May 2006 Archives

I hope they actually convict this dude on every count. Individually. Consecutively.

3,600 Child Porm Pictures Seized

"Hall County Sheriff’s Office investigators reported finding thousands of sexually explicit photos of children in a home they searched on Tuesday. A man who lives in the home, 29-year-old Anthony Wayne McDonald, has been charged with 3,600 counts of possession of child pornography."

If this is true, 3,600 days locked in a cell with his new boyfriend doesn't begin to spell justice.

opportunity or selling out?:: I got an offer pending, and it's more $. Not even a lil more $, more like way more $$$. Potentially. But it means two things:

I'll end up doing what I love for a living (writing):: don't get it twisted, writing comes as second nature now, so I spend more time doing it (at work, at school, here) than anything else. Cept being a mommy. So, when I say I love writing, it's like saying I love breathing. It's second nature. Now, this opportunity is to write technical documents, but it's still writing, and I'm still good at it (damnit). And it is more cheese...

but I'll give up something that I liked doing (coding):: well, did I? I mean, I enjoyed it. When I got a chance to do it. But it was an uphill battle, and I got a little tired of fighting it a while ago. Yanno, the assumption that you can't code, management taking a risk to allow you to code, while other folks subtly push you towards less challenging, less "technical", more "girly" career paths. Quality Assurance. Technical Writing. Business Analyst. The work isn't easier, it's just considered less technical (on the geek scale, or course). Along with that, er - I am almost an MBA. I'm on the comeuptuation path...

to struggle, or not to struggle:: see, I could keep coding, keep proving myself, keep fighting the good fight. Eventually, I'd get to where I want to be (project manager). However, on my current path, it would take years. I'm 40. I don't have years. A detour on the career path may leapfrog some of those years.

But (there's always one...), if I leave my current employer? Which will look better on my resume? Saga, Java-Warrior-Princess, or Saga, Business-Analyst-Lady-In-Waiting?

Doubt I can pull off that outfit as a lady-in-waiting...damnit.

yeah, I went back there too...click here for a sample

see part I for background

the evolution of the love affair:: how do you wake up one morning, and realize that this person, this entity you'd never known before, is now, somehow inherently a part of you, a part of your life, and that you never want to be without it again? That's how I felt about hip-hop music and hip-hop culture. Now, don't get it twisted - I could've gone down the road of the five elements, and chased hard being an emcee, or a dancer, etc.. I know, I'm a girl, girls can/cannot break/emcee - whateva. But that was never how I felt about it. Hip-hop was always a feeling for me. I was a fan, a fanatical fan at times - a cheerleader, a booster, and an educator. When my musician (metal) friends questioned his legitimacy, I defended him, saying he was more than just scratching other folks music, over breakbeats. I loved him, this kid hip-hop, so it was always enough for me to let him shine, and just be able to bask in his brilliance.

That's what falling in love was like for me, and that's how falling in love with hip-hop was for me. It was a part of me, and I was a part of it. Inseparable.

we grew together...:: ...as kids do, we matured, expanded our horizons, and flexed our wings. When hip-hop was standing strictly in a b-boy stance I was there...at the Swatch Fresh Fest, when Grandmaster Dee was the nastiest DJ around, and I wanted to kiss Jalil, hip-hop was there. He even kept my fears at bay, when the guy standing in front of me got stabbed about 5 minutes into the Fat Boy's set. Note: the crowd parted briefly, the police dragged out both parties, and the general admission show went on...though it was the last general admission show at that venue for a while. Ah, those were the days.

He even came to my senior skip party, as the theme music Sucker MC's from Run-DMC. We ran that joint to death, as my friends tried to pop-lock and break, and the DJ played that famous hook over and over "dave cut the record...". Auuugh, remember Davey D? We went to every live show that came to my lil town, just to see the DJ's scratch, and the lyrics, dancers, and graffiti artists were sort of an afterthought.

Until Schoolly D, until Rakim, until Chuck D. and until Professor X. Hell, who knew as a young'un what "to the East, my brother" meant? But that brother had swagger, and how could you not appreciate a black man, telling other black men to stand up? Lyrics man....enough partying and everything, that's cool, but now how's about some lyrics. Chile, there were times when I caught myself thinkin' "ok, hip-hop done lost it's mind", but we were growing up, and when you're spreading your wings, a lil insanity is exactly what's needed. Yeah, I appreciated the party music, the Rob Bases, Jazzy Jeff (also nasty on the wheels) and the Fresh Prince, and Juice Crews of the hip-hop world. But I felt KRS-One when he ripped MC Shan apart on wax, and I felt Schoolly D when he said "PSK, we're makin that green...People always say, "What the hell does that mean?" When hip-hop pushed the envelope, I had his back, against critics, record companies, black radio, and this lil Music Video channel that absolutely refused to give him air-time. He loved me for having his back.

we grew apart... ...oh, that whole west coast thing, yeah. Never felt it. Never. I know, a lot of those brothers were talented, but that wasn't where my heart lay. So when hip-hop got gangsta, I went slightly west, to Chi-Town, embraced house, along with the Jungle Brothers ('cause they did promise they'd House me) and Heavy D (yes, we found love together, but what did we do with it?), and the Native Tongues (no I'm not mad at'chu because you told me that it was my buddy that was making you ever so horny, jungaliciously horny...lol). Ok so maybe I danced a lil to Ice-Ice Baby. And although I didn't try to Touch That (ugh) I did dance to Oaktown 3.5.7.'s "Yeah, yeah, yeah".

But even when we grew apart, we grew. We matured. We explored some new territories that maybe did/didn't contribute to the hip-hop aesthetic or hip-hop collective. Hell, who can really judge the contribution of PM Dawn's "Memory Bliss"? Oh, well - maybe KRS-One, hunh? Ok, well then is Tom Tom Club hip-hop? Suzanne Vega? We grew apart, but we didn't grow far apart. We always found our way back together. When hip-hop was out on some ole existentialist/political thang (Ras Kas, Kam, Paris), we had his back. When hip-hop was on some ole underground shyt, spitting shyt that didn't nobody get:

"And I’m the hickory-dickory top of morning boogoloo big jaw
With the yippedy zippedy winnie the pooh bad boy blue,
Yo crazy got the gusto, what up, I swing that too..."

I still had it's back. Even though almost 15 years later, I still don't know what the f*ck that means.

...but, what we had was ours:: when he was on some ole backpack bullshyt, smokin spiffs in a cypher, (OGC, Boot Camp Clik) not caring about commercial success, I was there. When he claimed some questionable grimey background (Onyx, anyone?) I was there. No matter how much his broke a$$ whined about radio ignoring him, record companies gankin' him, I listened to his complaints, and tried to nurse his bruised ego back into health. I stayed up late nights, waiting for underground college radio to run tracks. Back then, he never wanted to reach Fortune 500 status...he just wanted to stand up, like Professor X and Chuck D told him to. So I bought his mixtapes, and I went to see him perform. And, the first time we heard Caron Wheeler sing acappella on WBLS so hauntingly beautiful: "cold fresh air, feel the melody that's in the air....oh yeah"...we both got goosebumps.

That was hip-hop, and it was ours, and didn't nobody have to understand it, or buy it, because it belonged to us. And Mary J. didn't have to hit every note perfect for us to feel her, she was the Queen of Hip-Hop, who cares what anyone else thinks. And when Puffy and the Hit Men (whateva happened to them?) was churning out hits, we didn't question whether this was the direction we wanted hip-hop to go. It sounded good, even when it was "the remix". Even when MTV wouldn't play "our" videos (hell, they wouldn't play Mike or Prince back then either), we still had Video Music Box (my phone bill just recovered, thank you). It was music, our music.

But then...

Hammy - the infamous I


Originally uploaded by saga_30311.

