Oh man! The Brown Girl has been on serious hiatus! I apologize for that, but I appreciate all those who are sticking with me and still reading after this long break. So, I started a new job, which is fabulous, but is a serious drain on my social life. I have time to do NOTHING anymore – even blog! But, yesterday, I turned 29 (yay, me!) and decided that I’d take a Monday off just to recuperate from the weekend. (The weekend was FAB. I’ll have to blog about it sometime…) With my day off, I’m catching up on a bunch of things I love to do, including getting back to blogging. I’m going to try to write a couple of posts so that I’ll have things to post in the days to come when I won’t be able to touch my computer for non-work-related business. We’ll see how that goes! I won’t promise to blog more often anymore because obviously I have a tough time keeping that promise, but I sincerely hope to make more regular appearances in the days to come. Happy reading!
Some days, I wish I had been born a man. Now, that is kind of a strange statement coming from someone who considers herself to be a pretty modern woman. I think women can totally do anything they put their minds to. We can be doctors, lawyers, astronauts, chefs, artists, investment bankers, etc. But when I really think about it, even in 2008, this is still a man’s world and men are STILL getting over in a way that women will never be able to.
Take dating for instance (you knew this was where this was going, didn’t you?). Women have it HARD out here. Sure, if a woman looks a certain way she can have just about any guy that she wants. But even THAT is no guarantee. I was recently watching a movie with Halle Berry in it and realized that she has been cheated on and abused by so many different men! Now, if a man cheats on HALLE BERRY, one of the most beautiful women in the world, then the rest of us do not stand a chance! By all accounts, she’s a stunner. And, yet, her partners decided that there was someone else they’d rather tap than keep it at home and tap Halle on a regular basis. That is INSANITY to me.
Something happens in male/female relationships where the men end up getting the power. They are obviously dominant in most situations and, if you are dating an Alpha male, you’ve got an even lesser chance of maintaining a handle on the relationship because they are dominant to the 10th power. You see, something happens where – at first – the man is pursuing the woman pretty hard. He pulls out all the stops. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for her. He calls all the time, buys her pretty things, pays for every meal, plans romantic dates, compliments her, and just generally makes her feel like the world revolves around her. But, proceed with caution, ladies, because this does not last long. The second that he thinks that he’s got you under his spell, BOOM. All that jazz I mentioned above just disappears. At that point, it’s too late and you think if you could just do this or that then things will go back to being the way that they once were. Oh, if you could just lose 7 lbs and be back to the weight you were at when the two of you met, then he’ll start being his Old Self. Um, maybe if you change jobs, he’ll be so proud of you that he’ll start showering you with attention again. And here and there he’ll surprise you with little unexpected appearances by his Old Self just to string you along and give you hope that this behavior will somehow miraculously become the norm again. But here’s the catch… he’s already gotten into your head. He’s made you think that it’s YOUR fault that things have changed. And at the point that you begin doubting yourself, the power has shifted and now the entire relationship revolves around HIM.
Uh oh.
I had a friend in college, Antoine. Antoine was a pretty cool dude and we were strictly platonic. He once told me that guys only have to put in two weeks of courting to get a woman hooked.
“Then,” he said, “you can pretty much treat her any way you want to for the remainder of the relationship, because all she will dwell on is how nice you were to her during those first couple of weeks. She’ll always think THAT was the ‘Real You’ and that is enough to keep her interested until you’re done.”
Now, obvi Antoine was also somewhat of an asshole when it came to relationships. But what he said was real talk. I can’t tell you how many times this has happened to my friends and me. We think that we’ve really got a nice guy who genuinely believes that the relationship is not all about him. And then, the power shifts…
Or maybe, we never really had the power at all… I mean, think about it. If the first couple weeks or – maybe if you’re lucky – months are all a setup, then the guy held the power from jump. How depressing! It must be lovely to be able to be in this position. To not be the one setup to fall for the okey-doke.
Oh, to be a man!
I was talking to my sister in law today about relationships and how there is a guy that I really care about…
Ok. Fuck it. I love him.
Anyway, so I’m telling my sister in law about said individual and about how he has decided (Notice who has the power??! The one with the “innie” or the “outtie”?) that we should be friends because he is not ready to settle down.
Sis says, “Wow. That really sucks and that must be SO frustrating. Your brother and I were talking about how there are so many smart, beautiful, self-sufficient, ambitious women out here for men to choose from, but they’d rather run around like fools than to settle down with one of them.”
Eureka! She’s got something here.
But here’s what I say: I think it’s the problem of overchoice. It’s precisely BECAUSE there are so many wonderful women out here – a surplus of them – that men don’t know how to act. This seems to be an epidemic that guys out here are trying to screw around with as many women as possible and would rather do that than settle down with a good one now. They take for granted the fact that there are so many good women out here to be had. They know that if they screw around now there will still be a couple hundred thousand left over that they can settle down with whenever THEY get ready.
Damn. What a great position to be in! You have so many options, why choose just one? Why not just mess around with as many women as you can until you get tired… just exhausted… and then, go out and pick one of the other women who are still single at 40 and make one of them happy? Finally.
It’s like picking apples. You go to an orchard and look up in wonderment at all the beautiful, red apples on the tree and think, where do I begin? At first, you pick the apple that’s closest to you because it’s the easiest to reach. You take a bite, it’s not that sweet, so you toss it and move on to the next one. The next time, you see a bright red beauty towards the top of the tree, so you position yourself to get to it and then you pick that one and you taste it and… ugh! That apple had a rotten spot that you couldn’t see from where you were standing. So you toss that one. You keep testing them out, taking bites, and then tossing the ones you don’t want, until you get tired. Eventually, you find a nice looking one with a decent taste and you go home with it, satisfied – for now – that you tried enough apples to know that this one was a pretty decent choice.
I mean, ladies, that’s what it’s like for men out here. Fucking apple picking. And, unfortunately, we’re the fruit on the tree waiting to get picked! What a shitty position to be in!
That’s why, TODAY, I wish I had a penis.
