Reasons why I don't mind leaving guys with self-inflicted blue balls:
1) "I date a lot of black girls. And of all the black girls I date, I like the way you smell the best." o_O
2) "You're my favorite girl from the neighborhood." 0_0
3) "I don't really like the "local" people." (I live in Bed Stuy)
4) "You know I'm not disrespectful," while attempting to smack my ass in public.
Yeah. And so that was the last day I spoke to that guy...
Saturday, October 25, 2014
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
There's a difference between going to it, and going through it. Which one are you doing?
We all have to go through it to get to it, but can we focus on the getting to rather than the going through? Still trying to figure that out...
I mean... I guess you can say I'm a little extreme.
I'm either all in, or all out. I'm just not about that "wavering in between" life. Either you like me, or you don't. Either I'm with you, or I'm not. If it happens that when I'm with you life is great, but when I'm not, it's "out of sight, out of mind," I'm just not with that shit. If we're only together when we're together, well then we're not together at all... right?
I want it all. Not just some of it. I mean... if I'm with you, I'm with you. Not just sometimes. And so, I expect the same. Unfortunately, expectations ruin everything. But I'll have them anyway.
I want it all. Not just some of it. I mean... if I'm with you, I'm with you. Not just sometimes. And so, I expect the same. Unfortunately, expectations ruin everything. But I'll have them anyway.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
The Problem.
The problem is not necessarily that he's not thinking about me. Or not texting me. Or not calling me. Really, I don't have that much to say, so I don't mind not saying anything. The problem is that he may be thinking about her. And texting her. And calling her... instead of me. And every vein in my body, every hair on my head, every piece of my being... is tortured by the thought of that. The thought of him thinking... about her. You see where this is going?
This whole ego thing - not for me. Life would be so much better without it. As far as I can tell, I'm not in love. I'm not lost in a whirlwind of emotions. I'm not daydreaming about our togetherness... so what the f*ck is the problem? Why am I so concerned that he is talking to her if he's not talking to me? He can talk to whomever he wants... as can I. And talking to an ex is simply not unreasonable. But it brings my blood to a muthaf*ckin' BOIL.
There are several issues here. First is the obvious. Maybe he's just... well... doing stuff. Enjoying his day. Enjoying his life. Kind of how I am, minus the compulsive obsessing over why he isn't thinking about me. Just a sidebar and a warning - this story does NOT get better. There is no denouement. My insurance still doesn't cover therapy. And so, I'll be here for a while. So yeah... he might be out just... being a person. Second is also obvious. He may be thinking about her/texting her/talking to her... but that's his business. And if he isn't that into me, I clearly should keep it moving. The problem is that when ego and compulsive obsessing meet, they screw shit up. Like really screw shit up. And turning it off is simply not an option. I've been namaste-ing and breathing and letting go and shit all around this mothaf*cker, and STILL cannot shake this. Jealousy, wounded ego, and compulsion. Yes. That's happening right now.
To take this a step deeper, as a yoga instructor, and a developmental psychologist of sorts, all I do is think about people, and how people think, and how people think about other people, and well... you get the idea. So I'm thinking about what he's thinking. And I don't like what I came up with. To be completely honest (and I've already been, so this should be no surprise), I'm thinking that what he's thinking is that he wants to be with his ex, and I'm just floating around to pass the time. F*cked up, right? So if I'm thinking that, why am I also not thinking, "fuck that n-word," and keeping it moving? I mean... I want to let it go. I want to. I'm not choosing to suffer. I know it looks like that. But I'm not. Really. So why the f*ck am I still here? I like him... enough. But do I like him... that much? Not so sure. Maybe... I'm bored? But damn. Could I be that bored? Nah... couldn't be. And as you may or may not know, "maybe I'm not *insert adjective here* enough" always lingers in the background... And what's really annoying is when your friends say things like, "You're beautiful! You're great! Stop thinking about him!," as if they have NO idea how annoying and unhelpful that shit is. I mean... be HONEST. Be like, "Girl... you should just move to Paris and have a bunch of lovers, cuz n-words ain't shit..." You know why? Cuz that is real. That is helpful. Anyway... so yeah. Happy F*cking Sunday.
And I mean... I should be able to have a guy who... thinks about me... right? From what I gather, I'm somewhat attractive by Western standards (minus being black and what not, but whatevs), I'm smart (again, by Western standards since I have degrees that say so), and I'm in shape (once more... by Western standards, since I probably look unhealthily small in some cultures), so I really don't have to chase or disgrace to get my Ace. Nah-meen? And yet, here I am... ordering lamb chops (and I'm a pescatarian), and preparing my glass of wine so I can "let go." That seems to be my "let go" juice. You know what? Maybe that's the moral here. Maybe... I just need to drink more wine. And then maybe... everything will be fine. I can dig that, actually.
My apologies if you were hoping for a better ending. I will say this... this morning a woman gave me a complement on my mascara and asked, "How did you get your eyelashes like that?" To which I responded, "Like what?" To which she replied, "Like... to look individual...? It looks like you put it on, and then let it dry, and then reapplied... it's cool! I like it!" To which I responded, "Oh. That. Uh... that's cuz it's from last night." Chile... I need to get my life. End scene. No really... please END THE F*CKING SCENE.
This whole ego thing - not for me. Life would be so much better without it. As far as I can tell, I'm not in love. I'm not lost in a whirlwind of emotions. I'm not daydreaming about our togetherness... so what the f*ck is the problem? Why am I so concerned that he is talking to her if he's not talking to me? He can talk to whomever he wants... as can I. And talking to an ex is simply not unreasonable. But it brings my blood to a muthaf*ckin' BOIL.
There are several issues here. First is the obvious. Maybe he's just... well... doing stuff. Enjoying his day. Enjoying his life. Kind of how I am, minus the compulsive obsessing over why he isn't thinking about me. Just a sidebar and a warning - this story does NOT get better. There is no denouement. My insurance still doesn't cover therapy. And so, I'll be here for a while. So yeah... he might be out just... being a person. Second is also obvious. He may be thinking about her/texting her/talking to her... but that's his business. And if he isn't that into me, I clearly should keep it moving. The problem is that when ego and compulsive obsessing meet, they screw shit up. Like really screw shit up. And turning it off is simply not an option. I've been namaste-ing and breathing and letting go and shit all around this mothaf*cker, and STILL cannot shake this. Jealousy, wounded ego, and compulsion. Yes. That's happening right now.
To take this a step deeper, as a yoga instructor, and a developmental psychologist of sorts, all I do is think about people, and how people think, and how people think about other people, and well... you get the idea. So I'm thinking about what he's thinking. And I don't like what I came up with. To be completely honest (and I've already been, so this should be no surprise), I'm thinking that what he's thinking is that he wants to be with his ex, and I'm just floating around to pass the time. F*cked up, right? So if I'm thinking that, why am I also not thinking, "fuck that n-word," and keeping it moving? I mean... I want to let it go. I want to. I'm not choosing to suffer. I know it looks like that. But I'm not. Really. So why the f*ck am I still here? I like him... enough. But do I like him... that much? Not so sure. Maybe... I'm bored? But damn. Could I be that bored? Nah... couldn't be. And as you may or may not know, "maybe I'm not *insert adjective here* enough" always lingers in the background... And what's really annoying is when your friends say things like, "You're beautiful! You're great! Stop thinking about him!," as if they have NO idea how annoying and unhelpful that shit is. I mean... be HONEST. Be like, "Girl... you should just move to Paris and have a bunch of lovers, cuz n-words ain't shit..." You know why? Cuz that is real. That is helpful. Anyway... so yeah. Happy F*cking Sunday.
