My head is spinning.
On April 18, 2006 a little boy was born. He weighed 6lbs 13 oz and besides having a slight heart murmur he is fine. Both he and his mother are doing fine. The mother is 21 years old. A grown woman. Just not too bright. How could I say something so mean?
Well,
When this girl was 17 she ran away from home. Her mother and I searched high and low for her and after some very clever detective work we were able to locate her. She was in a questionable part of town in an apartment with three men. I knocked on the door and some thugged out looking dude came to the door. I said, “Send_______ to the door!" I’m 5’7” and at the time probably weighed a good 120 lbs … but I put a whole lot of bass in my voice and stuck my chest out and I acted like I wanted that mofo to say something to me. (It's okay if you're laughing at me). Thankfully, he didn’t want any trouble – because I don’t know what I would have done if he did.
She came to the door looking all kinds of pitiful and I told her to get her ish and get her behind in the car. She complied. I brought her home and her mother (of course) tried to talk to her and reason with her and wanted to understand her … blah blah blah … I would have just whooped that ass. But that’s just me.
During the years that followed I received many calls from the mother detailing the activities of her wayward daughter. Stealing money, credit cards, skipping school and just plain ole cuttin’ up. Somehow this child managed to graduate high school (barely) and gets accepted to college. She planned to attend a university that was in our state but about an hour away from her parents. Okay.
There was too much drama during her brief tenure at school for me to document here. Needless to say she was kicked out of school in the middle of her freshman year. And guess what else? She was pregnant when she left school. Very pregnant. Apparently, she was pregnant when she started school in the fall and never said a word. Her mother decided that it was in her daughter’s best interest to send her to a home for teenaged mothers and arrange for an adoption. In my opinion, I think this was against the daughter’s will – but what do I know?
To make an already long story short – the daughter had the baby, the baby-daddy’s mama got involved and convinced the girl that she would take care of the baby while she joined the military and begged her not to place the baby up for adoption. She listened to the grandmother and pulled out of the adoption. Now, the grandmother has full and complete custody of the little one and refuses to give the girl any visitation whatsoever.
Still with me?
The girl has been going through. Refusing to live with her mama. Deciding that she’s a lesbian. Moving from place to place without any direction at all. The mother talks to me about it sometimes because she is so distraught … but what does she want me say? The girl is grown. At some point in time we have to let go and let our kids make their mistakes.
Fast forward to the present.
Last week the mother called me and said that her child had a baby. My first reaction (because I had two cosmopolitans) was, “I thought she was off men!” Well, apparently she’s not off men. This baby-daddy is not in the picture and quite frankly I’m not sure she knows who the father is. Here’s the kicker: The girl didn’t tell her mama about the pregnancy or the baby until six weeks after he was born.
WTH?
This girl is smart. Book smart, that is. But she is sorely lacking in the common sense arena. Why do kids think that it’s okay to procreate when they don’t have any means to support themselves let alone another human being? Please don’t tell me, that things just happen. Please don’t say that. Because every time a woman lies down with a man she knows there is a possibility that she will get up with a baby … or worse. This shit doesn’t just happen.
What kills me is that this girl concealed her pregnancy from her parents and she went into labor and had her baby alone. She was all alone. Can you imagine that? I can’t. It breaks my heart that she somehow convinced herself that she’d be better off going through this thing all by herself than to reach out to her mother for help. I thank God that she chose to go to a hospital and have the baby because you hear so many stories of babies being found in dumpsters or left in bushes somewhere. She has a tough road ahead of her.
I said all this to ask the question: What can we do to help our kids feel more comfortable with talking to us? I would never forgive myself if my daughter went off and had a baby by herself because she felt like she couldn’t talk to me. She’s already extremely secretive (or at least she tries to be...I end up finding out everything) even though I tell her all the time that she can talk to me about anything.
What is meant to be will be
Does She Need Therapy or a Kick in the Butt?
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Blessed by chele at 2:08 PM
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My Eyes! My Eyes!
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
I wasn’t going to post anything today but it’s the first day back from a long weekend and I’m having trouble getting into the work that lies in front of me.
Besides, I saw something so disturbing this morning that I just had to share.
I’m driving down Lynnhaven Parkway minding my own business and I notice a man in my rear view mirror. He’s okay looking, I guess. He caught my attention because his little red Chevy had Connecticut tags – and that’s where I’m originally from. I also noticed him because when we reached the stop light he was staring at himself in his rear view mirror. I mean staring. He sat up in the seat and adjusted the mirror so he could see himself and not the folks behind him. When the light turned green he sat back and took a swig of Red Bull. We traveled for a little while longer than he took a sip of his coffee – I guess it was coffee – it was in one of those silver travel mugs. When we came to the next stop light he picked up a magazine and started reading. I wondered what he was reading because I clearly saw a big ass picture of Meryl Streep on the cover. It was a Parade Magazine. I think she’s promoting The Devil Wears Prada. Anyway, the light turns green, he puts the magazine down, swigs the Red Bull and sips the coffee. Typical ride to work, right? Then it happened. This nasty MF takes one hand off the steering wheel and puts the index finger of his left hand in his left nostril, digs around for a few seconds and then puts the same index finger in his mouth. He repeats this disgusting display with the right nostril. When we got to the next stop light he sits up and checks himself out in the mirror again and then puts on his shades. He took another swig of Red Bull and another sip of coffee. Thankfully, he put on his turn signal and turned left.
Man, I wish I hadn’t seen that.
Besides, I saw something so disturbing this morning that I just had to share.
I’m driving down Lynnhaven Parkway minding my own business and I notice a man in my rear view mirror. He’s okay looking, I guess. He caught my attention because his little red Chevy had Connecticut tags – and that’s where I’m originally from. I also noticed him because when we reached the stop light he was staring at himself in his rear view mirror. I mean staring. He sat up in the seat and adjusted the mirror so he could see himself and not the folks behind him. When the light turned green he sat back and took a swig of Red Bull. We traveled for a little while longer than he took a sip of his coffee – I guess it was coffee – it was in one of those silver travel mugs. When we came to the next stop light he picked up a magazine and started reading. I wondered what he was reading because I clearly saw a big ass picture of Meryl Streep on the cover. It was a Parade Magazine. I think she’s promoting The Devil Wears Prada. Anyway, the light turns green, he puts the magazine down, swigs the Red Bull and sips the coffee. Typical ride to work, right? Then it happened. This nasty MF takes one hand off the steering wheel and puts the index finger of his left hand in his left nostril, digs around for a few seconds and then puts the same index finger in his mouth. He repeats this disgusting display with the right nostril. When we got to the next stop light he sits up and checks himself out in the mirror again and then puts on his shades. He took another swig of Red Bull and another sip of coffee. Thankfully, he put on his turn signal and turned left.
Man, I wish I hadn’t seen that.
Blessed by chele at 9:08 AM | Permalink |
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Progress
Monday, May 29, 2006
Thanks for all the encouragement. I'm happy to announce that I'm actually making progress. During this long weekend I have managed to write two chapters, almost 3,600 words. Not alot but it is definitely a start. I promised my daughter that I would take her to the beach today so we're off to do that.
It's beautiful here and a perfect long weekend. Friday we went to see X3. Me and the kids really enjoyed it. My children and I have different movie-going styles. I prefer going to Sunday afternoon matinees at Greenbrier while the kids would rather go on opening night in Lynnhaven. I gave them this one. We planned to get some dinner first and then head on over to the theater. We decided to go to Uno's because it was right across the street from the theater. Now, in my son's infinite movie wisdom he calculated that we better be heading to the theater by 8:00 if we wanted to get a good seat. The movie started at 8:40. We went to Uno's at 7:00, waited 15 minutes for a table, ordered our food as soon as the waiter came to take our drink orders and waited another 15 minutes for the food to come out. When Josh, the waiter, brought the food and asked if we needed anything else, my son says, "Tell him to bring the check, Mom." You have never seen four people eat food so quickly as we did on Friday night. It was pure comedy. My son inhaled his burger. His friend Tim, picked at the fries and looked at the burger like it was poisonous. "Something wrong with your burger, Tim?" I asked. He said no. My son said, "You better hurry up, dude." My daughter was playing with her chicken fingers and my son reprimanded her. I was trying to eat my salad at a reasonable pace and I also got the evil eye. Needless to say, we finshed our meals in less than 12 minutes and were walking out the door toward the theater.