He was on his way to graduation. Isn't he the cutest?

shouts out to dParrish for forcing me to think & write about this, when I'd written the whole thing off. I'd declared this love affair to be over. Seems I can never say never...

so, when did you fall in love with hip-hop?:: when I was 11 years old. Growing up hood-rich, semi-bougie and sheltered,possessing the language skills of an 18-yr-old white adult, I was incredibly naive about my own "culture". Or lack thereof. I wasn't allowed to watch the Jeffersons or Good Times, my father fearing that I'd socially "regress" and be unable to navigate the "white man's world"'. I lusted after Sean Cassidy, had a subscription to Tiger Beat, my favorite song was "Da Do Run Run", and I longed for blonde-haired, blue-eyed status, so Peter Frampton would notice me. Forget that I was a chubby lil black girl, who was a coupla years ahead of herself in school, bussed to a 'gifted' school, and didn't realize what the word "nerd" meant. Until...

My cousins kidnapped me, so to speak. It was dusk, during the summer of 1977. I remember us walking around the corner (really was like 4 miles) without them telling me exactly where we were going. Past bodegas, past houses, past the rec center, past my school, past my limited knowledge of my neighborhood. As we walked, it grew darker, the streetlights popped on, and I knew I was in for the a$$-whoopin' of my life. I figured I may as well make the most of it. So we kept on walking, now down this dark neighborhood street, and suddenly...

the bob fosse moment:: Light, and brown bodies in motion. Gyrating and sweating, and lost in the throes of this...beat... da-da-doomp. Faster: da-da-doomp pause, then again da-da-doomp pause, faster, then again: da-da-doomp...da-da-doomp...da-da-doomp, doomp-de-doomp-doomp-doomp-doomp-de-doomp-doomp-doomp "Good times...these are the good times..." Speakers so big the were making the street shake. It all looked like a Bob Fosse movie to my virgin eyes. Then, my cousin Tink (3rd, by marriage only) who would later be my first love, dragged me out to the middle of the street to dance, and...I got lost in it. Lost in the moment, lost in the beat, lost in the wonderful brown-ness of it, lost in something that was ours, and ours alone. I did the NY Freak before I knew what the dance actually was called, and I became black. Not by genes, or nurture, but by something that was inherently ours.

This was hip-hop. Two turntables and earthquake speakers, a DJ and a party. This was black, to me. I was in love.

the a$$-whoopin of my life:: Mid-NY-freak-stroke, my mama showed up. I remember her snatching me up outta there by my collar, and dragging me the 4 miles home by it, alternately fussing at me directly, and warning me how my daddy was gonna react when he found out I was hanging with them "hoodrat" cousins of mine. It didn't matter. Nothing could erase the satisfied smile on my face on the way home. See, I could dance, and that shocked the shyt outta my cousins. Remember, I was the fat, smart one. The geeky one. So, when they saw I could dance better than them, they had a new respect for me. The a$$-whoopin of my life was well-earned, and more than worth it. My mama beat me all the way home, and while the embarassment was pretty intense, I smile internally with every stroke.

aside:: technically, I got the worst a$$-whooping of my life once when my daddy (after learning mama had to work a double) tried to force me to eat a dinner of Chef-Boyardee Ravioli with canned String Beans, and I stuffed some string beans under my mamas good lace tablecloth. I couldn't sit down for days afterward. I didn't eat string beans for 15 years after that. Oh shaddup - I'm a Taurus, remember?

puppy love:: I spent the rest of the summer, going to block parties, dancing my 11-yr-old a$$ off, and hanging out with hip-hop. Oh yeah, and my puppy love, Tink. But really, it was me and hip-hop, holding hands, him setting it off so I could show off my dancing skills, him making those earthquake speakers tremble. I loved that feeling, walking up on a crowd of people, "Good Times" blaring from the speakers, the DJ pulling the record back, extending the song until it seemed like it would never end, and giving me more time to do my thang. Hip-hop made me feel like I belonged, but more than that, hip-hop made me feel like I could - fly. Soar. Shine. I could be better than I was. I could do anything, if I wanted it bad enough. I loved hip-hop for that, before there were MC's, and graffiti artists, and breakdancers, and human beatboxes. There was the beat, the DJ and that's all hip-hop needed to exist. And I loved him for that.

coming: part II - the evolution of our love affair, and how we fell out of love.

Still rambling until I collate the feedback, and plz keep it coming.

So, how's school you (didn't) ask? Well, I'm almost there, a few more classes to go, and then I'm done. Allegedly. 'Cept for the gnawing bug my ex-professor, Dr. X planted in my head about cultivating my creativity for the greater good. The bug that's now chewing thru my already addled brain, trying to figure out how I can teach, and keep my current salary. Antyhoo...

While I'm 80% finished, I'm 95% bored & frustrated...grad school just hasn't been all that it's cracked up to be.

I thought I would learn things that would aid my continuing climb up the corporate ladder. Or better understand the machinations of my management team. Yanno what I've learned? One basic principle drives it all, and forgive me Gordon Gecko for innovating your line, but greed isn't just good...

the basic tenet: Greed is inevitable.

the fellowship of the $: When I imagined Biz School, particularly MBA programs, the visual of academe, steeped in rich tradition and Ivy league esoterics probably came to my mind. I visualized healthy respectful debates of socio-economic principles, their merits as applied to the business environment, et. al. But - the reality is that it's the A.pprentice. Imagine 20-25 students in a classroom, vying for A's by (basically) blowing smoke up the professor's a$$, regurgitating his theories, and scoring points by ripping their colleague's hypotheses apart (whether they have validity or not). Yeah, that's it. And all that to support/reiterate/propogate that basic theory: Greed is inevitable.

more theology: That greed is taking over the world. That the most important value in today's world to possess/increase/retain is shareholder value. That what most companies do for strategy is wholly unimportant unless they increase shareholder value. And if you doubt the validity in this, I have myriad tomes that quote chapter & verse this same scripture.

I feel dirty.

I think my brain checked out 2 semesters ago. See, I'm sorta bright. But I'm also a classic over (under) achiever. Given the motivation and capability, I'm seriously competitive. But if I know I can't compete (lacking either aforementioned fuels), I check out. Completely. And I'm un-motivated. So, I'm un-competitive.

the cosmology: I feel like at the end of this, we're all charged to go out into the world, and do anything for a $. Anything to increase shareholder value, anything to ensure the ROI/ROE increases, while Costs are minimized, and who gives a flying f*ck about the impact that we - as decision-makers - have on the fate or our companies, families, colleagues, societies, and culture. Make that money mahne, that's all that matters.

It's a pimp game shawty. My school's pimping me for bread, teaching me how to trick for more bread, and if I get good enough at it, I get promoted - then I can turn other corporate hoe's out, make them trick for me, and just collect that bread, ya dig? I'm a hustla, baby - I just want you to know....

So, given that - do I succumb to the cult, trick for A's, then go out and trick for $? Cruise, take my B and the piece of paper, and ponder becoming Dr. Troublemaker (yanno that's what I'd love to do, right?). Or quit now while I'm ahead, and take my social life back? 2.5 weeks left in this semester. Hm?

the mantra: Repeat after me: Nyam-dollar-yen-peso-rupee-yuan-euroooo....

ETA: I thought I posted this a week ago. Damn.

The response to 20 questions.

First off - I want to thank all of you for the feedback, positive, negative and thought-provoking. I know we're all busy, and it means a lot that you took the time out to give me a lil of your time.

Generally, the comments were to keep doing what I do. (...what da hell do I do anyways, lol) That was really positive, and I appreciate it, no doubt.

