She Get It From Her Momma

I always keep a bottle of ammonia in the house even though I rarely, if ever, use it. I also have steel wool and Pine Sol in my cleaning supply cabinet. I wear gloves when I wash dishes and I sometimes speak in cliches that frankly, explain situations perfectly. Every now and then I cook a pot of beans and I always make my cornbread from scratch. When I think about it, I realize that I do all of these things because my mother did them.

As kids, we often spend our time thinking about how ridiculous our parents are and how we will do it all differently as soon as we get out of the house. We won't fold our clothes in that way, we won't put all of those silly restrictions on our children, and we'll never wear a jacket when going out into the cold air freshly showered. We won't do any of those things because we are way smarter and more evolved than our silly parents. Though I thought this way as a child, adulthood and personal responsibility changed everything for me.

As an adult, I began to see things from a different point of view. Life suddenly changed when I had to buy my own groceries and pay for my own health care. I started to budget my money. I shopped according to what I cold afford. I partied regularly, but never before my bills were paid and I made every effort to pay them on time. I discovered that beans were not just delicious, but cheap and that they make a great meal in a financial pinch. I learned that Pine Sol is not only a cleaning agent, but that it makes for a wonderful scent in the house. I have to be honest and say, I still don't know what the hell to do with the ammonia.

In my maturation, I've learned that while I still do some things differently from my mother, she was far more wise than I was able to give her credit for as a child. I often say the things she said, buy the things she bought, and subscribe to the same theories. And, I don't only do them for the sake of being like her. I do them because it turns out that they really are the very best things for me. All the time I spent planning on how to be different is now the time I spend asking her questions about what to do so that I can find more ways to be like her. It turns out that hindsight is not the only thing that is 20/20, wisdom is as well.

Just Stop It

As I mentioned in a previous post, I'm not really big on New Year's resolutions. I see them as nice things to say and wonderful goals to set that will most likely be broken before reaching the end of March. However, I am still a huge advocate of the constant struggle to improve one's thinking, living, and loving. Having said that, I've compiled a list of things to STOP doing instead of the typical list of things to start doing at the onset of a new year. And, hey, why wait until January 1st? Post haste and get crackin' NOW. You'll thank me later. : )

• Stop ending all your sentences with, "Let's Go!" It's annoying, and frankly, anything that mimics Sean Combs is suspect for stupidity.
• Stop wearing leggings as pants. NO.
• Stop making sweeping generalizations about people, places, and things.
• Stop talking about what black folks don't do i.e. read, write, ski, swim, have ill-behaved children. Yes we do. Now get over it.
• Stop using Bossip and Media Takeout as your real news sources. A little CNN, HLN, Huffingtonpost, Daily Beast, or even local news never hurt (sometimes FOX News hurts, but that's a story for another day).
• Stop idolizing pimps and drug dealers as if they are upstanding pillars of society while ignoring the positive efforts of people who dedicate their lives to helping and improving the state of others such as educators, community volunteers, ministers, etc.
• Stop avoiding books that are about things other than pimps, hoes, hustlin', and screwin'. Broaden your scope of knowledge.
• Stop avoiding the use of a DICTIONARY when writing or typing anything meant for someone else to read.
• Stop disparaging those who choose to do and live better. Try jumping on that bandwagon yourself.
• Stop idolizing humans. We all blow it. Admiration Good. Obsession bad.
• Stop embarrassing those around you by behaving as if you have no class. If, in fact, you do not have any, shut your mouth and go sit down until it's over.
• Stop making excuses to avoid exercising. The is the only body you will have.
• Stop living your life according to the actions and opinions of celebrities. You don't even begin to fit in that category so don't even try to pretend.
• Stop telling yourself and others what can't be accomplished. Instead, focus on what CAN.
• STOP adding extra letters at the end of words. For example, nobody has EVER been "light-skinnedDED". EVER.

I firmly believe that the list contains goals to which we can all aspire if we are guilty of any of the infractions. I already know that this list will grow over the course of the next twelve months because we all have habits we need to quit. Let's try to start off the new year by simply stopping.

Out Of The Woods

Before I get started on my latest rant, I'd like to take a few moments to see if I can manage to care about the Tiger Woods situation......nope, still nothin'. This leads to the source of today's irritation; America's seeming fascination with the demise and humiliation of anyone who maintains a celebrity status.

Now, before anyone even has time to wonder or question me, I do not condone marital infidelity in any way. It is wrong and it is disrespectful to one's self, spouse, children, and those who are supportive loved ones. Having said that, I must also state how disgusting I find it to participate in, perpetuate, and pontificate endlessly on the Tiger Woods situation and any other celebrity situation to the point of obsession.

I'll be fair and say that I can see how one might find his drama interesting. However, once I found out that he was not greatly injured from his car accident, I no longer cared to know more. Unlike many, I've chosen to ignore the coverage. I opt to get my news from sources that realize how irrelevant Tiger's situation is to the world in general. I see headlines online and choose not to read them. I also cut people off when they try to strike up conversations with me about this man and his wayward body parts. And, it isn't all done because I feel high and mighty and possess the desire to rise above the fray. It's just because I don't care and can find little reason for anyone else to care. I don't see how it impacts my life or the lives of those around me. I don't see how it does anyone any good to know all of his personal life details, and frankly, I stay busy enough trying to make a dollar out of fifteen cents, watching political coverage to find out how my vote is and isn't working for me, praying for deployed soldiers and their families, and trying to figure out how to return to my "player weight" so that I have little to no time to worry about which tart of the month has been getting the golden golf club on the side.

In my efforts to pay no mind to the foolishness, I have found that people often back pedal and defend their own interest when I say I have none. I think people feel a little embarrassed that they care and have spent time reading articles and having discussions instead of tending to their own lives. I think many of us realize there is something off about our behaviors but we often choose to bury it in our minds while continuing to do the wrong thing. We know it's shameful, but can't seem to help ourselves.

I think the main reason we enjoy watching a good demise is because it makes us feel better about our own pathetic lives. Those who cheat can look at the scenario and talk about how they would never be caught in that situation because they are way to smart to be detected. They come up with alternate courses of action Tiger could have taken in order to avoid his drama because, of course, all of them are smarter than he is. Wives and girlfriends take the time to talk about how they would NEVER be in such a situation and how they are all wise enough to know when a man is cheating on them. They say things like, "How could she NOT have known? She's not very smart." They also like to talk about how much money it would cost for him to pay for his iniquities. In all of this conversation, few talk about the humiliation and disrespect for his wife and children.

Each time one of us reads a story online, engages in lengthy debates, repeats a stupid joke, or worse, makes a purchase of a ridiculous gossip rag so that we can find out more of this man's personal business, we are contributing to the embarrassment and disrespect of his family. And, if few of us seem to care about his wife, the least we could all do is have some consideration for his children. The most we could do is have some consideration for ourselves and the junk we opt to let in our brains.

While I'm not some elitist who feels as though only "heavy" subject matter is worth discussing, I do have to say that it perplexes and disturbs me that we spend so much time rejoicing when someone else blows it. Who of us hasn't screwed something up in some kind of way? I, for one, don't need to look at Tiger Woods in order to feel better about my own life. I have committed enough of my own transgressions and have experienced redemption enough times to know that my life is a work in progress and that my time should be spent enjoying it and honing it into a thing of great worth. Once you realize you have a life of your own, it's really easy to stop focusing on the lives of others. Let's all find something else to do.

