She wants to lead the glamorous life!

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Desperately Seeking a Life

It came to me this morning.  The realization that I have a problem, a real problem.  It was exactly a week ago today that I was starting to slowly and with wave-like nausea, come to after an hour and a half long, anesthetic-induced sleep-imposed minor surgery.  I have been instructed by my surgeon to keep physical activity light, no heavy lifting and rest for a full and quick recovery.  No bootcamp, no problem, I'll just keep my diet in check.  No heavy lifting, good, there is less risk of breaking a nail.  Rest, well we all could use a good rest, but where, when and how long becomes the issue.  I was prescribed, along with a bottle of 30 hydrocodone (vicodin), 2 full weeks of medical leave from work.

It was determined and agreed prior to surgery, by my father and I, that recovery would take place at his house.  I actually like being 'home'.  I sleep in my old twin-size bed.  Watch my old 13" t.v., which sits on my old 80's furniture.  As ridiculous as it sounds, I still have clothes here.  In fact, last week I found a nightgown I have been missing.  My dad cooks breakfast and we coordinate dinner, just like old times.  He has not (sarcastically) requested I leave yet, so I will stay.  But what occurred to me this morning, as I perused Facebook and my favorite gossip websites is, an idle mind IS the devil's playground.

Lately, I have been praying about my curt tongue, snide remarks, endless irritation of others and overall judgmental thoughts and comments.  My good girlfriend Lorraine advised that I am to love everyone and not judge or persecute them for their life decisions, even if said decisions are absolutely absurd to me.  We also discussed my Facebook stalking skills, or lack thereof.  How I pieced together unfounded nonsense about a mutual friend based on pictures posted and my own personal issues.  Recently, although we just had this conversation a mere 2 Saturdays ago, I was at it again.  I know it's time for me to, as Antoine says, 'get off of Facebook'.  If only for a few weeks, or at least limit my negative posts and stalking.  My stalking is the worst!  I start clicking on friends of friends of friends so tough, I cannot even remember how I got to the particular person's page!  I know, I know.  Once I went so far, I had to literally stop myself from commenting on a stranger's photo.  I really did want to 'Like' it and tell him how fierce he looked...shaking my head.

My self-diagnosed craziness reminded me of a cousin of mine.  She lives abroad with her military husband.  She is a housewife and stay-at-home mom of 3; a full-time job, indeed.  We are actually no longer friends on Facebook and have not spoken in about a year.  It's sad and stupid, but I don't feel like digging up old garbage.  The point is, a lot of our recent arguments and issues of late have surfaced since she started moving around and living the stay-at-home life.  Also, her pregnancies seem to present a problem too, we have fallen out around child #s 2 and 3.  It could be a coincidence, but I digress.  My cousin has been known to stir up gossip, spread stories throughout the family and giddily tell you what negative thing another family member has said about you.  She would scour MySpace (when that was popular) and Facebook and then report her disdain for the person who got pregnant before marriage, or got fat.  The person who is aging poorly, the designated ghetto girls or the couple who will not last in her opinion, have all come under her fire.  The reason this all sounds so familiar to me, is this type of snobbish rhetoric has graced my lips as of late.  This behavior is my new norm.  And why?  Because like my cousin who casually took classes at whatever local college was nearby where her husband was stationed, who's daily life was broken up only by taking the kids to daycare or having lunch with her husband, but who had a hard time keeping friends (even the other military wives) because she was moving around so, I am bored!

Boredom is tricky.  It's better than craziness knocking at your door, but it will drive you insane.  It is easy to be behind a computer or laying down watching t.v. and be so annoyed with everyone else, I mean, what else is there to do?  Sure 2 weeks off from work sounds fun initially, but if you have an injury or are limited in what you are able to do.  If you have only left the house a total of four times in a week.  If your conversations mainly involve the only other person in the house, sprinkled with daily progress report calls from your mother, you get bored!!  I want to heal completely before going back to work.  But when I'm back to normal, I assure you, I will not be nearly as interested in Facebook or petty website gossip.  Instead I will return to living and having something of value to talk about.  My stalking will again heavily consist of good deals and pieces to add to my wardrobe collection.  That's the best prescription yet.  Until then, it's almost time for the People's Court...

Monday, September 26, 2011

Enough Already!