I bought the tickets during my lunch break on Friday afternoon so I knew we would have no problems getting in. But why did my nieces show up at 7:00 expecting to get into the same show as us? Too funny. To their shock and amazement all the shows were sold out up until 11:50 p.m. So, they planned to buy tickets to something else but than come in and watch X3. No such luck -- the ticket police were standing at the door of the theater checking everyone's tickets as they entered. Oh well. Just another night at the movies -- I still would have preferred the Sunday matinee.
I actually got up yesteray and did some weed wacking in my back yard. I wanted to spend some time back there but I felt as if the weeds would rise up and grab me ... that's how bad it was. So I wacked the hell out of them and sat out there for the better part of the morning.
Well, I just received the evil eye from my daughter so I guess I better get myself together for an afternoon at the beach.
Hope you enjoyed your holiday weekend.
It's beautiful here and a perfect long weekend. Friday we went to see X3. Me and the kids really enjoyed it. My children and I have different movie-going styles. I prefer going to Sunday afternoon matinees at Greenbrier while the kids would rather go on opening night in Lynnhaven. I gave them this one. We planned to get some dinner first and then head on over to the theater. We decided to go to Uno's because it was right across the street from the theater. Now, in my son's infinite movie wisdom he calculated that we better be heading to the theater by 8:00 if we wanted to get a good seat. The movie started at 8:40. We went to Uno's at 7:00, waited 15 minutes for a table, ordered our food as soon as the waiter came to take our drink orders and waited another 15 minutes for the food to come out. When Josh, the waiter, brought the food and asked if we needed anything else, my son says, "Tell him to bring the check, Mom." You have never seen four people eat food so quickly as we did on Friday night. It was pure comedy. My son inhaled his burger. His friend Tim, picked at the fries and looked at the burger like it was poisonous. "Something wrong with your burger, Tim?" I asked. He said no. My son said, "You better hurry up, dude." My daughter was playing with her chicken fingers and my son reprimanded her. I was trying to eat my salad at a reasonable pace and I also got the evil eye. Needless to say, we finshed our meals in less than 12 minutes and were walking out the door toward the theater.
I bought the tickets during my lunch break on Friday afternoon so I knew we would have no problems getting in. But why did my nieces show up at 7:00 expecting to get into the same show as us? Too funny. To their shock and amazement all the shows were sold out up until 11:50 p.m. So, they planned to buy tickets to something else but than come in and watch X3. No such luck -- the ticket police were standing at the door of the theater checking everyone's tickets as they entered. Oh well. Just another night at the movies -- I still would have preferred the Sunday matinee.
I actually got up yesteray and did some weed wacking in my back yard. I wanted to spend some time back there but I felt as if the weeds would rise up and grab me ... that's how bad it was. So I wacked the hell out of them and sat out there for the better part of the morning.
Well, I just received the evil eye from my daughter so I guess I better get myself together for an afternoon at the beach.
Hope you enjoyed your holiday weekend.
Blessed by chele at 9:25 AM | Permalink |
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Leave Lazy at the Door
Thursday, May 25, 2006
I feel like a slug. I’m restless and I’m frustrated and I fear I have fallen into the trap.
The blogging trap.
I could lie and say that I was using blogging to foster my creative juices and get me back into the swing of writing. But come on … I don’t even believe that crap.
I feel like I just exist when I actually want to live. I feel as though I’m just walking around in this body in a fog and not making any real contributions. I’m not doing anything creative right now and it’s killing me. The only writing I’m doing is here and although I love the outlet and the interaction … it’s just not creatively fulfilling.
I have an electric keyboard at the house which I received as a birthday present two years ago. My intention was to teach myself how to play. Day after day I look at that keyboard and I feel like it’s mocking me. Daring me to sit down and pluck out “What a Wonderful World” or at the very least the chords to “If I Ain’t Got You”. I make an excuse to myself and pick up the remote. And the keyboard wins again.
I suck.
I have no excuse other than being just plain old LAZY. I have another novel to write. I have my characters. I have the outline. On the way home from work yesterday, I actually spoke the first chapter into existence. What did I do when I got home? I made dinner, ate and fell asleep in front of the television. I’m so sick of myself.
I’m not going to make some empty proclamation about taking a blog break, because let’s face it: I’m addicted. But I know that I will not be able to shake this feeling and start feeling good about myself again until I get off my ass and DO SOMETHING. Write a friggin’, chapter! Hell, a paragraph!
JUST DO IT!!!!!
Blessed by chele at 10:46 AM | Permalink |
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Reunions
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
I’m preparing myself and my children to attend a family reunion in July. This will be the third reunion that I’ve attended in the last three years.
The first one was for my mother’s side of the family and we all traveled to Connecticut. My mom is an only child, my grandmother is deceased and she never met her father. There was one aunt and two uncles but they are also deceased. The reunion was a small gathering of all the cousins and their children. It was very subdued and nice. Everyone did a lot of reflecting, my sister made a family quilt which was just lovely. My mother’s side of the family consists of a long line of preachers (my great grandfather, my grandmother, my mother and one of her cousins) so there really wasn’t any cutting up. It was a good weekend with no drama.
The second reunion was for my father’s side of the family which was also in Connecticut. My father is one of 11 children and at the time they were all alive except for one. All the siblings and all the kids and grandkids showed up and my parents won a prize for having the most grandchildren – 15. My father’s family is interesting because they have the mindset that the siblings are the REAL members of the family and the spouses and the children are … well … not. It’s odd and almost offensive … but we’ve learned to accept it and keep it moving. At the banquet all the siblings were at a table together and all the spouses and children were seated on the outskirts. It wasn’t planned that way they just all gravitated toward each other. Early in my parent’s marriage, I remember one of my uncles called my mother out her name. She asked my father if he was going to do anything about it. You know what he said? “What do you want me to do? He’s my brother!” Yeah, that pretty much sucked. It was clear from that point on where she stood with him and the family. It pissed me off when she told me the story … but he’s my father. I’m not making excuses for him or his jacked up loyalties … but he’s my father.
Well, the reunion I’m going to in July is for my biological father’s family. The father that I refer to above is the man that raised me. I met my biological father one time when I was 19. He died about 12 years ago.
Shortly thereafter, his eldest daughter got in touch with me and asked if we could meet. She had lost her mother a few years prior and now her father was gone too and I guess she just wanted to get to know me. I’ve told this story before, but for those of you who don’t know here’s a recap.
Anyway, she and I now speak on a regular basis. I’ve also met my brother and two uncles over the phone. Well, one of the uncles came to my town last year and we got to talking, he read my book (which is a semi-autobiographical account of how I found out about them) and he invited me and my kids to come to the reunion.
I don’t know these people and as the day gets closer I’m feeling more apprehensive about the whole thing. I’m definitely going … I’ve already paid for the trip … but it’s going to be interesting. The conversations that I have with my brother are very warm and friendly and he says he can’t wait to meet me and I’m hoping that will be the general feeling from other members of the family. I mean, should I really expect a warm reception based on how I came to be part of the family? If people have a problem with it, hopefully they will have the decency to keep it to themselves. If not, I swear to God … Atlanta will never be the same.
The first one was for my mother’s side of the family and we all traveled to Connecticut. My mom is an only child, my grandmother is deceased and she never met her father. There was one aunt and two uncles but they are also deceased. The reunion was a small gathering of all the cousins and their children. It was very subdued and nice. Everyone did a lot of reflecting, my sister made a family quilt which was just lovely. My mother’s side of the family consists of a long line of preachers (my great grandfather, my grandmother, my mother and one of her cousins) so there really wasn’t any cutting up. It was a good weekend with no drama.
The second reunion was for my father’s side of the family which was also in Connecticut. My father is one of 11 children and at the time they were all alive except for one. All the siblings and all the kids and grandkids showed up and my parents won a prize for having the most grandchildren – 15. My father’s family is interesting because they have the mindset that the siblings are the REAL members of the family and the spouses and the children are … well … not. It’s odd and almost offensive … but we’ve learned to accept it and keep it moving. At the banquet all the siblings were at a table together and all the spouses and children were seated on the outskirts. It wasn’t planned that way they just all gravitated toward each other. Early in my parent’s marriage, I remember one of my uncles called my mother out her name. She asked my father if he was going to do anything about it. You know what he said? “What do you want me to do? He’s my brother!” Yeah, that pretty much sucked. It was clear from that point on where she stood with him and the family. It pissed me off when she told me the story … but he’s my father. I’m not making excuses for him or his jacked up loyalties … but he’s my father.