Check back with me tomorrow, though… my feelings may have changed.
Monday, June 09, 2008
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Dropping names/Shut down at the door
It's been a while. A long, long while. And I have no legitimate excuse (other than being lazy), so I'm not even gonna offer one. Hope all is well with everyone. Don't give up on me yet. There really will be "more later"...
Boy, oh boy. It’s funny how a few weeks can change your entire life. After my love letter to NYC post a couple months ago, I caught so much flack over the way that I dissed and dismissed my hometown. And, funny enough, some of the people I offended weren’t even native Washingtonians, but rather people who had chosen DC as their home away from home. This didn’t surprise me. I did give DC a pretty bad rap. And I do still love New York (doesn’t everyone?!), but I’ve recognized that someone is trying to send me a sign that I don’t belong there. Since I’ve last written, I’ve gotten a new job. A job that I really, really wanted and a job that might possibly cure me of my eternal brokeness. I could’ve never imagined that I could’ve secured such a salary increase with just one semi-lateral move. They came at me with a pretty decent offer and I was tempted to accept it. And, trust me, I am not trying to look a gifthorse in the mouth (whatever that means), but I read an article once about how women NEVER negotiate in these types of situations. So, I decided that I would send them back to the drawing board at least one time before I accepted. I thought that the offer they came back with was ludicrous, actually, and I figured I’d better take their offer before they realized that I might not be worth what they are paying me. Now, trust me, it’s not like they’re paying me a boatload of money. But compared to what I’m being paid now, a “normal” salary is such a HUGE improvement since my current position is basically legalized slavery. ANYTHING would be better than my current salary situation. But, I digress. The point is that I got the job and I’ve accepted it. I’m happy with the salary and I’m looking forward to making some positive contributions to my new employer.
Unfortunately, the offer extended was for the DC office of this company and that meant no relocation to NYC after all. So I was a bit bummed about that. But, given the fact that I was JUST complaining in my last post about people who have bunches of blessings, I’m sitting here criticizing the blessing that I have been given. Once, a very wise woman from my church said to me, “When it’s time for you to make a transition to another location, it will happen easily. Everything will come together if it’s what God wants for you.”
Well, it sure is taking me forever to get to NYC, so I’m starting to think that maybe it’s not meant to be. For now. But now that I’ve committed to this new job of mine, I have to settle into DC for at least another year. And, so, I’ve got to find some ways to make this city more fun. In an effort to get out and have some new DC experiences, I decided that it was high time I start spending more time with my older brother.
For those of you who don’t know, my older brother is somewhat of a celebrity. Or maybe, come to think of it, actually a bona fide celebrity. The first time I realized that my brother was a celebrity was maybe four or five years ago. We were walking through downtown Silver Spring, where his office is located, on our way back to the office from lunch. A man was watching us walk down the major thoroughfare. He stopped my brother on the street and struck up a conversation. While he was talking, I tried to place his face (I’m really good with faces). I studied his facial features and came up with nothing. I didn’t recognize him. I waited until they were done speaking and the guy had walked away.
“Who was that?” I asked my brother.
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
“You don’t know,” I repeated. “He sure did know you.”
My brother brushed it off and we kept it moving to the next location. That’s when I knew he was a local celebrity. And, then, there was the time I discovered that he was a national celebrity. My brother and I were taking the train to New York for some photo shoot or something (a normal celeb activity) and we were sitting in one of those four-seater sections on the Amtrak Metroliner. An older white woman was sitting across from us and we could tell by her cell phone conversation that she was a lawyer. My brother (and lawyer) and I (at the time a law student), occasionally gave each other knowing glances and rolled our eyes at certain parts of her conversation. Afterwards, my brother told the woman that we were a lawyer and a lawyer in training. We found out that she was a corporate lawyer from Northern California who was up and down the East Coast for a week’s worth of meetings. She asked what kind of law he practiced and when my brother told her that he didn’t actually practice, but was a musician who owned his own record label, she went ballistic.
“Oh my God!” she said. “That is so awesome! Would I know your music?”
“Maybe,” he said. “I play jazz.”
“Ok, I love jazz. What’s your name?” she asked.
“[Brown Girl’s Brother],” he said.
This time she went ape shit. “I know you! I just saw you in concert a few weeks ago in the Bay Area,” she said. She started asking him for autographs and all that shit. It was very surreal. That time, even my brother was impressed. His name was well-known on the West Coast. Or, maybe it was a coincidence, but to us, that was pretty serious stuff.
At any rate, he knows tons of people here in DC. So, I decided that if I wanted to see the best side of DC, it is best to roll with him a couple times so that I, too, could enjoy the star treatment. So, I decided to hang out with him and his wife a few Saturdays ago. Oh, and, yes, he IS married. But that is a story for a different post. I don’t have the time to get all into that just yet. LOL!
I met my brother and my SIL at a place called Jordan’s 8, which is located in Southeast DC on Capitol Hill. Now first of all, I have pretty much avoided Southeast for my entire life. It is the most notorious and treacherous quadrant of the city. When I was growing up, one just did not venture into Southeast unless one had to. As I received directions to the spot via text message from my brother, I spotted the “SE” at the end of the address and pretty much made up my mind right then and there that I would not be attending the party.
“Stop being a scaredy cat,” my brother scolded.
I was having dinner with Bestie out in Rockville (the ‘burbs) and headed into the city alone because Bestie decided that she’d rather sit this one out. Once I reached Capitol Hill I began to see how gentrification had taken over this part of the city as well. It was about 11pm and there were white people all over the neighborhood, jogging, walking dogs, riding bikes, etc. I was shocked. Clearly, I don’t get out enough. As I made my way over to the area where the bar was located, I noticed that things got even busier. There were tons of people walking around and I passed through blocks and blocks of cute restaurants and trendy bars. This was definitely not the Southeast I remember. Everything was so nice! And new! And clean! Gentrification had really changed things up!
