I just realized the biggest reason why I haven't fully embraced (or settled into) the place I'm currently living in, even though it is stylish and has lots of great qualities...
NATURAL LIGHT!
Now, it's a loft, so this shouldn't be a problem but, with the way it's set up, it is. It has two skylights (one in the bathroom and one over the stairs) but they're kinda small, dirty and opaque so they only work really well at high noon. It also has several glass windows and patio doors (which are big enough for lots of light to come through) but, because I have close neighbors, I have to completely cover them most of the time. Plus, there are so many bushes and trees surrounding my place that very little natural light gets in.
The lack of natural light has also created another issue, MOLD! The floors are clay so they absorb moisture and it has been raining for what feels like years so I have been having issues with mold, which terrifies the obsessive compulsive germaphobe in me. I came from vacation the other day and could smell the mold. I can only imagine what kind of havoc it's wreaking on my belongings.
That, in addition to the dutty bitch owner who waan treat me like mi "kotch wid har," means that I will likely have to move away from my dream loft. So sad but it must be done. I need to live in a safe, clean, comfortable home. Le sigh.
Wednesday, January 10, 2018
Sunday, May 21, 2017
Oh no she didn't!
Saturday, May 20, 2017
The Significance of a Slow Dance
"I'm dreaming of a slow wine heavy on the bass with your hands around my waist. You can cup my behind as long as I can lay my head on your shoulders. When I inhale, the butterflies in my stomach make it hard to catch my breath because you smell so good. And when my knees get weak, you hold me and rock steady to the beat until I'm no longer conscious and our bodies become one."
Where they still do that at? Do people even dance like that anymore? The relationship I dream of is heavy on the music and a big part of that is a slow dance. Why don't folks slow dance anymore?! It's preposterous. Can I get a slow dance before you try to stick your tongue in my mouth?!
The only man that ever slow danced with me was a poet. He wooed me with his spontaneous prose lauding everything from my curves to my heart. He was smart. He quickly learned the way to my heart: Sam Cooke, Otis Redding and meaningful conversation. I found myself ignoring big red flags and getting lost in his words. Yeah. He used to slow dance with me. I'm about to be 31. I deserve a man who can and will rock nice and steady to a one drop beat or a soulful ballad. It's not that difficult. Come on guys!
"Slow Dance" by John Legend
Where they still do that at? Do people even dance like that anymore? The relationship I dream of is heavy on the music and a big part of that is a slow dance. Why don't folks slow dance anymore?! It's preposterous. Can I get a slow dance before you try to stick your tongue in my mouth?!
The only man that ever slow danced with me was a poet. He wooed me with his spontaneous prose lauding everything from my curves to my heart. He was smart. He quickly learned the way to my heart: Sam Cooke, Otis Redding and meaningful conversation. I found myself ignoring big red flags and getting lost in his words. Yeah. He used to slow dance with me. I'm about to be 31. I deserve a man who can and will rock nice and steady to a one drop beat or a soulful ballad. It's not that difficult. Come on guys!
Social Media Activism: What is it good for?
Social media activism refers to the practice of being extremely vocal and active about social issues on websites like Facebook and Twitter but doing nothing "concrete" about the actual problems. Social media activists are those of us who sit on our asses and share articles, argue in the comments sections and even try to shame others for what they did or did not post about a topic we feel is important but limit our involvement to the World Wide Web. There is no question that there is a lot of this going on these days and it can be sickening.
In the wake of the Paris Attacks in November 2015, there was a lot of talk about whose lives matter, the information we are fed by the media and what we care about as a result. The whole discussion exhausted the hell out of me. Of course, I had opinions about it, I always do. But I choose not to share them as often on social media because I don't want to deal with the time-consuming fray from my online community and their diverse opinions and backgrounds (that's a whole other discussion).
Regardless of what I think about how tragedy and loss are reported, the fact remains that there is an overwhelming amount of violence and hatred in the world right now. I'm sure most people would agree that this is not ideal. I'm a solution-oriented person above all. So the idea that we are all sitting on our asses arguing about whose lives matter while the world goes up in flames is extremely disconcerting to me.
BUT
I don't believe denouncing social media activism is necessarily the way to go and here's why...
Something is better than nothing.
How many of the people who are sharing and spreading information on social media would actually go out and do something about it if there were no Facebook? In other words, before social media became so pervasive and people didn't have access to it as a means of spreading information and ideas, were social media activists out in the streets getting results? I doubt it. It's more likely that they were not involved at all.
Yes, this is a new generation so many of them don't know the world without Facebook activism and it can, therefore, be argued that they could be learning social media activism as if it is a viable form of change. That is dangerous. But overall, I think that the number of people who are more likely to talk about shit and do nothing has not necessarily grown just because they've been given a platform on the internet and, if it has grown, it is not significant.
Think about it. 15 years ago, social media activists were the people who were reading the newspaper and arguing with their coworkers about politics. Or they were the ones who watched CNN 24/7 while on the phone with their relatives in other states arguing about the news (my stepfather still does this). The people who are most likely to talk about shit and not do anything are always going to be around.
As such, the people who are more apt to do things will always have that drive. Social media activists won't change that. If anything, social media gives voice to the people who may not have been heard before because they were just talking to friends and family instead of the World Wide Web. They serve a purpose. They create a buzz around topics. They give us greater insight into what the world is thinking about. The conversations that they create are, at times, invaluable. Even the worst kind, where people spew hatred and ignorance, gives us insight into how much work we have to do.
I venture to state that all of the people on the internet that we are tired of hearing from have always existed:
"What's on your mind?"
You think that is coincidental? You think those fuckers really care about you? You think Mark Zuckerberg is trying to be your therapist? Hell to the naw! Facebook is set up as a big worldwide discussion. It's pretty ingenious actually. Over the years, Facebook has redesigned itself to go from a shallow social network where you could cyber stalk your ex or that bitch from high school that used to act like her shit didn't stink to a real-time worldwide roundtable discussion about whatever issues people deem significant. Look at all the things that they have put in place to facilitate these discussions.
Do you honestly think that this hasn't been engineered? Look at every online article. It gives you the opportunity to share via Facebook et al. I don't have to go searching for news anymore. Facebook is my primary source of information. You know how I found out about the Paris attacks? "Facebook Safety Check" told me that two of my friends (whom I didn't even know were in Paris) were safe. Naturally, I was like, "safe from what?" and I quickly found out what had happened.
