Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Two more to go...

finals suck. i think i don't care anymore. a pass is a pass??
then i can go home to this...for days and days and days (+beer+Ocho+bf+gym-stress)

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

times a wasting

I have been razor focused on time.

When you don't have all you need, your vision narrows and tunnel vision lets you see nothing excepts those things relevant to getting you through to where you need to be.

A paper done, a bill paid, a meal cooked...

This weekend I walked into an urban outfitters.

My favorite place.

I know it isn't the PC place to like - it is a land of big box pretending to be small.. quirky.. individual.. They steal folks ideas and put them on sale for 4 bucks.

I used to walk through the aisles slowly, singularly, identifying all the things I would lovingly watch until that very.. last.. mark.. down - I could feel my fingers anticipating the feeling of triumph when I walked out of the third store I searched with a piece I love at 9.99 from 89.99. I would giggle identifying a designer piece they didn't even bother to change before swiping. There was an unlimited about of time. With that black and white reusable bag clutched in my hands, full of  things, I would feel like "I win, time is free, I am free." Money was limited but time was not...I was rich...in time.

What happens though when you leave this moment to hope for the next? When this day is simply an impediment to the next, an impediment to where you need to be, an impediment to get what you need for you? It feels like you are sitting in a padded room with nothing to do (twiddle your thumbs) and at the very same time you are in the world working 15 hours shifts. Exhausted and yet completely removed from it all. Watching yourself spin crazily to complete deadline but only being aware when it's something that achieves a benchmark.

I thought about all of this as stood at the balcony of the UO for a while. They play the appropriate indy movie thoughtful moment music - which breaks me out of the reflection revelry with it's "it's just too perfect for the moment perfectness" and I head downstairs to the men's floor where they hide the good shoes that never go on sale.

13,22,2/2....

Sunday, December 4, 2011

stupid test...

I took a dumb test about my best career choice...this is what it said.

You are a Persuader, possible professions include - entertainer, recruiter, artist, newscaster, writer/journalist, recreation director, librarian, facilitator, politician, psychologist, housing director, career counselor, sales trainer, travel agent, program designer, corporate/team trainer, child welfare worker, social worker (elderly services), interpreter/translator, occupational therapist, executive


oh.

Friday, November 25, 2011

No Locking Posts!!

I was devastated months ago when I finally realized that I couldn't lock posts...

It meant that in place of my funny date stories - there would be no funny bf stories.  Stories just aren't as funny when you're held accountable, or could hurt someones feelings, and honestly it simply isn't fun knowing that it ends up being like a message etc...

So in response I've said nothing.

tre boring.

I'm thinking of breaking the seal....

Letting it out...

But like I said previously I don't wanna be the single in the twin letting everything out and  the other single gets to stay safe behind silence...

Oh power plays...

the annoyance....

Sigh (cracks knuckles)

So I spent thanksgivings with the beau's family because my mother decided that now was the best time to go on vacation. So in 32 years of life - this year was the first I did not spend with my family. I was/am devastated. There were MANY blogable moments - including finally meeting mama's baby boy, aka Shareef - but before we left mom's house for dad's house (oh, yeah I was all UP in this families ass for twelve hours) I got a little loose with the tongue with moms.

faux pa.

She was discussing her need for her baby boy and beloved wife of baby boy to have children. I take blame. I did mention that couples usually get a dog as a trail before winding their way up to children (should have been my first sign that my tongue was loose)... So I, obviously feeling comfortable, decided to share that I was ready to have children...soon. We had discussed my boundaries with time and her son before so this wasn't exactly news to her. But then I started talking about how before he had come around I was considering having children alone and I put off thinking about to see where this would go...I had always assumed I would have children I didn't have to share, blah blah blah.

Her response?

Weeellllll, Mrs. Mom is generally talkative so I wasn't going to get the rude silence if she was displeased. Honestly, I will never know....which will simply feed my anxiety about the diarrhea mouth.

ah well. the beau will have to let me know (hint,hint)....

Friday, November 18, 2011

A natural woman...

Resource room thoughts...Go!

Aretha....check.

You make me feel. You make me feel like a . na.tur.ral. wo.man. You make me feel..like. a nat.ur.ral. woooman.

Dam. What does it feel like to feel like that? A natural woman? In this social moment - I guess we would have to take it to Lady Gaga's Born this way....

with certainty, that's not what Aretha was talking about. Now I know not to fantasise about romance novels those aren't real, but this shit snuck up and got to me.

I don't know what it is but I want it!!

Is it when your S.O. runs his their head (Freudian slip - I meant hand...I guess I meant head - smh) hand up your thigh and tells you that you are it. Just it? I'm sure the right answer is something like feeling whole in yourself and sharing that with your preferred other but smack that. I've been single and that is a hollow pill to swallow - placebo effect....hate to say it ( I mean feel it).

paradoxically, i'm sure i've not had this natural woman thing. Not with a boyfriend (insert irony) I don't think. Maybe the dark one but that was so long ago and those memories are packed tight in a waterlogged cardboard file at the bottom of the basement. eh.

The bff said yesterday "I'm not in the best of shape but I look good naked" and I thought, "Wow, I haven't felt like that in a long time." I didn't even realize I hadn't felt steamy, sultry, sexy for while until that moment...

aw shit.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Ah well...

Thanks Blogger.


You must be prescient. You somehow knew what I needed today was a reminder of how little I impact the world.


You were thinking to yourself "that dam bekabug needs a kick in the pants!"... show her how many people read her blog...*snicker*


4, on a good day. :)


y'all are all who matter to me.


Giggling...


Saturday, November 12, 2011

Friday, November 4, 2011

worldwhirlwind

I'm chilling in the resource room bumping Al Green's Here I am baby...

(come and take me..take me by the hand)

Loving, loving what I'm doing. I don't normally say I'm lucky, or even worse, blessed. Mainly because I feel the presence of good fortune rests on a shaky foundation and if you bring attention to it it will fall - egg to concrete. Don't test it. Don't look forward to it. Don't expect it. And be grateful when it shows up.

Yet right now?

Even through Everything that has happened. I feel snug as a bug in a rug in the bosom of God's goodwill. It may not last but it's here right now.

and seriously right now - i am truly exhausted. all week i have gone home and gone directly to sleep. do not pass go. do not watch the daily show (well, watch as teeth brushing is commencing). do not call the beau (who was busy anyway). ocho snuggle. star gate universe. sleep. oversleep. start over.

Last week I was surrounded by loved ones and etcs moving and such but my recovery time for upheaval in the hierarchy (see.below) is slloooowwwinnng down. Never mind I haven't been able to afford my bounty of fruits and veggies...Never mind all my meats are pumped full of crap because I can't afford the good stuff. At least I haven't gotten sick.

Social work moment:

Yeah, see the safety and physical needs? uhm yeah. fiddling with those sucks. Hey you watching out for these things yourself? Required assignment to keep from ending up on my couch....

