tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185089982024-02-28T16:36:39.571-05:00A Lovely Brown GirlA Brown Girl's musings on living life accidentally on-purpose.Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.comBlogger123125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-50695677994336227762011-02-18T17:24:00.001-05:002011-02-18T17:30:40.970-05:00Man vs. Dog<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Since we’re on the subject of telling all my business, I have another confession.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I got a dog because I couldn’t keep a man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My ex, Jeremy, had just cheated on me for the 100<sup>th</sup> time and I was devastated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In an attempt to rescue herself from my super stank and unpredictable attitude, my roommate suggested that we go to a pet store and play with the puppies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There was just one problem – I was deathly afraid of dogs!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>(I’ve probably told this story before, but so what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Humor me!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But, at that point, I was desperate to do whatever anyone suggested in an effort to improve my station in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I was depressed, dejected and felt disrespected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I figured things couldn’t get any worse, so I might as well go with her to check things out.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now, it had never been on my agenda to get a dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My mom wouldn’t let me have one growing up because she knew that she would be the one that would end up caring for the animal even though I would’ve been responsible for bringing it into our household.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She wasn’t having it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Between my demanding, high-maintenance father, my inconsistent brother, my needy self, and the little time that she managed to squeeze in for personal care, she had enough on her plate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So, I didn’t grow up with pets and I was afraid of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I was afraid of dogs because I believed them dangerous but also because I wasn’t interested in sharing space or attention and I was lazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m telling you all this to point out the fact that I never intended to end up with a dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then I met Jeremy and, if I’d had any foresight, I would’ve realized he was a dog himself!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He came from a different planet than me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m not talking Mars and Venus here; it was more than that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>When I first met him, he told me that he didn’t have a checking account.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I didn’t understand that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He worked for the federal government.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’d interned for the federal government the previous summer making a whopping $10 per hour and they certainly told me that their preference was to direct-deposit my check, which I was fine with because if it meant that I would have access to my money more quickly, then I was a fan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Of course, I knew that not everyone had direct deposit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Clearly, there were some people who elected a paper check, although I just assumed that it was because they were stuck in the previous century… it never occurred to me that it was because they didn’t have a checking account!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I asked Jeremy his reasons for foregoing a checking account he said he used to have one but the bank kept “messing with my money”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Huh?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Later, I would learn that his distrust of financial systems was inherited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>One weekend morning, he came to pick me up for brunch, but on the way told me that he had to stop to pay his grandmother’s electric bill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m thinking to myself, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">You can pay utility bills in person?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Interesting!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></i>I figured there must be some sort of self-service center for PEPCO that I’d never noticed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So, imagine my surprise when he pulled up outside of a liquor store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Liquor?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Before noon?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I decided I wouldn’t immediately judge because I had definitely enjoyed my fair share of breakfast cocktails.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Why are we stopping at a liquor store?” I asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I told you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I have to pay my grandmother’s electric bill.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Come again?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Paying bills at the liquor store?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I had to see this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So I unbuckled my seatbelt and followed him inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He handed over the little payment slip that PEPCO sends with the bill, and then handed the cashier some cash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The cashier processed it in some kind of antiquated computer system, and then provided him with a receipt, and then we were done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That shit was outrageous to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>How do you know that the money is really going to get to PEPCO?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Why wouldn’t you just send your payment directly to PEPCO by check?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I asked this last question to Jeremy and he informed me that, surprise, surprise, his grandmother didn’t have a checking account either!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Now I felt like I was floating in the Twilight Zone or some shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Especially since my own grandmother was notorious for putting a $25 check into every birthday card I’d ever received until I turned 26 and she upped the amount to a very extravagant $26.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Every year since I’ve received a check equal to my age in dollars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I mean… this just didn’t make sense to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>EVERY adult I knew had a checking account.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So… I was disturbed after discovering that Jeremy hailed from a long line of people who were frightened of the bank! </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My mother’s words were ringing in my ears: “When you marry someone, you don’t just marry them, you’re also marrying their family. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Make sure know what you’re getting into.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Could I really be okay with marrying into a family that was so quaint that they’d never used an ATM?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>What if we had kids and they were also scared of checks?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I don’t think I could stand it.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Despite my reservations, I ignored all that and decided to carry on with Jeremy as if I never knew about his bank-phobia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>At least he had a savings account and I’m sure that I could convince him to eventually open a checking account.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">*<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">fingers crossed*</span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">Jeremy also spent a lot of time at his grandmother’s house, which was in a “bad” neighborhood and closely resembled a shack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But here’s the thing – there were about fifty-eleven people living there, including granny, two aunts named after fruit (Peaches, Cherry, etc.), a crackhead uncle (literally) who was always trying to sell me something ridiculous like a showerhead or a smoked ham (oh, I’m not joking!), two cousins, a brother, and a “family friend”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Go figure!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Between the fake flowers and cheap trinkets that junked up the living room and the plastic that covered every single piece of furniture, including the dining room table – YES, there was plastic encasing the freaking table – I was shocked that so many people could fit in that place, but more stunned that anyone would want to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>His grandmother was polite to me, but I could tell that she was not happy about us dating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She thought I was “saditty”, and I guess I probably would’ve thought the same thing had I been on the outside looking in on my uncomfortable and judgmental facial expressions every time I felt I’d overstayed my welcome in the woman’s home, which for the most part was anytime over 5 or 10 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This was his family and it was SO different from my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And if I loved him – which I did down to my very soul – then I’d have to take them all, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I respected Jeremy because I figured it took a real man to come from his hodge-podge background and still manage to make something of himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So I bit my tongue, I compromised on my values and what I wanted in a man to make room for him in my heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But let me tell you, lovies, whenever you settle for less than what you want, you always end up with less than what you settled for.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">To whit, when Jeremy cheated on me with a hood rat the size of an elephant for what was possibly the third time in three years, I really shouldn’t have been surprised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Turns out that he’d been in a relationship with her even before he met me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So, actually little ol’ me was the “other woman”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Ain’t this a bitch?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">Look, I’m bougie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Now, whether or not that’s a good thing is debatable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I mean it in the best possible way in that I expect certain things from people like… oh, I don’t know… that they have a checking account!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And, of course, now I realize that perhaps I should’ve seen from Jump Street that Jeremy was never going to live up to my expectations, but I tried to ignore that, I really did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But what did I get in return?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Check this out:<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">“Things with her are just different than things are between me and you. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s like, with you everything is so easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But me and her, we come from the same place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>With her, we started at a time when things were really bad in both our lives, so we have a stronger bond.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Um… okay. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">Yep, THAT is what I got.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">Well, I was sick about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I mean, don’t get me wrong – there was obviously a lot of other stuff going on between Jeremy besides plastic furniture, overcrowded houses, and a lack of a checkbook… I’m certainly not saying that his background was the reason he did what he did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That had very little to do with anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But the issues I’ve pointed out were little things that bothered me enough to question our future and things that I had chosen to ignore for the sake of having a man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And instead of earning his respect, he resented me for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Me and my background were just too different for him, so he flocked together with a true BIRD of his feather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I was mad – at the situation, at Jeremy, but most of all, at myself.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">Rewind to me and my roommate in this pet store and there’s a cute little MinPin with a fat belly sitting in a cage with two much larger dogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>When he saw me, he pushed past them and stuck his snout through the holes in the cage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I reached in tentatively (remember, I was afraid of him!), held him in my arms and fell in love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Jeremy tried to reconcile, but as the saying goes… fool me once, shame on you, fool me three times, and if I take you back, I’m the damn fool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Okay, that’s not how the saying goes, but it’s fitting for the circumstances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So, I could’ve had Jeremy, but instead, I got Capone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Like I said, I’d never intended to get a dog, but a woman betrayed is looking for consistency, stability, and loyalty, and where better to find all that than in an animal known as “(wo)man’s best friend”?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It was love at first sight for me and Capone and from moment one a bond was forged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’ve been his main woman for 10 years now and he holds me down, let me tell you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And despite the fact that we come from different backgrounds (he doesn’t have a checking account either!), he’s stuck by me and loved me unconditionally.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">When Jeremy contacted me about five years after we broke up to tell me that he was getting married and having a baby, but the mother of his baby is not the woman he was marrying (yep, you read that right), I surprised myself by being shocked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m not sure why I allowed myself to be thrown off by anything he said, but I think more than anything it made me sad to see that so many years later he is still up to his old antics.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">And that leads me to wrap up the story by saying this, dear readers: to call Jeremy a “dog” is an insult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The loyalty and respect that Capone has shown me over the years tells me one thing: Real men and even real DOGS don’t do the kind of shit Jeremy does. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Which lets me know that I chose wisely.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-56558998252015395912011-02-14T22:54:00.000-05:002011-02-14T22:55:02.973-05:00The Blogger's Dilemma<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial; mso-bidi-font-family:Arial">A unique set of challenges face anyone who decides to share intimate details of their lives with a bunch of strangers. These are the sort of challenges that face people who, say, write a memoir, or star in a reality show. And it certainly effects people who blog. Especially when the subject you blog about is relationships. And particularly when those relationships about which you’re blogging are ROMANTIC relationships. When you make the decision to blog about your personal life – or any aspect of your life really – you basically have to be comfortable with all your sh*t being in plain view. And that can get messy. I know people who have lost friends over details they’ve published in a blog post. I have heard of people who have lost jobs because of things they published in a blog post. And I have personally experienced the wrath of a partner when he discovers that you’ve been writing about the ins and outs of your relationship on a blog for the world to read. Now, let’s face it, the world ain’t reading this blog, but I do hope that someone other than me is reading it. I guess that says something about me – that I would share my personal thoughts, feelings, beliefs, hurts, triumphs, failures, etc., on the inner-nets. Is it weird? I guess. I have a lot to say, and my blog gives me a forum to say it. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial; mso-bidi-font-family:Arial"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial; mso-bidi-font-family:Arial">Sometimes, I struggle with how much I should share on this blog. My blog is not private, so anyone can happen upon it and my soul is laid out for all to see on these few pages. But, giving it more thought, I’m not sure that I’m saying anything here that I wouldn’t say to someone straight to their face. Or, maybe I’m lying about that. My words are stronger in writing than they are when I give them a voice. I’m just more articulate in written form. So even though I wouldn’t necessarily be “scared” to say any of the stuff I write here, I may be less likely to actually verbalize it because it wouldn’t come out as clearly. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial; mso-bidi-font-family:Arial"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial; mso-bidi-font-family:Arial">But in terms of what I would be willing to share about my private life, I’m pretty much known to be an open book. I have friends that will hook up with a dude and nobody will ever know it because they won’t admit to it… even to their closest friends. I’m not like that. When it comes to most aspects of my life, I’m an open book. For example, I went on a date this past weekend (more about that later… maybe), and this guy, who was REALLY into me, btw, was asking me a ton of questions. I mean, questions about everything, i.e., “How tall are you exactly?”, “Where did you go to undergrad?”, “Are you an only child?”, “Are your parents still together?”, “What made you decide to go into your current field?”, “When was the last time you were in a serious relationship?”, and so on, and so forth. And I replied. To every single question. Toward the end of the date, he said “You’re so easy to talk to. I ask you a question, and you answer it.” To which I replied, “Well, isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when a question is asked?” And he said “You’d be surprised. Some women are very secretive.” </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial; mso-bidi-font-family:Arial"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family: Arial">I was discussing that comment with my mother as we had our post-date recap. She said “That doesn’t surprise me.” And I said “It doesn’t? It surprises the heck out of me. It wasn’t like he was asking uncomfortable or extremely probing questions. It was conversation; an attempt to get to know another person. What would’ve been the harm in answering?” My mother says, “Well, the reason you were so comfortable with sharing is because you have nothing to hide.” Hmm… perhaps she has a point. I’m not embarrassed of anything that has happened to me, I’m not embarrassed of my family who – for better or for worse – have had their own questionable moments in history, I’m not worried about what people might think of me given my career choices. Okay, well… that’s not necessarily true (more on that later, too… maybe). But the bottom line is that I don’t see anything wrong with bearing my soul. What’s the big deal? It’s how I feel. I don’t care if you know that’s how I feel. I think that people who are more guarded with their opinions might see something very wrong with sharing so much of their inner thoughts. But, not me! And y’all get to reap the benefits of my loose lips. You get to know my life… whether you wanna know it or not. But then again, I guess you must wanna know all my business if you are choosing to read this blog. *shrug* Don’t take that as an insult; I’m glad you’re here! I’m just saying that if you’re reading, it’s likely for a reason, and that reason is probably related to wanting to know my business since I have chosen to write about my business!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family: Arial"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family: Arial">One of my favorite movie lines of all time is when Amy <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">Poehler is talking to Molly Shannon in “Baby Mama” and she says “Bitch, I don’t know your life!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Well… all y’all know my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I hope that since I’ve basically forsaken all privacy and pretty much fed you my raw emotion, that you at least find it entertaining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-83834732753283980392011-01-01T22:03:00.001-05:002011-01-01T22:07:52.103-05:00A Toast to 2011<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria">It’s hard to believe that yet another year has gone by. This thing called time is flying! *smh* Last night when the ball dropped and I saw the numbers 2011 light up, I was flabbergasted. 2011? Really?! I thought by now cars would be flying through the skies and we’d be living like the Jetsons. (I mean, who doesn’t want a robotic live-in maid?!) But, alas, our feet (and cars!) are still firmly planted on the ground.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria">I tried to think back on 2010 to determine whether it was a good year or a year that could’ve used some improvement (a diplomatic way to say “bad”), and I honestly couldn’t remember much about it! This year was, quite literally, a blur! There were definitely some good points. And I feel accomplished for being able to say that 2010 was my first full year of being a New Yorker! November 10 marked my one-year anniversary in the Big Apple. I cannot believe that I’ve been living in the City for over a year now! It’s been a largely positive experience. Oh, trust that there have been moments where I’ve wondered whether I should pack it up and move back to DC, but now I’ve found my groove… and, God-willing, I won’t be heading home for a long, long time. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria">Mostly, I’m just looking forward to what 2011 will bring. I have a good feeling about this year, and I’m expecting to continue to be abundantly blessed. The Lord has put some good people in my life, and has certainly allowed me to prosper in ways I never thought possible. I have faith that things will only get better as years go by.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria">I have a few goals for 2011, and they are (in no particular order):</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria">To finally win the Battle of the Bulge. It’s been a long time coming and, quite frankly, I’m tired of being fat! I think that’s one of the reasons that I’ve been somewhat dissatisfied with myself for the past several years… because when you’re not looking your best, you tend not to feel your best. So I hope to drop somewhere between 30-50 lbs by the dawn of 2012. More on that later.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria">To finish the projects I start. To most people, this doesn’t seem like much, I’m sure. But I have a HUGE issue with starting things and never finishing them. Over the years, I’ve started writing no less than four novels. I’ve started business plans for at least three entrepreneurial efforts, and never brought them to fruition. I’ve started exercising and given up on the gym after three or four months of really going in. Etcetera. I’m tired of being half-assed. This will stop in 2011, beginning with me taking my blog back. (To be discussed in greater detail in a future post.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria">To try new things and challenge myself. I am a plain old steak, potatoes, apple pie kind of girl (which explains the need for goal #1 above!), and don’t really like to deviate from the comfort of what I know. I don’t like “ethnic” foods (beyond your standard Mexican and Italian). Or… at least I don’t THINK I like “ethnic” food. But I haven’t tried most of it to even know whether I like it or not. And that’s just dumb. I know it, but for some reason it’s hard for me to step outside of the box with most things. Now my affinity for American comfort food is just an example of my closed-mindedness. I don’t plan to venture too far outside of my lane with the food thing this year, but I promise to be more open to the possibility. And that goes for things other than food as well. As I’ve mentioned once (or a thousand times) I am extremely risk averse (this is why my move to NYC was SUCH a HUGE deal!), but plan to cure myself of my severe case of analytical paralysis. I’m going to work on throwing caution to the wind and trying new things. Stay tuned.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria">To let the past be the past and to be hopeful about my future. This goal means the most to me. I am working on learning to live in the “now”. This moment, right now, is all that we have and all that we are guaranteed. And, for that reason, it is up to me to do the most I can with it. But in order to do that, I’ve got to let go of what happened in the past. What’s done is done. I can’t do a thing to change it. And so I’ve got to move on from it. That means letting go of past hurts and disappointments. My heart was broken in 2010, and getting over that was a long and arduous process that is actually ongoing. But that’s the past, it’s over and done, and now it’s time to move on from this… and other things as well. And similarly, I’ve got to stop being anxious about the future. First of all, tomorrow is not promised. Secondly, whatever happens in the future is God’s will, and if I lean on my FAITH, there’s no need to worry about what the future will bring. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Cambria">Today is the first day of the rest of our lives. That’s exciting and thrilling and amazing and terrifying. But, the best part of it all is that 2011 is a blank canvass. Let us use the tools we’ve been given to paint a perfect picture. Here’s to 2011 and moving onward and upward into the future. </p><div><br /></div>Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-12566968109057674302010-09-09T12:54:00.000-04:002010-09-09T12:56:12.746-04:00real {morbid} talk<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CJohnsonK%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CJohnsonK%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link rel="colorSchemeMapping" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CJohnsonK%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> 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table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">My dad once said something to me, and boy did it resonate: “From the time you take your first breath, you start dying.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">
<br /><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">Well, damn.<span style=""> </span>If I was living with my head in the clouds, that sort of woke me up.<span style=""> </span>But I forgot it, and kept living life conservatively, afraid to take risks and step out on faith.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">And then, today my cousin posted a Facebook status that, again, startled me: “Live life like you’re dying.<span style=""> </span>Because you are.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">Alrighty then!<span style=""> </span>Sobering thought.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">Bestie’s mom passed away a few weeks ago, and that totally hit home for me also.<span style=""> </span>Her mom wasn’t that much older than my mom and was, in fact, younger than my dad.<span style=""> </span>And that got me to thinking… my parents won’t be around forever, which then got me thinking, that even I won’t be around forever.<span style=""> </span>It’s a scary thought, and makes me wonder what I’m doing to justify my birth.
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">I am a true believer that everyone is placed on this Earth for a reason.<span style=""> </span>There is a mission that you are supposed to carry out once you get here.<span style=""> </span>For some people, their mission will be to effect change on a small scale.<span style=""> </span>And, for others, they’re put here to change and influence the lives of many.<span style=""> </span>Bestie’s mom was a teacher who had been touching the lives of students for more than 40 years.<span style=""> </span>She had an effect on the lives of hundreds of thousands of students over the course of her career.<span style=""> </span>And, post-teaching, she affected the lives of countless others through her kind heart and generous spirit.<span style=""> </span>At her funeral, a line of people gathered at the podium to speak respectfully of her, and every good thing that was said was also true.<span style=""> </span>Not the case at many funerals where the preacher stands to say the eulogy, says all these wonderful things about a person you knew was not always so wonderful, and you wonder whether the preacher actually knew the person at all because clearly if he did he wouldn’t be saying all those nice things.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">
<br /><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">It’s morbid to think of your own funeral, but it’s inevitable.<span style=""> </span>In life, it’s the only party you’ll have a guaranteed invite for.<span style=""> </span>Yikes!<span style=""> </span>But I know I want to be known for good things.<span style=""> </span>I know I want to make lots of friends and influence people… positively.<span style=""> </span>I know that I want to have gotten all I can get out of this here life, so that when it’s all said and done, nobody will regret that I didn’t get to fulfill my dreams or accomplish my goals.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">I know my life won’t be perfect, but my plan is to work toward being the best me that I can be, and to ENJOY life in the process.<span style=""> </span>How many times have I sat around stagnant in a place I didn’t really want to be because I was too afraid to take a chance or try something outside of my comfort zone?<span style=""> </span>Waste of time!<span style=""> </span>How many times have I given the side eye to the person having too much fun in the club, judging them because I thought they looked silly?<span style=""> </span>And in my attempt to look “cool” and/or “dignified”, I definitely didn’t have as much fun as the “silly” person.<span style=""> </span>Well, no more of that.<span style=""> </span>The primary reason behind all of my “holding-back” tendencies has been FEAR.<span style=""> </span>I’ve been too afraid to think/act/live outside the proverbial box.<span style=""> </span>But now that I am able to put things into perspective and realize that we’re all going to check-out of here one way or another and we don’t know the day, nor the hour, why be afraid?<span style=""> </span>None of us have anything to lose.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">My mission now – I won’t just live… I will THRIVE.
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;">P.S. Tell those who are dear to you that you love them now, and continue to do it often.<span style=""> </span>LOVE is all that matters in this world.<span style=""> </span>When you have nothing else it will carry you through.</p> Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-1077590189461059332010-09-01T22:58:00.004-04:002010-09-02T00:00:27.699-04:00what a girl wants<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:-webkit-xxx-large;"><i> <!--StartFragment--> </i></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial;"><i><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial"><i>First up, can I get a handclap of praise for the fact that I actually posted twice in one day?! That’s more than I’ve done in most months. How awesome is that?! I’m going to try not to be lazy and claim these as my two posts for this week. Hopefully, I’ll come up with something good for you by Friday at least. *fingers crossed*</i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial"><i>I had no clue when I started writing this post that it would turn into a profession of affection for my dad. But as difficult and frustrating as he can be, I do love the man! So I guess it’s only natural that my love for him would shine through in this post. He’s great and has a lot of wonderful qualities... and, after doing this list, I realize now that his good qualities far outweigh his “bad” ones. Huh. Go figure.</i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial">A few weeks back, a friend and I were chatting about our fathers. Our mothers and how much we love them are a daily discussion, but every once in awhile, one of us will bring up our fathers. Well, this time the conversation was more interesting because we were talking about how our relationships with our fathers are the foundation for all other relationships we develop with men in our lifetimes. I was talking about my own dad and made a comment about how there are things about my dad that I love and will seek in a mate and things about him that I find incredibly annoying and will likely end up being deal-breakers for me in my romantic relationships.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial">My friend, always thoughtful, decided to write a blog post about what she wants in a man and how those wants relate to her father's personality/character, and she recommended that all her readers do the same.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial">This will be hard, but... Here goes!</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial"><b>Spiritually Grounded</b>: I know that some men cringe when they see God-fearing at the top of a woman’s “list”. They are afraid that the woman might beat them over the head with a Bible and – God forbid – be a prude in the bed. I get those concerns. I really do. But lemme just say that I think a man that has a genuine and legitimate relationship with a higher power is incredibly sexy! The fact that a man can admit that there’s something out there greater than himself, to me, is such a manly and mature thing. My father has always had a relationship with God. My father’s oldest brother always marvels at the fact that my father, as a teenager/young adult, would get on his knees to say his prayers every night and every morning even if he was dead-tired and, in some case, drunk. And there’s something to be said for the fact that every night before my parents go to sleep, they get on their knees to pray. Even though my father has had both of his hips replaced, he still kneels and shows reverence to God. I love that about him. When he doesn’t know the way out of a particularly sticky situation, he prays his way through it. When he needs answers, he consults the Word, and asks other men and women of faith for their advice. And when he’s being insufferable (more about that in a later post), he gets himself in check by reminding himself of the spirit behind WWJD (what would Jesus do?). I can remember being afraid to sleep in the bed at night and my father getting his big Catholic Bible with the renaissance art illustrations, and reading me verses to help strengthen my faith. I appreciated that even then, and I know that in his heart he is a good man guided by principles and a finely-tuned moral compass. I’m looking for that same passionate faith in my partner. It doesn’t have to be MY God that a man chooses to acknowledge (although that would get him brownie points), but a belief in a benevolent and superior spiritual being is certainly a requirement of mine.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial"><b>Loyal</b>: My mom once told me that despite the fact that she and my dad have had their ups and downs in their relationship that’s spanned more than three decades, the one thing she has NEVER had to worry about was infidelity. My father is a loyal man. He never once spent a night away from us without our knowing where he was and what he was doing. He didn’t keep secrets. He didn’t maintain inappropriate friendships/relationships with other women. He just might be the last faithful man walking this planet. I have been betrayed by so many men in my lifetime and I just don’t want to feel that ever again. I can deal with any other challenge, but don’t dog me out behind my back. I hope that really, if my future mate can’t live up to anything else on my list, my father’s unwavering LOYALTY will be the one thing he chooses to emulate.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Arial; min-height: 18.0px"><i></i><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial"><b>Intelligence</b>: My dad has to be THE most intelligent person I've ever encountered. And I'm not biased. Ask anyone who knows him - he's damn there a genius. And he, of course, knows it. Which can be annoying. But he instilled in me a love for intelligent people. As a result, I'm allergic to dumb people. They make my skin crawl. Education is important (I'll touch on that later), but innate intelligence – even in the absence of formal education – earns a place at the top of my list when it comes to my ideal man.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Arial; min-height: 18.0px"><i></i><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial"><b>Educated</b>: Now, look. Before anyone jumps down my throat about this, please recognize that for most people in this country – except in the case of athletes, models, rappers, and actors (see Puffy/P. Diddy/Diddy Dirty Money for reference) – being educated is the key to success. It just is what it is. And in my house, education was a priority right up there with godliness and cleanliness. And, no wonder. My father was the youngest of 10 kids. My grandfather died when my dad was 4 and he probably had little to no schooling in his lifetime. My grandmother, a domestic worker, didn't make it past 6th grade. Out of his 9 brothers and sisters, my dad was the only one to make it to college. But not only did he make it there, he made it there on a full scholarship (obvi my grandma couldn't afford college tuition off her $32/week salary!), worked the ENTIRE time, pledged a fraternity (which was nothing but distractions and shenanigans even back in the olden days when he was pledging!), got a master's degree, and then copped a Ph.D. And he did all that before he was 28 years old. So, when dudes come to me talking all that riff raff about how school is “not for me", and/or, start making excuses about how they didn't have the "opportunity" to go to college, I look at them like they're buggin. I'm not buying it. If my black "underprivileged" dad could do it during Jim Crow, then you can do it now. No ifs ands or buts about it.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Arial; min-height: 18.0px"><i></i><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial"><b>Disciplined</b>: I am not a disciplined person. It’s something that I’ve been working hard at my whole life and I haven’t managed to master it, but to my father, it comes naturally. My father was a drinker, smoker, and heavy eater. He found out he had diabetes when I was in high school and decided he didn’t want to have to be on meds, so he went into healthy-eating mode, got his diabetes under control, and was able to cut his medication almost completely. Both of his hips were replaced and he even surprised his doctors by how quickly he was able to heal, but the doctors recommended that he do certain exercises daily, and he did them DAILY… without fail. He became anemic and needed to up his iron intake. Someone suggested that he eat plantains to increase his iron naturally, he ate plantains every single day until his doctor told him his iron was at an acceptable level. He flosses his teeth EVERY SINGLE NIGHT before bed, and he kneels to pray in the morning and the evening every day without fail. That, folks, is called discipline. And it’s something that – once you’ve perfected it – permeates every aspect of your life. It’s why you don’t take sick days, why you pay your bills on time, why you’re able to afford that thing you’ve been wanting (because you consistently put away money for a rainy day and are determined not to touch it until it’s time), it’s why you’re faithful to your spouse, and why you’re successful in your career. That discipline is something I need my man to have. I won’t say that your partner should “complete” you (because you should already be complete when you come to your partner), but your partner should complement you. Where you are lacking, s/he should have abundance. Discipline is one thing I don’t have enough of and I hope that my partner will have enough to spare.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Arial; min-height: 18.0px"><i></i><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial"><b>He's Gotta LOVE the HUSTLE</b>: So, yeah, my dad was a professor for 30 years and that paid the majority of our bills. But my dad was fundamentally opposed to being late with bills, being cold during the winter, and being hot in the summer. There were also a few things that we just HAD to have as a family – a nice house in a safe neighborhood, decent cars in our garage, good schools, and vacations. But all these needs required one thing - MONEY. So you know what? My dad did what he had to do to make sure we could afford those things. That meant that he ALWAYS had more than one job. And he found JOY in going to work and providing for his family. He would NEVER dream of sitting at home and forcing my mom into being the breadwinner. And even if my mom insisted that he stay home while she worked, he would refuse. In his mind, that’s just not what a MAN would do. A MAN provides for his family. Plus, my dad just liked being busy. From the time I was a kid, he did a variety of things to bring in extra income. In addition to being a professor, he got published in newsletters, magazines, and newspapers; he opened a therapy practice with my mom; he owned a contracting/handyman service… and, yes, my dad with his Ph.D. and tenured professorship was tearing down drywall, and on his hands and knees fixing plumbing in other people’s homes just to make sure that he would never have to hear his kids say “I need…”. We had all of what we needed and most of what we wanted ‘cause my dad loved the hustle. It would be great if I could know that my man cringed at hearing me say “I need…”. If I could be certain that he would hold us down if need be, that he would find a way to make a dollar out of the proverbial 15 cents. Is that too much to ask?</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Arial; min-height: 18.0px"><i></i><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial"><b>Heart of a "Thug"</b>: Alright, now I KNOW that somebody is going to have to say something about this. But as much as I looooove a polished and professional man, he needs to know about “the streets”. Plus, I’m going to need him to NEVER be shook by another man. My dad is not tall… he’s actually only about 5’8” or 5’9”, but I never noticed that he was of average height because he never – and I mean NEVER – cowered in the face of another man. He's aggressive, no-nonsense, and fiercely protective, and to this day he can walk into any situation and demand respect... if not for his intelligence or business savvy, then for his ability to relate to people on all levels, from the dope slingers to the dignitaries. I always felt safe and protected when I was with my father and knew that he had my back in any and every situation and if I went to him with any issues, those issues would be handled. If I was afraid of anything he would always say "I won't let anything happen to you"... and I believed him, because I knew it was true. Today, my pops is the Chairman of the Deacon Board at my church, and that means he’s second in command, only behind the Pastor. He’s definitely a holy and dignified man, but to put it plainly, there was a time when my dad was a bit of a roughneck. As my maternal grandmother once said “Your daddy and Jesus weren’t always friends.” Bwahaha! But what she meant is that my dad, at one point, was not a man to be played with. He wore suits and cleaned up nicely, but in the streets, he was quick to let you know who’s boss. I’m not gonna go into detail because those of you who know my father don’t need to know the nitty-gritty, but just know that in his heart, my educated, God-fearing daddy is a thug... and I need a little bit of that from my future man. ‘Nuff said.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Arial; min-height: 18.0px"><i></i><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial"><b>Pretty Boy Swag</b>: Sorry for invoking this term, but just go on and blame Soljah Boy Tell ‘Em for this requirement. If you look at my dad now in all his gray haired glory, you might never know that my daddy was fly in his day, but he takes great pride in his hygiene and appearance. I remember at a band concert of mine in elementary school, my parents arrived a little late, and when they walked in, my daddy was wearing a white button-down shirt, navy blazer with gold buttons, a pocket square, slacks, and hard-bottom shoes. Now, mind you, he was a professor and called himself dressing for the classroom. And NOW I think that outfit was on point! But, back then, I wondered why he wasn’t rocking the golf shirt and rumpled khaki pant look all the other suburban dads were wearing. Today, I want a man that knows how to put two pieces of clothing together, a man that is neat and clean, a man that stands out from the crowd. All my exes have had their own unique personal style… good or bad (you be the judge), they owned it and I liked it. Personal style is important, but low on the list because it’s not a deal-breaker and, let’s face it, it can be developed over time.