And I mean... I should be able to have a guy who... thinks about me... right? From what I gather, I'm somewhat attractive by Western standards (minus being black and what not, but whatevs), I'm smart (again, by Western standards since I have degrees that say so), and I'm in shape (once more... by Western standards, since I probably look unhealthily small in some cultures), so I really don't have to chase or disgrace to get my Ace. Nah-meen? And yet, here I am... ordering lamb chops (and I'm a pescatarian), and preparing my glass of wine so I can "let go." That seems to be my "let go" juice. You know what? Maybe that's the moral here. Maybe... I just need to drink more wine. And then maybe... everything will be fine. I can dig that, actually.
My apologies if you were hoping for a better ending. I will say this... this morning a woman gave me a complement on my mascara and asked, "How did you get your eyelashes like that?" To which I responded, "Like what?" To which she replied, "Like... to look individual...? It looks like you put it on, and then let it dry, and then reapplied... it's cool! I like it!" To which I responded, "Oh. That. Uh... that's cuz it's from last night." Chile... I need to get my life. End scene. No really... please END THE F*CKING SCENE.
Friday, September 26, 2014
It's Friday. Again.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Breaking Up Before Breaking In.
Yeah. I do that.
So, I'm wondering if I'm the only one who daydreams about my arguments and break-up when I meet a guy I like. Imagining the apex to the downfall is like... therapy. Anyone reading this is probably wondering if I see a therapist. Unfortunately, no. I don't. I should. But my current insurance doesn't have that. Anyway. I meet a guy. We talk. We like each other (well... I like him, and hope it's requited). And then I think about all the reasons why it won't work, and imagine what the break-up will be like. You guessed it. I'm single. And will very likely remain that way. The great thing is that I love wine, whiskey, and water. And really, that's all I need to survive.
Shit.
So, I'm wondering if I'm the only one who daydreams about my arguments and break-up when I meet a guy I like. Imagining the apex to the downfall is like... therapy. Anyone reading this is probably wondering if I see a therapist. Unfortunately, no. I don't. I should. But my current insurance doesn't have that. Anyway. I meet a guy. We talk. We like each other (well... I like him, and hope it's requited). And then I think about all the reasons why it won't work, and imagine what the break-up will be like. You guessed it. I'm single. And will very likely remain that way. The great thing is that I love wine, whiskey, and water. And really, that's all I need to survive.
Shit.
really, dude?
him: ur attractive. ur smart. and ur... in ur 30s... so what are you waitin' for?
me: *blank stare*
...and so that ended that conversation. i wasn't even offended, really. it was just a small matter of a furrowed brow, and a questioning of audacity cuz like... who says that?
the question required so much dissecting, i couldn't believe an artist - and not a biologist - asked it. what was i waiting for? well for one, a dude who didn't think that question was ok. but... was i really waiting? i hadn't ever considered that i was, and was not clear what i was doing to suggest that there was waiting happening. there was the one time at the gathering where i waited for someone to make my drink... but clearly he wasn't referring to that. was i 'waiting' for 'my' guy? couldn't be... right? like... i don't even think 'my' guy exists. or maybe i do? pfff.
and so now me, the over thinker, is sitting here wondering if i'm waiting. questioning why i always choose guys who are 'unavailable,' and recognizing my clear pattern of picking dudes who won't/"can't" pick me. i'm still working thru this. like... am i that happy by myself? or is it just fear of being hurt to the core? here's what... frank ocean makes me feel normal. he seems to feel similarly. and so, as long as my ipod works, i'm ok. for now.
me: *blank stare*
...and so that ended that conversation. i wasn't even offended, really. it was just a small matter of a furrowed brow, and a questioning of audacity cuz like... who says that?
the question required so much dissecting, i couldn't believe an artist - and not a biologist - asked it. what was i waiting for? well for one, a dude who didn't think that question was ok. but... was i really waiting? i hadn't ever considered that i was, and was not clear what i was doing to suggest that there was waiting happening. there was the one time at the gathering where i waited for someone to make my drink... but clearly he wasn't referring to that. was i 'waiting' for 'my' guy? couldn't be... right? like... i don't even think 'my' guy exists. or maybe i do? pfff.
and so now me, the over thinker, is sitting here wondering if i'm waiting. questioning why i always choose guys who are 'unavailable,' and recognizing my clear pattern of picking dudes who won't/"can't" pick me. i'm still working thru this. like... am i that happy by myself? or is it just fear of being hurt to the core? here's what... frank ocean makes me feel normal. he seems to feel similarly. and so, as long as my ipod works, i'm ok. for now.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Feminists Killed Chivalry. Viva la period.
Ok, so...those who know me well know that I totally oppose "folk" feminism. I appreciate gender roles, and don't want to put up curtains or change my own flats (unless it means changing into heels). My idea of feminism falls along a completely different continuum where I get at least a day off to bleed out my entire uterine wall without some a-hole of a dude assuming that I'm weaker because I want the freaking day off - especially since it's for his own protection. It has nothing to do with being weaker. It's actually about being uber strong - bionic, even. Don't fight for my right to work while menstruating; fight for me to receive some bloody benefits! Pun intended. Anyhow, I believe that folk feminists have ruined my life by forcing me to put up curtains and change flats whilst menstruating. To prove what? I don't wanna do that ish. I got cramps, dammit. It's some real bull%*$*. Despite that, I occasionally like to vote, be paid equal wages, and not be beaten and raped and stuff. Nonetheless, chivalry got lost in the "folk" feminist sauce and I'm just like...wha-huh?
A quick google of the word 'chivalry' brings you to the wikipedia definition (and c'mon...you know everything on wiki is true and correct, and worthy of use in academic journals) that suggests that folk feminists objected to chivalry by 1911! From wiki: "The idea that men were to act and live deferentially on behalf of women and children, though an ancient principle, was already under attack by 1911 from militant suffragettes intent on leveling the political playing field by removing from the public mindset the notion that women were a “weaker sex” in need of saving." I"m sorry, so men are to show women deference, and we should be...mad? I'm not. I'm not mad. I'm really not mad at men being deferential. I mean...I kinda like it. Some people think women are weaker. Some people think I'm a nigger. I'm really not going to be upset because some man wants to show deference. I would be upset, however, if he tried to lynch me. Locate your priorities. I'm just saying - there are some real, live biological structural differences that do give average men the upper hand over average women when it comes to certain things - things like...changing flats. Similarly, women also have the upper hand over certain things - pain tolerance, and mental stability, for example. So yes, there are structural differences between the sexes that should be acknowledged here and there. Weaker physically? Possibly. Weaker mentally? Not by a long shot. And then comes chivalry.
This folk feminism has created this class of men who either have no idea of what chivalry is, or have no desire to be chivalrous because they feel it's totally unnecessary. These new-aged dudes that wanna go dutch and have you open doors are like...not for me. I would totally be down for a knight back in the day, although my blackness would probably mean that the whole knight thing would turn into slavery and stuff, so the chivalry would still be lost. I would never wanna be anything but a black woman, but gosh - we just don't get the benefits of being female (and never have, hence my being anti-folk feminism). Tangent. Sorry. Anyhow, I can't completely blame men for their lack of chivalrous attitudes when they think that we wanna be treated as equals in every aspect of our lives. Now, when it comes to my damn PAY...! I don't wanna do man sh*t. There are some women that enjoy non-chivalry, and who wish to be equal in every aspect of their male-female relationship. I get it, and I think it's awesome. I, however, am not one of them. I am completely capable of taking care of myself entirely, and taking care of everyone else while I do it. But every once in a while, it's nice to know you don't have to. Reason #912 why I'm single. I like chivalry. And I treat myself too well to relinquish my caretaking to someone who won't treat me as well as I do. Open my door, dammit.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Dear "Shy" Dudes: You Suck.
Here's what pisses me off about some dudes.
The shy/super in touch with your feminine side/equality act doesn't cut it. It's annoying. And you're annoying if you do it.