Anyhoo - I'm home. Home in my cheap apt. and so much so home in my placement. I had an hour discussion with supervisor about how to get into this world in two years...the starting salary is sweeeeeet. I love working with these kids. Maybe I won't like all kids. But these kids? They make me feel like I'm supposed to be here working with them. I've had some set backs with kiddies shutting down and withdrawing. I've had some amazing successes as well with some of the most difficult kids showing remarkable improvement (and honestly, who knows rebellious smartalecky kids who read too much better than me?). It is truly a joy - and isn't this why I went through all of the drama for the last two years?

I suppose so.

(msw cousin paving the way for the mswdr. movement - get ready!)

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Friday, October 14, 2011

My supervisor rocks!

She is sadly out with a mysterious disease. We know it is serious but not life threatoning...I don't think I have ever been so curious about what is going on with someones health. I suppose she is my bff in my head and I am really worried...

So I am sitting at her desk today. I am totally uncomfortable sitting here as the children file pass and do the double takes when they see the black girl sitting here instead of the blond women they adore. It can't be helpped, I need the space...And to quote the good rev. Rice..."They will get over it" (Does anyone else think he overuses that phrase?)

The Point:
As I was sitting here, I noticed that she has the quote compulsion like I do. Just quotes stuck everywhere, most of them deep but not striking to me personally, a fair amount of them are surprisingly Xstian centered...(a secret Xstian...the plot thickens....)  This hit one deep.

To live content with small means;
to seek elegance rather than luxury;
and refinement rather than fashion;
to be worthy, not respectable; and wealthy, not rich;
to study hard. think quietly, talk gently, act frankly;
to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages, with an open heart;
to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, hurry never;
in a word, to let spiritual, unbidden and unconscious
grow up through the common.
This is to be my symphony
 William Ellery Channing.

I love how smooth and silkily this life is presented. It reminds of me rainy days on a window seats and tweed jackets and the expensive version of aerosole shoes.  Even in its simplicity it seems privileged, and comfortable, and right now? Completely unattainable. It's a picture that I will look at when my river is frothy with stress, when my self control is hidden from sight and when my bank account is empty of money and I "think quietly" of becoming a stripper. One day I could be that woman.  One day I will have the patience and time and money to listen to babes and sages...right now it is just a dream I'm treading towards.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

This is Not a teaching moment...

There was a point today that was glorious only in its ability to shatter my calm. It was definitely after talking to my dentist. He says very matter of factually, destroying my entire afternoon, "it sounds like you need a root canal".

Really?

I'm not going to bother to ask how much. The best part was all the useless advice I got...the priceless one was my dad asking me to go check my insurance from my old job. Would you just shut up and stop talking?

I'm so over it.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Self Advocacy and shit...

Finding our footing...that's the theme of this semester. I have been completely overwhelmed with the transition that I have gone through in the last 3 months. So I am in mid fall on a muddy hill.

To use a well trodden phrase, I am holding on with my fingernails and afraid to look down. I really feel that I am in the space where wiley has walked off the cliff and hasn't looked down yet. It's that moment when you anticipate the fall even though it hasn't started yet - making it all the more scary in its inflation by your imagination. I thought that I was just experiencing the regular transition on many levels; feeling overwhelmed with incredible life stressors and changes, feeling mishandled by the administration of the school, feeling out of wack with my field placement and the level of responsibility, and feeling over whelmed at the weight of fatigue on my ability to do what is an incredibly boring but manageable amount of reading.

Technically, I should feel ecstatic. Having fulfilled my main goal of receiving a Honors from my hardest professor - but smooth high of that incredible triumph was soon squashed by mounting concerns in every other part of my life.

That being said, I had my field advisory meeting today. Much to my surprise apparently I am in a crisis stage at my site. I am the only one with my case load level. I am the only one with readings to do at this level. I am the only one who has to do three process recordings, plus session notes on top of the regular work assigned for class. I could go on. Let's just say that there are many people who have yet to get their hands on a client, much do anything besides run recess and do paperwork. Oh.

Oh.

I am not used to people looking at me with pity eyes but that is what happened today. I found it to be extremely amusing, in a terrifying way that the professor goes, as I walk out the door, you need to email me for a meeting immediately. Apparently no one else has two ACS cases on her caseload. Oh 

I realized today the effect of stress for me is that I can't handle tiny stressors. Like the inability to adjust when the schools wifi is not working when I am trying to get my readings printed out. My brain turned to mush and oddly enough my thighs started to feel huge.  I was like, waitawhatthehell? Now I decide to feel fat? It's like all the insecurities that always float around, waiting for their moment, suddenly gain strength and infiltrate your mind. I feel fat and ugly. I feel sad and anxious. (Can you tell I have been working with folks around naming, recognizing, and expressing their emotions?)

I know one thing for certain. I love my job. I love it. Sometimes in between sessions I walk down the hall and actually feel the sun in my chest. The rays ,not the death dealing radiation. Even if I haven't accomplished anything in session, just the interaction and contact with these children light up my day - even if I am being called a caustic agent of the principal. :)

So I feel terrible. I feel triumphant. I feel anxious.

and I'm so over feeling. Really.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Human skin wallets?! Where can I get one? (at the mutters museum)

That is all I have from the Mutters Museum of Philadelphia. I have a deep sense that there is a clever parallel between my expectations of my trip to the Mutters museum and what actually happen and the turmoil and upheaval in my life right now -  but I haven't been able to put my finger on quite yet, it keeps slipping right out of my line of sight and, frankly, I'm not looking quite that hard...

Like most people, I LOVE museum gifts shops. LOVE. I go to museum for the information and the art yada yada but my hand sweats in anticipation as soon as I know that next corner is going to smoothly transition me from learning to BUYING. I am not sure why everyone loves a gift shop...but for me its the perfect combination of everything I love to do - learn random shit and buy random shit.

I have never in my life - walked into a museum shop and looked for the exit first, until today. Having just walked away from a glass case that, all the way on the bottom shelf, right under an old tome old illustrations of the inside of women muscular formation...was an abortion pick. And next to that were the forceps with a battering thingy to piece the babies skull.

Pause. Really?

I have always wanted to go to the Mutters museum since I had heard about it in high school. It is about ten blocks from my high school and it was fuel to my fire of medical school. Uh huh - talk about not updating your desires....Since then I'm a completely different person... a person who is uncomfortable with seeing skinned baby bodies and what untreated syphilis does to your skull (it eats it). I am uncomfortable looking at what a bullet does exactly to a brain or seeing the skeleton of a 18th century midget prostitute and the skull of her tiny aborted baby looks like. (They couldn't get the baby out because of the deformity of her pelvis. So they crushed the head and tried to pull it out, when that didn't work they cut it out of her stomach (I'm not sure we would call it a Caesarean section) and then she died three days later from the wound). Love life.

To be honest - I was partially fascinated. Even the arm that had small poxs on it was amazing. I always wondered if it looks like chicken pox (it.does.not. - you have that and you know you are going to die -soon.). But when we got to the basement (I can't fathom why they couldn't put it on the second floor) my stomach got a little queasy. My mind was still there but my body was oooover it. I knew I was uncomfortable but I pushed along because I didn't want to miss anything - and also didn't want to see everything. but I looked anyway...knowing it might have some negative effects on my tummy.

