This week’s topic of passionate debate is the existence of soulmates and setting goals for future romantic involvements. Let me first say that I personally am not a fan of setting goals for intimate relationships. An artist doesn’t say, ‘this piece is going to be a portrait of a woman driving a car on the roundabout near Big Ben”. You just grab your brush/camera/pen and begin. The piece becomes itself, independent of what you may have intended or presumed. When you try to govern where it goes, it just turns into something, well, trite. I’ve made this mistake countless times in every facet of my life where it could possibly be. I live this mistake! Ha ha. Thank goodness I find humor in that.
I am not expecting to find a soulmate (just as I don’t expect to ever be considered a noteworthy artist). Lucky people find their soulmates – and these people know damned well that they are lucky. As for involvements with the non-soulmates, to shape and form what I want from a person before I’ve even met them is counterproductive for me. How can I know what I want from someone if I haven’t gotten a chance to know them? I can easily get caught up in who I think they should be instead of who they really are. I’ve done that before. I hurt myself. I hurt the other person. I don’t want to do that again.
Then there are values. Is it really necessary for you to have the same values as the person you want to spend the rest of your life with? You got me there. As soon as I meet this man, I will let you know. For now, I am satisfied with mutual honesty, trust and respect. Oh yes, and independence! I like having my own life and my own space. Twin Peaks thinks that she would be best matched with a man who shares the same core values as she does and wants to share his life completely with her. I agree; I just don't think that applies to me. I don't plan on raising any children, so it doesn't matter if he prefers timeouts and I prefer spankings. We don't have to agree about what age is old enough to go on a date or learn how to drive. Those are very important things for people who have kids or plan to have kids. She does. I can date a man with children as long as he doesn't expect me to become a stepmother. I look at a man with kids with a more discriminating eye than I do a man without them. The way a man treats his children is a direct reflection of who he is. If he isn't a responsible father, you can bet that he isn't a responsible lover or partner either. I'm not saying that absent dads intend on being flakes. I'm saying that's what they are, whether they intended it or not. That brings to mind another saying. "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."
At the end of the debate, although Twin Peaks and I still disagree on what the basis of soulmate compatibility is, I determined what my one requirement is. Yes, I said just one! This of course this is assuming the other factors are already present: mutual attraction, similar sense of humor, socially compatibility. There is one thing that has been the ultimate deal breaker when everything else seemed to be in its proper place. My soul mate is someone who has the same threshold for bullshit as I do. That is always the last straw. It’s a slap in the face. It makes you ask yourself why you ever thought it was going to work in the first place.
I am most often drawn to men who make me laugh and whom I have fun with. Twice I’ve stopped seeing someone because of what I considered to be substance abuse. I’m not saying that the rest of society considered them substance abusers; I’m just saying that I did at the time. I’ve always dated coffee drinkers, so I haven’t had to experience being lectured about my dependence on coffee… I’ve been told to quit smoking many times. I haven’t been told recently though. It’s not because I’ve quit completely; I still smoke when I gamble and sometimes when I drink hard liquor, which brings me to a good point. I am in no position to tell a person what they can and can’t do. However, I don’t want to be with someone whose dependencies make it necessary for me to take over being the responsible adult while they are disabled by their intoxication – we’re talking physically, mentally, financially, whatever. Everyone is allowed too much of something once in a while, but when it becomes a regular occurrence you have to call it like you see it. I’ve been on both sides of that kind of relationship; it’s no picnic either way. There was a time when I drank a lot and I dated a guy who also drank a lot. Then I stopped drinking and he started drinking enough for the both of us. The relationship didn’t last long after that. When the bartender calls you in the middle of the night to come and get your man, it’s just not cute. Like I said, I’ve been on the opposite side of the equation too. However, I don’t remember those days too well. Damn alcohol…
So when it comes to the soul mate thing, I try not to put all my eggs in that basket. If I get lucky enough to find my soul mate, I’ll be singing his praises all over the place. If I don’t, I’ll just be happy enjoying the company of whoever I’m with. I don’t consider the non-soulmate a waste of time. If I decided that I would only spend time with someone that I thought could be my soulmate, then I would be inferring that I might know how to find my soulmate. If I knew that, why the hell would I have waited this long?
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Embrace What You Are
I don’t know about all women, but most of the women I know try to have their minds and hearts aligned before having sex with someone (new or old). I got a call from Secret Squirrel a couple of weeks ago. I sort of brought him up to speed; I didn’t want to go into detail. He went on to invite me over for a “platonic sleepover”. Yeah, riiiight, and I was born yesterday.
I told SS that I really didn’t think of myself as a platonic kind of sleepover friend – whatever the hell that means. To that he replied, “Well if you want to do it, we can.” Oh thanks for your generosity! Sure I considered it as a space-filler until I get my SBF legs back, but then dismissed it as just another poor decision waiting in the minefield of my private life.
The same evening that I had agreed to meet SS out for a game of pool, KB came by to get some of his things. I’d done laundry a couple of nights prior, so he had some clean undergarments waiting for him (which are gold when you’re couch-surfing). Some depressing video footage from Haiti was in TV, and he got all emotional. I don’t really fare well with tears (mine or other’s), so I poured another drink and changed the programming to the Simpsons instead. I had my evening planned out before he came over. I even thought that it was still going to pan out as scheduled…then I realized that I was drunk (sigh). I could barely get my ass back home from the bar much less get in the car and drive across the bridge to the party in SF that I’d planned on attending. KB took off around 11 and I was in bed before midnight. Anticlimactic doesn’t even begin to describe that night.