I was able to park on the street right in front of the spot (!) and I could see the sign for Jordan’s 8 in my side-view mirror. I walked up to the door and a very large man was standing in front of it, blocking my view of the inside. He held a clipboard with a list of names attached to it.
*Pause*
Now, let me preface the remainder of this story by saying two things. First, I rarely go out alone. I am usually ALWAYS with at least one other person. And, if I do go out alone, I make sure that I am meeting someone at the front door of whatever venue I’ll be visiting because I just do not feel right about being out alone at night. I think it’s mostly a safety issue, but I also feel as though having another person with me can prevent me from having to talk to or interact with other people. I also find that having a conversation (or pretending to be having a conversation) on your cell phone is also a good strategy to help get yourself out of awkward social situations. This time, I had nobody traveling with me and my cell phone battery was nearly dead (that damn Tmobile DASH), so I was trying to hook up with my brother and SIL as quickly as I possibly could. I just felt so vulnerable arriving at the club alone. (I understand this is a personal issue that I need to work on.)
Second, I hate – I mean, absolutely HATE – to drop names. My friends don’t understand my hesitation. So, for instance, it was Howard’s Homecoming weekend, which is one of the busiest weekends of the year in DC. My friends wanted to get into a party at one of the most exclusive parties. My brother knows the owner of the club and the promoter of the party pretty well. He tells me to go to the door and ask for “Steve” and tell him who my brother is and my friends and I will get in for free. I listen closely to the directions that my brother is giving me over the phone, hang up, turn to Denise and say, “Pick another party. We’re not going to that one.”
“What? Why?” she asks.
“I am not going to walk to the front of the line, ask for some guy named ‘Steve’ and then hope that he’s feeling generous when I tell him who my brother is. What if he makes a fool of me? Like, what if, when I tell him my brother’s name, he tells me to go to the back of the line?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Denise says. “Your brother wouldn’t set you up like that.”
“Well, I am the one who would look stupid, not you. I’m not doing it.”
And so, we went to a different party that night. All because I didn’t want to drop a name. But, I’d rather stand on my own two feet than rely on my brother’s name to get me into places. So, most times, even though I could probably get into all the hot parties in the city, I stay home and twiddle my thumbs. But, recently, I’ve decided that I should get over this fear that I’ll be rejected at the door.
But, I digress (as usual).
So, back at Jordan’s 8: Before I speak to the guy at the front door, I text my brother who is already inside with my SIL.
Is there a cover, I write.
He responds, You are on the list.
Great, I think to myself. No worries.
I approach the door and the guy looks down at me and asks, “Can I help you?”
“I’m here for the private party,” I say.
“Are you on the list?”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
“Brown Girl.”
He flips through the papers. Scans the papers. Flips through them again. Looks at me and then starts flipping through them again.
“I’m sorry, you’re not on the list. You’ll have to see the people inside.”
He steps aside and opens the door. I walk into the very sexy Jordan’s 8. Everything is glass, chrome, and primary colors. Sounds like a strange combination, but it works. There is a woman with big curly hair wearing a puffy dress and a jean jacket standing near the hostess stand and a tall, burly man standing near the wall.
“Can I help you?” Burly asked.
“Hi, I’m on the list, but the man standing outside didn’t see my name.”
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Brown Girl.”
He scans the list, looks up and breathes heavily, then looks at the list again. This time, he tells me to speak to the girl in the puffy dress.
“What’s wrong?” she asks Burly.
“This young lady is supposed to be on the list, but she is not.”
While they confer, I pull out my cell phone and begin sending a text to my brother asking him to come downstairs to get me. This is getting embarrassing and other people are being escorted into the party while I am being publicly humiliated at the hostess stand.
“What is your name?” the woman asks me.
I repeat my name for the third time that night. She asks me who put me on the list, what time I was added to the list, how I found out about the party – basically a shitload of questions that I didn’t have answers for. I tell her that my brother told me about the party and he is the one who said I was on the list. I tell her my brother’s name and she doesn’t believe me. Now, my brother is well-known, true. But, it’s not like I told her that my brother is Michael Jackson, or Diddy, or Denzel. Why she found it unbelievable that I am my brother’s sister, I am not sure. But at any rate, she tells me to call my brother and ask him to come downstairs or else I will not be allowed into the party. At this point, I am feeling like getting in my car and heading back to the burbs. For a person who is umcomfy with name-dropping, this night has already proved too much for me!
They are saying I am not on the list and I am embarrassed and if you don’t come downstairs to get me in the next 2 minutes, I am leaving, I text.
I wait 5 minutes (which happened to be the 5 longest minutes of my life as I watched several groups of people walk right into the party after finding their name on the list), and just as I am about to turn on my heel and hightail it out of there, a tall, overweight man comes down the stairs and walks over to me.
“Are you Brown Girl?”
“Yes,” I reply.
“I’m Shank. This is my party. Come on in.”
Thank you, Jesus! After ALL that nonsense, I am finally allowed to go in and join my brother and SIL. And the funny thing is, once I got past the velvet ropes, the party wasn’t all that. My SIL looked gorgeous, as usual, and almost immediately after my brother bought me a drink, she was ready to “find a sexier crowd” (her words). All of that to turn around and head out to another party?
Ok.
So, once we head downstairs and pass the hostess stand again, the girl in the puffy dress says, “Sorry for all the confusion.”
“No problem,” I lie.
“Are you on our email list?” Burly asks me.
“No, I’m not.”
“Can you put your name right here so we can tell you about our other parties.”
I am tempted to laugh in their faces and walk away, but I think, this is the perfect opportunity to get my name/face out there so that other people will recognize me and I don’t have to depend on dropping my brother’s name in order to get into a party. So, I grab the list from Burly, which happens to be open to section of the names that begin with the letter of my last name. Within one second of looking at the list, I see the words “Brown Girl” plain as day in the middle of the page. “Brown Girl.” My name. It’s there. All that hoopla and I was on the list after all, but THREE adults couldn’t find my name on the page.
I scribbled Minnie.Mouse@gmail.com next to my name (which, btw, is NOT my email address) and walked out behind my brother and SIL to find the next party where, hopefully, I wouldn’t have to drop a single name.
