Midnight Meanderings

In little over a week one of my friends is getting married. She is twenty-two years old.

Last Tuesday, Mr. X-Factor and I were walking downtown in search of food. While walking, we went past a dress store and in the front window stood a beautiful wedding gown. It had a beaded bodice and both of the sides were scrunched up somehow. Immediately I stopped, admired the dress, and remarked how gorgeous it was. I must have been thinking I was window shopping with one of my girlfriends. I turned to my right to see if Mr. X-Factor was still beside me only to find that he had continued to walk down the street. In fact, all I saw of him was his back.

The previous Friday night I went to the movies with a friend (note to self: I will consider it a date because 1) I am attracted to him 2) I didn’t have to go Dutch and 3) he opened the car door for me each time I got into it). I had a fabulous time. It was so good to be out with someone who appeared to be interested in me. This was the first time I’d been out with someone other than Mr. X-Factor in a year and half. In spite of the fun I was having with Mr. Date I still couldn’t totally enjoy myself. See, Mr. Date and I have a history which includes some not so nice business and although he has changed tremendously I cannot forget what he did to me back in the day.

Computer Love

Need a special girl (Ooh, yeah)To share in my computer world I no longer need a strategy Thanks to modern technology Shooby doo bop shoo doo bop I wanna love you Shooby doo bop [I wanna love you, baby] computer love Shooby doo bop shoo doo bop I wanna love youS hooby doo bop my computer love
~ Computer Love by Zapp Rogers (1980s)

I am a wanderer constantly on the move to new places. Therefore, I have lots of long distance friends in far off places. Some of my dearest friends live hundreds of miles away. I used to love technology as it allowed me to maintain ties with my “cross-country” contacts. Telephones, email accounts, pagers (although I never owned one), Blackplanet (back in the day), AOL Instant Messaging, mobile phones, and text messages were essentials to maintaining contact with people. But have you noticed that as technology improves to higher levels of sophistication, we have less and less interpersonal contact?

I hate to text message! I really do. It is so annoying yet my friends always text me. I hate to respond because I am thinking, “yo, please just call me”. I’d rather hear your voice anyway. Then people get mad when you don’t respond to a text. Also, I hate that I feel obligated to answer my cell phone whenever I have it on me. I feel guilty if I don’t answer a call. People get pissed when you don’t answer your cell phone but really do I have to always be available to the world because I have a mobile phone? But really I don’t like to talk on the phone all of the time either. It gets hot on my ear and my arm hurts from holding it up during long convos.

Am I being a jerk? Shouldn’t I be glad that people want to contact my wack a**? But is access really the issue? Is it because communicating is so simple now, people who I would not ordinarily be in contact with now have access to me? I think so. Before cell phones and text messages I really didn’t keep up with a lot of people but now…it is too much to handle sometimes. Or am I still being a jerk? I just miss the days of face-to-face contact. Even people in my city are quicker to send an electronic correspondence than to call me on the phone.

Can technology ruin friendships as it permits people to distance themselves not only physically but emotionally from people? Will I always have a Nextel-based relationship? Are we going to be relegated to phone sex and internet chat rooms for venues to explore our romantic sides? Is EHarmony the new way to “meet exciting new singles”? Is technology bane or boon? Am I too old-school?

City Love

My mom grew up as an Army Brat and as a young adult became a Hippie instead of a Black Panther or a member of SNCC (this caused some embarassment to me during my Black Nationalism phase). So when I was conceived through a romance that did not result in marriage I was deemed a “love child” instead of a bastard. I grew up listening to all different types of music (Earth Wind and Fire coupled with Boy George and George Michael) and falling in love with all kinds of style of dress (pink leather skirts as a 7 year old). My mom allowed me draw on the walls of my bedroom and keep it in a perpetual state of disorder in order to permit my creativity and allow my individual freedom to flourish.

So, growing up as “love child” and not a bastard, I am in love with love. I love all manner of music, cinema, literature, and people. One of my favorite things to love is the City. I love it because it contains all of my favorite elements: people, music, opportunity, art, electric vibes, and the rawness of life. As an ode to the city, to love, to people, to life I submit this sonnet written by one of my favorite musicians. This song illustrates what I view as an ideal 20-something romantic relationship. Oh, where is my CityLove???

