid work. And hardly anyone I was working with had real connections to the industry. But, I didn’t care. Because, by that point, it wasn’t about the money. It was about being a ‘model.’ Even a ‘not so real’ one. It was about the attention and feeling pretty for the length of a photoshoot and the positive feedback on what I posted on the Internet.

Photo Credit: Walter Arce

For a few years, I took advantage of the opportunity to collaborate with several amazing photographers and collect a s***load of pictures of myself. And I was able to enjoy a certain amount of Internet fame on several networking sites. My name was pretty well-known buuuuut ... I didn’t really do anything to earn rockstar status. Even I knew there were prettier ‘models’ out there. I selfishly enjoyed and made the most out of every opportunity. It was fun, I enjoyed working on some pretty cool projects, traveling and ... learning about photography from some of the top photographers. 

I traveled the East and West Coast - even to Canada - to work with some amazingly talented photographers that I knew I had no business working with at the time as I wasn’t really adding value to their portfolio.

At least, I didn’t think so. 

In my own mind, I became the biggest joke I knew. If I had to be perfectly honest about my looks, I’d say that I have a workable face and the perfect body for Photoshop. I know, because I photoshop the s*** out of it when I can.

This could be the title of me
book ... 

Maybe they (the photographers) figured one day, I’d write a best-selling book that would catapult the value of all the photos they’ve taken of me. Maybe I should pay them back for their kindness by not procrastinating since that was my plan over the last several years. Maybe ... 

Another fave
Photo Credit: Serdar Design

I enjoyed my time in front of the camera, though. It felt good to be ‘someone’ for a little while. I was bigger than the somewhat-normal life I lived. When MySpace was a thing, my page was pretty popular. I had a lot of ‘friends’ and fans. Sometimes, I was even recognized in public.

Like, the few times I went to a popular, local Irish pub the musician would introduce me on stage as the 'model' with the sexiest pictures online, 'like, masturbation material.'  

Which wasn’t really a compliment, I guess … 

 And another fave: Photo Credit: Larry Baglio, NY

Yes, I was really in an ad.
Photo credit: Tom Sapp. 

There are a lot of words I would use to describe myself, but sexy is not one of them. Yet, when I was looking at the pictures to put together this blog, I experienced a certain amount of pride because, they were/are great shots. But the girl in those pictures was/is not me. It was like looking at a totally different person. Sometimes I felt guilty for accepting all the attention. But then I’d think of all the years I was made fun of for being a dorky, Dungeons and Dragons playing, comic book reading, nerd … and decided I deserved to feel pretty - and relevant.

Glad to know my bad hair day
made a great stock photo.
Photo credit: Walter Arce

And, YES, to all the haters (yeah, I have those) who campaigned to call me out behind my back and online – you’re right. Me = not a real model. BUT, none of you were genuinely nice people, so I feel we are even.

If I was in a magazine, if my photos ended up printed online or in a commercial, I didn’t know about it. Whenever anyone assumed I had done bigger things than I had, I let them. Why not? It wasn’t really a lie … okay, so maybe it was a little one, but by omission only.

SEE WHAT I MEAN?
This is me as a kid. 

After all, if you could see the pics of me as a pre-teen/teen, you’d agree I deserved just a little tiny bit of my stolen Internet stardom. Enough so that when I would come across a former school crush online who didn’t look twice at me as an awkward kid, I could be like, “Yeah, that’s right, look at me now.” Or then ... 

Juvenile? Totally. Justified? Maybe a little. C’mon, we’ve all been there. I’m just willing to admit it.

These days you can find me behind
the camera.
Photo credit: Selfie.

Nowadays, I prefer to be behind the camera. When I first picked up photography, I was surprised to meet a lot of people who had the same body and self-esteem issues I was dealing with even as an adult. If I can give just one person an ounce of the confidence all those photographers gave me, then I feel like I’m paying it forward. Not to sound all benevolent and stuff, but making people feel good about who they are and how they look is better than being popular or ‘famous.’

Because we don’t see us the way other people do. Sometimes people need to experience that truth - it makes a difference.  

