I just realized something. Midlife crises are not the exclusive domain of 50 year old men who are dependent upon Rogaine and Viagra. In fact perfectly well adjusted single 25 year old black women who live in Grand Rapids Michigan can go through this debilitating phase too.
When you wake up one day and you realize that your life isn't how you thought it would be and isn't what you want it to be, it's a sad feeling. Even when you have the job, the home, the car, and the shoes the world says you should want, you're still not happy. Feelings of guilt and ungratefulness just sweep over you, because you should be satisfied with all that you have, but you're not. It's not even that you want more money or a nicer car or more shoes (well maybe you do want those bronze BCBG pumps at Marshall Fields). It's moreso a feeling that there has to be more to life, that time is passing you by and you're not doing something vitally more important than what you're doing now.
So what do you do when you're feeling like this? Some folks buy a new car. Others get depressed and stay in bed all day. Me. I decided to consult God on this one. Oftentimes I feel as though my life is out of control, with absolutely no direction. The more I try to get things under control myself, the more out of control I feel. I figured, I might as well stop making a mess of things and figure out where God wants me to go in life. I may not listen to Him some of the time (alright fine, I spend most of my time either ignoring Him or fighting Him), but I really wanted to give His guidance a chance. So I opened up my Bible and started reading. Unfortunately, I couldn't find the book of "Liz." Nor did I find any passages in any of the canon dedicated to what I should do with my life. I did find out some pretty useful stuff in the Book of James about learning to control my temper. I filed that in mental rolodex for future reference. I was on a mission to find MY mission. Next, I got down on my knees and had a lengthy conversation with God. Unfortunately, I did all the talking. Maybe He tried to get a word or two in, but I must've missed it.
Not hearing anything directly from the Source, I decided that patience was a virtue I didn't have, so I'd ask folks at church for some Godly advice. I mean if He spoke through man to write the Bible, why couldn't He speak through folks at church to give me a bit of direction. I talked to one woman at my church, we'll call her Church Lady. I pour out my heart to her about my issues and wait anxiously for her words of wisdom. For some reason all I got was, "Have you prayed about it?" Daggone it!!! How come whenever you got an issue or a dilemma, the first thing someone wants to say is, "You should pray." I know they are trying to be helpful, but I'll give em a hint. That ain't helping. In fact, that's the last thing I want to hear. Nor do I want to hear someone tell me to go read the Bible. While I love that book to my core, there are certain things that it just doesn't cover. Sometimes folks are so quick to minister, they forget how to just listen and empathize.
Then a funny thing happened. I went to church one Sunday and the pastors are starting a series on the most important questions we'll ask in life. Questions about who God is, who we are, what we're supposed to do, how important time is. And I'm not talking about those sermons that quote one line of scripture and without fail end in the typical, "When I think about all that God has brought me through, I just wanna praise Him!! Who wants to praise Him? Has God been good to you?!! He's been good to me!!" Complete with organ accents, jumping in the pulpit, and a brisk jog down the center aisle before one final scream and then passing out in the big pastor's chair. No folks, these sermons actually practically applied scripture to my everyday life. And then suddenly, the light went off in my head. I'm not saying that I've gotten it all figured out, cause I don't by any means. But I'm clear on a few things now. God created me with a purpose. And He gave me gifts and talents and abilities that He wants me to use. If I'm not content with where I am right now, it's probably because I'm trying to fit into a box that's not designed for my SHAPE. Now I can try and twist myself into someone I'm not to try and fit where I am at this moment. But I'm no contortionist and don't have any desire to be. Thankfully, He doesn't deire that either.
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Sunday, October 30, 2005
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Cruel To Be Kind
I whole heartedly believe that no woman can change a man, unless he is in diapers. There is no way to make him do anything he ultimately does not want to do. No amount of begging, pleading, reasoning, bargaining, cajoling, whining, nagging, and harassing is going to produce the desired effect. All a man will do is grunt, scratch, and nod his head in agreement before going right back to doing the same damn thing he was doing prior to the ranting and raving: NOTHING! This is extremely frustrating even for the most laid back woman. The more we try, the less they change. It's worse than beating your head against the proverbial brick wall. However, there is a strategy that concussion prone women world wide have begun to employ to stop the madness. So I'm gonna let the rest of you women who are not so quick in on a little secret. Are you alone? Come closer, we don't want the opposite species in on our secret. Okay, here it is. The most effective way to get what you want out of a man is to do nothing.