CITY LOVE
John Mayer

I never liked this apple much

It always seemed too big to tough

I can't remember how I found

My way before she came around
I tell everyone

I smile just because

I've got a city love

I found it in Lydia

And I can't remember life before her name
She keeps a toothbrush at my place

As if I had the extra space

She steals my clothes to wear to work

I know because her hairs are on my shirts
I tell everyone

I smile just because

I've got a city love

I found it in Lydia

And I can't remember life before

The day

She called up and came to me

Covered in rain

And dinnertime shadowing

And as her clothes spun, we spooned

And I knew I was through

When I said "I love you"
Friday evening, we've been drinking

2 AM, I swear I might propose

but we close the tab

split a cab

and call each other up when we get home

falling asleep to the sound of sirens

I've got a city love

I found it in Lydia
From the battery

To the gallery

It's the kind of thing you only see

In scented, glossy magazines
And I can't remember life before her name

Men Are Pigs?

I was talking with my ‘little sister’ yesterday and we were catching up on our lives. This woman is amazing. She’s bright, ambitious, focused, sweet, adorable, and very pretty. Her energy is powerful and she encourages me so much in my personal and professional life. If I could go back in time, I’d like to have followed her path. She and I were discussing our lives and she caught me up on a relationship she’d been in the last time we spoke. She was heartbroken. The relationship has ended because the guy cheated on her by having sex with his old flame. She is a good girl and did nothing but give him the best. She also told me that a mutual friend of ours also broke up with her man cuz he was cheating. This young lady, just like my ‘little sister’, has it going on. She is a diva and an upcoming engineer.

As she shared her heart and pain with me, my mind was racing. I was thinking to myself, if men would cheat on these girls then they are 1) stupid and 2) selfish pigs. She was asking my opinion about things and I didn’t know what to tell her. I am in the midst of healing from my own relationship drama. I also have no answers because although I know wonderful men who are great boyfriends and husbands, I am familiar with more men who are not.

Why is it that men cheat on good women? I do know that these girls are abstaining from sex before marriage. Do you think that has something to do with it? One day while crying over my X-factor at my parents’ home, my Stepdad says to me, “[JoiDoe], men like sluts and you are not a slut. I know because I was out there. You are a good girl and unfortunately it takes a man a while to see that he has a good woman. He’ll grow up.” Now, my dude didn’t cheat on me with another woman but what my steppops said really resonated with me. Do men really love sluts? Do they love good girls? I think it is a mixed bag.

But why do men cheat? My dad cheated on my mom. She divorced him for that. Very few of my friends can say that their fathers didn’t cheat on their moms at some point. Very few of my girlfriends can say that they never experienced their men cheating on them at some point. I cannot say that myself. What is the deal? Are men really pigs? I don’t think so and I hope not but I don’t really get the whole cheating thing…

I Need You to Survive

There is an extremely powerful essay in Soul on Ice entitled “To All Black Women from All Black Men”. Everyone needs to read it. In this essay Eldridge Cleaver addresses the scarred relationship between black men and black women. He apologizes for the COLLECTIVE BLACK MAN not protecting, loving, and covering the COLLECTIVE BLACK WOMAN. He asks for us to come together and build a new community built on love and trust. He talks about the historical pain, abuse, and emasculation of the black man at the hands of white men which began during slavery and continues today. He links that historical and contemporary pain, abuse, and emasculation to the way black men relate to black women and how this has created relational dysfunction. The apology (a unique love letter) speaks to me because it is a black man being vulnerable to the whole of black women in an honest way. He apologizes and offers an olive branch.

Can we go back there to Eldridge Cleavers’ words and begin to build a new community on the ruins of our lost love and distrust? Can we cover the dust and ashes and build new monuments as a testament to our now unflenching committment to one another? Can we relearn how to love and trust and give and take? Can we somehow put to death the "old black man", uncertain and hypersexual and resurrect the new black man, devoted and resolute? Can we somehow put to death the "old black woman", afraid and dejected and resurrect the new black woman, confident and trusting? For these "old" beings are just shadows of who we really are. The are the lies that we bought into.