I suppose I owe the World Wide Web a great, big, thank you for allowing me the opportunities in B-level modeling that somehow catapulted me to local, online celebrity status. But, like all things that aren’t really supposed to be a thing, it had to end sometime, right?

During my time as a model and somewhat popular local celeb, I learned a few things about the industry and myself. Mostly about myself.

In my natural habitat.

1)    It’s not easy modeling. Your appearance is the most important thing about you when you’re a model. If you got it, that’s wonderful. If you don’t, it’s a lot of work to fake it – which is where I messed up. I lived with an eating disorder for 25 years. That’s a long time to be hungry. It’s also a good way to kill your body slowly and leave lasting damage on your insides and outsides. Just ask me. There is still hair where there shouldn't be, my teeth are off-white and my gag reflex is damaged ... 

2)    Being pretty and popular is not what you think it will be and I wished I hadn’t spent so much time wishing and trying to be someone else. I’m not a stupid girl, but I sure spent a lot of time being stupid.

3)    Everyone has a talent, so when you find yours, don’t waste it. Life is too short for avoidable regrets. Always work for what you want and find your own success. Because even though I didn't become 'world-famous,' I was still able to enjoy doing something creative as a model and even as an actress in such notable titles as, "Song of the Lesbian Pirates" and "X-Gen." Both of which are available for viewing online and neither of which I am that great in ... 

To all the photographers I’ve had the pleasure of working with, know that I appreciated each and every opportunity, and I miss it a lot sometimes. Also, should I become a famous novelist or stumble into the lead role of being Gerard Butler’s love interest in a film, I implore you to please keep my worst photos out of the tabloids. Besides, you won’t make A-list money off of them. Thank you.

I will leave you with this random thread I found while Googling my name to see what came up. Sadly, this is pretty much what's left of my Cybermodel legacy ... 

Fit Just Got Real: Day One, The Struggle

“Dawn. Daawn. Dawn. Dawn. Daaaawn. Daaaaaaawn. Dawn. Dawn. Daaawn. Dawn. Dawn. Daawn. Dawn. Dawn. Daaaawn. Daaaaaaawn. Dawn. Dawn. Daaawn. Dawn. Dawn. Daawn. Dawn. Dawn. Daaaawn. Daaaaaaawn. Dawn. Dawn. Daaawn. Dawn. Daw –“ ~ cake, icing

“WHAT?!” ~ me

“Eat me,” ~ cake, icing

It took a LOT of willpower to walk past the table of cake with icing at the Walk To End Lupus Now event today. It’s like kryptonite … and it was calling my name. My knees buckled, I started to sweat and mentally prayed to Jesus and Mary in Heaven for strength. Because praying out loud would have been weird. I took a picture of it as I dragged myself away, so I could have a souvenir of my victory. 

Probably a better souvenir picture. Because I almost never choose
to do a 5K in the rain ever in the history of me doing 5Ks.

Victory being that I didn't take a piece to a quiet corner somewhere out of sight and pretend I didn't eat the entire thing in one bite. I'm sure I wouldn't be the only one who caved on the first day of this challenge. 

As much as I like icing, having to give up coffee is turning out to be the most distressing. I like to have one cup of decaf with creamer and 1 teaspoon of sugar every morning to help me wake up. 

Coffee itself is allowed, but no sugar or creamer. Yes, Stevia is okay, but have you ever had coffee with only sweetener? It’s like drinking bitterness with a fake smile. So, if you ever wanted to know what bitterness tastes like, it tastes like coffee with no cream or sugar. 

This will wake a person up fo sho. 

Getting to the gym early in the morning was not as smooth as it could be. I'm going to attribute that to not having coffee. But my body woke up after the second round of the warmup. Color returned returned to my face and I looked like I belonged in the land of the living again. 

I may have to adopt running 1-2 miles before work just to wake myself up and get the blood flowing so I'm not rolling into work looking like death. Yes, like death. Even make-up doesn't cover death. If you've seen a corpse at a wake, you know what I'm talking about. 