Well, the reunion I’m going to in July is for my biological father’s family. The father that I refer to above is the man that raised me. I met my biological father one time when I was 19. He died about 12 years ago.
Shortly thereafter, his eldest daughter got in touch with me and asked if we could meet. She had lost her mother a few years prior and now her father was gone too and I guess she just wanted to get to know me. I’ve told this story before, but for those of you who don’t know here’s a recap.
Anyway, she and I now speak on a regular basis. I’ve also met my brother and two uncles over the phone. Well, one of the uncles came to my town last year and we got to talking, he read my book (which is a semi-autobiographical account of how I found out about them) and he invited me and my kids to come to the reunion.
I don’t know these people and as the day gets closer I’m feeling more apprehensive about the whole thing. I’m definitely going … I’ve already paid for the trip … but it’s going to be interesting. The conversations that I have with my brother are very warm and friendly and he says he can’t wait to meet me and I’m hoping that will be the general feeling from other members of the family. I mean, should I really expect a warm reception based on how I came to be part of the family? If people have a problem with it, hopefully they will have the decency to keep it to themselves. If not, I swear to God … Atlanta will never be the same.
Blessed by chele at 10:26 AM | Permalink |
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Intimidated?
Monday, May 22, 2006
“He’s just intimidated by strong, successful women.”
What woman in hell first decided to make this statement and publish it in women’s magazines and repeat it on women’s talk shows? It is probably one of the most overused, inaccurate sentences of our time.
Unfortunately, I was guilty of making this statement whenever a pseudo-relationship went awry. And what was even more unfortunate was that my girls would hop on board and agree with me.
“You right, girl!”
“You were just too much for him!”
At one point in time I may have actually believed that but now I think I know better. I believe that I, and many other women, used this as an excuse to make myself feel better instead of admitting that the relationship ended because of some failure on my part. God forbid!
The truth is I can be intimidating … but I have never been with a man that couldn’t hold his own up against me. But maybe, just maybe “holding his own” just got tiring and it was time to go. I’ll admit that I have the ability to wear a brotha out … and NOT in a good way.
Let’s use my second husband as an example. When we met he was 20 and I was 28. He fell quickly and he fell hard. Five months after we met I was wearing an engagement ring. He always told me that he admired my independence and loved how I was able to handle my business. I never had to ask him for a thing – ever. I think he had a “mama” complex. Anyway …
Once we got married and we settled into the business of being man and wife things began to change. He was gone all the time because of his military job and I was left to handle the household all alone – which was no big deal for me – that’s what I had always done. But when he would come home I wouldn’t let him be the head of the household. I couldn’t relinquish certain household responsibilities and I guess he felt left out. He didn’t feel like I needed him. It all went downhill from there.
The irony of the situation is that I desperately wanted him to be the man of the house but resented the hell out of him because he couldn’t be (because I wouldn’t let him). It was nuts. I wanted him to step up and take over the bank accounts, the bill paying, etc. but it just never happened.
Now? Well, my current beau says I’m as intimidating as a Hello Kitty Purse. He also, appreciates the fact that I’ve never asked him for money to get my hair done or for the light bill. But at the same time, if he’s at my house and notices that my garage door is sticking, he’ll get on the phone and get a repairman over to my house pronto. I like that. He’s cut down trees in my yard. He replaced my refrigerator and my PC. All without me asking … just stuff that he noticed that needed to be done and he took care of it. (Sidebar: That’s kind of off topic but I thought I’d give B a shout out.)
So, are men really intimidated by strong women? Honestly? I don’t think so. I think they just get tired of having to compete with their women. Men shouldn’t have to prove to their women that they are more of a man than she is. That’s sounds weird, I know. But whether you like it or not men have roles and women have roles. Now, because of certain circumstances women have been forced to take on more of the roles that traditionally have been assigned to men. I pay all my bills, I take out my garbage, I take my car in for servicing, I talk to my son about sex … it’s all on me. So, when a man comes into my life and wants to “take care” of me my natural instinct is to let him know that “I don’t need no man to take care of me!” Well, guess what … most men will take that as a cue and go on to the next woman. I think most men want to take care of their women. I know my husband wanted to take care of me. I wouldn’t let him and finally he wandered off. Not because he was intimidated but because he needed to be in a place where he could be the man. The only man. After we divorced he actually told me that sometimes he felt like my dick was bigger than his. Nice D, real nice.
I’m working on it. The key, for me, is to work on it without surrendering who I am. I’m no shrinking violet. I can’t be quiet if something is really bothering me and I’ll challenge you if I think you are doing wrong. But – everything doesn’t have to be a fight. I have to get better at choosing my battles. I allow B to do his thing. He picks up the check, he opens doors for me – I even let him order for me in restaurants. These are small things but he feels like it’s his responsibility and I don’t want to take that away from him.
What woman in hell first decided to make this statement and publish it in women’s magazines and repeat it on women’s talk shows? It is probably one of the most overused, inaccurate sentences of our time.
Unfortunately, I was guilty of making this statement whenever a pseudo-relationship went awry. And what was even more unfortunate was that my girls would hop on board and agree with me.
“You right, girl!”
“You were just too much for him!”
At one point in time I may have actually believed that but now I think I know better. I believe that I, and many other women, used this as an excuse to make myself feel better instead of admitting that the relationship ended because of some failure on my part. God forbid!
The truth is I can be intimidating … but I have never been with a man that couldn’t hold his own up against me. But maybe, just maybe “holding his own” just got tiring and it was time to go. I’ll admit that I have the ability to wear a brotha out … and NOT in a good way.
Let’s use my second husband as an example. When we met he was 20 and I was 28. He fell quickly and he fell hard. Five months after we met I was wearing an engagement ring. He always told me that he admired my independence and loved how I was able to handle my business. I never had to ask him for a thing – ever. I think he had a “mama” complex. Anyway …
Once we got married and we settled into the business of being man and wife things began to change. He was gone all the time because of his military job and I was left to handle the household all alone – which was no big deal for me – that’s what I had always done. But when he would come home I wouldn’t let him be the head of the household. I couldn’t relinquish certain household responsibilities and I guess he felt left out. He didn’t feel like I needed him. It all went downhill from there.
The irony of the situation is that I desperately wanted him to be the man of the house but resented the hell out of him because he couldn’t be (because I wouldn’t let him). It was nuts. I wanted him to step up and take over the bank accounts, the bill paying, etc. but it just never happened.
Now? Well, my current beau says I’m as intimidating as a Hello Kitty Purse. He also, appreciates the fact that I’ve never asked him for money to get my hair done or for the light bill. But at the same time, if he’s at my house and notices that my garage door is sticking, he’ll get on the phone and get a repairman over to my house pronto. I like that. He’s cut down trees in my yard. He replaced my refrigerator and my PC. All without me asking … just stuff that he noticed that needed to be done and he took care of it. (Sidebar: That’s kind of off topic but I thought I’d give B a shout out.)
So, are men really intimidated by strong women? Honestly? I don’t think so. I think they just get tired of having to compete with their women. Men shouldn’t have to prove to their women that they are more of a man than she is. That’s sounds weird, I know. But whether you like it or not men have roles and women have roles. Now, because of certain circumstances women have been forced to take on more of the roles that traditionally have been assigned to men. I pay all my bills, I take out my garbage, I take my car in for servicing, I talk to my son about sex … it’s all on me. So, when a man comes into my life and wants to “take care” of me my natural instinct is to let him know that “I don’t need no man to take care of me!” Well, guess what … most men will take that as a cue and go on to the next woman. I think most men want to take care of their women. I know my husband wanted to take care of me. I wouldn’t let him and finally he wandered off. Not because he was intimidated but because he needed to be in a place where he could be the man. The only man. After we divorced he actually told me that sometimes he felt like my dick was bigger than his. Nice D, real nice.