Yeah, I know it sounds stupid, but I swear it works. It seems to be a rule of inverse relationships. There is a direct equal and opposite correlation between the amount of attention a woman gives a man and the amount of attention she gets in return. The more we call, IM, email, write, and try to spend time with them, the busier and more neglectful they are. And usually this causes us to to increase our efforts 100 fold just to get a 1% increase from the man. I dare you to try something new. Don't call him. Don't go see him. Don't do anything. All of a sudden something amazing will happen. He'll remember you exist, the second you pretend that he doesn't.
It's sad but true, in order to make a man do something he wasn't doing, he basically needs to be treated like shit. When we act like we don't want them or at least act indifferent they are in full on pursuit mode. The moment we acquiesce and return the attention and interest a man goes colder than a shower after someone flushes the toilet. Now, logically, it would seem that when someone returns our affection it would cause us to like them more. Not so with the dingaling species. They actually like it when a woman doesn't want them. So in order for women to succeed under these circumstances we must never like him too much.
I've got a real world example for you. The other day I was talking to my best friend, let's call her Chesty LaRue. So Chesty and I were chatting and she mentions that she's having a lengthy IM conversation with a country bumpkin with whom she used to have relations. For a period of time in their friendship, the country bumpkin wasn't acting right and she was upset that he was devaluing their friendship. When she finally got tired of his bullshit she decided to give him a BDR and his walking papers. Well that did the trick. There's nothing like being told that he sucks in bed to straighten a man out real quick.
Yeah, I know it sounds stupid, but I swear it works. It seems to be a rule of inverse relationships. There is a direct equal and opposite correlation between the amount of attention a woman gives a man and the amount of attention she gets in return. The more we call, IM, email, write, and try to spend time with them, the busier and more neglectful they are. And usually this causes us to to increase our efforts 100 fold just to get a 1% increase from the man. I dare you to try something new. Don't call him. Don't go see him. Don't do anything. All of a sudden something amazing will happen. He'll remember you exist, the second you pretend that he doesn't.
It's sad but true, in order to make a man do something he wasn't doing, he basically needs to be treated like shit. When we act like we don't want them or at least act indifferent they are in full on pursuit mode. The moment we acquiesce and return the attention and interest a man goes colder than a shower after someone flushes the toilet. Now, logically, it would seem that when someone returns our affection it would cause us to like them more. Not so with the dingaling species. They actually like it when a woman doesn't want them. So in order for women to succeed under these circumstances we must never like him too much.
I've got a real world example for you. The other day I was talking to my best friend, let's call her Chesty LaRue. So Chesty and I were chatting and she mentions that she's having a lengthy IM conversation with a country bumpkin with whom she used to have relations. For a period of time in their friendship, the country bumpkin wasn't acting right and she was upset that he was devaluing their friendship. When she finally got tired of his bullshit she decided to give him a BDR and his walking papers. Well that did the trick. There's nothing like being told that he sucks in bed to straighten a man out real quick.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
House of Representatives
Have you ever looked at your significant other and asked yourself, "Who are you?" What happened to the person you met 3, 6, 12 months ago? Where is the guy who called all the time and wanted to spend every free second in your company? Where is the girl that dressed to kill and shaved her legs on a regular basis? It looks like the person you initially started dating. It even smells like them. But unfortunately, it's just not that person. I hate to be the one to break this to you, folks. But that person never existed. They were just a phantom. You didn't fall for the person that stands before you right now. You fell for their representative.
