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*

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...

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?

☕️

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?

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.

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.

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!

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...

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!

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:

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!

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.