The next night, I was supposed to go to this monthly party that KB and I used to really enjoy together. He said he would be there so we could hang out again…I sent him an instant message saying that I had changed my mind. I was in a funk about being thrust into a solitary existence by our hasty split, so I didn’t think I was capable of having a good time, at least not yet. Although I couldn’t say it, I was grieving. It was very unbecoming. I didn’t want to be seen in public. I didn’t want to comb my hair. I didn’t want to drink – that’s what I do to celebrate and I didn’t want to taint it with my gloom.
He apologized and said that he would skip the party so I could go… still sweet to the end. That only made me feel worse. I told him to go and have fun. ‘I’m okay. I mean, I’ll be okay.’ So the rest of the weekend passed uneventfully and I got a few tasks checked off the “To Do When There’s Nothing Else Left To Do” list. Then I wrote a blog. That was last Sunday.
On Monday we talked again. I apologized profusely – for the whole mess that I started in the first place. I told him that I had come to terms with the reality that being just friends is what suited the situation and that I’d just have to suffer through the transition because that’s just how it goes sometimes. Then he said that he was actually hoping for at least some closure sex… WHAT!?!?! So, you mean he’s not upset and we could still be intimately involved? Then what the hell am I grieving for? He needed to move out so I could keep from going crazy, so he moved out. If we’re still sleeping together, then CHECK AND CHECK! I won’t have him there to kvetch to at the end of a hard day at work or to make me soup when I feel ill, but I will still get to triple-X wrestle. Sweet! I am not a good roommate anyway. I’m such a finicky and particular bitch when it comes to my living space. Yes, I apologized for that too.
We haven’t yet made good on the agreement to continue seeing each other on less binding terms (that was just discussed on Monday). I’m hopeful though. I’m not sure if it’s going to be better or just weird after what has transpired. What I do know is that it has been almost three weeks since I’ve had sex and the full moon is on Friday. You know that saying, “Strike while the iron is hot”? Well, it it’s not going to get much hotter…
I told SS that I really didn’t think of myself as a platonic kind of sleepover friend – whatever the hell that means. To that he replied, “Well if you want to do it, we can.” Oh thanks for your generosity! Sure I considered it as a space-filler until I get my SBF legs back, but then dismissed it as just another poor decision waiting in the minefield of my private life.
The same evening that I had agreed to meet SS out for a game of pool, KB came by to get some of his things. I’d done laundry a couple of nights prior, so he had some clean undergarments waiting for him (which are gold when you’re couch-surfing). Some depressing video footage from Haiti was in TV, and he got all emotional. I don’t really fare well with tears (mine or other’s), so I poured another drink and changed the programming to the Simpsons instead. I had my evening planned out before he came over. I even thought that it was still going to pan out as scheduled…then I realized that I was drunk (sigh). I could barely get my ass back home from the bar much less get in the car and drive across the bridge to the party in SF that I’d planned on attending. KB took off around 11 and I was in bed before midnight. Anticlimactic doesn’t even begin to describe that night.
The next night, I was supposed to go to this monthly party that KB and I used to really enjoy together. He said he would be there so we could hang out again…I sent him an instant message saying that I had changed my mind. I was in a funk about being thrust into a solitary existence by our hasty split, so I didn’t think I was capable of having a good time, at least not yet. Although I couldn’t say it, I was grieving. It was very unbecoming. I didn’t want to be seen in public. I didn’t want to comb my hair. I didn’t want to drink – that’s what I do to celebrate and I didn’t want to taint it with my gloom.
He apologized and said that he would skip the party so I could go… still sweet to the end. That only made me feel worse. I told him to go and have fun. ‘I’m okay. I mean, I’ll be okay.’ So the rest of the weekend passed uneventfully and I got a few tasks checked off the “To Do When There’s Nothing Else Left To Do” list. Then I wrote a blog. That was last Sunday.
On Monday we talked again. I apologized profusely – for the whole mess that I started in the first place. I told him that I had come to terms with the reality that being just friends is what suited the situation and that I’d just have to suffer through the transition because that’s just how it goes sometimes. Then he said that he was actually hoping for at least some closure sex… WHAT!?!?! So, you mean he’s not upset and we could still be intimately involved? Then what the hell am I grieving for? He needed to move out so I could keep from going crazy, so he moved out. If we’re still sleeping together, then CHECK AND CHECK! I won’t have him there to kvetch to at the end of a hard day at work or to make me soup when I feel ill, but I will still get to triple-X wrestle. Sweet! I am not a good roommate anyway. I’m such a finicky and particular bitch when it comes to my living space. Yes, I apologized for that too.