I’m working on it. The key, for me, is to work on it without surrendering who I am. I’m no shrinking violet. I can’t be quiet if something is really bothering me and I’ll challenge you if I think you are doing wrong. But – everything doesn’t have to be a fight. I have to get better at choosing my battles. I allow B to do his thing. He picks up the check, he opens doors for me – I even let him order for me in restaurants. These are small things but he feels like it’s his responsibility and I don’t want to take that away from him.
Blessed by chele at 9:32 AM | Permalink |
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Random White Dudes
Friday, May 19, 2006
I love white people. My best friend is white ... seriously. But sometimes they are just an interesting group of folk ...
When I was on the plane leaving San Antonio yesterday, why did I see this random white dude with cornrows in his hair – complete with beads? Of course he needed the beads because his thin hair wasn’t going to stay braided without help. And why, when he opened his mouth was every other word “man”? Why would anyone want to imitate Ke.vi.n Fe.de.rl.in.e?
So, I’m in Wa.lM.a.rt getting my son this movie (don’t ask why he wants it) and I’m browsing through the DVD titles. This random white dude is standing next to me and says, “Aren’t these supposed to be in alphabetical order?” I nodded. Then he says, “I guess these Spanish guys don’t understand alphabetical order.” He kind of giggled and I looked at him like he was crazy. Then he said, “Oh, I guess I should have said Mexican.” Some people are so free with their racism … and when did Black people get included in on the joke. Is Mexican the new Black?
I shared a cab with three random white dudes on my trip and they were having an interesting conversation. Not really interesting, just interesting that they were having it in front of me. And they weren't really random because I knew them. They were discussing penis size. I didn’t know dudes talked about that kind of thing. I guess I should mention that they had a few beers in them. Anyway, one of the white dudes said “It doesn’t matter how big your package is if you know how to work the tongue. Get her going with that and she could care less if you’ve got four inches or eight inches.” So I said, “Well, some women see that (oral) as the appetizer and are actually waiting for the main course.” He said, “Well, if she’s waiting to get the main course from me, she’s going to be disappointed.” Okay.
Other topics ...
My baby girl:
When will my daughter learn to respect other people’s property? I don’t know but if she doesn’t find my diamond and platinum cross that she borrowed without permission and subsequently lost while I was out of town there is going to be hell to pay.
And reading:
Okay, I love Toni Morrison …really I do. But I have such a hard time reading her sometimes. I’m no dummy and I appreciate good literature. But unless I can read her stuff out loud, I have to read the same paragraphs over at least three times. I just finished “Love” and when I closed the book I had to ask myself, “What the hell?” She is a beautiful story teller and her command of the English language is just incredible but it is just so much work. I feel awful about this I really do. It took me several weeks to finish this book and it was only 224 pages. Conversely, I also read “Sula” which I finished during a plane ride to Atlanta a few years ago. I don’t know. Perhaps I was bombarded with too many distractions while reading “Love”. I’m going to have to go back and read the last chapter again because I don’t know what the heck happened. 
Enjoy the weekend!
When I was on the plane leaving San Antonio yesterday, why did I see this random white dude with cornrows in his hair – complete with beads? Of course he needed the beads because his thin hair wasn’t going to stay braided without help. And why, when he opened his mouth was every other word “man”? Why would anyone want to imitate Ke.vi.n Fe.de.rl.in.e?
So, I’m in Wa.lM.a.rt getting my son this movie (don’t ask why he wants it) and I’m browsing through the DVD titles. This random white dude is standing next to me and says, “Aren’t these supposed to be in alphabetical order?” I nodded. Then he says, “I guess these Spanish guys don’t understand alphabetical order.” He kind of giggled and I looked at him like he was crazy. Then he said, “Oh, I guess I should have said Mexican.” Some people are so free with their racism … and when did Black people get included in on the joke. Is Mexican the new Black?
I shared a cab with three random white dudes on my trip and they were having an interesting conversation. Not really interesting, just interesting that they were having it in front of me. And they weren't really random because I knew them. They were discussing penis size. I didn’t know dudes talked about that kind of thing. I guess I should mention that they had a few beers in them. Anyway, one of the white dudes said “It doesn’t matter how big your package is if you know how to work the tongue. Get her going with that and she could care less if you’ve got four inches or eight inches.” So I said, “Well, some women see that (oral) as the appetizer and are actually waiting for the main course.” He said, “Well, if she’s waiting to get the main course from me, she’s going to be disappointed.” Okay.
Other topics ...
My baby girl:
When will my daughter learn to respect other people’s property? I don’t know but if she doesn’t find my diamond and platinum cross that she borrowed without permission and subsequently lost while I was out of town there is going to be hell to pay.And reading:
Okay, I love Toni Morrison …really I do. But I have such a hard time reading her sometimes. I’m no dummy and I appreciate good literature. But unless I can read her stuff out loud, I have to read the same paragraphs over at least three times. I just finished “Love” and when I closed the book I had to ask myself, “What the hell?” She is a beautiful story teller and her command of the English language is just incredible but it is just so much work. I feel awful about this I really do. It took me several weeks to finish this book and it was only 224 pages. Conversely, I also read “Sula” which I finished during a plane ride to Atlanta a few years ago. I don’t know. Perhaps I was bombarded with too many distractions while reading “Love”. I’m going to have to go back and read the last chapter again because I don’t know what the heck happened. 
Enjoy the weekend!
Blessed by chele at 3:53 PM | Permalink |
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Chele's Travels
Thursday, May 18, 2006
I am not a fan of business travel. Or any kind of travel for that matter. I like being at other places I just don't like the process of getting there.
I spent the last three days in San Antonio for a conference. I loved the city. I even got to attend Game5 of the playoffs between the Spurs and the Mavericks. Go Spurs Go! We had great seats and the Spurs fans are wild.
It's almost midnight and I still have to unpack and get ready for work tomorrow. So I'll do a real post then. Just wantd to let ya'll know that I was back.
I spent the last three days in San Antonio for a conference. I loved the city. I even got to attend Game5 of the playoffs between the Spurs and the Mavericks. Go Spurs Go! We had great seats and the Spurs fans are wild.
It's almost midnight and I still have to unpack and get ready for work tomorrow. So I'll do a real post then. Just wantd to let ya'll know that I was back.
Blessed by chele at 11:47 PM | Permalink |
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Mother’s Day With the Dysfunctionals
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers!
As we all know this is the day that we set aside to celebrate our mothers. We get them gifts, send them cards, take them to dinner or to church. It’s a great love day. I remember when I was a kid we would make homemade cards and gifts and giggle happily when Mom opened them. She would always smile appropriately and say thank you. Those were the days.
Now that I am a mother this day is always very interesting for me. My kids see all the commercials advertising jewelry and other expensive things and they walk by me and say, “If I could afford it, I get you that Mom.” Whatever. They are at the ages where they would much rather buy something than make something. They have no idea how I treasured those homemade cards and gifts. I still have every single one. I have a statue of a woman made of different colored wire and stapled to a wooden block. On the block the words “Best Mom Ever” are scrawled in black magic marker. It is displayed in my bedroom and it’s probably the best Mother’s Day gift that I have received to date.
I was looking forward to spending a very quiet day with the kids. I don’t require a lot of hoopla and I would prefer to just chill. However, B had something else in store. He decided to take his mother out for brunch today. I thought that was very thoughtful of him until he invited me and my children to join them. “Why don’t you just spend some time with your mom?” I asked. “Because I want to spend time with you too,” he responded. Now, don’t get me wrong – I really appreciated the invitation and if it were to be just B and his mom then I wouldn’t have been so hesitant. But in addition to B’s mom was B’s brother and sister.
To say that it’s difficult to be in their presence would be an understatement. To say that they are dysfunctional would also be an understatement. Everyone in their family has some level of OCD. All of them. His brother has it the worst and he is on medication. B has a touch and his sister has a touch. The mother … she’s just old … as sweet as she can be … but she’s old.
Being with them is pure comedy. Now, before we left, my son told me that he wanted to pay for me. I thought that was sweet so I made sure to tell B ahead of time. Okay, so we’re all there making pleasant conversation. I’m noticing that every time B gets up for any reason his brother asks “Where’d B go?” over and over again until he returned to the table. It was a beautiful buffet and B’s mother told my kids that they could go up as many times as they want. She told them that about five times. During the meal my ex-husband called to wish me a Happy Mother’s Day. Why did he have to do that? B starts bugging out and making remarks like, “Why is he calling you? Are you guys on good terms? When did that happen?” I got fed up and said, “Look, I’m his daughter’s mother … he should be calling me today!” Seriously though, I’m one of three baby mamas that I’m sure he had to call today – it wasn’t an issue.