To answer the questions posed:
about my drug use:: that's a future post. In the grand scheme of things, it was minimal. Not even close to Nippy. Let's just say I supported my own habits with a s-t career as a street pharmacist.

putting it all out there:: do I? not exactly, although I put a lot out there. My answer is, why not? Who really cares? And if they do, why? No, doesn't bother me. What bothers me is that some folks take the blog as the gospel, and my life as fiction (how silly is that?) If reading my blog changes how someone thinks of me that knows me personally, my suggestion to them is: don't read. I acknowledge the power in words, but what I write doesn't change who I am. Yet....

where do I want to go with this:: good question, dParrish. I'm still mulling this over. I'm constructively dissatisfied right now though. While my writing is cool, the subjects aren't varied enough. This is TBD...

theTruth:: 100%, edited only to avoid boring the crap outta you. Contrived? Nah - but occasionally I will indulge in some activities (the M.ichael B.aisden thang) both for my own selfish pleasure, and because "it'll make a great post". I think as the writing evolves, it'll be more for writing, than blogging.

the $5K words:: y'all like the $5K words? (aziza, coolbabe - I appreciate y'all). My bougie daddy taught me at aged 5 what eloquence means when operating in the "white man's" world. Somewhere, my daddy's spirit is applauding. And smoking a pipe stuffed with cherry tobacco.

theJCThing:: yes, I finally threw in the towel. I talk to him occasionally, but I've moved on. Happily.

theDot.Thing:: oh the spam of it! Between the funky trackbacks, and the comments ( h.entai r.ape?!!! who da hell wants to watch cartoon characters get it like that??!!!!) the dot is to deter spyders. if you catch an occasional funky trackback, email me.

C.urves:: I ain't even answering these anymore. It's ridiculous.

I'm still mulling this over, so if anyone else has comments, or other questions - email me. (replace the [AT])

Bakers Dozen c/o KB via ej.
So, I wanna go out with a bang, and make this Birthday B12 the final one, 'specially since I had so much fun this weekend. However, I never say never....

1. happyHour, pt I:: my coworkers treat me to boudin and Hurricanes at pappadeaux's. The plan (IMHO) - to get me prematurely well-lubricated for the weekend's festivities. It worked.


2. happyHour, pt II:: head over to my favorite spot, South Beach, for martini's, and live music. G & S crowd, and Gary "Lil’ G" Jenkins of Silk led the South Beach Band through two sets...nice.


3. still got it?:: there's a birthday tradition at South Beach, involving people celebrating, "Lil G" and some booty shakin' contest. Now, I will neither confirm or deny my involvement, now will I confirm or deny whether I won said contest, particularly in light of the ages of the other much-younger contestants. I will say, however, that I did get some free tickets to see Vesta Williams on Sunday. Shaddup!


4. is it time to get up already?:: leaving plans open to see what develops, I loaf around the house, try to figure out what I want to do. Meanwhile the IM's, phone calls, test messages and doorbell ringing to say Happy B-day (thanks all of y'all!) keep me from sleeping in...


5. theDate, #1:: met a guy, very cool guy, on an online dating site. despite me exhibiting a lil diva-ness about the location (sowwy), it went well. Actually, very well. Any date that ends in discussing S & M in the children's section of Barnes and Noble is successful for me, m'kay?


6. theDate, #2:: no-shows. Oh, he's got me confused, 'cause I do NOT get stood up, m'kay? 'Specially not on my birthday...


7. partying with the old people:: ...so I head to Hairston's to attempt to shake my groove thing, again (hair of the dog that bit me). Now, while I do prefer to party with mature people, I don't prefer to party with old people (state of mind, not state of math, don't get it twisted). Somehow, when I walked in and saw folks two-steppin' to "Lean wit' it, Rock wit' it" that should've been my clue...


8. you want me to do what again?:: ...trying to make the best of it, I volunteer for their famous "Birthday Show". The Show: bring birthday folks to the stage, and make them mime to some old skool favorites in front of the crowd. Oh hells naw. But wait, even better - my song" Aretha Franklin's "R.E.S.P.E.C.T." What are they trying to tell me? Ok, I play it off (particularly since the crowd has us boxed in so we can't leave the stage) and do ok. However, I get no free anything. Oh double hells naw - I don't humilate myself for the free. Having gotten chastised coming into the club by a 25 yr old bouncer for being "late", I declare this weak shyt "ova". I inform said bouncer that this club has reached new levels of wack-ness, and call it a night. Think I passed Wacky Dee in the parking lot, trying to get in...


9. is it time to get up already, again?:: breakfast outings? brunch? too sleepy for all of that - I lounge around the house, again...


10. linner:: what is the merging of lunch and dinner? Anywayz, I meet the crew at FPN for lunch with:
EJ, Shelle, Mone, her baby Tiara, E, Rin and D. good food, good drink, good convo, good times. :-)

11. back to the beach:: y'all would swear there are no other G&S clubs in Atlanta, but SB's a favorite. EJ, being the sweetie that he is, buys me din-din at FPN and snacks at SB. BTW, if you know of another G & S club, where the male-female ration is pretty even, holla at yo girl...


12. Vesta:: we not even gonna talk about the warm-up band, 'cause they had no impact ('cept to prevent normal conversation). Vesta though - homegirl was fierce, "for a 49-yr-old grandmother of 3" (according to her), ok? See pic above, which really doesn't do her justice - she's gorgeous. And yes, she sang blew Congratulations up! But it seemed to take a lot emotionally out of her.


13. final thought:: I'se tired. For real.

Even though the non-custodial-parental-unit tried to cause drama at the end of the weekend, I didn't entertain it. The whole weekend was wonderful. And my swollen knees, and bad back are more than worth it. Still droppin' it like it's lukewarm...
~ saga

Time for a new leg in the blogging journey. And I'm taking a queue from dParrish. Ok, really, let's be honest - I'm biting his shyt. Thanks D ;-)

So, kind readers - first, thanks for reading for the last ...wow...nearly 5 years?!!! I had no idea it's been that long, and I know some of you have been reading for a while. I appreciate all the comments, and that some of you have stuck with me through some interesting and trying times. But it's time for a change. And my 40th birthday is the perfect time to do it! The present I want from you is relatively simple, and practically free - feedback!

aside:: if you really just have to buy me something , then by all means: have at the wist list!

I've been randomly posting whateva bubbles floated to the surface of my mind since I started blogging, and I've never asked you really what you wanted. And at times, it's felt like I was (publicly) mentally mas.turbating. So, tell me what do you want? What (if anything) should I write about? What would you like to see more of? What tired subject would you like me to finally leave da hell alone? Enough of my medical problems? Too much detail about the boring-ness that is my lovelife? Want to hear more about my baby-daddy drama? (lawd, I hope not!) Do my lengthy rambling rants on globalization and market capitalism get under your nerves? Then by all means - let me know.

I can't guarantee I'll flip completely just to accomodate everyone's comments - I know I can't please everybody. But my challenge going forward is to write for the audience (y'all), while still retaining the truth that is my voice. We'll see together.

email: lylucas[AT]gmail.com replace the [AT] before you send, please!
YIM: saga_30311

And if you need inspiration, I'll start. The questions listed below are ones that I've been asked online/offline about my blog, and the stuff I write, that I've never answered publicly. I promise to answer all questions (including my own) in a subsequent post. (anonymous commenters/emailers will be kept anonymous).

My questions:

• Why do you put it all out there? Doesn't telling everything bother you?


• How much of what you post is true? How much is contrived to get attention?


• What's with the $5K words? Can't u just tell it str8, w/out the fancy language?


• Is the thing with JC finally over?


• And what's the d.ot thing about?


• And why do you hate C.urves Salon so much? I got my hair done there the other day, and it came out beootiful...

..ok, that last one I should probably just email to the commenter, since no one else really cares (including me). Enuff already. Holla at me....

May 20th is d-day, and I'm not sure what I'm gonna do to celebrate - any ideas? holla......

Read Welcome to Bizarro-land first...you need some context...