Ode To Big Bloomers

Popular culture and alleged sex appeal say I should be ashamed, but let me boldly proclaim that I LOVE BIG PANTIES! Yes, I know that they aren't very sexy and they leave everything to the imagination with their comfy stretchable elastic waistbands, "pretty" colors like puke green and pumice stone gray, and their miles and miles of soft cottony goodness. While they may not be the most aesthetically pleasing garments, my bottom finds them simply irresistible.

When asked the question about his main turnoff, a friend of mine exclaimed, "White cotton panties!" I smiled to myself while reading his statement and shook my head at his hypocrisy. Men have the pleasure of walking around in comfy boxer briefs (the big bloomer's little brother), boxer shorts that allow maximum freedom, and briefs, which, while fitted, afford the wearer the pleasure of enjoying a somewhat relaxing fit. Women, on the other hand, get to choose between styles like french cut, which, for some of us, fails to provide enough coverage for any excess belly fat, bikini, which is cute but can sometimes roll under the spare tire, and the dreaded thong that can ride up and cause a girl to be concerned about her future as a mother. Men get underwear that covers and keeps them comfortable. Their comfort is kept in mind when their underwear is designed. On the other hand, women's underwear are made with men's desires in mind and I can't figure out for the life of me why being sexy has to be uncomfortable and at times, downright painful.

When I get out of the shower, lotion up, and proceed to get dressed, my first reflex is to grab the big drawers. I want the soft caress of cotton to envelope my skin. I love how the waistband rests ever so gently just beneath my bust line. And more than these things, I love how they manage to keep the yeast monster away. Simply put, big bloomers are a godsend. They aren't made to titillate or improve the sex life ten fold, but they are made to make mama happy. And, if mamas happy, EVERYBODYS happy, including daddy.

While I know it is an impossible task to sell men on the idea of big cotton panties being the new thong, I will continue to sell it to women who, in the solace of their own homes, would love to enjoy the soft and soothing feel of big bloomers on their behinds. It's the good stuff.

Hell On Wheels

I miss riding the light rail. On my way to work this morning, it wasn't long before I felt the usual tension and frustration of my morning commute. Everyone seemed to be trying to get somewhere at the same time. Cars were backed up for a quarter of a mile at a main light, and the usual slow-driving, looky-loos were out and about impeding the progress of those of us who needed to get to work and school. While this experience is nothing new, it still annoys me and causes me to arrive to work angry before any co-workers have the opportunity to get on my nerves first. I miss the days of working downtown and being able to take advantage of the park and ride. Sure, it did involve a few minutes of standing in the cold waiting for the train to arrive, but the train was always on time, I always had a seat, the heat always worked, and I arrived to work stress free.

Now, I arrive angry, at times, disheveled, and 15 miles worth of gas lighter in the wallet. Undoubtedly I will have cussed out loud or in my head three or four times, my brakes will have been tested greatly, and I will have used my horn at least once. I can't possibly see how these are excellent conditions in which to transition from the warmth of my apartment to the unpleasantness of the eight hours I must spend at work each day. Though the drive can be trying at best, there are some good parts to it.

Most mornings I listen to NPR on my way to work. It gives me a chance to hear news I may not get from other sources, the voices of the reporters are often soothing, and I feel enlightened and prepared to wow people at any hypothetical cocktail party I may attend. Occasionally, I hear a story that angers me changing my focus from traffic anger to social anger and action. And, there are even times I hear something that moves me to tears, softening the blow of the morning hustle.

There are also times my focus moves away from the radio and I spend time ranting in my head about how stupid the person is who thought it a good idea to put traffic lights at freeway entrances. I've yet to figure out how it is smart to have cars backed up onto the main road while waiting at a light to get onto a FREEWAY. I thought the purpose of getting on the freeway in the first place was to get to one's destination quicker while avoiding the inconvenience of traffic lights. I stand corrected. I then think about how counterproductive carpool lanes seem. Sure, they reward those who get to ride to work or school with a bunch of other people stuffed into the car with them, but more than that, carpool lanes seem to punish those of us who don't know two or three other people who live on the same street as us and need a ride to the exact same place. Some of us have standing commitments before or after work and don't have the luxury of schlepping about town with a carload full of folks. And because of this deficiency, the rest of us get to sit in three or four lanes of bumper to bumper whilst six cars full of dorks get to work on time. Perhaps the grump in me fails to see the logic here.

Most mornings, by the time I have honked, cussed, rewritten legislation with my active imagination, cried from a touching story, swerved, tested my brakes, and shaken my fists in the air at the insanity of it all, I arrive at work with teeth gritted and an incredibly unfriendly scowl on my face. Like recess and tater tot Tuesdays in elementary school, I miss the light rail. I miss its ugly blue seats covered in some synthetic material that scared me. I miss the mentally incapacitated who would speak to themselves aloud while funking up the entire train car. I miss the people who fancied themselves street performers even though their impromptu songs could cause bleeding of the ear. I miss the friends with whom I'd ride each day while exchanging stories about the lunacy that took place during the work day. I miss the thirty minutes of solace I experienced on the way to work and on the way home. Now, it's just me, NPR, and the driving idiots. Damn.

Ax The Ex

I try not to subscribe to too many absolutes when it comes to human relationships. I know we are all fallible and at times, vulnerable, so I at least try to make an effort to be forgiving and understanding. Mind you, I'm definitely not a pro at it. Most of the time, when I feel crossed, I'm quick to set a person on fire (at least in my mind) and end all contact. Some of the time, a few weeks apart helps me gain some perspective and the charred remains and I pick up where we left off. However, more times than not, once I set a person ablaze, that's all she wrote. For some reason, I haven't always been able to stick to my mantra of "what gets burnt up stays burnt up" when it comes to exes. Ex-husband notwithstanding, I can say that I have a decent rapport with anyone I've ever dated. I've never cheated on anyone or lied to anyone or just plain done anyone dirty so I can't think of too many reasons why an ex would refuse to talk to me. I have never been the perfect girlfriend, but I do try my hardest to be on the up and up. That said, I recently had an experience that opened my eyes to the idea that friendship with an ex is a terrible idea.

An ex who broke what was left of my heart a few years ago and I recently made contact. It mostly consisted of instant messages and infrequent emails. He apologized for his part in the demise of our relationship and as far as I was concerned at the time, I accepted that apology. He has since settled down with someone else and I got over any romantic feelings I had for him years ago. To me, it seemed like the ideal ex friendship. We were cool, but not too cool. We could enjoy good enough conversation without feeling weird or without my bygoned bitterness creeping in. Coasting through the world of mediocre chit chat felt great - at first. It was all ruined during a conversation in which I was fussing about something (who would I be without a good fuss?) and he inserted his unsolicited opinion about how he always felt I complained too much during the course of our relationship. For some reason, that set me off and caused me to rethink friendships with any blasts from the past.

My first thought was, "Who does he think he is"? I didn't ask for his thoughts on me when we were a couple, and I definitely didn't care. I mostly thought of talk of our relationship as off limits because it was far in the past, I certainly didn't want to rekindle it, and in our case, the cause of the demise was strictly based on his behavior. After my initial anger, I realized that an attempted friendship with him was stupid thinking on my part. Instead of tackling the tomfoolery, I let it tackle me. My level of anger and disgust let me know that his prior behavior lost him the right to be completely honest with me which is an expectation I have of my true friends. It never occurred to me to discuss what I thought were his shortcomings as a boyfriend because our relationship had long since been over and further discussion of it would only cause both of us grief and aggravation. This let me know that there were too many unspoken rules involved in an ex friendship. Unfortunately, I was the only one smart enough to think this way.