I read a post on that just irked the shit out of me.  The 'Write or Die Chick', Janelle Harris, wrote about an article she read where an ignorant mofo said that he discourages his single friends from marrying a woman who did not grow up with a father, as she will not know how to treat a man.  Oh-kaaay!  Can we just stop!  What nonsense!  Can we stop reading, writing and sharing this ridiculousness? Why is the 'plight' of single black women always come back to us?!  Here are the most annoying reasons why we are single (if you believe them):  We are too old.  We have kids.  We have too many kids.  We don't have kids.  We have been married.  We have never been married.  We are overweight.  We don't take care of ourselves.  We are to selfish and vain.  We are ghetto.  We are quick to have an attitude.  We emasculate men.  We're not white (one of my personal favorites).  Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.  Can we all agree that some brothers (and maybe others) are just not trying to settle down now?  Not to mention the overall stats of population (men vs. women).  They have more options than ever and men are taking advantage and taking their sweet little time.  That's if they decide to settle at all.  But to say women who did not grow up with fathers will not make good wives.  Come on now!  I have officially heard it all.  I agree with Ms. Harris' sentiment on this issue.  Read the article here.  I have now taken a stand to not read another study, article, book passage, blog posting, or the likes about why I, MJ, is single.  Because if I believe in the Creator, as I do, than I have to trust and know that it is, what it is.  It will be, what it will be.  What is mine is mine, what is meant for me cannot be determined by some professor's jacked up data collected by women I cannot verify are even telling the truth.  Hell!  I can't even verify these 'subjects' exist.  Who knows where this information comes from or how it was collected.  I will not buy into it.  I will not open my ears to utter bull, any longer!  *exhale*

Thursday, September 22, 2011

My Imaginary Wealth

Out of the blue, my 23-year-old nephew contacted me via Facebook instant messenger to ask me to send him ‘some money’.  He initiated the exchange by saying he was attending Heartland, a local community college in his town.  My nieces and nephews know that education is my weakness.  If they mention school, I get excited.  I want them to go to school and make a positive mark on the world and their lives.  Call me optimistic, but I feel it’s never too late to do something positive with your life.  With that said, I did not believe him.  I ignored the message and did not respond.  
You see, I was not raised to give men money.  Especially for reasons like doing someone ‘a favor’.  Which is what my nephew offered as an explanation.  He did not ask for a specific amount, or detail what he planned on doing with the money he was asking for.  In fact, this able-bodied young man, who is only eight years younger than me, has not even contacted me since.  I am okay with that.  Because I hope he understands the message I am sending via my non-response.
There is this misconception that just because I work and do not have any kids, I should have all this expendable cash. Wise spenders have extra cash. Just because I am responsible, does not mean I am 'responsible'. Or that I have cash for you. No I do not have school supplies to buy, but my 'supplies' are just as important, like the cute suede peep-toe booties I bought last week. Or the four pairs of earrings I just had to have, that I ordered with a giddy smile on my face the other day. I got paid a week ago and the check is just about gone. Am I proud of this?  Not necessarily (I’m working on it). But this is one of the reasons why I do not have kids now. I am my own child.  I take care of myself. I spoil me!  Traditional parents buy back-to-school clothes, I shop for fall trends that translate for both day and night.  My field trips are to the Sprinkles cupcake shop, Ann Taylor and the Loft, Century Centre Cinema for an indie flick with my girlfriend, Sanctuary Nail Spa for a minx pedicure and basic manicure, not to mention spa services at the Peninsula and trips to wherever, whenever.  Please do not ask me for money; my 'baby's' gotta eat!!

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Call Me

I was short on cash this weekend, so I decided in an effort to avoid spending money, I would limit my activities.  Yesterday, I got up at 7:30am, did bootcamp, went grocery shopping (about 9:45am) and spent the rest of the day in my bed catching up on my DVR recordings.  By this morning I was suffering from cabin fever and decided to clean up my dining room (I was sick of seeing it look like a disaster zone), visit my cousin and spend some time with my dad.  He has been trying to collect this $20 I borrowed about 2 weeks ago and we needed to do some research.  What kind of research?  Glad you asked.  I have the distinctive honor, and/or burden depending on how you look at it, of getting my 80-year-old father, his very first cell phone!

