"I'm Just Absent-minded"

I work at the front desk of my office. From a button located under my desk, I have the power to 'buzz' my co-workers, visitors and delivery people in, allowing them access. As employees, we are all given key cards for self-entry. There is one co-worker, a young sista who forgets and/or loses her key card about 1-2 times a month, if not, more. Last week I finally asked her what was going on, to which she replied 'nothing'. That she does not know why she loses it, but it just happens. I told her I believed that there might be some dissatisfaction with her job. Why would you continuously lose something that allows you entry. I suggested it may be evidence of something deeper.

She got a little defensive and said, 'why does it have to be [like that] why can't it just mean that I'm just really absent-minded?'. To which I replied, 'well, girl, check-in! Join us!'. She smirked and walked away. Okay, I know what you are thinking, 'why don't you leave that girl alone?'. I feel you. But my observation came from love; I was not trying to chastise her. In fact, it got me to thinking about Corporate America and double standards for women of color.

In my opinion, young Black women cannot afford to be and do not possess the worldy-given permission to be lackadaisical. It is not ours. Young Black women have to be determined, critical thinkers, problem solvers and focused, all while staying fly. The whole, walk around the work place looking cute and playing/being ditzy, only works for White girls. That's what I call WGPs (White Girl Problems). You will lose your way following in their footsteps. You cannot do the whole pajama-wearing, I'm so tired thing, it does not fly with us. Why? Here is the reason: the man-made structures and systems of the world, were not made with us in mind.

This world was not set up to place us on pedestals. We do not have the luxury of being extra sweet to everyone 'just because'. It will and can back-fire in your face. Corporate America does not applaud us being 'hot' with little brains. In fact, how many sistas do you know who really slept their way to the 'top'? Laying on your back, will usually get you nothing but a wet ass and a bad reputation.

I know this first hand, armed with an M.A. in Gerontology (a field I have yet to enter some eight years later) at the ripe age of 23 years, I had no solid plan. I figured I was would just figure it out. In fact my undergrad was in African American Studies. Both, were topics I found 'interesting'. With my parents fitting the bill, I was even more careless about my future. I was never a 'school' type of person, but knew it was critical to my 'success'. Don't get me wrong, I consider myself successful, if only for the sheer fact I am gainfully employed and independent. But I sometimes wonder where I would be today, if I had not been so whimsical about my career goals and future. Where did the whole, 'let the chips fall as they may' get me? My opening line says it all, I work at the front desk, buzzing people in all day. Now when I say I love my job, I LOVE my job. I am a well-paid 'buzzer girl'! This is hands down thee best one yet, but I still wonder. If I had pushed myself more, been more focused or goal oriented, where would I be?

Movie Review!

I am so tired; I should be sleep right now. But if I do not write this now, it ain't happening. I saw The Farrelly Brothers' film Hall Pass tonight. It was my choice. I had heard some decent/good movie reviews and thought a funny movie would be a good choice. So my friend LV and I headed to the Icon Theater on Roosevelt after I got off of work.

The movie is what you would expect from the Farrelly Brothers, nudity, sex, masturbation jokes, 'poop' jokes and drugs. There were three scenes in the film, that LV and I never would have suspected would be included in this or any movie. If you have seen the film, we can discuss it. If not, I don't want to spoil anything. The acting in the film is downright bad, from everyone. Joy Behar, whom I love from The View is so stiff and uncomfortable, at one point she clearly looked off set. The spray tans used in the film were so overused, that it was hard to look at the actors without squinting.

One of the unexpected scenes contains my new favorite actor, Thaddeus Rahming. 'Who is Thaddeus Rahming?', you ask. He played the very weighty and important character:

Naked Guy #1. Now, if you do not go to see this film for any other reason, let Mr. Rahming be your guide. Now maybe it is because I have been abstinent since September, but liked me some Thaddeus. I was with a guy and did not want to become all old-lady-in-the-front-row-at-the-Apollo-with-the-jheri-curl (remember her?). I just kept repeating, 'Oh my God, oh my God'. If ever there was a time to bootleg a movie, this was it. Except my customers would be mad because that would be the only footage available.