We haven’t yet made good on the agreement to continue seeing each other on less binding terms (that was just discussed on Monday). I’m hopeful though. I’m not sure if it’s going to be better or just weird after what has transpired. What I do know is that it has been almost three weeks since I’ve had sex and the full moon is on Friday. You know that saying, “Strike while the iron is hot”? Well, it it’s not going to get much hotter…
Sunday, January 24, 2010
behind the iron camisole
I normally don’t like to blog about feeling discouraged and vulnerable. Those are things that I try to deal with as quietly as possible. People have a way of (unintentionally) being cruel with their advice when what I need is just for someone to listen. Perhaps it’s just human nature to kick a person when they’re down or maybe we just don’t know how to ask for what we need. I figured out what I needed this weekend, and it turned out to be quiet time alone to process what has happened over the past few weeks and months. Many people who have known me strictly as an adult (or even from later teenage years) think of me as someone strong, who rarely becomes emotional. When I do, it’s usually anger that burns itself out quickly and is replaced by determined calm. This time is a little different.
The absolutely best way to stay emotionally stable and calm in just about every situation is to remove your attachment to any particular outcome. If you don’t have your heart set on a goal, whatever happens is fine. You can take the good times with the bad without batting an eyelash. It doesn’t really affect how happy you are. You, no matter what happens, remain the same. It’s best to start with the little things: commute traffic, weighing yourself at the gym, a recipe you’re making for the first time. If I’m a few minutes late to work, it’s no big deal. I didn’t expect the traffic to be light or heavy so either way is fine. I’ll just stay a few minutes later, and it won’t bother me because I am not attached to the 5PM quitting time. That’s an easy one. The more time, energy or emotion you invest in something, the more attached you become to it. I really tried to detach myself from the outcome of this past relationship. The more I thought I was succeeding, the more aloof I became. Instead of detaching myself from the outcome, I was actually detaching myself from the other person. That was far easier, and extremely cold. ‘If I knew then what I know now’, everybody says.
The anger has diminished and I have this time to just sit and dissect the past 9 months (was it that long?). I find fault in my own actions. The really big mistake of moving in together too early was one that I made fully aware. I knew the risks outweighed the advantages, but I did it anyway. Against my own better judgment, I leapt. At this point, I’m not sure if I regret it or not. In fact, I don’t really see any particular benefit in having regret, and I like to avoid it as much as possible. I just know that this place sure is lonely without KB here. I know that ending it was the right thing to do; I just wish it hadn’t ended as hastily and awkwardly as it did. I’d like us to remain friends, but I haven’t stopped seeing him in that same romantic light that led me into this fiasco in the first place. I still want to hold hands walking down the street, laugh at the jokes in our heads that we didn’t need to say out loud, cuddle until the sheets warm up and have tickle wars on the couch. I’m not ready to be just friends…but this is what needs to happen. The mistake cannot be undone. It’s my fault. I should feel this way. It is justice. The only thing to do is accept it gracefully.
Tomorrow, I’ll go back to work and no one will speak of this. That is just fine with me. Why would they need to know any of these things anyway? How will heartache help me in my career? Since when did admitting vulnerability ever help anyone in this world? So this time may be a bit different, but I’ll never tell.
The absolutely best way to stay emotionally stable and calm in just about every situation is to remove your attachment to any particular outcome. If you don’t have your heart set on a goal, whatever happens is fine. You can take the good times with the bad without batting an eyelash. It doesn’t really affect how happy you are. You, no matter what happens, remain the same. It’s best to start with the little things: commute traffic, weighing yourself at the gym, a recipe you’re making for the first time. If I’m a few minutes late to work, it’s no big deal. I didn’t expect the traffic to be light or heavy so either way is fine. I’ll just stay a few minutes later, and it won’t bother me because I am not attached to the 5PM quitting time. That’s an easy one. The more time, energy or emotion you invest in something, the more attached you become to it. I really tried to detach myself from the outcome of this past relationship. The more I thought I was succeeding, the more aloof I became. Instead of detaching myself from the outcome, I was actually detaching myself from the other person. That was far easier, and extremely cold. ‘If I knew then what I know now’, everybody says.
The anger has diminished and I have this time to just sit and dissect the past 9 months (was it that long?). I find fault in my own actions. The really big mistake of moving in together too early was one that I made fully aware. I knew the risks outweighed the advantages, but I did it anyway. Against my own better judgment, I leapt. At this point, I’m not sure if I regret it or not. In fact, I don’t really see any particular benefit in having regret, and I like to avoid it as much as possible. I just know that this place sure is lonely without KB here. I know that ending it was the right thing to do; I just wish it hadn’t ended as hastily and awkwardly as it did. I’d like us to remain friends, but I haven’t stopped seeing him in that same romantic light that led me into this fiasco in the first place. I still want to hold hands walking down the street, laugh at the jokes in our heads that we didn’t need to say out loud, cuddle until the sheets warm up and have tickle wars on the couch. I’m not ready to be just friends…but this is what needs to happen. The mistake cannot be undone. It’s my fault. I should feel this way. It is justice. The only thing to do is accept it gracefully.
Tomorrow, I’ll go back to work and no one will speak of this. That is just fine with me. Why would they need to know any of these things anyway? How will heartache help me in my career? Since when did admitting vulnerability ever help anyone in this world? So this time may be a bit different, but I’ll never tell.
Friday, January 22, 2010
have you lost your damn mind?
I’ve been taking the bullshit and really just internalizing my irritation. I know that the best thing to do when people are acting out in a particularly passionate manner for no apparent reason is to just be calm and try not to make things worse. I was doing okay following that rule…until Tuesday night.