Now that I've decided being friends with an ex is stupid, for me at least, I think I'll just stick to the belief that as long as we can see each other on the street and offer a mutual smile and wave, we're good. I know that for some, being friends with an ex is a benefit they enjoy. They meet up at coffee shops, have long long talks over the phone, and sometimes meet each other's new "boos". I look at these people and think, "God bless 'em" because I know that I can never go back there again. Instead of making attempts to be friends with exes, I plan to simply work on being friends first and a girlfriend second with my future exes. From now on, all my exes will stay axed.

Who You Gonna Call?

Here at work it was that time of year to update our emergency contact information. I managed to read the email while rolling my eyes, a task I have mastered over my almost three years of working here. I couldn't remember what I'd put down last year so I thought it best to update my information to remain on the safe side of things. What happened when I opened the email attachment is something that I found more sobering than the strongest cup of coffee; I only had one true emergency contact.

Granted, I am social when I want to be. I have at least four really good friends who I can depend on in a pinch and I know that is more than many folks have. Outside of that small group, I was born and raised in the same town where I still live today so I almost always know a guy who knows a guy when it comes to meeting my basic needs like car repair or where to get a good turkey burger. I'm a member of rather large church and can scarcely go anywhere in town without seeing one other member. I've been a member of the same gym for about seven years. I've even taken to doing some volunteering which is opening me up to a whole new group of people. Regardless of all this interacting and networking, when it came time to fill out my emergency contact card, I had only one true contact and couldn't really think of a reasonable second. Despite my connections and old school friendships, I am still a 35 year old divorced woman with no children and four younger siblings, three of whom living in a different city, and one of whom is still a dependent and therefore not qualified to be anybody's emergency contact. Like many people I know, I am completely unfamiliar with my neighbors. I've been working the same job for a while but only like two people in a building of three hundred. I've been at the same church for almost twenty years but have only really connected with two or three people there. And, I've been a member of the same gym for about 7 years yet I've never had a workout buddy from there.

The implied aloneness really got to me. I couldn't really determine whether or not my lack of an alternate emergency contact was a side effect of circumstance or a result of my own anti-social or stand-offish behavior. Of all the local friends I could think of who would come through in a pinch, only one "sort of" fit the criteria I think would apply to being someone's emergency contact. All this time I'd been living under the guise that I had it good in that I had more than one friend. However, when it came to the possibility of something grave occurring, I had no idea who I could turn to other than my mother.

I considered past scenarios in my life. I'd cut off friends for being dishonest, for being unscrupulous, for having questionable morals, for not showing up when they said they'd show up, or worse, for simply hurting my feelings with the truth. Perhaps some of those in my friendship graveyard could have been my alternate emergency contact. Maybe the guy who wanted to make something work with me but couldn't get me to respond romantically to him was my contact. Or, perhaps it was one of the many who didn't want to date me romantically anymore but "still wanted to be friends" who was my alternate emergency contact. I questioned my ability to hang in there with other people who aren't perfect and to grant second chances like the ones I've been given in my mind while I silently cursed my mother for not having more children when I was a small so one of them could be my alternate emergency contact. However, none of that mattered in the moment.

It is my job to find and connect with those who could potentially be on my emergency card. I need to loosen up my extreme empectation and realize that sometimes I can't even meet them. Simply put; I need to get my panties of the bunch they've been in for a while now. I must exit hermit land, step out of my protective shell, and return to the place where I can connect with others for real relationships and perhaps, a place on my emergency card.

That's What's Up, Or Is It?

So, after months of consideration, I've decided to steal an idea from my seventh grade English teacher and ban the use of certain trite and overly used phrases. Based on one of my Facebook posts, a list has been compiled and is to be placed in the PHRASE GRAVEYARD. Let's see how long we can actually keep these things buried.

1. That's what's up. - People, PLEASE stop using this phrase. It sounds ridiculous and is especially so when used before a statement has been made. For example, "Good morning, Bob" to which Bob replies, "Yep, that's what's up". Um, what exactly is up? Nothing has even been said. Let's put an end to this one ASAP.
2. At the end of the day. - Oh my goodness, this one has gotten so much wear and tear in recent months. I cringe each time I hear it and secretly curse the likes of Frankie and Neffie (or, as I like to call them, Dummy and Other Dummy) for using it to death. And death is exactly the fate of this phrase. Let's add it to the pile of bones.
3. Woopty Woop/Blase' Blase'/Woo Woo- Um, these just sound dumb. Let's keep life simple and make a return to Blah Blah Blah. That was a good place.
4. It is what it it. - Of course it is, dummy. What else would it be other than what it is? Just stop it.
5. You know what I mean?/You know what I'm sayin'?/Feel me?/You know? - Perhaps if people would invest time in being articulate, there would be less need to constantly ask others if they know what the speaker means or if they feel him. We would all learn to "feel" others if they would first learn to communicate. Feel that.
6. Do the damn thing. - Let's just safely assume the damned thing has already been done thereby negating any need for us to further encourage it to be done. Let's just end the damn thing. Thanks.
7. When it's all said and done. - Whatever sentence follows this will already imply that the end of the scenario has or will happen soon. Trust me.
8. Holla! - It just doesn't make sense to use this word in a slang context. And why in the world would anyone holler out the word, "holler"? Seems like overkill to me.
9. No worries. - This seems to just be something people say as if it's supposed to fix everything. It fixes nothing at all. As a matter of fact, now the other person not only has to deal with the actual problem, but he/she now has to also deal with the pressure of having "no worries" regarding the matter. Thanks a lot.
10. I'm no rocket scientist but ____. - Um, first off, chances are the fact that you are not a rocket scientist is common knowledge so no need to continue to confirm that information. Secondly, why would there be any rational need to assume that a rocket scientist would have all the answers to the Universe's questions? If you've got a question about rocket science, he's your guy. If you have a question about baking the perfect pound cake, a rocket scientist would probably not be the right person to ask. However, who am I to say this? I mean, I'm no rocket scientist...

GET OUT OF MY HAIR

I have to admit that I’m very excited about the release of Chris Rock’s docu-comedy, Good Hair. At first glance, and I think I may be right, I assume that the film is about women’s obsession with the appearance, texture, color, and sex appeal of our hair with a particular focus on black women. I’ve also assumed that by the title, he would be tackling the concept in the black community of “good hair” only being that hair which is of the same texture and quality of white women. I think he is going to touch on dispelling the myth that the only way for a black woman to be beautiful is by straightening, weaving, or “wigging” her hair in order to hide any hideous kinks that may lurk beneath the lie of it all. Hopefully, I will find that I’m correct when I go to see the movie. And, while I am very excited about Chris Rock, I’m kinda angry with Oprah (what else if new).

Chris was a guest on the Oprah show last week. Against my usual routine, I DVR’d the show so I could hear what he had to say. During the course of the interview, Oprah told Chris she felt that viewing the movie helped to create open dialogue between herself and her white employees with regards to women's hair and the secrets that seem to surround it. She said that many of the Harpo employees were suddenly asking her which of her previous hairstyles had been weaves, wigs, or (gasp) her own hair. She seemed excited about the fact that now they could all sit around and air their dirty hair laundry thanks to Good Hair. Well, I beg to differ. While I absolutely love the idea of this movie and wholly hope that the audiences will be multi-racial, I do not want it to be some cinematic invitation for more random people to start walking up to me and asking me questions about my hair. I’ve always found it annoying and it has often made me feel like an animal in a zoo or a rare piece of art on display in a museum. And, while it’s nice to have others appreciate what beauty and mystery they feel I may possess, I prefer to keep things just that; a mystery.