Overall, the film had a good message: the grass is always greener...with all of it's over the top junior high bathroom humor, it was a crazy and fun movie. It is silly, but kept us entertained. LV says he will definitely get it on dvd. He enjoyed it. My recommendation is to rent it or get the film on dvd. This will make a great dvd film. I give this 'Hall Pass': 3 out of 5 purse-smuggled snacks.

Today Was a Good Day

As I sit bottomless watching SNL tonight, I am recounting what a good day I had today. I started slowly, which no matter how fast I want to get things started, my free days become Me days. I pulled Mary J. Blige's Mary album from Grooveshark and remembered why I used to love it so. The lyrics, message and songs are impeccable. When I was finally able to pull myself together, I headed over to my very first real salsa dance lesson. We learned the basic steps and some partner movement. I really love the studio, Latin Street Dance and my teacher (the owner, Lisa 'La Bariqua). Plus, your girl wasn't half bad. After class I headed over to get my hair done. Sidebar: why does everyone think if your hair is natural, you don't go to the salon. As my hairdresser says, 'natural doesn't mean neglected'. I love my hair salon. I was in there for 4 hours, but wasn't even mad, I enjoyed myself. From there I picked up sushi from Shinju Sushi in Hyde Park. I came home, ate my sushi and washed it down with Izze sparkling blackberry juice...yes, it was a good day.

She Hate Me

There is a girl I know. We are cool. In fact, today someone referred to us as 'girls'. I would not go that far, but a shallow friendship has blossomed. When I first met and started talking to the girl, she was nice enough, fun and easy to talk to. She is a major chatterbox, and that was okay with me, for awhile at least. Here is the 'problem'. She is quite 'urban', as my South African friend used to say. Although I am not against that per se, there are times when I have to draw a line in the sand.

For instance, playfully calling me bitch a little sooner than what would be naturally, if at all tolerable. Or saying, 'shut up', a little to often. Or, 'I hate you'. You know, little things ghetto boys and girls say to each other. I am not sure what part of the hood experience and environment makes everything hateful and annoying. Maybe it's the lack of adequate shelter, healthy food choices or well-equipped and proper schools. Whatever the case and I am sure there are many psychological and sociological causes and effects; but I am no expert, nor do I wish to delve into those issues now. All I will say is, I swear this girl hates me!

Now, you might say, 'hate' is such a strong word. Yes, I know. But it is also on a parallel street with love. Hate is not the opposite of love, in contrast, to some degree it rides right along side of love. The ex-boyfriends that I cannot stand the most, are the ones with whom I allowed myself to lose all self control. The ones I thought I could never live without. The friends that stir up the most negative emotions with me are the ones I feel betrayed me or left me behind for no 'good reason'. You sometimes have to be close enough to a person, admire them deeply to be able to hate them. The girl I speak of, hates me.

It is in the way she looks at me when I speak. That, 'shut up bitch!' expression. Or how defensive she gets when I disagree with her ridiculous logic. When I have an opinion, she goes out of her way to dispute my argument. Furthermore, that superficial smile! Yet, she still wants me around. She is a total frenemy!

I finally today verbalized my feelings about her to another friend. It was the first time I was able to say it aloud, I do not 'think she likes me'. Now that I have said it, I am okay. Because, I do not like, or trust for that matter, her either. But in my quest to start accepting people for who they are and not letting that deter me from being or trying to be good, I am not going to 'drop' her in my old MJ fashion. Instead, I will accept her for who she is and keep her at a comfortable distance for us both.

Yeah, she might hate me, but I don't.

Ring My Bell

I have a doctor's appointment today. The reason for my visit is to figure out what is going on with my finger. I noticed some pain in it about 3-4 weeks ago. I felt soreness whenever I tried to clinch a full fist or flatten out all of my fingers or even clap. I thought the pain would go away, but although it feels better, it is still not 100% healed. I did not want some minor injury to turn into a major one, so I made an appointment. Here is where the story gets interesting. When I made my appointment, the woman asked what was wrong. I described to her my issue, but had the hardest time explaining which finger. I had a similar scenario with my mother, which went something like this: 'it's the finger on my left hand, in between my pinky and middle finger. You know, my second finger.' My mother replied: 'you mean your ring finger?' To which I answered, 'uuh, yes, yeah, my ring finger.'