A number of things have happened since certain types of feminism have gained popularity over the past few decades - while we've made some strides with the abandonment of many heteronormative notions, we've lost ish like courting (and dudes now wanting to be equals when it comes to fixing cars, pumping gas, and putting up curtains. Rude. I mean... I can do it... but do I want to?) Call me old-fashioned but... hello? Courting is awesome. And this whole "wait for a chick to come and talk to you," or "wait for a chick to call" ish? What is that?
Here's what. When I'm out somewhere (dinner, drinks, social event, conference, workshop, or whatEVER), you have two options. Open your mouth and say something, or get out of my face. Speak, or do not look over here. No one wants to be ogled or ostracized, and when you stare at people it seems like you're doing one of the two. Plus... didn't some elder teach you not to stare? It's freaking rude. Like... am I an alien? And if you think I am, please tell me. I would rather you say, "excuse me miss, but you look like an alien this evening" than for you to stare at me leaving me awkwardly trying to figure out what is on my forehead. It's not endearing. And it's not attractive. And it's just dumb.
Then... what's up with these dudes that want you to sweat them? Is this new, or has this been happening the whole time and I just didn't notice? I know - a lot of it is just me. I'm old fashioned, and in my mind things happen like they did in the 1920s, minus the lack of a right to vote, or sit at a counter and eat, or drink at any fountain, or learn to read and write, or have a real job, or look white people in the eye, etc. But other than that, in my mind things totally happen like they did back then. (And btdubs, I woulda still been looking white people in the eye, and probably would've gotten lynched, raped in the ear, and burned or something). Anyhow, the way I see it, a man sets his sights on some little lady - he's wearing a peacoat, and she's wearing a petticoat for whatever reason - they're at a train station, everything is black and white, they speak funny and say things like "Here's looking at you kid," and "I wish I didn't love you so much," or is that Casablanca? Anyway, the point is that times haven't changed so much that (most) women don't want to be courted. Heck, that goes for traditional and non-traditional relationships. Somebody has to do it. Here's what. It's not going to be me. I'm not going to court you. That's uber ridiculous. Wake up and sniff out which one of us has (outside) balls. Boooooooo scary dudes. You suck.
*These stories are based on real life instances - either mine, or my homies.
The shy/super in touch with your feminine side/equality act doesn't cut it. It's annoying. And you're annoying if you do it.
A number of things have happened since certain types of feminism have gained popularity over the past few decades - while we've made some strides with the abandonment of many heteronormative notions, we've lost ish like courting (and dudes now wanting to be equals when it comes to fixing cars, pumping gas, and putting up curtains. Rude. I mean... I can do it... but do I want to?) Call me old-fashioned but... hello? Courting is awesome. And this whole "wait for a chick to come and talk to you," or "wait for a chick to call" ish? What is that?
Here's what. When I'm out somewhere (dinner, drinks, social event, conference, workshop, or whatEVER), you have two options. Open your mouth and say something, or get out of my face. Speak, or do not look over here. No one wants to be ogled or ostracized, and when you stare at people it seems like you're doing one of the two. Plus... didn't some elder teach you not to stare? It's freaking rude. Like... am I an alien? And if you think I am, please tell me. I would rather you say, "excuse me miss, but you look like an alien this evening" than for you to stare at me leaving me awkwardly trying to figure out what is on my forehead. It's not endearing. And it's not attractive. And it's just dumb.
Then... what's up with these dudes that want you to sweat them? Is this new, or has this been happening the whole time and I just didn't notice? I know - a lot of it is just me. I'm old fashioned, and in my mind things happen like they did in the 1920s, minus the lack of a right to vote, or sit at a counter and eat, or drink at any fountain, or learn to read and write, or have a real job, or look white people in the eye, etc. But other than that, in my mind things totally happen like they did back then. (And btdubs, I woulda still been looking white people in the eye, and probably would've gotten lynched, raped in the ear, and burned or something). Anyhow, the way I see it, a man sets his sights on some little lady - he's wearing a peacoat, and she's wearing a petticoat for whatever reason - they're at a train station, everything is black and white, they speak funny and say things like "Here's looking at you kid," and "I wish I didn't love you so much," or is that Casablanca? Anyway, the point is that times haven't changed so much that (most) women don't want to be courted. Heck, that goes for traditional and non-traditional relationships. Somebody has to do it. Here's what. It's not going to be me. I'm not going to court you. That's uber ridiculous. Wake up and sniff out which one of us has (outside) balls. Boooooooo scary dudes. You suck.
*These stories are based on real life instances - either mine, or my homies.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
"Open" Relationship? Go F*%k Yourself.
Granted, there are many things I wanted to blog about that did not include this topic - I would prefer to talk about food, quite honestly. But alas, proposal writing and a useless stats course got in the way of life for a while - not to mention my extracurricular French course that I threw in as if I had 'free' time. Needless to say, all of my time is paid for, but apparently I'm not the one receiving the checks - and therefore have had no time to traverse the terrain of topics I fancy. Anyhoo...
I had to just stop for a minute and get into this 'open relationship' thing, as I've come across many dudes of late who think this is like... the new twinkie or something. Like...wtf? I'll start with this - and by no means take this as bible - when you are in an open relationship and you're cool with it, then I guess it's all good. You do you, and your partner does them (and occasionally you do each other?). But at the end of the day, you may agree to come together and respect each other and be in love and together forever and whatever the hell open relationship people do. I ain't knockin' it. I haven't tried it. I probably won't, but hey... what do I know.
But here is what I am knocking. When you are in an open relationship with a partner you love and respect and want to be with forever, why the f*&$ would you think I wanted to be the 'other' chick that you do mon-wed-thurs? (you don't get Friday, cuz that's reserved for the premiere chick.) Like... are you on crack? Seriously. What the f*^% kind of $&*t are you smoking? I didn't grow up thinking, "oh man, I sure hope to be second best one day!" or "wow, it would be sooo awesome to be the side chick!" or "I've always wanted to be mormon!" No. That didn't happen. Being the "other" side of an open relationship is not appealing unless you aren't actually interested in a relationship of your own - and even then, you're just getting leftover sperm that didn't shoot out the night before. I'm not sure at what point anyone thought that saying "I'm married, but my wife and I are in an open relationship" sounded any different than saying "I'm married, but me and my wife f*&% other people, and I'd like you to be one of them." That's bulls&*t. Oh, and f&^% you.
I kinda wanna kick people in their teeth when they come to me with this. Cuz ok - if you're in an open relationship and that's how you swerve, again I will say "all good" and "do you, boo." But when you try to incorporate me into that, it's pretty offensive. What it says to me - regardless of how one might actually mean it - is that I'm not worth being anybody's number one, and should therefore settle into some no medal position in your olympic-sized harem where all is well and you sling your shlong to all your concubines.
I suppose this is another reason why I'm single. I'm not willing to be a concubine. Can you blame me - I mean... it's 2012. Concubines are so 2008. Here's what - I'm too awesome to be a side hoe. So if you see me prancing around looking second best, please know that at that moment I was simply not at the top of my game - then forgive me, turn around, and get the f^&* away from me before I kick you in your d*ck.
Thanks.
I had to just stop for a minute and get into this 'open relationship' thing, as I've come across many dudes of late who think this is like... the new twinkie or something. Like...wtf? I'll start with this - and by no means take this as bible - when you are in an open relationship and you're cool with it, then I guess it's all good. You do you, and your partner does them (and occasionally you do each other?). But at the end of the day, you may agree to come together and respect each other and be in love and together forever and whatever the hell open relationship people do. I ain't knockin' it. I haven't tried it. I probably won't, but hey... what do I know.