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Arial; min-height: 18.0px"><i></i><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial"><b>Strong Features</b>: This might sound crazy, but I love a prominent nose, strong facial structure, broad shoulders, thick eyebrows and eyelashes, full lips, etc. And, yes, my daddy (and my brother) has all that, too. Skin color, hair type, height (to an extent), etc., are a non-issue, but give me some thick eyebrows and a pair of full lips and I’m good!</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Arial; min-height: 18.0px"><i></i><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Arial">This took a lot longer than expected, so I’m forced to pull a to-be-continued on you. I’ve told you all the qualities my dad has that I want in a man, and next up, I’ll share the things about my dad that NO man better come with a.k.a. DEALBREAKERS.</p></span><p></p><p></p> <!--EndFragment--> </i></span><p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-40149217145138204032010-09-01T10:51:00.003-04:002010-09-01T10:55:33.708-04:00i am not my hair<span style="font-style: italic;">You might luck up on two posts today. I forgot my Kindle (so no subway reading) and my iPod is dead (so no subway tunes). And, in order to survive my trip to and from work, I have to have something to distract me. There's just too much drama on the subway. Not my cup of tea! So to manage my transit issues, today, I wrote the whole way to work, and I'll likely write the whole way home. <br /><br />I was talking with a friend this weekend and she told me she posts to her blog at least twice per week. I'm going to try that. Twice per week is not unreasonable and work has slowed down considerably now that I have an assistant again (!), so I think I can handle that... Stay tuned!</span><br /><br />It's been over a month since I did the Big Chop and swore off relaxers forever. And since that day, I haven't looked back ONCE. I haven't taken a look in the mirror and wished for my shoulder-length hair back. I haven't thought "oh damn! I hate my nappy hair! Lemme throw in a relaxer really quickly."<br /><br />So far, I've received nothing but compliments, but even if that weren't the case, I don't think I'd feel any differently. I just have no regrets. Or... I HAD no regrets. But today, I was speaking to my mom about the fact that I'm exploring new career options and she asked me whether I thought my hair would be a problem. I tried to play dumb I mean, why would it be a problem? *sarcasm* But all things considered - the fact that I'm applying for mid- to high-level positions within very conservative corporate environments, as much as I don't want to give that concern any credence, she just might have a point.<br /><br />"I'm NOT going back to a relaxer for a job," I insisted.<br /><br />But, she had an answer for that also, "You don't have to go back to a relaxer, but you may want to consider a press & curl."<br /><br />Yes, I'm sure she has a point now. This would be temporary fix, and once I was actually offered any job, I could go back to my 'fro. But, I have no idea how a press & curl would turn out on my very short hair. AND, I'm worried about the damage heat could do to my curls also. I would be super pissed if all of a sudden one side of my hair was permanently stuck between straight and curly. I worked hard for these curls, dammit!<br /><br />It's funny, when I was "transitioning" from my relaxer, I overheard a conversation between two natural-haired women. They were talking about recent job interviews one had been on and whether she felt pushback as a result of her hair. She said shed worn a wig to her interviews. A wig!! I know that some people are all about the wigs/weaves/braids/etc., but I just can't get with it! I've done the weave/braid thing several times and within a week or two was (literally) itching to touch my "real" hair stuck underneath. So I'd take it out. All that money on hair and manual labor to "install" it, meant to last for weeks or months, and within days it'd all be wasted.<br /><br />Wigs... Wigs, I don't understand. Even the most expensive ones look HELLA fake! So not cool. And I'd be worried that the people interviewing me wouldn't be able to concentrate given "my" new hairdo.<br /><br />Then again, most white folk don't know real hair from fake. So, perhaps I could get away with it afterall, and when the interview is done, I could pull the wig off and keep it steppin. Hmm... It's a thought.<br /><br />But it pains me that I should even have to consider all this. My hair grows out of my head just like this. The blonde chick with long straight hair doesn't have to plot and plan about what she's going to "do" with her hair for a date, job interview, etc., so why should I? Seems unfair to me. But, then again, LIFE is unfair and sht happens and people have to make decisions that are way more serious than how to rock their hair for a job interview.<br /><br />I'll figure something out. I guess...<br /><br />Sent via BlackBerry from T-MobileLovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-27019444037196266772010-08-19T10:51:00.007-04:002010-08-19T20:33:18.269-04:00Maybe someday...This week I had to make a really hard decision. For the last two years, I've chronicled the saga of my relationship with Mystery Man. And throughout it all, despite all my worrying and conjecture, he's remained elusive. So I decided to cut communication with him altogether. I had been holding on for so long because I truly at one point believed that he and I were friends. But then I realized that our interaction was sporadic. We barely spoke, and when we did, it was via BBM or text or something, we never really hung out or spent time together. After I did a quick rundown of our "relationship", I realized that I might've been a bit delusional in thinking that a "relationship", or even really a "friendship" ever existed between us.<br /><br />And I also started asking myself why I would continue to run TOWARD a person that spent our entire "relationship" running AWAY from me. I wanted him, he didn't want me... it was a waste of time for us both. I got tired, and I realized that it was time for me to move on. But, in order for me to truly move on, I needed to stop talking to him. I needed to foreclose any opportunity to have access to him. So, I de-friended him from Facebook and deleted him from my Blackberry messenger contacts. When I write that down, it doesn't even seem like that big of a deal. Who cares about Facebook? Why do people even use BBM? I mean, so what, right? But, by me closing off those lines of communication - our primary means of contacting one another - I have basically closed the door on that chapter of my life. Without those means, we won't be in touch. That "relationship" is likely over for good.<br /><br />I was tearful as I clicked "Remove from Friends" on Facebook. I didn't want to let go, but then I realized that if I was ever going to stop wasting energy on someone who expended NO energy on me, and eventually end up with someone who saw my value and worth, then I was going to have to go cold turkey, and end this thing once and for all. So that's what I did. I think...<br /><br />I feel sad about it, but I also feel like I spent the majority of those two years chasing him, and ultimately never caught up. I feel like life is unfair because if you love someone THAT MUCH, they should be forced to love you back. I feel like a failure... like maybe I didn't try hard enough. Or maybe I wasn't pretty enough, or funny enough, or smart enough (although, this last part is not likely 'cause I'm damn smart! ha!)...<br /><br />And most of all, I worry that I'll never find anyone to treat me the way I want to be treated or love me the way that I want to be loved because, up to now, it seems like my entire romantic life has been one big disappointment.<br /><br />I didn't want to delete him from my life, but honestly, I just can't take being continually rejected. I can't take being largely ignored.<br /><br />I'm better than that, I'm worth more than that.<br /><br />What I want is someone who will give me their all. Who will love me at my worst, and deserve me at my best. Someone who is loyal and consistent. Who understands that I might not be the smartest girl in the room, the prettiest, the sexiest, or even the most congenial (doubtful! hehe!), but still looks at me with a twinkle in his eye because - to him - I'm as good as it gets.<br /><br />I am into posting songs lately, and every time I hear this particular song, it makes me smile because THIS is precisely the way I wish someone would feel about me. I'm gonna let Kenny sing to ya for a bit so you can see what I mean. Maybe someday... maybe. Someday.<br /><br />Here's hoping, girlies!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cRZSZQrQeAw"></a><div style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% rgb(0, 0, 0); width: 440px; height: 272px;"><embed flashvars="playerVars=showStats=yes|autoPlay=no|videoTitle=Kenny Lattimore - For You (Official Music Video)" src="http://www.metacafe.com/fplayer/sy-1504431954/kenny_lattimore_for_you_official_music_video.swf" wmode="transparent" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" name="Metacafe_sy-1504431954" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="440" height="272"></embed></div><div style="font-size: 12px;"><a href="http://www.metacafe.com/watch/sy-1504431954/kenny_lattimore_for_you_official_music_video/">Kenny Lattimore - For You (Official Music Video)</a>. Watch more top selected videos about: <a href="http://www.metacafe.com/topics/Kenny_Lattimore/" title="Kenny_Lattimore">Kenny Lattimore</a></div><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">And to reinforce the words, check out the lyrics:</span><br /><span><span class="txt_1"><br />For you I give a lifetime of stability<br />Anything you want of me, nothing is impossible<br />For you, there are no words or ways to show my love<br />Or all the thoughts I'm thinking of<br />Cause this life is no good alone<br />Since we've become one,<br />I've made a change<br />Everything I do now, makes sense<br />All roads end, all I do is for you<br /><br />For you I share the cup of love that overflows<br />And anyone who knows us knows<br />I would change all faults I have,<br />For you there is no low or high or in between<br />Of my heart that you haven't seen<br />Cause I share all I have and am<br />Nothing I've said's hard to understand<br />All I feel I feel deeper still, and always will<br />All this love is for you<br /><br />Every note that I play, every word I might say<br />Every melody I feel<br />Are only for you and your appeal<br />Every page that I write, every day of my life<br />Would not be filled with without the things<br />That my love for you now brings<br />For you I make the promise of fidelity<br />Now and for eternity<br />No one could replace this vow<br /><br />For you, I'd take take your hand heart And everything<br />And add to them a wedding ring<br />Cause this life is no good alone<br />Since we've become one you're all I've known<br />And if this feeling should leave, I'd die<br />And here's why, all I am is for you<br />Everything i do now makes sense<br />All roads end, all I do,<br />Is for you</span></span>Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-1765457259811723322010-08-04T21:47:00.002-04:002010-08-04T21:52:47.301-04:00It's not easy bein' me...<div><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Lately, I've been having a really hard time just... being me. I guess all women have some insecurities about their outward appearance, but I think I have a harder time than others. I am short (and now... so is my hair!). I am ordinary. I am plump. I am plain. I am brown.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">But, as the name of this blog suggests... I am also lovely. Inside and out.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I know it, but sometimes I forget. And on those days, this song helps me put it all into perspective.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">So... sing it again, Kermit. I'll just sit here and reflect on the fact that being short, plump, plain, brown... ME... is exactly what/who I wanna be.</span></span></div></div><div><br /></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It's Not Easy Being Green by Kermit the Frog</span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre; font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: normal; font-family:Times;"><pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: normal;font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre;font-size:13px;"><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/hpiIWMWWVco&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/hpiIWMWWVco&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object></span></span></span></span></pre><pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">LYRICS:</span></span></b></span></span></pre><pre><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: normal; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It's not that easy being green<br />Having to spend each day the color of the leaves<br />When I think it could be nicer being red, or yellow, or gold<br />Or something much more colorful like that<br /><br />It's not easy being green<br />It seems you blend in with so many other ordinary things<br />And people tend to pass you over<br />'Cause you're not standing out<br />Like flashy sparkles in the water<br />Or stars in the sky<br /><br />But green's the color of spring<br />And green can be cool and friendly-like<br />And green can be big like a mountain<br />Or important like a river<br />Or tall like a tree<br /><br />When green is all there is to be<br />It could make you wonder why<br />But why wonder why wonder<br />I am green, and it'll do fine<br />It's beautiful, and I think it's what I want to be</span></span></span></span></span></span></pre></span></span></span></div>Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-62902899255458801972010-07-26T23:09:00.004-04:002010-07-29T21:01:41.342-04:00My HAIRstory<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">There was shouting, there was crying, there was fussing and fighting. My dad peered through the door and shouted out, “What are you doing to my baby?” To which my mother responded with a roll of her eyes.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">I was about eight years old at the time, and this scene could’ve been snatched out of any given Saturday afternoon. Because Saturday afternoon in my house circa-my elementary school era, meant Hair Day. The day that my mother and I engaged in our weekly war against my hair, which included washing, conditioning, detangling, blow drying, and hot-combing. It was a vicious battle that usually ended with my irritated mom sweating buckets, and poor little me crying buckets of tears. My mom, she felt for me (she really did), and Lord knows my father – who cannot stand to hear me cry – used to find reasons to escape the house on a Saturday afternoon, so he didn’t have to take part in the nonsense.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">My mom was of the old-school camp that believed that little black girls should have neat little braids and pigtails with bows and bells and whistles, and a hair shouldn’t be out of place. Unfortunately, my hair didn’t get that memo, and it took a nasty struggle to get it to cooperate. It took a few tries for my mom to get the hang of doing my hair, but in the end, she was able to come up with some really cute styles and I got compliments about how “neat” my hair was. That’s because my mother believed in the hot comb. And hairgrease. Lots and lots of hairgrease.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">Now, you might wonder why my mother had to overcome a large learning curve before she became adept at doing my hair. Well, you see, that was because my mother was born (some would say blessed) with beautiful hair. When she wanted straight hair, just a few moments with a blowdryer and her hair would flow down her back, all bone straight and shiny without the assistance of chemicals. And if she didn’t feel like styling it, she’d splash it with a little water, and voila! Her jet black, silky tresses would roll into springy curls almost as soft and sweet as her disposition that would dance and sway around her head like a halo. Much like all the other women on her side of the family who were also born (blessed) with similar locks, she couldn’t walk down the street without hearing someone comment – positively – on her hair. The irony is that she could’ve cared less about it. It was not a point of pride for her. Mainly because my grandmother rejected her own soft, curly hair that at one point during her 20s and 30s, hung to her waist. She saw it as a reflection of the raping and pillaging that white men had done to black women, and didn’t feed into the believe that “straighter is better”, and passed that down to her children.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">Well, needless to say, I wasn’t blessed with the same hair texture as the rest of the women in my family. I didn’t hold the winning ticket in the genetic hair lottery. Instead, my hair was coarse, kinky, and not quite curly or straight. A gift from my unmistakably black daddy, that brought my mama nothing but trouble. But despite the fact that my mom was forced to relive Mama vs. Kinks, she never gave any indication that she thought my hair was “bad”. In fact, when I was a kid, and would be emotionally and physically spent at the end of a long day of washing, drying, and straightening, and I’d look up at her with tears in my eyes and say “Mommy, why can’t I have hair like you?” She’d say, “Because you have your own hair, that’s unique to you and only you… and it’s beautiful! It’s tough and stubborn and lively and beautiful. Just like YOU!” I’d giggle and she’d hug me, and then pull me away to hold me out at arm’s length, and she’d say, “In fact… I wish that MY hair was like YOURS. You can do SO many things with it.” She’d pause to tap me on the tip of my nose. “You’re lucky!” she would say with a wink. And for a minute, I’d forget the battle that had just occurred, and I’d actually feel lucky.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">I’m saying all this to say, the relationship that black women have with their hair is a complicated one. It may be almost as complicated as black women’s relationship with black men.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">Almost.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">So, on Saturday, when I sat down in my stylist’s chair and told her to cut all my hair off, well… that was a big damn deal! But, I’d had it. After two decades of relaxing my hair, I became completely natural. And I have never felt so light, so free, so HAPPY about a hairstyle. I’d forgotten my natural texture, and didn’t have a clue what it would look like when I did it, but I must say I’m thrilled with the end result.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">By the time I sat down in the chair, I just wanted my hair off. It’s been so freakin hot and humid in New York this summer and dealing with two hair textures has been a challenge – to say the least. I had been setting my hair on perm rods and wearing my hair curly during my transition, but that was getting old. I’d been invited to attend a pretty high-profile and glamorous party, and I wanted a straight look, so I got the bright idea to flat-iron my hair. I stayed up late one night and washed and blow-dried and flat-ironed my hair, and when I was done… it looked great! Considering the fact that I hadn’t had a relaxer in over 8 months, I was definitely surprised by the results. But by the time I woke up in the morning, my hair looked a hot-damn mess. So I was late to work because I was in the bathroom running the flat-iron through my hair again. I fixed it, thank God… but what did that matter, because by the time I made it to my office, my hair was all over my head yet again. I ended up skipping the party, which was being held in Midtown on a rooftop, because I was so unhappy with my hair, and I’m glad I did because it ended up raining on the party. Not a good look for relaxed chicks. I spent the remainder of the week flat-ironing my hair two times per day. It was hot, stressful, and stupid! So by the time the week was over and I made it back to DC and into the chair of the woman who cut my hair short when I was 16, I told her to skip the style and get straight to the cutting. I did not flinch, I did not cry, I had NO remorse.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">And my mama, with her beautiful curls (which are short now), was right there beside me cheering me on. When I was done, she clasped her hands together and looked a little teary-eyed when she cooed “It looks beautiful!” And I believed her… because I agreed!</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">Of course, there will be those that don’t like it. When I told my grandmother I’d cut my hair, she screamed. She doesn’t prefer one texture over another, but she’s 82 years old, so she’s not from the generation that embraces short hair on women. She said she’d do her best to get used to it, though.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">And, then, there’s my doorman. He constantly flirted with me prior to the cut, but this morning in the elevator, he stopped me.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">“You changed your hair,” he said.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">“Yep,” I nodded in the affirmative.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">“It’s an afro,” he said.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">“Yep,” I repeated.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">“It looks alright,” he said.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">Um… thanks, Mr. Doorman. But I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s an idiot. And then, that was confirmed when 5 minutes later as I walked down into the subway, a man stopped me to tell me that I was stunning. Not cute, not adorable (these are the two annoying and completely unoriginal compliments I always get), but STUNNING (which I NEVER get). So, eff the doorman. I could get used to the subway guy’s comments.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">Of course, this haircut will take some getting used to. And I’m surprised to find that my hair – underneath the remaining relaxed portion of my hair (she didn’t get it all with the first chop) – I have little ringlets all over. So interesting! I never thought my hair had a curl pattern… the things you learn when you let go of what’s “easy”. I am also surprised to find that I have some heat damage in the front and on the sides of my hair from too much straightening. Once heat damage takes over, you basically have to just let your hair grow out or cut it off because it will never be the same. So I will just continue to let it grow, and go from there.