The part of the meal that I hated the most was when the check came. B invited his family out to brunch and in his mind it was understood that he would be taking care of the bill. Why does everyone start reaching for their wallets and throwing money on the table? I hate that! When you come out to eat with me DO NOT fight over the check. It is not that serious. When I’m out with friends I will always expect to pay my own way but if you open your mouth and say, “I got it”, trust me, I will let you get it. Don’t say it expecting me to insist. I won’t do it. These people are throwing money at B and he’s throwing it back and they’re throwing it back at him … it was crazy. Finally, he allowed them to leave the tip. Then, he almost didn’t let my son pay for me … that bothered me because it meant a lot to my child to be able to do something for me on Mother’s Day and I wasn’t going to let him take that away from him.
I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Once we left I got in my car and drove home. I got in my bed and watched movies all afternoon. Which is how I wanted to spend my Mother’s Day anyway.
As we all know this is the day that we set aside to celebrate our mothers. We get them gifts, send them cards, take them to dinner or to church. It’s a great love day. I remember when I was a kid we would make homemade cards and gifts and giggle happily when Mom opened them. She would always smile appropriately and say thank you. Those were the days.
Now that I am a mother this day is always very interesting for me. My kids see all the commercials advertising jewelry and other expensive things and they walk by me and say, “If I could afford it, I get you that Mom.” Whatever. They are at the ages where they would much rather buy something than make something. They have no idea how I treasured those homemade cards and gifts. I still have every single one. I have a statue of a woman made of different colored wire and stapled to a wooden block. On the block the words “Best Mom Ever” are scrawled in black magic marker. It is displayed in my bedroom and it’s probably the best Mother’s Day gift that I have received to date.
I was looking forward to spending a very quiet day with the kids. I don’t require a lot of hoopla and I would prefer to just chill. However, B had something else in store. He decided to take his mother out for brunch today. I thought that was very thoughtful of him until he invited me and my children to join them. “Why don’t you just spend some time with your mom?” I asked. “Because I want to spend time with you too,” he responded. Now, don’t get me wrong – I really appreciated the invitation and if it were to be just B and his mom then I wouldn’t have been so hesitant. But in addition to B’s mom was B’s brother and sister.
To say that it’s difficult to be in their presence would be an understatement. To say that they are dysfunctional would also be an understatement. Everyone in their family has some level of OCD. All of them. His brother has it the worst and he is on medication. B has a touch and his sister has a touch. The mother … she’s just old … as sweet as she can be … but she’s old.
Being with them is pure comedy. Now, before we left, my son told me that he wanted to pay for me. I thought that was sweet so I made sure to tell B ahead of time. Okay, so we’re all there making pleasant conversation. I’m noticing that every time B gets up for any reason his brother asks “Where’d B go?” over and over again until he returned to the table. It was a beautiful buffet and B’s mother told my kids that they could go up as many times as they want. She told them that about five times. During the meal my ex-husband called to wish me a Happy Mother’s Day. Why did he have to do that? B starts bugging out and making remarks like, “Why is he calling you? Are you guys on good terms? When did that happen?” I got fed up and said, “Look, I’m his daughter’s mother … he should be calling me today!” Seriously though, I’m one of three baby mamas that I’m sure he had to call today – it wasn’t an issue.
The part of the meal that I hated the most was when the check came. B invited his family out to brunch and in his mind it was understood that he would be taking care of the bill. Why does everyone start reaching for their wallets and throwing money on the table? I hate that! When you come out to eat with me DO NOT fight over the check. It is not that serious. When I’m out with friends I will always expect to pay my own way but if you open your mouth and say, “I got it”, trust me, I will let you get it. Don’t say it expecting me to insist. I won’t do it. These people are throwing money at B and he’s throwing it back and they’re throwing it back at him … it was crazy. Finally, he allowed them to leave the tip. Then, he almost didn’t let my son pay for me … that bothered me because it meant a lot to my child to be able to do something for me on Mother’s Day and I wasn’t going to let him take that away from him.
I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Once we left I got in my car and drove home. I got in my bed and watched movies all afternoon. Which is how I wanted to spend my Mother’s Day anyway.
Blessed by chele at 7:30 PM | Permalink |
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This Belongs To ME!
Friday, May 12, 2006
I’ve been blogging for almost a year now. My blog-o-versary is about a month away. Someone once asked me if I had any plans to do anything with my blog.
Do anything with my blog? I never really thought about it.
I started this thing because I wanted an outlet. I had some stuff to say to no one in particular but if I didn’t get it out I would explode. After eleven and a half months it has turned into what you’re reading now. In the beginning I felt extremely comfortable writing whatever was on my mind because no one was reading. Or so I thought. I quickly learned that just because folks aren’t commenting that doesn’t mean they aren’t reading. Thanks sitemeter.
So I became a little more cautious.
Then I started reading other people’s stories of how their loved ones read their blogs and got royally pissed, hurt, offended by what they read. In many cases, people have deleted their entire blogs! I can only imagine the conversations that preceded the eventual clicking of the “Delete This Blog” button.
I cannot imagine deleting my blog. In my mind, my thoughts, my words, my feelings are too damned valuable and I would feel such a sense of loss if I were to delete a years worth of them. That’s probably why I still own every journal that I’ve ever written in since the age of 15.
But at the same time, I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings and I’m hoping that the way I choose to express myself isn’t offensive to those that I love. So I choose not to share this blog with them. Unfortunately, I have found out that it wouldn’t be too hard for someone to find it if they chose to look.
I remember when my beloved found a poem that I published on this site and became enraged. The piece was called “Sticky”. I thought it was suggestive in an abstract sort of way. He thought it was okay for me to behave a certain way with him behind closed doors …but I better not be writing about it. We had a huge fight. I couldn’t apologize for the way I chose to express myself. I just couldn’t. I’m sorry that he was offended but is that really my issue? Is it?
So am I supposed to sensor myself on my own blog in order to spare people’s feelings? That just doesn’t sit well with me.
Do anything with my blog? I never really thought about it.
I started this thing because I wanted an outlet. I had some stuff to say to no one in particular but if I didn’t get it out I would explode. After eleven and a half months it has turned into what you’re reading now. In the beginning I felt extremely comfortable writing whatever was on my mind because no one was reading. Or so I thought. I quickly learned that just because folks aren’t commenting that doesn’t mean they aren’t reading. Thanks sitemeter.
So I became a little more cautious.
Then I started reading other people’s stories of how their loved ones read their blogs and got royally pissed, hurt, offended by what they read. In many cases, people have deleted their entire blogs! I can only imagine the conversations that preceded the eventual clicking of the “Delete This Blog” button.
I cannot imagine deleting my blog. In my mind, my thoughts, my words, my feelings are too damned valuable and I would feel such a sense of loss if I were to delete a years worth of them. That’s probably why I still own every journal that I’ve ever written in since the age of 15.
But at the same time, I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings and I’m hoping that the way I choose to express myself isn’t offensive to those that I love. So I choose not to share this blog with them. Unfortunately, I have found out that it wouldn’t be too hard for someone to find it if they chose to look.
I remember when my beloved found a poem that I published on this site and became enraged. The piece was called “Sticky”. I thought it was suggestive in an abstract sort of way. He thought it was okay for me to behave a certain way with him behind closed doors …but I better not be writing about it. We had a huge fight. I couldn’t apologize for the way I chose to express myself. I just couldn’t. I’m sorry that he was offended but is that really my issue? Is it?
So am I supposed to sensor myself on my own blog in order to spare people’s feelings? That just doesn’t sit well with me.
Blessed by chele at 3:41 PM | Permalink |
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Girl Talk
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Fellas, you may want to skip this one.
So, this morning I trek on over to this place because they are gearing up to do a study on P.M.D.D which is short for premenstrual dysphoric disorder. Today was the orientation and I went because ironically, after my meltdown I heard something on the radio about the symptoms and a phone number was given in case I wanted more information. I called the number and that was how I ended up at the clinic.