Facebook has totally changed the way we learn about, comment on and react to the world around us. We can sit and argue about how that has affected our action or inaction but I think it's shortsighted and silly to blame social networks for the apathy that has existed among human beings since the beginning of time. Let's focus on how we can use the tools of social media to be better activists. After all, the word "activism," by definition, consists of action.
And while sharing, encouraging and denouncing things via Facebook is a sort of activism as it can help educate and arouse the population to make change, we all know that it takes more than discussion to truly address the problems we face. Therefore, how do we make the next step from social media activism to actual activism? How do we transition to physical action? Let's talk about it on Facebook, where I'll share this blogpost. See how I did that?
-November 2015
In the wake of the Paris Attacks in November 2015, there was a lot of talk about whose lives matter, the information we are fed by the media and what we care about as a result. The whole discussion exhausted the hell out of me. Of course, I had opinions about it, I always do. But I choose not to share them as often on social media because I don't want to deal with the time-consuming fray from my online community and their diverse opinions and backgrounds (that's a whole other discussion).
Regardless of what I think about how tragedy and loss are reported, the fact remains that there is an overwhelming amount of violence and hatred in the world right now. I'm sure most people would agree that this is not ideal. I'm a solution-oriented person above all. So the idea that we are all sitting on our asses arguing about whose lives matter while the world goes up in flames is extremely disconcerting to me.
BUT
I don't believe denouncing social media activism is necessarily the way to go and here's why...
Something is better than nothing.
How many of the people who are sharing and spreading information on social media would actually go out and do something about it if there were no Facebook? In other words, before social media became so pervasive and people didn't have access to it as a means of spreading information and ideas, were social media activists out in the streets getting results? I doubt it. It's more likely that they were not involved at all.
Yes, this is a new generation so many of them don't know the world without Facebook activism and it can, therefore, be argued that they could be learning social media activism as if it is a viable form of change. That is dangerous. But overall, I think that the number of people who are more likely to talk about shit and do nothing has not necessarily grown just because they've been given a platform on the internet and, if it has grown, it is not significant.
Think about it. 15 years ago, social media activists were the people who were reading the newspaper and arguing with their coworkers about politics. Or they were the ones who watched CNN 24/7 while on the phone with their relatives in other states arguing about the news (my stepfather still does this). The people who are most likely to talk about shit and not do anything are always going to be around.
As such, the people who are more apt to do things will always have that drive. Social media activists won't change that. If anything, social media gives voice to the people who may not have been heard before because they were just talking to friends and family instead of the World Wide Web. They serve a purpose. They create a buzz around topics. They give us greater insight into what the world is thinking about. The conversations that they create are, at times, invaluable. Even the worst kind, where people spew hatred and ignorance, gives us insight into how much work we have to do.
I venture to state that all of the people on the internet that we are tired of hearing from have always existed:
- self-righteous black folk
- self-righteous Christian folk
- ignorant-ass white supremacists
- misogynists
- liberal-ass, guilty white people who think they know everybody's struggle
- Clueless-ass white people who don't know and don't care about anybody's struggles
- and the list goes on and on
"What's on your mind?"
You think that is coincidental? You think those fuckers really care about you? You think Mark Zuckerberg is trying to be your therapist? Hell to the naw! Facebook is set up as a big worldwide discussion. It's pretty ingenious actually. Over the years, Facebook has redesigned itself to go from a shallow social network where you could cyber stalk your ex or that bitch from high school that used to act like her shit didn't stink to a real-time worldwide roundtable discussion about whatever issues people deem significant. Look at all the things that they have put in place to facilitate these discussions.
Do you honestly think that this hasn't been engineered? Look at every online article. It gives you the opportunity to share via Facebook et al. I don't have to go searching for news anymore. Facebook is my primary source of information. You know how I found out about the Paris attacks? "Facebook Safety Check" told me that two of my friends (whom I didn't even know were in Paris) were safe. Naturally, I was like, "safe from what?" and I quickly found out what had happened.
Facebook has totally changed the way we learn about, comment on and react to the world around us. We can sit and argue about how that has affected our action or inaction but I think it's shortsighted and silly to blame social networks for the apathy that has existed among human beings since the beginning of time. Let's focus on how we can use the tools of social media to be better activists. After all, the word "activism," by definition, consists of action.
And while sharing, encouraging and denouncing things via Facebook is a sort of activism as it can help educate and arouse the population to make change, we all know that it takes more than discussion to truly address the problems we face. Therefore, how do we make the next step from social media activism to actual activism? How do we transition to physical action? Let's talk about it on Facebook, where I'll share this blogpost. See how I did that?
-November 2015
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
Why am I so Angry?!
Today, somebody told me that they had read my blog and I immediately panicked. No, like seriously. I freaked out because I have just been dropping ridiculous bullshit on here for the sake of publishing something but I haven't written anything witty, deep, funny, poignant in a long time. So I opened up the page and looked at some of my recent posts and I am now MORTIFIED. It's much worse than I thought.
I sound like an angry, bitter, lonely bitch who is also a horrible writer. Great. Not exactly what I had in mind when I was pushing myself to blog to get my creative juices going.
Even worse, this person happens to be a gentleman that I like (oh don't worry. It doesn't matter if I admit it here cause I'm pretty sure he will never visit this blog ever again) so I can basically forget about the possibility of him having any more interest in me. I mean, I wouldn't date the person who wrote all these bitter ass tirades.
The truth is, I haven't been nearly as angry and bitter as my posts sound but because I only seem to blog when something pisses me off or I have an existential crisis, I seem like a fucking basket case. Great. No wonder I'm still single.
Oh well. Can't dwell on what's done. I guess if this gentleman (and whoever else may actually still read this blog) is worth my time, he will take those bitter posts with a grain of salt and reserve his judgments. In the meantime, I gotta fix this shit. It's thoroughly embarrassing.
I think the problem here is that there isn't a theme (at least not one I planned or properly executed). Oh yeah, the unofficial theme is "angry black bitch ravings" but that's definitely not a complete representation of me. I'm actually kinda funny, sweet and inspiring sometimes. I know! After reading this blog, I find it hard to believe myself!
Anyway, I think I'll change this blog to a more anecdotal, light-hearted journal. One where I share the quick musings of my daily experiences. One where I can make you laugh and smile, not want to call a health-care professional. Howzat sound? Much better? OK. Obviously this starts tomorrow cause this post is totally not "on message."
*awkward laugh*
I sound like an angry, bitter, lonely bitch who is also a horrible writer. Great. Not exactly what I had in mind when I was pushing myself to blog to get my creative juices going.