But here is what I am knocking. When you are in an open relationship with a partner you love and respect and want to be with forever, why the f*&$ would you think I wanted to be the 'other' chick that you do mon-wed-thurs? (you don't get Friday, cuz that's reserved for the premiere chick.) Like... are you on crack? Seriously. What the f*^% kind of $&*t are you smoking? I didn't grow up thinking, "oh man, I sure hope to be second best one day!" or "wow, it would be sooo awesome to be the side chick!" or "I've always wanted to be mormon!" No. That didn't happen. Being the "other" side of an open relationship is not appealing unless you aren't actually interested in a relationship of your own - and even then, you're just getting leftover sperm that didn't shoot out the night before. I'm not sure at what point anyone thought that saying "I'm married, but my wife and I are in an open relationship" sounded any different than saying "I'm married, but me and my wife f*&% other people, and I'd like you to be one of them." That's bulls&*t. Oh, and f&^% you.
I kinda wanna kick people in their teeth when they come to me with this. Cuz ok - if you're in an open relationship and that's how you swerve, again I will say "all good" and "do you, boo." But when you try to incorporate me into that, it's pretty offensive. What it says to me - regardless of how one might actually mean it - is that I'm not worth being anybody's number one, and should therefore settle into some no medal position in your olympic-sized harem where all is well and you sling your shlong to all your concubines.
I suppose this is another reason why I'm single. I'm not willing to be a concubine. Can you blame me - I mean... it's 2012. Concubines are so 2008. Here's what - I'm too awesome to be a side hoe. So if you see me prancing around looking second best, please know that at that moment I was simply not at the top of my game - then forgive me, turn around, and get the f^&* away from me before I kick you in your d*ck.
Thanks.
Monday, July 16, 2012
self(ish)
i felt like
the only one
who floated thru space
when my eyes closed
the only one
who wandered thru scenes
that had not happened
yet
i felt like
i would hover
in this place quietly
since i had previously been ignored
to my surprise
there you were
to find me
and pry me out
for your own good.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
'She Don't Wantchu' Cues - Part Deux.
In no particular order.
These are all seemingly common sense, however I find that many men (and probably women) are guilty of ignoring social cues that are utilized simply in an effort to not outwardly hurt anyone's feelings, injure anyone's pride, or blatantly say 'dude your an asshole. please go away.' Why do dudes want to force us to do that?
These cues, if adhered to, are very effective and leave all parties feeling good about themselves and ready to move on and kick it to the next person. That "be up front and honest, and just say what you feel" crap is bull. No man (or any person for that matter) wants to acknowledge that you don't want them - especially the ones who are convinced that everyone wants (or should want) them. (Guys and gals, there are exceptions to this rule. You can totally be like 'neighbah, please get up out my face.' This really applies to situations when you've been conversing with a person for a while and assume that means that they want you. Some women are just cool and friendly and will talk to you. But once you've hit that point, you can't assume that she's gonna agree to be your baby mama.) Sometimes being upfront ends up just becoming an excuse for a dude to use his bruised ego to call you a b*tch, a lesbian, or a man-hater. So with that I say, dudes, don't make us do that. I for one never want to be rude, and I'll carry on a great convo with you for a minute, but that doesn't mean I want to sit on your face. So when you ask for my number and I say "Oh, I don't really talk on the phone", please take that cue and run with it.
'She Don't Wantchu' Cues:
Scenario 1:
So you got the digits. Sometimes that isn't the challenge. As noted in a previous blog entry, I recklessly give out the google voice number attached to my phone. Plus, to be honest sometimes there's nuff pressure at the moment and you just give it to move on and away. Giving out fake numbers is so 1998 - you're bound to run into some of these people again if you keep a tight(ish) circle... so, sometimes you just feel like it's easier to give out the number, and figure it out later.
Later comes. You call. She doesn't answer. You may or may not leave a voicemail. If you don't, and she doesn't ever call you back (knowing the missed call was from you) - obviously, she don't wantchu. (*Note - if she does wantchu, but ain't callin' back cuz she's tryin' to be cute and playin' games, that's too much already for y'all to not even know each other so just move on - but... why you ain't just leave a message or sum'n?). But if you do leave a vm and she texts back a response and avoids talking to you on the phone, she don't wantchu and she's trying to be nice. Please accept her kindness, and resign. Sidebar - if you got her number in a group setting on some 'oh, cool, we cool, erbody cool, let's be cool... so... cool' then please don't get mad when you hit her up on some sexy flexy ish and she's not responsive. You kinda tricked her, dude.
If you refuse to accept that she don't wantchu and press on for a 'meet-up' opportunity, pay close attention to the response. Don't ignore the cues. You making me mad right now as I think about it and 'you' aren't even a real person, so that goes to show how annoying this can be. So if you're like 'oh we should go out for dinner and drinks or something' and she would prefer to do something that her friends can come to, or coffee, or lunch or things of the daytime 'I wanna make sure I don't have to be around you too long, and that I have something to do later' sort, she don't wantchu. Dinner is like... sexy flexy. It requires more getting ready, having to pick girly things from the menu, and having to be all like... 'dinner-ee.' The other situations are more casual - they don't necessarily denote her not wanting you if you started with lunch or coffee, and she accepted. But if you started with dinner and she was like 'nah B. Let's do lunch' then she's trying to put you on pause. I got tricked into dinner once from what was supposed to be a coffee meet up, and I didn't even realize I had gotten tricked until like two days later. I was kinda mad son. But anyway, trying to squirm out of a dinner is a cue. Take that, take that, take that.
TBC.
These are all seemingly common sense, however I find that many men (and probably women) are guilty of ignoring social cues that are utilized simply in an effort to not outwardly hurt anyone's feelings, injure anyone's pride, or blatantly say 'dude your an asshole. please go away.' Why do dudes want to force us to do that?
These cues, if adhered to, are very effective and leave all parties feeling good about themselves and ready to move on and kick it to the next person. That "be up front and honest, and just say what you feel" crap is bull. No man (or any person for that matter) wants to acknowledge that you don't want them - especially the ones who are convinced that everyone wants (or should want) them. (Guys and gals, there are exceptions to this rule. You can totally be like 'neighbah, please get up out my face.' This really applies to situations when you've been conversing with a person for a while and assume that means that they want you. Some women are just cool and friendly and will talk to you. But once you've hit that point, you can't assume that she's gonna agree to be your baby mama.) Sometimes being upfront ends up just becoming an excuse for a dude to use his bruised ego to call you a b*tch, a lesbian, or a man-hater. So with that I say, dudes, don't make us do that. I for one never want to be rude, and I'll carry on a great convo with you for a minute, but that doesn't mean I want to sit on your face. So when you ask for my number and I say "Oh, I don't really talk on the phone", please take that cue and run with it.
'She Don't Wantchu' Cues:
Scenario 1:
So you got the digits. Sometimes that isn't the challenge. As noted in a previous blog entry, I recklessly give out the google voice number attached to my phone. Plus, to be honest sometimes there's nuff pressure at the moment and you just give it to move on and away. Giving out fake numbers is so 1998 - you're bound to run into some of these people again if you keep a tight(ish) circle... so, sometimes you just feel like it's easier to give out the number, and figure it out later.
Later comes. You call. She doesn't answer. You may or may not leave a voicemail. If you don't, and she doesn't ever call you back (knowing the missed call was from you) - obviously, she don't wantchu. (*Note - if she does wantchu, but ain't callin' back cuz she's tryin' to be cute and playin' games, that's too much already for y'all to not even know each other so just move on - but... why you ain't just leave a message or sum'n?). But if you do leave a vm and she texts back a response and avoids talking to you on the phone, she don't wantchu and she's trying to be nice. Please accept her kindness, and resign. Sidebar - if you got her number in a group setting on some 'oh, cool, we cool, erbody cool, let's be cool... so... cool' then please don't get mad when you hit her up on some sexy flexy ish and she's not responsive. You kinda tricked her, dude.