The apartment management office had some error in the system where all of the dates for 2010 were entered as 2009, so my free rent month of January 2010 didn’t come up as free. When I got home from work Tuesday (the most hellish day I’ve had since at least as far back as October dealing with people and their meltdowns, attitudes and emergencies), there was notice on my door that said I should pay my rent within 3 days of the notice (which was dated 1/13, although the day I received it was 1/19 – only serving to worry me even worse) or move out. I’d been on pins and needles all day, starting with getting ripped a new one early that morning by the office manager on a tirade. She does that from time to time, and I just happened to do something she didn’t approve of at the wrong time. The rest of the day went on to be just as frustrating and I needed to bitch about it. So I called this longtime friend and started ranting about the 3-day notice. Instead of helping me by saying something calming or supportive, he says, “The boy [KB] did something there [at the apartment building] while you were at work, and now they are trying to get rid of you.” At first, I said to myself ‘okay this MF must be high or drunk or something’ so I told him to please just be realistic and supportive. Then he says, “Think about it…” Was that supposed to make me believe he was sane? Yeaaaaaaah. So after I tell him to quiet his crazy voice and let go of the conspiracy theory – since I’d already talked to the on-site manager who assured me that the office probably just forgot – he goes on this tangent about not approving of me ever being involved with KB, me letting him move in here after he advised against it and he never liked the guy to begin with yada yada yada. Then he said that he didn’t know whether to be mad at KB or at me! When I told him to back off, he said some nonsense about his criticism being for my own good as a friend. Naturally I let his ass have it!
“You need some therapy because you are sounding really crazy right now… I understand that because we’ve been friends so long, the line may be blurry but don’t make that the reason for you to cross it… This is my life and the decision of who is in it or not in it is mine to make. ” After a ten minute silence he started again, but I didn’t bother to even read the rest of his texts. I just deleted them and went on about my evening. It was probably some mediocre backpedaling. At this point, I don’t give a shit. He has already said too much. At the end of the conversation (or rather the end of my participation in it) I drew a new line between myself and this “friend” because he is emotionally overinvested. In my opinion, this was not a platonic friend conversation. I don’t have any plans of making our friendship into anything more intimate, and I’m not comfortable with the slightest resemblance of that happening. Let’s take out any possible confusion.
He apologized on Wednesday afternoon and I shot back the same advice as the night before – get some therapy. He started in on the excuses for why he couldn’t get it or didn’t need it, but I don’t give a shit. Either he can get some therapy or he can find a new friend – period. I am not going down with the ship. I’m even kicking myself a little to have let it come this far.
Wednesday morning, the day started off as though there hadn’t been any change in my state of karmic affairs, but after getting my feet wet with Mr. Mother-Friend the night before, I finally said ‘fuck this’. I bit and scratched my way out of the corner that I’d been bullied into – shining the light of day on some questionable happenings at work and speaking my mind about things I had let slide to avoid conflict or just out of pure laziness. Now, we’re back to normal…or perhaps better. I’m hoping that I’ve stood up for myself enough to remind people that I can be an asshole too. If you like me to be nice, then you need to reciprocate.
The apartment management office had some error in the system where all of the dates for 2010 were entered as 2009, so my free rent month of January 2010 didn’t come up as free. When I got home from work Tuesday (the most hellish day I’ve had since at least as far back as October dealing with people and their meltdowns, attitudes and emergencies), there was notice on my door that said I should pay my rent within 3 days of the notice (which was dated 1/13, although the day I received it was 1/19 – only serving to worry me even worse) or move out. I’d been on pins and needles all day, starting with getting ripped a new one early that morning by the office manager on a tirade. She does that from time to time, and I just happened to do something she didn’t approve of at the wrong time. The rest of the day went on to be just as frustrating and I needed to bitch about it. So I called this longtime friend and started ranting about the 3-day notice. Instead of helping me by saying something calming or supportive, he says, “The boy [KB] did something there [at the apartment building] while you were at work, and now they are trying to get rid of you.” At first, I said to myself ‘okay this MF must be high or drunk or something’ so I told him to please just be realistic and supportive. Then he says, “Think about it…” Was that supposed to make me believe he was sane? Yeaaaaaaah. So after I tell him to quiet his crazy voice and let go of the conspiracy theory – since I’d already talked to the on-site manager who assured me that the office probably just forgot – he goes on this tangent about not approving of me ever being involved with KB, me letting him move in here after he advised against it and he never liked the guy to begin with yada yada yada. Then he said that he didn’t know whether to be mad at KB or at me! When I told him to back off, he said some nonsense about his criticism being for my own good as a friend. Naturally I let his ass have it!
“You need some therapy because you are sounding really crazy right now… I understand that because we’ve been friends so long, the line may be blurry but don’t make that the reason for you to cross it… This is my life and the decision of who is in it or not in it is mine to make. ” After a ten minute silence he started again, but I didn’t bother to even read the rest of his texts. I just deleted them and went on about my evening. It was probably some mediocre backpedaling. At this point, I don’t give a shit. He has already said too much. At the end of the conversation (or rather the end of my participation in it) I drew a new line between myself and this “friend” because he is emotionally overinvested. In my opinion, this was not a platonic friend conversation. I don’t have any plans of making our friendship into anything more intimate, and I’m not comfortable with the slightest resemblance of that happening. Let’s take out any possible confusion.