Even worse, this person happens to be a gentleman that I like (oh don't worry. It doesn't matter if I admit it here cause I'm pretty sure he will never visit this blog ever again) so I can basically forget about the possibility of him having any more interest in me. I mean, I wouldn't date the person who wrote all these bitter ass tirades.
The truth is, I haven't been nearly as angry and bitter as my posts sound but because I only seem to blog when something pisses me off or I have an existential crisis, I seem like a fucking basket case. Great. No wonder I'm still single.
Oh well. Can't dwell on what's done. I guess if this gentleman (and whoever else may actually still read this blog) is worth my time, he will take those bitter posts with a grain of salt and reserve his judgments. In the meantime, I gotta fix this shit. It's thoroughly embarrassing.
I think the problem here is that there isn't a theme (at least not one I planned or properly executed). Oh yeah, the unofficial theme is "angry black bitch ravings" but that's definitely not a complete representation of me. I'm actually kinda funny, sweet and inspiring sometimes. I know! After reading this blog, I find it hard to believe myself!
Anyway, I think I'll change this blog to a more anecdotal, light-hearted journal. One where I share the quick musings of my daily experiences. One where I can make you laugh and smile, not want to call a health-care professional. Howzat sound? Much better? OK. Obviously this starts tomorrow cause this post is totally not "on message."
*awkward laugh*
Black Girls Don't Shave Their Legs: American voters and the “cult of loyalty”
Does this still apply?
Black Girls Don't Shave Their Legs: American voters and the “cult of loyalty”: I wrote this on 2/17/08 when the Clintons were becoming more and more unappealing to me. Thank you Bill and Hillary Clinton for successf...
Black Girls Don't Shave Their Legs: American voters and the “cult of loyalty”: I wrote this on 2/17/08 when the Clintons were becoming more and more unappealing to me. Thank you Bill and Hillary Clinton for successf...
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Dear Mista-Man: Emoticons
Dating Notes from a 30-something year old hottie...
Dear Mista-Man:
You may think that my heavy use of emoticons is puerile but I only do it to compensate for the fact that you only initiate conversation via text message and I have a need to express myself as vividly as possible.
Who's the childish one now?
Who's the childish one now?
☕️
Saturday, September 12, 2015
Don't feed the foolishness!
Ok. So last year I was learning how to say "no" and this year I'm learning how to ignore. I'm still struggling with both. My main gripe is this: why don't people get it the first time? When I say "no," I usually have to say it 5 more times before people even start considering that I might be serious. Now, when I am clearly ignoring you, why the hell are you still texting me? It's like this, I told you where I stand many times. You decided to disregard that so I decided to disregard you! Who has time to tell the same person over and over again how to treat them? I am a very clear communicator. So, once I have been telling someone the same thing over and over again with no response, I know it's time to move on. No need for me to re-engage with you and have the same discussion for the umpteenth time. I'm not putting anymore energy into talking to you. I'm not going to feed into your foolishness. I'm done. So ummm, when are you going to get the message?
Friday, September 11, 2015
That Woman You Married...
You marry a woman who can't even spell sensual. You marry a woman who says you were her first (and she's proud of it?!). You marry a woman who doesn't like to go out at night. So that means she doesn't like loud music? She's never closed her eyes in a crowded room and let the bass vibrate through her chest? Head back, arms slightly spread, receiving the rhythm like a blessing of the Holy Spirit? Smiling, as the chills run up and down her spine and manifest on her skin as goosebumps?
No.
She's never done that because...she doesn't go out at night. Music is not intoxicating to her. She doesn't live for a series of bright, colourful experiences with family and friends. Laughter and intensity are not prerequisites for her daily life. Any joy she feels must be accidental! How else could she experience life when she doesn't have any interests besides being your wife? You marry a woman who is the complete opposite of alive and well. She lives in black and white. She is most definitely turned down. She's so uninteresting that I don't even care to find out how or why she got that way because it's not an option for me. Never going to happen.
What's that you say?
I will never find a husband if I continue to live like this? Why do I have to decide between having a family and living authentically? There must be a glitch or a misunderstanding. How could God make me so vibrantly dynamic and then require me to cover all that light to find an ideal mate?
And when you do marry that woman. You know, the quiet one who only speaks when spoken to and who always says the most appropriate thing. You know, the girl who is pretty but not gorgeous. The one who dresses nicely but never \ risqué. The one who doesn't yearn to be in 20 different places at once and has lists of all the experiences she's feels she’s missing out on. The woman who's not strategizing on how she's gonna get her happy back on a daily basis. When you marry that faded woman and you still spend time with women like me, it's like I'm a supplement. You choose to fill yourself up with empty calories. Each bite of your life full of nothing substantial; nothing that satisfies your soul. And then you want me to fill in the spaces. Why? Why am I not good enough to be the main course?
I am just like you.
I know what excites you. I know your dreams. The things that keep you up at night are the same things that drive me crazy. What about those qualities we share make you an amazing catch but me a confused, loose hussy, unfit for marriage? What is it about my values and the way I choose to live my life that's good enough to be your friend but not your wife?
Isn't your wife supposed to be your best friend?
I can't help but call it fear. Why else would you reject your natural mate? Are you afraid of being inadequate? Are you afraid that I'll find a more exciting man and leave you or worse, cheat on you? Are you afraid that I'll hold you to a higher standard than she will? That I'm too smart to believe and tolerate your foolishness? That you would have to work to be a better man all around if you married me?
Those are normal fears! It's part of the deal. Marriage is a commitment based on trust. No one goes into marriage believing and knowing for sure that things are going to work out. But we step out on faith; knowing that we've chosen the best possible mate that we want to journey through life with.
There's a difference between a man who is happy because he knows his wife loves him and is not going to cheat on him and a man who is happy because he knows his wife doesn't leave the house so she can't cheat on him. It's like those dudes who date ugly women because they don't want to deal with the stress of dating a woman with options. Why face your fears when you can just eliminate them? So you would forgo real fulfillment and happiness for safety and security? Not gonna lie, it sounds about right. Most people around me are making that choice in their careers so why not in love? And here I am: caught out there. Single and unwilling to settle. Wanting to find my God-given mate but realizing that being the fantastic woman I am might very well drive his tired ass away. But I made a decision that I'm not dumbing myself down to make a man feel comfortable. I'm gonna be myself and hope that I meet a man who is ready for a future with me. A future with challenges and uncertainty but with the promise of everything beautiful that life has to offer. Even if I did want to settle, I’m too old and set in my ways now anyway.