I turned to Adiva and said in a particular voice - eh, I think I'm nauseous. She confirmed her nausea too and with relief I didn't hide we swiftly headed nodded to the swollen colon and marched toward the light. The sunlight on my skin signaled freedom but I dragged along my wonders at what I had seen asI calculated the distance to the closes bar (my moms house, no comment).

For example, who were these people? Were any of them black? How did they get here? Did these folks know what was being done to their bodies? Or to their children's bodies? Were their spirits here, floating around them protectively? or just languishing?  Were they restful or angry? Were they noting my presence to come get me later????

Listen. It was a once in a life time experience. And while I understand that they aren't closing - I will never go back - you can bet your bottom dollar on that Annie.  So uhm, make sure you update your bucket list frequently - it can't be a good thing to go doing things you wanted to do 15 years ago without checking to make sure you still want to do it. Otherwise - you might end up face to face with a dead dried baby tied up on strings.

I mean really. What's wrong with you? ugh.

(Glad I went) chuckle.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Omg, I cant....

Really, why update?
By the time I press submit some other shit has happened. Uuuggghhh. Would you believe that I have to move again? Well, I don't have to but to reduce some stress from the limited budget I have to respond the stimuli...
Anyhoos, the new thing? Investing less of my sanity into my "space" and placing that wholeness in my mind....regardless of where I'm laying my head. Boy, I'm boring myself with this...

Monday, September 12, 2011

Complaints...

I joined the stop complaining group today. I don't know why. It seemed like an interesting experiment. Kinda like a fish trying to walk - I really don't know what the hell I'm trying to do. Seems unnatural... I didn't want to ask 'what's wrong with complaining?' because it seemed like asking "What's wrong with doing drugs?" - like I'd be admitting I had a problem by admitting my ignorance.

What if I do have a problem? What if I'm the "I don't have a drug problem I'm only here because the court says I have to be" guy? No has ever really complained about me complaining..and since people have rarely shied away from commenting on my personality I can safely conclude that it isn't a massive personality disorder...

However, there is a niggling sense that I should know why complaining is an issue. I know it can be annoying...if you do it too much. But what is too much?????  How do we separate rigeotous indignation from "complaining"??? I mean, what if your food is cold, or nasty, or poorly prepared, or just eww? You aren't supposed to say anything?

Anyhoo - you have to wear a large colored rubber band on your wrist and every time you complain you have to switch it to the other wrist. The point is to go 21 days without a single complaint - it took the founder of this movement 5 months before he could go 21 days straight. It will take me eternity. I need some exceptions to this rule.

1. Anything I deem racist, sexist, or classist, etc. Evil suckers don't get a free ride on this trip.
2. Terrible food/service - I'm paying for it - I deserve it.
3. If my feet hurt (beau gets a pass, he put in the contract no complaining about feet and has affirmed the comfortable shoes are sexy theory)
4. If I'm tired from working too hard at anything. How else will I get through it? (This one may not be legitimate - thoughts?)

I think I'm missing some important exceptions buut looking over the list of exceptions and saying I'm missing somethings seems to be a message of some kind...a light bulb moment but I think -- I'm missing the point. Don't you hate when that happens? I mean it's lik-- nevermind.
                                                               

Saturday, September 10, 2011

That way goes trouble...

Yesterday was a scary day for me. It was one of those days when I fully felt my humanity. I mean that most days I go through the day fulfilling my duties to some degree, waking, washing, going to work, talking to people, filling out paperwork, hanging out out with my friends and spending quality time with Ocho. Whether or not I am going to die rarely comes up.

Yesterday I did not think I was going to die. I felt though, at the end of the day, that I could see the seams of my humanity, my sanity, myself begin to bloat until the bits of glue holding the edges together began to make those stringy stalactites in attempt to hold me together. I stood on 120th and Lexington and reached deep down in my strength and decided that I was not going to lose it on that street because I said so. It was so weird, I felt like a super hero, or and Octavia Butler character - it was like I had this orange ball of strength that I reached into to stick myself back together - it futile though, like using spit on ashy elbows. I knew that I wasn't going to make it home before I fell apart. I was thinking "If you could just make it home before all this comes out you will be fine". But just as I thought that the edges of my vision got all fuzzy. I was thinking...it's 5 something and rush hour on the 4 train is cut throat - I can't make it home through that. I thought about sitting on the steps for a while and calling Mo, since that is what I usually do - but she was too far away and I was scared to be alone with all this "stuff" coming out. So I called Tasha and she came to help me keep it together. I was thinking somewhere around 10 O'clock that I really didn't want to be alone - I felt like I had broken up with someone. You know how you feel when the initial numbness goes away and the hurt, pain, and missing them hits? Yeah...that's how I feel now.

Yesterday started with blessings and ended with me looking at a tunnel and realizing that that ways goes trouble. One way is determination, and the other depression. One way stout with the possibility of failure, the other a vocational coma.  Although I was sad yesterday morning I got to school early and decided to grab a bite. I was talking to my friend jazzy who called to check in with me (blessing #1) and to tell me that there is a possibility I could move in with her...if her roomy leaves (life changing that would be [yoda voice]). While talking to her I see a tall, attractive chocolate young man who looks familiar. I glance at him. He glances at me. I walk over to him and say Don't I-- and He reaches over sweeps me into a hug and says "Ms. Adens!?!" It was an old student from one of the programs I used to teach at about 5 years ago. Short story long, he works there now and they need a night GED teacher....(blessings blessing blessing). We exchange numbers and he leaves with a promise to give me the info about the job. I walk over to the counter to get my ill advised breakfast purchase and the papi tells me "nothing baby that guy paid for it"....What is the message??

Yesterday I stepped into school and swiped my id card with all the hope in the world - my finger tips tingly with possibility and excitement that disaster could be diverted.   Then during class I check my email to see if the dean had written me back. She did, just to reiterate that there was nothing that could be done. I would receive my first payment today and every Monday until the end of the term...stop..wait..what? Yall aren't giving me a lump sum? Nope - they are going to give me a weekly check instead of my money...because I am not an adult enough to budget my own cash, I can't be trusted with the money that I took out as a loan. I'm being infantilized by a system that fucked my life up in the first place...?

Let me be more clear. The dean and I decided that I could pay my rent for four months and not eat in January. My rent needs exceeds my cash for the term...so if you spread it out evenly it doesn't give me enough monthly to pay for four months. Follow me? I won't make my rent and I haven't even tried to eat yet.

This morning I am feeling better. [Section Redacted] I think over all that there are many details missing from this post - it is simply because I was so fascinated by that emotion event, it was like seeing my own heart beat, that I had to share it that way.  I am not going to say "don't worry about me" because I am fully aware of the content of this post and the mercury heaviness of this revelation but I am not a danger to myself and others. Promise.

Friday, September 9, 2011

Reflection on life changes...

Yesterday morning I was razor focused on getting my honors, finding a professor who would mentor me, and dealing with my queer anxiety and it's random daily expressions in my days.

