Sunday, July 31, 2005

What a Waste

I'm a waste. A complete and total useless waste and there's really nothing I can do about it. You see, I'm 5'11". That's it, there's nothing more to me. I'm just 5'11" of wasted space. I've lost count of the number of times this conversation occurs. I meet a new person and they say, "Wow, you're so tall." Then I smile and nod cause I really can't say thank you. It's a statement of fact, not a compliment. Then New Person says, "So do you play basketball?" I say, "Nope." New Person says, "Do you play volleyball?" I say, "Nope." New Person says, "Do you run track?" I say, "Nope." With each negative response I can see the chances of any decent conversation slipping away. Still grasping for any hope to converse, New Person looks at me with expectant eyes and says, "Well have you ever modeled?" I just shake my head and once again say, "Nope. I'm just tall." And with that bubble bursting "nope," I've dashed any chances of holding a meaningful conversation. Disappointment washes over their face, followed by a fleeting then-what-the-hell-are-you-good-for look. Then New Person finally gives me a nervous, but polite smile and says, "Well it was really nice meeting you." Another one bites the dust.
It's not as though I meant to waste my height. I tried playing basketball in high school, but the only position I ever got to play was right or left bench (if I was really lucky the coach might move me to the middle of the bench.) Volleyball never agreed with me. I kept running into that damn net every time we played in gym class. The highlight of my track and field career was trying to keep my spankies up while running the 200 yard dash. As for modeling, I have yet to be discovered by a famous photographer while walking the streets of New York City. I fear at the age of 25 that window of opportunity is closing rather quickly. So what's left? It seems the only thing my height has been good for is giving short men a chest to lay their heads on while slow dancing. It pains me to know that somewhere out there is some beautiful girl who at 5'6" and 98 lbs dreams of being the world's next supermodel. Alas, she is about 4 inches too short to make that dream a reality. Oh, how I wish I could give her 4 of mine, because obviously I'm not using them for anything important. What a waste.

Friday, July 29, 2005

Yep, You Really Are That Stupid

About a year ago I decided that I was no longer going to chemically relax my hair. I missed my fro and wanted it back. So I grew my hair out, cut off the relaxed ends and "went natural." In the 7 months that I've been completely perm free I've learned a lot. I've figured out how to flat twist, braid, style, and moisturize my hair. But I think the biggest eye opener in all this time as been that Black people say the dumbest shit!!
Scenario #1
I was at a barbeque kicking it with friends. We were all chatting it up and laughing when one girl looks at me and says, "I really like your hair. How'd you get it like that?" Now, I expect white folks to ask me stupid questions about my hair (Note to Suzie: If my hair is 12 inches longer today than it was yesterday I didn't put miracle grow on my head; they're called extensions!!). However my mind absolutely wobbles when a black person looks at my fro and has the audacity to say this dumb ass shit. Excuse me, but WTF!!! Bonkweetah, I sincerely hope that you are not so delusional that you believe that blonde silky straight Yaki #5 that you're sporting actually grew from your scalp. Dumb ass. Seriously people, has it been that long since you've seen your natural hair texture that you forgot that you too are Negro and you too grow napps.* FYI: I sat on my black ass and breathed and that's how I got my hair like this.
Scenario #2:
So I'm on a date with a guy I met in a Walgreens parking lot (look, times are hard). As we're driving to the movies, he looks over at me and out pours this nonsense, "You're really afrocentric aren't you?" Okay so where the hell did that come from? Ahh yes, that's it: my freakin hair. Note to Stupid: It's a hairstyle! That's it. Nothing more, nothing less. It's not that I have a problem identifying as afrocentric, because if I think about it, I am. However, it has absolutely NOTHING to do with my hair. I was just as afrocentric when I was sitting in my stylist's chair with my scalp on fire making sure every last kink got straight. Why does my afro have to automatically mean that I rock a koofi and sport the red, black and green Africa medallion? I bet he doesn't walk up to Becky wearing her natural straight blonde hair and ask her if she's down with the White Power movement. So for the record before I get asked another idiotic question I'm just gonna let ya know. No, I am not a vegan. No, I'm not "natural everywhere" (that's nasty). No, I do NOT burn incense. No, I do not listen to Jill Scott, Floetry, or any other neo soul artist. No, I do not meditate. No, I am not a Planeteer. No, I am not bohemian. No, I do not feel at one with the universe. Any other stupid questions?
Scenario #3
If you're going to insult me, please say something about me that I would actually be embarassed or offended by, otherwise you just look like an idiot. I'm chillin with a group of my sorors and some bruhs after my chapter's ball. One of the bruhs digs his hands in my fro and says, "Dag girl, you need a perm, yo hair is NAPPY." Oh really?!! No shit, Sherlock. But thanks for letting me know cause obviously I wasn't aware. Do you seriously think you're gonna play me by telling me my hair is nappy? Am I supposed to be insulted by that? Newsflash: I want it this way. Calling someone nappy headed like it's a bad thing only says one thing about you: Your shackles are showing. And oh yeah Shit For Brains, you ain't fooling nobody with that Scurl you got dripping all over your forehead.
Can someone please tell me what the hell is the big deal about a black woman wearing her hair the way it naturally grows out her head? Why must anything about my lifestyle, interests, spirituality, or anything be inferred just because of a fro? You don't see me walking up to chicks with perms or weaves saying, "You must have a lot of self-hate going on." Why? Cause I don't make those assumptions just cause of a freakin hairstyle. Really people, it's just NOT THAT DEEP!