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 16.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">Oh yeah, I think that’s important to mention. I have no intention of my hair being short for long. My plan is to grow it out into a fierce afro, so that I, too, have a halo of curls surrounding my head. Not curls like my mom’s, but curls of my own. I can’t wait!</p><p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-18142921704815647572010-07-20T01:17:00.012-04:002010-08-19T10:50:37.603-04:00H.I.M.<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><i> <!--StartFragment--> </i></p><i><p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Georgia;"><i>Well, I'm back, b*tches!! I promise to never leave you like that again. I don't really have a lot to say about my absence, but maybe this post will give you a glimpse into what was going on inside my head (along with a million + 1 other things!) over these last six months. This post is a doozy, and it was written awhile ago when I was so heartsick, I could barely sleep. Sometimes love knocks you down, but I'm back up again! I've let go of a lot of the hurt and pain I was feeling because I realized that I was likely overreacting about a lot of this. My most rash decision was to stop blogging, but, as you can see, I've given up on that attempt. I cannot be silenced! I've got too much to say. Anyway, here you have it - this is where I was a few months ago. My feelings back then - straight... no chaser.</i></p> </i><p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Georgia; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">Tonight, I literally felt my heart break into two. Nothing in particular caused it, but it was devastating just the same. Now, I’ve felt heartbreak before. In fact, I’ve felt it many, many times before. I point that out to let you know that I KNOW what it feels like. It’s a feeling with which I am, unfortunately, very familiar.</p><p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">I think more than sadness, heartbreak consists primarily of disappointment. Feelings are hurt, hopes dashed. It’s a lonely place to be. Even though everyone has experienced it, when you’re going through it, it seems like you are utterly alone in this world. And every time you feel it, it feels like the first time. Although you recognize what it is, the feeling is fresh, raw, harsh. People compose songs about this shit. They paint pictures, write novels, give speeches. And despite all the effort, I swear it seems that nobody has adequately captured the mix of emotions I’m experiencing.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">So, anyway. This is how I feel. And honestly, I thought I was over all this. Enough time has passed. But everyday the wound is re-opened. And, why? Because we’re still friends on Facebook and Twitter and IM and BBM. The PSEUDO-distance has taken its toll. You know, even when we’re not communicating directly, I know what he is doing, thinking, feeling. Where he is. And what hurts is that the things that he is doing, thinking, feeling – have nothing to do with me. And where he is… well, it’s everywhere – and anywhere – that I am not.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">Likely, he will read this. And he will pass judgment. But at this point, I really don’t care. He ran me away from my blog with a few words and… well, I guess it was a tone. A tone that really upset me and made me second-guess myself, which I have come to do more now in my old age. As a child, I was fearless and could not have cared less what anyone thought about me. That was before I realized that not all love is unconditional.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">But, as usual, I have digressed.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">The point is that I am no longer afraid to write my feelings down and share them on my blog. MY blog is MY safe space. And if you don’t like what I have to say, well… the thing is, YOU don’t have to read what I say. It’s that simple. And, besides, I tried to verbalize my feelings, but no matter what I said, there was no resolution. Despite the passion behind my words, the intensity of my feelings, it was never sufficient. No matter how hard I vehemently argued my side, he wasn’t buying it. Talking in circles, I felt like I was emptying my soul and the receiver was a brick wall. Now, if you saw me chatting up a brick wall on a regular basis, you’d probably begin to doubt my sanity, right? And you’d be justified! That is the definition of crazy. So, I’m done doing that. I am not crazy, but this whole thing was driving me there. Wasting my breath is no longer a favorite past time of mine. I give up. You win.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">I think the reason this has affected me so is because I’ve come to the realization that I was in love. This was the first time in quite some time – possibly ever – where I loved everything about a person. In fact, the only thing that I didn’t love about him, was that he didn’t love everything about me. And Lord knows that was my sign to high-tail it. All those great things about him added up and multiplied didn’t make up for the fact that he didn’t love me back. Such a horrifying realization that wasn’t really a “realization” because I knew it from the beginning, but had hoped for some magical transformation that would change the circumstances. I waited and waited, and tried all combinations of magic words to no avail. And, now, let’s just say I no longer believe in magic.</p><p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">Someone once told me “rejection is God’s protection”. And I’d like to believe that. That as a result of this rejection, God is saving me from some other horrible experience, romantic or otherwise. But it still hurts so bad. The wound is fresh. Raw. And I don’t know why. I don’t hold grudges, but this – right here – certainly is becoming a grudge. Never before has it taken me this long to move on. To let go of the anger in my heart. To trust again. I’m getting there. But I’m not there.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">Yet…</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">I am not dumb enough to believe that there will never be another that will cause me to feel the way I felt, or even something more intense than that. But I’m sure that in the history of the world there have been plenty of spinsters that were hopeful about the future, and ultimately… they became spinsters anyway.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">And technology is such a lie! Given the history, there’s no good reason for us to “follow” each other on Twitter, to be able to send random IM messages to one another in the early morning or late at night, or to be Facebook “friends”. We used to be REAL friends. Now, we don’t even have that. But I don’t want to let go of that. Once that’s gone, there will be nothing. I’m not ready for that.</p><p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">Don’t get me wrong, though, I’m good and hurt. More than anything, the rejection has damaged my pride. Imagine encountering the one person that knows your bad parts as well as he knows your good parts, laying your heart on the line over and over again, and still he doesn’t think you are enough. The grip this reality has on me is frustrating. I don’t want to be haunted by the memory of our potential, but it literally lurks around every corner, waiting to jump out and startle me at the most inopportune moments, and it casts an ugly shadow over all that I do.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">A wise person once said, “Even though sometimes love dissolves, you can still taste it.” Well, it’s slowly dissolving, but the cold, bitter taste of unrequited love mixed with hurt feelings still flavors every little bit of my life. I’m waiting for something sweet…</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">And as another (not-so) wise person said, “there’s an icebox where my heart used to be”. But, again, I’m not foolish enough to doubt that another will come along and melt this frostiness. A new love that will get me so open, I’ll grow a set and take another risk. Throw caution to the wind, live dangerously, fast and furiously, until I’m back in this place again. Waiting to forget the new memories that I’ve made with that man.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Georgia; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">Until then, though, I just need to get over it.</p><i><div style="font-style: italic;"><br /></div><p style="font-style: italic;"></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><br /></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> </i><p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-33580182573888402092010-02-25T15:00:00.003-05:002010-02-25T15:06:16.404-05:00Not really a goodbye... more like "See you later"I have some things to think about that I'm not keen on sharing. As a result, the blog will be on hiatus indefinitely.<br /><br />Here's hoping that whenever I decide to return, you'll still be interested in what I have to say...<br /><br />~ LBGLovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-20741677793785174142010-02-14T00:35:00.003-05:002010-02-14T00:38:40.501-05:00Catching up...<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s been three months since I moved to NYC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>These last few months have just been dedicated to adjusting to the change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m homesick already, which I didn’t think would happen!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I was in such a rush to leave DC, I didn’t stop and think about what would happen should I actually miss it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And miss it, I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I miss the people I left behind every single minute of every single day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I have some great friends and DC and though I celebrated them often when we lived in the same city, now that they’re so far away, I am appreciating them so much more.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I was walking around saying that I miss the people in DC, but not so much the city itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But now, I miss that too!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>One morning, I was lying in bed remembering Georgia Avenue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I have driven down that road so many freakin times, I know it like the back of my hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I can conjure up near perfect images of it in my head, but not seeing it live everyday is tough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>A lot tougher than I expected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Speaking of driving, I miss that too!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I never EVER thought I would say that, but some mornings when I’m waiting to get on the overcrowded subway, there’s nothing I want more than to hop in my moderately-priced mid-sized sedan and roll the eff out!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">And then, there’s the cleanliness issue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I never noticed or appreciated it before, but DC is one of the cleanest cities I’ve ever been to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>New York, while lovely, beautiful, trendy, and fabulous, is a dirty cesspool of a place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>For a germophobe like me, functioning here has been a real challenge!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Riding the subway everyday and getting coughed and sneezed on by all manner of sketchy people, I’m basically living out my worst nightmare!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve nearly fallen when the train accelerates because I’m trying not to hold on to the poles on the train.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Those things are a breeding ground for germs!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s been rough on the kid!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">The thing is, despite all of this, I am loving this experience!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Getting out of DC and living in the one city that I have found so intriguing for my entire adult life is a dream come true (even if that “dream” is sometimes a “nightmare”!)!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But I must admit that the situation would be even better if I lived alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I love my apartment… like, it is THE best apartment that I’ve seen in New York.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Well, with the exception of Jack’s apartment… that thing was sick!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But other than that, my apartment takes the cake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The only thing is… it’s not MY apartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I live with a roommate who actually owns our unit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And even though I pay rent here, and I suspect that I probably pay the majority of her mortgage when you really break it down, I will always feel like a guest in this house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That’s why the last couple of weeks I’ve been literally obsessed with finding my own place.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I’m sure you were wondering what I could’ve been doing all these months that was so freakin important that I couldn’t be bothered with updating this blog?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Well, I couldn’t focus because I literally spend all of my free time searching for apartments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And what’s the best way to find apartments in New York City?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Well, I polled a bunch of people and they all assured me that, these days, everyone uses Craig’s List.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I found this unbelievable, but no matter who I asked, I was directed to CL, and so I finally decided to use it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That’s how I ended up in my current situation, which is not “bad” by any stretch of the imagination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s just not “good” either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I am looking for the perfect NYC apartment, and what I’m discovering is that the perfect apartment is as elusive as the perfect man… is hard to locate than the Holy Grail, is more difficult to secure than an Olympic gold medal or a Super Bowl ring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Yeah, it really is that serious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Ask anyone who lives here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It takes WORK to find the “right” place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I don’t have a ridiculous list of criteria that this place has to meet either, so I really don’t see the big deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I mean, basically, I’m looking for a studio or 1BR apartment, in Manhattan (preferably the Upper West Side or Southwest Harlem), that’s close to the train, with a doorman, an elevator, and a convenient laundry situation, and that won’t break the bank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Doesn’t sound hard, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Well, guess what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Apparently, that shit is damn near IMPOSSIBLE to find.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I look everyday, and the things that I come up with are always subpar.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I did find a really nice furnished 1BR apartment in Soha (South Harlem… and, yes, the real estate folks really call it that!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There’s also SpaHa, which is short for Spanish Harlem – a place I am trying to avoid!) for a great price, BUT even though the unit was nice the building itself was a dump… AND you had to take your clothes to a Laundromat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But, um… I don’t do the Laundromat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That’s not a part of the deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So, I had to scrap that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The highlight of that trip was that the owner and I had been going back and forth and he seemed like a decent guy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>His name was Sal and he was a nice older Italian man who was always available when I called to ask questions…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>or so I thought!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I woke up early on a Saturday morning to meet Sal so that I could view the apartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>When he showed up, I was surprised to find that he was an uber-tall super fine really sweet Dominican dude that was around my age!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Of all the luck!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But after we talked a little more, he explained that he was renting his apartment because he is moving in with his long-term girlfriend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Of course he is!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Again, of all the luck… BAD luck!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Argh!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Anyway, it was nice to see that there are fine professional brown male homeowners out here in Harlem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Gives me a bit of hope, I suppose.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I’ve met a few other really cool people as well, but those are stories for another day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Right now, I’m faced with a dilemma that I’m having a hard time solving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So, basically, I found an apartment that is damn there perfection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The only thing is, it’s in the same complex where Mystery Man lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Oh yeah… I suppose I should also tell you a little about that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We’ve actually spent quite a bit of time together since I moved here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We’ve had some really great times, and, again, those are stories for another day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>(Hopefully, I’ll get around to writing them all down sooner or later!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>At any rate, despite all the great times we’ve had and wonderful memories we’ve made over the last three months, we’re no closer to being together than we were when I lived in DC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That’s disappointing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But what’s worse is that now we might end up living literally around the corner from one another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That could be a very good thing, but it could also be a very bad thing… a thing with numerous repercussions… some that aren’t even foreseeable at this point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This worries me (cue Tim Gunn).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Prime real estate in NYC, especially Manhattan, is a rare find and, should it present itself, must not be passed over under any circumstances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So should I consider giving up an apartment that basically meets all of my criteria to keep from creeping Mystery Man out?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I mean, he knows that I’ve considered his apartment complex before, but I wonder if he’s considered how he would feel if I actually moved in there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I mean, whatever… I am seriously considering it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Teresa made a good point – what would I do if I happened to see Mystery Man around there with another woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Well, basically, it would kill me, but maybe that’s what I need to see so I can move on!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My thing is, the community is HUGE… there are like 11 buildings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And I refuse to live in the same building as he does, so that’s not even an option.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But a surrounding building shouldn’t be off limits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I have every right to move in there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s a free country and I can do what I damn well please… but I also don’t want him to feel weird or to feel as though I’m a stalker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It could get weird!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Honestly, this place is just the best fit for me, and I’m drawn to it for some reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m gonna go for it!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">But if it’s such a great idea, then why do I feel so strange about my decision?</p> <!--EndFragment-->Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-10075508359111138272009-12-30T15:44:00.005-05:002009-12-30T15:59:56.764-05:00The Pursuit of Happiness<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><i>You know that the end of one year/beginning of another is always a time where I get reflective and introspective on this here blog. And this year is no exception. Here's a post on my little happiness project that I plan to apply in 2010. We'll see how far into the year I get before I abandon ship! Lol! Thinking back, I may have already done a very similar post in a year gone by, but I'm too lazy to confirm that, so if this is redundant, then please just take the repetition as a sign that I'm a zealous advocate for the point I'm trying to get across! Happy New Year, snitches... I'll see you in 2010!</i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I moved to NYC for one reason, and one reason only: because I thought it would make me happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Before moving to NYC, I was profoundly UNhappy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And who wouldn’t have been unhappy living the life I was living?