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Stubborn Musings
This recent hullabaloo over "Empire" has led me to realize something about myself that perhaps might have already been obvious to others: I am fiercely independent.
I don't like to do what other people are doing. I really want to see this show (although I'm pretty convinced that I won't like it) if not for anything else than to prove or disprove my instincts. But, I just cannot get myself to participate in something that everybody around me is already doing! Lol. It's this stubborn quality that I hadn't quite acknowledged fully until now.
I'm sure any man I've dated, my mother and my best friends are probably saying "duh" right now but I'm genuinely surprised and amused at how far I would go to not be a part of a trend. I'll probably end up watching the whole season by myself after it's over because I'm just ridiculously difficult like that, I guess.
I don't like to do what other people are doing. I really want to see this show (although I'm pretty convinced that I won't like it) if not for anything else than to prove or disprove my instincts. But, I just cannot get myself to participate in something that everybody around me is already doing! Lol. It's this stubborn quality that I hadn't quite acknowledged fully until now.
I'm sure any man I've dated, my mother and my best friends are probably saying "duh" right now but I'm genuinely surprised and amused at how far I would go to not be a part of a trend. I'll probably end up watching the whole season by myself after it's over because I'm just ridiculously difficult like that, I guess.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Maya Angelou's final blessing
That's it.
Last night I was emotional and I looked to God for some direction. Some confirmation of the path that I should pursue. That struggle did not start last night. For years, I've lived in fear of following my heart and my passions. Every time I try, I choke on self-doubt, confusion, depression, fear and a host of other negative things that keep people from pursuing their dreams. But on this day, as I mourn the passing of one of the most influential women I have known, I thought to myself "Who will take her place? Who will take on her work? Who will inspire and love?Who will teach?" And I've been lamenting this anticipated void that would undoubtedly be left. But then I thought, "Why not me?" If there's anything we should learn from Maya Angelou, it's that we should live life to its fullest, commit to our talents (all of them) and accomplish great things! Why shouldn't I strive to walk in her footsteps?
"There were times when it was said that I had more determination than talent. This may be said of many. It may also be said that life loves the person who dares to live it."
-Maya Angelou
What better way can I honor her for blessing my life than by living her lessons? I hear you, God. Loud and clear. I hear you. I will rise to the occasion. I make this promise out loud. I will declare it so that I cannot shrink from my destiny one more time because tomorrow is not promised. I will make my declaration clear so that those who hear me can hold me to it.
I promise to write everyday. I promise to cultivate my talents. I promise to read and rediscover my zeal for learning. I promise to share my gifts with the world unselfishly. I will not be afraid to love with all that I am because love is creation. And finally, I promise to exercise the faith that I have claimed for so long in the most relevant and powerful way possible: by completely investing in my dreams. I have faith that they are not accidents. I have faith that there is a plan for me. I know that I was made for more than mediocrity. I step out on that faith and promise to work hard. In doing so, I not only honor God and myself but also the amazing women like Maya Angelou who have inspired me my whole life.
Ashe!
Monday, January 6, 2014
And all of a damn sudden...
She's back.
What the hell kind of blog is this?
Imaginary readers, why do you accept this nonsense? I make promises of wonder and amusement, disappear for three months and then all of a sudden come back and start writing again like shit is sweet. Honestly, if I had an audience it would probably be full of folks with ADD, like me.
Anyhoo, I'm not here to make promises for the umpteenth time. I'mma just write about some bullshit and see what happens. People all over the damn place writing about bullshit and guess what? Motherfuckers read it! Hell, I read it. So...
On the other hand, when it comes to dealing with men that I have or have had feelings for, men that have, may have, may have had, think they have but don't really know, used to have but don't know if they still have (and so on and so forth) feelings for me, or men that just plain want to have sex with me, that shit is complicated! I don't like it one bit. I don't like that men are trifling. I don't like that men don't want to work for pussy anymore. I don't like that men want a woman who can cook, make more money than them, be a lady in the street, a freak in the bed, a rocket-scientist at all other times and be perfectly content with their not-enough-money making, no aspirations, goals or hobby having, limited mental and social capabilities, less than stellar sexual performances, no damn domestic tendencies, high maintenance bitchassness, can't even change a light bulb let alone a flat tire asses.
I am not a man-basher but fair is fair. Men these days just want too fucking much. I try to behave in a calm and serene manner towards men--if only to shut these dudes up who keep telling me that black women have too much mouth and attitude and so that I can see what my options would be if I were a white girl (or any non-black woman that black men claim they look to for refuge after being destroyed, humiliated, neglected and unappreciated by black women, booo-motherfucking-hoo!) and honestly, these options don't look too good.
I have found myself wishing a lot lately that I was born a man so I could do any-damn-thing I want. The other day a man, after listening to me bitch about double-standards between men and women replied, "well if you don't like double standards, you should have been born with a cock!" **obnoxious laugh** And honestly, he was right. But something deep inside me thinks I actually was supposed to be born with a cock because I think and behave like I'm told a man should. I expect the world to be fair. I am a little self-centered. An unequal relationship just does not compute for me. I don't understand the point of sex if I'm not being pleased. Apparently, these ideas are revolutionary for women. I thought it was just part of being treated with respect!
What the hell kind of blog is this?
Imaginary readers, why do you accept this nonsense? I make promises of wonder and amusement, disappear for three months and then all of a sudden come back and start writing again like shit is sweet. Honestly, if I had an audience it would probably be full of folks with ADD, like me.
Anyhoo, I'm not here to make promises for the umpteenth time. I'mma just write about some bullshit and see what happens. People all over the damn place writing about bullshit and guess what? Motherfuckers read it! Hell, I read it. So...
Men
Clearly, they suck but some of us (mainly me) like them. Now that I am single again, I have men on the brain. Not just because I'm a boy-crazy whore (because I'm not) but because men seem to be swirling around me. If it's not men, it's women with male energy. I have to say. I like men. I like how they're pretty simple and straightforward, even when they're not trying to be. I like how they tend to be honest (excluding any situations that involve women and relationships). I like their calm. I especially like being around men that I am not sexually involved with. I learn a lot about their ways and myself.On the other hand, when it comes to dealing with men that I have or have had feelings for, men that have, may have, may have had, think they have but don't really know, used to have but don't know if they still have (and so on and so forth) feelings for me, or men that just plain want to have sex with me, that shit is complicated! I don't like it one bit. I don't like that men are trifling. I don't like that men don't want to work for pussy anymore. I don't like that men want a woman who can cook, make more money than them, be a lady in the street, a freak in the bed, a rocket-scientist at all other times and be perfectly content with their not-enough-money making, no aspirations, goals or hobby having, limited mental and social capabilities, less than stellar sexual performances, no damn domestic tendencies, high maintenance bitchassness, can't even change a light bulb let alone a flat tire asses.
