Look but…

DON’T TOUCH!

I’m not sure how to approach this topic without sounding like a total bitch, so I’ll just go in.

Fellas, I know it’s hard enough to approach a woman.  It’s like face to face cold calling.  It’s tough, I get it.  Truth be told, a little awkwardness is fine – cute even.  However, some things must not be done.  THOU SHALT NOT GRAB AN UNFAMILIAR WOMAN.  I do not mean don’t shake her hand, or even a light touch on the arm.  These are ways that people show interest, and that’s fine.  What isn’t fine is pulling/yanking me away from wherever I’m standing, then cornering me so I can’t get away.  That was fine for the cavemen, but now they call that kidnapping, which I’m quite sure will get you federal time.

Let it also be stated for the record that never, in my history of being grabbed, has the grabber not turned out to be a 360 degree BUGABOO!  Calling, texting, emailing and IMing all damn day and night.  These guys need to be deposed by DeAndre Cole.  That maneuver tells me, “You’re going to discover that I’m lame, and when you do, I don’t want you to be able to run.”

On it’s face, this seems like typical male-bashing banter, but it’s not.  Not ALL dudes do this.  Maybe I should be thankful, because right off the bat, the lame slip is showing, but I’m not.  I don’t LIKE being pulled.  I can’t imagine any other chick does either.  If I add carrying a razor to the equation of my life, cornering me may be unwise.  If a chick wants to talk to you, she WILL; if she doesn’t, KEEP IT MOVING.  Totally understandable that you would want to be a part of all this (I’m only half joking – I’m inherently cool and I’ve got a GREAT beer stash), but I’m pro-choice in all things, including where I stand when I talk to you.  Ease up lil homie.

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Things You Should Probably Care About

…if you want to know anything about me.  Yeah. I baited you in.  Thought I was gonna get deep, didn’t you?  It’s Tuesday. Loosen up.

I go on benders.  Typically not harmful ones (despite my well document affection for pie), but I tend to do things in waves.  If I jump into crossword puzzles, whenever I have down time, I’m in a crossword puzzle.  This also goes for Sudoku, Scrabble and Spider Solitaire.  At least I don’t smoke rocks.

Periodically, I do Google searches on Lauryn Hill, because I always think, “Damn shame.  What happened there?”  There’s really no answer, other than (PERSONAL OPINION ALERT) whatever undiagnosed (or well hidden diagnosed) mental or personality disorder she has.  That being said, I don’t think all of her rantings are without merit.  People tend to take liberties once they believe no one will believe the rantings of “Crazy So and So.”  That being said, she is crazy as catshit, and all the research in the world hasn’t pointed me to the precise moment when things went “left” for her.  Lately, even when she’s looking “nice,” she’s still go the crazy eyes.  Maybe if The Dialectic would do that post, I’d achieve some clarity.

I hate the term “closure,” and believe it to be a farce.  People who want closure are typically those who have not let go of the past and come to accept things as they are.  Life can be really sweet sometimes, but others, it can be double fisted and thorny.  Get your protective gear on, lick your wounds and keep it moving.  And I know that sometimes, that’s the hardest thing in the world.  But no good can come from rehashing a situation that has turned toxic.  You can’t heal until you remove yourself from the source of the hurt.  It’s scary, but I promise, all will be well.

I have bought Toni Morrison’s Paradise at least four times.  This is because whenever someone tells me they haven’t read it, and express interest, I give it to them.  Yes.  The book is that good.  She is that good.  When people try to convince me that she isn’t, I give them a very dismissive, “Okay then,” and keep it moving.

I have to get out more.  It’s unequivocally my own fault, but it’s a matter of doing it.  I don’t know when I became this hermit, because I love my friends and I love being social.  I am annoyed with my weight though.  I don’t want to have to bring BOTH stomachs to the club.  No bitches.  We can’t all party. One of you must stay home.  I’m not having it.