Black men, the whole of black women desire to say “men are not pigs or dogs” but reality shows us something different. I want to be in a healthy relationship with a man who loves me and who will not cheat on me. All women want that. Can you step up to the plate and do it for us? We need to come together and build a new community built on love and trust.

Notes to Self

Notes to self:
* Remind self that men are pigs and abstain from all flirting today; even innocent glances toward dark and handsome strangers and the sometimes not so innocent conversations
* Remind self to be reminded that men are selfish pigs and to not even think about men at all today; especially the ones that I absolutely do not want to think about
* Remind self that marriage is partly a financial decision and having children (charming as they may be) are a means to a free breast augmentation
* Remind self to not be so jaded and cynical today

Where did I leave my superpowers...

I wish I had a few superpowers. I don't know where I was when God was giving Spiderman, Batman, Lavagirl, Catwoman, The Thing, and Shaq their superpowers! But I wasn't standing in that line, dammit! The superpowers I need are:

1) The ability to fly: I could save lots of money on gas and cut down all commuting times to any place in less than 3 minutes. I could also travel to Paris without any airfare cost.
2) The ability to have retractable arms and hands that moved faster than the speed of light: I could be much more efficient with my multitasking. I could wash dishes, mop, program my VCR, and paint my toenails at the same time.

3) The ability to breathe under water: Just because that would be banging.

If I had these superpowers I guess I might also use them to save some lives and rescue a couple cats from trees…maybe (not).

Family Ties

I haven’t written in a while because I have had lots on my mind; too much to decipher and figure out. One thing that is permeating is my complicated family situation is finally reaching some reconciliation. Since Memorial Day I have been introduced to family I never knew I had and I am basically overwhelmed…

I am family person and my family is one of 3 things that keep me living. My two sisters are even my best friends. This may blow your mind but I essentially have 3 “mothers” (one biological, one ex-stepmom whom I love, and one current stepmother) and 3 “fathers” (one biological whom I am just getting to know, one ex-stepfather who is my “Daddy”, and one current stepfather of 3 years). I also have 4 biological sisters, 3 biological brothers, one relational sister, two stepbrothers, one stepsister, and one stepsibling on the way (dude I have no comment). Those folks have children and as a result I have 13 nieces and nephews. What the f***k?!!! This is bananas right?!

When my mom got remarried for the last time I recall telling my first stepmom how I was tired of everyone basically complicating my life by continuing to add people to it. I was struggling with how I was going to relate to the continue influx of people added to the family through marriage. She told me that I should thank God because having more people in my life would mean more people to love me. At the time, my biological father was still a no-show and I wasn’t very close to 6 of his children and didn’t even know most of his grandchildren. I was just thinking how complicated it would be to introduce everyone at a family reunion…

I then realized that I have so many parents because all of them are broken people and if they were all whole then I wouldn’t need so many. At any given moment some of them are not around and I rely on the ones around for morale and support. For example, my Daddy has raised me since I was a baby. He remarried last year and has a stepson and a new baby on the way (again no comment) and he has been so consumed by them. He still calls me at least a couple times a week but there as an emotional distance now and I resent him for that. But my biological father has come back into the picture and he has really stepped up and taken care of me this past year. He is making up for lost time and trying to fix his mistakes. However, when I was a baby and he was out making more kids and hiding from the child support people, my Daddy was there. The mom situation is murky as well. She was a terrible mother but she has stepped up the last few years and has even apologized for being a bad mother. My ex-stepmom was always cool. The new stepmom, well I won’t comment.

So, when people ask me how many sisters and brothers I have what do you think I say? What would you say? Well, it depends on who is doing the asking. Usually I just say I have 2 sisters and leave it at that. My mom and Daddy separately raised us girls and a baby boy (deceased) and that is what I am used to. I don’t deny the others but it is just too damn complicated and I never feel up to explaining the various situations. I guess sex and love make the world go ‘round and population control is just not PC…

Confession

I have to let some stuff off of my mind. I realize that most of my entries have been extremely oriented around some social cause or whatever but I need to just be personal right now. This may be long. I don’t know yet. Put your phone on silent; grab a coffee and a doughnut. If you want to read, cool. If not, cool too. This entry may shed some light on who I really am and why I feel the way I do regarding certain topics. I am going to be figuratively naked before you right now.