If you refuse to accept that she don't wantchu and press on for a 'meet-up' opportunity, pay close attention to the response. Don't ignore the cues. You making me mad right now as I think about it and 'you' aren't even a real person, so that goes to show how annoying this can be. So if you're like 'oh we should go out for dinner and drinks or something' and she would prefer to do something that her friends can come to, or coffee, or lunch or things of the daytime 'I wanna make sure I don't have to be around you too long, and that I have something to do later' sort, she don't wantchu. Dinner is like... sexy flexy. It requires more getting ready, having to pick girly things from the menu, and having to be all like... 'dinner-ee.' The other situations are more casual - they don't necessarily denote her not wanting you if you started with lunch or coffee, and she accepted. But if you started with dinner and she was like 'nah B. Let's do lunch' then she's trying to put you on pause. I got tricked into dinner once from what was supposed to be a coffee meet up, and I didn't even realize I had gotten tricked until like two days later. I was kinda mad son. But anyway, trying to squirm out of a dinner is a cue. Take that, take that, take that.
TBC.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
'She Don't Want U Cues'
So the first text exchange included this:
You hustle on the wknds too?
I thought that was really dumb. I let it slide. But I'm sayin'... if you're trying to kick it, speak regla first. Once we've established that you can have a grown folk convo (which will come in handy, I guarantee it), then you can type me what you want. But don't try to kick it and talk to me like I'm 19 and think that askin' if I hustle on the weekends instead of just asking if I work (like a normal person) is cute. Cuz it's not, dude. How could you possibly expect me to respond? Like:
Yeah son, nah mean. I do what it do. Keep my thug game up and shit.
I'm pretty sure this type of response would have satisfied him - made him happy even. When I play around, YES, I do say stuff like that; YES, I do have a modicum of residual gangsta in my bones; YES, I do talk to my friends in all kinds of ways. But homey... we ain't friends. And iono you like that.
Then the next day or so, I got this:
How you doin ma?
Do people still say that? More problematic is the fact that I responded. I'm not mean - at least I try not to be, so I allowed the convo to proceed. At some point he asked me where I was from and then responded:
Big city boss chick huh?
*sigh*
The thing is, I did not give him the impression that I thought this was hot and sexy, and that he should keep going. In fact, I kept responding extra regular to emphasize that he should just be normal and stop trying to be so gangsta. But he didn't get it. Or he refused to adhere to the cue. The fact that I have more to say about this is probably more my issue than his since I kept responding :-/. Really, I just wanted to see how long it would take before he recognized that he sounded mad dumb son. In my defense, when I recognized he just was outright REFUSING to let his faux gangsta let up, I stopped responding.
The unfortunate more annoying thing is that dude seems to be super book intelligent. He does stuff I can't explain. BUT, really what that demonstrates is that common sense is the best sense of all. I don't care how many degrees you have or don't have - some of the smartest people I know, and some of the coolest dudes I've met never went to college. So don't be confused by my requirement that you 'not be an idiot.' You can graduate from Awesome USA University and still be a big ole dummy (as demonstrated here).
What this really leads to is the fact that a lot of dudes refuse to adhere to cues. I'm pretty sure a lot of chicks are guilty of the same, but I can't speak to that.
List of 'she don't want u cues' to come...
Moral of the story:
If you text me dumb sh*t, I'll put you on blast? No... that's really not it. I promise.
You hustle on the wknds too?
I thought that was really dumb. I let it slide. But I'm sayin'... if you're trying to kick it, speak regla first. Once we've established that you can have a grown folk convo (which will come in handy, I guarantee it), then you can type me what you want. But don't try to kick it and talk to me like I'm 19 and think that askin' if I hustle on the weekends instead of just asking if I work (like a normal person) is cute. Cuz it's not, dude. How could you possibly expect me to respond? Like:
Yeah son, nah mean. I do what it do. Keep my thug game up and shit.
I'm pretty sure this type of response would have satisfied him - made him happy even. When I play around, YES, I do say stuff like that; YES, I do have a modicum of residual gangsta in my bones; YES, I do talk to my friends in all kinds of ways. But homey... we ain't friends. And iono you like that.
Then the next day or so, I got this:
How you doin ma?
Do people still say that? More problematic is the fact that I responded. I'm not mean - at least I try not to be, so I allowed the convo to proceed. At some point he asked me where I was from and then responded:
Big city boss chick huh?
*sigh*
The thing is, I did not give him the impression that I thought this was hot and sexy, and that he should keep going. In fact, I kept responding extra regular to emphasize that he should just be normal and stop trying to be so gangsta. But he didn't get it. Or he refused to adhere to the cue. The fact that I have more to say about this is probably more my issue than his since I kept responding :-/. Really, I just wanted to see how long it would take before he recognized that he sounded mad dumb son. In my defense, when I recognized he just was outright REFUSING to let his faux gangsta let up, I stopped responding.
The unfortunate more annoying thing is that dude seems to be super book intelligent. He does stuff I can't explain. BUT, really what that demonstrates is that common sense is the best sense of all. I don't care how many degrees you have or don't have - some of the smartest people I know, and some of the coolest dudes I've met never went to college. So don't be confused by my requirement that you 'not be an idiot.' You can graduate from Awesome USA University and still be a big ole dummy (as demonstrated here).
What this really leads to is the fact that a lot of dudes refuse to adhere to cues. I'm pretty sure a lot of chicks are guilty of the same, but I can't speak to that.
List of 'she don't want u cues' to come...
Moral of the story:
If you text me dumb sh*t, I'll put you on blast? No... that's really not it. I promise.
Monday, July 9, 2012
I'm Just Not That Into You.
So, in continuation of yesterday's post... I started to wonder why the assumption is always that the chick is way more into the dude, and that the dude decides whether or not to requite. Yeah, I'm going back to chunky dude who only dates skinny girls who told me that I had a 'smart' mouth, and THAT'S why I'm single. When I told him it was by choice, he said "yeah, they all say that." I contemplated. Do they all say that? I know a lot of women who are always complaining about not having a man so... do they all say that? I disagreed. Nonetheless, I questioned myself, AND why his assumption was that if I didn't have a smart mouth, I would have a man - as if having a dumb mouth would mysteriously bring Prince Charming. I mean... call me crazy, but my intuition is that having a dumb mouth would bring... a dummy. Anyhoo.
There are several or many things wrong with that logic, no? First is the assumption that the only thing stopping me from being in a relationship is my mouth. Forget everything else. Every other issue I, or the other person involved, might be bringing to the table. All my hangups that typically make me disgusted with most dudes three minutes after our initial conversation. Never mind that. It's my mouth. No fool. My mouth is what keeps away jerks. And by golly, the goal is definitely to eliminate those from jump. Second is the fact that he assumed that all women want to be in a relationship. While that may be true for many, he also assumed that all women want to be in ANY relationship. Wrong. I can only speak for myself, but I definitely don't want just anything. Third, he assumed that I didn't have options. Oh yes, people. Little 'ole me has options. Go figure. But don't get excited... none of them are any good. Hence my not being excited either. Not to toot my own horn but I have my share of interested mankind - unfortunately, they either text me in Ebonics, are unemployed, are married, are 25, or are gay. In other words, I couldn't possibly have any interest in any of the dudes I am approached by. In addition, there are a limited number of (colored) dudes that like brown, nappy-headed chicks, so my options are already limited. (You know it's true, dudes - don't go trying to deny your affection for light-skinned girls with long hair now...) He didn't think about that. Didn't care to. And didn't have to. Because his wack ass can still get cute skinny chicks who have been convinced that HE is all they should have. Fourth, is it so crazy that I have high expectations? The expectations I have for my partner are similar to the ones I have for myself. As it should be. And don't get me to quotin' scripture, please. Ok, ok... just right quick - dude is supposed to love his wife like Jesus loves, and for that, his wife is supposed to trust and obey him. Don't get all hung up on the obey part - if you're doing it right, you're obeying someone who is obeying the same God you do, so quit trippin'. I say that to say that, HELLO... I can't be obeyin' an idiot or a dickhead. I can't obey a weakling. And I can't obey a fool. I just can't. So idiots, dickheads, weaklings, and fools are already eliminated from my pool of prime selects. To recap, employed, not married, not gay, not 25, not an idiot/dickhead/weakling/fool, who likes nappy headed black girls is the pool that I'm swimming in. So that means there isn't a lot of water. But I'm cool with that cuz I'm super hydrated! These, my friends, are some of the reasons why I'm single. But I guarantee you it's not because of my smart mouth. I would never be with anyone who couldn't take it... cuz that would be the least of his worries :-).