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I was 30 years old, a resident of my parents’ house, still sleeping in my childhood room (albeit in a big girl bed!), governed by the house rules (curfews and sht), working a job that I couldn’t have cared less about, in a city that I was generally bored with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It was a miserable existence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">All of my visits to New York were mostly sunshine and rainbows, and it was the place where I felt the most alive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The most, authentic me (if you will) made an appearance every time I visited my friends there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And I liked the authentic me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I thought it’d be cool for the authentic me to stick around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And, so, after my 30<sup>th</sup> birthday, I made it my business to become a resident of NYC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It was the first thing I affirmatively decided on my own without any influence from my parents, extended family, and friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It was what I wanted to do and, whether it made sense or not, I was going to do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’d lived 30 years, and not very happily and this was my first step toward the happiness that I believed had eluded me for so long.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">And so, I went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I found a job that I really like (I don’t love it, but I like it, and that’s enough for now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>One hurdle at a time!), happened upon a decent roommate, and moved into a great space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So far, it’s been really good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But am I any happier than I was in DC?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m not sure that I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Now, I’ve only been there a couple of months, and I haven’t really had the time or the opportunity to explore the city the way I’d like to explore it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That’s part of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But the other part of it is that I recognize that I’m me… authentic, real, unchanged… and I’m going to be just little old me no matter where I am located. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">An acquaintance of mine tells this story of how she lived in DC all her life and knew that NYC was where she really wanted to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Times got hard after grad school and she had to move back to DC and stay in her parents home, in her childhood room, and wait for months to receive a job offer from an employer in NYC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She was miserable while at home in DC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She was depressed, drank a lot, smoked a lot, didn’t eat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And when the call finally came, it was a job that she knew she would hate but because it would get her to NYC, she took it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She never looked back and is now, in the words of the all-knowing and all-wise Oprah, living her best life.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I guess, in a way, I thought I would have a similar story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And, maybe I will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>After all, she worked that shitty job that got her back to the city for almost a year before she found one that she could stomach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And even after that, it took her about seven years to reach what is sure to be the pinnacle of her career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So, I’ve got a long road to travel (or maybe not so long at all… who knows?!) before I reach my final destination in my NYC life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Or, maybe none of that will happen to me at all.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">One of the reasons I was so drawn to Mystery Man is because at first glance, you can tell that he is a genuinely happy, content, secure, and settled person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I was attracted to that because I was none of those things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I wanted to get to know him… to delve into his personality and get inside his head to get a sense for how he managed to be so put-together all the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Well, what I found out was that Mystery Man had problems just like the rest of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There were times when he was sad, dissatisfied, flustered and uncertain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He was human… go figure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But what he explained to me, and this is something that I carry with me everyday, is that happiness is not a destination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He explained that it’s not about getting to a certain point in your life, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">then</i> you will be happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s about deciding that you will be happy and then carrying on with the journey that is your life, carrying that happiness with you, and letting it shine through at every moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That is how you live your best life. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">There are times when you’ll hit roadblocks and obstacles and you’ll feel that if this is the best your life can offer, you’d like the opportunity to get back in bed, lie down, wake up, and start the day over again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But even in those times, you can choose to make the most of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>You can just make the decision to keep right on living your best life.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">And the phrase “living YOUR best life” is important.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That “your” makes it relative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>What is your best life will not be the best life for someone else and vice versa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So, one of my New Year’s resolutions is to be sure not to compare my life to others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Some of my friends are doing really great, wonderful, downright FANTASTIC things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>They’re experiencing some of the stuff I’d hope to be experiencing at this point in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But their path is different from mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And my best life is going to look different from theirs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Not better, or worse… but different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And that’s okay.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I am writing this post from my parents’ couch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My office is closed from December 23 through January 4, so I actually had a winter break… a luxury I had not been privy to since graduating from law school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I decided to come back to DC to spend that time with my family and friends here, and was really looking forward to ringing in the New Year with friends at some crazy party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But, a day or two after Christmas, my ear started hurting, and then my throat started hurting, and then… I was officially sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I headed to the doctor who told me that I had a very bad case of strep throat, and I was quarantined and put on a regimine of antibiotics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So, I’ll be ringing in the New Year from the couch, all alone… just me and the dog when 2010 finally gets here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Now, I could make the choice to be really pissed off about this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And, for awhile, not only was I pissed about my circumstances, but I also felt extremely sorry for myself and cried quite a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m not sure where the crying came from, but… tears did make an appearance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Anyhoo, I now recognize that there’s nothing to be sad about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>2010 is upon us, and I lived to see it… in reasonably good health (strep throat isn’t the end of the world, after all… and thank God for penicillin!)!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Many people can’t claim that victory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Plus, I’m employed, have a roof over my head, $20 in my pocket (okay… maybe a little more than 20!), a loving family, wonderful friends… these are all tremendous blessings!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I am so grateful!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And, while I’m still looking for love in all the (really) wrong places, and I’m not happy about my current status, I should make the choice to be happy about the fact that Mystery Man and I are exactly what we’re meant to be right now… great friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He’s one of my biggest cheerleaders, and I his.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We are there for each other, can discuss just about everything, and he’s just a great guy that I’m happy to know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>For now, there ain’t no more to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m happy anyway!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Maybe it’s time for me to just accept the fact that my life is what I make it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I mean, my friend could’ve lived her best life in her childhood bedroom, right in Washington, DC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I could’ve also chosen to do the same. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Because happiness is not found in a place like NYC or DC or Atlanta or LA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Happiness isn’t found in another person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>No, happiness is within YOU.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Happiness is a choice… you have to choose it, in order for it to choose you.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">So, on Thursday night when the clock strikes 12 midnight and 2010 is officially here in all of it’s glory, I’ll be in DC, holding it down live and direct from my mama’s couch, making a toast with my hot toddy, watching the ball drop… and I’ll be completely and totally happy about it all.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Happy New Year!!</p> <!--EndFragment-->Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-9233299237583159032009-11-21T17:59:00.001-05:002009-11-21T18:02:05.088-05:00Uptown Girl<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">When I arrived at the apartment, my cab driver actually helped me get my things in the front door. I was floored. I haven't always had the best experiences with NYC cab drivers, but he was pretty cool. I'd been to my new apartment exactly once in my life... the day that my mom and I had gone to look for apartments in NYC. I was determined to find the right place, but I didn't have much time to do it. I'd gotten the offer and they didn't want to give me more than two weeks to end my job and get settled in NYC. Well, I negotiated like my life depended on it, because... well... really, it DID depend on it, and they agreed to give me three and a half weeks. I gave my former employer two weeks notice the next day, and then I planned to take a week to get settled in NYC before I started work. <div><br /></div><div>But in order to be settled, I'd need a place to settle-in! Several friends told me that everyone uses Craig's List to find apartments in NYC. Who knew? I certainly had no idea! So, I decided to check it out and see what Craig's List had to offer. My mom and I saw 8 places that day. Six of the places were "shares" where one person was looking to find someone to live with them in a 2BR apartment. The apartment I chose was definitely the best of the day. The woman who was my roommate seemed to be the most "normal" of the lot, the rent was reasonable, and the living space was clean, modern, and quiet. Can't beat that in NYC! I jumped at the chance to room with her, and the rest (as they say) is history.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, here I was arriving in this place after only meeting my roommate and seeing my room once. I had no idea what to expect. When I walk through the front door, there is a black "doorwoman" sitting at the front desk. I tell her who I am and she hands me an envelope with my key. She doesn't smile, gives me the side eye when I thank her for finding my key, and doesn't respond when I say "Have a good one." Welcome to New York...</div><div><br /></div><div>When I finally make it inside, my roommate is home and we go over some paperwork, and then she heads out for work. My friends Shari and Kim had invited me to have dinner and then to go see "Precious" (GREAT movie, go support it!!) as an introduction to the concrete jungle. I was exhausted, but I figured I'd be good as new after a hot shower and a nap. As I unpacked my duffle and tote, I realized that the one thing I forgot to bring with me is deodorant, so I ask my roommate to point me in the direction of the nearest drug store. She tells me that Duane Reade is about 6 blocks away. Waaaay too far to go for deodorant, in my opinion. So, she suggests that I try this little pharmacy that's a block away from our building. When I cross over to the next block, I'm surprised at how drastically the neighborhood changes. It was then that I realized... I'm in the 'hood! I'm okay with that, but it's still something that you have to be prepared for. I wasn't ready for that sudden realization!</div><div><br /></div><div>At any rate, I walk into the pharmacy that was really more like a bodega with a few medicine bottles on one of the shelves in the back, and grab some deodorant. Then, I head back to my apartment. When I get inside, there's a different doorman at the front desk, so I walk over and introduce myself. When I tell him my name, he looks pissed. </div><div><br /></div><div>"You have about six boxes back here, and they're big and they're heavy."</div><div><br /></div><div>I peek behind the desk and recognize the boxes that my parents and I had shipped on Monday. The same boxes that weren't supposed to arrive until the next day. For once in my life, UPS was EARLY with a package. Of all the dumb luck! Not only that, but the flat-screen TV I'd ordered that wasn't supposed to arrive until Friday was there, too!</div><div><br /></div><div>"I know you're new here, so I'm sure 'they'll' be more forgiving toward you, but this is a co-op and 'they' don't like packages to stay behind the front desk for too long. If I were you I'd go get a cart from the super and take the boxes upstairs now."</div><div><br /></div><div>Uh... okay. First of all, who is "they" and, second of all, I was NOT trying to hear that I needed to carry anything upstairs after the day I'd just had. But, duty called, so I schlepped down to the basement to locate the super, found a dolley, and came back upstairs where the doorman half-assed helped me load the boxes on the cart, and then brought them upstairs and began unloading in my apartment. By the time I was done, I was a hot sweaty mess with a broken back... again. </div><div><br /></div><div>But, I just couldn't bring myself to stay in the house on my first night in New York. So, I showered, dressed quickly, pulled my hair back, threw on some lipstick, and headed to the subway to take my first train ride as a "New Yorker" down to Lincoln Center to meet Shari and Kim for dinner and a movie.</div><div><br /></div><div>Shari picked a Chinese restaurant for dinner. Now, if you know Brown GIrl, you know that I do not really dig "ethnic" foods. And that includes Chinese, Indian, Caribbean, Ethiopian, etc. So, I wasn't happy, but it wasn't until I sat down at dinner that I realized I hadn't eaten all day! Needless to say, I tore my dinner to shreds... I probably looked like an animal! But I was soooo happy to have my tummy filled that I didn't even care that I probably just looked like a pig in the middle of a very nice restaurant... We headed over to the movie, and that was fantastic... just PHENOMENAL (go see it! Really... GO SEE IT!), but by the end, I was physically and emotionally spent. It had been a LONG day. Kim drives (thank God!), so I didn't have to battle the subway this time... she just drove me home. </div><div><br /></div><div>But as soon as I hit the front door, Karina called to say she was chillin at a friend's crib nearby and invited me to come hang. Of course, I couldn't say no... it was my first night in NYC! So I hopped in a cab and headed over. The "friends" apartment was a highrise on the 31st floor, and it had panoramic views of the city. Just... SICK views. So I took that in for awhile, chatted with a few other folks who were chillin over there, and then Jenna called and invited us to come have a drink at a wine bar near her apartment in West Harlem. Within minutes, we were out the door and headed crosstown for that drink. Jenna, Karina, and I chatted until about 1am, and then finally called it a night. I was beyond tired, and couldn't wait to hop in another cab (this cab riding WILL stop, because I will NOT go broke over transportation!) to head back to the apartment and spend my first night in my NYC bed.</div><div><br /></div><div>In all, it was a good introduction to NYC. I had a good first day... long, but good.</div><div><br /></div><div>And the next few days would be even more entertaining. Trust me...</div></span>Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-70764539879516559762009-11-12T00:31:00.002-05:002009-11-12T00:34:04.654-05:00Doin' It...My parents kept poker faces about my move to NYC, but I think they were a little sad that I'd be leaving them... and so suddenly! Plus, for the first time in my life, I didn't ASK them what I should do, I TOLD them what I was going to do. Not in a disrespectful way, but I let them know that although I was taking the time to explain my decision to them (which wasn't really necessary, but I felt it was best to at least let them know WHY I chose to relocate) my decision wasn't up for discussion. That was a big step for me! But anyway, they claimed that they totally understood, and they were supportive of me in the best way they knew how. My mom has fragile hands and weak upperbody strength and my dad has had both of his hips replaced and is under strict orders not to lift heavy items. So, they couldn't physically help me move. Instead, they threw their money into the cause and paid for me to have my belongings shipped to me at my new apartment in New York. I couldn't object to that... afterall, it made perfect sense, and it was convenient... and they were paying! Yay, Mom and Pop!<br /><br />It took me two weeks to pack, and repack, and then pack again, but in the end, I fit my whole life into six large cardboard boxes. On Monday, my parents and I lugged those six heavy boxes to the UPS Store (my mom and I did the lifting and my dad pushed the boxes into the store) and mailed all my crap (sadly, it was mostly clothes) to my new address. I would arrive in NYC on Tuesday, so my mom and I requested that the boxes be delivered on Wednesday afternoon, and we were told that was no problem. My mom's theory on this was that it would give me time to ease into this big change if I could have a low-key night on Tuesday and then wake up on Wednesday and move all my sht into the apartment. I agreed with that assessment and that's the way that I planned for things to occur.<br /><br />On Tuesday morning, I got up bright and early and my parents drove me to Union Station where I caught a train to NYC. In addition to the six boxes that I'd shipped the day before, I also had a rather large duffle bag (on wheels, thank God!) that was filled to the brim with clothes and shoes and toiletries, and a large tote bag that housed my laptop, digital camera, iPod, reading material, etc., for the train. It was more than 70 degrees when I left, but I needed to bring my winter coat with me and in addition to the two pieces of luggage I was carrying and my incredibly heavy (as usual) purse, I was forced to wear the coat over my black fuzzy turtleneck sweater. By the time I got to the train, I was a hot sweaty mess. And then, I had to figure out how to get my bags on the train. <br /><br />See, that's why I'd contemplated on taking the bus to New York, because the workers for the bus line will just throw your things onto the bus and then you keep it moving. When you get off the bus, they've already pulled your stuff out for you. It's really a very convenient, easy, and streamlined process. But... as you know, there are tradeoffs. You may end up sitting next to someone who smells, or someone who's crazy, or the bathroom which... smells crazy! It's just a smelly crazy experience, and one that I'm not willing to deal with in exchange for a little convenience. So, this is why on this particular day, I ended up throwing out my back as a result of lifting both heavy bags up onto the train, while three burly and bored-looking Amtrak employees stood by and watched... even after I called out for help. <br /><br />But, I'm a soldier. I may be small, but I've got heart. And I got those bags onto the train with no help from the blasted Amtrak employees who continued chitty-chatting and smoking cigarettes while I struggled. In the end it paid off because I got to NYC in record time and the train was quiet and nearly empty, so I got a seat by myself and was able to stretch out for the duration of the trip. Nice! When we arrived in NYC, I took my things off the train (hurting my back AGAIN) in the process, and hopped in a cab, headed toward my new home and staring in the face of destiny. <br /><br />I couldn't have been more excited, but I was also super-nervous. I hate unknowns and the worst thing about this whole process (which, of course, happens to also be the greatest thing about this whole process), is that EVERYTHING is an unknown. My living situation, my job, my social life, etc. What will happen? When will it happen? How will it happen? Will I love NYC and never want to leave? Will I hate it and go running back to DC? Nobody but God knows. But one thing is for certain... whatever happens, I plan to make the best of it. As my father always says "There ain't nothin to it, but to do it." So, I'm gonna do it.<br /><br />The beginning...Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-1193871384496525822009-11-11T22:47:00.001-05:002009-11-11T22:47:51.480-05:00Empire State of MINEGuess who's bizzack!<br /><br />Is anybody out there? I hope I haven't lost you. Are you still interested in hearing what I have to say?<br /><br />Anybody?