I was thinking about that today. How crazy is it that the finger which I used to envision my glorious wedding ring, the one that my wonderful husband and father of my 3-5 beautiful children would give me, is now, just that finger between my pinky and middle finger? How is it that the term 'ring finger', no longer seems to apply to my everyday life. Maybe it is because, no ring of any kind has been on this finger in years. At some point this magical finger, turned into, just another digit. I used to have such promise for this finger. Now it's most major purpose is to hit my W, S and X keys while typing. Life will change in a blink of an eye. Slowly, but surely, even the best ideas and dreams lose a bit of their luster.

Fast forward...

So it's now the next day (Saturday) and I have had my doctor's visit. She did not see anything wrong. Instead she said that maybe my tendons had become swollen. As long as I did not see swelling in the neighboring fingers or a bruise or there was not any 'locking' of this particular finger, I was okay. In fact, it took her all of about 3 minutes to tell me to take 2 Advil a couple of times a day and the problem should be resolved. According to the doctor, this is nothing to worry about. Now that I know my finger is fine, maybe I will again allow myself to start thinking of it as more than a keystroke agent. Maybe I will be brave enough and even hopeful enough to call it by it's proper title. Maybe.

I HATE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW!!

There is someone in my life, or rather on the outskirts of my life, who I would like to forget. I want him to disappear, not literally, just figuratively. He can live a long and healthy life, but I want said life away from me. We have a history together. It is a toxic one that seems to make me either cringe or giggle. There was a time when I thought I loved him. Then I grew up. He is one of those individuals who pops up when you least expect it. His motive and purpose is unclear. What is clear is that he brings out my polar opposite extremes. I either feel totally comfortable in his presence, thinking this could be it. Or, my temples hurt from thinking about how much I cannot stand him.

He irks me in a special way that only a few have done previously. It is said that love and hate are virtually the same thing. That the phenomena of hate is that deep down there is love. Whatever the case, this week alone, I counted about three times where I had visions of kicking him in the face. Yes, me, the girl who does not fight, wants to judo-chop him into the fetus position. Why? Well I'm not sure. Maybe it's because when I'm perfecting minding my business, here he comes around the corner trying to stop my inevitable progress. Saying things like 'you're my soulmate', 'you never give me a chance' or my favorite, 'you hurt me when you said that'. Or could it be how we literally go around and around? Our 'relationship' is cyclical and oh, so predictable. It goes something like this: a call from nowhere, 'I was just thinking about my baby'. Then the 'let's grab something to eat, I know how much my baby likes to eat.' From there, we usually meet up for food (you know phat girls got to eat!). During the meal, when my senses are down, here comes the 'let's do it, let's just do it'. And then the, 'I miss you'. After that the, 'I know I've hurt you and I understand that, I'm sorry'. I can't forget the, 'I miss yo crazy ass! You're the only person that makes me laugh, you're so silly. MJ, I love you.' By then I'm all full and feeling the euphoria of a free meal, next thing I know, I'm actually considering it! Maybe if I can control my eating habits, this shit wouldn't happen!...something to consider. In the car, sitting outside of my building is where I get confronted with the awkward kiss attempt. If you could see my face right now...

Anyway, all of this brings me to last night. He had IM'd me on Facebook, 'hi'. I responded with attitude, 'yes?'. Then he logged off. I then commenced to writing him this long, irate and hostile, quite harsh Facebook message. After typing and proofreading it (there is never an excuse for bad grammar, spelling or punctuation), I deleted his name as the recipient and sent it to Antoine instead. His response, 'all I can say is you sound crazy. The first few lines are harsh. Delete it, don't send it.' My mind did not think it was that bad, but of course she's the one who wrote it. But something in my heart told me I could do better. I guess that's why before clicking send, I sent it to Antoine, not my intended target. I am well aware that at times my tongue and pen can be like a heat-seeking missile. I cannot remember the message verbatim, but I do know I accused him of being a psychopath, even providing a full definition in case he was unaware of what the word meant. I also dropped some well placed 'F-bombs' to emphasize my point. Plus, asking him how an 'asshole such as yourself would get rid of you?' Making the point that I wanted him to get ghost and leave me alone. The message started with 'what is your purpose?'