If I can't get what I need, I'm cool with playing this here good game of solitaire. Sure, it's not always amazing. But it's always better than making myself smaller to make someone else feel big. (Get your mind out the gutter. I see you.) This was all a prelude into a story about this one dude that won't stop texting me. I'm just really not into him at all. Never was. Never will be. I have google voice on my phone, and have been pretty reckless with it since it's not like a real number and I can just cut it off or change it any time. So yeah... I just give out this number when people ask for it. Recently via google text, I've been told that I "sound like a boss." And while that may have (and I stress may cuz I really can't even confirm that) been cute when I was young, it sounds really, really, stupid now. Don't seriously text me things you heard in a rap song, please. I'm grown. Talk to me in grown people language. Tell you about it tomorrow.
There are several or many things wrong with that logic, no? First is the assumption that the only thing stopping me from being in a relationship is my mouth. Forget everything else. Every other issue I, or the other person involved, might be bringing to the table. All my hangups that typically make me disgusted with most dudes three minutes after our initial conversation. Never mind that. It's my mouth. No fool. My mouth is what keeps away jerks. And by golly, the goal is definitely to eliminate those from jump. Second is the fact that he assumed that all women want to be in a relationship. While that may be true for many, he also assumed that all women want to be in ANY relationship. Wrong. I can only speak for myself, but I definitely don't want just anything. Third, he assumed that I didn't have options. Oh yes, people. Little 'ole me has options. Go figure. But don't get excited... none of them are any good. Hence my not being excited either. Not to toot my own horn but I have my share of interested mankind - unfortunately, they either text me in Ebonics, are unemployed, are married, are 25, or are gay. In other words, I couldn't possibly have any interest in any of the dudes I am approached by. In addition, there are a limited number of (colored) dudes that like brown, nappy-headed chicks, so my options are already limited. (You know it's true, dudes - don't go trying to deny your affection for light-skinned girls with long hair now...) He didn't think about that. Didn't care to. And didn't have to. Because his wack ass can still get cute skinny chicks who have been convinced that HE is all they should have. Fourth, is it so crazy that I have high expectations? The expectations I have for my partner are similar to the ones I have for myself. As it should be. And don't get me to quotin' scripture, please. Ok, ok... just right quick - dude is supposed to love his wife like Jesus loves, and for that, his wife is supposed to trust and obey him. Don't get all hung up on the obey part - if you're doing it right, you're obeying someone who is obeying the same God you do, so quit trippin'. I say that to say that, HELLO... I can't be obeyin' an idiot or a dickhead. I can't obey a weakling. And I can't obey a fool. I just can't. So idiots, dickheads, weaklings, and fools are already eliminated from my pool of prime selects. To recap, employed, not married, not gay, not 25, not an idiot/dickhead/weakling/fool, who likes nappy headed black girls is the pool that I'm swimming in. So that means there isn't a lot of water. But I'm cool with that cuz I'm super hydrated! These, my friends, are some of the reasons why I'm single. But I guarantee you it's not because of my smart mouth. I would never be with anyone who couldn't take it... cuz that would be the least of his worries :-).
If I can't get what I need, I'm cool with playing this here good game of solitaire. Sure, it's not always amazing. But it's always better than making myself smaller to make someone else feel big. (Get your mind out the gutter. I see you.) This was all a prelude into a story about this one dude that won't stop texting me. I'm just really not into him at all. Never was. Never will be. I have google voice on my phone, and have been pretty reckless with it since it's not like a real number and I can just cut it off or change it any time. So yeah... I just give out this number when people ask for it. Recently via google text, I've been told that I "sound like a boss." And while that may have (and I stress may cuz I really can't even confirm that) been cute when I was young, it sounds really, really, stupid now. Don't seriously text me things you heard in a rap song, please. I'm grown. Talk to me in grown people language. Tell you about it tomorrow.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Been A Minute. But When I Tell You...
...what's been going on over this past year, you will completely understand the need for a break. A savasana. A death. A rebirth.
I am in the process of being reborn. In every kind of way. So much has happened since we last spoke. And although some may take me as the 'keep to myself, don't share my business, non-emotional type', lol, those are only those who don't know me very well. I love to share - especially if my experiences can help somebody else through theirs, or make someone feel less 'out there.' This might read like a book. A tragedy, or one of whimsy - depending on where you are in your ride. Who knows.
I'll spare you all the details, but share this. Last year in the center of my 'sans love' period I met this dude. Ugh. Ruined everything. I was so happy by myself. But, everybody wants love - to love; to be loved. All that. So when opportunity arose, I dove head first (into shallow water and cracked my skull). No need for gory details. Anyhow, we 'dated' and stuff. And then I realized/found out he was crazy. And so went that.
Thing is, I was also crazy. Two crazies together typically make one supercrazy (which is kinda like a supernova, but less stellar), and you can only imagine what a 'supercrazy' looks like... (or maybe you've partaken in a 'supercrazy' before). It's just not pretty. And neither was I. So there it is. My whole story. Laid out.
I tell it only as a beginning to a happier story. That of me being by myself. Happy. Again. I've been meaning to write this for months. At first, I was gonna tell the whole story about the crazy dude, and all the things that happened, and me fleeing out of the house (lol), the shaking, the crying, the blah, blah, blah. But the thing with time is that it heals (thank God), so now I'm over it and have no desire to tell the story.
BUT, recently, in a convo with some old dude that was chunky and told me he's only attracted to petite women because he can't do anything with anybody his own size (yeah... whahuh, boo? do a sit up), he proceeded to let me know that I was single because of my 'smart' mouth. Yup. My smart mouth. LOL. So the story starts here sorta... and then goes backwards, and looses time somewhere, then comes back again, and goes circular. The same dude told the woman I was with that she needed to adjust her 'requirements' for what she wants from a man, LOL. Sidebar: the woman got a kick out of him telling me about my smart mouth (albeit, incorrectly... because she thought he said I had a big mouth, haahahahaha, with which she was soooo ready to agree - but not with him saying that she needed to adjust her standards - I tell ya... ok, rant over). So, apparently, we were single because collectively, we were smart with high standards. Well... YEAH... HELLOOOOO? And just what is so wrong with that?
I'm not necessarily 'regular.' I'm okay with that. I remember one friend years ago who said "Kami, I love you! You are one of the weirdest friends I have." I just... took it in stride, and pretended it wasn't offensive. Nonetheless, I've accepted the fact that I'm not regular. I'm not average. And so what does that mean? It means that I can't do anything with/for a regular, average dude. It'll just never work. It'll turn into a supercrazy, things will explode, and peoplemight will get hurt.