Sunshades in dark places are totally unacceptable to me.  Frankly, I’m not a fan of sunshades at all.  Not being able to see a person’s eyes disturbs me greatly; particularly in a conversation.  Our eyes are what makes or breaks our faces, so to hide them makes me uncomfortable.  I know about that UV ray stuff and such, so I understand their necessity, but once we’re out of the sun, lose ’em.  That goes for at night, in the club, underground, at your mama’s house, and all the other places that you think inappropriate sunshade adornment makes you look cool.

I love professional massages.  I’m always intrigued by that tingly feeling you get, where they say your body is freeing itself from the toxins tied up in your muscles.  That being said, I have yet to have a full body massage.  I’ll get half naked for strangers.  I AM from New Orleans, you know.  The fully naked thing, I just can’t do.  Maybe my mind will changed once I’m svelte and sexy again.  Hopefully, I don’t become a full out exhibitionist.  But you won’t care, because I’ll be sexy!

Sorry I’ve kind of neglected you guys this past week. I’m back on the ball and ready to rock now.  Cooking up a few topics in the old noodle, so stay tuned.

Smooches!

But for real…who asked you to do that?

Once a person reaches a certain age, it is not uncommon to look back upon one’s choices and evaluate, “Was that really the right thing?”  It’s essential to your personal evolution.  It is human.  What we recall may cause pleasure, shame, or even an all too familiar, “Ooooh, yeah…I was so young.”  No one gets it all right all the time.  No. Not even you.  There will always be something you could have done better.

Therefore, when I look at my sisters of a certain age, who suddenly bemoan their lives, I get a little tight.  Certainly, there are some who have made deliberate choices that have turned their lives into a total cluster; but still other lives are simply the product of possessing slightly less wisdom than was required of the situation.  Do better today.  That’s what the life cycle is all about.  Even personally, I jokingly (and on bad days, not so jokingly) refer to needing a life revolution, when really, all I need is to make better choices going forward.  But frankly, is growth  what our female quarter/third life revolutions are about?

Hell to.  The naw.  We don’t want to learn from our past wrongs through a consistent stream of good decisions and evolution.  We want Mickey Mouse to show up in that Fantasia get up, wave his wand, and have dancing hippos stomp out that hot mess we’ve created…ballet style.  This is because nobody likes consequences.  Not you.  Not ya mama.  Not ya granny.  We SAY we’re okay with the consequences of our actions, but we’re not really.  And there’s nothing wrong with not liking them.  Show me a person who likes the bad shit, and I’ll show you a person that you need to avoid.  We all appreciate consequences to a point, but once we believe that point has been reached, we’re like, “Uh yeah universe…that’s enough.  Back to my regularly scheduled programming.  NOW!”  I don’t believe in spending the rest of your life playing for human lapses in judgment, but there’s also no off switch.

We spend our 20s living our lives.  That takes on many different meanings – college, motherhood, marriage, at times coming out regarding sexual orientation, the list goes on, because no life is the same.  Since we’re adults with limited knowledge, we are susceptible to a lot of mistakes, and we deal with those mistakes in the best way we can.  We throw ourselves into this, we detach ourselves from that, time marches on.  As we heal from these bumps and bruises, all to often we, either say or hear the dramatic, “And it took my identity. *faint* *swoon* *call for smelling salts*

Stop the madness.  A pleasant life is about balance.  Often, when things become unbalanced, we overcompensate at the opposite end of the spectrum.  That’s OUR bad.  I remember being a new mother and never sending my kids to the sitter outside of work, salon appearances were spotty at best, and I all but gave up shopping.  I had a husband with whom I not only had nothing in common, but we never talked.  Okay, fine.  Upon my divorce, I then went to the opposite extreme: nonstop salon appointments, compulsive shopping, never seeing my kids on the weekends.  I dated men who did nothing BUT talk to me.  I was being ME again.  The me I hadn’t been in YEEEEARS!