I am not a man-basher but fair is fair. Men these days just want too fucking much. I try to behave in a calm and serene manner towards men--if only to shut these dudes up who keep telling me that black women have too much mouth and attitude and so that I can see what my options would be if I were a white girl (or any non-black woman that black men claim they look to for refuge after being destroyed, humiliated, neglected and unappreciated by black women, booo-motherfucking-hoo!) and honestly, these options don't look too good.
I have found myself wishing a lot lately that I was born a man so I could do any-damn-thing I want. The other day a man, after listening to me bitch about double-standards between men and women replied, "well if you don't like double standards, you should have been born with a cock!" **obnoxious laugh** And honestly, he was right. But something deep inside me thinks I actually was supposed to be born with a cock because I think and behave like I'm told a man should. I expect the world to be fair. I am a little self-centered. An unequal relationship just does not compute for me. I don't understand the point of sex if I'm not being pleased. Apparently, these ideas are revolutionary for women. I thought it was just part of being treated with respect!
Monday, August 26, 2013
How I used to feel about Beyonce
Today I came across cold hard proof that I didn't always drink the Beyonce kool-aid. Here is a expletive-infested tirade I wrote about her in the summer of 2003 when "Crazy in Love" had just come out:
Damn. I used to say "fuck" a LOT!
People! That "Crazy in Love" video is a fucking soft-porn. The first time I saw it I was speechless. I felt like I had been tainted. I mean what the fuck? Beyonce has talent and she's beautiful. Why the fuck does she feel the need to gyrate and roll around on the street in her panties to make money? The worst thing is that the shit is HER song. She's not some video hoe in Jay-Z's video. She's the fucking artist exploiting herself! It's her video, her song and all she could come up with the video is running around in lingerie? C'mon. The only good thing that came out of that video is the "uh-oh" booty dance. Many, many good nights at the club have been jump-started with that wonderful little move. As for the song itself, those horns can get pretty fucking annoying when the DJ plays them over and over again before starting the song. But I can't deny that that song overflows with energy. I prefer her other song with Sean Paul though. You know the song. I can't think of the title. It goes "Baby boy you stay on my mind fulfill my fantasies." Yeah, that one.
Oh, and by the way. That fucking ugly, bad-singing bitch Lumidee(or however you spell her dumb name) is fucking singing that uh-oh shit right out-fucking-side my window right now and NO I don't like it. That song was annoying when it first came out and I just didn't want to admit it cause everyone liked it. But people, don't you realize, you don't like the song, it's just impossible to get the shit out of your head so you decide to like it cause you gonna be singing it for a long ass time. The bitch sounds like she's whining on the playground in kin-deee-gaarten. If anyone sang that way in my presence, it would vex me beyond belief. I would take a basketball and chuck it directly at their face repeatedly until they stopped. Please don't believe the hype. You don't like that horrible song.
Damn. I used to say "fuck" a LOT!
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Whip/Smart
I don’t quite know when but, at some point, I stopped
identifying as “smart.” That is not to
say that I don’t consider myself to a critical thinker, or intelligent. What I mean is that I no longer consider
those attributes to be points of identity for me. I would much rather be seen as empathetic,
resilient or even affable than “smart.”
When this comes up in conversation with old friends from my overachiever
days, they often scoff at this development.
Often times, they feel as I am doing myself some deep disservice by no
longer considering this trait to be essential to my notion of self. I, however, find it incredibly freeing and integral
to my personal journey towards authenticity.
As a product of a severely abusive childhood, my sense of self was
pretty fucked from day one. Venerable psychologist Abraham Maslow went as far
to say that those individuals who lack the very things that child abuse robs its
victims of (ie. safety, love, occasionally food and water, family and
confidence) are destined to have “a cripple psychology.” Dr. Mary Ainsworth, another key figure in modern
psychology, made it her life’s work to study the importance and life-long
influence of parent-child relationships.
Put bluntly, having as shitty parent not only fucks you up during the
abuse but, to some extent, for the rest of your life (even with therapy.) Your essential sense of self is not allowed
to form.
Prevented from forging relationships with others, both
directly (being literally locked in rooms) and indirectly (interacting with
people in meaningful ways means having to explain why your Mom is nuts), I
focused on school. It was a sanctuary
and a battleground where, regardless of what happened at home, I could reign supreme. Aside from the obvious physical safety it
provided, I was also able to escape to lands and lives I’d never imagined
through reading. And I definitely took
pleasure in consistently scoring higher than the rest of my classmates, much to
their chagrin. In school, I was finally
able to dominate.
The older I became, doing well in school provided more tangible
rewards; extra-curricular activities and summer long “nerd camps” allowed me to
escape my home. These rewards culminated
in gaining a scholarship to a school where housing was paid for by my financial
aid.
However, it was also around this time that I realized I had
no personal investment in school for…well, school’s sake. While I was thankful for the knowledge I’d
gained, I longed for something else.
Something that everyone seemed to have. Now that I was in college, I was forced to think about what I was going to do with this education – and that was
terrifying.
This ennui, this existential search to find out what the
hell I was doing, lead to a very
reckless part of my life that lasted years.
Even after graduating with honors, I shunned my past. I felt that my education was worthless, as it didn't magically make anything better.
So I escaped with drugs, sex, and other self-harming behaviors. Education didn't “fix” anything. Being smart didn't make me anymore “me.”
After years of therapy, I've come to a more nuanced
understanding. I see now that, it may
very well have been the critical thinking skills I honed in school that allowed
me to overcome my childhood. The friends
I made in college are now who I consider to be my “family” over a decade
later. So, it wasn't all for
naught. I work in a job where , while
not setting the world on fire, I am able to call upon my education to
creatively solve complex dilemmas on a daily basis.
So…”smart.” That word
is empty, and laced with desperation; both for an identity and some external
approval. So, while it may fit others,
that’s a skin I've luckily shed.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Time is precious, people!