<br /><br />*crickets*<br /><br />Ooookay. Well, I wouldn't blame you if you never came back to this blog again. After all, I totally abandoned y'all and I'm sorry about that. But I'm back and I've got a lot of juicy tidbits to share. So, a lot has changed since the last time I posted. A few months back, I got a little introspective and decided it was time to finally get around to accomplishing some of the stuff I'd been wanting to do for YEARS, but was either too unmotivated or too SCARED to do them. At the top of that list of unfinished business - NEW YORK. How long have I been talking about this?! I've wanted to live there since 1999, so 10 years later... I got tired of talking about it and I finally decided to step out and do something about it.<br /><br />I started applying for any and every job that sounded even remotely interesting, but I was certain to only apply to NYC employers. I've been stuck in DC for my whole life, and it's been great, but I'm very "been there, done that" about DC. It was just time to do something different. I've felt the pull toward NYC for a long, long time, but every opportunity that's ever opened up to me has been in DC. So, in order to insure that I wouldn't get "stuck" in DC again, my focus was only on NYC employers.<br /><br />A few weeks ago, I spied a job that seemed perfect for me, so I applied. The next morning, a Friday, I got a call from the Director of the office, inviting me for an interview that coming Monday. I went up on the train (splurged on the Acela even!), killed it, and by Thursday had an offer. The terms of the position weren't perfect, but they were good enough... and it was in NEW YORK! I jumped at the chance, and finally, I could actually say that a dream was being realized... and not by accident. I worked this out purposefully.<br /><br />So, yesterday, I officially became a New York City resident. I'm living in Manhattan with a roommate who's a Broadway dancer. So far, she's cool... TINY, but cool. Lol! (And you know that if I am calling someone tiny, they're pretty damn small). BUT... it's still early in our relationship! Check back with me in a month to see if that's the only thing I've got to say to about her! But for now, we're getting along quite well. My block is nice and my building is amazing... so, in all, I'm very happy. <br /><br />But I've got to get used to this city living. I'm used to driving everywhere, wide open spaces, friendly people, chirping birds, and a slow pace. NYC gives me... well... none of that! This will be quite an adjustment, but I'm looking at it as one very EXCELLENT adventure! I'll be chronicling my transition here on this blog, so stick around if you want to hear some very... "interesting"... and inadvertently comedic tales about my life in the big city.<br /><br />Stay tuned...Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-36110210816931638012009-10-09T11:36:00.002-04:002009-10-09T11:37:07.012-04:00We Gotta Do Better<span style="font-style:italic;">It's been two months, but I'm bizzack! Sorry to come back on a such a somber note, but I just had to share this. Peace.</span><br /><br />The first time I saw "Boyz in the Hood", John Singleton's classic film about life in South Central L.A., I cried nonstop for two days. My father who had grown up on the mean streets of East St. Louis thought it was a good idea for my and my sheltered valley-girlish behind to see what was really going on in "our" communities, so he arranged a field trip for me and my equally suburban cousins to go to see the movie at the local theater. I had no idea what was in store for me, I just went along with everything and was excited to see a movie that had Ice Cube in it. I may have been from the 'burbs, but I was already in love with rap music and would've seen any movie featuring any rapper, regardless of the subject matter, at that point in my life.<br /><br />Now, I say that my father grew up on the mean streets of East St. Louis and, at the time, they were relatively rough. But in relation to the roughness of South Central in the early 90s, he may as well have lived in Utopia. When my dad was a kid, the worst that would happen to someone was getting jumped. Back then, they fought with fists and usually someone broke it up before things got too bad. Sure, some of his friends died young but most of them died in car crashes, from getting improper treatment for easily curable diseases, or drowned in the Mississippi River. He lost other friends drug and alcohol addiction, and he was one of the few who made it out of their tiny depressed neighborhood. But, he felt that he got a sense of what it meant to grow up poor, and he knew that he had a lot of street sense... these were two things that he felt made him into the man that he is today, and these were two things that he felt that my cousins and I were missing. So, he would do little things to expose us to how other people were living. This was one of those "lessons".<br /><br />On a Saturday afternoon, we went to see the movie. I have always been a BIG fan of TV shows and movies, so I was really excited about seeing how the story would unfold. We get to the part when Ricky (Morris Chestnut) was walking through the alley and the car rolled up on him slowly. The whole movie theater had been hushed all while he was running through the streets, and when the car pulled up and the semi-automatic weapon was pointed out of the window, there was a loud groan. Everybody knew what was going to happen. That scene is permanently burned in my mind. It was all in slow motion, and I felt like a rug had been pulled out from under me. I couldn't breathe. I was confused, and then the tears came. I sobbed audibly in the movie theater. And later, in the scene where Ricky's mom learned (too late) that he'd scored high enough to make it to college and get out of the hood, I burst open with fresh tears.<br /><br />The drive home was quiet. All of us kids were in a daze and my parents were letting things sink in. When we dropped off cousin #1, I was still crying. As we dropped off cousins #2 and #3, I was still crying. When I made it home, the tears kept coming. And for a few days after we saw the movie, I would burst into tears at random times. It was very strange and my parents who are both therapists were concerned. They thought maybe I'd experienced some sort of post-traumatic stress as a result of seeing the movie. I guess their diagnosis was right. <br /><br />The bottom line is that I was stunned. Stunned that people lived like that. Stunned that children and teenagers were killed for such trivial reasons. I mean, when I was growing up, DC was no "safe" place. When I was a child, people were getting shot and stabbed for their Jordans. Then, I got a little older, crack ran rampant throughout the city and people died daily in the drug wars. I grew up at a time when Rayful Edmonds ruled my city, so death and dying were not new concepts to me. (If you've never heard of him, Google him. He was major.) But still... those people I saw on the news weren't "real" to me. I didn't know them personally and had no idea of their stories (because the news did not do an adequate job of humanizing the victims of these crimes). Ricky changed all that. (And to this day, I cannot see Morris Chestnut without thinking "Hey! It's Ricky!" Lol!) <br /><br />At any rate, eventually the tears stopped flowing, but I seem to remember a dramatic shift in my thinking after seeing that movie. I started to recognize that the world wasn't this safe, comfortable place where I'd been living my life all these years. I realized that there were people out there in the world who experienced that type of loss on a daily basis, having friends and family killed over dumb shit. My eyes had been opened to the harsh reality of our world and the fragility of life... that it could be gone in a second... taken away by someone who has NO RIGHT to determine when it should end. And that made me angry.<br /><br />I got mad all over again when I heard about the video that showed the murder of 16 year old Chicago high school student Derrion Albert. I refused to watch the video because I knew that, for me, it would be just like watching Ricky get shot in the back all over again... except this time, it would be REAL. I couldn't watch. I wouldn't. But it still made me angry. How DARE this happen in broad daylight with a crowd of people watching it all go down? Who is protecting our children? Who is telling them that their blatant disrespect for their brothers and sisters is destroying our community? We're failing our children. We're not doing what is necessary to help them see that there is another way. Killing one another is getting us nowhere. But we have become so desensitized to killing... this kind of thing happens everyday in communities across the country, but unfortunately, it take something egregious like catching it on tape to cause any real outrage.<br /><br />And then, just a few days later, Ashley "AJ" Jewell, the fiance of Kandi Burruss (formerly of Xscape and now a cast member of Bravo's Real Housewives of Atlanta) was killed outside of Body Tap, a well-known strip club in Atlanta. I'm saddened by AJ's death... I wasn't exactly a fan of his in life (although I was only going by what I saw on the show), mostly because he was the father of six children by four different women, which is overdoing it just a tad if you ask me (condoms, anyone?!). I tweeted about the fact that I found his obvious promiscuity and aversion to prophylactics to be a symptom of severe lack-of-judgment-itis. But the fact remains that last Friday night, when his grown ass stepped out of Body Tap to fight another grown man in the parking lot, he didn't take into consideration that he might be putting his well-being AND that of his SIX children at risk. Why, oh why, are you 30+ and still fighting in (or outside of) the club? I'm floored! So now, a woman is without a fiance, and six children are without a father. And what kind of example was AJ setting by even taking it there in the first place?! We need our men to stand up and show us what's right. Lead, don't follow. Use your head sometimes! Don't always be lead by the rules of your testosterone fuled pissing contests. Sometimes when I get angry, I don't break things or scream and shout, I cry out of frustration. <br /><br />I read the headline about AJ's death and I got choked up. I didn't know him personally, I didn't have to. <br /><br />These young men are gone too soon.<br /><br />And I'm pissed (and still crying).Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-7038936305137898332009-08-19T21:28:00.001-04:002009-08-19T21:28:40.747-04:00The Shoe GameThis past weekend Bestie and I took a long overdue trip to the City to visit Jenna. We had an absolutely fab time! A good friend invited us to a white party on Saturday night, and even though I think white parties are lame (nobody has any business throwing a white party unless you’re name is Diddy and your venue is the Hamptons), I made a good effort to find a cute white dress and I recruited Bestie and Jenna to come along with.<br /><br />Before I left Jenna’s apartment, I threw on a pair of gold flip flops and wrapped my heels in a plastic bag, which I tucked neatly in Bestie’s oversized handbag. I adore fashion just as much as the next chick, but I’m well aware that my feet have an expiration date and I can only rock out in heels for so long before I have to make the switch to a more comfortable pair of shoes. <br /><br />We pre-gamed at this Moroccan restaurant that Jenna’s current boy-toy owns, and he kept our glasses filled (and didn’t charge us!). So, needless to say, by the time we made it downtown to the white party, we were a bit tipsy. It honestly never even occurred to me to change my shoes, and once I saw the early-birds at the party, I wasn’t impressed by anyone enough to be concerned about my footwear. I didn’t get any cell service in the venue, so I walked away from where Jenna, Bestie, and I had posted up near the bar and towards the hallway. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted two men checking me out, but I didn’t see anything particularly interesting about them so I continued on in my attempt to find a signal for my Crackberry. Just as I pass the duo, one of them leans down and says, “I hope your heels are in your bag, baby. I don’t know what’s wrong with all these women wearing flats. Y’all don’t believe in heels these days?”<br /><br />This stopped me in my tracks. I turned and looked him up and down. He was wearing a white and turquoise Western style (think Cowboy) shirt, and a matching hat. <br /><br />“You’re wearing a cowboy costume and you’re worried about me wearing FLATS?!,” I snapped. “You’re kidding me, right?”<br /><br />He chuckled and I kept walking, but he got in my head. When I returned from checking my messages, I asked Bestie to hand over my heels and I slipped them on. By the end of the night, my feet were numb, but I endured the pain because I figured if that fool from earlier had a problem with women in flats, a lot of men probably did. And not that I was at the party to attract or pick up men, but... let’s face it - everybody wants to be attractive to someone and apparently this heel thing is a big deal!<br /><br />When my book club read the Steve Harvey “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man” book, I got to the chapter of frequently asked questions and someone asked Steve whether men prefer women in flats or heels. His very enthusiastic answer basically said that men will choose heels every time and, in fact, he’d never even MET a man who would say that he preferred to see a woman in flats. He said that if men had their way, they’d even put heels on gym shoes. That’s how much it matters. My heart sank... I was really hoping that he’d say that it doesn’t matter. I’d like to think that Steve Harvey doesn’t speak for all men, but my gut says that he does.<br /><br />I had a friend in law school who told me that she didn’t feel like she was dressed unless she had on a pair of heels, which I thought was ridiculous at the time, but she actually meant what she said. By the time we graduated from law school, I’d never seen her in anything less than a 2-inch heel. She took her shoe game very seriously, and I couldn’t be mad. In her heels, she looked like a grown-up, and I looked like her kid sister in my flats and sneakers.<br /><br />I’m definitely the shortest chick in my crew and also the one most likely to wear flats. I have what some would call “bad feet”. They’re cute... I keep a pedicure (even in the winter... I hear some women slack in the winter time...) and my shoes are always cute, they just might not be HIGH. That’s because, for me, comfort is the top priority. When I go out, I like to be social, carefree, and I party hard. How can I do that when my feet hurt?! Impossible!<br /><br />So, I’ll tell you my secret: I tend to carry large bags because I always have a change of shoes handy, and I have a cute pair of flats that are appropriate for every occasion! I love putting them on after I’ve been suffering in heels at some event and walking comfortably to my car while I watch other women hobbling along with pinched feet after a long night in stilettos. Don’t get me wrong, I feel bad for those women, but I’m proud of my foresight. <br /><br />For instance, about a week ago, I’d been wearing a cute pair of heels at work, but when it was time to head out for lunch, I knew I wanted to try a new place that was a couple blocks away. I reached into the box of shoes I keep under my desk and slipped on a pair of flats to match my outfit. I walked past Starbucks and there was a young lady standing outside in a chic outfit and a haute pair of stilettos. She was propped against the wall in a pigeon-toed stance... you know that position you take when the balls of your feet hurt so bad, you’re trying to keep from toppling over?! Yeah... that stance. I looked at her and threw her a sympathetic smile as I skipped past in my ballet flats. Sure, she looked great in her heels, but I felt a whole lot better than she looked!<br /><br />And then there was the time a few weeks ago when one of my girls ended our night early because her feet hurt too badly to carry on. We started at one end of the city and then got the invite to go downtown to check out the rooftop of the new W Hotel. My girl Pam was wearing a pair of streetwalking stilettos, which looked fierce, but also looked a bit masochistic. You could take one look and know that she wasn’t going to last long in them. Now, the W’s rooftop is arguably the sexiest spot in the city and we’d even been told that without a reservation we could NOT get in. Well, we didn’t have a reservation, but thanks to a friend of a friend we got in with no problems. When we got upstairs to the roof, we took in the beautiful view of the city, got a few overpriced drinks and commenced to people watching. There was a lot going on, the vibe was cool, the drinks were good (although overpriced) and everyone was having a great time. All of a sudden in the middle of things, Pam announces that her feet are hurting and she’d like to leave. Ordinarily, we’d blow air-kisses and send her on her way. Tonight, we’d all driven over to the W together, so we had to leave with Pam in order to get to our cars. Thanks, hooker heels, for ending our night before we’d even begun!<br /><br />So, is this what it comes down to? Women must suffer in an attempt to try to attract the opposite sex? I rebuke that! But, sadly, I think it’s the truth. Men like women in heels. And they particularly like women in the most complicated, highest of high, most uncomfortable heels they can find. I’d like to tell you that if a man really likes you, he’ll like you regardless of the shoes on your feet, and I think that’s partially true. I know that even me - Miss Anti-Heels herself - will put on a pair of heels if I’m going out with a man because I feel like it formalizes the outing if I wear heels, like maybe he’ll notice that I put some effort into my appearance just because of what I’m wearing on my feet. <br /><br />And one of the things that I hate to see more than anything is a woman hobbling along in heels, obviously uncomfortable, walking alongside her significant other who’s rocking sneakers. You like heels so much, but yet you’re wearing comfort footwear while I’m suffering next to you all to in an effort to appeal to you? Fck you, dude. Seriously. YOU put on some stilettos and traipse around in them all night and see how you feel. It’s just not fair! It just seems so shallow. But, then again, LIFE is not fair. *sigh*<br /><br />An acquaintance of mine used to always say that stilettos were certainly created by a man. And not just ANY man, but a man who doesn’t like women. I’m going to have to agree. But I also have to admit that, despite the fact that I fight wearing heels tooth and nail, I recently bought my first pair of stilettos. I’m 30 now... it’s about time. They’re fantastic and REALLY high. But, hey, I hear “stripper-chic” is the new trend. And with these heels, I’ll fit right in. They’ll for sure make Cowboy (and other guys like him) proud.Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-63780909207362857742009-08-10T15:52:00.005-04:002009-08-10T16:02:38.761-04:00A Million Little PiecesI’ve been farting around at work all day and could’ve used this time to catch up on some blog posts, but instead I’m spending my time playing around on Twitter (<a href="http://www.twitter.com/mskellirose">check me owwt</a>!) and Facebook. I gotta get focused.<br /><br />This weekend, the Kappas took over my city for their Konclave and their presence made for quite the interesting weekend. On Wednesday, I received a text from Mr. Ex saying “Hey Brown Girl, I’ll be in town this weekend and was hoping you might be interested in having a drink with an old friend :)”. Um… a fcking smileyface? <br /><br />Really? <br /><br />Clearly this dude is off his rocker if he thinks that I’m going to voluntarily meet up with him and we’ll smoke the peace pipe together. Never gonna happen in a million years. I figured that Mr. Ex was coming to town because his older brother is a Kappa and they must have decided to make their way south for the Konclave festivities. I was disgusted that he AGAIN tried to reach out to me. But in a way, I was sort of glad that he had given me a heads up that he was going to be in town. As usual, I was out on the town with the Conglomerate (that’s what my friend Erica calls our little crew) for the whole weekend and knew there’d be a chance that I could run into him at any one of the parties that we hit up and that would’ve been uncomfortable for everyone since Mr. Ex regularly acts a fool at the most inappropriate times. And let’s not forget the time I ran into Mr. Ex’s brother on U Street during Inauguration… so I know that the brother and I have similar tastes in party venues, which could make for a precarious situation.<br /><br />I haven’t seen him in person since the middle of 2007. It’s been two years. If I saw him, how would I feel? What would I say? Would he look the same? Smell the same? If I hugged him would I feel the same? Would I feel like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders? Would our encounter bring back all the memories of our bad times, and cause me to have a new appreciation for the single life when we parted company? Or would I look at him and realize that I have some regrets, and then I’d discover that deep inside… buried beneath my disdain for him was a small part of my heart that wished things could’ve worked out between us?<br /><br />Well, it turns out I wouldn’t have to find out.<br /><br />I made it through the entire weekend unscathed… no Mr. Ex OR Mr. Ex’s Brother sightings. When I crawled into bed at 3am on Sunday morning, I breathed a sigh of relief that I didn’t have to face him. Upon further reflection, I’m not sure that I’m ready to see him. Even all these years later. He cut me deep. And the wound, although far from fresh, has not fully healed.<br /><br />Another Monday comes and I make my way to lunch with the Girl from Marketing. I was waiting in line to pay for my food with my Crackberry buzzes, I break it out and check my messages and feel nothing but annoyance when I discover that a text message from Mr. Ex is waiting for me. This dude does NOT give up! WTF?! Turns out it’s actually a 4-screen text, which is equivalent to a modern-day 4-page letter (R.I.P. Aaliyah), explaining that he still loves me and desperately wants us to be friends. I waited almost four hours to send a response and when I did, I was disappointed that there was no real venom in my words. I just don’t have anything left for him. He’s literally drained me of all emotion. I have no passion, no zeal when it comes to him. I basically just told me that, as usual, he’s about a week late and a couple hunned bucks short, and that I wish nothing but the best for him, but I respectfully request that he leave me alone.<br /><br />I’m ready to move on with my life. In fact, I’m not just poised and ready, I’ve already done it. I have never been so happy to see a person in my rearview mirror, but I see him back there, running behind the car, refusing to let me go. Man… eat my dust!<br /><br />So, anyhoo, since Mr. Ex there have been a couple of men who’ve taken my heart by storm. I saw this tweet earlier today that was so poignant: “Hearts will be re-broken in an effort to heal properly.” It’s so true. My heart broke, only to become whole again. And became whole again, only to be broken into a million little pieces by <a href="http://lovelybrowngirl.blogspot.com/2009/05/hope.html">someone else</a>. But that’s life, right? We live, we laugh, we love, we cry, only to do it all over again.