The first time I heard about this representative concept was about 2 years ago when I started dealing with Mr. Way Too Into Himself. He made it a point to tell me that he was not sending out his representative to meet me. What I see is what I get. What I saw was a guy who spent a bit too much time trying to figure out which tie matched his salmon pink shirt, and what I got was a guy who flirted with another chick right in front of my face on Valentine's Day. I don't know how the two correlate, so I'm not sure if I should've seen that debacle coming. But that's neither here nor there. Ever since then I've given a whole lot more thought to the idea that when two people first begin dealing with each other they aren't really dealing with each other. The representatives are sent out in place of the actual person.
It looks something like this. A man and woman meet. They find each other attractive and decide they want to get to know each other better. The man calls all the time. He is attentive, sensitive, giving, all the things a woman needs him to be in order to for her to fall butt crazy in love with him. In turn the woman is always gorgeous, in training to be the iron chef, and the coolest most non clinging chick a guy has ever met. After both parties are past the point of no return, something happens. Dude stops calling 3 times a day. All of a sudden weekends are for football and you don't exist. All of the cute things he used to do when he first met you don't get done anymore. In the blink of an eye old girl has traded in skirts and dress and heels for sweats, t-shirts, and flip flops. She gives the leg stubble some time to really sprout before she shaves it, if she shaves it at all. And almost overnight, she forgets where the kitchen is. Both parties are suddenly aware that the person they are involved with is NOT the person they met. The end result is incessant fighting, whining, and nagging.
People send out their representative because they know that no one in their right mind would willingly date them if they knew what they were really like. The representative is there to do the dirty work. They're the one that gets Mr. or Ms. Wonderful to fall and fall hard. They're the one who hammers out the relationship contract. And once the unsuspecting party has signed on the dotted line with their heart, the old bait and switch happens. The representative is gone and the real person takes their place. So basically you're stuck with a relationship that isn't even worth the experiences it was built on. Yes my friend, you've been hoodwinked, bamboozled, led astray, and run amock. Sucks to be you.
But don't feel bad. I've been there. More times than I care to count. Hell, now that I think about it, I've sent out my representative on numerous occassions. Anyone who knows me is well aware that shaving my legs rarely makes it onto the priority list. However, if I've got a date with a nice tall piece of man candy you better believe my legs will be as smooth as a baby's butt. I do realize the unfairness that the representative brings, so I've made it a point to never shave again, so that no man can say that I've misled him.
On my end, I've become so familiar with the representatives that men send up to bat for them, I can spot them a mile away. I've now adopted a warning that I give to all men I deal with. If you cannot or will not keep up a certain positive behavior for more than several weeks, don't start doing it in the first place. If you don't like the phone, don't call me every night and talk to me for hours on end. Women are creatures of habit and once you get us used to something, we're gonna come to expect it. The second you stop doing that thing, we're going to think that something is wrong and nag you without rest until that behavior resumes. Men don't want to hear it and we don't want to do it, but we're forced to. If you don't like spending all your free time with me, don't even start doing it in the first place. The second you're unavailable, we're gonna go into clingy mode. Once again, neither party wants that, so don't set it up so it will occur.
How about we make a pact. Guys you promise not to make us think you're prince charming and ladies, let's promise not to make them think we're June Clever and Heather Hunter all rolled in one. Now, let the dating commence.
The first time I heard about this representative concept was about 2 years ago when I started dealing with Mr. Way Too Into Himself. He made it a point to tell me that he was not sending out his representative to meet me. What I see is what I get. What I saw was a guy who spent a bit too much time trying to figure out which tie matched his salmon pink shirt, and what I got was a guy who flirted with another chick right in front of my face on Valentine's Day. I don't know how the two correlate, so I'm not sure if I should've seen that debacle coming. But that's neither here nor there. Ever since then I've given a whole lot more thought to the idea that when two people first begin dealing with each other they aren't really dealing with each other. The representatives are sent out in place of the actual person.