Regardless of what may be in that movie, I do not feel like having sudden discussions about what kind of products I use or whether or not I wear wigs or where I buy my hair. I don’t want to discuss how my hair went from medium length to shoulder length in a twelve hour span of time. I don’t want to talk about what I use to color my hair. And, I definitely don’t want to talk about how often I wash my hair. I am not a novelty. I am a human being. Though I’ve been locking for a little over a year now, I’ve still kept my affinity for wigs. Each time I’ve worn one, I've gotten a million and one questions about whether or not that’s my real hair or how many hours did I spend “getting it like that” or I get the other annoying statements like, “You know, my granddaughter is bi-racial and she also likes to wear braids.” Ugh. It disgusts me to no end. After being cornered and questioned at the break room sink, I recently told a white co-worker that I was wearing a wig. When I wore that particular wig a few days later, she exclaims in her unreasonably shrill voice, “I LOVE THAT WIG!!!” all while winking at me. Now, I’ve never tried to pass anything other than what I grew myself as my real hair. However, I also don’t arrive at work with a sign attached to my shirt that informs everyone of the synthetic item attached to my scalp. When I thought about it, I realized that it wasn’t the fact that she loudly outted me as a wig wearer that pissed me off the most. It was the fact that it pleased her to know that I, and many other black women she knows, wear wigs. It was as if she felt she had one up on us. She wasn’t operating from a place of interest and desire to connect. She was coming from a place of sheer nosiness with a touch of “hate”.

I’m hoping that when people see this movie, they will no longer feel the need to ask a bunch of stupid questions about me and my hair. I’m hoping they will see enough to quench their curiosity and inform them that some questions just don’t need to be asked.

Say What?

I love grammar. I have since I was a little girl. English was always a subject for which I had passion and I excelled in it. I know everyone doesn't share my love for English spoken and written well, but at the very least, we can make an effort to follow the rules before we write something or allow something to come out of our mouths. Realizing that human error in the form of typos happen, I'm really thinking outside of what spellcheck may be able to catch. There are times a word is spelled correctly but used in the wrong context. There are also times when common phrases are regularly misstated and accepted anyway because people have been saying them wrong for so long. Repeating the wrong thing multiple times has never made it transform into the right thing. Wrong spans time and space. Having said that, I'd like to go ahead and list some of the misused, misspelled, or misstated words and phrases that get my dander up:

• The thing I am typing this blog entry on is called at LAPtop. It is not a LABtop. I would imagine if there were a labtop, it would be the counter on which one would sit a Bunsen burner and a couple of flasks. However, the thing we actually sit on our laps and use for various purposes is called a LAPtop for the most obvious reason.




• You're vs. your - Um, I really feel this is something that should have been covered and understood sometime during the elementary school years. You're is short for YOU ARE while your implies possession such as, "Is this YOUR laptop?" to which one could reply, "No, it isn't mine. YOU'RE mistaken." I know it may seem minute, but using these improperly can cause some real problems for the reader.




• They vs. Their - It is NEVER okay to say, "They just took they stuff and left." It is not, and never will be, "THEY STUFF". It is their stuff. They simply identifies a group of two or more people. Their is possessive and implies to whom the stuff belongs. And as a side note, THERE is a place and is not to be confused with THEIR.




• Library vs. Liberry -The place we sometimes visit with all the wonderful books, cds, and dvds we can check out as long as we have our handy dandy membership card is called a LIBRARY and not a LIBERRY. A library employs the nice lady or man who constantly admonish us to be silent. I don't know what the hell a liberry is, but if I were to take a guess, I'd say it's something that goes between two layers of crust, is baked, and then served with ice cream.




• Ask vs. Axe - When one would like to make an inquiry, one would simply ASK someone for the answer. We do not AX questions as this sounds as if we are lumberjacks out in the Inquiry Woods chopping down questions. This is more than likely something that can happen on Sesame Street but I doubt it would play out in the real world.

• Could vs. Couldn't - When something is so unimportant that one has absolutely no desire to invest any interest in it, it is safe to say that one "COULDN'T care less.". The phrase is not, "I could care less" as this implies that one actually cares. To say one couldn't care less firmly states that one cares so little it is impossible to have any less concern. I hate it when people say this phrase wrong. It's even in a song which annoys me. I mean, to actually write down and record something so off base simply baffles me. If people actually took some time to think about what they are saying, they'd realize how crazy they sound.

• Know vs. No - To know something implies that one has some type of knowledge of a person, place, or thing. "Yes, I KNOW Tom well. He and I went to college together." On the other hand, NO is a negative response to an inquiry as in, "NO, I've never met Tom."

• Rottweiler vs. Rockwilder - Um, I understand that some people feel comfortable saying the wrong thing after saying it for so long but this has to stop. Seriously. If one is to own a pet, it is incredibly important for that person to know how to spell and/or pronounce the name of that pet. That big old dog in the backyard probably chained to a tree is a ROTTWEILER not a ROCKWILDER. There is no dog called a Rockwilder. While I'm at it with the dogs, one can own a Pit Bull but it is highly unlikely that one, especially a city dweller, would own a Pet Bull. One of these is a species of dog while the other is a huge beast with horns and is not exactly a garden variety pet. If, however, anyone reading this is the happy owner of a pet bull and resides in the city, please let me know so I can avoid happy hour in your home.

I totally understand that everyone doesn't feel the same way about language that I do. To some, language is relaxed and open to interpretation. For me, I believe the occasional slang word is okay to insert in a conversation providing the person using the slang knows it is grammatically incorrect. However, there is a difference between use of slang and use of words completely out of context or use of words that simply do not exist. I believe that once we know the difference, our conversations will be taken to a different level and I don't see a thing wrong with that.

Selective Redemption

I haven't had much to say about the whole Mike Vick debacle. Initially I felt that he was definitely guilty of wrongdoing and broke the laws of his state therefore warranting punishment of some sort. However, I really was annoyed that so much was made out of the incident considering professional athletes and celebrities who have shot, killed, beaten, and run HUMANS over with cars. And while I believe that animals should not be subject to cruel treatment at the hands of humans, I also do not hold their lives in the same esteem as that of people. That said, Vick received the punishment the courts assigned him, served his time, and is now trying to go back to some semblance of normalcy which brings me to my rant. I'm very tired of the media and special interest groups trying to analyze this man's every move, word, eye blink, and hand gesture in an attempt to determine if he is really remorseful.

I don't know Mike Vick and probably never will but I feel comfortable in assuming that any reasonable person who commits a crime or facilitates a situation so that others can commit crimes is convicted and serves prison time causing him to lose MILLIONS of dollars, public standing, his reputation, residency in his own home, contact with his very young child, and the respect of many of his peers, he would be be pretty darn sorry about it. As I see it, he lost far more than the world lost when all of those dogs were mutilated, electrocuted, drowned, and beaten. But in all this, what I really wonder is why folks are so up in arms about this man and his bad acts yet people like Andrea Yates can drown all five of her children and garnish sympathy from civil rights groups for women and a mental health watchdog group formed by the Church of Scientology. It was implied that it should be understandable for her to drown her children because she was sick and sad. However, had she killed five dogs instead of five children, that apparently would have been unacceptable. Former Washington D.C. mayor, Marion Barry, was caught on tape smoking crack cocaine, an offense for which he was sentenced to six months in prison, and he also plead guilty to misdemeanor charges stemming from not paying taxes. In spite of all of this, voters still loved him and he was eventually elected to a second term as mayor.