So, some hours pass. I nailbite a little. See, even though FL caused me much pain, and there have been moments when I wanted to stab him in the eye with an ice pick - we're still connected. Hammy. And I do care about what happens to him, if only as Hammy's father. Wish he were a better one. That's my fault for making a bad choice.

the choice: a funny thing happened on my way to 112 (piedmont, not cheshire bridge). Fresh out of the shower, in some corporate skank sundress, headed to da club to wind down. I'd just finished reading Terry McMillan's Disappearing Acts, and was ready to relax my gold-diggin-standard and give a blue-collar brotha a shot. Stopped at Chevron for a pack of Big Red...

...and ran into FL on the way out the door. He was covered in paint, noticeably unfresh in his white tee. Yellow jeans, tee, and baseball hat all splattered with paint. He looked like Christopher Williams in the face, but working-dude. I remember distinctly the moment he asked for my phone number...I remember hesitating for what now seems to be an extremely long moment, wondering to myself if this dude was worth my time, wondering if I should give him my number or keep it moving, wondering...

...I don't "do" regret typically, but if I had to choose a moment in my life I'd like to take back, it wouldn't be our arguments, his infidelity, his putting his hands on me, me trying to calmly explain my chili recipe to a police officer as I held together the bones in my broken hand, or giving birth to a child who has developmental delays...

..it would be that moment. That moment when I decided to give FL my phone number. I'd take that choice back. Definitely.

the conversation:: all this flashes through my mind for the gazillionth time, as I make Mary J. sing again. I call him back. I won't bore you with the gory details, but I did lose my cool, he tried to regain his, we rehashed some issues for the thousandth time, both our blood pressures rose. And we came to...closure?

him: And all I ever wanted from you is a little comfort...
me: I can't be that for you. You've got to get that from someone else...you've hurt me too much...
him: I'm not over you. I still love you, and I still want to be with you...

theCrux: You would've thought that after 8 years apart, we'd had this conversation. I thought we did. I thought we'd had it hundreds of times, and I thought he knew where I stood. Alone. Holding the shattered pieces of my heart together in one hand, as I patched the together the worn out pieces of my soul with the other. Wondering if I have it in me to ever trust a man enough to go there, again. But somehow, we didn't. He hurt me, we both knew how much. But somewhere there was a disconnect between him being the cause of my pain, and me being the one-that-got-away. It was like there were two distinctly different version of our relationship: my unbearable pain, and his unattainable joy.

I've avoided this confrontation for Hammy's sake. Yes, I'd told him before how I felt. How his increasing declarations of love pained me. How scarred I felt for having been with him. He got it...but somehow didn't get it. Until now.

him, angrily: Oh, I f*ckin' get it now. I'm not over you. But I need to get over you...trust me, I get it now...
me, crying angrily: I'm not trying to hurt you intentionally, but I need us to be clear. I don't feel the same way you do. I never will. The person I fell in love with, never existed. I want us to be parents, and eventually friends, but I can't help you 'get over' me...
him, cutting me off: please don't say shyt else, you made your point. I need to get over you, and over this. I haven't, and I thought I can't. But I will...I have to do the same thing you did, and cut myself off...that's it. *click*

Is there ever an easy way to make a clean break? Even after 8 years, his other 'relationships', my attempts at starting anew, dating snafus, etc...etc...ad nauseum, it came to this. And here I sit, typing, hoping it's really 'over'. And hoping that our son, my Hammy, doesn't suffer in the process.

an aside, on the clarity: Let me be clear, in the midst of me waxing poetic. The choice was not blue-collar over white. The choice was to ignore my better judgement, and give myself emotionally to this person, without knowing who they really were. See, he had me the moment I decided that Terry knew better than I did. And I tried to work with him, through all his craziness, because I thought that's what wives do. I tried to force us to work, to fit. Just plain ole stoopid.

Have y'ever gotten one of those phone calls, when you know you really shouldn't answer the phone, but you're obligated to? Well, as Mary J. sang "no more drama in my life..." for the third time today, I knew this was going to be one of those calls...

FL, also known as the baby-daddy: yo, I just want you to know I can't watch Hammy anymore, as I'm about to get locked up...

Now, I can't get into specifics - it's his biz, and his perogative to air it for all the cyber-world to see. Let's just say he has a temper, and it gets the best of him. You can search the site for his initials for a peek at his infamy.

So, I've definitely got a choice here: hang up, or lend a listening ear. Hm. This is my ex, whose antics I know far too well, and who has issues with accepting responsibility for his own actions. I hang up - anger transfers to me, exponentially. Listening ear - he eventually takes his anger out on me. I'm in a good mood, which means my anti-drama-engagement defenses are on full strength. I listen.

the calm amidst the storm:: he vents - it's not his fault, he's misunderstood, people are always taking advantage of his kindness. I let him get it out, tossing salt over my left shoulder, and holding a few grains in my right hand. My voice softens a little, and I try not to interject with any "that was some dumba$$ shyt you did" comments. I eat a few grains. He hangs up on me twice, because he's not sure "why he called me", and I take that as an opportunity to let his family know what's up. He calls back, vents more, and eventually says...

this is your fault you know...the problem is that I'm doing all these things to try and let folks know I want to be with them, and you know how much I want to be with you, and everytime I tell you, you just throw it back up in my face how much that 'hurts you'...if I wasn't trying to go out my way to be nice to you, I wouldn't be in this situation..."

da f*ck???!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mind you, I'm at home, but logged into one of my online classes, trying to decipher where-in-da-hell my professor is trying to take us in the latest scripture of the verse of the cult-of-the-corporate-whore, as FL says this. So, while I've got the Scooby-Doo "ruh-roh" face on, thinking this convo is about to get really ugly, I'm cognizant of the fact that my professor is expecting me to contribute something, well, profound - to this class. Or at least look like I'm paying attention. Oh saga, let it pass...let it pass...it's easier to let it pass....

me: I...I'm really at a loss for words. I don't know what I can do at this point, to rectify the situation...
FL: don't worry about it. It ain't shyt you can do. *click*

I can't pinpoint why I find this billboard so disconcerting. We're all well aware that there's a large portion of New Orlean's former population in Atlanta, so that's definitely not it. And yes, that says Re-Elect Our Mayor Ray Nagin. Our Mayor. No, I didn't move to NO - that's part of it.

Maybe it's also because I spend so much time driving in/out/around Atlanta, and the only place I've come across this billboard is in da 'hood. On the side of a custom stereo/rim shop at that. Or because I know I'd never see that anywhere near my job in N. Fulton County. Somehow I don't think Sandy Springs residents would "stand for it". He'd never be Their Mayor.


Hope it works out for him (Nagin)/them (the chocolatey-er former residents of the chocolate city). Hmph.

Did I ever share with y'all the real reason I went back to school at aged 33? Well, along with my overwhelming need to gather myself (life was one-hot-ghetto-mess at the time), I had an ulterior motive.

I wanted a decent husband.

And since most of my married (or formerly married) friends met their hubbies in/around/right after college, I figured it was a semi-decent first step. Now, I won't say "boy, was I wrong...", but I will say that it made me incredibly analytical about what I'm looking for in a man, and what the whole nine yards really means to me...

making a list:: 3 years of celibacy gives you plenty of time for soul-searching, and analysis. (sidenote: giving up celibacy is a tricky matter, and can send you down a slippery slope, but that's another post). So, having done both, I made a checklist of the top 10 qualities that I desired in Mr. Right: honest, educated (intelligent, or both) witty, stylish, passionate, ambitious, financially stable, strong, attractive, liberated. Sound familiar, right? yeah, that pretty much sums up what most women say they're looking for. At the time, I had a few materialistic things in mind: a type of Car, a type of House, and a level of salary. Oh yeah, ya girl had a whole lotta gold-digga in her.