He apologized on Wednesday afternoon and I shot back the same advice as the night before – get some therapy. He started in on the excuses for why he couldn’t get it or didn’t need it, but I don’t give a shit. Either he can get some therapy or he can find a new friend – period. I am not going down with the ship. I’m even kicking myself a little to have let it come this far.
Wednesday morning, the day started off as though there hadn’t been any change in my state of karmic affairs, but after getting my feet wet with Mr. Mother-Friend the night before, I finally said ‘fuck this’. I bit and scratched my way out of the corner that I’d been bullied into – shining the light of day on some questionable happenings at work and speaking my mind about things I had let slide to avoid conflict or just out of pure laziness. Now, we’re back to normal…or perhaps better. I’m hoping that I’ve stood up for myself enough to remind people that I can be an asshole too. If you like me to be nice, then you need to reciprocate.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Where did the time go?
I was once a dreamer. I thought that everything in this world was an illusion. Love was the only reality and the sole reason to exist. Without it, life had no meaning. I zealously pursued what I believed was love. I wandered blind and aimless, oblivious to morality and responsibility.
Now that I am beginning to understand what it means to be an adult, I've lost the hopeful innocence that gave me the courage to reveal and share my most intimate self with someone - that fearlessness. I no longer look into someone's eyes for a twinkle or magical connection. Now, I am merely looking to figure out what part of their speech is truth and what is a lie. I used to be a hunter. Now I am just a house cat.
For a while I tried to recapture my youth. I find myself unable to pretend I am ignorant enough to be as brazen as I once was. I've been reminded of the unbearable guilt and anxiety just below the surface of that life. Living on that edge is for someone younger...at least someone who feels younger than I do.
I just feel tired now. I am done hunting save for the occasional solo jaunt on a particularly boring evening. Those are so few and infrequent that it hardly warrants mentioning, and I usually end up going to a boys' boys bar.
I make myself practically inaccessible to most men who could even catch my attention. I like to think that I am feigning an attempt at thwarting fate. However, it seems that I am actually succeeding.
Most of the eligible straight men I meet disgust me with the leering and mentally undressing me while I'm talking. The one-dimensional conversation bores me. I used to have this rule that I wouldn't take any man I met at a club seriously. The few times I broke that rule only ended the way I expected them to. I also apply that rule to the gym because hitting on someone at the gym is like shopping from a catalog; The only way to figure out if you're satisfied with a catalog item is to buy it. No thanks.
After spending a few hours in my quiet apartment without turning on the TV, I start to wonder if I'm lonely, bored or something else. I haven't figured out the answer yet. This may be fertile territory for some useful and meaningful internal dialogue. It has been such a long time since I've seized the opportunity to quiet my "busy voice" that is constantly reciting the daily and weekly To Do lists in my head. I'm curious to find out what I will learn when I sit still long enough to shut her up.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
shadowboxing on a wednesday night
I used to get into debates with a lesbian DJ friend about why men are such pussies. Naturally she was debating on the side of men being inferior to women, which most people on this planet already know. Duh! I mean let’s look at childbirth. That’s all the argument you really need, right? I, on the other hand, was determined to prove that you cannot compare the sexes in that manner. From birth, women are taught to embrace their emotions as an internal compass to guide them through life. As a woman, you are supposed to know in your heart what the right thing to do is. As a mother, you are expected to intuitively know when your child needs you whether or not you can see or hear them. We comfort, care for and support people. Men are taught how to fight, play sports, make money and ignore their feelings. That’s it.
If you want to compare a man to a woman, you have to take them from a level playing field – a healthy well-adjusted man vs. a healthy well-adjusted woman. In that case, I’d say they’re pretty even. Although they can’t give birth, I know single fathers who do a great job of raising their kids (even daughters) and are upstanding member of the community, caring, kind and succesful. I don't think there is any question about the cookie cutter success stories: either male or female. They've got their act together. It's no fun talking smack about them because we're in no position to do so. Done.
Let’s look at these jellyfish men that [let's call her Macho] refers to. They have discovered that this is a world of nonsense where no one can shoot from the hip and you have to tiptoe around every topic of conversation. The poor guys can’t even open their mouths without someone telling them that they’ve said something insensitive. After years of being taught not to feel anything, they are now asked to be emotionally intelligent. Well, guess what? When the flood gates open to their suppressed emotions, they’re at a bit of a loss on how to deal with it. I hear this shit all the time. The worst is when some big burly guy turns into a baby. It’s just sad. I can’t stand to see a grown man cry. It makes me feel terrible.
I often find myself feeling especially bad for black men because the majority of them make less than their mates (there's a slew of borderline controversial theories about why that is), so they have to take on more responsibilities at home and they by far have gotten stuck with the shortest end of the emotional intelligence stick. Most of the straight guys I talk to about how they feel, dealing with emotions and bridging the communication gap between the sexes are not black. Most of the black men I talk to about those things are gay – and straight black men generally don’t hang out with gay black men (although they could really learn a thing or two from them about how to relate to women). I want to say that it’s not their fault. However, ignorance is not an excuse. I have been taught that lesson many times (and I’ll probably be put in my place over and over again with that very same one). I find myself being drawn to this kind of man – the black jellyfish (or in most cases more of a sea urchin, with all of the scary armor on the outside and the squishy goo inside) because I feel like he has so many redeeming qualities that are going to waste. Also, as a black woman, I feel intensely compelled to elevate how my race is represented in society by creating a healthy, loving and supportive relationship with a black man. There, I said it! I guarantee that most black women feel the same way. That's one of those things that we rarely or never say (even to each other), but we all know in our guts. Insert BIG SIGH here. Nurturer that I am, I always think, ‘if I just give this seed a chance it will grow into a beautiful flower.’ Maybe I’m just a romantic that way – a Princess looking for a toad. In the end, I just get fed up. That race elevation mumbo jumbo doesn't comfort me when I'm dealing with the trifling bullshit.