Yesterday I cried. I was watching a news story about Live 8 and heard a statistic about the number of Africans who would have died by the conclusion of the concert. I cried. That story was followed by a short story on Luther Vandross’ death. I cried again. It was only fitting that I cried yesterday because I cannot remember the last time I cried- and I am a crier. On an average, I cry twice a week. I cry at church, sometimes at home when I pray, while watching Xtreme Home Makeover and TLC’s A Baby Story, and when I am hurt or angry.

I didn’t use to be a crier. Growing up, I was a very tough girl. I grew up in poor areas most of my life and I had to learn how to fight at a young age. I remember learning how to fight when my family first moved to a VA housing project. I was in elementary school and my ‘play cousin’ taught my sisters and me how to defend ourselves. We’d moved from a decent neighborhood in DC and hadn’t had to fight yet. Since we were extremely skinny girls, other kids used to pick fights with us often. However, we quickly earned a reputation for our fighting skills and my twin and I were dubbed, the Terror Twins. Because when one person picked on any of us, they got both of us in a rumble. I always hated to fight even though I was good at it. I didn’t like having to get angry enough to hit someone. Yet, I did what I had to do in those situations and endured. I grew up and got out of those areas and arrived at a classic middle-income institution—college.

In college I had to learn to deal with conflict (i.e. anger) in a different manner. I couldn’t just fight everyone and fight my teachers. However, I had a quick and bad temper. I learned how to play certain parts and maneuver through certain conflicts. One of my friends in graduate school helped me with my anger. Whenever I got mad at him he’d stop me in the middle of my tirade and ask me to close my eyes. When I did, he’d tell me to envision a setting he would describe and tell me to breath deeply. He’d say, “[my name] I am not fighting with you. I am on your team.” I learned how to manage my anger inwards and not lash out in a loud verbal or physical altercation. I even took a conflict mediation class to learn to help others manage their conflict issues.

So, I became a crier. Not in public, mind you, but a crier nonetheless. It is just that in a world where one can get beat upon mentally, emotionally, and psychologically one must have an outlet. When I stopped partying or fighting away my pain I had to find a new avenue and I became extremely internally sensitive. I wrote poetry and cried.

The only other way I know how to manage my anger is to erect a high wall blocking all emotional input and output. For the last month or so, I have been this kind of angry. I haven’t really been too sad or too excited about much of anything. I have been pretty ambivalent about everything. This wall has been shielding me from much pain and has allowed me to exercise power over situations in my life, particularly the termination of a couple relationships—one ‘romantic’ and one ‘platonic’.

The romantic relationship you all know a tiny bit about but to summarize this emotional see saw…me and dude ended whatever relationship we had back in November. In December he comes around again and then in February he flakes again and he comes back again in May and in June I tell him I just need to be left alone. At the end of it all, he tells me that he was never in love with me. He only was in the relationship because he didn’t want to loose my friendship as I had become one of his best friends. I think when he said that I actually heard my heart break. Apparently, I had been in a romantic relationship all by myself. The platonic friendship that was terminated was over betrayal and money. My best friend since 9th grade borrowed a significant amount of money from me during a trip in June. When we got back he decided that he would not pay it back because he didn’t want to. In my face, he looked me in my eyes and told me that. Again, I am pretty sure I heard my heart break. It didn’t break over the money but over the blatant disregard for my personhood. I honestly do not know why he did that. He could have had the money if he needed it. He didn’t have to treat me like that. I was so mad and hurt that I called my father. He confronted him and had to subtly threaten to do bodily harm to my friend in order to get my money back. So I have had to deal with 2 great losses in a short span of time—one stole my heart, the other my money.

I then just cut myself off emotionally from the world. I didn’t feel a thing. I haven’t even allowed myself to think about either situation because I didn’t want to feel anything about either of them. So, I know that is why I have been so angry with lots of things—particularly the black man/white woman thing. On a good day, I don’t care who marries whom. But when I am angry with the men who hurt me, I am angry and distrustful of all men. It’s like, if I couldn’t even trust two of my closest male friends, then which men can I really trust?