Something I did take note of is that I snack A LOT. While I work, between meals, after meals, before bed, on my way to the gym, all day, er'day. 

  

Like right now, I’m reflecting on my day eating unsalted peanuts and raisins. I can't sit still and not have a drink or something to eat. I got up at least twice to refill my small bowl, but before that, I made several trips to the kitchen, like a kid, looking for something acceptable to eat. I don't even really like raisins.

Water is proving to be an easy part of the challenge though. I probably exceeded the water requirement for the next two days. Both gallons are gone. Expelled from my body and flushed right down the toilet. I feel like an alcoholic peeing money away, except I only spent $2 and didn't have to tip anyone. "No Ragrets."  

I don't really like water either. It's like drinking liquid air. That is all. 

So, I realized a few things: as much as I eat clean, I can see that all my "just one spoon of this" and "maybe a tiny sip of that" can add up to being a habit. It will be a conscious effort of willpower to curb those habits. 

Maybe I was a little over-confident going into this Whole Life Challenge at the Performance Level. I'm still excited about it, but slightly less because ... 

NO COFFEE.

And just so y'all know, I WILL be bringing coffee back into my life when this is all over.



However, the biggest victory of the day, didn't happen until this morning when I was finally able to log in my daily scores on the While Life Challenge site. Nothing will make a nerd feel more inadequate than not being able to figure out a tech glitch.  

Fit Just Got Real: Pre-Whole Life Challenge Musings

Here I am, on the eve of starting the Whole Life Challenge, sitting in my living room, drinking water, watching “Once Upon A Time” and writing. I had big plans to order a pizza, follow that up with salted caramel ice cream and a bottle of moscato - because just one glass isn’t a party.

The plan was scratched mainly because all of that would have sent my digestive system into shock and put me in a food coma for a few days of recovery. I had things to do.

Really, I don’t even like ice cream. I just wanted to do a last ‘hurrah’ before I buckle down on the performance level of this Challenge and ice cream is what I have in my freezer. But when I thought about it, going HAM on carbs, sugar and wine probably wasn’t going to make getting started on this challenge easier than sticking to my clean eating habits.

Darn my self-imposed discipline.

See, I actually started the lifestyle change a few months ago out of necessity and it was about more than weight. I was emotionally drained, tired and depressed. Although my diet was good, I wasn’t sleeping, couldn’t focus on my work, and lived in a constant state of fatigue and bloating.

None of that is an exaggeration.

By the end of the day, whether I ate a lot or not at all, I looked like I was smuggling a set of quadruplets in my belly. For someone with body dysmorphia, the struggle was real … and devastating. It added to my depression and for several weeks, I had to force myself to be normal, smile, and keep my workout schedule. It wasn’t easy as I pretty much split the thighs of all my yoga pants.

Yes, you read that right. My thighs outstretched my yoga pants. Pants that were made to stretch. And my thighs stretched them past their limit. It was horrifying. I knew I had to do something soon. Yoga pants are not cheap and since my jeans no longer fit, I basically had to live in yoga pants.   

So, I guess I had a self-imposed intervention of sorts, because I’m not one to wait to make a change. Especially when, no matter how I tried to downplay it in my head, I could physically see and feel my health failing.

Did I mention I split my yoga pants?

One of the first things I did was visit a doctor to make sure there wasn’t anything medically serious I needed to know about. Like maybe I had a giant worm in my intestine. But no such luck.

After a few tests, it turned out there was more than one thing wrong with me physically, but fixable over time – a long period of time. That was kind of a relief because WebMD said I was dying and death is pretty finite. Really there are only two things you will find out on WebMD and one of the two is always death. Anyway …

After I got a handle on that situation, it was time to visit my state of mind. Why was I depressed? Generally, I'm a happy chick. After a lot of thought over a quart of homemade banana pudding, I made a list of things that amounted to single mom problems, social media, unwanted booty calls, toxic and absent friendships and not having my family close.

All that added up to me feeling alone.