WIIFT: yeah you're wondering, exactly what's in it for them? Well, that was definitely the question. As a college drop kick-out, with 2 babies and 2 different baby-daddy's, I couldn't claim a lot of those qualities. So, back to school I went, to work on a few of those. I was a gold-digga with a dream, and my theory was: "ain't no way I'd meet a lawyer, and the lawyer would actually entertain dating my broke-no_degree-apartment-living-a$$..." Needless to say, I managed to accomplish a few of those things (2 degrees, working on #3 now), and a few are still questionable (stylish? witty? depends on the day of the week, and who you're asking). But I knew, to get a "package" deal - I had to offer the "package" deal, and that I managed to do...

...'cept the wrapping, which I while I understand is trés importanté since men are visual creatures, I'm not done fixin' yet. With everything on my plate, it's low on my list of priorities. Digressing again...my point is, that my value-prop (and the goal) was to meet my equal. Not my soulmate, or someone to complete me, but someone who is...

equally yoked:: but what does that mean? Not being one to quote scripture (my Bible has been gathering dust in lieu of the cult-of-the-corporate-whore's required WSJ readings), I can however summarize my pastor's interpretation. It means that you share values, and common goals. It means that opposites, while attracting, don't necessarily manage to remain together. It means that your lifestyles should be similar. It means that when you imagine the rest-of-your-life with someone, and the things you want to do during the dash, that the other person, frankly fits. And fits well. Like a pair of Earnest Sewn jeans.

A funny thing happened on my way to degree #2. I took an African studies class on Male-Female relationships; and I got a decent-paying gig, that afforded me the things I'd had in mind: the type of Car, the type of house, and the level of salary. Got an A, and learned in the process, that the car & house mattered a hell of a lot less than true compatibility (and not that e.Harmony bullshyt either - even though I am a member, lol). But the thing that stood out most in the class, is that the self-analysis part - where we as individuals look at what we bring to the table, and then decide what we deserve (not desire) based on that? Yeah that - it doesn't happen a whole lot in my community. Particularly not on the female side of the equation. My gold-diggin friends (still have a couple, who remain single) notwithstanding, I overstand exactly that my preternatual single-ness is at my own hands. I should've been more analytical much earlier. We all should've. Oh yeah, I also learned that while the marriage rate in my community is declining, the divorce rate is level, and has been ever since it peaked in the 80's. But anywayz - about that guy...

Mr. Right:: I'm still trying to connect the dots in a lot of respects, but I've got a pretty vivid/vague description of what Mr. Right-for-Me is like:
yes, he is a renaissance man. And he's probably pretty complicated. He has his own circle of friends, and his own social habits. And sometimes, they will definitely (hopefully) exclude me. He has kids, and doesn't want any more. He's highly intelligent, educated (streets or academe - doesn't matter). He's well read, and knowledgeable about a whole lot of topics. He enjoys a healthy debate. He's competitive, while keeping his "Type-A-ness" at a minimum. He's confident and secure, without being arrogant. He knows the difference between Via Spiga and Montego Bay Club. He's honest to a fault, and forthright - almost to his own detriment. He's a closet "freak" - but that closet door only swings one-way. He loves the arts, music and anything considered "cultural": knows the latest plays, movies, hottest poets, etc. He has had a love affair with hip-hop, that may/may-not be over. He's masculine, without being overtly steroidal. And he's strong/secure enough, to embrace his feminine side, while not being threatened by my masculinity. Because he knows the short path to my vulnerability. He used to read comic books, still eats cereal late at night, and is comfortable telling me his deep, dark secret ______, since he trusts that since he knows that I _____, that I'll never tell.

Yeah, Mr. Right is clear as fog. However, defining Mr. Right helped me to find me, so I'm okay with that foggy definition. I'm not done growing yet. And not that the list is completely blown - it's just that I can now see the forest through the sleaze. Even when a guy doesn't exactly meet the Top 10, I appreciate his beauty as an individual tree regardless. Which is probably why I have so many single, male friends...

Mr. Right-Now:: I bitch & moan a lot about this dude, too much even. To the point where I almost don't want to write about him anymore. Here's the thing though: I've gotten to the point where if I know he's missing something key (like the education, or the honesty), I put him down like an unclaimed Pit Bull on day 2.5 in the shelter. He may be right for someone, but it just ain't me. He gets kicked to the curb, or perpetual "friend status". There is no "Mr. Right Now" for me anymore.

So, it seems like I'm on an endless array of first dates. And I rarely get to date 2. Date 3 is an impossibility. The celibacy has gotten easy to maintain. I can't fathom just dealing with someone on a strictly physical level anymore. Yeah, sex has its merits, but in my quest for intimacy and "the whole nine", I've raised my standards and gotten really spoiled.

I simply want more. And as De La once said "Stakes is High...."

I'm trying to head off the violence, truly. I'm an aggresive hyper-aggressive driver. I exhibit every bad driving habit you can imagine (from tailgating and cuttin-people-off all the way to passing folks on the shoulder).

But before I tell you the extremes of my rage, a little background.

from a 3-lane highway:: I moved to GA directly from Buffalo, NY in 1993. Now, for those of you blessed enough to be unfamiliar, Buffalo is a small-town, with metropolitan aspirations. Yeah - they have a footbal team, and yeah - they have a hockey team, and yeah - they have wings. Other than that and Rick James, they're claim to fame is being NY, NY's country cousin. Oh, and being near Niagara Falls, which literally is watching water fall over rocks. It's just not a big deal, but I digress.

The largest interstate in Buffalo is literally 3-lanes. Three. And I'd be lying if I didn't tell you, after failing my road test, not once...not even twice, but three times, finally getting my license at age (horrors) 27 - I was terrified to drive it. So when I moved to Atlanta, and saw the 6-lane Connector (the 15 mile? intersection of I75 & I85) my brain froze. No way in hell I was getting on that thing, nuh-uhn - no friggin way.

I'm still working on another Dating PSA, but in the meantime - a meme. Grabbed from Jason (thanks for the inspiration), the A - to - Z.

Accent: vaguely Northern, but mistaken for West Indian.

Booze: Ketel, Sour Mix, Sprite, Rocks. Or Bombay, Rose's Lime, Rocks. I can't pick one!

Chore I Hate: new - Air Filter Change (see phobias)

Dogs/Cats: Cats. Need a pet with an independent spirit.

Essential Electronics: I''m low-tech: laptop and Sony Ericsson w600i

Favorite Perfume/Cologne: Alfred Sung.

Gold/Silver: Platinum, but I'm on a Silver budget.

Hometown: Buffalo, NY (dem Bills!)

Insomnia: frequently

Job Title(s): Sr. Programmer

Kids: Mine, not yours.

Living Arrangements: new spot, just me & Hammy.

Most Admired Trait: Determination. And someone thinks I'm wise (go figure...lol)

Number of Sexual Partners: Several. Right now, 0

Overnight Hospital Stays: Too many to recount, for myself and others. Guessing about 15 (5 for me, 5 for Hammy, 5 misc).

Phobia: Heights (and air filters...)

Quote: Never regret. If it's good, it's wonderful. If it's bad, it's experience. ~ Victoria Holt

Religion: I refuse to commit to one theology, on the grounds that it may eternally damn me.

Siblings: Three, but none that I actually know.

Time I usually wake up: 5:30AM (with help), 8AM (without)..{even after a night of booze, dammit}

Unusual Talent: I can still dance my old a$$ off, even though my body protests painfully weeks later.

Vegetable I refuse to eat: None. I've gotten over my veggie aversions.

Worst Habit: Procrastination. Particularly in taking care of self.

X-Rays: 5 - Teeth, hand, foot, chest, nether-regions(sparing you the details)

Yummy Foods I Make: Macaroni & Cheese, Empanadas and ...I need a dessert?

Zodiac Sign: Taurus, from a long line of Tauruses (temper and passion are legendary)

Do I have to call-out? Just in case: Aziza, EJ, Morena , Fave and DP

Bakers Dozen c/o KB via ej.
See, what had happened was...

