The Gina Spot

The best gift I’ve ever given myself is the right to refuse.  Egregiously.

Sometime in my twenties, after becoming angry at myself for being a people-pleaser and finding myself spending time getting roped into doing things that I really didn’t want to do,  I made the decision that if I were asked to do something, I would do it only if I thought I wouldn’t complain about it.  If I believed I would be mad at myself later, I would say no.  Just no.  No explanation needed. No would be good enough.

It was absolutely the most liberating decision I’ve ever made, and I’ve never looked back.

This decision was born of frustration.  If you’re a person who always says yes, you become the go-to person.  I was tired of being the go-to person, and I didn’t have the time or resources to be the go-to person.  People will drain you dry if you allow it.  So I decided to shake things up one day and say no.  It was great!  By not doing whatever it was that someone else wanted of me, I had free time to spend doing exactly what I wanted to do!  It was so addictive that the word ‘no’ became prominent in my daily vocabulary.   It was my private joke, and as addictive as any drug.

I was saying no to others, but I was saying yes to myself.

The pitfall is that the habit of saying no frequently can lead to isolation and refusal to try new things.  When I look back, some of my best stories are from times where I probably should have said no, and would have said no by my current standards.    I have enough tales of my stupidity (that’s what teenage years are for), so I was willing to take that chance.

I was afraid that people would sense my change in willingness to bend over backwards and get mad at me for my newly adopted philosophy.  But, as my mother always said: “if they’re not paying any bills in your house, they have no right to get mad at you for your choices.”   I stuck to my decisions, and a few surprising changes ensued.

First, once people got wind of my new attitude toward nay-saying, there were certain requests that I no longer received.  They already knew the answer.  ”Can I borrow money?”  No.  ”Can I drive your car?”  No.  ”Can you co-sign a loan for me because I have bad credit?”  Umm . . . HELL no!  ”Can you babysit?”  Have you met me?  No.  ”Can you help me move?”  Love ya, but no.  (As an aside, I’m SO happy that people have stopped asking me to help them to move.  I’m not the best candidate.  I’m strong but I care more about preserving my manicure.  Oh, and for the record?  NOBODY wants to help you move.  They might agree to help, but they’re bitching about it with every over-packed box they lift.  At this stage of my life, beer and pizza aren’t enticing enough to cajole me into spending 6 hours doing manual labor.   Besides, I hate beer.  You’re an adult.  Throw some money at that problem.  Hire professional movers and preserve your friendships and your furniture.  But I digress . . . ).

Granted, most of my friends have never made any of those requests, but you get the point.

I noticed that a few of the needier people in my life disappeared altogether, which was ultimately fine.  Once I developed the reputation as a person who would say no, many of the odd requests stopped.

Next I noticed that when I said yes I was more enthusiastic because whatever I had agreed to was a choice that I actively made.  I was sincerely excited, which improved the quality of my experiences.  When I agree to be there for someone, they know that I really want to be there.

Now let me be clear . . . I don’t say no to everything.  Most of my friends are delightful and not imposing.  After serious consideration I do occasionally say yes to things that I perceive to be uncomfortable or things that I’m willing to try.   I continue to love to do favors for my friends, although I avoid those that will put me in a position of compromise and ones that could ultimately ruin the friendship.

Being in a relationship means a great deal of give and take, and therefore saying yes to a lot of things that I’m not always happy about and wouldn’t normally agree to, but that’s an entirely different topic.

I’m sharing this because there are a lot of people out there who are similar to the pre-no-me, and it’s amazing how a two-letter word can significantly reduce your use of four-letter words (although a well-placed f-bomb can also be quite liberating).

If you try it, please comment and let me know how it’s working for you.

You know what?  I’m going to stop apologizing for taking such long breaks from blogging, because it never seems to do any good.  I need to embrace the fact that I’m a sporadic blogger and stop trying to “do better,” because this is probably the best that I can do.  For now.

Everyone has a social media persona.  Some people find each detail of their lives worth mentioning.  Some people use it as a form of promotion.  As for me, it tends to be an outlet for my temper, thus the title of this blog.  If I’m really happy, living my life, I’m MIA on social media.