Believe it or not, the night actually got a LOT better.
More later…
Boy, oh boy. It’s funny how a few weeks can change your entire life. After my love letter to NYC post a couple months ago, I caught so much flack over the way that I dissed and dismissed my hometown. And, funny enough, some of the people I offended weren’t even native Washingtonians, but rather people who had chosen DC as their home away from home. This didn’t surprise me. I did give DC a pretty bad rap. And I do still love New York (doesn’t everyone?!), but I’ve recognized that someone is trying to send me a sign that I don’t belong there. Since I’ve last written, I’ve gotten a new job. A job that I really, really wanted and a job that might possibly cure me of my eternal brokeness. I could’ve never imagined that I could’ve secured such a salary increase with just one semi-lateral move. They came at me with a pretty decent offer and I was tempted to accept it. And, trust me, I am not trying to look a gifthorse in the mouth (whatever that means), but I read an article once about how women NEVER negotiate in these types of situations. So, I decided that I would send them back to the drawing board at least one time before I accepted. I thought that the offer they came back with was ludicrous, actually, and I figured I’d better take their offer before they realized that I might not be worth what they are paying me. Now, trust me, it’s not like they’re paying me a boatload of money. But compared to what I’m being paid now, a “normal” salary is such a HUGE improvement since my current position is basically legalized slavery. ANYTHING would be better than my current salary situation. But, I digress. The point is that I got the job and I’ve accepted it. I’m happy with the salary and I’m looking forward to making some positive contributions to my new employer.
Unfortunately, the offer extended was for the DC office of this company and that meant no relocation to NYC after all. So I was a bit bummed about that. But, given the fact that I was JUST complaining in my last post about people who have bunches of blessings, I’m sitting here criticizing the blessing that I have been given. Once, a very wise woman from my church said to me, “When it’s time for you to make a transition to another location, it will happen easily. Everything will come together if it’s what God wants for you.”
Well, it sure is taking me forever to get to NYC, so I’m starting to think that maybe it’s not meant to be. For now. But now that I’ve committed to this new job of mine, I have to settle into DC for at least another year. And, so, I’ve got to find some ways to make this city more fun. In an effort to get out and have some new DC experiences, I decided that it was high time I start spending more time with my older brother.
For those of you who don’t know, my older brother is somewhat of a celebrity. Or maybe, come to think of it, actually a bona fide celebrity. The first time I realized that my brother was a celebrity was maybe four or five years ago. We were walking through downtown Silver Spring, where his office is located, on our way back to the office from lunch. A man was watching us walk down the major thoroughfare. He stopped my brother on the street and struck up a conversation. While he was talking, I tried to place his face (I’m really good with faces). I studied his facial features and came up with nothing. I didn’t recognize him. I waited until they were done speaking and the guy had walked away.
“Who was that?” I asked my brother.
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
“You don’t know,” I repeated. “He sure did know you.”
My brother brushed it off and we kept it moving to the next location. That’s when I knew he was a local celebrity. And, then, there was the time I discovered that he was a national celebrity. My brother and I were taking the train to New York for some photo shoot or something (a normal celeb activity) and we were sitting in one of those four-seater sections on the Amtrak Metroliner. An older white woman was sitting across from us and we could tell by her cell phone conversation that she was a lawyer. My brother (and lawyer) and I (at the time a law student), occasionally gave each other knowing glances and rolled our eyes at certain parts of her conversation. Afterwards, my brother told the woman that we were a lawyer and a lawyer in training. We found out that she was a corporate lawyer from Northern California who was up and down the East Coast for a week’s worth of meetings. She asked what kind of law he practiced and when my brother told her that he didn’t actually practice, but was a musician who owned his own record label, she went ballistic.
“Oh my God!” she said. “That is so awesome! Would I know your music?”
“Maybe,” he said. “I play jazz.”
“Ok, I love jazz. What’s your name?” she asked.
“[Brown Girl’s Brother],” he said.
This time she went ape shit. “I know you! I just saw you in concert a few weeks ago in the Bay Area,” she said. She started asking him for autographs and all that shit. It was very surreal. That time, even my brother was impressed. His name was well-known on the West Coast. Or, maybe it was a coincidence, but to us, that was pretty serious stuff.
At any rate, he knows tons of people here in DC. So, I decided that if I wanted to see the best side of DC, it is best to roll with him a couple times so that I, too, could enjoy the star treatment. So, I decided to hang out with him and his wife a few Saturdays ago. Oh, and, yes, he IS married. But that is a story for a different post. I don’t have the time to get all into that just yet. LOL!
I met my brother and my SIL at a place called Jordan’s 8, which is located in Southeast DC on Capitol Hill. Now first of all, I have pretty much avoided Southeast for my entire life. It is the most notorious and treacherous quadrant of the city. When I was growing up, one just did not venture into Southeast unless one had to. As I received directions to the spot via text message from my brother, I spotted the “SE” at the end of the address and pretty much made up my mind right then and there that I would not be attending the party.
“Stop being a scaredy cat,” my brother scolded.
I was having dinner with Bestie out in Rockville (the ‘burbs) and headed into the city alone because Bestie decided that she’d rather sit this one out. Once I reached Capitol Hill I began to see how gentrification had taken over this part of the city as well. It was about 11pm and there were white people all over the neighborhood, jogging, walking dogs, riding bikes, etc. I was shocked. Clearly, I don’t get out enough. As I made my way over to the area where the bar was located, I noticed that things got even busier. There were tons of people walking around and I passed through blocks and blocks of cute restaurants and trendy bars. This was definitely not the Southeast I remember. Everything was so nice! And new! And clean! Gentrification had really changed things up!
I was able to park on the street right in front of the spot (!) and I could see the sign for Jordan’s 8 in my side-view mirror. I walked up to the door and a very large man was standing in front of it, blocking my view of the inside. He held a clipboard with a list of names attached to it.