*Unless of course you've got some White, Injun, or Meskin in your blood and got that "good hurr"

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Rules of Disengagement

Let me start by saying that this post is in no way shape or form about being engaged to be married. I am not engaged, have never been engaged, and am so far from being engaged I don't even see it on the horizon. Now that the disclaimer is out of the way, let's get to what this post is about: breaking up. Oh, but I'm not talking about ending a 4 year relationship that you've been in 2 and a half years too long. I'm talking about breaking up with someone you were never technically with in the first place. Aaahhh yes, the gray area. It's not officially a relationship, but you're definitely involved with each other. Anyone who has ever dated has been in this gray area. Hell, if you're like me, you just might live in it. It goes a little something like this. Boy meets girl. Boy likes girl. Boy takes girl out. Boy calls girl every night and they talk for hours. Boy kisses girl. Girl's heart flutters. Boy tells girl he really likes her. Girl starts to envision future with boy. Boy stops calling. Girl thinks "WTF!!"
The only question that comes to mind is WHY? Why stop calling? Why tell her you like her? Why even start anything in the first place if this is how it's going to end? Why, why, why, why, why? Why can't you just say, "I don't think I want to be in this anymore?" If you ask most men, they'll tell you they would rather have a rectal exam than tell a woman, "I'm just not feeling you anymore...(even though my tongue was in your ear 2 days ago)." What are you so afraid of? That we're going to beg you to stay with us? Nope, go ahead and go. That we're going to stalk you until you change your mind?* Too much pride for that. That we're going to cry? Well, okay we might do that. But that too shall pass. Guess what. You aren't the first guy that hasn't worked out, and as sad as it is to think this, you more than likely won't be the last. We've gotten over it before, and YES, we will get over you. Yeah, we liked you. Yeah we wanted a future with you. But you're not so special that you won't become a distant memory just like whatshisname did. Get over yourself!!
I recognize that not every single gray area thing will develop into a black and white relationship. That's perfectly fine. But at the very least give it a proper burial when the thing dies. Yes, I know the break up conversation can be a bit awkward. But isn't it even more awkward to run into someone you just cut off without a word. What are you gonna say? "Hey, I'm alive, I've just been a prick and not called you in 3 months." C'mon guys, grow a pair and just have the "talk." It's best to do it in person, however if that's not feasible call her. If you get her voicemail, call back! Don't send an email or leave a post-it note on the fridge. Give her the dignity of a conversation. Say the words to her and give her the opportunity to ask a question or two. At least give her that respect. If she's good enough to take out, call, hold, and fondle, then she's good enough to be broken up with properly. After that you never have to come over, call, email, or even think about her again. You've done your part and given her closure. She's no longer left wondering why and what she did wrong and hoping you'll eventually call. FYI: Sometimes it's the way we disentangle that means more than the way we got entangled in the first place.

*If the woman you date would do any of the above, I suggest you stop hooking up with psycho bitches from hell. That's your fault.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

What the Hell Are You Doing?