Last night, I only had three separate dreams about going into anaphalactic shock and having my breathing pathways shut down. Yep, I took my girlfriends emergency and projected my brand new legitamate fears onto them in my dream. The sad thing is that every time I couldn't breathe, I remember being all alone and trying to stuff my fingers up my nose...obviously that wasn't going to work. So as I dropped to my knees for  lack of oxygen I would wake up, fall asleep, dream, drown, wake up and again...lovely.

The anger and hostility has yet to abate and I already feel it looking for a target in my school administrators and conversely affecting my desire to do well and succeed. This will be the third time I have entered one of these institutions only later to feel betrayed in someway or another.  The beau is coming over tonight so maybe I will be able to sleep through the night....

I still can't believe the changes that 24 hours can make.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

I can't be radical anymore

Have you ever been in the position of thinking about doing something radical like quitting your job and going back to school? Well if you were to ask me if you should do it - here is what my response will be...

Do not do it.
Don't do it.

It's hard to advocate staying in a boring dead end job, but I am going to do it. Here is why. Work equals freedom. Responsibility...but really freedom. I am not free, my life and it's stability as a student is not stable and based upon the stability of other people whose lives and job are not in jeopardy should my needs not be met. For example, Say my current employer forgets to pay me, or forgets to sign the paperwork to pay me...that is slavery and against the law...Thus it will be rectified as soon as possible and someone may even get chewed our for that kind of mistake.

As a student, however, you but a modern day serf and your life can be fucked up by something as simple as a a failure to make a phone call and tell you that your financial aide has been denied.

So the majority of my financial aide has been denied and I cannot pay my rent. Should it have been denied? I have not qualms on the opinion of CUNY that CUNY student should live a certain type of way... "As opposed to some private schools in the city" as the financial aide counselor so unhelpfully mentioned to me. Obvously I do have a problem with the class and racial implications of who and how the city thinks its public students should survive in direct contrast to how we students actually live (assumming we all live at home? in public houseing? classist much NYC? etc.) . But that is for a never post since I don't want to reflect on the tentacles of government in my life... I do have  a serious qualm with the idea that, although the feds approved my loan, NYC says that I have no right to that amount of money regardless of the fact that it could drive me out of school and into the unemployment roles. Huh?

So as you can see? DO NOT take that leap. Stay safe, cozy and fed at your job. DO Not think of doing better through the radical attempt. Simply work your ass off until you prematurely gray, take 20 years to get your degree and then one day faaaar in the future you make reap the rewards of your non-sacrafice.

I swear I'm not being (completely) facisous. I'm going to play angry birds and forget my responsibilites now -- seriously, I am. Rio version. get it.

And since the lady who just sat down next to me smells like mildewed sneaker in a dark, damp gym locker this post is over.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

and so week 2 begins....

You know what I hate about new things? New things. I know what you are thinking right...that Rebekah loves news things. Specifically, new places, new things, new people, new shoes...You would be right.

Except.

I hate school. Not exactly the reading (that part I love). Recently, I have gotten annoyed at having to meet new people, and I have gotten annoyed at having to speak well in class, and overall I have gotten annoyed at generally have uncertainty surrounding me. Again I hear you saying that I love that stuff...You would be right.

Except.

I don't feel that way. I don't feel the confidence and excitement anymore(today..right now). I just feel like there is way too much at stake for me to possibly be able to meet the defined obligations. What the hell? I know, what am I talking about?  Say I do all this and remain mediocre and get a mediocre job - what a waste of frickin money! This post is sadly off the dome and reflecting my anxious mind. 

I will be more clear.  I haven't gotten my reading completely done for my third class and I was late to class even though I left my house on time. Late twice. For the same class. Now I have this niggling thought that my professor hates me. I need some freaking therapy. I wish I could treat my damself.
Essentially, placement has not started so I feel like how could everything not be completed if I had three mostly full days off? I'm going to get on the ball I hope. shaking my head at myself. to steal a phrase.

that is all.

[Wait. I just read my bbf's blog and she bring a interesting idea to the forefront...I may be pmsing. That shit is real in the field...(more on that later)]

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Er, um - too late now


Emotionally there is always a space between knowing and understanding. Like the moment you realize that you have sliced a chunk of your knuckle off (I was rushing...) and the moment you understand that you are about to hurt. Microseconds after your eyes see the chunk of flesh missing -- the "wiley coyote moment" (there is no ground/I am falling).

Today is different. I fully feel the urrgh and fear of going to work for the last day at this company. I fully feel the eye roll of willingly leaving a paying job.  Although, I'm looking forward to seeing cynthia and the shrimp for the last time. Hmm mmm. That is a winner.

I'm anxious about the loans, the degree, the mediocrity of this degree, the path, the decisions, can I pick this shit up, and the can I be excellent fears....standing here at the bus, waiting for its flashing lights for the last time, feels heavy like the humidity of a stormy afternoon...I'm really going to miss my comfortable job with its tiny comfortable check but most of all I'm going to miss my Joel, my Kathy, and my Jamaica food dispenser.
Under the heaviness, I am kinetic, full of bright stars banging against themselves in anticipation. I had forgotten how much I liked school, and scholarship, and filling my bookcase, and reading big books on the subway.  

Oh, the bus is here. Let's do it.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Vacation was less than a dream...

I normally look forward to going someplace I have never been before. I love to GET there. Traveling? Not so much. I hate the anticipation of BEING there. I hate the stress and complication of the travel - the waiting - the monotony of the flight, the cab, the check-in. I live for the moment I drop my bags in their corner/home for the week/s and run out the door, tying the top of my bikini as I fly out the door. I land, flat footed in the sand, and sashay to the closes (read:safe looking, read:cute) local to find out everything I must do and "oh can you also take me and my friends there with you?"

Transitions, however, have taken a toll on my normal mode of travel. Let's see. I moved and doubled my living expenses - all of them. In exchange, I get a blissfully quiet, clean and peaceful sanctuary that I only have to share with whom I please, WHEN I please. BING - worth it. I am quitting my longtime steady (though unfulfilling) job to attend school. I suppose it isn't what I dream about (learning a new language and leaving only to visit home in the summers, tan, thin and rich) but it'll do. Lastly, I have a boyfriend - a total sweetheart who insists on not doing what I want when I want it. Eh, I'll get over it (or pretend anyway).

So I laid all of that out to say - I'm broke and couldn't afford my normal mode of travel. So we road tripped it. I'm not sure why I thought it was smart to EXTEND the part of travel I hate to go...NOWHERE. If I spend ten hours traveling I better be someplace where they don't speak my language as their first language!

I'm not complaining - I promise. I totally spent the week with my favorite cousin, favorite friend, and favorite nephew. It was enlightening. It was adventurous. LOL - and ultimately boring as far as vacation goes. Atlanta, while beautiful and intriguing (soo many black people) struggled to be interesting. This meant though that I spent much of my time paying attention to my friends and family and my relationship with them.

So I'm back, not rested and wearing my bikini(mourning it's non-use) in the dark while writing and waiting for the man to get here. I took a shower and put special lotion on - it's important to smell good when being thoughtful about re-centering.

Hello again, did I mention I missed you? Until next time.