Aren't we all just works in progress? It’s just a matter of meeting someone who compliments me, not someone who needs me. Am I emotionally intelligent enough to know the difference?
If you want to compare a man to a woman, you have to take them from a level playing field – a healthy well-adjusted man vs. a healthy well-adjusted woman. In that case, I’d say they’re pretty even. Although they can’t give birth, I know single fathers who do a great job of raising their kids (even daughters) and are upstanding member of the community, caring, kind and succesful. I don't think there is any question about the cookie cutter success stories: either male or female. They've got their act together. It's no fun talking smack about them because we're in no position to do so. Done.
Let’s look at these jellyfish men that [let's call her Macho] refers to. They have discovered that this is a world of nonsense where no one can shoot from the hip and you have to tiptoe around every topic of conversation. The poor guys can’t even open their mouths without someone telling them that they’ve said something insensitive. After years of being taught not to feel anything, they are now asked to be emotionally intelligent. Well, guess what? When the flood gates open to their suppressed emotions, they’re at a bit of a loss on how to deal with it. I hear this shit all the time. The worst is when some big burly guy turns into a baby. It’s just sad. I can’t stand to see a grown man cry. It makes me feel terrible.
I often find myself feeling especially bad for black men because the majority of them make less than their mates (there's a slew of borderline controversial theories about why that is), so they have to take on more responsibilities at home and they by far have gotten stuck with the shortest end of the emotional intelligence stick. Most of the straight guys I talk to about how they feel, dealing with emotions and bridging the communication gap between the sexes are not black. Most of the black men I talk to about those things are gay – and straight black men generally don’t hang out with gay black men (although they could really learn a thing or two from them about how to relate to women). I want to say that it’s not their fault. However, ignorance is not an excuse. I have been taught that lesson many times (and I’ll probably be put in my place over and over again with that very same one). I find myself being drawn to this kind of man – the black jellyfish (or in most cases more of a sea urchin, with all of the scary armor on the outside and the squishy goo inside) because I feel like he has so many redeeming qualities that are going to waste. Also, as a black woman, I feel intensely compelled to elevate how my race is represented in society by creating a healthy, loving and supportive relationship with a black man. There, I said it! I guarantee that most black women feel the same way. That's one of those things that we rarely or never say (even to each other), but we all know in our guts. Insert BIG SIGH here. Nurturer that I am, I always think, ‘if I just give this seed a chance it will grow into a beautiful flower.’ Maybe I’m just a romantic that way – a Princess looking for a toad. In the end, I just get fed up. That race elevation mumbo jumbo doesn't comfort me when I'm dealing with the trifling bullshit.
Aren't we all just works in progress? It’s just a matter of meeting someone who compliments me, not someone who needs me. Am I emotionally intelligent enough to know the difference?
We're all screwed
During my training session yesterday, I told the Terminator (that is her nickname) about the boy being gone and the stress of the holidays that threw off my routine and kept me out of the gym. I wasn’t making excuses, only realizing the truth for myself and accepting it. She asked if I wanted to stay on with her for an hour, which I originally planned to double-team with another co-worker who ended up canceling. I told her that I had no desire of being so sore that I wouldn’t be able to walk or return to the gym for the rest of the week. “I need another person here to divert your attention if I’m going to stay for an hour. Everyone knows that is the plan, except for [Trouble}. She just keeps going and going without a peep.”
“You know she works out like three times a day.”
“Yeah, she runs every morning before work and then comes to the gym to work with a trainer and then does a crazy yoga thing at least two evenings a week…and she’s a vegetarian! A young girl can work out that much and be a vegetarian and still isn’t skinny as hell. There is something inherently wrong with the world. There’s no hope for the rest of us.” She laughed so hard that I thought she was going to cry. I also told her about that foot in the door comment. She almost said it for me before I could even get it out. See, I’m not the only one!
“You know she works out like three times a day.”
“Yeah, she runs every morning before work and then comes to the gym to work with a trainer and then does a crazy yoga thing at least two evenings a week…and she’s a vegetarian! A young girl can work out that much and be a vegetarian and still isn’t skinny as hell. There is something inherently wrong with the world. There’s no hope for the rest of us.” She laughed so hard that I thought she was going to cry. I also told her about that foot in the door comment. She almost said it for me before I could even get it out. See, I’m not the only one!
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Where the hell is this ship headed, anyway?