Once I identified the things getting me down, I made a plan. That plan was to fix myself. Yeah, so I know that doesn’t sound elaborate. Sometimes, the perfect plan is not a plan at all, but just taking care of things as a package deal - which is what I did. 

I kinda had to get real about taking care of myself from the inside out – which meant being a little selfish. I ended up cutting out everything negative, stressing and distressing. It meant more time with my daughter and trying to talk to my parents and brothers more. No more wasting time on people who threw up red flags like they were gang signs. There was no more social media – or at least, not as much. Because, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, the drama brought me down.

I know, right? I’m the drama queen!

Well, it’s been a few months and I’ve seen a huge difference. And now I’m looking forward to starting the Whole Life Challenge to see how much better I can be. I’d also like to see how close to having a defined physique I can get without having to stand next to someone who already has one.

Plus, as an added bonus, I’ll be doing it with my gym-mates. Having that support and encouragement and being able to offer it back will make this fun. 

Ex Chronicles: Yes, There Was A Time An Ex Submitted An Application For Porn

I don’t think about my ex so much these days. But every so often, I see something that reminds me of him. Like this:

Internet meme about the iPhone 6 Plus posted on Facebook by a friend. 

It seems like a cheap shot to the size of my ex’s junk; but it only reminded me of the time he lied about his size to try and get work with a film company.

An adult film company.

People, I can’t make this stuff up. How I found out about it was a complete accident. It was one of the few occasions when I wasn’t looking for anything and it just popped up – figuratively speaking, of course.

Maybe it shouldn’t have been such a surprise since he loved porn. He loved it enough that he thought sending me a box of naughty porny things was an appropriate representation of his love for me. I digress.   

So, there we were during Super Bowl 2013 at a small restaurant with some friends. I had already broken things off with my ex and made plans to move back to North Carolina and start over. He was in full, “I want you back” mode, which meant he not only let me hold his iPhone for him, but when my phone died, mid-game, I was also allowed to use it to text my friends back home and browse the web.

Like I said, we were already broken up, so I didn’t feel the need to snoop or look for closure. This was his way of proving he’d changed by allowing me the opportunity to pick apart his pictures and messages; because I wouldn’t find anything except programmed bicep workouts, texts from his bros and photos of me and him.

I wasn’t interested, though, so I kept to the web, Facebooking and Tweeting randomly. Until his phone shut the Internet down and I accidentally clicked his email icon instead of Safari.   

At first, I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. When my brain finally focused on what my eyes were seeing, I found that I was looking at a reply from an adult film company to his casting submission.

From   producer@adultfilmco.com
To        idiotwithacellphone@gmail.com

Subject: RE: Casting

Thank you for applying to our casting. We received your photos and are very interested in your look and think you have potential. Can you provide some information as to when you will return to (name of state) so that we can schedule an in person audition?

We look forward to hearing from you.

(No need for names)

___________________________________________________________________

From   idiotwithacellphone@gmail.com
To        producer@adultfilmco.com

Subject: Casting

Hi, my name is (no need for names here) an I’m very interested in tryng out to do films for youre company. Im getting ready to mov back to (name of state) and curious to see what I can do in films.

Height: 6’2”

Weight: 190 lbs

Tattoos: yes

Build: muscular and athletic

Penis size: 6.5”

I have included two pictures including an early morning junk shot selfie so you can get an idea of what it looks like. I think I bring a lot to the table for this industry. I'm curious.

Thank you for your time.

(no need for names)

I fought the urge to laugh out loud.

How I felt on the inside even though I
maintained a calm outer demeanor.

Never in a million years would I have ever 1) thought he would want to do porn, even considering as much as he loved it; and 2) thought a guy would pad the size of ANYTHING on his body. Women do it all the time. Men are supposed to be rugged and accepting of themselves because – they’re MEN. But he clearly added an inch to his height and one inch to his penis size.

And why didn’t they ask him to grade his performance in such naughty time activities? Or ask for references? I wanted to be a reference. I’m no size queen, and I wouldn’t have taken the opportunity to degrade his size or performance, but how much funnier would this blog entry have been if I could say I gave my ex a reference for his career in porn?