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

How My Mother Influenced Me to Become a Sex Worker

That's a hell of a title (and not mine!!). Interesting blog to check out. She is truly challenging my notions of feminism and the idea of true ownership of ones own body - free to be a prostitute...#nonjudgmental?

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

That's Sexist....

Well uhm...I was having a crappy right, and so I was going through my blog list kinda with a fine toothed comb cuz I was bored. So I came across this old article while I was clicky clicking....The one by slim thug...you heard about that one? Black women need to stand by their man more??

yeeahhhh anyway -- it wasn't so much his ignorance that was frightening, I was not surprised, but the comments in response to his stupid article...heart stopping and tear inducing.

Tanishia says: Cookie you could not have said it no better because it was things that he said that I was like ok full of shit. but I do think that some of the things that he said about us black woman is true. like we should treat our black man like Kings. Im a black woman and I know right from wrong. I do everthing my man say because I know he would not tell me something wrong. I also have a father and he always said do what your man say, but if it ever come a time when you feel like what he say do is wrong show him the door. but there is one thing I do thats not right, as soon as my man make me mad I get talking and talking at the mouth. and i never liked it when a black man said that black women talk to much and dont know when to close they mouth but I was only mad because I was one of them. And know that I try not to say to much when Im mad and do what he need me to do Im happy. But dont get it fucked up Im a women that have rules too, and yes he have to go by some of them or he can find the door. At the end of the day man do come before women. they have more rule and we do have to go by them well if you want to keep a real back man u will do what he say or a white woman will end up with them. And to all the black man that dont do they job as a real man should. here is something they should know. Its a man job to please your women, make her feel good inside so that she would please you like a king. if you dont take care of her then you will be unhappy too and by your self. Im a real black women and my black man put me in a house and I made it his home. He put some food in the house and I cook him a good black meal. If he take me somewhere I act like his lady should. be hide close doors He give me good love I say yes daddy and thank as he thank me and just keep looking good for him. and with all that said you will find peace, love, and joy in a all black house hold.

If you can't find the scary combinations of sexism and being uneducated then I can't help you.

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Gay conservatives/Black conservatives....

Quick thought: I have posted elsewhere about the strange demand on black people to accept gay marriage just because they are black. In fact there is a subtle demand that "because blacks faced (and continue to face) racial discrimination in recent history" that they are MORE obligated than others to support LGBT rights....



Obviously this is erroneous racist. Moving on...
This morning on NPR Brian Lehrer recapped his show on Gay conservatives. There was an indept debate about Gay conservatives and the reason why they did not support Gay marriage, why they were fiscally conservative, and why they supported republican candidates for the last two presidential elections.

That got me to thinking...Why haven't black conservatives been given the same forum? Why haven't they been allowed to say - "I am black and I do not support gay marriage because it goes against my beliefs and I am allowed to hold believes that don't support your cause"?  This, I believe, is the harm in the apprpriated someone elses experience of discrimination as a example of why your own discrimnation is wrong.  Black conservatives deserve the ability to express the reasoning and cause of their views and they are held up as the worse kind of hypocrites because of the fight to eradicate Slavery and Jim Crow. I have seen them respresented as the worse kind of uneducated and backwards people. Have we seen the same charicature of Gay conservatives? I think not...(Dog wistle)

I am guilty of this myself. I must admit that as a person of color I felt a overwhelming responsibility to support and allie myself to groups fighting for civil rights because I knew the faulsity of dicrimnation first hand. But I am now rethinking this...

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Common can't come to the white house???

                                                    
So have you heard about the hubub about Common being (dis)invited to the White House??? Republicans are pissed because of the content of his lyrics in the poem he is supposed to perform "Letter to the Law"...a letter to cops...sooo you have some idea of what he says. 

I kinda agree with the Republicans on this one - if only they weren't masking a blob of racism behind their calls for concern and fairness about what the white house represents.

Common has the right to say what he wants - in this case he is speaking truth to power about the oppressive regime that the police around the country (the world?) rain onto people of color and other groups that are perceived as politically powerless and less able to protect themselves from their corruption - but he has to be responsible for what he says. The white house represents all of us and I would hate for the bush white house to be allowed to invite a person who openly says negative things about the groups that I inhabit (as if they would care about my feeling and dems would bother to do anything about it).

I wish that this move would be a herald of republicans stating that they too will now be responsible for the things that come out of their months and things that are presented in their news media -- like 'accidently' putting Obama dead instead of Osama dead...

But it isn't. They are just as disingenuous as ever spewing and whipping their racism about without consequence...while we sit around laughing at Lisa Lampanelli's (harmless) jokes....

Thursday, May 5, 2011

What I'd do to keep my man...

I just got finished reading the comments of the Black.Bougie Blog. Funtimes. In the comments of one post, one of the women stated that her husband told her he wouldn't leave her if she 1. Got a weave 2. Wore more makeup 3. Lost twenty pounds *sideeye...

I have been privy to male family members who have made the same demands of their wives, even though they themselves didn't fit the requirements they were demanding. Shaking my head. As shocking as this may seem, as I have mentioned before, some of it it is the perception of a rare commodity in finding a black man in America who wants to be married. Mark my words, I said 'perception' - all good women know that behind the sequins and big booties, a good woman is harder to find than a vintage Chanel bag at goodwillnyc!

Anyhoo -- after setting my inner feminist aside I realized that I would considered giving into these demands (in theory).  Obviously this man is selfish and superficial - but one likes what one likes. I, however, fully refuse to engage in such tortures by myself. I'm supposed to just deliver this magnificent change to you like a present?

I think not.

So say a nice cheery Saturday morning, we grab his Amex and head out on our first stop...What was that? Ahh yes the weave. I have seen this thing done and lord help you - it's like wearing a fuzzy hat that you can't take off...in all that heat?! The hair that we bought for my girls totaled around 470 or so. Then we would send the next 6 hours in the hair dresser, ending with the privilege of paying her 550$ for the service.

Subtotalal:
1200$ (Including tip)
-6 Hours

Whats next? Right make up...clearly we are going to MAC, Bergdorf would be better- but alas. We will need  day make up and night makeup...

Subtotal:
500$ Makeover
-1 Hour

And lastly, we shall take a trip over to the gym. Mid price? NYSC. I prefer Reebok club or Equinox but let's be fair - I can deal with NYSC. We both need memberships since we will be working out together. Yup - I'm not getting sexy on my own and a six pack is never a bad thing :)

Subtotal:
20 Pack personal training sessions
4,000
Monthly Membership
150 for two people
Babysitting
????
-2hours

Never mind the misogyny of believing that it is your place to demand changes on your partner, never mind the superficial short sightedness that would allow you break up your long term marriage based on physical appearance, never mind presenting that demand as a threat - - do you have the longevity to make it though your request? I think not. Because I'm making you come to EVERY appointment - you will suffer for your choices right along with me. Ha. Give that Credit Card a work out because I'm not paying for a PENNY of it. Trust.

Just ridiculous. I can't.

See obviously that's my passive aggresive side coming out but the privelege and audacity and ignorance is just too much for me to bear. I can't belive that that man would want to deal with the time and energy it takes for little requests he just wants the benefit - selfish. He's leaving anyway (who else would come up with such a stupid ultimatum) but one should have fun while he's still there.