1. gradSchool:: final paper finished Thursday, evals finished Sunday. I have a week break, then I'm grinding M-Th, 4:30-9pm for the rest of the summer. Yes, I'm still a masochist.


2. (de)Stress, part I:: so, in honor of my ending the semester, I (un)officially decide to (sub)consciously tie one on! Viva la Cinco de Mayo!


3. G&S:: one of my coworkers celebrated her birthday (hm, is there a pattern here?) so we hung out at South Beach. Now I can't reveal all the details, but...


4. myUndoing:: me-to-waitress: ok, so you're saying that the house martini's are $3 during happy hour? waitress-to-me: yep! me-to-waitress: cool, I'll take 3. And keep them coming.


5. liquidCourage:: I may be trying to regain my wasted youth, but I made it my mission to ensure someone was gonna hook up that night. Think my girlfriend's words (life is too short, and we are too old to play coy) were ringing in my ears. Spent most of my time just scoping the scene, to see who would be a willing victim....


6. Hookups:: I did hook up my homegirl with this FINE brotha. I mean, FINE. Oh, did I mention he was FINE?


7. Dating, part I:: ok, I know you're going to ask: "Why didn't you hook yourself up?" Eh - I dunno? No willing victims that I liked?


8. just add liquor:: let's just say I wasn't the only one who'd imbibed some liquid courage. There was, er - a lot of anticipatory scoping/tentatively trying going on all night. And I wasn't involved at all, dammit.


9. ..and the willing victim I went home with, was:: A Royale with Cheese. The chastity belt, albeit rusty, is still intact.


10. (de)Stress, part II:: my homegirl and I cure my hangover at El Azteca, with a repeat of part I (sans any hookups and willing victims)


11. theVegetation continues:: I swear, didn't do much more the rest of the weekend, except watch my grass grow. It looks loverly.


12. Dating, part II:: ok, to be honest, I spent way too much time this weekend lamenting my lack of a lovelife, while two someones-I-have-no-business-dealing-with blew my phone up. One knows why I ain't answering (just in case he reads this - you know why), the other may be catching on. Meanwhile, I believe I should volunteer myself for Can't Get a (decent) Date.

ETA: ok, that picture was just too much, even though (in reality) it wasn't much at all. I apologize for posting it.

Disclaimer: this isn't light-hearted at all. Giggles tomorrow. And while this is long, it won't take 12 hours to read.

I was writing a paper for a class, attempting to justify the case for CSR (corporate social responsibility) in light of globalization, our dwindling natural resources, and innovations in technology. Mind you, I chose the topic, primarily because even with it being a hard sell, it was the only one that held my interest for more than 2.5 seconds. Yes, I'm a victim of the cult-of-the-corporate-whore, but I'd like to think I have a conscience, and altruism feeds me.

The TV was on, more to provide white noise preventing me from dozing off, than to actually hold my attention. ER was on, and I happened to catch (between random thoughts on ways to pitch CSR to any "type-A" market capitalists) the episode featuring the tragedy in Darfur. I can't attest to its realism (having never traveled to the region) but it was compelling. From those reports linked previously, the creators strove to make it genuine, and to tell the human story instead of the political one. While it didn't hold my attention (I had a midnight deadline), it did reinforce something for me.

Ignorance willfully (not blissfully) breeds ignorance. And Americans are willfully ignorant.

Earlier, I'd spent the day doing site visits at several non-profit's headquarters. Part of our narrowing-the-selection-field process for giving away some grant money, I saw how incredibly far apart some of our views are, when it comes to philanthropy/altruism/social responsibility. As my colleagues and I lane-danced through rush-hour traffic across the Perimeter (Atlanta's Interstate 285, for non-ATLiens), trying to get all the site visits in, I had a chance to reflect between visits, where we all stand, and choose to stand. I tried to not be judgemental/analytical, but it bothered me.

Visit 1: environmental agency. Well funded, well organized, well run, and does an excellent job at fund raising. Their presentation was passionate, and yet almost slick - like a glossy magazine ad. From an investment perspective, this was the strongest presentation, because their ROI (return on investment) was not only pretty good, but evident. They showed us exactly where the grant money would be spent, and what they expected to get back from the investment.

Visit 2: inner-city youth agency. Again, well organized, well run, evident ROI. Sports program tied to academic achievement, and the results were much higher GPA's for program participants. Less slick than visit 1, but with a tugging-on-the-heartstrings component that made up for it. This was the feel-good visit.

Visit 3: childcare center for disabled children The discomfort immediately begins. While the director tried really hard to convey the center's needs, the lack was evident: ROI is a questionmark, the center isn't well organized, and while it's daily operations are run well, long term operations are risky. It has funding issues, and it's needs
are critical to it remaining open: grant opportunities, an increase in enrollment, and to lease some of its space to another non-profit, as a way of generating additional income. Evidently, this agency wasn't slick, but it was the most needy.

the discomfort... wasn't just in the way this agency was run. It was also in the clients it served. These children aren't just typical kids, not even typically disabled kids. There is no typical here. So, when Theresa (who is autistic, but terribly friendly) tried to say hi to one of my colleagues, by tugging at her blouse, and my colleague subtly, yet visibly flinched - I knew that they'd never make the cut. And when another colleague glanced slightly disgusted at the peeling baseboards, chipping paint and cracked windowpanes, asking when they'd last had a renovation...well I had to send a prayer up, asking God "just let her see past the obvious". See, even though the walls are lined with pictures the kids worked on, samples from nature walks, and thank you letters from overwrought parents with no alternatives, it's hard to see past the tragedy, and the poverty - to the human-ness. The recoil I perceived was involuntary. However, the response - the fact that while the need here is obvious, the package it's wrapped in isn't pretty, doesn't present a compelling case, and whose value-proposition (by the standards that we're charged to apply) just doesn't measure up - is voluntary. It's all in how we choose, or don't choose, to look at it.

rant: That's what bugs me so friggin much about being American sometimes - this individuality, this entrepeneurial spirit. This anti-collectivism. We live and dwell in a vacuum, patting our own backs at what we've achieved, and willfully turning a blind eye on the tragedies that occur under our noses, changing the channel on tragedies that occur 2000 miles away. We lack a collective social conscious, and while part of me screams that's the price of freedom in a "democracy", the varying values and ideals, the other part knows that the price we pay for that lack of collective spirit is much too high.

In my head, I wanted to scream at my colleagues: "...don't cringe, don't pull away, and save your sympathy. We don't need you to feel bad, we just need you to look. Look at this head on. This is what poverty looks like. Look, and then ask yourself, where would this money be better spent: creating value, or serving a critical need. Which is really the more important choice in this equation?" I'm so...tired....of our awareness being heightened, and yet we still aren't doing anything about it. Wait, some of us are aware, right? And some of us aren't. Even with 4-6 exabytes (?) of information at our disposal, yes...And even then, the childcare center wasn't truly poverty; yes - it's in an effed up position, financially and operationally. But that's luxury living compared to sub-Saharan Africa. And I'm not exactly donating 50% of my check to charitable causes either, no doubt. Yet....

Even with Rwanda still in our peripheral consciousness of late, and with 180,000+ dead, and 2 million people homeless, the tragedy in Darfur got 18 minutes worth of US news coverage in 2005. Terry Schiavo alone got 169.