Seriously, HOW MUCH FUNNIER?

I never said a word to him about it. However, during one of our last conversations as he was moving his stuff out of my apartment, he brought up his future job opportunities. I couldn’t help but offer that porn could be an option for him, since he liked that and women so much.

He said he just might … 

Kitchen Adventures: Expensively Delicious ‘Paleo’ Blueberry Muffins

I’m not a Paleo-ista. I find most of the recipes long, time-consuming and expensive. Like the Paleo blueberry muffins I made last night - and again this morning. The ingredients were not cheap and were even harder to find.

Okay, so maybe making Paleo blueberry muffins isn’t really expensive if you make them correctly the first time. I think the total cost of ingredients (keeping in mind you will have enough to use again, except the blueberries) was, like, $18 plus change. However, I ended up spending another $10 because the first batch ended up like this: 

Will suck all the moisture from your entire body and taste like cardboard. 

I mean, in the pan, it looked like the top of a blueberry cobbler, crispy and yummy. But when I bit into it, it sucked up all the moisture in my mouth like a Bounty paper towel and tasted like cardboard. I’m not entirely sure this isn’t how they actually make cardboard.

You might be wondering why I’m dabbling in the kitchen trying to make a healthy blueberry muffin when 1) I’m a donut kinda chick and 2) it’s a known fact that I dislike diets and ‘diet food.’ Or you might not, but I’m going to give you the scoop anyway. 

I’m doing the Whole Life Challenge with my gym-mates at a performance level to see how close I can get to muscles and abs without having to stand next to someone who has them.

So there’s the back story.

Let me just be honest here, I’m not a domestic goddess in the kitchen. If it’s simple, comes in a box, from a restaurant, or it’s Italian, I’m pretty good at making it. Plus, with my schedule, it’s easier for me to keep meal prep to 30 minutes. Most nights, that means a protein, veggies if I have time, and rice.

I love the mess out of some white rice, but it's not allowed at the challenge level I chose. But I digress.

A friend of mine who is doing the challenge with me, posted a recipe for blueberry coconut muffins on Facebook the other day. Since I needed to find something to replace the occasional donut in the morning with my coffee, I thought this might be perfect. Looking at the ingredients, the list was short and the total prep time was probably 30 minutes.

Totes do-able.

The original ingredients list is:

1 cup coconut flour

¾ teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon baking soda

6 large eggs (RIGHT?!)

½ cup melted coconut oil

2 teaspoons of vanilla extract

1 cup of fresh or thawed frozen blueberries

The cooking directions also say to bake for 20-25 minutes.

Here’s the link to the original article and recipe.

Blueberry Coconut Muffins

Well, none of that worked for me and I decided to try something else, of which I will share with you. You're welcome. 

Okay, so, before you even start, make sure everything you use is at room temperature. Reason being, once you melt the coconut oil and it touches anything cold, it’s going to coagulate and get chunky. I thought this was normal the first time around, so I kept going with the recipe. Yes, there were coconut oil chunks in my mix.

Also, one cup of coconut flour is too much. When I mixed it the first time around the flour soaked up all the liquid mix, so it looked like cookie dough. You need to reduce it to ½ cup. It won’t look like much, but trust me, it’s plenty.

As for muffin cups, if you can find the parchment ones (I couldn’t) use those. I used regular birthday ones and the muffins stuck to them a little bit. You can also grease the muffin pan (with coconut oil) and go old school without the cups at all, which is what I should have done, but I didn’t.

Moving along.

So, we know how I was able to make cardboard muffins with the original recipe. Well, at the bottom of the link in the comments for that recipe, there was a video of a man making a revised version of the muffins and used fancy kitchen appliances - none of which I own. But when his video was done, there was a link to a girl filming her mom making the same muffins with just a few adjustments. This is where I also got the tip on working with room temp ingredients and the muffin cups. She had also modified the recipe just a smidge to make the muffins tastier.