It looks something like this. A man and woman meet. They find each other attractive and decide they want to get to know each other better. The man calls all the time. He is attentive, sensitive, giving, all the things a woman needs him to be in order to for her to fall butt crazy in love with him. In turn the woman is always gorgeous, in training to be the iron chef, and the coolest most non clinging chick a guy has ever met. After both parties are past the point of no return, something happens. Dude stops calling 3 times a day. All of a sudden weekends are for football and you don't exist. All of the cute things he used to do when he first met you don't get done anymore. In the blink of an eye old girl has traded in skirts and dress and heels for sweats, t-shirts, and flip flops. She gives the leg stubble some time to really sprout before she shaves it, if she shaves it at all. And almost overnight, she forgets where the kitchen is. Both parties are suddenly aware that the person they are involved with is NOT the person they met. The end result is incessant fighting, whining, and nagging.
People send out their representative because they know that no one in their right mind would willingly date them if they knew what they were really like. The representative is there to do the dirty work. They're the one that gets Mr. or Ms. Wonderful to fall and fall hard. They're the one who hammers out the relationship contract. And once the unsuspecting party has signed on the dotted line with their heart, the old bait and switch happens. The representative is gone and the real person takes their place. So basically you're stuck with a relationship that isn't even worth the experiences it was built on. Yes my friend, you've been hoodwinked, bamboozled, led astray, and run amock. Sucks to be you.
But don't feel bad. I've been there. More times than I care to count. Hell, now that I think about it, I've sent out my representative on numerous occassions. Anyone who knows me is well aware that shaving my legs rarely makes it onto the priority list. However, if I've got a date with a nice tall piece of man candy you better believe my legs will be as smooth as a baby's butt. I do realize the unfairness that the representative brings, so I've made it a point to never shave again, so that no man can say that I've misled him.
On my end, I've become so familiar with the representatives that men send up to bat for them, I can spot them a mile away. I've now adopted a warning that I give to all men I deal with. If you cannot or will not keep up a certain positive behavior for more than several weeks, don't start doing it in the first place. If you don't like the phone, don't call me every night and talk to me for hours on end. Women are creatures of habit and once you get us used to something, we're gonna come to expect it. The second you stop doing that thing, we're going to think that something is wrong and nag you without rest until that behavior resumes. Men don't want to hear it and we don't want to do it, but we're forced to. If you don't like spending all your free time with me, don't even start doing it in the first place. The second you're unavailable, we're gonna go into clingy mode. Once again, neither party wants that, so don't set it up so it will occur.
How about we make a pact. Guys you promise not to make us think you're prince charming and ladies, let's promise not to make them think we're June Clever and Heather Hunter all rolled in one. Now, let the dating commence.
Saturday, October 08, 2005
Priorities
I'm currently on the phone with Erica, Operator WS413 with Visa. Why am I on the phone with Erica? Oohh, cause I lost my Visa check card. I also lost my Capital One Visa, my Macy's card, my health insurance card, my Bank One Visa Check card (that don't matter cause there's only .26 cents on that one), my Circuit City credit card, and my Limited credit card. How did I manage to lose all of these tiny rectangular pieces of plastic with random numbers on them? I left my wallet in a NYC yellow cab. I think Homer Simpson said it best when he said, "DOH!!!"
Considering the fact that my entire life has basically vanished in the back of some nameless, faceless cab, I must say I'm rather calm. Hell, I'm blogging about it, so I must not be too bothered about this current state of affairs. Financially, I'm screwed. I have no cash, and no way to get cash. Not only that but I have no means to use credit either. I'm not really lamenting their loss all that much though. The one thing in my wallet that I am missing most right now is that 3.5" X 1.5" card that has my date of birth prominently displayed right alongside my bright, smiling face. Yes, folks, I am missing my driver's license!! Now why would I be missing my driver's license so much when I don't even have my car around me to drive. Could it be because I have a plane to catch tomorrow and without government issued ID I can't board any flights? Nope, I could really care less about that little detail right now. I'm missing my driver's license so damn much right now because I've got on the cutest dress, with the hottest pair of hooker boots, banging accessories, and a matching clutch. I am all dressed up with somewhere to go, and I'm shit out of luck.
