Dealt It and Smelt It

In between my emotional tangents on feeling as if I'll be single forever, I revel in the joys of living alone. My little piece of the world is the one place I can always go for solace. There is no one asking me for anything, nobody is arguing with me, my supervisor isn't annoying me with his mere presence, and I can watch whatever I want on TV which generally means all the Law & Order episodes my mind can stand. I'm a bit of a neat freak but there is a certain pleasure in knowing I can leave the "draws" I was wearing in the middle of the floor should I chose to do so. I decorate as I please, I pick the paint I want, and when it's time to go to bed, I can curl up in the fetal position or stretch out and take up every bit of mattress space if I want. I've often said one of the best things about living alone is the right to fart unapologetically.

All the benefits aside, I sometimes wonder if I'll be able to live with another person again. Is there a possibility that all this freedom makes me more likely to be impossible to endure? Should the off chance of me experiencing love again arise, I'd hate to ruin it all because of how particular I am about cup placement in the cabinet or the position of the toilet seat (Still, who really doesn't close the cap on the toothpaste these days?). Despite my occasional concern about what kind of cohabitant I will be, I have to believe that the right one for me will make the transition easy. Whatever makes me love him will also help me to relax when I see him using my bathroom towels to wash his car. At least, that's what I think about at night when I'm sprawled across my bed staring at my undies on the floor. Ah, good times.

Hip Hop Hobblin'

I could be in a dead sleep but put on Busta's "Put Your Hands Where My Eyes Can See", and you'll get at list one fist pumping in the air. On a good day, I'm shaking my hips- the good one AND the one that aches right before it rains. That's what good hip hop does for me. The lyrics incite reflection, laughter, and learning. The beats move my body almost involuntarily as I scream out, "Heeeeeey"!. I have been loving on and listening to hip hop for almost as long as I've been living. This is probably the main reason for this post.

Since I've arrived in the thirty somethings, I've been wondering if I'm too old for hip hop. I've pondered giving up my shell toes, turning in my bucket hat, and listening to nothing but the sweet, sweet sounds of the Isley Brothers. The stuff I hear on the radio exhausts me and I am almost guaranteed to hate the latest popular rapper. I don't want to Dougie, do the stanky leg, or Superman a ho. However, every time I hear Electric Relaxation I'm reminded why I stay. Hip Hop is amazing and it is a representation of my life from childhood to the ripe old age of ...{inaudible}. Besides, I feel obligated to share what happened before everything got watered down with my little brother. At 18 he has an expansive knowledge of old school hip hop and current underground artists who are still representing the world of hip hop in its most raw form and I like to think I had plenty to do with that. There's something about putting on some Dilla tracks and watching his face light up that reminds me why I love it so much and why I'm not quite ready to give up my bamboo earrings (at least two pair).

I suppose in the end I'll be one of those older people standing in the back of a show, away from the "babies", hands in the air, bifocals on, wearing a big rope chain and shaking whatever is left. I plan to keep my hand up for hip hop for as long as I can.

Best If Used By...

The other day I used the last of a bag of rice that had been sitting in my cabinet since last December. It had a flavor I didn't really care for and was not something I would buy. Instead, it was purchased by a guy I dated all of two weeks who brought it over to use for the dinner he cooked me. That delicious dinner, the great company, and the out of the ordinary conversation made me think there was promise for something that would go past the first few dates. Unfortunately, the bag of rice lasted much longer than he did.

In reviewing my "relationships" I have noticed that few have lasted past ninety days. They all start with a spark and end with a fizzle or sometimes a huge, five alarm mental and emotional fire set by yours truly leaving nothing but smoky rubble. Though I tell myself I want something long term and meaningful, I wonder if I am somehow sabotaging the process or if ninety days is about how long it takes for one to stop pretending to be a kinder, gentler version of himself and let his real tail show.

The first thirty days are wonderful. Phone conversations until the wee hours, fun dates, good morning texts, and fiery physical attraction. The next thirty seem to level out. Real life interferes and dates get cancelled or rescheduled because of work, school and family obligations. People get a little lazy because they feel they've already scored. The throughout the day texts turn into one half ass good morning text and a good night text if you're lucky. It is during this time one starts to wonder if the situation is really going to work but in the end is convinced it will because the good stuff from the first thirty must be coming back pretty soon, right?

The third month is usually a disaster. By then I've begun flirting with new prospects and collecting backup phone numbers to be called at day 91. The cute stuff done in the beginning has practically stopped, the dates are few and far between, and even the phone calls are a little light. At some point someone has farted proving the "cute" phase is over and I usually find out about his criminal record, extra kids, psycho ex, or prison record. Sometimes it's none of those things and it just fizzles out because the interest is lost and the fun is over.

So in all this reflection I keep wondering what the magical potion is to get past the expiration date. Surely there must be some secret in getting all the way to day 91. Maybe I really have just met people with whom I wasn't compatible or maybe I just don't know how to ziploc the relationship to keep it fresh for longer. Either way, from now on, I will be checking the label before I even engage.