*Pause*
Now, let me preface the remainder of this story by saying two things. First, I rarely go out alone. I am usually ALWAYS with at least one other person. And, if I do go out alone, I make sure that I am meeting someone at the front door of whatever venue I’ll be visiting because I just do not feel right about being out alone at night. I think it’s mostly a safety issue, but I also feel as though having another person with me can prevent me from having to talk to or interact with other people. I also find that having a conversation (or pretending to be having a conversation) on your cell phone is also a good strategy to help get yourself out of awkward social situations. This time, I had nobody traveling with me and my cell phone battery was nearly dead (that damn Tmobile DASH), so I was trying to hook up with my brother and SIL as quickly as I possibly could. I just felt so vulnerable arriving at the club alone. (I understand this is a personal issue that I need to work on.)
Second, I hate – I mean, absolutely HATE – to drop names. My friends don’t understand my hesitation. So, for instance, it was Howard’s Homecoming weekend, which is one of the busiest weekends of the year in DC. My friends wanted to get into a party at one of the most exclusive parties. My brother knows the owner of the club and the promoter of the party pretty well. He tells me to go to the door and ask for “Steve” and tell him who my brother is and my friends and I will get in for free. I listen closely to the directions that my brother is giving me over the phone, hang up, turn to Denise and say, “Pick another party. We’re not going to that one.”
“What? Why?” she asks.
“I am not going to walk to the front of the line, ask for some guy named ‘Steve’ and then hope that he’s feeling generous when I tell him who my brother is. What if he makes a fool of me? Like, what if, when I tell him my brother’s name, he tells me to go to the back of the line?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Denise says. “Your brother wouldn’t set you up like that.”
“Well, I am the one who would look stupid, not you. I’m not doing it.”
And so, we went to a different party that night. All because I didn’t want to drop a name. But, I’d rather stand on my own two feet than rely on my brother’s name to get me into places. So, most times, even though I could probably get into all the hot parties in the city, I stay home and twiddle my thumbs. But, recently, I’ve decided that I should get over this fear that I’ll be rejected at the door.
But, I digress (as usual).
So, back at Jordan’s 8: Before I speak to the guy at the front door, I text my brother who is already inside with my SIL.
Is there a cover, I write.
He responds, You are on the list.
Great, I think to myself. No worries.
I approach the door and the guy looks down at me and asks, “Can I help you?”
“I’m here for the private party,” I say.
“Are you on the list?”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
“Brown Girl.”
He flips through the papers. Scans the papers. Flips through them again. Looks at me and then starts flipping through them again.
“I’m sorry, you’re not on the list. You’ll have to see the people inside.”
He steps aside and opens the door. I walk into the very sexy Jordan’s 8. Everything is glass, chrome, and primary colors. Sounds like a strange combination, but it works. There is a woman with big curly hair wearing a puffy dress and a jean jacket standing near the hostess stand and a tall, burly man standing near the wall.
“Can I help you?” Burly asked.
“Hi, I’m on the list, but the man standing outside didn’t see my name.”
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Brown Girl.”
He scans the list, looks up and breathes heavily, then looks at the list again. This time, he tells me to speak to the girl in the puffy dress.
“What’s wrong?” she asks Burly.
“This young lady is supposed to be on the list, but she is not.”
While they confer, I pull out my cell phone and begin sending a text to my brother asking him to come downstairs to get me. This is getting embarrassing and other people are being escorted into the party while I am being publicly humiliated at the hostess stand.
“What is your name?” the woman asks me.
I repeat my name for the third time that night. She asks me who put me on the list, what time I was added to the list, how I found out about the party – basically a shitload of questions that I didn’t have answers for. I tell her that my brother told me about the party and he is the one who said I was on the list. I tell her my brother’s name and she doesn’t believe me. Now, my brother is well-known, true. But, it’s not like I told her that my brother is Michael Jackson, or Diddy, or Denzel. Why she found it unbelievable that I am my brother’s sister, I am not sure. But at any rate, she tells me to call my brother and ask him to come downstairs or else I will not be allowed into the party. At this point, I am feeling like getting in my car and heading back to the burbs. For a person who is umcomfy with name-dropping, this night has already proved too much for me!
They are saying I am not on the list and I am embarrassed and if you don’t come downstairs to get me in the next 2 minutes, I am leaving, I text.
I wait 5 minutes (which happened to be the 5 longest minutes of my life as I watched several groups of people walk right into the party after finding their name on the list), and just as I am about to turn on my heel and hightail it out of there, a tall, overweight man comes down the stairs and walks over to me.
“Are you Brown Girl?”
“Yes,” I reply.
“I’m Shank. This is my party. Come on in.”
Thank you, Jesus! After ALL that nonsense, I am finally allowed to go in and join my brother and SIL. And the funny thing is, once I got past the velvet ropes, the party wasn’t all that. My SIL looked gorgeous, as usual, and almost immediately after my brother bought me a drink, she was ready to “find a sexier crowd” (her words). All of that to turn around and head out to another party?
Ok.
So, once we head downstairs and pass the hostess stand again, the girl in the puffy dress says, “Sorry for all the confusion.”
“No problem,” I lie.
“Are you on our email list?” Burly asks me.
“No, I’m not.”
“Can you put your name right here so we can tell you about our other parties.”
I am tempted to laugh in their faces and walk away, but I think, this is the perfect opportunity to get my name/face out there so that other people will recognize me and I don’t have to depend on dropping my brother’s name in order to get into a party. So, I grab the list from Burly, which happens to be open to section of the names that begin with the letter of my last name. Within one second of looking at the list, I see the words “Brown Girl” plain as day in the middle of the page. “Brown Girl.” My name. It’s there. All that hoopla and I was on the list after all, but THREE adults couldn’t find my name on the page.
I scribbled Minnie.Mouse@gmail.com next to my name (which, btw, is NOT my email address) and walked out behind my brother and SIL to find the next party where, hopefully, I wouldn’t have to drop a single name.
Believe it or not, the night actually got a LOT better.
More later…
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Count your blessings...