So, I cried yesterday while watching TV. True indeed those news stories were sad but I think I cried for different reasons. I just needed to face some sadness and loss in my own life. I really don’t know how to be hurt or angry in any other way than the two ways I wrote about. I am trying to learn a happy medium. Maybe crying is cool. I do hate the fact that I cry so much and that I am so sensitive. But I suppose there are many other tougher people in the world to balance my kind out.

Blue Collar v. White Collar Men

Last week my girl asked me if I’d marry a blue collar man. I quickly told her “no” and gave a laundry list of the reasons for my answer and detailed my rationale. I said that I wanted a man who was at least had a Bachelor degree in something and was on living a stable middle-income (ie not working-class) lifestyle. I said I wanted a man with whom I could have these deep intellectual conversations and who was well-read and traveled. I said I wanted a man who could be part of the black bourgeoisie but who was too cool to enter that world. I said I wanted a man with access to certain privileges and a college-educated man would have that. My final rationale was that I wanted a man who would see me as a complement to himself and not competition. I felt that a man who didn’t have a degree would see me as a threat to his manhood since I have a couple of professional degrees.

But I now throw all of that out of the window (I told you all that I am a woman of contradictions). I think it was simplistic of me to think that way and to totally disregard a huge segment of our population. A blue collar man can be just as versed in politics, art, literature, music, and culture as a man who holds down a white collar job (i.e. Mos Def and Talib Kweli although they aren’t really blue collar). He can be just a well-read and traveled. He can certainly have access to certain privileges and resources albeit different ones from the white collar man. Also, just because a man has been formally educated at a university does not mean that he will be more comfortable with his manhood than a non-formally educated man. Both kinds of men have the potential to see me as either a complement or competition.

All in all I just want a man who will love me completely. All men have all kinds of issues (don’t I know it). Although certain professions lend themselves to certain lifestyles, I should not be so closed off. I was at home this weekend and visited my mom. She lives in what one may call a housing project. I took a real look around myself and saw all kinds of beautiful black men. Some were working-class and some had no class but they were all valuable in their own way. Not to say that I would marry someone broke but money isn’t going to be a huge factor. Blue collar men can make lots of money to support a family anyway (especially if he is an entrepreneur).

I guess in my pursuit of the American Dream via my own personal Rags to Riches story, I’ve tried to leave behind so much of what made me who I am - the various components of the ‘hood life’ that really breeds winners and survivors. Trying to deny or hide from that past will only destroy a huge part of what makes me, me. Leaving behind some good men just for a bourgeoisie lifestyle would be just as foolish.

Adult ADD

Last night, one of my homegirls came to visit. She looked around at the Learn Spanish interactive CDs on my desk (with headphones plugged into my computer tower); my guitar in a corner (lesson books across the room); and books and articles on redevelopment, finance, and black history lain in different places. Add to that, conversations on my upcoming swimming lessons and plans for launching my new business. She laughed and declared that I was essentially an avid multi-tasker.

Yo, I am a proud multi-tasker. A wise man once said that of all the multi-taskers he knows, none of them have completed anything. But he didn’t know me. Sure, I may not become fluent in Spanish nor a master guitar player. But I will learn enough to engage in pretty decent conversation with a native Spanish speaker. I will be able to play some John Mayer cords and entertain myself and my friends. I will know how to swim to shore if I am trapped on a boat cruise with a horrible date. I will even be able to learn so much from the books I am reading and sound extra smart during deep conversations.

For the last few years, my goal has been to become a generalist with a few specialties. So, I don’t get all bent out of shape with not being an expert in all things nor am I afraid to challenge myself to experience and learn new things. This summer is particularly important as I am post-breakup (f*** him) and need to really occupy myself with myself. This is my self-proclaimed Summer of Self. It is all about my personal growth.

Or maybe I just have Adult Attention Deficit Disorder (as someone once remarked to me but he was a bastard anyway)…who cares. I am loving this life I am living and I plan to ride it until the wheels fall off.