Today’s meeting was designed to familiarize us with the clinic, sign consent forms and get an overview of what the study would entail. The doctor came in and spoke to the small group of four women (two Black and two white) and jetted after a few minutes. The nurse took over the meeting and began to go into a little more detail. She mentioned that over the first two months we would be responsible for keeping a diary of our symptoms that we would turn in to them and they would determine our eligibility for the study. Our visits would be scheduled around our periods, so if our cycles weren’t regular than that could pose a problem. My ears perked up at this point … sometimes I get two periods in a month (every 17 days) and sometimes I skip an entire month (like last month). Before I turned 40 my period came like clockwork … every 24 days … now I don’t know when that bitch is going to show up. I discussed this with the nurse and she suggested that this may not be the study for me. For real, I ain’t looking for a study … I’m looking for relief. You’d think the nurse would have given me some suggestions … but no. Oh well, I’m trying the St. John’s Wort this month and we’ll see what happens.
****
Has a guy ever told you that he needed some space? Have you ever told a guy that you need some space? Well, have you ever told a guy that you think HE needs some damn space?
****
Will someone please try to explain the chemical reaction that takes place when we are in the presence of certain men. This is a fascinating topic to me. Why are we attracted to who we are attracted to? I mean, I look back on my history with men and from a physical standpoint these men couldn’t be more different. I’m trying to find a common thread and I can’t. My 1st husband was a big 6’4” Hispanic dude that was four years older than me. My 2nd husband was 5’10” and the color of deep, dark chocolate and he was eight years younger than me. And B (my current) is completely different from both of them. What is it? There is a guy that I see often that looks like Jo.hn Trav.olta and every time I see him my heart rate speeds up! WTF? (Sidebar: In case you’re wondering … I’m a little horny. That’s how my stupid cycle works. I have one week of crazy, one week for my period, one week of horny and one week of normal). I know what attracts me beyond the physical, i.e., love for books, music, articulate, honesty – yada, yada, yada but when it comes to the physical my tastes are varied. I have a girlfriend who only dates Puerto Rican men. My younger brother only dates white women. I know a girl who told me that she thought Ty.ler Pe.rry was soooo fine and she wanted to have his babies. My reaction? You can’t be serious. He’s a cool brotha but I ain’t trying to get with him, you know?
So, this morning I trek on over to this place because they are gearing up to do a study on P.M.D.D which is short for premenstrual dysphoric disorder. Today was the orientation and I went because ironically, after my meltdown I heard something on the radio about the symptoms and a phone number was given in case I wanted more information. I called the number and that was how I ended up at the clinic.
Today’s meeting was designed to familiarize us with the clinic, sign consent forms and get an overview of what the study would entail. The doctor came in and spoke to the small group of four women (two Black and two white) and jetted after a few minutes. The nurse took over the meeting and began to go into a little more detail. She mentioned that over the first two months we would be responsible for keeping a diary of our symptoms that we would turn in to them and they would determine our eligibility for the study. Our visits would be scheduled around our periods, so if our cycles weren’t regular than that could pose a problem. My ears perked up at this point … sometimes I get two periods in a month (every 17 days) and sometimes I skip an entire month (like last month). Before I turned 40 my period came like clockwork … every 24 days … now I don’t know when that bitch is going to show up. I discussed this with the nurse and she suggested that this may not be the study for me. For real, I ain’t looking for a study … I’m looking for relief. You’d think the nurse would have given me some suggestions … but no. Oh well, I’m trying the St. John’s Wort this month and we’ll see what happens.
****
Has a guy ever told you that he needed some space? Have you ever told a guy that you need some space? Well, have you ever told a guy that you think HE needs some damn space?
****
Will someone please try to explain the chemical reaction that takes place when we are in the presence of certain men. This is a fascinating topic to me. Why are we attracted to who we are attracted to? I mean, I look back on my history with men and from a physical standpoint these men couldn’t be more different. I’m trying to find a common thread and I can’t. My 1st husband was a big 6’4” Hispanic dude that was four years older than me. My 2nd husband was 5’10” and the color of deep, dark chocolate and he was eight years younger than me. And B (my current) is completely different from both of them. What is it? There is a guy that I see often that looks like Jo.hn Trav.olta and every time I see him my heart rate speeds up! WTF? (Sidebar: In case you’re wondering … I’m a little horny. That’s how my stupid cycle works. I have one week of crazy, one week for my period, one week of horny and one week of normal). I know what attracts me beyond the physical, i.e., love for books, music, articulate, honesty – yada, yada, yada but when it comes to the physical my tastes are varied. I have a girlfriend who only dates Puerto Rican men. My younger brother only dates white women. I know a girl who told me that she thought Ty.ler Pe.rry was soooo fine and she wanted to have his babies. My reaction? You can’t be serious. He’s a cool brotha but I ain’t trying to get with him, you know?
****
It's okay to get yourself a gift for Mother's Day.
****
I know I'm all over the place ... but it's difficult to focuse because of the above mentioned sidebar.
Later ya'll!
Blessed by chele at 1:42 PM | Permalink |
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It's a Smorgasbord
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Okay, Nikki, writer extraordinaire, has decided to tag me AGAIN. If you haven’t checked her out yet … shame on you! Do yourself a favor and trot on over to her spot and see how the ladies from the ATL put it down.
But first, I have to tell you what I’m excited about today: Carol’s Daughter. Oh…my…God! I absolutely love this line of skin care and hair products. The company is Black owned and is based in New York. I received a box in the mail yesterday filled with goodies that just make me feel sooooooo good. Seriously, I smell so good today I just can’t stand it! I ordered the Ultimate Ecstasy Gift Set and I’m telling you this stuff is awesome. My skin feels all smooth and silky – not greasy. The packaging is beautiful and the customer service is top notch. And the shipping was free! Check it out if you can.
Now … onto the tag
YOUR FIRST YEAR OF COLLEGE......What do ya'll remember?
School: Northeastern University, Boston, MA
Where did you live? Spear Hall
Who was your roommate? At first I lived with snooty Janeen from Cherry Hill, NJ. She was one fake heffa. She acted all prim and proper and then locked me out of the room so she could have sex with some local. Then I moved in with Connie – the first white chick I ever saw who got her hair relaxed.
Do you still talk to her? No.
Ever get in trouble in the dorm? In the dorm? Never.
Something you remember about when you first lived on campus? No rules to speak of. Coming from a strict household, having no rules was very overwhelming for me. I had no self-discipline at all. I also remember the upperclassmen hanging around the freshman dorms like sharks waiting to pounce.
Your campus phone number or other number: I have no idea
First party attended? The first night we arrived we left the campus to go to some frat party. We hooked up with some guys, never made it to the party, and stumbled back to the dorm the next morning.
First Bar you got wasted at? I was too young to get into bars. We got wasted in the dorms.
Favorite Pizza Place? Some joint on Huntington Avenue
Favorite place to go out to eat? Hello? College students didn’t have any money to go out and eat. We were lucky to have spaghettios in a hot pot.
Did you go to the library? sometimes
What was your Favorite Floor you'd always be on? The first … the guy's floor. Enough said.
Club, Athletics, Frat or Sororities, you joined? I was an Iota Sweetheart--an auxilary organization of Iota Phi Theta Fraternity, Inc.
Where did you buy your books? Uh, the bookstore.
Who made the best wings? No clue.
Ever attend a sporting event? I went to a few basketball games and one football game.
Ever attend a concert or comedic performance? no
Have you ever spent the night on campus not in your dorm hall? Uh, yeah.
Favorite night to go out on, and where did you go? I really don’t remember
Where did you get coffee? I wasn’t drinking coffee then
Favorite part of Halloween? What?
Go see a play or been in one? Not in college.
Did you ever have a job at school? Freshman year? No.
What do you hate about your college? A lot of stuff.
What did you love most about it? Black studies.
Ever leave to go on a road trip, where? Yes. New Haven (to see my sister) and Amherst College (to see the boys).
Where would you believe is the best location to live in? I don’t know.
Graduated or still attending? I did not graduate and I am not still attending.
Will you go back? Nope.
How many parking tickets have you gotten there? None.
Finally, ever gotten arrested? Nope.