We've all done it. It's just a part of life. Each and everyone of us has looked at a friend whose life is a veritable train wreck and asked, "What the hell are you doing?" What's disturbing is when the friend you're talking to is the person that looks back at you everytime you pass a mirror. I had to ask myself this question about a month ago as I sat on my ex not quite boyfriend's couch watching game 7 of the NBA finals with him and his new girlfriend. Exactly how in the world did I get there? Ahh, let me see, that's it. I wanted to hang out. I wanted to hang out with him, specifically. Because, supposedly, we were past all the bullshit that is us. His bitch moves, my theatrics, him playing stupid, me being mad, any and all feelings, and all the lust stuff. Gone. Water under the bridge. I can hang out with him without supervision without falling right back into that blackhole and getting caught up all over again. I'm over it, he's been over it, we're adults, and we even developed something resembling a friendship. So with this rationale in mind, I call him and ask him what's good for Game 7. He says he's watching it at home and says I'm more than welcome to watch it there as well. So far, it sounds all good to me. Then it happens. He tells me he's seeing somebody. Mmmmmkay. Wasn't quite expecting that, but hey that's cool. I don't want him and he's a serial monogamist so he wasn't going to be single forever. He proceeds to tell me that she's coming over as well to watch the game and he just wanted to let me know so it wouldn't be awkward. At this point, I could've just said, "hey that's cool, I'll watch the game with other folks." But alas, these weren't the words that came out of my mouth. For the life of me I don't know why, but I said, "not awkward at all. So it's cool if I come over?" Stupid, stupid, stupid Liz. Of course it's cool. What guy wouldn't want the girl that used to do that thing with her tongue AND the girl that's currently doing that thing with her tongue on his couch at the same time?
Game day arrives and the ex calls just to make sure I'm still coming over. Do I back out? No, I bring over a bucket of chicken and beverages to share. When I get there, it's just me and him. Sitting there on the couch waiting for the tip off. He's tugging on my fro, I'm calling him an idiot. Just like old times, except all of our clothes are on. You know it's so cool, I'm thinking old girl might not even show up. Oh, but hold that thought, Liz. There's a knock on the door and there she is with her BFF right behind her. Now this is cool. She seems like a perfectly nice woman, a little big in the hips and thighs, but perfectly nice nonetheless. Her sidekick sits down on the adjacent couch and we exchange the usual pleasantries and watch as the Pistons and Spurs (boo) fight to the death. Ben Wallace scores, we both cheer! Woohoo!! Good times. Meanwhile Ms. Hippy and The Idiot That Made Me Cry are groping each other in the kitchen, but it's not like I was paying any attention to them or anything, cause remember I don't care who he sees. I don't want him. Around halftime the black version of "The Tom and Katie Show" decide to grace us with their presence. So she sits on the big couch next to me, and he sits next to her. Nope, this isn't awkward at all. She drapes her legs over his lap. I stare intently at the Spurs cheerleaders. He pulls her close. I'm wrapped up in a UPS commercial. This is fun!!! Then they kiss. Not a deep long passionate kiss, but one of those cute affectionate kisses that are just a smidge more than a peck. That's when it dawns on me. WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING?!!! Why am I sitting here on the same couch with the predator who ground my heart into mulch and his latest victim? Was I THAT desperate to prove that I am SO over him? Couldn't I be over him from my couch? Am I even over him, really? Who does this? But of course, A GLUTTON FOR PUNISHMENT!!