Uh.  Duh.  That’s because that me was gone.  Nobody asked me to walk around looking like my own country cousin and never go anywhere.  There were tons of people willing to take my kids off my hands, my stylist would allow me to assist her in the shop in exchange for services, and it was my choice to spend every spare dime on my kids and buying rather than bringing lunch.  At the end, I could have blamed my choices on a bad marriage or being an overwhelmed mother; but in truth, it was my own lack of foresight, and not utilizing my available resources.  The overcompensating backlash was truly unnecessary.  Thankfully, I had good friends and family who gave me a reality check (in the form of a case full of sitcho*).

I am by no means the only woman that has fallen into this, and it is not specific mothers, wives, or even ex-wives.  We buy into our own various forms of hype, without stopping to realize how absolutely ridiculous we’ve become.  To do things, not because they are right or beneficial, but because you think that’s how you should REACT is ridiculous.  So we look to revolution to erase this pattern of ridiculousness as the quick fix.  If my house smells like shit, and it’s because there’s a bunch of horse shit in the living room, precisely what does throwing that out, and loading a bunch of bull shit in the back room accomplish?

On the topic of men, you will never, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER find a man that is 100% different from every man you have dated.  I’m willing to bet that if you get a man who is 25% different, and it is a quality 25%, count it as a win.  Very rarely do the bad choice guys come 100% wrong; if that was the case, unless you are certifiably insane, he wouldn’t have hooked you.  Objectively looking back, you can pinpoint what elements of his personality you knew were going to be problematic, yet ignored.  Don’t ignore them next time.

We tend to look at those past “uses” with rose colored glasses and ignore one crucial truth:  This is the SAME US that got us in this horrible mess.  I don’t want to go back to 21/22 year old Mel.  That chick was dumb as a bag of Yaki.  Most importantly, in that state, I was not fit to effectively care for two children on the precipice of puberty.  There is nothing wrong with the label mother, as long as you view it as a facet of yourself and not your entire reason for breathing.  If you do that, stop it.  Do not, however, use it as an excuse to plunge headlong into the horizon of irresponsibility.  BALANCE.

We never stop learning and roles never stop shifting, so for as long as we breathe, we will periodically have to acclimate to a new station in life.  We won’t always get it right immediately, and once we get it wrong, it can’t immediately be un-wronged.  Time.  Experience.  Patience.  Tweaks.  Not giant overhauls.  TWEAKS.  You’d be surprised to find that you’re working with more raw material than you gave yourself credit for having.

*  “Sitcho” = “IF YOU DON’T SITCHO ASS DOWN!”

“And it’s getting more and more absurd”

It’s sad, so sad
It’s a sad, sad situation
And it’s getting more and more absurd
It’s sad, so sad
Why can’t we talk it over
Oh it seems to me
That sorry seems to be the hardest word

-Elton John

Hope is a sweet thing.  It tells us that no matter what happens, we can get it together and go forward.  It tells us that nothing is impassable, impossible, or insurmountable, as long as one has time and patience.  We need this belief for when things seem darkest.

The truth is, there’s a category of shit that really can’t be overcome.  Even with our best efforts of trying to piece things back together as the once were, the fissures and chinks resurface at the most inopportune times, reminding us of that thing we’ve tried hardest to forget and move past.  Sometimes, due to over-handling, or just the strains of time, that thing may break again.  The extremely dedicated collect those shards and carry them throughout life.  Most of us, not some, MOST, carry way more than we should for way longer than we otherwise would, in the name of hope.  Half the time, I don’t even think we know what we’re hoping for.  The best?  The worst?  Deliverance?  Absolution?  That silver lining?

When all is said and done, the most a person can give is sorrow, and sometimes, that shit, however sincere, can mean everything and nothing.  When you’re on the business end of some fucked up shit, it puts you in a strange position, because, you want to forgive, push forward and release.  But there’s that tiny part of you that will wait until heaven splits and drops winged pigs, and restore your faith in a person or situation.