So this 'guy' tells me that I'm single because of my smart mouth. So I thought... wow, projecting, maybe? You, sir, would prefer... a woman with a dumb mouth? Is that it? And that's fine because I would prefer a man with three lips over you... but that's neither here nor there. So this dude wants a dumb woman. Cool. But... why would he think that I'd want a man that thought I was too 'smart' for him; or more specifically, that my 'mouth' was too smart? The last thing I would ever want in a 'relationship' is to have to dumb myself down for the comfort of my partner. Noooo fool... I want a partner that is not offended by my 'smart mouth' because his is just as smart, or smarter. Don't make me quote scripture. This is a BLOG. But, any man that plans to take a seat on this here throne has to be a king, boo. (<-- did you roll your neck when you said that? cuz it requires a neck roll to say it right.) I'm super cool with peasants, but I ain't one. So it ain't neva gonna work. And I won't become a peasant for the comfort of any man. It is what it is. And I'm cool with that.
So then, I have these friends who are constantly asking me when I'm gonna get a man and get married. Haaaaa. I am NEVER gonna 'get' a man. Sorry. That's not in the plan. "He that findeth a wife...", not "she that seeketh a husband...", okay? My single life is pretty awesome, and while it can certainly be enhanced by a relationship, it cannot be enhanced by ANY relationship. And the relationship I currently have with myself is way too good to mess it up for some random ass neighba. Anyhow, I am just setting the stage for what is bound to be a great show. It will commence tomorrow. Please join me. We're gonna have so much fun.
I am in the process of being reborn. In every kind of way. So much has happened since we last spoke. And although some may take me as the 'keep to myself, don't share my business, non-emotional type', lol, those are only those who don't know me very well. I love to share - especially if my experiences can help somebody else through theirs, or make someone feel less 'out there.' This might read like a book. A tragedy, or one of whimsy - depending on where you are in your ride. Who knows.
I'll spare you all the details, but share this. Last year in the center of my 'sans love' period I met this dude. Ugh. Ruined everything. I was so happy by myself. But, everybody wants love - to love; to be loved. All that. So when opportunity arose, I dove head first (into shallow water and cracked my skull). No need for gory details. Anyhow, we 'dated' and stuff. And then I realized/found out he was crazy. And so went that.
Thing is, I was also crazy. Two crazies together typically make one supercrazy (which is kinda like a supernova, but less stellar), and you can only imagine what a 'supercrazy' looks like... (or maybe you've partaken in a 'supercrazy' before). It's just not pretty. And neither was I. So there it is. My whole story. Laid out.
I tell it only as a beginning to a happier story. That of me being by myself. Happy. Again. I've been meaning to write this for months. At first, I was gonna tell the whole story about the crazy dude, and all the things that happened, and me fleeing out of the house (lol), the shaking, the crying, the blah, blah, blah. But the thing with time is that it heals (thank God), so now I'm over it and have no desire to tell the story.
BUT, recently, in a convo with some old dude that was chunky and told me he's only attracted to petite women because he can't do anything with anybody his own size (yeah... whahuh, boo? do a sit up), he proceeded to let me know that I was single because of my 'smart' mouth. Yup. My smart mouth. LOL. So the story starts here sorta... and then goes backwards, and looses time somewhere, then comes back again, and goes circular. The same dude told the woman I was with that she needed to adjust her 'requirements' for what she wants from a man, LOL. Sidebar: the woman got a kick out of him telling me about my smart mouth (albeit, incorrectly... because she thought he said I had a big mouth, haahahahaha, with which she was soooo ready to agree - but not with him saying that she needed to adjust her standards - I tell ya... ok, rant over). So, apparently, we were single because collectively, we were smart with high standards. Well... YEAH... HELLOOOOO? And just what is so wrong with that?
I'm not necessarily 'regular.' I'm okay with that. I remember one friend years ago who said "Kami, I love you! You are one of the weirdest friends I have." I just... took it in stride, and pretended it wasn't offensive. Nonetheless, I've accepted the fact that I'm not regular. I'm not average. And so what does that mean? It means that I can't do anything with/for a regular, average dude. It'll just never work. It'll turn into a supercrazy, things will explode, and people
So this 'guy' tells me that I'm single because of my smart mouth. So I thought... wow, projecting, maybe? You, sir, would prefer... a woman with a dumb mouth? Is that it? And that's fine because I would prefer a man with three lips over you... but that's neither here nor there. So this dude wants a dumb woman. Cool. But... why would he think that I'd want a man that thought I was too 'smart' for him; or more specifically, that my 'mouth' was too smart? The last thing I would ever want in a 'relationship' is to have to dumb myself down for the comfort of my partner. Noooo fool... I want a partner that is not offended by my 'smart mouth' because his is just as smart, or smarter. Don't make me quote scripture. This is a BLOG. But, any man that plans to take a seat on this here throne has to be a king, boo. (<-- did you roll your neck when you said that? cuz it requires a neck roll to say it right.) I'm super cool with peasants, but I ain't one. So it ain't neva gonna work. And I won't become a peasant for the comfort of any man. It is what it is. And I'm cool with that.
So then, I have these friends who are constantly asking me when I'm gonna get a man and get married. Haaaaa. I am NEVER gonna 'get' a man. Sorry. That's not in the plan. "He that findeth a wife...", not "she that seeketh a husband...", okay? My single life is pretty awesome, and while it can certainly be enhanced by a relationship, it cannot be enhanced by ANY relationship. And the relationship I currently have with myself is way too good to mess it up for some random ass neighba. Anyhow, I am just setting the stage for what is bound to be a great show. It will commence tomorrow. Please join me. We're gonna have so much fun.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
'Ta Bom.
It's been a minute. So what. I started out this blog with the very clear words "I am not a blogger" (I think). Why? Cuz I don't do it. I just don't blog. But I'm doing it now, and hopefully this still counts.
So yeah, I changed my ticket to come home a week early. Rio is just too expensive, but not worth the expense and so I'm leaving. Not that it's not worth living here if you've got something you wish to accomplish, but rather things are so expensive, but not actually worth the asking price. Clothes, for example, are super overpriced, but of less than Forever 21 quality. That ain't cool. 'They' (I don't remember who 'they' are) put out some list of the most expensive cities in the world, and Rio was either number 11 or 12 - right next to Sao Paolo. New York, on the other hand, was number 32, and the first of any city in the United States (although I think Chicago give NY a run for its' money). That oughta put it into perspective... Not only is Rio expensive, but I'm also living in the most expensive part of this expensive city. And so I'm heading out. Plus, it's the kind of place where either you stay for a long time, or you stay for a short time. The in between times aren't really all that. You don't have time to really get to know people, and you just start feeling comfortable when it's about time to leave. Another month here and I would be fluent, and know how to get everywhere on the metrô. However, I would also be bored out of my mind.
Sure there are plenty things to do in Rio. There are plenty things to do in any big city. But after you do them (and even if you don't), it gets played out. I'm not the partier type anymore (been there, done that), so getting drunk on watery beer and caipirinhas while dancing until the wee hours of the morning isn't my idea of fun. 10 years ago, maybe! But now? No thanks. However, it is fun for a lot of people, so if that's your thing you will absolutely love it here. There are some pretty cool (free) cultural events throughout the city, too. Stumbled upon an awesome Miles Davis exhibit the other day after going to this film festival, which was located next door to a Jazz Festival. There is no lack of festivals if you pay attention to what's going on.
cont'd 8.20.11
Brooklyn.
So yeah, I changed my ticket to come home a week early. Rio is just too expensive, but not worth the expense and so I'm leaving. Not that it's not worth living here if you've got something you wish to accomplish, but rather things are so expensive, but not actually worth the asking price. Clothes, for example, are super overpriced, but of less than Forever 21 quality. That ain't cool. 'They' (I don't remember who 'they' are) put out some list of the most expensive cities in the world, and Rio was either number 11 or 12 - right next to Sao Paolo. New York, on the other hand, was number 32, and the first of any city in the United States (although I think Chicago give NY a run for its' money). That oughta put it into perspective... Not only is Rio expensive, but I'm also living in the most expensive part of this expensive city. And so I'm heading out. Plus, it's the kind of place where either you stay for a long time, or you stay for a short time. The in between times aren't really all that. You don't have time to really get to know people, and you just start feeling comfortable when it's about time to leave. Another month here and I would be fluent, and know how to get everywhere on the metrô. However, I would also be bored out of my mind.