Ingredients:

½ cup coconut flour

½ cup coconut oil (melted)

6 eggs

¼ teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoon salt (sea salt if you have it)

¼ cup maple syrup

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup fresh or thawed, room temp blueberries

Notes: make sure all ingredients are at room temperature. There are some changes to how much of each ingredient to use in the new recipe as well as the cooking time going up to 35 minutes because we are no longer cooking cardboard food. 

You can get already melted, bottled coconut oil at the store, but it’s $7 and I’m cheap - A jar is only $3-4. Also, the maple syrup is $6-7 with no less expensive alternative, and it’s not approved on the performance level of the challenge. I may replace the syrup with adding stevia to the mix, but I’m not there yet with my skills. I also used a little more than a cup of blueberries. 

Directions:

Next, you’re going to preheat the oven to 350 degrees and prepare your muffin pan with the cups or grease the muffin pan with coconut oil. Then prepare the dry and wet ingredients separately.

In one bowl, mix the flour, baking soda and salt together.

In another one, mix the eggs, oil, syrup and extract.

Add the dry ingredients over the egg mixture. Don’t just dump it in there like a clumsy toddler. I used a whisk to make sure the flour mix didn’t clump, then I used the whisk to mix it all together.

Once I was done pretending I was Martha Stewart with the whisk, I stirred in some blueberries. You should, too. Then whisk some more. Or just mix it with a spoon.

Spoon mix evenly into the parchment cups or the muffin pan.

Bake for 35 minutes or until you can poke a muffin with a toothpick and it comes out clean.

Let the muffins cool in the pan. This recipe makes 12 muffins. Which should last me roughly three days … because not only are these a healthier choice, but they are also very yummy. 

And without further ado … this is how the second batch, which I made at 5 a.m. this morning, turned out: 

Yes, they are tasty. I already had two and it's not even lunch. 

Friends with Benefits and the Single Mom

Being a single mom, I don't often have time to get out and meet anyone. And after my trial and failure with online dating, my social life is pretty uneventful.When someone asks me what I did on my "free weekend," I lie, because the truth is I'm either at the gym, writing or anything else by myself. 

So, a while back, I found myself accepting a “Friends with Benefits” package that was not-so-delicately put on the table by a guy I was out on a date with one night. After a few failed attempts at dating, I was over not having company during my free time and, as it turns out, he was tired of not getting laid.

He was hot and I was bored, so why not?

We didn’t get far before I realized he wasn’t looking for someone to hang out with; he just wanted some ass. My availability was limited to a parenting agreement (#singleparent) and his was whenever it was convenient for him and only for sex.  After a few attempts on his part to sext his way to a lunchtime rendezvous and school-night booty calls, I ended that deal.

What I thought would happen when I said “yes” to the proposition was we would actually hang out, do friend things together and throw a little sex on it. What he thought was going to happen was I would be a straight up booty call.

There is no ‘friend’ in booty call. Sigh. So, the ‘friends with benefits’ deal was a lie to get sex, but I probably knew that already.

Let’s be honest, friends with benefits is just a fancy phrase that is subject to select interpretation of the offer. Guys really want a no-strings, convenient booty call and girls are secretly hoping for a happy ending like in the movies. But life isn’t a movie and that guy they are bangin’ isn’t looking for true love inside their vagina. He’s just trying to get laid without the implications of being in a relationship – like feelings, commitment and monogamy.

I’ve met a lot of people (mostly guys and a few girls) who said they’ve had successful FWB arrangements. But how are they measuring that success? On a scale of one to selfish (how often their needs are met)? Or whether they cleanly dodged a partner catching feelings and complicating their game?

A true “friends” with benefits situation is about having mutual needs met. But unless that mutual need is sex, most of the time, someone is going to get the short end of the stick. One person always ends up giving more but getting less. So, why not just spell it out instead of dressing it up as something that has the potential to blow up in someone’s face?

Because being a booty call doesn’t sound as appealing as being called a ‘friend’ and no one wants to feel used.

Casual relationships based on sex may feel empowering and liberating at first – hell, some girls might even feel like a sexual rebel - but they don’t work. I guess they’re not supposed to, or they would turn into real relationships. Because by definition of activities, an FWB is just a relationship that no one is calling a relationship so there won’t be an obligation to either party; while a booty call is just about ‘gettin’ dat azz.’