I can't stand when people insist on telling me the same fucking story over and over again. But what really grinds my gears is when I tell them that they've already told to me the story and they pretend like they didn't hear me and proceed to spend another 10 to 15 minutes retelling me the same wack-ass story I didn't want to hear the first time around. I try to tell them, "you've already told me that story" in my "polite" voice so they don't waste another 10 minutes of my life, Because life is really precious, you know?
But they completely disregard me and it pisses me off like they don't care about my precious life and they want to tell me their story no matter what. Do they think if they tell me again it'll actually be funny or interesting this time and not even worse the second time around?!
Ugh!
I just came up with the perfect solution this may seem harsh but the end justifies the means. The next time a friend tries to do this to me I will simply tell them that they have two choices: they can either stop and refrain from telling me the same dumbass story again, or they can tell me the story but they must pay me for the time I have to spend listening to the same stupid ass story over and over again. Because time is money people and if you insist on telling me what I don't want to hear then the least you can do is compensate me for the time I'm wasting listening to your whack ass words.
Friends, you may find this harsh but I love you. I really do. STFU and have a good night.
But they completely disregard me and it pisses me off like they don't care about my precious life and they want to tell me their story no matter what. Do they think if they tell me again it'll actually be funny or interesting this time and not even worse the second time around?!
Ugh!
I just came up with the perfect solution this may seem harsh but the end justifies the means. The next time a friend tries to do this to me I will simply tell them that they have two choices: they can either stop and refrain from telling me the same dumbass story again, or they can tell me the story but they must pay me for the time I have to spend listening to the same stupid ass story over and over again. Because time is money people and if you insist on telling me what I don't want to hear then the least you can do is compensate me for the time I'm wasting listening to your whack ass words.
Friends, you may find this harsh but I love you. I really do. STFU and have a good night.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Beyonce, the Heartbreaker (you've got the best of me)
I have always stayed quiet about the Beyonce hype... well, "always" is relative. But, I know a lot of people really like her- including the Obamas. And including my dear friend, Kayla, whose opinions I respect. Anyway, I wasn't surprised that Bey ripped out her heart. I kinda think that Beyonce ruins everything. The inauguration, the power grid at the Super Bowl, and the axiom for black women's looks are just a few examples. But, I tried to like her. I like "Love on Top." I don't really like much of her other solo work, but I attribute that to my general taste in music.
Anyway, back to Kayla's heart. First, she was offended that Bey named the song "Bow Down." I was not too offended because, sometimes Bey is ratchet. eg. "Ring the Alarm," chinchilla coats!?! Ok, Pimps-R-Us frequent shopper! Second, there was the cussing- especially "bitches." I was surprised at this. Bey doesn't cuss! (or didnt used to-- but today is her and Jay-Z's 5 year anniversary, and I think a lot of women's language gets more colorful during marriage). I know Bey considers herself a feminist. I also know there are a lot of ways to be feminist. She did write a song about who "Run the World," but it's (Girls), not women...hmmmm...no comment.
When I first heard the song, I thought it was nothing I would want to dance to, but I was happy that Mike Jones was working again. I had just been trying to remember his phone number and here he was! Then, I realized it's Beyonce the whole time!! I should have known because Beyonce ft. Mike Jones would've appeared on some headline. Also, sometimes she doesn't work with others. She does most of her own backup vocals and, even at the Super Bowl, she did much of her back-up dancing- with those giant screens and her video duplicates. She did allow Michelle and Kelly to make an apperance--how nostalgic *sigh*
Then -back to "Bow Down"- to exacerbate matters, Rush Limbaugh got into the mix.** Beyonce brought Rush into the media's commentary of R&B. Like I said, she ruins everything!! He interpreted her song to mean that women should bow down, know their place, and accept a good man when they have one. Oh, Rush! We already know nothing is too unimportant for him, especially when he can use it to make black people, Obama, women, or anything liberal look bad. So, it's not entirely her fault. Bey is just always in a place that has wide-reaching effects. I guess that is what super stardom and "queen-ality" is.
So, in conclusion, I am sorry to all those who have been hurt, shocked, offended, insulted by Beyonce. All I can advise is to let her have her pedestal, but to keep it in the realm of music, and *gulp* fashion. (But don't tell that to PETA. She is always angering them because she wears a lot of animals. Again, no comment)If you recognized the title from another R&B Royal... all I can say is, Bey is no Mariah! I had a vision of a pop/R&B queen and it was not what Beyonce turned out to be.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Peter, Paul and Mary Moments
After toying around with various possibilities, I've decided it would best to just storm right into this joint, Cosmo Kramer-style. So, here goes...
My name is Del and I've been a friend of Kayla's since I thought I was straight. (Which translates to a little over 12 years.) I'm fat, black and the proud papa of the best damn dog in the world. There's more, of course, but that'll do for now.
I, and the author of this blog, have known each other since we were 17; there are virtually no secrets between us. Between dishing out sage advice, being the most beautiful woman in the world, and smacking me upside the head, Kayla invited me to contribute to "Black Girls Don't Shave Their Legs." We've have some amazing conversations over the years, and disagree as much as we see eye to eye. It is our hope that our differing, yet somehow cohesive, opinions will be of as much interest to you as we have been to each other.
Today being Sunday, I attended church services earlier this morning. (There's one more thing...I'm a Christian.) I'm usually five or ten minutes late, so I grab a seat in the back, so as not to disrupt service. Fortune smiled on me this morning, and I was able to grab a seat directly by the stairs with out making a spectacle of myself.
That's usually how I go about life; stealthily, almost squirrelly, aiming never to rock the boat too much. For reasons too numerous to list in one blog post, I have admittedly become the kind of person who aims to never really be noticed. Having social anxiety disorder, major depressive disorder, and a tendency to be a misanthrope makes this pretty easy.
I think that's why I like church...it's quite literally a safe space. Especially my hippie congregation, where Peter, Paul & Mary and Bob Dylan songs are as likely to be sung as are standard hymns. We have something called "the passing of the peace," where we're forced (okay, maybe not "forced," but definitely coerced) to greet each one of our neighbors and wish them well. These sorts of things don't go over well for the too cool for school set. I should know; I used to be one of them.
There are still remnants of that cheeky, insecure college kid however. I never hang around after service, partially because there is not enough Adavan in the world to overcome the accompanying anxiety, but also because I don't make myself at least try. I had a bad experience at a church social group meeting, and haven't been to another once since; there's at least 20 of them. And, most prescient to this post, I never sing out loud during service.