I had already done my part of the research over a month ago.  But trying to explain what I discovered, without visuals was very difficult.  So today I brought my laptop and portable internet hotspot over his house to show him my findings, in the hopes we could wrap up this entire process soon.  The phones and plans we checked out are from AARP's Consumer Cellular and created specifically with older adults in mind.  There are plans as low as $14 a month for 100 minutes or $0.23/minute.  I think the 100 minutes will suffice for now.  Daddy wanted to know if the minutes rolled over.  He did not believe he would use them all, however, he was already asking what the cost would be if he received incoming calls.  He insisted on a camera phone.  Mainly because a friend of his (a woman) asked if he had a cell phone so she could send him some pictures.  I told him to have her send them to my e-mail.  To this he replied, 'what if the pictures are nude?'.  Good question, but I did not need the visual, thanks.  So instead of getting the phone I think would be the best one for his needs, with the best overall reviews, I am going to order the camera phone.  In case he may or may not receive potentially nude pictures.

The total cost will end up being $35 to activate the account and $14 for the month.  We will order it this week sometime.  He seemed satisfied.  And I feel as if I need a drink!  So if you get a mysterious butt-dial from a strange number, with abstract jazz music playing in the have been warned.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Labor Pains

I had a dream last night.  I had given birth to conjoined, or Siamese, twins.  They were small and perfect and fit right into the palms of my two hands.  The twins had two heads but shared everything else, a single set of arms, legs and one chest.  They were a beautiful brown and each had a full head of straight, jet-black hair.  The doctor or an authority whose face I did not see or cannot remember, said one of them would die.  I kept asking which one, but she wouldn't tell me and said I would know.  The twins shared a strong healthy heart that I could feel thumping in my hand while I held them.  Thump, thump.  When I woke this morning, I looked up the meaning of Siamese twins in a dream.  Here is what I found:

A bond between two individuals (emotional bond, family bond, marital bond, etc.)—for better or for worse, taking the good (companionship, support, etc.) with the bad (disagreements, irritations, etc.).

I am still trying to figure how this relates to me.  All I can say is I have been going through a metamorphoses lately.  I have been bold and kind of annoyed, happy and sad all at the same time, giddy and worried.  You can see my mood in the Mac Ruby Woo lipstick I bought last week and have been wearing faithfully.  Find it in my popped denim jacket collar.  Or in my stride that effortlessly moves me block after city block.  I am on a mission.  I do not know the full scope of it yet and I am not sure where it will lead, but there is a force that is moving me.  Onward.  

What struck me the most about the dream, was how the 'authority figure' had given up on the twins and my maternal instinct kicked in naturally.  I felt so comfortable and proud and hopeful, encouraged that they would survive.  That there was more life in them.  What the 'authority figure' could not see or feel or even understand, I knew.  Thump, thump.  I was moved and blessed by the notion of having given birth in the dream.  Pregnancy in dreams usually symbolize something new, a creation coming forth.  I welcome pregnancy in dreams.

When I survey how I have been feeling lately, irritated, excited, sad (I actually cried yesterday when I stepped out of bed and discovered it was cold and summer is over.) sensitive, but assertive and strong, hot in the pants and eating like a weirdo (I ate bbq chips and seafood salad for breakfast this morning), I feel like I am mimicking a pregnant woman.  If I was having an active sex life, I might be concerned.  Alas, I am not pregnant with child.  I am pregnant with possibilities.  What I am going through right now, according to an insightful friend (he is the only person I verbally shared my dream with), is the 'labor pains' that come with all pregnancies.

I am praying, not just for a speedy labor, but a healthy one.  I want to give birth to a real bundle of joy.  The kind that only God can conceive.  

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

The Honey(s) and the Babe(s)

Before you say it, I will say it for you, 'I'm a hater!'.  There, now we got that out the way, let's proceed.  I cannot stand, the Honey/Babes.  That is what I am naming 'them' for this post.  The Honey/Babes are the couples, usually very new, but already in intense relationships, who refer to each other as Honey or Babe.

You know who I am talking about, 'Hey honey, where did you put the bottle opener?' or 'Babe, have you seen my socks?'  Blah, blah, blah.  Shut the front door!  I never feel these couples are sincere or real.  It always seems like a set up to imminent failure.  Real couples, the ones I grew up around, the ones who have lasted into the double digit years, tend to use each other's real names, or maybe 'dear' as a pet name.  That always seemed more endearing.  Acknowledging the person and their wholeness, not creating some minimalist, sugary nickname.  'Sweetie, can you hand me the soap?'  I see these Honey/Babes, and I think, you've got a long way to go.  You have not even scratched the surface of real life love and romance.

Of course I want my own 'Honey' or 'Babe' (like soon); but I think I'll just stick to calling him by his given name.  I will welcome him into my life, cautiously at first, then wholeheartedly if he shows himself worthy.  I want to take him for who he is, not an anonymous, generic and fictitious man with no name.  Got it babe?