But, I digress.

I’ve been offered the booty call deal more times than I’ve been taken out on an actual date – sometimes even on the date. Most guys have been upfront about it, while others were a little vaguer; and still there were guys who played the relationship game to get what they wanted – which was the opposite of what I thought I was getting. After a while I learned the not so subtle cues when the situation wasn’t as obvious and started calling it like I saw it:

Guys who say they don’t want a relationship on the first coffee ‘date.’ They mean it but then they continue to text to hang out – usually for a movie and drinks, followed by a rush for sex before the movie even starts.

Guys that keep the conversation one-sided and say they don’t want to be like the other ‘douche’ guys – several times in the same conversation. But then they go in for that first kiss at the first opportunity. Actually, they try to get as far, as much, and as soon as possible.

 If a guy lets on that he is newly single – he’s on the rebound and looking for a reintroduction to the single and dating life – through sex. He’s emotionally not ready to commit to another relationship. He might say he is and he might even think he is, but he’s in a transitional period. It’s the period between having a girlfriend/wife and finding out who he is without the intimacy of a relationship, but still collecting on the sexual benefits if someone will pay out.

Guys that will send you a picture of their junk too soon and ask for pics of your lady bits. When you’re in a relationship, sexting can be fun. In a new relationship, if that’s all you’re doing, it’s a red flag. Don’t send pictures of your bits and pieces to anyone and if you do, make sure your face isn’t in them so you can deny that shit when it gets out.  

If you’re not going out on actual dates and he’s not acknowledging or willing to say that you are dating.  Maybe he would like to say that you are both two people who are just ‘spending time together and having fun, seeing where things go.’ Go where? Pay attention: If you’re not seeing the outside of each other’s apartment/house – ever – then things are only going to go as far as the sex stays interesting and good. But the sex will never be more than what it is until it becomes about more than just sex.

See how the running theme is just about sex? But here’s the kicker: if you give an inch, they will take the mile; and when things come to a messy end, their defense is that you knew from the beginning they didn’t want more than a casual fling/booty call, but you kept coming back.

What about monogamy? There is no expectation to commitment in a booty call (or FWB), so there isn’t an obligation to be faithful. The guy (or girl) you’re having sex with could have sex with someone else who could be having sex with someone else and so on. For as much as any guy has told me he is dead afraid of getting a sexually transmitted disease, not one has made the first move to use protection or ask about my sexual history. The only question I’ve been asked is if I’M on birth control. Babies aren’t an STD. Herpes and AIDS, though, that's real. 

Then there’s the reality check.

Someone is only using you for sex. And if you’re sticking around hoping for a relationship, 99 percent of the time, there’s no fairy tale ending. Feelings get hurt and one day that person is either going to get married or be in a relationship and you will wonder why it’s not with you, when you gave them everything.

It’s because you gave them everything … and expected nothing. So, you got nothing. You were a placeholder until they found someone who didn’t settle.  

That takes a toll on your self-esteem and what you think you’re worth, and could affect future relationships. 

Maybe I’m over-analyzing, but sex does lead to feelings (although, admittedly, one-sided), no matter how many rules are set to ensure a successful, emotionally detached, sexual relationship. I’m not saying people should keep their naughty bits under wraps until they are ready to commit or that sex can lead to love. However, let’s not kid ourselves about what we’re getting out of a selfish arrangement, and don’t get mad when it’s figured out to be very little.

No pun intended. 

A Tinder Moment

“I don’t go on many coffee dates, or any dates for that matter, but when I do, nine times out of ten, the conversation steers towards “I’m not really looking for a relationship but would you consider a booty call  friend with benefits deal.” To which I usually reply, ‘The only man who can legit ask that and get a ‘yes’ from me is going to be Gerard Butler.’”

So, there I was, sitting across from a Libra in a coffee shop in total, awkward silence. Even though we were meeting for the first time, we looked like a divorced couple meeting to discuss separation of property. All my efforts to engage him in conversation were thwarted by a scowl meant to dissuade me from making the meeting last longer than it took to finish our coffee. 