I have a bad voice. I am tone deaf, possess the traces of a nasally Queens accent, and have no volume control. If you're a friend, my vociferous, unsteady baritone is an endearing quirk; if you're a foe, my voice is like nails on a chalkboard. I get it, totally. Ever since I was told to lip-sync in middle school chorus, I have never even attempted to sing in earnest.
But today, something monumental occurred. Somewhere towards the end of "If I Had A Hammer," I got caught up in what I guess what the Spirit. But not in the "get an usher, he's speaking in tongues," snake handling way. It was more like a genuine, rapturous glee. Having lost my cell phone, being passed over for a promotion and feeling unsure about my future suddenly didn't matter. I honestly almost wanted them to, because I was afraid of what would happen if I actually let myself "go." I thought the dude next to me looked ridiculous, clapping and stomping like a meth-ed up wind up toy. But by the time I was "hammering peace across this land," I was well...hammering. I sang, and I clapped, and this was new territory. I fucking sang today. And I didn't give a damn how it sounded.
So, why am I sharing this meandering, not quite anecdote as my first post? Well, because it speaks to everything that I'm "about" right now, namely progress. I'm interested in others' journeys and want to make it clear that I'm a man in search of answers, not someone who claims to have them. But also, because maybe I'm soliciting help? Feedback? Eh, I don't know. But that's the whole point, right?
My name is Del and I've been a friend of Kayla's since I thought I was straight. (Which translates to a little over 12 years.) I'm fat, black and the proud papa of the best damn dog in the world. There's more, of course, but that'll do for now.
I, and the author of this blog, have known each other since we were 17; there are virtually no secrets between us. Between dishing out sage advice, being the most beautiful woman in the world, and smacking me upside the head, Kayla invited me to contribute to "Black Girls Don't Shave Their Legs." We've have some amazing conversations over the years, and disagree as much as we see eye to eye. It is our hope that our differing, yet somehow cohesive, opinions will be of as much interest to you as we have been to each other.
Today being Sunday, I attended church services earlier this morning. (There's one more thing...I'm a Christian.) I'm usually five or ten minutes late, so I grab a seat in the back, so as not to disrupt service. Fortune smiled on me this morning, and I was able to grab a seat directly by the stairs with out making a spectacle of myself.
That's usually how I go about life; stealthily, almost squirrelly, aiming never to rock the boat too much. For reasons too numerous to list in one blog post, I have admittedly become the kind of person who aims to never really be noticed. Having social anxiety disorder, major depressive disorder, and a tendency to be a misanthrope makes this pretty easy.
I think that's why I like church...it's quite literally a safe space. Especially my hippie congregation, where Peter, Paul & Mary and Bob Dylan songs are as likely to be sung as are standard hymns. We have something called "the passing of the peace," where we're forced (okay, maybe not "forced," but definitely coerced) to greet each one of our neighbors and wish them well. These sorts of things don't go over well for the too cool for school set. I should know; I used to be one of them.
There are still remnants of that cheeky, insecure college kid however. I never hang around after service, partially because there is not enough Adavan in the world to overcome the accompanying anxiety, but also because I don't make myself at least try. I had a bad experience at a church social group meeting, and haven't been to another once since; there's at least 20 of them. And, most prescient to this post, I never sing out loud during service.
I have a bad voice. I am tone deaf, possess the traces of a nasally Queens accent, and have no volume control. If you're a friend, my vociferous, unsteady baritone is an endearing quirk; if you're a foe, my voice is like nails on a chalkboard. I get it, totally. Ever since I was told to lip-sync in middle school chorus, I have never even attempted to sing in earnest.
But today, something monumental occurred. Somewhere towards the end of "If I Had A Hammer," I got caught up in what I guess what the Spirit. But not in the "get an usher, he's speaking in tongues," snake handling way. It was more like a genuine, rapturous glee. Having lost my cell phone, being passed over for a promotion and feeling unsure about my future suddenly didn't matter. I honestly almost wanted them to, because I was afraid of what would happen if I actually let myself "go." I thought the dude next to me looked ridiculous, clapping and stomping like a meth-ed up wind up toy. But by the time I was "hammering peace across this land," I was well...hammering. I sang, and I clapped, and this was new territory. I fucking sang today. And I didn't give a damn how it sounded.
So, why am I sharing this meandering, not quite anecdote as my first post? Well, because it speaks to everything that I'm "about" right now, namely progress. I'm interested in others' journeys and want to make it clear that I'm a man in search of answers, not someone who claims to have them. But also, because maybe I'm soliciting help? Feedback? Eh, I don't know. But that's the whole point, right?
Monday, March 18, 2013
Tonight, Beyonce Shattered my Heart
"I've got drafts written for this very blog extolling this bitch as the post-modern feminist and she pulls THIS SHIT?! Now I can't even publish the shit."
OK. OK. Let me rewind. I'm Sorry. I'm gonna try to make this coherent and succinct but its going to be hard as BEYONCE JUST SHATTERED MY FUCKING WORLD!
Oh, expletive warning y'all. My emotions are running high.
I don't have the time or the emotional wherewithal to explain to you just how much I loved Beyonce. I don't have the time to explain that I was very sure about my love because she had to work hard to earn since I hated her for a while (see, I can't even write proper sentences cause my stomach is upset and I feel like I might have a stroke).
I'm trying to explain to you how earth-shattering this is for me. I want to make sure you know that I loved Beyonce fiercely for some concrete reasons. I loved her level of innovation as a musician. Her talent as a vocalist. I loved her work ethic, her classic appeal. I loved her commitment to performing and doing it well. I loved her strength as a woman. I consider myself a feminist and I LOVE women who lift up other women. One of the reasons I loved Beyonce is because I felt she did this in her own way.
Well who the fuck told me to scroll down my damn Facebook newsfeed tonight? I don't know why I did it. I was getting ready to go to bed. I wasn't even prepared to have my world rocked like this. But, lo and behold, I'm scrolling down my newsfeed and I see this:
So I'm like, WTF? The Beyonce I love wouldn't say something so brazenly obnoxious. Yes, she gets a little playful with her banter sometimes but, "bow down?" I was immediately offended.
Little did I know, this was just the tip of the iceberg! Then, I discovered the song. Please try to listen to the whole thing. I know its hard. (Note to Beyonce, if you're going to make an obnoxious, disrespectful song, at least make it sound good!):
SIGH.