That's how you fry a fish two ways ladies.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

He released a birth certificate - now what?

Unlike many of my liberal and progressive friends, all of whom thought that the birther controvesy was now over with the release of the long form by the prez this morning, I understood - prophetically, cuz I'm genious like that, - it would not end here.  Actually I had hoped that it would end but the farcical continuation wasn't truly confirmed until this afternoon while I was listeing to NPR. Did you hear the responses? We'll  have to inspect this paper? And why wasn't it given out before this? And why doesn't it look like my birth certificate?

NPR spoke deep to me this morning. During the morning call in show a caller pointed out the fact that he felt that this was simply the way that racist people are able to "other Obama" and make him "not one of us" an "outsider" "not American", etc.  I thought, "Yes!" In my mind I understood that was the logical missing part of the puzzle. If you simply replace the "he's not American" slogan with Nigger theeeeeen the refusal of this group to desist the idiocy in the fact of proof makes sense. Birthers and the rest of the human race are unknowingly having difeerent conversations - we are talking about the legitamacy of the proof anf they are talking the actuality of him being a Nigger. It's not about the proof or the paperwork.

You can't prove he isn't a nigger to these people*, can  you? In fact I'm sure, if taken seriously, you couldn't actually scientifucally prove someone isn't a slur. I mean, what experiement or paperwork could you produce to show that one isn't a faggot or a bitch - etc. Those arguements are outside of the realm of logical and that's why logical responses don't work on these people.

*I mean we do carry Black cards but I don't think think those are accepted outside of the black community.

See? Doesn't the illogicality :) of those convercations make a bit more sense?  Now that I think on it that way - trump needs his ass kicked. and I'm not  watching appretice anymore - not even to see NENE go off on Star...dang...

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Angry white chick...

I really don't need to add anything - POweRfuL...

Facebook and minding your business...

Every once in a while I am reminded about someone from my past. It might be an old field hockey teammate who hit me up on my page or it might be another chick my bf says he is 'friends' with and so I skedaddle over to their facebook page to check them out. Usually I am so frustrated!

There simply isn't enough information on folks on there! I mean, first why do they have those privacy things anyway? I want to see the full body shots with full access to pics (are they fat now? do they have children? are they married? where do they vacation?). The face shot and the note "This person doesn't share information with your nosey ass" gets on my nerves.

Where is the section (and they should add this) for how much they make yearly? And whom they are dating? Are they happy? Do they own a house? Are they even in a relationship? Are they still friends with so and so? Etc. All of these ideas I'm going to send to that rich dude a.s.a.p.

At the same time, I am very close to the chest with my facebook page. I always say because I have everyone on there (unhappily - but how do you refuse a friend request??). I have business contacts, professors, mentors, pastors, church members, etc! I can't just go around saying whatever I like willy nilly! I will definitely be judged for what I say on there!! And what about people who just want to know my business like am I fat now? Do I have children? Am I married? Where do I vacation? - I mean seriously, folks need to stay out of my business!

To that end - believe you me, I will never put any personal information on facebook or myspace for that matter - because of my business contacts....

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Ashley Judd and her comments....

I've been walking around pissed for two days. Not specifically at Ashley Judd for her comments - but everything they stand for and everything they highlight. Most importantly the relationship between black women feminists and womanists and white feminists. The struggle for me is whom is allowed to speak and who is heard. I am pissed because women of color have been screaming at the top of our lungs about this issue and it never received the level of attention it has this week and that took a white woman to do it --  reminding us of our voicelessness. Simply put - again a white woman is heard and a black woman is silenced.

Never mind that throughout history, and now, white feminist women jump on an justice issue (like reproductive justice) and pretend as though they discovered it. Wading through our community spewing harmful righteous indignation at the easy target when if they simply talked to us first they (we) could have had an effective activist moment.

AND lastly - Who are you to speak for me? I, black woman hear me please for once just listen and let me speak my truth, am affected by the misogyny that white men eat up with glee and impunity in mainstream rap music. Why couldn't this woman come into this conversation and lift lift up the voices of the poor, struggling, no health insurance having, tired, worn out activist of color who have dedicated their lives to this issue? This is one of the main gafts that white feminists make when interacting with black feminists and womanists. It's exactly why we stop blogging with you, writing with you, talking to you and communing with you. Some times your whiteness is bigger than your woman-ness.

So, Ashley - you can kick rocks for picking on hiphop to sell your book and commercial and (some underground) rap can kick rocks too for degrading and dehumanizing your partners for capital gain. And regular black men for nodding your heads to it. For regular black women for nodding your heads to it. To porn for propagating it. For white men who buy and enjoy it without consequence. Ugh - I can't. Really. I'm so pissed.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Guess what?

Bekabug has a boyfriend. Officially and confirmed. Sweet. I'm psyched. You won't find this information on Facebook - I think that too much personal information, No?

Well La Di Dah. We went to Carmines, our back in the day regular spot. So I'm sitting here on my bed cracking up because when the TV plays music he kinda rocks back and forth and dances even though he is sleep! - music truly is in his soul.

The conversation went great, even when we talked about the where should this thing should go should it work...AKA..are you looking for a wife or not sucka? -- I'm still working on that softening technique. But I'm still me and that must be a beautiful thing, to someone, somehow -- well I like it ;). BUT we are on the same page - no pressure (caveat4u-smile).

I wish I were open enough to talk about him out loud...isn't that too sappy? and so Jill Scott "flashing her diamond" five years before the regrettable demise of that same marriage?? Chante's got a man that's...gone??? Right, don't want to jinx it. He definitely will eventually one day post comments here since he reads regularly (even when its too long) and he is into politics just as  much as I am(points)...maybe I can get him to be a feminist (dreams). Sigh. I feel lucky so that's gotta be a good sign.

(Why is Latoya dressed like she is commanding an army??? It's project manager not general silly!)

Toodles.

Examining personal privilege: a great example...

Love this piece AND wow...

Thursday, April 7, 2011

The Complexities of Priveledge...

 I was contemplating Angry Black Bitch's post yesterday "The battle hymn of an angry black woman" about the oppression that black women face. As I read her increasingly angry prose, I thought...that simply doesn't sum me up. I'm not simply a black woman. Maybe 'the man' hasn't gotten around to showing me that I'm nothing and can be violated and abused at the whim of the state but I got the sense that the straddled with kids, poor, bad health, and barely educated trope doesn't quite fully encompass my story - I don't want be the angry pissed black women today - is that okay? Or do I have some loyalty maintain that front line? 

And if I'm not a poor, angry, etc etc pissed off black woman, then what am I? Shouldn't it be essential for people to fully understand and interrogate their privilege? At least in order to make them understand why they should buy in the idea of social justice?

 That brought me to the idea of trying to define my privilege.  I think we have to find a way to be honest about the way that racism and patriarchy and classism play on our loyalties by rewarding some folks for something and other folks for other things. You want an example I know. What I saying is this...wouldn't we benefit from saying that black men, for example, can both be victims of racism and oppressors as men at the very same time?  Yes, we women do, all the time. Yet they don't see it.  Partially because it benefits them to be blind to the ways that they create and maintain oppressive relationships with black women but, not to let them off the hook but, because there is some aspect of privilege that is invisible to those who hold it.