<br /><br />Truthfully, I wouldn’t have it any other way.Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-6563898402116409752009-08-05T17:13:00.003-04:002009-08-05T17:18:21.181-04:00Why "settle" is not a dirty word<span style="font-style:italic;">Alright, so obviously I totally dropped the ball on reporting about my diet on a daily basis. Given my post history, I should’ve known that I wasn’t going to follow-through with that! Before I go into today’s post, let me give a brief update about the new eating plan. So far, I’ve lost a grand total of 11 lbs, and I’m going into my fourth week on this program. I’m VERY pleased with the results and I’m looking forward to taking off a few more plans before I transition into a more normal eating pattern. <br /><br />Right now, I’m eating roughly every two and a half hours, which averages out to about six times per day. Before I started this plan, I would’ve NEVER thought I could eat six times per day. I mean, I like to eat just as much as the next fluffy chick, but… six times per day is A LOT! My meals are so tiny, though, that six times is just right, and even though my meals are small, I’m never hungry because as soon as my stomach starts to rumble, it’s time to eat again. Hallelujah! I even managed to stay on this plan while I was out of town (my cousin passed away and my dad and I flew to his hometown for the funeral). I always, ALWAYS gain weight whenever I’m away from home, but this time, I lost a few pounds! Amazing!<br /><br />Anyway, I plan to stick to this plan for a few more weeks because I’d like to lose at least another 10 lbs. I’m shooting for a grand total of 30, but I don’t know if I’m going to use this plan to lose all of it. I’m currently researching other options and might transition to something else before the month is over. We’ll see! I know that some people might advise me to stick to what I’m doing since it’s working for me. Why fix what ain’t broke, right? But, at the same time, I think the reason a lot of people end up cheating on diet plans is because they get bored. And this plan doesn’t leave me with a lot of options on a daily basis. I could see how one day I might just be like “Fck it!” and eat an entire pepperoni pizza. And that would just be sad! So, maybe it’s better to just find another diet plan that’s equally as good and go from there. <br /><br />In any case, I’ll keep you posted about my progress and I’ll share information about the next plan I decide to try out.<br /><br />Now… without further ado, let’s move on to today’s topic.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">“Some people are settling down, some people are settling, and some people refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.” – “Carrie Bradshaw”, Sex and the City</span><br /><br />When did “settling” become a dirty word? I mean honestly, if you tell a woman she’s “settling”, it’s like you’ve called her a btch or something. It’s just become a nasty term and I’m not sure why. <br /><br />The quote above (in bold) is a quote from my favorite TV character of all time, the ultra-fab Carrie Bradshaw from my favorite show, Sex and the City. And I totally understand where she was coming from with it. I mean, sure, I’ve dated guys that were only given the time of day because I was completely bored and needed something to do to occupy my time until the next Mr. Right came along. And, then, I’ve had those experiences where I date someone and immediately there are sparks (a.k.a. “butterflies”).<br /><br />Admittedly, the butterflies are the better feeling (duh!), but Lord knows that those damn butterflies are elusive. They are RARE and it takes the perfect combination of a lot of factors to be all cosmically aligned before they make an appearance. <br /><br />And what do you do if those butterflies are misleading. What if you meet someone, feel butterflies, and it’s obvious that the feeling is not mutual. That happens, too, and it SUCKS! Or, what happens if you meet someone, feel butterflies, he feels ‘em too, but sooner than later the butterflies fade? You went with your gut and your gut lead you in the wrong direction? You’re left alone with the memories of the butterflies and not much else.<br /><br />Anyway, so I’m stuck in a predicament. Saturday night, I went out with my friend Teresa from law school, and I met two guys. Sparks flew with one of them… like, they were popping all over the place and even Teresa noticed. The other guy? Ehhh… not so much. But he was perfectly fine! He is a nice guy, respectable job, normal looking, pleasant smile, kind and courteous. The other guy is just… dreamy! I don’t use that adjective often, but… it’s true! He’s got all the things I’m looking for. He was smart, funny, kind, great career, etc., plus he was super-cute in a quirky sort of way (the guys that I’m most attracted to aren’t really “traditionally” cute). I liked him right off the bat for no particular reason at all. And he was so charming! We spent the evening, laughing and giggling, and while the other people around us were talking, we made faces at each other across the table.<br /><br />So, here’s the thing… even though sparks flew between me and Prince Charming, he didn’t ask me for my number and I left without getting his. The next day, I took matters into my own hands and decided to let cyberspace bring us together. I immediately logged-in to Facebook, found his profile and sent a friend request with a short note reminding him of who I am. That was Sunday. Today is Wednesday and I still haven’t been confirmed as a friend. (Brown Girl Note: I swear that FB has changed up the entire way the dating game is played!)<br /><br />Now, there are a lot of reasons why he might not have responded to my request. Maybe he’s not as stuck to FB as I am and logged in this week. If he has logged in, maybe he just hasn’t looked at his friend requests yet. Or, maybe… he’s just not as into me as I was into him. <br /><br />Meanwhile…<br /><br />Mr. Right Now called me Monday evening. He was very nice… nothing to complain about, but there definitely weren’t any sparks flying. He wants to hang out this weekend and I’m going to meet up with him and give him a chance. After all, personality matters most, and maybe after getting to know him, sparks will fly. But I’m still disappointed that I’ve been put on “ignore” by Prince Charming. <br /><br />So, anyway, I told my girlfriend Monica that I’ve decided to go out with Mr. Right Now and she scolded me!<br /><br />“Brown Girl, you’re settling! That is so upsetting… you’re better than that,” she said.<br /><br />“Huh? Settling? Look, I’m not gonna stalk Prince Charming. There’s no point. I threw the pass and now he can either fumble or score. The ball’s outta my hands now.”<br /><br />Monica let out a big sigh. “I just hate to see my girlfriends settle. I mean, it’s not like you could get somebody you actually like. Why go out with someone you’re not really interested in?”<br /><br />“He’s fine! Nothing is wrong with him. No, I’m not crazy about him, but I wouldn’t say I’m ‘settling’. And, besides, what’s so wrong with settling anyway?”<br /><br />Now, don’t crucify me for saying that, but in all honesty, I really do find it confusing as to why the settling thing is such a big deal. Obviously, everybody wants to fall madly in love with someone with the hopes of having that person be equally as mad about you. But, how often does that REALLY happen? When I was a kid, my dad told me to “like those who like you”. And, my Godmother told me that “In a relationship, there’s always a person who loves more than the other. Make sure you’re the one receiving the extra love and not the one giving it.” I’d never put much stock into either of these two pieces of advice. Why would I? I was young, and idealistic, and still had crushes that drove me to distraction. <br /><br />These days I’m different. Some might call me cynical, or jaded. I’d say that the better word for all this is “realist”. The truth is that my Godmother is probably right. There are definitely people who are in lopsided relationships, and why not be the one to come out on top instead of being the one who is constantly getting kicked in the stomach by love? <br /><br />In 2008, an article called “Marry Him!” was published in the Atlantic. The author basically said that women have two choices – either to be alone, or settle for someone who will marry them. And she argued that, really, there’s nothing horrible about settling for someone who loves you. She also said that she was tired of married people patronizing her about the fact that she was still single. And while her position was radical, controversial, and completely extreme… she made a whole hell of a lot of sense!<br /><br />Anyway, the second it was published, it met a shitstorm of controversy. Women were emailing the article to friends, and posting it on blogs, and talking shit about the author and her position on the issue. But in reality, I think the article hit home for a lot of women. I mean, nobody WANTS to settle, but we’ve also got to recognize that women have been fed a line of bullsht about how we’re all princesses, and that one day Prince Charming is coming along to save the day. But when it’s time to fight the dragon and get rescued from the ivory tower, what if Prince Charming never shows up. Or, what if Mr. Right Now shows up before he gets there and does an adequate job of taking me away from alla dis here? Should I tell Mr. Right Now to keep it moving and stay locked in the tower until Prince Charming finally decides to show up (if he even shows up at all!)? I should think not!<br /><br />But honestly, the most profound part of this particular article (in my opinion) is when the author says that many times we marry the person that we’re absolutely crazy about… but how do we know they’re not just “settling” for us?<br /><br />That’s a rather UN “settling” thought, isn’t it?<br /><br />If I decided to heed Carrie's advice, and wait until the butterflies show up again, I might be waiting forever! And besides, sometimes the butterflies are a little off schedule and show up when you least expect them. I'm not <span style="font-style:italic;">desperate </span>for a man, but I'm definitely <span style="font-style:italic;">interested </span>in dating one again some day! Whether women want to admit it or not, that is a priority for most of us. Let's be real with ourselves and others... everybody wants companionship. Nobody sets out in this cold, cruel world, intending to be alone... <br /><br />So, I’ve given up on Prince Charming. Sure, it’s only been three days, but with communication being nearly instantaneous these days, I doubt he wants to connect… we definitely would have by now! And that’s fine. <br /><br />Despite Monica’s tongue-lashing, I’m going to go out with Mr. Right Now and I plan on having a good time. Nobody is saying that I’m going to marry him (that’s certainly not in my plans), or even that he WANTS to marry me in the first place. After all, Mr. Right Now is a kind and decent guy (from what I can tell) who wants to spend time with me. And that’s what I need in my life… Right Now. ;)Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-45307537498020932672009-07-17T01:01:00.003-04:002009-07-17T01:11:03.816-04:00Getting Un-Fat Part II<span style="font-style:italic;">Just FYI - I got the term "un-fat" from an acquaintance who mentioned that he'd begun a running program and was ready to stick to it... and he coined a battle cry of "Let the Un-Fattening Begin!". I liked it. Because I don't want to be skinny or even thin... I just wanna be UN-FAT. See? It works. By the way, said acquaintance has lost 40 lbs since his first day of un-fattening, which - all things considered - hasn't been so long ago. I only hope I can do half as well as he has!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">DAY 2: Tuesday, July 14</span><br />For the first three weeks of this diet you are not supposed to do any strenuous exercise, which was music to my ears… mainly because I am hella lazy. I don’t like the gym, don’t enjoy working out, but I’ll do it because I think I have to. So, don’t let a doctor tell me I don’t need to exercise because I won’t! But then I realized that I’d probably have better results if I did a little bit of something, even if it was a quick walk or some light stretching. So, I grabbed Capone and we went for a stroll through the neighborhood. It was a fun time and I felt great afterward, so I’m sure I can continue to do this throughout the three weeks without any adverse effects. Besides, I think that mandate is really for people who’ve never exercised before. Unfortunately, I HAVE exercised before and probably should continue to do so because my body only takes a few days to fall completely out of shape!<br /><br />No headache today, but I did experience a few… ahem… digestive issues late in the afternoon. Luckily, they didn’t really hit until I got home from work, so I didn’t have to torment my coworkers with that. Really, it was more embarrassing than anything and I’m not sure what exactly brought it on. Everything I ate today was rather tame, but something clearly didn’t agree with me! I’m happy I had no headache, but I also had a cup of coffee this morning. I tried sweetening with a little Truvia and some fat free cream and it was disgusting, so I poured most of it down the drain. But at least I got a little caffeine pumping through these veins.<br /><br />I didn’t encounter a work-sponsored lunch today, but my assistant asked me if I wanted to head down to this Asian restaurant for a bento box, which I love! But I had to tell her no. I don’t really want to share the details of this diet plan with anyone because the last thing I need is to be discouraged by criticism and skepticism, so I’ve just been telling people “I’m on a new eating plan” and I’m leaving it at that. No further explanation required… respect it and be gone!<br /><br />Dinner, my most liberal meal was great! Pork chop (the other white meat), broccoli, and salad. Yummy! <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">DAY 3: Wednesday, July 15</span><br /><br />I’m a little discouraged because I don’t notice any difference. Now, you may be chuckling to yourself says “silly girl, it’s only been two days. Wtf are you talking about you ‘don’t notice any difference’?” Well… it’s just as I said… I don’t notice any difference. I lose weight quickly and my father even says that I can exercise once and you can immediately see that I’ve done something to help me get my body together. That should be even more incentive for me to do stuff, right? Wrong! Up to this point, nothing has lit a fire under me that burned strong enough to make me get off my ass and do something about my body. Well, until now…<br /><br />Anyway, I don’t see a difference and it sucks. My clothes still feel the same, my tummy hasn’t gone down any (it’s usually the first thing to change), but I’m not gonna get discouraged. I’m just gonna remind myself that this is weight loss and weight loss takes time. Quick fixes are short term resolutions, but not long-term solutions. Yes, that’s it. And really, I’m doing well. Haven’t even thought of cheating even though the food is nasty! What I wouldn’t give for a burger right now! <br />According to my mother (who is still not on the diet pending approval from our doctor), it takes three days for the body to go into ketosis, which is the fat-burning zone. Who knew? So today is my first day of fat-burning. Seems like a lot of fat should’ve been burned by now, but hey… it’s only been three days! I still don’t feel a difference in my clothes and it would really hurt my feelings if I’d make all these sacrifices and then not lose weight! Ugh!<br /><br />No headache tonight and no… digestive issues (thank God!), but I did have a weird rumbling in my tummy late this evening. AND, my stomach growled ALL DAY! But I went for another walk and it was nice. I don’t have my usual stamina (which wasn’t much to brag about to begin with), but I am walking pretty briskly, which the doctor says is fine. He has confirmed my suspicion that the limit on exercise is pretty much in place to help people who are not ordinarily involved in healthy eating and exercise to get fully adjusted to the healthy eating before they begin an exercise regimen (I had a hard time spelling this word for some reason!).<br /><br />Dinner tonight was broiled lemon pepper salmon, spinach, and fresh tomato slices in a lemon/balsamic vinegar dressing. Wasn’t quite the burger I was craving earlier, but still delish!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">DAY 4: Thursday, July 16</span><br />Alright, you beat it out of me. I cheated. Here’s what happened: I planned an event tonight… it was a cooking class in a gourmet kitchen. The menu consisted of six appetizer/small plates and I was involved in cooking all of them. One of the items was a mini Cuban frita, which was a mini-burger with ham, swiss cheese, roasted garlic mayonnaise, Dijon mustard, and pickles. Then, you put all those ingredients into a panini press, which causes everything to meld perfectly… que sabroso! Given my cheeseburger craving from yesterday, I took one look at those things and knew I was a goner! I had to have one! So I did. Just one. And it was all that I dreamed that it would be… and maybe even a bit more! Thank goodness I got the recipe because I’ll be making them again once I’m able to be more liberal with my food choices (which won’t be for a long while, but at least this gives me something to look forward to). <br /><br />Today, I had NO issues… no headache, no digestive issues, no stomach rumbling. Well, my stomach did growl, but it wasn’t the echoing thunder that I heard yesterday! I did so well sticking to the diet this morning, and I had gone into the cooking event with my eyes open. I figured that I’d have to eat at least one of the small plates. But, to keep it real, it probably shouldn’t have been the burger of all things! No sense crying over it now, though. Whats done is done and now it’s time for me to put this cheat day behind me and move forward!<br /><br />Mommy finally got the okay to start the plan. Yay! She is ready to start, but is jealous because I am almost half a week ahead of her. I told her not to worry because I’m sure she can catch up, especially in light of my slipup with the cheeseburger tonight. She told me that eating that burger could’ve thrown my body out of ketosis and if that was the case, then it would take me another three days to get back into it. Ugh! I wish I’d know that before I ate the cheeseburger! I figured that I’d just ramp up the exercise, drink copious amounts of water, and eat right for the rest of the week and I’d be fine. Apparently, it’s not that easy! This especially sucks because today is the first day that I actually noticed a difference in my clothes and in my body generally when I looked in the mirror. It was a welcome sight! And now I may have counteracted the work that I’ve put in these last three days! Grrr!<br /><br />The real test will be this weekend. Alcohol is not a part of my diet and even though I am a one-drink girl, that ONE drink has become a pretty big staple in my weekend activities. I’ll just get a mocktail (probably club soda with a twist of lime) and nobody will notice the difference… especially if they, themselves, are sloshed! So, I’ll be good. But the food thing… that’s gonna be hard. With some planning it doesn’t have to be difficult, but we’ll see how it plays out.<br /><br />Tomorrow is Friday, which is Day 1 of the “real test”… will I last through the weekend? Stay tuned…Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-56372511339975055202009-07-15T00:57:00.003-04:002009-07-17T01:09:56.076-04:00Ready! Getting Un-Fat Part II finally decided to do something about my body image. Like, something drastic. I’m not getting paid to big-up anybody’s company on this here blog, so I won’t go into detail about what I’m doing, but should I stick to it (which is the biggest “if” in the world!), then I should have some pretty spectacular results. So I figure since I’m doing something drastic, something that all people talk about doing, but most never do, and I also like to write, I might as well journal my experiences. Now, please know that this will not be easy for me. And I’m still going to write about all my romantic foibles, but I also think some people might want to know that I do more than sit around and complain about my job, write funny stories, and pontificate about men, love, sex, and relationships. For real… I do have other things going on in my life and this weight-loss effort is one of them.<br /><br />I’ve explained that this has actually been an ongoing battle for me over the years. I started off as a skinny kid and progressed into a chubby tween, lost weight and became a slender teen, and packed on the pounds again in college. Since then I’ve never managed to get that “Freshman 15” (which in my case was more like the “Freshman 40”!) off my very small frame. And the fact that my frame is small actually exacerbates the issue… a bunch of extra pounds doesn’t spread well on a short person’s body. As such, I haven’t been happy with my outward appearance in quite some time. <br /><br />Sick of being overweight, I decided to go on a healthy eating/exercise kick a few months ago in preparation for my 30th birthday. I stuck with it and shed about 11 pounds, but went through something (Hormones? Depression? Who knows?) that caused me to pack on half of that before I even left to go on my trip to the Caribbean. <br /><br />Yet another failure, which didn’t sit too well with me. *sigh*<br /><br />The worst part about it is that everyone in my family kept warning me that if I didn’t lose the weight before I turned 30, it’d be next to impossible to get it off. That’s NOT the thing that I wanted to hear from folks, but it was enough to kick my butt in gear. I’d had some success with the last diet/exercise program that I’d tried, so I considered just going back to that. But, then, my mom stepped on to the scene and my plans changed.<br /><br />Now, I’m sure all our parents have quirks and my mother, God bless her, is no exception. Mommy is obsessed with the business of losing weight! She has every weight loss book known to man and every workout DVD ever made. Weight loss, health, and wellness are more than just hobbies to her, they’re passions. I think her fascination stems from the fact that she spent her whole life as a thin person and then put on a bit of weight later in life. She’s still not “fat”, but she definitely has put on a few pounds since her 40s. But please don’t get it confused, my mama looks great! She’s going to be 60 this year and I swear on a stack of Good Books that she doesn’t look a day over 45. Ask anybody!<br /><br />Mom came to me recently and told me about a very extreme diet that her sister my aunt has been following and, in six weeks, Auntie has lost 25.5 pounds. My mother was encouraged by this news and decided that she wants to try the diet, too, but was afraid to take on the commitment alone. (My mom’s other quirk is that she always wants us to do things “together”.) My personal belief is that weight loss comes much easier when you have a partner, so I was all about jumping on this bandwagon with her. we took the plunge together and hopefully we’ll both have results worth writing about.