Anyway, I am glad I have the wisdom to get things off of my chest with a third party as opposed to saying what I really feel. Twenty-year-old MJ would have, at 30, well it just does not seem as important to put everybody that annoys the shit out of me in their place. In fact, I have become more creative in my need to rid myself of undesirables.

I will send this someone a text, letting him know about this post. He once said he wanted me to write something about him. Being the masochist that he is, I'm sure he knew it would be negative. I think that's part of the joy he gets in even contacting me. He knows we're not right for one another. He even finally verbally admitted it, as I have said before, I can do better and he is not good enough for me. But that just titillates and tickles his fancy even more.

So if YOU ARE reading this, welcome to my most inner thoughts. Sit down, have a seat, make yourself comfortable. Because this is the last time I will allow you to infiltrate my emotions, irk the hell out of me and overall lounge up in my head. Get real comfy. Wrap yourself up in a smurf-blue snuggie if you have to; this is your day. This is your moment. After this day. At the end of this last keystroke, you will cease to exist to me. Now go lunch on that!

A Little Milk For Your Coffee?

Last night, I finally did it. I finally signed up for Match.com. When I tell you I was nervous, while being excited at the same time, I am not even lying. I started with eHarmony, where I had previously completed a profile, but chickened out and did not pay for the service. When I went back to the site last night and completed the survey and profile questionnaire, I discovered that the fee for love was a bit too steep for my tastes. So I sauntered over to Match. It was there, that for a lot less, I created a profile.

I was so nervous. The picture alone had me second-guessing myself. What picture do I post? My hair is natural and I normally wear a nappy-funky 'fro. If not, twists. Do men like that? I may straighten it from time to time, if they like my hair natural, maybe they won't like it straight. What picture most accurately shows what I look like? I don't want to falsely advertise myself. I wanted to post a picture from Cancun that shows me from a distance kicking my leg; it was fun, flirty, but not overtly sexual. The Match system rejected it. I learned your profile picture has to be a facial close-up. Okay, I can respect that. The system instead chose a better picture from the few I had uploaded.

So, the picture is picked and I have completed my questionnaire. Now it's time for the 'matches' to start rolling in, right? I mean, I only have a month. Let's get this thing started! Match comes up with about twelve potential 'matches' soon after my profile was complete. When I saw who was chosen, the men that at least twice completely matched me, I almost screamed! With the exception of a few, they were all white! If Match is correct, my 'perfect match' is white, Jewish and/or Christian Catholic men between the ages of 29-42. What the hell!!?? The few brothas that were 'mutual matches' were all from Naperville and looked like the type who only date anything but Black women.

On the flip side, the men who's requirements I matched, most of them were brothas. But they were only 70% matches! What does that say about what I want in a man? I'm perfect for brothas, but not so much the other way around? Here I am always seeking brothas, but could the man that meets my needs be a nice Jewish boy from Lincoln Park? Have I been blocking my own blessings, because I can only imagine being with a certain package?

This comes on the heels of at least three friends suggesting I expand my 'search' and open myself up to men of other ethnic groups. Antoine, my best friend, has flat out said, he feels that's who I will most likely end up settling down with. It's hard to believe considering I feel like I'm so, fist in the air, afro-wearing soul sista with a '70s Blaxploitation edge. But I guess that's not what everyone else sees.

So I've had a couple of 'winks' and even chatted with a guy who's opening chat line was: 'are you into older white guys?' Ummm...now that you mention it...no. I will not respond to nonsense, and in an effort to ease my ego's concerns my initial reaction was to change my search requirements. Lighten up about the 'a few extra pounds' option. No, because my experience is, a few extra pounds starts to lean towards fat. I don't want that right now. The more I think about it, I'm not going to change at all. I will not lower my standards so that I can be Match.com popular. Or 'popular' even in 'real life.' I will be specific with my 'can't stands' or 'must haves'.

I'll keep you posted. But for now, I'm giving myself the option and permission to add a little cream in my coffee.