_________________________________
"4 THINGS"
4 nicknames I've been given: headlights (I used to have bigger boobs), Q, Gargamel, Olive Oil (I used to be skinnier)
4 movies I would watch over and over: Love Jones, Terms of Endearment, Brown Sugar, Imitation of Life
4 jobs that I have had in my life: chamber maid on a Navy base (to this day, this is the best job I have ever had!!), secretary, sales clerk, contract manager
4 places I have lived: New London, Boston, Virginia Beach, Norfolk
4 TV shows I like to watch: Cold Case Files, American Justice, ANTM, Girlfriends
4 places I have been on vacation: Disney World, Vegas, NYC, Old Orchard Beach, ME
4 things I could NOT live without: my kids, my books, chocolate, coffee
4 of my favorite foods: big salads, shrimp, oysters rockefeller, catfish
4 places I would rather be right now: home in bed, lying on a beach, at the spa, in the arms of my one true love (whoever that is)
Feel free to consider yourself tagged.
Blessed by chele at 9:32 AM | Permalink |
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Season's Change ...
Monday, May 08, 2006
and so do templates! All my girls got a new look and I felt left out.
Enjoy!
Enjoy!
Blessed by chele at 9:40 PM | Permalink |
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Work Spouse
Have you heard of the term “work spouse”?
This is a co-worker of the opposite sex that is there for you when you need to talk about issues in the workplace. This is the one you complain to when you weren’t considered for that big promotion. This is the one that you celebrate with at lunch (or dinner, or drinks) when you landed that big account.
I’m not sure how I feel about this.
I read one article that sang the praises of having the work spouse. The work spouse takes the pressure off the home spouse in that the home spouse doesn’t have to listen to your complaints. You don’t have to give the home spouse the ‘back story’ and let’s face it, the home spouse finds all this information extremely boring anyway.
Another article gave warnings about the dangers of the work spouse. Lines could become blurry and subsequently crossed. How long before the work conversations take on a more personal tone? Will the home spouse begin to feel insecure because there are things that you can discuss at work that you can’t discuss at home? I wasn’t surprised that this article was written by a woman because I tend to lean toward this school of thought.
For the most part I am not an insecure person. I don’t freak out if my man is talking to another woman. I tend to monitor body language because actions do speak louder than words. And if I see something suspect, take cover because someone is in danger of getting cut! Anyway, I just think that if I’m married or in a serious, exclusive relationship than there shouldn’t be anything that I can’t talk to my SO about. There is no need for a work spouse.
Perhaps it’s the term ‘spouse’ that bugs me. Not co-worker, or office mate, or that girl I work with … but spouse. The word spouse implies a deeper relationship than just co-workers. Deeper than friends. Doesn’t it? Or is it just me?
I’ve worked in Corporate America for many years. Folks like to go out to lunch. Folks like to go to happy hour after work. I’m sorry but in many cases whenever you mix men, women and alcohol you are just heading for trouble. My current work situation is interesting. The majority of the workforce is between the ages of 24-35, 98% Caucasian and 65% male. So, as a 41-year old Black woman – I don’t necessarily fit in and I’m in no danger of having a work spouse or of being someone’s work spouse. (I just realized that statement implies that the work spouse has to be someone that you are attracted to ... which in and of itself could create a problem).
Not the case at my previous place of employment. I may have had a work spouse once--I'm not really sure so I admit nothing! We spoke everyday, sometimes he would pick me up a cup of coffee on his way in. If I got the paper I would bring him the sports page. And once when my car broke down at lunch time I called him for a ride to the garage. When my husband asked how I got to the garage, my reply was, “A friend from work picked me up.” We never spoke outside the office, never exchanged phone numbers and never went to lunch together. But there was something … he complimented me a lot, always noticed when I changed my hair or wore a new perfume. Soon we were comparing sob stories about our spouses. I think that was when the line was crossed. I looked forward to seeing him and he looked forward to seeing me. . He began to compare me to his wife and she was never portrayed in a favorable light. He never came right out and dogged her out but still, I can’t stand for a man to talk junk about his wife to another woman. We were in a dangerous place and I knew it. Thankfully, he got another job and left the state.
I’m not a fan of the work spouse. I guess my situation was relatively harmless but I’m sure if I was a different type of woman and offered up the booty I think he would have accepted. I think it’s important to keep work relationships totally separate from personal relationships – especially if you’re married. Why play with fire? I think even the strongest relationships can be tested given the right (or wrong) circumstances.
Do you have a work spouse?
This is a co-worker of the opposite sex that is there for you when you need to talk about issues in the workplace. This is the one you complain to when you weren’t considered for that big promotion. This is the one that you celebrate with at lunch (or dinner, or drinks) when you landed that big account.
I’m not sure how I feel about this.
I read one article that sang the praises of having the work spouse. The work spouse takes the pressure off the home spouse in that the home spouse doesn’t have to listen to your complaints. You don’t have to give the home spouse the ‘back story’ and let’s face it, the home spouse finds all this information extremely boring anyway.
Another article gave warnings about the dangers of the work spouse. Lines could become blurry and subsequently crossed. How long before the work conversations take on a more personal tone? Will the home spouse begin to feel insecure because there are things that you can discuss at work that you can’t discuss at home? I wasn’t surprised that this article was written by a woman because I tend to lean toward this school of thought.
For the most part I am not an insecure person. I don’t freak out if my man is talking to another woman. I tend to monitor body language because actions do speak louder than words. And if I see something suspect, take cover because someone is in danger of getting cut! Anyway, I just think that if I’m married or in a serious, exclusive relationship than there shouldn’t be anything that I can’t talk to my SO about. There is no need for a work spouse.
Perhaps it’s the term ‘spouse’ that bugs me. Not co-worker, or office mate, or that girl I work with … but spouse. The word spouse implies a deeper relationship than just co-workers. Deeper than friends. Doesn’t it? Or is it just me?
I’ve worked in Corporate America for many years. Folks like to go out to lunch. Folks like to go to happy hour after work. I’m sorry but in many cases whenever you mix men, women and alcohol you are just heading for trouble. My current work situation is interesting. The majority of the workforce is between the ages of 24-35, 98% Caucasian and 65% male. So, as a 41-year old Black woman – I don’t necessarily fit in and I’m in no danger of having a work spouse or of being someone’s work spouse. (I just realized that statement implies that the work spouse has to be someone that you are attracted to ... which in and of itself could create a problem).
Not the case at my previous place of employment. I may have had a work spouse once--I'm not really sure so I admit nothing! We spoke everyday, sometimes he would pick me up a cup of coffee on his way in. If I got the paper I would bring him the sports page. And once when my car broke down at lunch time I called him for a ride to the garage. When my husband asked how I got to the garage, my reply was, “A friend from work picked me up.” We never spoke outside the office, never exchanged phone numbers and never went to lunch together. But there was something … he complimented me a lot, always noticed when I changed my hair or wore a new perfume. Soon we were comparing sob stories about our spouses. I think that was when the line was crossed. I looked forward to seeing him and he looked forward to seeing me. . He began to compare me to his wife and she was never portrayed in a favorable light. He never came right out and dogged her out but still, I can’t stand for a man to talk junk about his wife to another woman. We were in a dangerous place and I knew it. Thankfully, he got another job and left the state.
I’m not a fan of the work spouse. I guess my situation was relatively harmless but I’m sure if I was a different type of woman and offered up the booty I think he would have accepted. I think it’s important to keep work relationships totally separate from personal relationships – especially if you’re married. Why play with fire? I think even the strongest relationships can be tested given the right (or wrong) circumstances.
Do you have a work spouse?
Blessed by chele at 4:07 PM | Permalink |
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What'll Ya Have?
Saturday, May 06, 2006
I’ve never really been into the bar scene. That is, the “bar scene” not the “club scene”. For me, there was always a difference. A bar is where you go to drink and a club is where you go to dance – because you can drink at home.
I started going to clubs when I was seventeen years old. Me and my girlfriends would get dressed up in our tightest jeans or shortest skirts and head across the bridge to a place called Rhanna Pippins. Pippins had a huge dance floor and for some reason there were giant ceramic frogs on the perimeter ... weird. The drinking age at the time was not quite 21 and club managers always saw the benefit in allowing entry to young, cute girls when you lived in a military town. In other words, we never had fake i.d.’s and we never had a problem getting in. At 17 years old, we were not ordering drinks we were just going to dance and meet boys. I can’t really remember where I told my mother I was going … but there was no way in hell I said, “Mom, I’m going to Pippins with the girls – see you later!” Mmmmm, I’ll have to check the old journals to remember what lies I was telling her back then.