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

And You Say He's Just A Friend

Ever noticed how some topics of conversation seem to come up no matter where you are or what you're doing? Lately for me, that topic has been male/female friendships and whether they are truly possible. Now before I get into the varying opinions that I've heard and my opinion on the issue I want to define what I mean by friends. I'm talking about a man and a woman being purely and honestly just friends. In the classic 1989 movie "When Harry Met Sally" Harry and Sally engaged in a spirited debate over this very topic. Harry concluded that at some point in time one or both of them - if even for a nanosecond- will have the thought of sex with the other in their mind and thus negate the "true" friendship, unlike 2 friends of the same gender.
It is under the "Harry Met Sally" parameters that I got to thinking about male/female friendships. For the most part, every guy I ask about it, says that men and women can't just be friends. They contend that if given the opportunity more than likely the man would "hit" if he could. On the other hand, many women I ask this question to say of course men and women can just be friends. "I have several guy friends and there's absolutely nothing going on there," is what these women will go on to say. In hearing these two very disparate points of view I have come to the conclusion that most men want to bang their unsuspecting female friends.
But I think that there is a happy medium somewhere in the middle, right? Let's be really honest. Most men and women (if both parties are relatively attractive) who haven't been friends since childhood are probably friends because the dating thing fell through. I say this because it’s not common for adult men and women to meet each other in a setting that’s conducive to an assumption of friendship right off the bat. If a man asks for a woman’s phone number, email address, or whatever, no matter what excuse he’s giving for wanting the information (networking, new in town, friends in common, blah blah blah), he’s looking at her as a possible dating option. Just like most women won’t really give their contact information to a man just because he seems like a cool new friend to have. Deep down, we’re thinking he might have potential. Chris Rock said it best. “I hate a bitch that says let’s be friends. I wanna be the friend that’s fucking you in the ass, bitch. That’s the friend I want to be.” If we are really honest with ourselves, that’s how most male/female friendships start. So this situation already fails the “true” friendship test. The initial association was based on the possibility of dating, it just didn’t work out.
Now let’s say that by chance you have a friend of the opposite sex that you met in elementary school, junior high, high school, or college. This person has been your friend forever and there has never even been a wayward glance in the other’s direction. In these cases it is very probable that one or both parties have heard comments like these more than a little bit. “Why don’t you just get together with __________ (fill in name of friend of opposite sex.) Or, “Are you sure there’s nothing going on between the two of you?” And of course my personal favorite, “You two would make such a cute couple.” After hearing these comments about fitty-leven times someone is going to start to think, “hmmm, well maybe they see something I don’t.” The thought of getting physical or starting a relationship will enter into thoughts just by the power of suggestion. Once this happens, the line has been crossed over and “true” friendship is null and void once again.
In spite of all of this, I still do believe that in rare instances men and women who are heterosexual and perfectly attractive people can truly just be friends, without either party having ever thought of sex or a relationship. I know it can exist because I have one “true” male friend. Unlike all of my other male friends who I have either dated, messed around with, schemed on, deflected advances from, or just know deep down inside would take the draws if offered, KPB and I have maintained a true friendship for almost 7 years now. KPB is a funny, successful, charismatic, stylish, educated, adorable, great guy that I wouldn’t touch or date if my life depended on it. That would be like dating my brother. I know he feels the exact same way about me because I sincerely believe that if he had had any choice in the matter, he really wouldn’t have even been my friend. It all goes back to my freshman year of college. I was the weird girl who needed to get her hair done, put on some decent clothes, and stop carrying around her old raggedy teddy bear (who I still cling to). KPB was basically a social climbing classmate who sincerely believed (and still does) that image is everything. Needless to say I was bad for his image. However, we had one thing in common....a certain football player who he hung out with all the time and who I obsessed over all the time. Basically Jock Boy was the tie that bound us. If KPB was gonna be friends with him, then I was part of the package, like it or not. After a while we sort of grew on each other. I’d start coming around his room even if Mr. Football wasn’t there. I’d sit there for hours as he tried to do homework and talk to him and his roommate about everything and nothing. Ignoring me wasn’t gonna get rid of me, so eventually the only option left was to entertain me. He found me to be embarrassing, goofy, and completely unladylike, yet loveable in my own unique way. He’d never want me for a girlfriend or even to mess with. I wasn’t high profile enough. And I never even thought about him as a potential anything cause I only had eyes for the Jock, who didn’t even know it. We’ve been friends ever since. We’ve both grown and matured and through it all I’m still not his type and he’s so not mine.
It’s under these rare circumstances that you can find something truly rewarding. Truly being friends with someone of the opposite sex has a quality that same sex friendships just don’t have. You get a different perspective on relationship issues. You have someone who can pretend to be your significant other when sketchy people are harassing you in the club. You have someone who can tell you what your ex really meant when they said, “I need space,” even though you should already know. So I think it can happen. Men and women can have “true’ friendship. When you find one of these friendships, hold on to it, cause they are one in a million.

Saturday, July 23, 2005


I went to the movies last night. Originally I wanted to see The Wedding Crashers, since it had just come out this weekend, but changed my mind and decided to see Crash. If you haven't seen this movie yet, run, don't walk to your nearest cineplex and go see this! It's such a great movie. I swear this movie says everything you've always thought but were just too afraid to say. It exposed so many stereotypes and the hard truths behind them. The cast is amazing and I swear you will be on the edge of your seat for most of the film. If this movie and its cast don't win Oscars next year, the system is rigged. Matt Dillon was infuriating yet heartbreaking as a racist cop who cares for his sick father. Terrence Howard was riveting in his role as an Uncle Tom TV producer, complete with conked hair and everything. Note to Terrence: cut that perm out your head immediately!! Even Sandra Bullock was great as the bitchy wife of District Attorney Brendan Fraser. The only problem I had with this movie was that I had to pee within the first 15 minutes and I couldn't get up to go to the bathroom cause I was afraid I would miss something. You don't know how hard it is to "hold it" for an hour and 35 minutes. NOT fun!

Friday, July 22, 2005

Random Thoughts

Today is one of those days. It feels like there's something I should be doing. What that something is, I don't know. Maybe it would help if I took a shower and got dressed. At least that way I'd be ready to do whatever it is I figure out I should be doing, whenever it is I figure that something out. Senseless rambling. That's what I'm doing right now. In high school I would call it a brain dump. My brain dumps were actually pretty darn good pieces of writing. Somewhere in the middle of all the B.S. something intelligent would actually come out.
So I'm sitting here trying to put together an audition tape. I want to be a VJ. And I'm tired of talking about it, so I figure I should just go ahead and do it. Or at least try to do it. The problem is they want me to tell them about me. So I start to think, what is me? What am I about? And I realize I have absolutely no clue. Well let me not say I have no clue. I know exactly who and what I am and what I'm about. But actually conveying that in some meaningful way is a lot easier said than done.
I'm feeling really stinky right now. I need a shower. Until next time. Peace