Don't get me wrong, I believe Marion Barry deserved a second chance, though he would not have had my vote. I mean, isn't America the home of second chances? I would think a country formed by folks who needed a new life and a second chance would be sympathetic toward the redemption concept. Barry served his time and made whatever changes were necessary in order for him to get back to his initial standing and now, Michael Vick is doing the same. People advocated for Barry and Yates which causes me to wonder why few seem to be doing the same type of advocating for Mike Vick. The only conclusion I seem to be able to draw is that murder and a mayor crack smoking in a seedy hotel are alright and much less offensive than killing and torturing dogs.

I resent the idea that any of us can judge whether or not another feels remorse. Does everyone have to cry, beg, or engage in some sackcloth and ash action in order to satisfy the public's need to see the humiliation of others? Since none of us know straight away the intentions of others, I think it best we collectively shut up and watch the game.

Get Married Already

During one of my many internet dating experiences, I was approached by a man whose profile stated that he was thirty years old and had four kids. He proudly stated that all four were with the same woman but his marital status showed as “never married”. The old-fashioned part of me kicked in and had me wondering how he had the nerve to be bragging about having four children with a woman he didn’t think enough of to marry. Logically, I know that marriage isn’t everything. Contrary to the belief of some, it does not cure all and it is not the answer to all romantic or family queries. However, this guy’s situation, along with all the other scenarios I see around me, cause me to wonder what people have against marrying one another before making a bunch of babies.

I’ve never been one to believe that a man and a woman should marry just because of a pregnancy. If anything, it can make matters worse if those two people are not ready for such a commitment or if the sole basis of the marriage is the impending birth of their child. I don’t think it’s of any benefit to the child to have two parents in the home who don’t like or love one another much. And while I love the idea of the two parent household, I think it’s better that a child see parents with integrity and dedication to parenting that child in the best way possible while living separately than it is for him to see two miserable people in possession of a marriage license. That isn’t to say that I think marriage is a miserable institution, but it certainly can be when the wrong people marry one another.

Having said all that, I still wonder what people who are supposedly in love and involved in a love relationship have against getting married prior to starting a family or why others have baby after baby and then decide to break up without having ever tried their hand at marriage. I’ve heard various explanations from people I know ranging from, “I always knew she wasn’t the one for me (2 babies later)” to “I’m not ready to do all of that so I’ll just stay engaged for a while”. How is one ready to have a baby with his/her lover but not ready to marry that person? How can one even think about procreating with someone she will have to spend a lifetime co-parenting with and not have any thoughts on marrying this man? How does one have multiple babies with someone all the while knowing that he or she is not a romantic match? Doesn’t anyone take marriage or their children into consideration anymore?

Understanding that we live in a society of free-minded, non-judgmental, liberal individuals whose life choices are not always the same as mine, I wonder why we have come to view marriage as a form of imprisonment instead of an affirmation of the love and commitment that we freely give to another person. I don’t believe marriage is a trap unless one is married to the wrong person. And if one doesn’t think his/her partner is marriage material, then what is the point of making babies with that person? I guess I just can’t see the logic in having children with someone I don’t want to marry (foolish indiscretions resulting in a surprise pregnancy aside).

As I spend time trying to understand this new phenomenon, I will gleefully remain un-pregnant, unmarried, and unwilling to change the former without the latter.

Stop Or I'll Shoot

Now, I've heard the saying about stupid people bringing knives to gun fights but I have never heard of bringing semi-automatic weaponry to a health care debate. Unfortunately, the new trend seems to be attempting to threaten the President of The United States of America during his push for universal health care by bringing gigantic guns to his town hall meetings. While watching the news yesterday, I saw an idiot wearing a shirt and tie with a large gun on his shoulder and a smaller one on his hip. He chose not to identify himself to the media although he thought he was badass enough to show up to a discussion about health care with two guns attached to his body (can you say, "punk"?). His words were:

"I'm absolutely, totally against health care, health care in this way, in this manner," he said. "Stealing it from people, I don't think that's appropriate."

Um, that's all well and good but no part of him thought it was inappropriate to show up at a Presidential town hall meeting brandishing two weapons? Perhaps it would make more sense to my inner hillbilly if I could see a connection between health care and the right to bear arms. But, try as I might, my little brain just can't marry these two concepts. The only thing I see are people threatening the President in a not so subtle way all under the cloak of the second amendment. I know everything isn't racial, but many things are and I can't help but think that had I shown up at a G.W. Bush health care town hall meeting with a gun strapped to my little brown leg, I would have been tackled, beaten up, and spat upon even with an NRA card, registration card, and a note from my momma. So, I suppose what I'm really wondering is, why the life and safety of President Obama seems to be of less importance than the life, health, and welfare of all previous U.S. presidents. I think I already know the answer to that which is ultimately what has me shaking my head.

Jimmy CHOOsy Lover

To say I love shoes would be a gross understatement. There's something about the way they smell when I open the box and remove them at the shoe store. And, obviously, there is something about the way they feel on my foot. More than that, there is something about the way they make me feel. I don't just limit myself to one type of shoe. While I love stilettos the most, I also love a cute flat and an old school pair of shelltoes. There are so many choices; ankle straps, t-straps, Mary Janes, ankle boots, knee boots, pumps, round toes, square toes, pointy toes...you get my point. But regardless of the variety of shoes I love, some things remain consistent in my choices; they have to be a good fit, they can't hurt my foot, and they have to be good quality. These rules apply whether I'm wearing a four inch stiletto or a platinum colored flat. Yeah, the shoes are very different in appearance, but they still serve the same purpose; to make me look and feel good.

When I'm in a shoe store with no real purpose in mind, I often look until a pair speaks to me. They sit on the display rack and the mere sight of them conjures up a vision of me wearing them with an outfit just as fabulous as the shoes. They are made to work in concert in order to help me achieve my best look. I stare, I contemplate, I check to see if the store has my size, I try on the shoes, I walk around in them, and finally, I purchase them provided they pass all the tests. So, it's quite obvious that I'm very choosy about my shoe game and because I love shoes so much, I take the time required to make the right choice.

In thinking about how I feel when it comes to my shoes, I wonder why it is people like me put more effort into buying the things we love than we do into choosing the people we love. I like variety in men just like I do in my shoes. Some have been tall, some of average height. Some men have athletic builds while some may have a few extra pounds or are just plain skinny. Complexions have ranged from the fairest to the smoothest of dark chocolates (my absolute favorite). However, regardless of the difference in physical appearances, my expectations of those I date are no different than what I expect from a pair of shoes. He has to be a good fit, he can't hurt me, and he has to be of the highest quality.