Anyway, when I entered my twenties clubbing was still about hooking up with men and less about drinking. We always seemed to get our drink on at the house before we went out. We would buy cheap vodka and make screwdrivers (with orange juice) or cape cods (with cranberry juice). I never really understood going to a bar for the sole purpose of sitting down and ordering a drink.
Once I had my son, the effort it took to find a babysitter became too tiresome and it was just easier to stay home. The club scene became routine and boring to me. I love music and I love to dance but the effort it took to get there just wasn’t worth it to me. I think I tried to re-enter the world of clubs after my divorce five years ago and found it to be laughable. It was funny to me because I saw people my age acting like I was acting twenty years ago. It was almost as if time had stood still inside the clubs. Men standing against the wall or at the bar, women sitting at the tables dancing in their seats. I have not been back since.
Well, almost three years ago I found myself reluctantly in the middle of the bar scene. B is a guitar player and I would often go out to hear his band play. It was fun and very different than the club scene. First of all, the patrons of these bars are predominantly white. Secondly, they come out for the sole purpose of drinking – and boy can they drink. If you’ve ever seen a large group of drunken white people you know what I mean. I would always get a table as close to the band as I could and maybe have a glass of wine. Watching the people was almost as entertaining as watching the band.
Soon I began to sing with the band and eventually B and I formed an acoustic duo and I would join him on vocals. It’s something I had never done before but it’s fun and it’s a great way to make some easy shoe money.
Over the past two years or so I have been approached by more drunk white people than I can count. They are a very friendly bunch to say the least. I get quite a few compliments, which is nice but I find it even more interesting when they approach me on a break and have these long ass conversations with me like we know each other. I’ve had men tell me all about the problems they are having with their wives. I’ve had women tell me “I’m not a racist I just never grew up around Black people.” Okay. I remember once this redneck came to my table and told me he liked my voice. I said thank you. Then he said, “I had a Black girl fall in love with me once … yup, down in Tennessee.” Then he got this glazed look in his eyes and he got up and walked away. Alrighty then…
I have successfully (if you can call it that) made the transition from the club scene to the bar scene. While I usually only go when I’m singing, sometimes my sister and I will stop at the neighborhood bar after dance class on Thursday nights. We’ll order a couple of cosmos and sit and talk. Times have definitely changed. We were singing at Ga.t.or’s last night … it was a mixed crowd, mostly white folks watching the playoffs and only semi listening to us. I usually get their attention when I sang, “G.i.m.m.e O.n.e Re.a.s.o.n by T.r.a.c.y. C.h.a.p.m.a.n. I love that song. When it ended they went back to watching the game.
Good times … and a great way to pick up some extra shoe money.
Blessed by chele at 10:47 AM | Permalink |
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Heed the Warning
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
I got up this morning and read Our Daily Bread and today’s subject was about heeding warnings. The article outlined the fact that our most obvious warnings are the mistakes of others. Paul uses the people of Israel as an example to us not to make the same mistakes as they did when they continued to turn away from God and turned toward sin even after they were delivered from slavery.
Exodus 32:7-9 says: : 7 Then the LORD said to Moses, "Go down, because your people, whom you brought up out of Egypt, have become corrupt. 8 They have been quick to turn away from what I commanded them and have made themselves an idol cast in the shape of a calf. They have bowed down to it and sacrificed to it and have said, 'These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of Egypt.' 9 "I have seen these people," the LORD said to Moses, "and they are a stiff-necked people.
Once I read this I said to myself, “How stupid can you be?” Then I carefully climbed down off my self righteous high horse and remembered all the times I ignored clear warning signs because I just had to see for myself. My adventures with the bigamist were the most obvious but there were plenty of times when I received warnings that I just chose to ignore. Here are a few examples:
Warning: Don’t go to school out of state … spend two years close to home and then transfer.
My response: I’m getting the hell outta here!
Result: I wasn’t ready to be away from home at 17 and I ended up leaving school at 19 and never got my degree.
Warning: (from my mother) I was using the rhythm method when I got pregnant with you
My response: I’m more careful than my mother was
Result: My daughter (I’m glad she’s here I just wanted to wait a few years)
Warning: Maybe you should research this company a little more before you accept the job.
My response: All I need to know is that they are paying me more money!
Result: 17 months of working for a woman with no backbone who lied more than anyone I have ever met.
Why do we do this? I often wonder why we as human beings always have to see things for ourselves. Why does a child actually have to touch a hot stove, sometimes more than once before they believe they will get burned?
Obviously, I think about my children when I ponder this subject. As a parent, I automatically want to shield them from all hurt, harm or danger. I tell them not to have sex but if they do, they need to protect themselves. I tell them not to smoke cigarettes. I tell them not to take drugs. I tell them to study hard, go to college and begin a career doing something they love before they settle into a serious relationship. Yada yada yada.
I wonder if my warnings are falling on deaf ears. I won’t stop warning though. Their lives could depend on it.
These are specific lessons that no one ever taught me. I had to figure all this stuff out on my own and I don’t want them to go through life doing things the hard way. I not only give these commands but I also tell them why or why not. Trust me, there is a lot of talking going on in my house – even if it is one-sided.
Here’s an excerpt from an actual conversation between my son and I. This happened last night when I was doing the dishes. He gets up from the computer and sits down in the kitchen and begins talking:
J: Mom, is it wrong for me to keep turning down all these girls?
Me: Who’s after you now?
J: No one new. But there was A, B and C.
Me: No it’s not wrong to turn down those stupid girls.
J: Don’t judge my friends, Mom. A and B are not stupid.
Me: (I guess he acknowledges that C was stupid) Okay. I didn’t mean stupid. I meant fast.
J: What is that supposed to mean?
Me: It means that chasing boys is not the way a lady conducts herself. By them being so fast it’s only going to lead them somewhere they don’t want to go. If not with you, then with someone else. And that is stupid. And you don't need to be with no stupid girls.
He rolled his eyes and walked away.
I do believe that if he hears my warnings enough when faced with a real life situation he’ll make the right decision. Not only regarding the stupid, I mean fast, girls but other situations as well.
I didn’t always but I’d like to think that in some ways my kids are smarter than me.
Blessed by chele at 12:29 PM | Permalink |
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C is for Crazy
Monday, May 01, 2006
I am finally feeling better. I know one thing though … if I don’t find some kind of something to deal with these mood swings I am going to alienate everyone that loves me.
Luckily, that hasn’t happened yet. My parents and brothers live hundreds of miles away. My sisters have always thought I was a bitch so these swings don’t really faze them. My kids? Well, I try real hard not to blow up on them … but sometimes I can’t help it, you know? After you’ve heard, “Mom, can I …” for the hundredth time they really need to take cover. And B. If I were him I would have left me a long time ago. Then again, he has his moody moments, too. But there were times last week when he would come around me and I just wanted to scratch his eyes out. I would snap at him for breathing.
I just wish I could find some relief. I’m going to start with finding another doctor. My current physician is absolutely no help. I don’t know what I’m looking for her to tell me but she needs to tell me something: change my diet, breathing exercises … I don’t know. I’ve been doing some independent research but I’m not finding any suggestions to combat the mood swings that accompany perimenopause. This past week has been unbearable. Usually these episodes last a couple of days but I believe this one lasted for a full week. My moods ranged from happy to impatient to angry to sadness to depressed to horny to happy again … now today I’m back to normal and wondering what the hell happened to me. I took my daughter to the skating rink on Friday and the tears began to stream down my face as she got out of the car and entered the building. What the hell is my problem???? As I drove away, I started thinking about how she is getting so independent and she doesn’t need me and soon she’ll be leaving. Keep in mind ya’ll that she’s 11 years old. Oh brother, cry me a friggin’ river!
Sometimes I actually feel like I am CRAZY. (Are you agreeing with me, Shawn?)
Seriously, not being able to control your emotions is a terrible feeling; especially for a control freak like me. Someone suggested that I start taking St. John’s Wort. We’ll see. It’s supposed to promote a positive mood balance. At least that’s what the bottle says.
All right, enough about me. What’s up with you?
Blessed by chele at 10:25 PM | Permalink |
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