I had this grand idea that I should start a new blog with a theme that made me feel more compelled to update it on a regular basis. I wanted to make it anonymous so I could say whatever I wanted without offending anyone. Meanwhile, I browsed through Craigslist in the sections I don’t normally look at and decided I’d brave the Casual Encounters area. It’s a goldmine, of course, but a goldmine of what? There are literally hundreds of ads asking for everything from a quick hookup in a convenient spot to doggie-style in a bathtub full of cereal (he even insisted on 2% milk). There are also pictures… pictures that would make these guys’ mothers cringe with just the thought. Come on people, if you are going to put your wares on display at least trim the hair a little.
I’ve always found the experience of looking at a penis to be very strange – whether it’s from a clinical or sexual perspective, on a photo or in the flesh. It’s just weird. Naturally, you have to look at it! I mean, you don’t just grab a bottle of pills off the store shelf and pop one in your mouth without at least reading the label, right? You even read labels of the things you aren’t planning on buying at all. It’s sort of the same concept. I guess I just feel a little bit wrong poking, prodding and examining someone like a piece of produce. There is a person attached to it, you know. I admit that I am often guilty of forgetting that detail, especially as I get older. I’m just not interested in all the niceties that come along with the screening process anymore. I’m over dating. I’m over making a good impression, getting dolled up and holding in my farts.
I spend so much energy trying to find the nice way to say shit to people all the time, and it still comes out sounding harsh. You know why? Because no one just tells the simple truth anymore! Are you in love with me? The answer is either yes or no. If you don’t want to hear the answer, don’t ask the question. People go around asking all these questions, but they don’t want you to answer the questions truthfully; they only want you to tell them what they want to hear. And you’re supposed to figure out what they want to hear based on the question they asked. That is some bullshit.
I’m taking a stand, dammit! I am not going to do the dance anymore. Everyone keeps dancing around the real issues and eventually you just forget what they are. Well, here they are (in my opinion of course):
1) If you don’t respect yourself, you don’t know how to pay someone else respect.
2) If you can’t be happy alone, you won’t be any happier in a relationship (or drunk, or in another state, or with a new group of friends, etc).
3) The only thing you can control is what you are doing right now – not other people, not the past and not the future.
4) No one can read your mind. You should tell people what you want from them and be as specific as possible. If they don’t need that many details, they’ll let you know. If it hurts their feelings, then you were looking in the wrong place for what you wanted anyway.
5) Don’t take everything so personally. The world does not revolve around one person, and nobody is out to get you or hurt your feelings. I guarantee that the person who cut me off in traffic this morning did not wake up thinking, “Oh yeah, Imma get her ass today.”
6) The things that are real in your mind are not necessarily real to other people. The priorities that I consider the absolute most common sense are absolutely not common sense to the next person. I have mistakenly made that assumption countless times and will probably continue to do so. In fact, that is my main motivation for creating this list in the first place.
So, is this perspective perverse? I’m sure it is to someone, but that’s fine. I can’t please everyone, and I’m not going to start trying. I just had to remind myself that I created this blog to be an outlet, not to make new friends or compliment the people who read it. It’s my rant and rave space. .. all mine. If someone chooses to read it, great. If not, great. So, I am not starting a new blog. This is it. I've sent out invites to read specific posts and ended up censoring myself out of fear that those people may continue to read the blog and happen upon something they find offensive. How stupid is that? It's titled The Art of Perversion for crying out loud! Seriously, what was I thinking?
I’ve always found the experience of looking at a penis to be very strange – whether it’s from a clinical or sexual perspective, on a photo or in the flesh. It’s just weird. Naturally, you have to look at it! I mean, you don’t just grab a bottle of pills off the store shelf and pop one in your mouth without at least reading the label, right? You even read labels of the things you aren’t planning on buying at all. It’s sort of the same concept. I guess I just feel a little bit wrong poking, prodding and examining someone like a piece of produce. There is a person attached to it, you know. I admit that I am often guilty of forgetting that detail, especially as I get older. I’m just not interested in all the niceties that come along with the screening process anymore. I’m over dating. I’m over making a good impression, getting dolled up and holding in my farts.
I spend so much energy trying to find the nice way to say shit to people all the time, and it still comes out sounding harsh. You know why? Because no one just tells the simple truth anymore! Are you in love with me? The answer is either yes or no. If you don’t want to hear the answer, don’t ask the question. People go around asking all these questions, but they don’t want you to answer the questions truthfully; they only want you to tell them what they want to hear. And you’re supposed to figure out what they want to hear based on the question they asked. That is some bullshit.
I’m taking a stand, dammit! I am not going to do the dance anymore. Everyone keeps dancing around the real issues and eventually you just forget what they are. Well, here they are (in my opinion of course):
1) If you don’t respect yourself, you don’t know how to pay someone else respect.
2) If you can’t be happy alone, you won’t be any happier in a relationship (or drunk, or in another state, or with a new group of friends, etc).
3) The only thing you can control is what you are doing right now – not other people, not the past and not the future.
4) No one can read your mind. You should tell people what you want from them and be as specific as possible. If they don’t need that many details, they’ll let you know. If it hurts their feelings, then you were looking in the wrong place for what you wanted anyway.
5) Don’t take everything so personally. The world does not revolve around one person, and nobody is out to get you or hurt your feelings. I guarantee that the person who cut me off in traffic this morning did not wake up thinking, “Oh yeah, Imma get her ass today.”