I'd double check those sources, but my gut tells me that since I hadn't heard anything about the Sudan since Bradgelina did their African interview, this figure was probably accurate. And don't get me wrong - I'm not knocking what Brad & Angelina have attempted to do, along with One.org, Bono and so many other celebrities and their organizations. Darfur, the Sudan, actually sub-Saharan African has been likened to "hell on earth", so any effort that shines a light on that...

and there I sat, struggling to tie CSR-to-globalization-to-value...: trying to not pull on the corporate heartstrings, but to prove that corporations will benefit from CSR in ways that shareholders would actually appreciate. ER went off, with the staff heroes yet not angels, and the indigenous people still suffering. I sent off my case, no longer really caring whether/not I got an A. And I wondered to myself, when my colleagues and I reconvene, how can I make them understand the impact of their decision, despite the "metrics" we're charged with? How do I convince them, that the human story deserves equal consideration to numbers and measures? And then how do I "sell" them so convincingly that they can take the sales pitch, and run with it?

I love America like a crackbaby loves its mother - because they don't know anything else. But gaht dayum, what will it take to get Americans to collectively say enuff? Stop baaaaaa-ing, and force our culture to act as though we live in the world with the rest of the globe?

So, I got to thinking about why it's so hard for "us" to connect (and why I'm a candidate for Can't Get a Date). In response to Xquizzyt1's post about where to find fine single men, I asked the fine single men I know, and we came up with a Top XX list of places to meet single black men (can't speak to any other group, and this is the demographic I chose to informally poll). Note: I started with 10, but the list is growing. Fine is, er - subjective, but I've seen plenty of cuties in these spots.

In no particular order, Top XX Places to Find Fine, Single Black Men :

• Urban Lunch Spots: anything from your local Mickey D's to Copeland's, or the Cheesecake Factory. However, you'll probably want to focus on the ones near male-dominated offices/industries. For example, I work with mostly guys, so when they/we go to lunch, they travel in packs. Your local IT office, Law Firm, Architecture firm, Army base etc.


• Sporting Events: when I was much younger, I was a bit of a basketball-player-fanatic, so I'd walk/jog around parks where there were courts. Along with going to games, or hanging out at sports bars (think Fox Grill vs. ESPN Zone) - this is a great way to strike up a conversation: "yanno, I'm really thirsty - do you have an extra bottle of water?" You don't have to drop next weeks gas bill to watch your fave team lose (go Hawks!), just to meet a guy...but it doesn't hurt! Oh yeah, and don't forget college and/or high school games either (might meet a coach, parent, alumni, etc).


• events at your local park: maybe I'm just blessed to live in Atlanta, but there are so many cheap cultural events over the summer in our parks, and guys do tend to come out k-solo: the Atlanta jazz fest in Piedmont Park, free concerts in Wolf Creek park as well as Centennial Park. Hell - don't sleep on the eating contests either ('specially if you're scarfing down wings in Buffalo). Check your local parks & recreation department for schedules.


• Church: yes, this one has been said before, many many times, and some say it's overrated. Some guys go to the church just to pick up women, and well - there will always be sinners in the spirit house. But, don't throw the babies out with the bathwater - you don't want that smooth talking brother that asks you to attend bible study as soon as you hit the door. Lay back and peep the (sorta) shy brother, who is really there for the Word - that's the brother you need to look for. Oh, and try the church singles events as well.


• Art Openings/Lectures/Spoken Words: too many to list all, but some of my local faves: Jazz at the High Museum of Art, open mic nights at Apache Cafe or , Gallery 253 and the entire set of galleries in the Castleberry Hill neighborhood. Also, there are a number of colleges that offer lectures series from acclaimed folks - just contact them directly, or look for your local Loaf.


• Men's Clothing Stores: Ok, you're thinking what I was thinking: OB-VI-OUS. Well, men don't think like that, or don't care (as long as they like you):"Act like you looking for stuff for your brother, cuz, bro-in-law...then ask for help with the sizing"Just give them some bait, and wait....


• In da club: but it really depends on where you go. It's really more in the club, since you probably aren't looking for a guy dat talks like dis. I like grown & sexy clubs (g&s) that host/sponsor g&s events, like jazz sets or local independent artists. Comedy clubs are pretty good too, but pick the performer well, and the crowd will reflect it (if I want an intellectual, I'm looking for a satirist, and not a pratfall/gag comic). I'm feeling South Beach Bistro a lot, and Harlem Bar, but still have to check out 750.


• Your neighborhood associations: aight, maybe it's just because I'm a new home owner, or because my old neighborhood was always having events, but they can point to local events in your area. The new hood is sponsoring Movie picnics on our common area lawn (no clubhouse yet), and outdoor parties. Check out my old neighborhood's HOA calendar for ideas, or check out yours.


• Exercising: I have a whole contingent of friends that hit the gym solely to meet men. That's cool and all, but what about exercising in your own hood? Walking paths/trails in the nearest park, jogging around your block. I even got an email on that myXXXXX (shudder the thought that I haven't unjoined yet) about a co-ed, weekend outdoor bootcamp. How sexy is that?


• car spa: notice I didn't say car wash? Now, there are single men at the (self-serve)car wash, but er - not the kind you'd actually wanna meet. Think Gator Purify. (note to fave: oh just shut it up, I'm an elitist, I've already admitted that). However, the car spa is a fave, since brothas like to keep the ride clean.


• PAC/Association events: ok, this isn't your mama's networking event. I get bombarded with invites for networking events, which really aren't much more than a party for a cause, and most times are about too much hype. Hows-n-ever, I got an invite to a birthday party for a local politico...an all black party at the W. Can you say FOINE?! Whew, it was testosterone heavy, and c-uute. I mentioned before my realtor's client appreciation party was similarly cute-testosterone heavy as well. I'm thinking that fine men draw fine women, which draws more fine men, so they show up to some of these things in droves. Anyway, check out your political action committee, political party events, voter registration drives, career association events (when does the society of black engineers meet again?) etc...etc.

The dumbing-down disclaimer: men, particularly decent men, like to have an opening. The opportunity to er - "help out" (refuse to say rescue on the grounds that y'all may incriminate me) a sista is the perfect opening. Not saying you have to act completely helpless, but if you're in a men's clothing store picking out a shirt for your dad (brother, uncle, etc) and need help with sizing, ask the cute guy, not the salesclerk. If you're at the car spa, and aren't sure whether the $15 r.im-job (hahahaha - I couldn't resist that pun) is worth the price, let a brotha help you out ;-)

...hey, I need to try a few of these...lol.

So I stole this from MnM, with a lil help from EJ (took me forever to figure out what OE meant - I'm not real bright). But I killed the B12 (weekends are boring now), so without further ado:

Dating:
Is cool, despite/because of what I said about dating good guys. They're laid back, so there's less pressure, and I dig that. As for the other brothers, the high-pressure salesmen (I hate that dog analogy) - if you clearly express to them that you're not interested in their product, they move on FAST!

Working:
I'm currently in a holding pattern. I have exactly 5 months, 7 days and 3 hours to my 5 year anniversary (and full vestment in my retirement plan) and I don't plan on staying much past that date. I'll be done with the MBA mid-2007 (have to get a study abroad class in somewhere). As both dates get closer, I'll be soliciting y'all for leads ;-)

Volunteering:
I fell off completely, and I feel horrible about it. Still working on passing money out, but my individual contribution for the last month is a big 0. Matter of fact, let me call my coordinator now.....

Parenting:
Daughter is fine - she moved out, and is celebrating her 3 year anniversary with her ....eventual fiance. Don't get that twisted, I'm a prude about her & her future hubby. But I don't want to put her biz out in the blogosphere - that's strictly for me to do to: me! Hammy's cool, growing up almost too fast - just got off the phone with is teacher, and his emerging stubborn personality (thank both parents for that) almost got him kicked out of class today for being disruptive. Dad & I are going to have to get together and nip that in the bud.

House-ing:
I had NO idea that the lawncare was going to replace the househunting and decorating. I feel like my lawn is my new baby: feeding, watering, changing its diapers...lol. Love the house, but the work never ends...

Vegetating:
My newest guilty pleasure, courtesy of itslikebuttababy.com: Go Fug Yourself. It may just be because I wanted to design (in another life) but I actually was in tears reading some of the posts, particularly on Chlo.e S.evigny (habitual fashion trainwreck that she is) and T.om C.ruise (consistent media trainwreck that he is).