Well, I know that I haven’t posted in a while. But this time, I have FANTASTIC excuses to explain my long absence. First, my dad has been dealing with some health issues that were pretty serious. I took time off from work to help manage that situation on the home front since my mom seemed to be pretty overwhelmed by it all. Long days spent at the hospital turned into short nights and then more long days at the hospital. This left very little time for me to get my thoughts jotted down, but it did give me a little time to think about some things. And whenever I start thinking that means… yep! You guessed it! MORE BLOG POSTS FOR YOU! Whoo-hoo!
Anyway, during this time, a very close friend of mine decided to quit his out-of-state job and move back to DC. He wanted to spend his days looking for a new position, but didn’t have a computer. So I, out of the kindness of my own heart, allowed him to borrow my beloved laptop for a few days. Which then turned into an entire week! So, that didn’t leave me much time or opportunity to write a post. When I told this friend that I needed him to return my computer so I could get back to blogging, he said, “You’ve gone longer than this without blogging. Nobody will miss you.” Well, he can just kiss my tookus because I know for a fact that I have been missed. (And I feel great about that, by the way!) I know this because I got cursed by several people who had been checking for new posts and finding nothing. And for that, I apologize. So, here goes a new post. And I’m working on a few more… hopefully, I’ll have at least two more to post later this week…
I wrote this post last week when I was feeling overwhelmed and a little bit depressed by my circumstances. But since then, my circumstances have changed for the better. You can't have a TESTimony with a TEST. And I was being tested. But, I'm here to tell you that God is good all the time, and all the time God is good. Amen. I still have a few questions, tho... LOL!
Ok, so we all know that there are some people who have fabulous lives. Everybody has that one friend that it seems can do no wrong. No matter what, s/he always gets what they want. A new job? Got that. In fact, they got the exact job they were looking for. No, better yet, it was the job they had always dreamed about and it was handed over to them with little effort. Wait, actually, it is a job that is BETTER than the job they had always dreamed about and it pays significantly more too. And, no their girlfriend isn’t just the most beautiful woman in the city, she is actually the prettiest woman on the East Coast, knits blankets for orphans in her spare time, sings in the church choir, AND cooks like Martha Stewart to boot.
And though you are genuinely happy for said friend and all of his/her happiness, sometimes you wonder why God seems to smile on certain people while ignoring the pleas of others. Sure, you are blessed, and you don’t even deserve the blessings that you DO get from God – truthfully. But you also notice that there are other people out there who happen to be ordinary people just like you, but it seems as though their blessings are constantly overflowing. And the question is WHY? Who are these people and what have they done to deserve them getting so much out of life? There’s got to be some reason why they are highly favored and the rest of us are just trudging along trying to make chicken soup out of chicken shit.
I’ll be the first to admit that these sorts of questions pass through my mind all the time. And, there are certain people that I encounter on a regular basis that manage to spur these thoughts. And I can think of quite a few people that I know personally who I could mention here in this post. They would actually be textbook examples of this phenomenon. But then I thought better of using their stories. Some of those blessed and highly favored people I had in mind do read this blog and would probably recognize their lives once I described and laid them out for the whole world (or at least the 5 or so people who read this blog!) to see. So, instead, I’ll go with someone who everyone on the planet knows and who has probably spurred these types of thoughts in millions of people’s heads.
B-E-Y-O-N-C-E.
Yes, that “triple threat” – the singer, actress, dancer (although she has really only mastered two of the three… guess which two??) – that we all know and love. You can’t help but give her the props that she is due. The girl seems to have it all!
A few years back, I paid over $100 to see Beyonce, Alicia Keys, and Missy Elliott perform in the Verizon “Ladies First” tour. I had liked Beyonce since her days with Destiny’s Child. But it wasn’t until I had seen her in living color that I began to respect her and her craft. She is a PERFORMER, plain and simple. I got my money's worth just as a result of her performance. She is the embodiment of the term “entertainer”. Through her whole set, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She belted out the words to every song enthusiastically, didn’t miss a note, her feet didn’t miss a beat. My friends and I were enthralled. Not to mention that she did all this for approximately an hour and a half and didn’t seem to have a hair out of place when she was finished. Now THAT is talent.
A couple of months ago, my mom and I were watching “The Beyonce Experience” when it aired on cable. By the end of her first set, my mom was out of breath. When I asked her what was wrong she said, "I got tired just watching her!" That’s how much energy Bey displayed. It was outrageous. Then, she belted out one of her slow tunes and I was in awe of not just her stamina, but also her level of talent.
My awe quickly turned to curiosity. How is it that one person could be so blessed? I mean, she has the stamina and the attitude and the look and the talent to back it ALL up. Not only is she a very capable vocalist, but she can also dance her ass off and (halfway - let's be real) act. And, of course, those three blessings weren’t enough for her. She also happened to fare well in the genetic lottery, which made her the lucky winner of a bodacious bod and gorgeous grill. Some chicks have all the luck!
But, I don’t believe in luck, I believe in blessings. And this girl is clearly blessed. Aside from all those things that I outlined about Bey up above, add to that the fact that she is also a multi-platinum recording artist in a very depressing time for the music industry where pirating and digital developments have caused record sales to plummet. Plus, she’s got a fashion line, House of Dereon. And even though the shit is a hot tranny mess, well, it’s STILL a fashion line! And, finally, she can take responsibility for snagging the most swaggerific dude in the game, the shrewdest business man in hip hop, one of the greatest rappers of all time, Jay-Z. The same dude who used to mean-mug the camera all the time now walks around with a constant grin on his face, looking like a kid in FAO Schwartz who has just been handed his father’s Amex Black Card and been told to "go crazy!".
So I wonder, what did Beyonce do to earn all these blessings? Was she Harriet Tubman in another life, bringing slaves to freedom in the North? Perhaps she a former nun who dedicated her life to caring for the afflicted residents of a leper colony? Did she take a bullet for someone? I mean, really, WHO DESERVES ALL THAT?