You would think that in light of my current situation my focus would be elsewhere, but alas, it's not. The only reason I'm talking to Erica and not hunting down a spare ID from all of the 5'11, 21+ black females I know is because my friend with the cool Brooklyn apartment won't let me. Friend with the cool Brooklyn apartment, if you're reading this, YOU SUCK!!! I spent 30 bucks on a cab from midtown Manhattan to Flatbush Brooklyn just so I could shower, shit, and shave in enough time to get into the club free 'fo midnight. It's now 37 minutes after the midnight hour and I am sitting here in a state of dejection that not even the 1st runner up to Miss America could understand. I was so ready for tonight damn it!! I had brought all my cute clothes that I never get to wear in West Bumblefuck. I made sure my hair was clean and perfectly fro'd. I bought new jewelry. I shaved my legs. I waxed my armpits. Everything was set. And now, NOTHING. This is like getting amazing head and not having an orgasm. Frustration at its peak.
I don't think I can fully make anyone understand just how badly I needed to go out tonight. It's been roughly 5 weeks since the last time I set foot in a bar/lounge/club type place. And it's been about 12 weeks since I had a kick ass time surrounded by grown folks of the Negro persuasion while listening to misogynistic rap music and drinking a cranberry and sprite as I bent over to the floor and touched my toes. Withdrawal symptons were a bitch and tonight was supposed to be my cure. Now some Eastern European cabbie is cruising around the city with my access to all NYC nightlife. Who the hell cares if Habib finds my wallet and charges $2500 worth of porn to my cards? That is such a little thing in comparison to being forced to stay home on a Saturday night.
Considering the fact that my entire life has basically vanished in the back of some nameless, faceless cab, I must say I'm rather calm. Hell, I'm blogging about it, so I must not be too bothered about this current state of affairs. Financially, I'm screwed. I have no cash, and no way to get cash. Not only that but I have no means to use credit either. I'm not really lamenting their loss all that much though. The one thing in my wallet that I am missing most right now is that 3.5" X 1.5" card that has my date of birth prominently displayed right alongside my bright, smiling face. Yes, folks, I am missing my driver's license!! Now why would I be missing my driver's license so much when I don't even have my car around me to drive. Could it be because I have a plane to catch tomorrow and without government issued ID I can't board any flights? Nope, I could really care less about that little detail right now. I'm missing my driver's license so damn much right now because I've got on the cutest dress, with the hottest pair of hooker boots, banging accessories, and a matching clutch. I am all dressed up with somewhere to go, and I'm shit out of luck.
You would think that in light of my current situation my focus would be elsewhere, but alas, it's not. The only reason I'm talking to Erica and not hunting down a spare ID from all of the 5'11, 21+ black females I know is because my friend with the cool Brooklyn apartment won't let me. Friend with the cool Brooklyn apartment, if you're reading this, YOU SUCK!!! I spent 30 bucks on a cab from midtown Manhattan to Flatbush Brooklyn just so I could shower, shit, and shave in enough time to get into the club free 'fo midnight. It's now 37 minutes after the midnight hour and I am sitting here in a state of dejection that not even the 1st runner up to Miss America could understand. I was so ready for tonight damn it!! I had brought all my cute clothes that I never get to wear in West Bumblefuck. I made sure my hair was clean and perfectly fro'd. I bought new jewelry. I shaved my legs. I waxed my armpits. Everything was set. And now, NOTHING. This is like getting amazing head and not having an orgasm. Frustration at its peak.
I don't think I can fully make anyone understand just how badly I needed to go out tonight. It's been roughly 5 weeks since the last time I set foot in a bar/lounge/club type place. And it's been about 12 weeks since I had a kick ass time surrounded by grown folks of the Negro persuasion while listening to misogynistic rap music and drinking a cranberry and sprite as I bent over to the floor and touched my toes. Withdrawal symptons were a bitch and tonight was supposed to be my cure. Now some Eastern European cabbie is cruising around the city with my access to all NYC nightlife. Who the hell cares if Habib finds my wallet and charges $2500 worth of porn to my cards? That is such a little thing in comparison to being forced to stay home on a Saturday night.
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