In my conversations with women of the previous generation, I'm told that in my older age my list of preferences will grow shorter as my level of loneliness increases. I'm told that I'll stop my desire to have a man with wit and good humour and instead settle for the things on my short list like a job and all of his own teeth. And, when I look at the choices some of those women have made, I am convinced that this theory is clearly true for some. However, in the interest of raging against the machine, I don't believe it has to be this way. It makes absolutely no sense for me to ever take more care as to what I put on my foot than I do as to who I put in my heart. If a pair doesn't work and doesn't meet the requirements, they stay in the store. The fact that they are a nice color and marked down by 75% doesn't change a thing. Simply being cheap isn't reason enough to lower my expectations. It's not that way with shoes and it sure as hell shouldn't be that way with love. It is my fervent belief that we completely short change ourselves of our true happiness by assuming our age means we have to settle for the most basic needs that feed our bellies but don't satisfy our hearts. Sure, a working man is definitely a good thing just like a pair of Payless Shoe Source specials can serve to cover the foot. But when it really comes down to it, we should want Jimmy Choo in a mate, not just a pair of two dollar flip flops from Wal Mart. Sure, they can come through for you in an absolute fashion crunch, but they are usually only good for one wear before they start to fall apart and give you corns.

I know that people think I'm unreasonable to insist that we hold on to our standards regardless of the passing of time and the graying of our hair, but I believe wholeheartedly that if a man is the right one at age twenty but I don't meet him until age forty, he's still the right one for me. While I can't speak for anyone else, I refuse to settle for anything less than the absolute perfect pair.

Killer P*ssy

I tried to wait for a respectable amount of time to pass before speaking on this, and now I feel I've held my tongue long enough. Let me first say, I think it is sad and tragic that Steve McNair was murdered. I always think it unfair and evil for one person to decide that another need not live any longer. Who are any of us to decide someone should die over anything other than a case of self-defense? Regardless of the circumstances in her life, Sahel Kazemi had no right to decide that Steve McNair should die. It was not within her authority to take him away from his loved ones just because of her raging insecurities and personal financial issues. NOW, having said that, I would be remiss if I didn't speak on what I consider to be his part in all of this.

Unlike those who I consider to be mean and hateful, I don't think Steve McNair "got what he deserved". I find it entirely too cruel to say a thing like that about someone who was brutally murdered. I do, however, think that Steve fell prey to the fallout from his bad choices. He certainly wasn't the first man or woman to make a choice in a love interest that was way less than savory. I've dated cheaters, liars, those who were criminal-minded, some who were just shiftless, and even a few who had the potential to raise a hand and slap me with it. It is no more than the grace of God that kept me from being injured or financially impacted for a lifetime. And now, as I grow older, it is the wisdom God gave me that keeps me from returning to those same pitfalls. Like my mama always told me, "When you know better, you've got to do better". Sure, I could still be dating Mr. Married And Unavailable or Mr. Good Lovin' With No Job but why would I? My life experiences have taught me that neither one of those men are any good for me and that my life can in no way be enriched by dating those clowns. My self-respect, safety, and personal growth have become too valuable to me to be wasted on a man who is wack instead of wonderful. Unfortunately we all have moments when we forget ourselves. We come down with a temporary case of relationship amnesia and revert to old ways and old choices. Mr. Raggedy or Miss. Good For One Thing Only start to look good to us again. I find that this usually happens when we are depressed and feeling insecure about ourselves. There are few things that better provide us with a shallow sense of security than getting involved with someone who needs us because he is doing far worse than we are. We can throw a bone to a sorry woman and watch how it changes her life while patting ourselves on the back. It feels like a win win until the consequences start to surface.

I don't know Steve McNair's personal situation. I don't know exactly what was happening between he and his wife and I don't know what personal issues he may have been experiencing as a result of his retirement from the only career he knew. I won't even pretend to understand his plight. However, what I do understand is that he made a choice. While he probably never thought the woman he'd been wooing would murder him, he probably did know that she was wack. I mean, how often do we date someone and not know? There are always signs along the way that we choose to ignore, usually for our own selfish purposes. We suck it up for good looks, amazing sex, financial gain, or ego stroking. The downside is that these benefits are only temporary and none of those things are made to cure the very real problems we have before entering into an unhealthy relationship. For these choices, there are always consequences. The bad thing is that for Steve, the result of his choice was the loss of his life and that, to me, is the worst price to have to pay for a foolish decision.

I believe the true lesson for the living is to really consider the cost before we decide who to let into our lives. Is that sorry man or woman really the answer to our depression problem? Is a sugar daddy really who I need to date in order to get over my work furlough hump? Though I know it is easier said than done, it is a really good idea to think about what one would really be giving up for short lived pleasures. Usually one will find that it's definitely not worth it. The aftermath almost always outweighs the benefits and that's the kind of economics no man or woman can afford.

Word Up

Over the years I've heard more than my share of people misusing words in general and terms dealing with race, hate, and discrimination specifically. Considering what we may be facing for the next four years, I just thought it would be helpful to clarify the meanings of words that will undoubtedly be coming up quite a bit in the near future. This way, we can all be well informed and educated when it comes to how we choose to hate! Seriously, it helps to know what we're talking about prior to opening our mouths. Believe me, life is much simpler that way. So, here are some words to learn:

• 
  
  Racism - 1. a belief or doctrine that inherent differences among the various human races determine cultural or individual achievement, usually involving the idea that one's own race is superior and has the right to rule others.
  2.a policy, system of government, etc., based upon or fostering such a doctrine; discrimination.
  3.hatred or intolerance of another race or other races.
  

I know it may not be popular to say so, but by the dictionary definitions I've found, racism is not specific to any one race of people and is not required to involve the ability to oppress other races unlike one's own. So, sorry black folks, but you too can be a winner! It's time to stop thinking that black folks aren't racist just because we don't have the same resources and pull to keep another race down. The fact that one believes his or her race is superior to one or all other races is enough to make one a card carrying member of the Racist Club. We cannot use color to preclude ourselves from membership. Shocking as it is, 'tis the truth y'all. Deal with it.

• 
  
  Discrimination - 1. The act of discriminating.
  2. The ability or power to see or make fine distinctions; discernment.
  3. Treatment or consideration based on class or category rather than individual merit; partiality or prejudice: racial discrimination; discrimination against foreigners.

So this is when one thinks about something or someone or even a "group of someones" and makes a decision in support of or against based on certain characteristics. Discrimination is why I won't date the dude with the Bill Cosby sweater and windbreaker pants. I take one look at him and despite his possible charm, wit, and baby-makin' practice abilities, I refuse to give him a chance because his clothing game is not up to par in my book. Now, to be quite honest, discrimination is not always a bad thing. It's discrimination that saves me from dating someone else's husband, walking in dark alleys by myself in the middle of the night, or from investing in General Motors. Unfortunately, it is also discrimination that may keep me from getting certain jobs or from being able to rent certain apartments or borrow money from certain institutions. The fact that we discriminate at all is not a problem. As a matter of fact, it is a tenet of survival. However, the fact that we discriminate based on age, race, gender, weight, and a whole host of other physical attributes with regard to places to live, schools to attend, and businesses to work is where the problem seems to reside.

• 
  
  Bigotry - 1. stubborn and complete intolerance of any creed, belief, or opinion that differs from one's own.
  2. the actions, beliefs, prejudices, etc., of a bigot. a. bigot- a person who is utterly intolerant of any differing creed, belief, or opinion.

Alright, to put this in some of the simplest terms I can think of, a bigot is like Kathy Bates as Bobby Boucher's mother in the Waterboy. She filled Bobby's head up with all matter of tomfoolery, hogwash, ballywho, and gobbledegook and taught him to be distrustful, resentful, and argumentative with anyone who told him differently. Football was the devil, girls were the devil, and any professor who tried to tell him something different about the anatomy of the brain was the devil. Bobby's poor country mama was a big fat bigot. Archie Bunker was also a bigot (and my favorite one I might add). He didn't like anything or anyone that thought, acted, or looked differently than he did. A bigot has absolutely no room in his or her heart for acceptance, tolerance, or any of the other "be kind to one another" tactics some of us may have been taught.