I’m waiting for an answer…
…
No really. I can’t answer this question, so I’m hoping someone else can! LOL!
Now, I know that maybe some of this sounds a little haterish, but trust me - it is not. Bey got SOME of her success through hard work and dedication. But to be able to have all that she's got... she also had the Lord on her side.
I get the fact that every generation has one or two pop culture icons who become larger than life. Beyonce is that icon for my generation. So, I can sorta understand that maybe God gives chances like this to one person per generation and Bey did something that found her favor in God’s eyes so that made her the perfect candidate for icon status.
I also recognize that, as the Good Book says, to whom much is given, much is expected. So that means that Bey has got to do some things to justify her blessings. I don’t know her giving history, but I’m sure that she finds ways to help out those less fortunate, which would include… basically everyone else in the world! I have no concrete knowledge of what she does or doesn't do, but I do know that God is expecting a lot from her... he gave her this kind of life for a reason. She better prove him right!
Anyway, even though I realize the extent of Bey’s blessings, the pills that are a little harder to swallow are those people who receive these kinds of blessings on a smaller scale. Like for instance, the friend who wished that she could get an internship for a record label and ends up skipping right over the internship and getting a job as a high-paid exec instead. Or that guy who wants to make it to the college team to play Division I ball and instead ends up going pro... as a first-round draft pick. Possibly it’s that young lady who wants to buy a condo and ends up getting blessed with a 20-room mansion. Whoever it is, sometimes it just doesn't seem fair. There are a million guys waiting to go pro, some of them just as talented as A.I. or LeBron or Kobe (barf). Why didn't they get the contract and the endorsements and the millions?
The examples I used might seem unrealistic and you are probably thinking that stuff like that doesn’t happen to "ordinary" people like me and you. But, guess what, everyone is “ordinary” until something EXTRAORDINARY happens to them. I’ve seen the throwback videos of Bey and Miss Kelly and the rest of them chicks singing and dancing in Tina’s beauty salon back in Houston. In those days, they were just ordinary girls, but then… something happened that transformed them into who they are today. And, when you think about it, there had to have been a ton of other girls also singing in churches and barber shops and talent shows who didn’t get the same kind of break that Bey and Kelly got. And those “ordinary” chicks are still just “ordinary” because that extraordinary thing, that BLESSING, did not happen to them.
Now, this is the second post where I’ve mentioned Beyonce. Trust that I’m not a Beyonce stan, but I do admire her and what she has achieved at such a young age. And, I’m genuinely happy that she has accomplished what she has. I just want to know… why her? Why not someone else?
I know you’re not really supposed to question the divine order of things. Sometimes, “why?” is not appropriate. I don’t really expect to get these questions answered in this lifetime, so don’t rack your brain trying to figure it out or anything…
I thank God for my many, MANY blessings. Although I haven't been blessed with Bey's talents (or her man, OR her millions) I've got a lot of amazing things to be thankful for. I still wonder why Bey is so blessed (and Oprah on a larger scale and a certain NYC pal on a smaller scale). But I am also not so dense as to be unaware of the fact that I have been blessed with exactly what God WANTS me to have. And for that, I am grateful.
So, God, no hard feelings. You’re still my homeboy and I’ve got nothing but love and respect for you. Keep on blessing Beyonce and them. And keep on blessing me. This is just food for thought…
Anyway, during this time, a very close friend of mine decided to quit his out-of-state job and move back to DC. He wanted to spend his days looking for a new position, but didn’t have a computer. So I, out of the kindness of my own heart, allowed him to borrow my beloved laptop for a few days. Which then turned into an entire week! So, that didn’t leave me much time or opportunity to write a post. When I told this friend that I needed him to return my computer so I could get back to blogging, he said, “You’ve gone longer than this without blogging. Nobody will miss you.” Well, he can just kiss my tookus because I know for a fact that I have been missed. (And I feel great about that, by the way!) I know this because I got cursed by several people who had been checking for new posts and finding nothing. And for that, I apologize. So, here goes a new post. And I’m working on a few more… hopefully, I’ll have at least two more to post later this week…
I wrote this post last week when I was feeling overwhelmed and a little bit depressed by my circumstances. But since then, my circumstances have changed for the better. You can't have a TESTimony with a TEST. And I was being tested. But, I'm here to tell you that God is good all the time, and all the time God is good. Amen. I still have a few questions, tho... LOL!
Ok, so we all know that there are some people who have fabulous lives. Everybody has that one friend that it seems can do no wrong. No matter what, s/he always gets what they want. A new job? Got that. In fact, they got the exact job they were looking for. No, better yet, it was the job they had always dreamed about and it was handed over to them with little effort. Wait, actually, it is a job that is BETTER than the job they had always dreamed about and it pays significantly more too. And, no their girlfriend isn’t just the most beautiful woman in the city, she is actually the prettiest woman on the East Coast, knits blankets for orphans in her spare time, sings in the church choir, AND cooks like Martha Stewart to boot.
And though you are genuinely happy for said friend and all of his/her happiness, sometimes you wonder why God seems to smile on certain people while ignoring the pleas of others. Sure, you are blessed, and you don’t even deserve the blessings that you DO get from God – truthfully. But you also notice that there are other people out there who happen to be ordinary people just like you, but it seems as though their blessings are constantly overflowing. And the question is WHY? Who are these people and what have they done to deserve them getting so much out of life? There’s got to be some reason why they are highly favored and the rest of us are just trudging along trying to make chicken soup out of chicken shit.
I’ll be the first to admit that these sorts of questions pass through my mind all the time. And, there are certain people that I encounter on a regular basis that manage to spur these thoughts. And I can think of quite a few people that I know personally who I could mention here in this post. They would actually be textbook examples of this phenomenon. But then I thought better of using their stories. Some of those blessed and highly favored people I had in mind do read this blog and would probably recognize their lives once I described and laid them out for the whole world (or at least the 5 or so people who read this blog!) to see. So, instead, I’ll go with someone who everyone on the planet knows and who has probably spurred these types of thoughts in millions of people’s heads.