<br /><br />I haven’t decided whether I will blog about this daily, weekly, or sporadically (a.k.a. whenever I get the urge to write about it), but I WILL write about it. This post will cover the first four days and we’ll go from there.<br /><br />I’m a bit shy about sharing this with the world, but I figure that if I mess up, the WORLD (cause every person on Earth reads my blog, right?!) will hold me accountable! That’s a great incentive.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">DAY 1: Monday, July 13</span><br />Yesterday, Auntie came to talk to Mom and me about this new program that she’s on. It’s medically-supervised, so I’ll have to meet with a physician and a dietitian weekly, but it’s probably for the best. I have to admit that I’m scared shitless. I mean, this is a radical program, but luckily, it doesn’t take a lot of prep work or anything. All it’s asking from me is a little discipline… and that’s the though part! <br /><br />Last night, I took pictures of myself in my one bikini and, let me tell you… it was NOT pretty! I want to burn my memory card so that there’s no evidence of the way that I look in a bandeau top and bikini bottoms, but if I burned the evidence then I’d have nothing to use as my “before” picture when I finally (hopefully) get to be an “after”. *sigh* I can’t believe I’ve let people see me naked and I’ve looked like this. I look at myself in the mirror everyday and all it took was a photo to make me see what’s been there for awhile. I tell you, a picture really is worth a thousand words! Oh well, it’s just more inspiration to get right!<br /><br />It turns out Mom can’t start today because of restrictions as a result of a preexisting condition, so I’m on my own. This will be hard for me because this is a busy time for me at work with lots of fancy lunches and dinners and its going to call on my non-existent discipline and restraint! I was excited because it looked like the week would be clear of temptation, but as soon as I got in the office, I realized that I had a lunch meeting. The lunch was a great one – with shrimp, steak, chicken, grilled veggies, Caesar salad, fruit, and fresh-baked cookies and brownies. I thought about not partaking at all, but then I grabbed three shrimp, some grilled peppers, and a few lettuce leaves. Just having that little bite helped me to feel like I was part of the event, but I didn’t go overboard and didn’t break plan. I was SHOCKED that I had the discipline to be conservative with my portions. That’s usually a big problem for me. Even if I don’t eat all the food, I just like to see it on my plate. A full plate is just so comforting to me, but guess how I solved that problem? I used a smaller plate! I got one of the dessert plates (but none of the desserts!) And put my food on there. it made it seem like I was eating a lot more than I really was. I was proud of myself!<br /><br />I left work and my head was pounding, but I’m not sure if that was a result of the diet or of the fact that I’d skipped my coffee this morning. It also could’ve been because I was hungry, so I went home and prepared a very quick and sensible dinner – Chicken with spinach and salad and that really hit the spot.<br /><br />Auntie sent me a text tonight to check in and I let her know that everything was good and that I appreciated the support. She is my inspiration! I want to be like her!Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-69791123601191345032009-07-13T14:29:00.002-04:002009-07-17T01:09:18.788-04:00Shallow like a kiddie poolWelp! I’m still in mourning over Michael. That’s why it took me so long to come back to this blog and post something. I was emotionally-drained. I loved me some him. And now he’s gone. I was devastated! I didn’t think I’d be able to watch the memorial, but not only did I watch the live streaming coverage on CNN (brought to you by Facebook) DURING the workday, I DVR’d it and have watched it again several time since then. This can’t be healthy! <br /><br />It was a life-changing moment, though… one that I will probably remember until the end of my days. And I’m not the only one who feels that way. On the night that Michael passed, the girls and I had dinner/movie plans. The details were sketchy and Michael’s death hadn’t been confirmed when we met up at the restaurant after work. While we were there, CNN broke the news that he had, in fact, passed away. We were sitting at the table, getting misty-eyed and talking about how unbelievable the news really was. Our cocktails arrived, and Teresa looks at me and says, “You know, no matter where life takes us, no matter where we end up, we will always remember each other because we were together when we received the news about Michael’s passing.” There was an empty water glass on the table, so each of us took a turn pouring out a little bit of liq for Mike and then we did a toast to him. Because the whole situation was putting a damper on the night and more than one of us were dabbing at our eyes with our cocktail napkins, we dashed off to see “The Hangover”, which left us crying (but this time because of laughter!).<br /><br />But I am comforted in knowing that I’m not the only one who’s obsessed. The media can’t keep his name out of their mouths, so this will be an ongoing topic of conversation for the foreseeable future. There’s no doubt about that. But, I vow that I won’t dwell on it for too much longer. Instead of mourning so hard, I should just be celebrating the fact that God blessed us with such a tremendous talent. And for that, I am truly grateful.<br /><br />Now, on to today’s post…<br /><br /><br />Major personal admission forthcoming:<br /><br />I once broke up with a guy b/c he owned a cat. Okay, actually, he owned TWO cats, which turned out to be a problem for me. In my opinion, a straight guy wouldn't own a cat. And, if he wouldn't own ONE cat, he damn sure won't own TWO. I called him "Cat Daddy" behind his back. Not only did this dude just own the cats, he was also borderline obsessed with them. He gave them real names (Serena and Angelica), and he would talk babytalk to them and coddle them like toddlers. But they were cats. That sht was lame. And so I broke up with him. Now, of course, I didn't tell the dude that the reason he didn't stand a chance with me was because of his taste in pets. At the time, I made up some other reason for why things wouldn't work out (I can't remember exactly what I said), but we went out separate ways and I didn't miss a beat. And one day years later I was having a cup of coffee and thinking about my life when a memory of Cat Daddy popped into my head and I realized that sometimes I am shallow.<br /><br />Nobody WANTS to be shallow, but all of us fall victim at one point or another, and I was saddened to realize that I'm no exception. So, anyway, I was faced with my shallowness again recently. I met a guy. Nothing new. The Earth did not move, and sparks did not fly, but he was nice and he seemed really into me. We met halfway through a bourgeois happy hour and within an hour of the first word spoken between us, he handed me his credit card and told me to buy drinks for me and my friends. See? Generous. At the end of the night, I was still debating whether I would give him my number, but he asked for it so nicely I felt compelled to give it to him. So I did. He sent the first text before I even made it to my car. <br /><br />I noticed that he didn't use any punctuation in the message. And, while this isn't, like, a dealbreaker, it also didn't really work in his favor. I couldn't help but think that Mystery Man texts in full sentences and uses proper grammar, too. And then, I admonished myself for using Mystery Man as the standard to which I compare every single man that I encounter. I gotta stop doing that! And anyway, the punctuation thing was annoying, but it was a text and everyone knows that you use shorthand in a text message situation. No biggie. <br /><br />He called me a couple of times and the conversation wasn't terrible, but it also wasn't the most stimulating. We had a few laughs, talked again the next night and had a few more laughs. On the third day after we met, he sent another text:<br /><br />Guy: How was your day (noticeably absent punctuation)<br /><br />Brown Girl: Fine & yours?<br /><br />Guy: Not to bad<br /><br />I stared at the screen on my Blackberry for a while. Did this guy really just type "Not TO bad"? Now, anyone who knows me knows that I'm a stickler for grammar, punctuation, spelling, etc. (even though you can't always tell from this blog, which I rarely edit or proofread before publishing!) So, it bugged me that he hadn't used the right to/too/two. But, again, I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. I mean, this kid was supposedly a college graduate, so it had to be a slip of the finger. The next day, he text me again.<br /><br />Guy: Playin bball today what are you doin (noticeably absent punctuation)<br /><br />Brown Girl: Brunch & movies with a friend. What time is your game?<br /><br />Guy: At too but I shouldn't be done to late<br /><br />Okay, now if you're like me, the "too" and "to" mixup jumped out at you right away. What does this guy have against the extra "o" on the end of that "too"? How could he mix up "too" and "two"?? To make a long story short, we exchanged text messages a few more times over the course of a few weeks, but I noticed that this guy was consistently challenged by the difference between to/too/two. I don't know what's so hard about it because it's something most people master in elementary school! EARLY elementary school at that. And the fact that he kept getting those three words confused really bugged me! <br /><br />Eventually, the texts stopped coming. He'd initiated all of them anyway, and it was my duty to respond whenever one was received, but soon I stopped responding and he stopped initiating.<br /><br />Now, the truth is, if I'd really been feeling this dude, I probably wouldn't have let his difficulties with the English language get under my skin. But since I was on the fence about him anyway, it was enough to push me over the edge into "not interested" territory. So, again, I'm faced with the realization that I'm somewhat shallow. But I think I'm justified in finding this whole to/too/two thing disturbing. I don't think it's unreasonable to desire a man who has a basic command of the English language. Do you?<br /><br />For the record, I think the cat thing was worse. I probably shouldn't have ditched a guy because he was showing so much interest in his pets. It probably just meant that his heart was kinder than most... Oh well, that's water under the bridge now.<br /><br />For what it's worth, I did feel bad about ditching the dude with the language issues, but I'm a writer who loves words and would prefer my partner to have a similar respect for the English language. I think to/too/two is setting the bar pretty low, actually, sort of a minimum standard. The next guy that I allow into my life should at least be able to tell the difference between the three. And, if that makes me shallow, then I'll be that.Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-41731533819061323072009-06-26T17:14:00.002-04:002009-06-26T17:43:06.302-04:00Michael Joseph Jackson (August 29, 1958 - June 25, 2009)Yesterday, my life was forever changed. The "King of Pop", Michael Jackson, died suddenly after suffering cardiac arrest in Los Angeles. (If you didn't know this, you must be living under a rock because there's been wall-to-wall news coverage for the last 24 hours.)<br /><br />No, I didn't know Michael personally, but his music and his videos were pretty much the soundtrack to my childhood. And, everyone knew that you better not talk shit about my boy MJJ in my presence or else you would get a pretty scathing (and vulgar) earful. I have so many memories of Michael. I inherited the Jackson 5 "ABC" album (on vinyl) from my older sister. She was born in the early 60s, so she'd actually owned the album when she was a kid and by the time I got it, it was well-worn and the grooves were almost flat. I played that thing on my Fisher Price record player over and over again. We also had the soundtrack for "Going Back to Indiana", and my mother has an audio recording of me singing that song at the age of 3 (and I knew all the lyrics!).<br /><br />The first album that I ever bought was Michael Jackson's "Off the Wall" and then I followed that with "Thriller". I was freaked out by the video, but I couldn't stop watching it. My aunt bought my cousin Michael's red jacket with all the zippers from the "Beat It" video and I begged my mother for one, but she wasn't having it. I got Michael Jackson's "Moonwalker" video on VHS for Christmas one year and watched it so much I knew all the lines from the movie, all the lyrics to the songs, all the dance moves. I was hooked!<br /><br />As I got older, my affection for Michael grew even more and I became a true fan. Everyone in my family knew how much I loved him. Whenever he was giving an interview or making an appearance, someone would call or text me to let me know that I should switch to such-and-such channel to watch. And, just a few years ago, my father bought my Michael Jackson's #1s album for Christmas. I couldn't have been happier.<br /><br />But the best memory that I have of Michael was when I actually got the chance to meet him in person. My brother was invited to a private reception for him at the home of a big-wig entertainment executive and was told that he was allowed to bring a guest. Well, he knew that if he took anyone OTHER than me, our relationship would never be the same because I would never forgive him. At the end of the night, the organizers set up a receiving line for people to go up and shake Michael's hand. The line was so long that we kept our seats on a nearby sofa and waited for things to die down. Eventually, we made our way up to the velvet rope, which was being guarded by a beefy bald man, and were about to be turned away. "Please, man. My little sister (at the time I was about 25, but I guess to him I will always be his "little" sister) loves Michael and I just want her to have a chance to shake his hand," my brother pleaded.<br /><br />I could tell that the tough-guy was cracking and after a minute he actually cracked a smile and let us through the line. We were the last ones through the line and it was rushed, but I did get a chance to shake his (gloved) hand and tell him that I was a HUGE fan. He smiled and said, "Thank you. God bless you," and then... it was over. We were ushered away. It sucked because cameras weren't allowed, so I didn't get a chance to take a picture of this phenomenal moment. I didn't want a picture to prove the meeting to other people, but to prove it to myself! Even today, looking back on that night that I met Michael, it doesn't seem real. But I do know that I was blessed to have the opportunity to interact with the "King of Pop".<br /><br />He was a very peculiar person, I won't deny that. He lived in an amusement park and had a chimpanzee for a best friend. He was really out there. But genius is a lonely thing. It separates you from the rest of the world. He lived a very troubled life, plagued with scandal and controversy in later years. He was never truly comfortable with the man that he was born to be. Being a brown girl with a broad nose and kinky hair (without a relaxer), I can understand what it's like to want to look different. Unfortunately, because he had the means to change his appearance, he did. And because he had the money and power and influence, he had no one who dared try to stop him. Michael, poor thing, was a tortured soul who's only consolation was to put everything he had into his music... which, in turn, was his gift to us. <br /><br />I hope he has found peace and that he is finally able to see himself for the gifted and special person that we all thought he was.<br /><br />Music will never be the same as a result of Michael Jackson. If it wasn't for him, our current R&B stars would be devoid of personality. Think about it... Ne-Yo, Chris Brown, and Usher would've had nobody to swaggerjack!<br /><br /><br />John Mayer put it best, I think, when he posted this tweet on Twitter: "A major strand of our cultural DNA has left us." We are forever changed and forever in his debt. Gone too soon, but never forgotten. We love you, Michael. Rest in peace.<br /><br />Here are some of my favorite songs of Michael's. Rock on!<br /><br />Got to Be There<br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/EdmWHB6yF2g&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/EdmWHB6yF2g&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />I Want You Back<br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/VfJu_Bom2sA&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/VfJu_Bom2sA&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Remember the Time<br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/5_n7cftdkl0&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/5_n7cftdkl0&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Off the Wall<br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/u5fJxtDkjwM&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/u5fJxtDkjwM&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Billie Jean (Most Famous Moonwalk at 3:39 and 4:28)<br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/8VASYhabHkM&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/8VASYhabHkM&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18508998.post-12243471614980806322009-06-25T17:38:00.001-04:002009-06-25T17:39:45.050-04:00Letting go...I’ve been beating my head against the wall trying to formulate a five year and 10 year life plan. I want to set attainable goals and come up with the best methods to achieve them, but… this is really hard! A lot harder than I thought it’d be. And I’m beginning to realize that the reason why it’s been so hard for me to achieve goals is because I don’t really have any goals in mind! That’s scary! I was always the kid who knew exactly where I wanted to go and how I was planning to get there. And somewhere along the line, I lost my way. It makes me sad and scared and frustrated to think that I don’t have any clear plans for the future.<br /><br />I really tripped out when I wrote out the heading for my plan <br /><br />“Lovely Brown Girl<br />5 Year Plan<br />(Deadline: 2014)”<br /><br />Seeing 2014 written out seemed so surreal to me! And to think that a date like 2014 is only five years away! That seems a bit crazy…<br /><br />The only thing I do know is that in the next five years I’d like to be making more money… and I’d like to have a kid. And maybe be married. <br /><br />Okay, I know what you’re thinking… that sounds backwards. The thing is, I KNOW I want to have a child. And I’d prefer to be married before that happens, but the likelihood that I’ll marry in the next five years seems particularly slim these days. I’m not giving up hope or anything, but it just seems so far-fetched!<br /><br />The closest I’ve come to linking up with a guy who wanted to wife me was The Older Man. He was a really great prospect. He was mature (or so I thought), professional, spiritual, respectful, protective, kind, full of compliments, attractive, and marriage-minded. But, for some reason, even when things were good, I was constantly pushing him away. He even said that for some reason I loved to tell him no. Anything and everything he asked me, my answer was always no. And, even before things fell apart, that’s why we could never progress past a certain point.<br /><br />This weekend, I sat back and reflected on all my past relationships and realized that none of them have been particularly healthy, which was, on the one hand, shocking; and on the other hand, not at all surprising. I analyzed every relationship I’ve ever been in… including those that were “unofficial” and those guys that I “just dated”. My dating relationship with The Older Man replayed itself and I had an epiphany of sorts: one of the reasons why I was never able to go with the flow of that relationship was because, in my head, I was still tied up in knots over Mystery Man. Even though I didn’t move forward with anything with The Older Man until Mystery Man made it clear that he wasn’t interested in pursuing anything with me, I hadn’t fully let go.<br /><br />I realize now that wasn’t fair to The Older Man. Even if circumstances hadn’t gotten in the way, the potential seed of our destruction had always been there, lurking under the soil anyway. We never would’ve made it anywhere because he wasn’t the one I really wanted. And coming to that conclusion led me to another revelation: I was guilty of doing to The Older Man what Mystery Man had done to me. I’d moved into a new relationship too quickly. I’d thought only of myself, without taking the feelings of the person who really liked me into consideration. I’d tried to cover a fresh wound with the flimsy band-aid of a new relationship.<br /><br />None of that stuff ever works. The only things that truly get a person out of your system are space and time. I didn’t give myself either of those things. Oh sure, I told him (and myself) that I needed space… and that he needed it, too. But I’m still his friend on Facebook… I still check in with him from time to time. I can’t seem to leave him alone. And, so, probably the next guy that comes into my life will meet the same fate that The Older Man met. <br /><br />As I sat there thinking on these things, I started feeling overwhelmed. This was a lot of information to process… a lot of inconvenient truths made themselves apparent.<br /><br />I still think about him a lot. I wonder whether he thinks of me. I wonder why all the things I hoped for with him never actually materialized. I wonder why he didn’t want those things with me at all. And, typically, by the time I get to that final question, I feel hurt and then… anger. But, for some reason this time, although the hurt was still there the anger had nearly dissipated. So, now I think I get it. The things I felt for Mystery Man… those are the same things he feels about his ex. The same way that I couldn’t move on from him… and couldn’t let The Older Man into my heart, that’s the same reason why Mystery Man kept pushing me away. I kept wondering how he could think I was wonderful, and beautiful, and smart, and funny, and all those things that he always said I was, but then couldn’t bring himself to be with me. How could I not see? I did and said all those same things with The Older Man. He didn’t stand a chance. I guess I didn’t either…<br /><br />But, nothing I did was done out of spite. I never meant to hurt The Older Man and I didn’t mean to cut him out before he could even really take a shot at building something with me…. but I did. I hope I won’t make the same mistakes with someone else. And I hope that, if by chance I do make those same mistakes, that they will be patient with me and won’t hate me in the end.<br /><br />I don’t hate Mystery Man… I don’t think I ever could. He’s a good person and will always have a place in my heart (just hopefully in the future not such a <span style="font-style:italic;">big </span>place). And now that I’m getting a better idea of where he was coming from, I’m not even angry about the way that things turned out. I am finally realizing that, as tempting as it might be, you can’t hold someone’s love against them. He loves her and not me and, even though that seems unfair, I gotta just let that go.<br /><br />And, so, I begin again.Lovely Brown Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08424575781434191366noreply@blogger.com3