I am beyond disappointed. I've been fiercely defending this woman for years and she makes me look like an idiot with this shit!? This goes against everything I stand for as a woman. I cannot be who I am and continue to love and support an artist that thinks this shit is OK. I don't know what happened to her brain but she was way off with this. I know she's trying to push the envelope and break out of this image the world has of her but I happen to like the classic Beyonce. The woman who left it all on the stage. Who didn't care if people thought she was boring and simple because she consistently killed it in the studio and in concert. The Beyonce I love wouldn't stoop to the level of addressing her haters this way because she would know it's not worth losing the self-respecting fans she has who don't give a fuck about her struggle to be "relevant." The Beyonce I love let her music speak for her, not the other way around. If I wanted to listen to another record calling me a bitch, I would just turn on the hip-hop station.
Why does Beyonce think her fans want her to be Rihanna?! Why did she take it there? Clearly, we know you are an amazingly talented person but did Michael Jackson ever release a record like this? No! He went as far as "Bad" and that's it. Maybe "Leave me Alone" but he made it clear who he was talking to (the papparazzi).
Why Bey! Why?!
I have to stop here. I'm starting to ramble.
More later. I have to pull myself together somewhat.
OK. OK. Let me rewind. I'm Sorry. I'm gonna try to make this coherent and succinct but its going to be hard as BEYONCE JUST SHATTERED MY FUCKING WORLD!
Oh, expletive warning y'all. My emotions are running high.
I don't have the time or the emotional wherewithal to explain to you just how much I loved Beyonce. I don't have the time to explain that I was very sure about my love because she had to work hard to earn since I hated her for a while (see, I can't even write proper sentences cause my stomach is upset and I feel like I might have a stroke).
I'm trying to explain to you how earth-shattering this is for me. I want to make sure you know that I loved Beyonce fiercely for some concrete reasons. I loved her level of innovation as a musician. Her talent as a vocalist. I loved her work ethic, her classic appeal. I loved her commitment to performing and doing it well. I loved her strength as a woman. I consider myself a feminist and I LOVE women who lift up other women. One of the reasons I loved Beyonce is because I felt she did this in her own way.
Well who the fuck told me to scroll down my damn Facebook newsfeed tonight? I don't know why I did it. I was getting ready to go to bed. I wasn't even prepared to have my world rocked like this. But, lo and behold, I'm scrolling down my newsfeed and I see this:
So I'm like, WTF? The Beyonce I love wouldn't say something so brazenly obnoxious. Yes, she gets a little playful with her banter sometimes but, "bow down?" I was immediately offended.
Little did I know, this was just the tip of the iceberg! Then, I discovered the song. Please try to listen to the whole thing. I know its hard. (Note to Beyonce, if you're going to make an obnoxious, disrespectful song, at least make it sound good!):
SIGH.
I am beyond disappointed. I've been fiercely defending this woman for years and she makes me look like an idiot with this shit!? This goes against everything I stand for as a woman. I cannot be who I am and continue to love and support an artist that thinks this shit is OK. I don't know what happened to her brain but she was way off with this. I know she's trying to push the envelope and break out of this image the world has of her but I happen to like the classic Beyonce. The woman who left it all on the stage. Who didn't care if people thought she was boring and simple because she consistently killed it in the studio and in concert. The Beyonce I love wouldn't stoop to the level of addressing her haters this way because she would know it's not worth losing the self-respecting fans she has who don't give a fuck about her struggle to be "relevant." The Beyonce I love let her music speak for her, not the other way around. If I wanted to listen to another record calling me a bitch, I would just turn on the hip-hop station.
Why does Beyonce think her fans want her to be Rihanna?! Why did she take it there? Clearly, we know you are an amazingly talented person but did Michael Jackson ever release a record like this? No! He went as far as "Bad" and that's it. Maybe "Leave me Alone" but he made it clear who he was talking to (the papparazzi).
Why Bey! Why?!
I have to stop here. I'm starting to ramble.
More later. I have to pull myself together somewhat.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Neda Soltani and the failure of modern-day journalism
Just heard a story on NPR about Neda Soltani, an Iranian woman who is now a political exile because the media mistakenly used her Facebook photo to represent a dead political activist with a similar name. The whole story is unbelievable, terribly sad and eerie (we have the same exact DOB). But what is really powerful to me is how shitty and inept the press has become. This woman sent the proper information to several news outlets, including CNN and they completely ignored it. She sent another news agency a different photo of herself to further prove the error and they published it as a new exclusive pic of the dead girl! Listen to the story here:
There are no more journalists. The media has been failing us for quite some time. They don't even deserve the benefit of the doubt. We're going to have to start fact-checking the news ourselves.
When the kids got killed in Newtown, CT, a number of major news outlets reported completely inaccurate information in their rush to get the story out first. What the hell is the point of the news if it's wrong?! I could just ask Pookie down the block for the scoop if I want some "He said, She said."
It's just a damn shame...
There are no more journalists. The media has been failing us for quite some time. They don't even deserve the benefit of the doubt. We're going to have to start fact-checking the news ourselves.
When the kids got killed in Newtown, CT, a number of major news outlets reported completely inaccurate information in their rush to get the story out first. What the hell is the point of the news if it's wrong?! I could just ask Pookie down the block for the scoop if I want some "He said, She said."
It's just a damn shame...
I have watched myself become mean and ornery. I have caught glimpses of the trajectory my life could take if I stay on this path of misery and bitterness. I will be mean and alone. Right now, I'm alone by choice because I don't feel like being around people. But one day, I'm gonna be alone because nobody wants to be around my miserable negative ass. It's gonna be like, "Oh Kayla? I can only take her in doses." And forget about a relationship with a man! Can you imagine? I won't be able to coexist and compromise with a man for the sake of a happy relationship. I'll just be an angry bitch who would rather be by herself than deal with the occasional inconvenience of a man's presence.
I know women like this. And with no disrespect to them, I'm not trying to be that person. But damn, I can sure as hell see how easy it is to get to that place. It's much easier to become bitter and jaded than to get up and try to be happy everyday. It's almost more natural too. I mean, think about it. What kind of idiot gets knocked down and keeps getting back up only to be knocked down again? How long does a person continue to do that before giving up?
I'm still fighting the good fight to stay engaged and hopeful but acknowledging that it's hard as hell!
I know women like this. And with no disrespect to them, I'm not trying to be that person. But damn, I can sure as hell see how easy it is to get to that place. It's much easier to become bitter and jaded than to get up and try to be happy everyday. It's almost more natural too. I mean, think about it. What kind of idiot gets knocked down and keeps getting back up only to be knocked down again? How long does a person continue to do that before giving up?
I'm still fighting the good fight to stay engaged and hopeful but acknowledging that it's hard as hell!
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