Ex-ing:
FL is catching feelings again, and expressing them profusely - voicemail messages and text messages. My friends warned me when I closed, he'd try to get a foot in the door. I've tried dozens of ways to tell him that it will never happen again, without jeopardizing his relationship with his son. Even the flat-out, painful truth isn't working. Unfortunately, he can't and won't separate our relationship with his parenting relationship, and is still ideal/idol-izing our dysfunction as soulmate drama. I've already showed him that I've moved on. I've told him hundreds of times we'll never get back together. He's even met a few of the other guys I've dated (in passing - strictly keeping it moving, accidental encounters at the movies, etc). I cannot make him understand how much the thought of our former relationship pains me, so I've taken to ignoring these calls, and keeping our contact to a minimum. I'm keeping it strictly civil, and strictly parental. That's all I feel can do.

On another note, I don't think I'm going to do the ole B-J post I mentioned before, because it would undermine my whole celibacy stance - like giving a crackhead a rock to hold on to for someone else. Meanwhile, Roedy Green has a FANTASTIC how-to on the matter. Don't let your sexual bias fool you, there are some really good objective tips for anyone (male or female) interested in improving their oral performance. I may contact Roedy & get permission to reprint some things, but until then, just click here.

All jokes aside: Click here first - you need background music
Sometimes, you just have to know when to punt... ~ saga

When it comes to romantic relationships, I've been through the wringer, y'all (or at least some of y'all) know this. And I don't profess to know how to get them right. Y'all know that I'm preternaturally single.

However, I do know a lot about getting it wrong. I've got some experience with that.

And I've gotten better at knowing when to throw in the relationship towel. Oh yeah, 'specially after FL (if you don't know what FL is, it's not the state, reading is fundamental, and searching is key. Go start a quest). So...this post is dedicated to knowing when to say - enuff.

Sometimes you just have to know when to punt...
S is the reason that I moved to Atlanta. We dated, off & on for years, and I was madly in love with S. S was funny, attractive, street-smart, protective, strong - everything I thought I wanted in a man. So when S moved to the Atl, I knew I had to follow him. I loved the city, no doubt; but I loved S much, much more.

S was honest, to a fault, and I loved that about him. S would verbally put a foot in my a$$, to tell me how much better I was than my job, and situation. S had faith in the fact that I'd do "big things", finish my education, have a career. S knew even when I didn't, that I'd one day "blow up".

I adored him in a way that I'd never allowed myself to adore another human being, not even my kids. I revelled in everything that S was, good, bad or other. It was all love, in my eyes. I loved the way his eyelashed dusted his cheeks when he slept, and the curve of his a$$cheeks on the upstroke. I even loved the smell of his armpits (even after he'd played basketball). Yes, I know that is utterly disgusting. But that's how much I felt for this man. I loved that he was always brutally honest with me, and wanted to so much for me.

So, when he came to me and told me he wanted to end our relationship, I was blindsided. How could he, after all we'd been through together, the sacrifices I'd made, and knowing how we felt about each other? Well, S told me that he honestly knew that he wasn't good enough for me. He knew what I wanted, where my life was headed, and knew that he didn't fit into that plan. He didn't want to hold me back. He thought I deserved better, smarter, more educated.

I tried to hold on to what we had...well I did hold on, for a while. Through his cheating, my cheating, plenty of arguments, a pregnancy, a death...through far too many things for me to recount. But one day, S came back to me and told me it was over. And I...

I agreed. He was right, had been right the first time, and all the things we did after that were destroying the love that we'd once shared. To keep what we had, we both had to walk away. I had to punt. Sometimes, that's all you can/should do.

And don't get it twisted. Sometimes letting someone go, or giving up a relationship you really want hurts. Man, we'd have to come up with a new word to capture that kind of pain, cause it hurts like a mother-f&*%er to find someone who you truly care about, and then figure out that you're just not right or good for each other. That's a white hot searing pain that just stays with you, like getting hit with hot grits laced with lye, but it is what it is, and it happens. The shyt hurts, but you have to deal with it eventually to make it stop hurting.

Sometimes love isn't about happily ever after...
I am a fighter by nature. I don't have to really tell you that, but it's important to note. I could give you tons of reason: my handicapped son who was a preeemie, and a very sick baby, my overcoming negative circumstances, being a single teenage mom, forging a new career after age 35, going back to school after a 15 year hiatus, and being a grown a$$ woman who despite acknowledging her OCD when it comes to loving black men, continues to love them regardless. I know a lot about putting in a good fight.

And love is worth fighting for. Hell, there's so much tragedy and negativity in the world, if two people can carve out a little happiness for themselves amidst all the obstacles that stand in the way of that - including themselves - then gaht damnit you'd better work really f*&^ing hard to hold on to that.

But sometimes, love isn't just about that.

The one really good thing that came out of all the relationship drama I've experienced, is that I've learned that sometimes - love is just a lesson. We come into the world knowing how to love, and then life teaches us how not to, and sometimes God sends us someone that teaches us through both thru negativity and positivity, what love really means.

Sometimes love is being a lesson to someone else. And sometimes love is being able to receive that lesson.

Sometimes love means that if you come out of a bad relationship where you made mistakes, and jump right smack into the next relationship, you'll probably make the exact same mistakes all over again. Because you didn't learn the lesson, and until you do - God will make sure you repeat the class, until you get it. That's love ultimately - getting your potty mouth washed out with soap, until you stop cursing.

Sometimes love means being alone, figuring out who you are, and what you want. And getting yourself together before you try to love someone else. Loving yourself enough to say "damn, that relationship was some DEEP-FRIED bullshyt, and my ex is a complete a$$, but what part did I play in that? And what in myself do I need to fix to make dayum sure that I don't have to go through that again?" See, I've asked myself that question a whole lot, and then made sure that the a$$hole-drawing DNA strand in me was, if not removed, at least dampened so that the most heinous of a$$holes didn't see it.

Sometimes love is just about learning to love yourself, and appreciating yourself for who you are, without complicating matters with a relationship that you just plain are not ready for. And then sometimes love is, loving yourself enough to not settle for just any old love that walks up and knocks on your door and says "hello, is anybody home?". Love is knowing your own value, and then asking for that same value in a partner.

Most of us will experience love many times in our lives. We like to think that there's just this one soulmate for every person on earth, and if you miss your chance, love is gone for ever. I refuse to entertain that bullshyt any longer.

Love is a consistent choice, one that we all make every day. It's best to make it wisely.

lowered expectations:
Now, I'm sure at least 2-3 of you are going to read this and think, this is some Stuart Smalley bullshyt if I've ever read it. Ok, yes - there is that. Hell, I've rolled my eyes many a time at some of the shyt I've written, like "da hell do you think you are, single woman? How can you give anyone relationship advice? And isn't writing a how-to post on giving oral pleasure for women (the orig subject for this post) way more entertaining than this straight-off-Dr.-Phil's-blog bullshyt?!" Realism/shmealism - get back to the marginal humor, will'ya?

But right now as we speak, someone is going through it. They're catching sheer hell, for the sake of love - or what they perceive love to be.

Life is short, people. Too short to spend time/energy on drama, unnecessarily. And (I gotta say it) with all the dysfunction in the black community, with relationships & families, it's too f*cking risky to give drama life. Too many times, I see my people treating each other like absolute shyt, and then invoking the name of love to try and justify their abhorrent behavior. We're capable of so much more than this, and I for one ain't survived all that I've survived, to disgrace myself and my ancestors by settling for shyt, and calling it love.

In the spirit of love, for real. Know when to say: f*ck it, it's just not worth it anymore. And learn when to move on.

Dating giggles tomorrow. Maybe. For today, learn when/how to punt.