6) The things that are real in your mind are not necessarily real to other people. The priorities that I consider the absolute most common sense are absolutely not common sense to the next person. I have mistakenly made that assumption countless times and will probably continue to do so. In fact, that is my main motivation for creating this list in the first place.
So, is this perspective perverse? I’m sure it is to someone, but that’s fine. I can’t please everyone, and I’m not going to start trying. I just had to remind myself that I created this blog to be an outlet, not to make new friends or compliment the people who read it. It’s my rant and rave space. .. all mine. If someone chooses to read it, great. If not, great. So, I am not starting a new blog. This is it. I've sent out invites to read specific posts and ended up censoring myself out of fear that those people may continue to read the blog and happen upon something they find offensive. How stupid is that? It's titled The Art of Perversion for crying out loud! Seriously, what was I thinking?
Monday, January 11, 2010
Yeah, you read that right.
Yes, I know it has been forever since I posted a blog. That is always a sign of tumultuous emotional undercurrent in my otherwise ordinary surface life. So, what’s been up? Well, the cohabitation experiment came to an abrupt end last week in the wee hours of Friday morning. I’ll spare the uncomplimentary details. There’s really no reason to be a bitch about it. It just didn’t work out. I’m a bit too particular to have a roommate; I knew this from the beginning. I guess April was just my ballpark estimation of when the shit would finally hit the fan. I was four months off. It’s not the end of the world.
On Friday I left work an hour early (after getting in that morning an hour late). I was so exhausted from the middle-of-the-night shenanigans that I just completed my To Do list to the best of my abilities and got the hell out of there. I got up at my regular time that morning (6:30AM), but I spent two hours clearing out any evidence of the boy’s residence there and packing the items into his side of the closet. Most of them still wait there for him to come and retrieve them. He hasn’t found a new place to live yet. I would like to be nice for a while longer and let him stay until he does. However, I’m afraid that is not a good idea. Twin Peaks came over on Saturday with DDR Hottest Party 3 – only the most awesome DDR version yet!!!- and she said something about inviting KB to our group outings as just a friend. I agreed, but also said that it was too soon for me. I still want to sleep with him. Having him around while I’m having a good time and tipsy probably isn’t a good idea. He said from the beginning that he didn’t want to be a booty call or just a lover. Over the past few days I’ve thought of asking him if he’d reconsider. Twin Peaks says that will just make him think that he still has a foot in the door. I said, “Technically, he would still have a foot in the door, only it wouldn’t be his foot.”
So anyway, I’ve set up my laptop workstation at the second spot on the dining table. I’ve come back to journaling full force – preferring the laptop to my paper journals for obvious reasons. I’m probably not going to enroll in any classes this semester due to the severe deficit in my checking account – I haven’t been this far in the red since I was a teenager. It’s going to take me some weeks to recover from the financial strain of it all, but I’ll still be out once in a while thanks to guestlists and my humiliatingly low tolerance to alcohol these days. I’ll adjust.
I’ve put the feather bed atop the memory foam mattress – HEAVEN! So, I’m not looking for anyone to share it with necessarily. I’d like someone to spend a few hours with a couple of nights a week, but I’m not pressed at the moment. The most important thing right now is to get myself on a routine with the activities I want in my life: writing, learning something new (guitar lessons perhaps), fitness, cooking and DANCING.
I still plan on continuing to reduce my TV viewing. So far, so good. I’m rather bored with it anyway.
On Friday I left work an hour early (after getting in that morning an hour late). I was so exhausted from the middle-of-the-night shenanigans that I just completed my To Do list to the best of my abilities and got the hell out of there. I got up at my regular time that morning (6:30AM), but I spent two hours clearing out any evidence of the boy’s residence there and packing the items into his side of the closet. Most of them still wait there for him to come and retrieve them. He hasn’t found a new place to live yet. I would like to be nice for a while longer and let him stay until he does. However, I’m afraid that is not a good idea. Twin Peaks came over on Saturday with DDR Hottest Party 3 – only the most awesome DDR version yet!!!- and she said something about inviting KB to our group outings as just a friend. I agreed, but also said that it was too soon for me. I still want to sleep with him. Having him around while I’m having a good time and tipsy probably isn’t a good idea. He said from the beginning that he didn’t want to be a booty call or just a lover. Over the past few days I’ve thought of asking him if he’d reconsider. Twin Peaks says that will just make him think that he still has a foot in the door. I said, “Technically, he would still have a foot in the door, only it wouldn’t be his foot.”
So anyway, I’ve set up my laptop workstation at the second spot on the dining table. I’ve come back to journaling full force – preferring the laptop to my paper journals for obvious reasons. I’m probably not going to enroll in any classes this semester due to the severe deficit in my checking account – I haven’t been this far in the red since I was a teenager. It’s going to take me some weeks to recover from the financial strain of it all, but I’ll still be out once in a while thanks to guestlists and my humiliatingly low tolerance to alcohol these days. I’ll adjust.
I’ve put the feather bed atop the memory foam mattress – HEAVEN! So, I’m not looking for anyone to share it with necessarily. I’d like someone to spend a few hours with a couple of nights a week, but I’m not pressed at the moment. The most important thing right now is to get myself on a routine with the activities I want in my life: writing, learning something new (guitar lessons perhaps), fitness, cooking and DANCING.
I still plan on continuing to reduce my TV viewing. So far, so good. I’m rather bored with it anyway.
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