• 
  
  Prejudice - 1. an unfavorable opinion or feeling formed beforehand or without knowledge, thought, or reason.
  2. any preconceived opinion or feeling, either favorable or unfavorable.
  3. unreasonable feelings, opinions, or attitudes, esp. of a hostile nature, regarding a racial, religious, or national group.
  4. such attitudes considered collectively: The war against prejudice is never-ending.
  5. damage or injury; detriment: a law that operated to the prejudice of the majority.

When I was in elementary school, I learned to simply define prejudice as pre-judging someone or something. Many times we are not comfortable with a group of people or certain types of situations due to previous information we have received whether it be from the news, word of mouth, or firsthand experience. What I find to be true is that a lot of prejudice is based on stereotypes of someone or something. If we have been told by several people we know and trust that all people with brown hair are cannibals, we are prone to believe it and have an unhealthy fear or dislike for our brown-haired friends assuming that at any time, he may kills us, cut us, up, cook us, and finally, eat us. It's prejudice that makes us assume all Asian people are good at math or that all blondes are idiots. Of course it is completely unfair to make such a broad sweeping generalization given that none of us know all Asians or all blondes. Yet we still judge people in advance based on what we've heard from others or what our past experiences have been.

Now, all of these characteristics can be abominations on their own but together, they can serve to make the lives of others a living hell. These traits cause wars, deaths, collapses of businesses, destruction of families, and the tearing down of nations. And, while they are completely awful, they all are different from one another and warrant understanding a little better. With the "change" that we have experienced in America due to the last Presidential elections, the realist in me expects to see many of the qualitites increase or simply show up more often in some of our citizens. I figure if we can recognize it, perhaps we can work to counteract it. Hopefully we'll be fit for the fight.

So Why Are You Single?

Since I’ve been trying my hand at internet dating and even before that, men I meet always seem to ask the same ridiculous question; “So, why are you single?” Every time it’s asked, I take a deep breath and try to calm myself while removing all remnants of stank from my tone before responding. It’s just a question that makes me feel so frustrated.

First off, doesn’t the fact that I’m an active member of an internet dating site imply that I’m A) open to dating and B) single (more than likely)? Furthermore, aren’t those men on there so they can meet a single woman and perhaps make some kind of romantic connection? All these things lead to me think that a man should be saying something like, “I’m glad you’re single right now so I can have the chance to get to know you…” Well, maybe nothing quite that corny but you get my point. It is pretty annoying to have a potential suitor sigh, then ask in a disapproving tone why the woman he is looking to pursue hasn’t already been caught by some other guy. I mean, where is the logic?

Second, being single is not comparable to having some incurable disease. For those who aren’t surprised when they find out I’m single, there are those who seem disgusted that I am single and content to be so. They ask the question with their faces scrunched up and in that tone that says, “What’s wrong with you? Don’t you want to meet somebody?” While meeting “the one” is a very appealing idea, I have to say that I am quite content in my current state (insert shock here). I like myself. I like my life. I love all the good friends I have and the little bit of a social life I enjoy. I work, I go to school, I engage in some fun every now and then. Hell, I can think of a whole lot worse ways to live so why is it that men sometimes ask the “Why are you single” question as if I’ve caught something terminal? Since when did singleness become a disease? I don’t wake up in the morning, turn over realizing there is nobody next to me and suddenly begin to weep. And though this may be surprising, I don’t cry myself to sleep at night due to the realization there isn’t a man who will be joining me. Truth be told, I sleep quite well and probably best when I’m sleeping alone. Perhaps it’s a symptomof the single person’s disease I’ve contracted. Please don’t get me wrong, I’m actively dating for a reason. I’m hoping for the same connection that many others want. I love love. I think it’s wonderful when two people connect in a real way and really enjoy one another’s presence. I love to be able to sit in silence with someone without feeling awkward or out of place. It’s that comfortability factor that appeals to me. However, even without that, my life feels full and the fact that I’m hoping this man will eventually find me doesn’t prevent me from living my life to the fullest. I’m not waiting for this guy so I can begin to live. I’m waiting for him so we can put our two lives together and make something even more special than what we already have. To the untrained eye, this seems like crazy talk but trust me; all single people are not that way because they caught Singleitis.

So, while I know men won’t stop asking me this stupid question, I continue to dream of the day when it will be stricken from all pre-dating conversation. Until then I’ll continue to swallow the stank and answer with my usual, “I’m single because I’m not taken”. I figure that answer makes as much sense as the question.

Face/Space...It's All The Same To Me

I first learned of Facebook about a year and a half ago and was definitely not excited about it. It had already taken me long enough to get a My Space page and I was enjoying it just fine. No part of me felt the need to reach out and contact a lot of people from my past. I hated high school and have comfortably resolved that the three or four folks I'm still in contact with from that period in my life are all I need. Something about the premise of Facebook sounded so snooty that I was determined to never have a profile there. I didn't want to get sucked into Stuck Up Land. Unfortunately, I recently caved in to peer pressure. I received several email invitations, stern talking to's, and numerous promises that I would love Facebook because it's so much more "grown up" than My Space. Well, I have to say that so far, I don't see any major differences and I certainly don't feel as though I've matured beyond my years by merely having a Facebook page. If Facebook is supposed to be the new "grown up", then I must still be about 16 years old in cyber years.

Perhaps shortsightedness is interfering with my ability to see the unique opportunity I'm supposed to be experiencing with Facebook but I can't help but notice the obvious similarities. I've got friends, I can make friends with their friends should I desire, I can change my message multiple times per day, people can make comments or send me messages...so what's so grown up about that? I've gotten into a pillow fight, been sent numerous alcoholic beverages, been the recipient of a ghetto survival kit, and grooved to an old school hip hop song or two. Yeah, now that I have a concussion from the pillow fight, alcohol poisoning from the free drinks, an abusive relationship with the thug who came with my ghetto survival kit, and a twisted ankle from trying to do the Roger Rabbit, I feel incredibly adult. And, sure, I know that I'm being a bit dramatic about my Facebook experience but I'm merely trying to make the point that so far it hasn't made me feel like any more of a woman than I've always been. And, I have to say that contrary to the new popular school of thought, I still happen to like My Space.

I don't know half the people who are my friends on My Space but that's one of the things I kind of like about it. I have come across some amazing music and underground artists of all kinds. I met a makeup artist who is a really cool person. I've found out about different types of events at home and in surrounding areas. I've downloaded really good free music and found out about concert dates. I've found old friends who I really didn't mind seeing again and I did it all without arrogance, pretense, or pressure. I even found a way to connect with my estranged siblings. I have to say that My Space has been good to me and never once did I feel like I wasn't acting my age. After all, a website can't make me immature. I think that's a behavioral choice I'd have to make myself. Besides, I really think people tell themselves it's more mature to be on Facebook in order to feel better about being a member of an online social site while I can't imagine feeling funny about it at all. Next thing you know, it will all come full circle and purchasing personalized stationary, fine quality pens, and a book of stamps will be the new "mature" way to connect with others. I can't imagine what else could be next especially once all the younguns start fully invading Facebook.