B-E-Y-O-N-C-E.
Yes, that “triple threat” – the singer, actress, dancer (although she has really only mastered two of the three… guess which two??) – that we all know and love. You can’t help but give her the props that she is due. The girl seems to have it all!
A few years back, I paid over $100 to see Beyonce, Alicia Keys, and Missy Elliott perform in the Verizon “Ladies First” tour. I had liked Beyonce since her days with Destiny’s Child. But it wasn’t until I had seen her in living color that I began to respect her and her craft. She is a PERFORMER, plain and simple. I got my money's worth just as a result of her performance. She is the embodiment of the term “entertainer”. Through her whole set, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She belted out the words to every song enthusiastically, didn’t miss a note, her feet didn’t miss a beat. My friends and I were enthralled. Not to mention that she did all this for approximately an hour and a half and didn’t seem to have a hair out of place when she was finished. Now THAT is talent.
A couple of months ago, my mom and I were watching “The Beyonce Experience” when it aired on cable. By the end of her first set, my mom was out of breath. When I asked her what was wrong she said, "I got tired just watching her!" That’s how much energy Bey displayed. It was outrageous. Then, she belted out one of her slow tunes and I was in awe of not just her stamina, but also her level of talent.
My awe quickly turned to curiosity. How is it that one person could be so blessed? I mean, she has the stamina and the attitude and the look and the talent to back it ALL up. Not only is she a very capable vocalist, but she can also dance her ass off and (halfway - let's be real) act. And, of course, those three blessings weren’t enough for her. She also happened to fare well in the genetic lottery, which made her the lucky winner of a bodacious bod and gorgeous grill. Some chicks have all the luck!
But, I don’t believe in luck, I believe in blessings. And this girl is clearly blessed. Aside from all those things that I outlined about Bey up above, add to that the fact that she is also a multi-platinum recording artist in a very depressing time for the music industry where pirating and digital developments have caused record sales to plummet. Plus, she’s got a fashion line, House of Dereon. And even though the shit is a hot tranny mess, well, it’s STILL a fashion line! And, finally, she can take responsibility for snagging the most swaggerific dude in the game, the shrewdest business man in hip hop, one of the greatest rappers of all time, Jay-Z. The same dude who used to mean-mug the camera all the time now walks around with a constant grin on his face, looking like a kid in FAO Schwartz who has just been handed his father’s Amex Black Card and been told to "go crazy!".
So I wonder, what did Beyonce do to earn all these blessings? Was she Harriet Tubman in another life, bringing slaves to freedom in the North? Perhaps she a former nun who dedicated her life to caring for the afflicted residents of a leper colony? Did she take a bullet for someone? I mean, really, WHO DESERVES ALL THAT?
I’m waiting for an answer…
…
No really. I can’t answer this question, so I’m hoping someone else can! LOL!
Now, I know that maybe some of this sounds a little haterish, but trust me - it is not. Bey got SOME of her success through hard work and dedication. But to be able to have all that she's got... she also had the Lord on her side.
I get the fact that every generation has one or two pop culture icons who become larger than life. Beyonce is that icon for my generation. So, I can sorta understand that maybe God gives chances like this to one person per generation and Bey did something that found her favor in God’s eyes so that made her the perfect candidate for icon status.
I also recognize that, as the Good Book says, to whom much is given, much is expected. So that means that Bey has got to do some things to justify her blessings. I don’t know her giving history, but I’m sure that she finds ways to help out those less fortunate, which would include… basically everyone else in the world! I have no concrete knowledge of what she does or doesn't do, but I do know that God is expecting a lot from her... he gave her this kind of life for a reason. She better prove him right!
Anyway, even though I realize the extent of Bey’s blessings, the pills that are a little harder to swallow are those people who receive these kinds of blessings on a smaller scale. Like for instance, the friend who wished that she could get an internship for a record label and ends up skipping right over the internship and getting a job as a high-paid exec instead. Or that guy who wants to make it to the college team to play Division I ball and instead ends up going pro... as a first-round draft pick. Possibly it’s that young lady who wants to buy a condo and ends up getting blessed with a 20-room mansion. Whoever it is, sometimes it just doesn't seem fair. There are a million guys waiting to go pro, some of them just as talented as A.I. or LeBron or Kobe (barf). Why didn't they get the contract and the endorsements and the millions?
The examples I used might seem unrealistic and you are probably thinking that stuff like that doesn’t happen to "ordinary" people like me and you. But, guess what, everyone is “ordinary” until something EXTRAORDINARY happens to them. I’ve seen the throwback videos of Bey and Miss Kelly and the rest of them chicks singing and dancing in Tina’s beauty salon back in Houston. In those days, they were just ordinary girls, but then… something happened that transformed them into who they are today. And, when you think about it, there had to have been a ton of other girls also singing in churches and barber shops and talent shows who didn’t get the same kind of break that Bey and Kelly got. And those “ordinary” chicks are still just “ordinary” because that extraordinary thing, that BLESSING, did not happen to them.
Now, this is the second post where I’ve mentioned Beyonce. Trust that I’m not a Beyonce stan, but I do admire her and what she has achieved at such a young age. And, I’m genuinely happy that she has accomplished what she has. I just want to know… why her? Why not someone else?
I know you’re not really supposed to question the divine order of things. Sometimes, “why?” is not appropriate. I don’t really expect to get these questions answered in this lifetime, so don’t rack your brain trying to figure it out or anything…
I thank God for my many, MANY blessings. Although I haven't been blessed with Bey's talents (or her man, OR her millions) I've got a lot of amazing things to be thankful for. I still wonder why Bey is so blessed (and Oprah on a larger scale and a certain NYC pal on a smaller scale). But I am also not so dense as to be unaware of the fact that I have been blessed with exactly what God WANTS me to have. And for that, I am grateful.
So, God, no hard feelings. You’re still my homeboy and I’ve got nothing but love and respect for you. Keep on blessing Beyonce and them. And keep on blessing me. This is just food for thought…
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