That said, I’ve been extremely busy lately, creating things by accident.  Story of my life.  The BF and I have a debate as to whether or not I could be considered a true creative.  He says yes, because he’s an extremely sweet glass-half-full, ever-encouraged optimist.  I, on the other hand, say no (because I tend more to the pragmatic side).

I argue that I know true creatives and I’m not fit to dine at that table.  My dad is a true creative.  My friends Jen and Stacey?  True creatives.  My cousin and favorite graphic designer, Connie, is a true creative.

I would say that I’m an accidental creative.  I do what I like, and sometimes those things end up being interesting and give the illusion of creativity.  I’ll take it.

Writing columns was born of a place of need.  I had thoughts that I needed to release, and stories that I needed to tell.  I needed to find a way to laugh at my own ridiculous love life.  The G-Spot was created, and I was fortunate enough to find people who would allow me to do it in a public forum.

And because I like to abandon all rules of journalism in my blog, I’ve provided you with a long (somewhat irrelevant) introduction and buried the lead, which is that I have another accidental endeavor that will be soon officially revealed.

If you’re fortunate enough to have escaped my endless chatter about this topic, I’m releasing a line of body products.  At this point, they only amount to two body balms and two body scrubs, and the company name is Naturals by Gina B.  I would tell you the individual names of the products, but I would have to kill you.  I truly mean that, because they’re trademark pending and took a LONG time for me to decide on.  I would literally kill for them.

There’s a story (because of COURSE there is).  Long story short, I was unhappy with my hair.  (If you know me personally, you will know that I’m ALWAYS unhappy with my hair)  I was displeased because my naturally curly/wavy hair had been heat damaged and I’ve been left with areas that are straight and others that have remained curly, somehow.  Not really high on the cuteness scale, and very distressing.  I didn’t love any of the products on the market (and I have an entire closet full of them to prove it).  So I decided that I was going to make a super-product myself that I would formulate specifically to address my issues and get my curls back.

Chemistry was one of my favorite subjects in high school — and in life, really.   So I got busy blending natural ingredients and came up with a usable conditioner.  I learned a harrowing lesson.  The trouble is that, once damaged, curly hair can’t be restored (it’s still a hot mess and I will ultimately have to cut it in stages).  However, I did really enjoy the residual effects that my concoction had on my skin.  So, I retooled the product, worked on texture, and lo and behold, I had body butter.

I instantly fell in love with my own product because it was made with my issues in mind and addressed all of my needs for moisturized, glowing skin.  I hate sticky products and watery lotions, and mine have none of those qualities.  I also detested lotions and oils that soiled my clothes, and my concoction dried quickly on the skin without staining my garments.  I could also use it on my face and it would eliminate the post-cleansing tightness without making me look like a walking oil slick.

I was lounging poolside in LA with a girlfriend.  She needed oil and I offered mine.  She wanted to know the brand, and I confessed that I had made it myself.  She enthusiastically told me that I should think about marketing and selling them.  I laughed and sipped my refreshing Chardonnay spritzer.  What a cute and funny idea.

Then, as I began letting others try my product, they agreed.  They say that it’s very emollient and works wonders on dry skin.  And when the BF became addicted to another product that I made — the body scrub — I gave it serious thought.  Love him, but he’s one of the most particular people I know.

So here we sit, nearly a year later.  I’ve done endless market research.  I’ve gotten deeper into the science of it — which has been SO much fun and rewarding.  I’ve picked out packaging and sourced materials.  I’ve turned my friends into my own personal guinea pigs and foisted samples upon unsuspecting strangers.  I’ve created a list of future releases and I haven’t been this excited and anxious about anything in years.  If ever.  Who knew?

I will be keeping everyone posted on the official date of release.  If you’re interested in trying a sample, let me know.  The problem is that I’m not mailing anything yet, so you’ll have to be local and see me in person.  If I don’t have any in my purse, the BF usually has a few tucked in his pockets.

I won’t harass anyone about trying my products.  I only ask that if you’re one who consumes such products, that you will give mine a shot.