Until I began working with the welfare population I never fully had to face my personal privilege. I thought all black women were just like me - not so. I really never understood that one could be illiterate in the United States, never actually knew anyone, never understood what that means, how it really impacts your life - I know people who have been to public school and they read just fine! But there are cracks the size of Wasila that people are falling through and now I work with them almost exclusively - the crack people. So just being able to read and write is a privilege - never mind confidently add and subtract. But even folks who come through our doors who are smart, struggle with presentation, the way they dress, and talk, and walk - basically the hated ghetto word gets thrown around the office everyday. We shake our heads and lament that there is nothing we can do for the 90% of them that embrace their way of being or have no idea that it is something they should be ashamed of (should they be ashamed of it?). Real talk. If you are a rapper...you can get away with it. A poor parole in Brooklyn with an ice cream cone tatooed on his face? Not a chance.

Womanist musing recently had a post about a big girl who was responding to the massive posts about street harassment and the dangerous prevalence of it...she noted that she was never sexually harassed but ridiculed for her size- to the point where she was secretly excited when someone did come on to her in the street. I had to pause -- could sexual harassment also be a part of one's privilege?? Whaaa???  I know intellectually that male acceptance of your sexually is essential ( I know some women who never had at all and the way that their esteem was unredeemable) but daily (unwanted?) reassurance of your femininity as a privilege? Pause... I. suppose. one. must. address. that.

You know it burns me to even think about it.  Street Harassment has gotten to be my most hated daily interaction with black men and let me tell you how often I get back at them about it... but one day when I'm old they won't be paying me any attention - how will I really feel about that?? Hmmm food for thought.

Anyhoo - I'm normally angry about something...

especially the way Republicans seem to think that this government thing is a game...or that main stream hip hop can continue to belittle black women's humanity but soon as Kanye puts up a painting of a naked white women/thing on his CD cover its censured (because he is black *side eye. If he was a white man it would be cool, no?),

but I think the day I read the angry black battle hymn post, I just wasn't angry. I felt guilty. I was a black woman and I should be angry at all of the things that are going on in the world. But instead I wrapped myself in my privilege, put my feet up, and ate a bucket of chicken (baked) instead. Fight tomorrow. Promise.

In the back of my head,though, some tiny room with a wooden door in the attic - I thought, "Well crap, if I can't get myself to review and deny my own tiny insignificant privilege how in the world can I demand that white folks, and rich folks, and men, and educated folks, and light skinned folks *side eye, and long hair folks, and you get my drift...acknowledge and deny their own privilege?"

Sigh.

if you know let me know....

Friday, March 25, 2011

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

What's going on....

When I was in Paris with my soul friend Walela, I had an epiphany. I was turning 31 years old and had a naggin feeling in my heart - I was vocationally stucked. I needed to make a move but felt that I was burdened by my past decisions. I was so pathetic I wasn't even a deer in the headlights, I was comfortably sitting on the side of a road chilling with my lack luster grass. The cars were passing my sad complacent self by - I wasn't even trying to cross the road. My soul sister forced me to listen to *Ugh T.D jakes, and we talked about natural haircare abroad *perilous, and we talked about attempts to make our dreams come true *can one still model at 30?, and we just burned incense and watched Kat Williams *the kevin hart of his time on You tube. It was deep even when it was superficial. One night she turned to me, as I sat on her remarkably comfortable areo space bed (eurosized -- don't turn over unless you plan on getting up), and said you will have something come to you, it will be revealed and you will be comforted..aight that last part I made up but it sounded good!

I woke up the day before my birthday from a vivid dream, so strong I still remember (but not share) it - I woke up with my hands clenched and the anger pouring out of me. I was so angry I shocked myself, I didn't know I could be so passionately angery. But as I sat up at 430am in the morning, to a view of the effiel tower, I literally watched as the anger left my body and a sense of peace and certainty was replaced. I knew then that inspite of the percieved obstacles (which would be repeated to me adnauseum even up to this sunday) that I was to follow this path and get my M.S.W. I had attempted to get my M.S.W about five years and was denied, but I felt that the spirit run through me, it felt calm and overwhelming just succinct and sure. This is the path. I popped up and starting researching and taking notes on my road map. Since then everyone of my mentors (except the one that mattered), and plenty of friends attemped to desuade me - you can't make any money, that field is beleagered...there is no real scorlorship, no respect etc etc. BUT the path that you are set upon, if truley ordained, can handle strigent questioning, and I set about doing so...I researched every job, every idea of what I thought I wanted to with my life, looked at different degrees and put them to the heart test -- did they make me feel like I felt that day? Did it feel real? Did it feel ordained?

I never in my life had so many people feel so determined to suggest, and even demand, that I choose a different path.  But after much meditation and fear, I applied to schools, only the ones that felt right and only the ones that do what I want to do -- all reaches. I got in.

I can't believe that I am finally going back to school. I feel like I took the steps toward the road and am fully prepared for those head lights to hit me -- I know which way to go now. I know what it feels like now, the test, when it's right and when it isn't.  From now on I'm holding everything to my heart and listening intently...Listening for the truth and then hitting that path sprinting - trying to catch up.

Then

Monday, March 21, 2011

My Vet is interesting...

She sent me an article explaining what was wrong with my cat. It opened with this picture...
                               

Really?

Friday, March 18, 2011

Déjà Vu...

This evening I came across the biblical passage that caused me to lose my faith...in the Bible - as a relevant, comprehensive and contemporary expression of God's purpose in my life. Hmmmm, is my seminary showing? Anyhoo, here it is...

Wait...context. I was a young girl. Fourteen years old, I had on a turquoise skirt suit with a black geometrical pattern down the front and sensible black Etienne Aiger pumps. Ugh, I also had on those cheap black sheer stockings that stuck to my butt and kept me from breathing from the waist down. I was flipping through the B.I.B.L.E as I was wont to do...engaging my faithisms when my eyes landed on "Paul's" letter to Timothy. (Quotes are there cuz some folks think he might not have written it, it was mostly likely written in his name AFTER his death - but I didn't know that then...) Okay, yeah:

 8 I desire, then, that in every place the men should pray, lifting up holy hands without anger or argument; 9 also that the women should dress themselves modestly and decently in suitable clothing*, not with their hair braided, or with gold, pearls, or expensive clothes, 10 but with good works, as is proper for women who profess reverence for God. 11 Let a woman learn in silence with full submission. 12 I permit no woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she is to keep silent. 13 For Adam was formed first, then Eve; 14 and Adam was not deceived, but the woman was deceived and became a transgressor. 15 Yet she will be saved through childbearing, provided they continue in faith and love and holiness, with modesty. (*only part I DO agree with ... smile)
                                           
Whaaaaaaaaaa? Modest? I knew I was fucked. Let's work backwards shall we? I thought, "Wait a second. I didn't personally eat the fruit...I wouldn't have been deceived, I'm smarter than that chick (I think anyway - if it were yellow peeps - humankind is totally fucked). Continuing along...SILENT?....All I could think about was the countless evaluations from my teachers noting the same nauseating thing...Rebekah talks too much, she won't be quiet, even when we put her in the corner!!! LOL. She has such POTENTIAL...blah blah blah   And just why can't I teach a man? The boys in my class were stupid and the ones in church were even dumber (and still are).... The entire verse totally confounded me.