I realize that once you break something, you can be forgiven, you can heal, you can repair, but you can never un-break.  That’s some dry ass bread to choke on folks.  Let me tell you.

Know what you are?

I recently addressed the need for individuals to express how deep they are.  The pretense is just…boring.  I’m not saying that there aren’t artists and people out there thinking and doing deep and meaningful shit, but I really have no interest in having it broken down ad nauseum via the Facebook and Twitter.

That post made me think of the other trend: When did being likable become a undesirable quality?  We all have those moments of breaking bad, going against the grain, and saying the hard things that need to be said.  But when did bucking against certain guidelines of tact and propriety become something to be praised?  There’s an enormous attention seeking movement, and all participants are waving a “Look How Edgy I Am” flag.  Then once the person shows their slip of douchebaggery, they give the Kanye “I’m just being honest” shrug.

Well guess what? There’s a reason our parents taught us to think before we speak; to disagree without being disagreeable; that if you can’t say something nice, it’s best to say nothing.  These were and are valid rules to live buy.  When I go out of my way to say something ugly or cutting, I make myself look bad.  I make myself look angry.  Once again, “hurt people, hurt people” rears it’s ugly head.

Then, my least favorite thing about this mentality is, when you reject humor and speech that are mean spirited and sarcastic, all too often, you’re met with the condescending, “Well, you have to be a certain type of person to get it?”  Oh, I get it.  It’s wack as hell.

I like meeting strange and uncomfortable situations with a bit of biting humor, but I think we should all be cautious not to let that be our go to response, for the sake of balance if nothing else.  I see too many people that celebrate being obnoxious or douchebags or unlikable, and it’s nothing to celebrate.  It makes me not want to be around you.  It makes me not want to talk to you.  And I understand that me not “playing in your sandbox” won’t make or break your world, but I’m pretty sure if I feel that way, I’m not the only one.

A lil introspection ain’t never kill nobody.  *Insert Kanye shrug here*

“So you found a girl who thinks really deep thoughts…”

“…What’s so amazing about really deep thoughts?”
– Tori Amos

You ever listen to a song a million times, and for some reason, at the million and first listen, you are struck by something?  I was in the mood for some Tori Amos the other day (who is positively splendid, and no one can tell me otherwise) and I listened to “Silent All These Years,” and this gut punched me.

Erykah Badu’s latest release, “Window Seat,” was accompanied by a very controversial video, in which she strips off layers of clothing, while traversing the same route of the Kennedy assassination, then she is assassinated.  She offered explanations, and it incited dialog, but the blogo- and Twitter-spheres were buzzing with hipsters deciphering the meaning behind the video.

I wonder if we haven’t gone too far in believing in our own hype.  Like, we’re so anxious to prove our depth, that we break down something that was an incredibly simple act.  I understand the need to not be silly and vapid, but I don’t want to have to do that much work when I’m being entertained.  Why do so many of us feel the need to be the most vocal and enlightened hipster?

Not every human emotion or action has a deep meaning.  Some things are sitting right there at the surface.  I don’t see anything wrong with having bits and pieces of yourself on your sleeve.  Sure, there is no questioning the value of a certain amount of mystique, but a little transparency is good for bonding with people.  That’s how you make connections.  That’s where we allow the human in us to breathe.

I’m just over the know it all syndrome.  I think we all have the potential to become a little presumptuous with our opinions, making the mistake of believing that they should be heard by all and sundry.  Not everything is for you.  It’s almost 1 am and I’m sleepy, so pardon the ramble, but I’m just so exhuasted with the nonstop “deep thoughts.”

The frustration is that people are being deep about shit that doesn’t in ONE WAY affect this world as a better place; not on a meaningful level anyway. It’s  1 am and I’m sleepy, so pardon the ramble, but I’m just so exhuasted with the endless barrage of really deep thoughts.

What’s so amazing about really deep thoughts?