But small talk seemed to be okay and so we discussed things like the weather, his parents’ dating life and his CrossFit training – which is going really well, in case you were wondering.

Other than that, he made it very obvious that he wasn't interested.

If I had to be honest, I saw the first sign of disinterest the night before when, upon texting to confirm our plans, he only sent back a smiley face. Now, after a week of constant texting, and the experience of having entire relationships of communicating through text only (thank you technology), I knew receiving an emoji as a reply was not a good sign.

So, how did I get to my Tinder moment?

Well … We both swiped right.

 What does that even mean? Funny you should ask.

After I swore off all forms of online dating, and reaffirmed my vow to wait patiently for Gerard Butler to realize I exist and that we might be meant for each other, my girl friend introduced me to an app called Tinder. I wasn’t going to do it, but then I thought, why not? It couldn’t be worse than the time I tried OKCupid, Match and PoF – at the same time.

But what is Tinder?

If OKCupid and that “Hot or Not” television show had a baby, Tinder would be the illegitimate lovechild.

Tinder is a location-based, booty-call-app (which I thought was a dating app) that pulls info from your Facebook to create a limited ‘dating’ profile and hooks you up with people in your area. You flip through photos of singles (or people you hope are single), and if you think someone is hot, you swipe right; if not, you swipe left and you never see them again. If they swipe right, too, then it’s a match and you get to chat within the app and go from there.

Yes, it’s vain and shallow.

However, in a slightly less shallow move, I swiped right on a guy who most wouldn’t consider attractive, but we had sarcasm in common and he met my base criteria – he was over 30 years old. Turns out, he swiped right, too.

And that’s how I met the scowling Libra, a 42-ish, single dad whom, when I asked for another photo, did not presume to send a snapshot of his junk. #winning

We chatted through text for a few days, set a coffee date and he did not stand me up … unfortunately.

I should have known when he dismounted from his CrossFit sticker-covered, elevated Jeep Rubicon; his long, peppered hair flowing in the breeze; wearing a smedium CrossFit t-shirt; medium-length cargo shorts; flip-flops; a pookah shell necklace; and the disinterested “s’up” greeting with one-armed hug; that this was not going to be a match. But I’m always up for meeting new people and from our textversations, we seemed to have a lot in common.

Okay, so … we are both single parents, dig sarcasm and work out.

Apparently, he did not want to be friends.

I cut things off before our coffee had a chance to get cold and just in time to make it to open gym because I wasn’t sure I could listen to another story about how much he lifted this one time or how many times he PR’d Fran or why he only dates CrossFit chicks. While I wasn’t expecting much, the Libra’s self-absorbed attitude, plus the fact that he was at least five to six years older than the age listed on his profile, was a huge turn-off. He left without saying good-bye, speeding off in his Jeep Rubicon – the spokes-vehicle for tools everywhere.

(No disrespect to Jeep Rubicon owners, it has been my experience that men I meet who own one have turned out to be tools.)

A few days later, he sent a slightly accusatory text asking me what happened, as if it were my fault he wasted our time and expected an explanation. I knew this could only mean one of two things:

• His other prospects didn’t pan out.
• He text the wrong person.

 I didn’t reply back and shortly after, I deleted the app from my phone.

Online dating was supposed to be a way to expand the demographic of men I was already meeting to perhaps include something other than boy toys looking to get their MILF card punched and older men in the midst of various stages of a mid-life crisis trying to re-live their youth through younger women, alcohol and bad decisions. 

But I’m meeting the same guys online as I am offline.

The only difference is that online dating allows me to meet people from the comfort of my couch, in my pajamas, watching Netflix; which beats getting dolled up and shaved to go wading through a sweaty, cologne drenched sausage fest bar crawl on the off-chance someone will be more interesting than their dance moves, choice in wardrobe and pick-up lines.

I’m all about time management, just not time wasted. It’s almost too much work. Plus, it gets in the way of gym time.