In the meantime, I'll be keeping both pages. I'll enjoy my music downloads and show information on My Space and my pillow fights and drinks on Facebook. After all, it's all about the same to me.

Self Help or Help Your Damn Self?

First it was The Rules, followed by He's Just Not That Into You, followed by The Re-Education Of The Female, and now it's Act Like A Lady, Think Like A Man. I can hardly keep myself from coming unglued every time I see a new relationship book on the shelves which, interestingly enough, always seem to be aimed at women. I suppose it's mostly because we are stupid enough to run out and spend our last twenty on them while men couldn't care less what the hell we're thinking (Remember that movie, What Women Think? Well it wasn't men who went to see it.). Unfortunately, to me, all of these books not only have the fact that they are aimed at women in common, they also seem to have certain qualities that bring out the worst in the female gender.

I've yet to meet a woman who read one of these types of books without suffering from feelings of worthlessness, a lack of desirability, and a doubt in herself regarding all the qualities she possesses that make her great. Instead of turning into a well-informed, objective minded, "man savvy" woman, she becomes a desperate, game-playing, subservient, wuss who spends all her time clinging to the book's rules out of her insecurity and fear that she may lose her ultimate prize; some guy.

Now, please don't get me wrong; I fully support ALL adults seeking objective and varying opinions regarding life and love in the romantic arena. While I'm not one who is interested in reading any of the above listed books, I do believe certain publications can be helpful as can be the opinions of male friends and family members or even advice from one's clergy or therapist. However, I feel the real problem is that some women are so desperate to be loved by a man that they will listen to any yahoo with a publisher. I mean, just because a self-help book makes it to the shelves, it doesn't mean that the advice is good. When did women start running out of common sense and running into the relationship self-help section of Borders so that some guy who probably hasn't had one healthy relationship his damn self can tell them where they are going wrong? And how is it that the onus of all things romantic rests solely on the shoulders of the woman? All these books advise women to do so many things contradictory to common sense that it's no wonder the ones who rush to read them are either still by themselves and thoroughly confused as to why or in a relationship in which she's merely playing a role based upon what she read while fearing the day her facade cracks and she breaks one of "the rules" or slips into her old self after being "re-educated". After reading everything that goes against who she is, she can't tell shit from shinola or mutual interest from "he's just not that into her".

And, yes, I know full well that some women are not fit for relationships. I know we can be snide, non supportive, ball breaking, shrill individuals at times. I get that and continue to work on my own imperfections where romance is concerned. In addition to working on those, I also continue to remember everything about me that is amazing. I remember all the things that make me a great catch. I remember my ability to listen well, my desire to go the extra mile for those I love, my witty sense of humor, my fashion sense, my pragmatic approach to problems, my excellent conversational skills, my nice smooth legs, my ability to soothe, my pretty God-given cocoa skin, and the fact that I can take care of business when needed. I wish I thought about the good qualities I possess more often. Hell, I wish all women would take their positive attributes into consideration more often. The more time we spend focused on our positive personality traits instead of just what we perceive to be our flaws and the more time we spend trying to put our best AND real selves forward instead of playing the games taught to us in books, the more we will start to understand that we are truly the treasure that real men seek. Just to clarify, I'm not releasing women of all the crap we do that makes it hard for a man who wants to love us stick around but I am saying that we need to spend time thinking about what's right about us just as we spend time thinking about what's "wrong" about us.

The fact that we seem to be the only ones snatching these books off the shelves and feverishly scrambling towards the counter to purchase them tells me that we seem to be the only ones responsible for the demise of any and all relationships. According to these books, if a relationship ends it's because the woman was too fat, didn't cook enough, didn't clean enough, didn't give the proper blow job, or didn't wear slutty enough clothes around the house while engaging in the aforementioned chores. She called on day two instead of day three. She accepted the first date offer instead of playing games and pretending she had an overly booked social calendar or maybe she changed a light bulb herself without offering her man an opportunity to do so (clutch chest and gasp here). While I'm sure that all of these things may make certain men feel good about themselves and their "manliness", I don't think these actions are the answer to keeping all women in a relationship. Besides, if a woman doesn't embody these things, she'd only hurt herself by pretending to just for the sake of being with a man. I guess I'm just from the logical school of thought focused on the believe that whoever is for me will appreciate the way I look, the way I think, what I do or don't cook, and the clothes that I wear. Besides, how confident, self-assured, and intelligent is a man really if he needs a woman to do any and everything to keep him all out of fear of him leaving her? He doesn't sound like a very good find to me.

I suppose in essence, I just wish that women would stop always looking to some random author of some random relationship book to help them and instead spend some time helping their damn selves. Spend some time in self-reflection. We should spend some time turning over past relationships in our minds and the cause of their demise. Women should start thinking about what it is they believe makes them the beautiful beings that they are and stop looking to some guy who can't keep it together to help them with these things. Once we start to realize what a prize we are, we will attract the man who appreciates it all. Ladies, help your damn selves for a change.

There's More Than One Whore Here...

In the days where paparazzi follow folks around who are famous for being famous I suppose not much should surprise or irritate me but I just have to say that I'd like to give Elizabeth Edwards a "Get The Hell Out Of Here" award. While I'm more than sure that it's difficult to deal with a cheating husband, being in the public eye, and raising a family all while dealing with the concept that the end of her life is being accelerated, I still have to say that she, like many before her, has annoyed me this week.

It started with the preview on tv about her being on Oprah to talk about her "pain and humiliation". Then today, there was a brief story on her on the world news. I'm sorry, but I can think of at least twenty things off the top of my head that are far more important than this woman's husband cheating. Um, aren't we in a recession? Aren't there two wars in which we're involved? What about Wilbur The Pig Flu? Isn't that some kind of health epidemic? How in all that is happening in our world that impacts the population at large, is this woman's story relevant?

I know I probably sound mean and insensitive. Afterall, this woman has and is clearly suffering, right? Well, while I can imagine that she is experiencing some emotional angst, I just have to say that I don't care enough to want to know the details and frankly I have enough drama of my own to keep me from reveling in hers. Maybe it's just me but it seems incredibly self-indulgent to go on a mini media blitz to tell one's story of shame, infidelity, suffering, and anger as if we all don't have enough problems of our own. Lots of women have been cheated on and have figured out their paths in spite of it. What makes this woman any different? I mean, the story hasn't even been in the news for months. She actually chose to dredge it all back up for some type of sick personal gain. I highly doubt that many of us have been sitting around wondering and worrying for the past few months how she and John were getting along since the "incident".

In a segment played from her interview with Oprah, she made some sort of reference about how difficult it is to build a marriage, how women should be more respectful of other women's marriages, and that it is not okay to see someone else's situation and decide to pursue it for yourself. It seemed an uppity way to call out the mistress and tell her what a huge whore she was for chasing John Edwards. And while the sentiment may have some truth to it, I couldn't help but think that there is now more than one "whore" involved. There's the one who sought to destroy a decades long relationship but there is also one who now seeks the attention of the media and the American public in order to gain sympathy. And to me, each form of whoring is disgusting.

I understand infidelity in a marriage can be painful. Hey, I've been there myself. I just feel like good friends, good clergy, good books, and a good therapist are a much better solution than whoring one's self in front of the world. Elizabeth, I say go in the house, take a nice warm bath, pour yourself a glass of your favorite wine, put your feet up, and spend what time you have enjoying what's good about your life instead of whining to me and the rest of the world about what's wrong with it. Just a thought.