Seriously, it's funny now but I was full of despair in that moment. The church was the center of my life. All of my friends were there, all of my family attended there; my family had been attending this church since my grandfathers generation and he was born in the year 1900! No seriously, October something 1900! To fathom losing all of that was terrifying. I was a young girl who professed 'reverence for God' and had no desire in life but to do God's will and be his [sic] vessel on earth. Word. But I knew, in my heart, that there was no way that I could be this girl. She was quiet, and demure, and probably sat with her hands on her desk in class...I, however, was a tomboy, who was ghetto loud, played soccer with the boys everyday, and let's not mention my rapidly developing taste for expensive shoes and patterned spandex skirts (read: not modest).

So I spent the summer going to all the men in church asking them to explain it to me - they were suppose to be the teachers after all, no?

I hit family first:  Me: Do you think women should be silence and submissive Uncle Tony? Cuz that's what this verse says.... UT: Uhm, where's your mom?... Me: Upstairs, Uncle Tony, answer my question I need to know this...UT:Well, I mean, that's what it says...Me: Uhmmmm, and do you think I should be silent?...UT:Where is your mother!?

I barely got a straight answer but conclusion slid in somewhere around 'yeah probably it should be that way but I'm not saying that to a little girl who is going to go back and tell her mother exactly what I said...' But I read between the lines and knew that it meant what it said and said what it meant. I knew then that the God that wanted that woman didn't want me(why does that sound familiar??). I tried so hard to be quiet in class, and be modest but it just was not natural to me...or pleasant. Soooo in my heart...I rolled out. A baby feminist in the making!...Funny how I found that verses tonight. I'm sure that is significant somehow..I will let you know later...

This love and dedication to an authority figure that I felt rejected me and could not love me as I was and am became one of my central themes (metaphorical dragons if you will) ...further contemplation required.

Off slaying dragons.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Other moments...

Bring Ocho to Work Day - ocho goes to the vet.

 If I were to look over my desk chair today - this is what I would see....
A very unhappy kitty with someplace to be. He's moaning and groaning and pacing around, sniffing and licking and greeting the crowd. Little does he know that three hours from now, there will be cries of pain and a needle in his urinary tract.

sue me. NOTHING rhymes with urinary tract...

poor kitty.
poor wallet.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Sigh..if only I had known...

What would I have done with 200 bucks this morning if I had known someone was going to steal it (and my vintage coach purse)?

Would I have given it to him?


Or her?


Sure I would have.... - some of it?

Then I would have had lunch here...
Le Bernadine
and I would have eaten...this....

but mostly I could have finally purchased these....
Camilla Skovgaard - Tassel Heel Suede Ankle Boot
Obviously it's meaningless, that 200 hundred dollars I cried over...


Tsunami in Japan from Jean Labelle on Vimeo.


that coach bag -
                                                              Libya
As I had my head posted on the empty popcorn counter, my body racked with sobs, I realized that that money meant everything and nothing at the very same time (if a tree falls  in the forest and no one hears it...).

The metro card, the IDs, the special (saved for) wallet, the unique irreplaceable purse; as the tears flowed other stuff came out too - the impending admission/rejection letters from schools, the stupid rent, the expensive birthday that cleared my account, missing my mom but gently interrupting this stream of confusion, fear and uncertainty there was a gentle pressure on my back from my friend. The simple pats were almost rhythmic, disallowing me to sink too deep, reminding me that I was right here, right now, and there were things that I needed to do and get done. I'm astounded at the meaning that people bring to your life, how they buffer you in these moments of minor tragedy, the aftermath, the afteraftermath.  I love the surrealness of realizing that something can both mean everything to you and nothing in the grand scheme of the world. The feeling has a weightless quality. People are missing so much more than a purse right now, they would be joyful to just miss a purse with a few trifles in it...

but it still meant something to me.



Monday, March 7, 2011

I lost something important...

Last month I lost a friend. A good friend. We had been friends for over 10 ten years - my first long term adult friend.  It was a very suessian 'oh the places we'll go' friendship. There was intrigue and aborted fights, dedication and lapses of such, horrific violations and periods of deep commitment and trust.  It started with a bang yet it ended with a whimper.

It was a bitch ending - a unfortunately worded and ill timed email landed on the wet toilet paper thin remnants of our friendship and fell through forever scarring the timid and failed connection. I'm not used to quiet endings -  I tend to go for the 'what the fuck you horrible person I hope you die and burn in hell' shots fired bridges burned type of ending.

And on that thoughtful note, maybe that means something. I'd like to think it means that these two girls loved each other and still do. Would (and have) give the world for each other but we have truly grown apart. To hold someone with love and respect and still lose them is a scary thing. I have loved this person through everything and maintained and fretted over this friendship like no one else in my life, none with my family, none of my romantic relationships and certainly none of my other friend friend relationships. Over curated perhaps certainly. I should note that none of the other people in my life needed such attention but how can something so examined, so thought about, so fixated on end?  I thought it was reality of the galaxy that things carefully contemplated on can be fixed. Not true.

My ex-friend and I are on opposing balconies separated by the abyss of who we are. We cannot cross it and my heart is broken. The scary thing going forward is being reminded that nothing is permanent, somethings you can't make work, especially not by yourself.  It means to me that people who I love could leave me or vice versa but I can't depend on them to be there forever. I know the soothing thing to think is that you should appreciated them while they are here but I'm not at that step just yet. 

I rest so heavily on the people who surround me. I take from them examples on being bold, examples on being determined, examples on being kind, smart, daring and thoughtful - my friends and family are my strength and the thought that they may not be there one day, like my ex-friend, is saddening. The fear and sadness do finally bring me into the realization that I need to look deeply into my circle, breath them in like a complex perfume, hold them gently and pray that they will return my love and care but most of all forgive my trespasses.

I do not plan to move froward in fear. In the last year I have put my burdens down and revealed myself (verbally) for the person I fully am. I have revealed that I am both strong and weak, wickedly smart and mathematically challenged, whipped tongued and stupidly sensitive and most importantly tired. Tired of listening and not talking (about myself), tired holding others up and while my own feet were tired. It was so beautiful when, after deep thought and contemplation (a.k.a therapy), I put those burdens down and watched as my circle surrounded me and held me. I was amazed as they checked in with me and held my hand and took me to eat and told me they loved and cared for me. and still do.

 I see now the arrogance of self-sacrifice - who are you to think that they can't do it? Whether they are tired or overburdened it was simply my fear that they could not be there for me and I would lose them - and a real fear because it happen to my friend and I - but you gain much by sharing your burdens and allowing your friends to feel the joy of giving to you.

Something to think about.

I have lost much, so much, in this journey to rest but oh how much have we gained.