Sure there are plenty things to do in Rio. There are plenty things to do in any big city. But after you do them (and even if you don't), it gets played out. I'm not the partier type anymore (been there, done that), so getting drunk on watery beer and caipirinhas while dancing until the wee hours of the morning isn't my idea of fun. 10 years ago, maybe! But now? No thanks. However, it is fun for a lot of people, so if that's your thing you will absolutely love it here. There are some pretty cool (free) cultural events throughout the city, too. Stumbled upon an awesome Miles Davis exhibit the other day after going to this film festival, which was located next door to a Jazz Festival. There is no lack of festivals if you pay attention to what's going on.
cont'd 8.20.11
Brooklyn.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
I'm Building Me A Home.
I really wanna know where Brasilian's are going with all this cement. For real. Everyday there are men, women, children, babies, dogs, whatever, carrying bags of cement. But I don't see anybody ever building anything. I don't see anybody mixing the cement. I don't see anybody doing anything that requires cement. Yet, everyday I see people carrying cement. WTH? 20 years from now are we gonna discover some crazy uber advanced plant in the middle of nowhere, where the cement is being carried undetected by individuals, and nuclear technology is being created or something? WHAT ARE YOU BUILDING BRASIL? And WHERE is it?
Anyhow, I'm discovering a true strong like/strong dislike relationship with this place. And 2 months is never enough time to spend here. Just like last year, when it's time to head home you think, "I was just starting to find my rhythm..." (not that I ever lost mine :-D). I don't even know what I've been doing since I last wrote on this thing. And so, this is why I'm not a blogger. To be a blogger, one must blog. And I think the word itself is so stupid that it's just not something I wanna do. Reminds me of the word booger. And I don't wanna be a booger. Plus, I'm super A.D.D. and have no way of keeping my thoughts on track, and so now I return to the point of this paragraph. Right. Strong like - I like Brasil in general. Different energy. Different culture. Another way of thinking. Another understanding of how to live. Strong dislike - Another way of thinking. Another understanding of how to live. These are not general statements. Mostly I love other ways of thinking, and other understandings of how to live. That's like...the beauty of life. Wisdom. Being open-minded. Knowing that your way is not the only way, and most likely not the best way. But I'm referring to some very specific occurrences here. And not even in other regions - but Rio specifically.
For example... what's up with 'customer service'? Or service in general? Y'all don't have that here? Why is it so difficult to get ANYTHING done? "Can I have that without the chocolate sauce?" "No, it comes with the chocolate sauce." "Okay, I know, but I don't want it. I don't like chocolate sauce. Can you just...not put it on?" "No, it comes with the chocolate sauce." "But ultimately, I'll be saving you both time and chocolate sauce because 1)you don't have to spend time swirling it across the top, and 2) you'll have extra left for whoever wants it." "But it comes with chocolate sauce." Really? Okay. Next. Our refrigerator broke. My mechanical expertise tells me that the motor has stopped running. Something we can't break, nor fix. So why is the landlord saying we have to pay to fix it because it occurred under our watch? Uh...no. My friend wants to change her flight. She called the airline. They said "we can't do it on the phone, you have to go to the office." She goes to the office. They said "we can't do it at the office, you have to go to the airport" (an hour away). I'm pretty sure that when she gets to the airport, there gonna tell her she has to call. This is bullshit. You need to get a document signed by a person in the next room. You can see them. They're right there. Why does it take 2 months? And then... make the pizza crust in a way that in can be picked up. What is this eating pizza with a knife and fork business? And the worst thing of all is the panty lines. You go to the beach - ass is completely out. Booty gets a full tan. Cheeks equally exposed on the sides. You put your ass into some tight polyester (yes, polyester) pants... and NOW you decide to wear full booty draw(er)s? The kind that are a little too small, and so display your bottom meat? Now is not the time! Get the thong from the beach, yo. Put that on. And have a smooth booty. Please. Then, I'm not a needer of personal space when in other places. That whole American "sit really far from anyone on the train" thing isn't really my thing. But don't walk directly into me. Know your body. Know where it's going. And know that the law of physics says it cannot possibly go in the same place as my body. So don't attempt to put it there. Lady watched me in the grocery store the other day, and practically ran up to me so she could push her cart into my heels. Really lady? And then she yells "OPA!" when I shove her cart into her gut. No, lady. That "opa" belongs to me. You just looked at me, and in a determined fashion, ran behind me so you could push your cart into my heels. My "opa." Thanks. So yeah... I don't know what's up with some of these Cariocas. Others are amazing. And I strongly like them. And oddly enough, with all of the bullshit, I sometimes still feel like I belong here. Especially when I'm in Bahia. I see people that look just like me. And that's kind of awesome. They're like... my color. My same shade.
Anyhow, been eatin'. Been eatin' good. Sometimes healthy. Sometimes not so healthy. If I cook it, likelihood is that it's healthy. But if someone out there cooks it, likelihood is... it's delicious (and not so healthy). Found an Italian place that has specials Mon - Thurs. I got this. And it was bomb.
The other day I had sushi for lunch at Minimok.
One of these days I cooked "sorpresa de espinafre." (But I know what's in it).
This, I did not eat. But I felt it deserved its' space. It's a hot dog. A Rio hot dog. Yes, those are potato chips on top.
Went hiking up Pedra da Gavea yesterday. At some point, I'm pretty sure Jesus or one of them were carrying me up, cuz my legs went numb. From the bottom to the top. 842 meters. 2762 feet. To put that into perspective, the Empire State Building in NY is 102 stories, 381 meters tall, and 1250 feet high. We climbed that twice. With some leftover. AND, with a large portion of it being rocks and vines. Fun though.
Eating part = check.
Praying part = all during that hike, for sure. check.
Sans love = as we were climbing yesterday, one of the girls from the language school that I went hiking with said "Kami, are you dating anybody?" I said, "no, why?" She said, "I think that guys think you're out of their league." I laughed. If it's hockey, I am. I said, "ooookay. I'm not sure that's it, though." (I personally know it's a plethora of things; being out of their league is likely not one of them). She said, "They would have to work to get to know you." "Ah," I said. Then she said, "You don't have your green light on." Awesome. I didn't even know I had one.
Beijos e abraços gente!
Anyhow, I'm discovering a true strong like/strong dislike relationship with this place. And 2 months is never enough time to spend here. Just like last year, when it's time to head home you think, "I was just starting to find my rhythm..." (not that I ever lost mine :-D). I don't even know what I've been doing since I last wrote on this thing. And so, this is why I'm not a blogger. To be a blogger, one must blog. And I think the word itself is so stupid that it's just not something I wanna do. Reminds me of the word booger. And I don't wanna be a booger. Plus, I'm super A.D.D. and have no way of keeping my thoughts on track, and so now I return to the point of this paragraph. Right. Strong like - I like Brasil in general. Different energy. Different culture. Another way of thinking. Another understanding of how to live. Strong dislike - Another way of thinking. Another understanding of how to live. These are not general statements. Mostly I love other ways of thinking, and other understandings of how to live. That's like...the beauty of life. Wisdom. Being open-minded. Knowing that your way is not the only way, and most likely not the best way. But I'm referring to some very specific occurrences here. And not even in other regions - but Rio specifically.
For example... what's up with 'customer service'? Or service in general? Y'all don't have that here? Why is it so difficult to get ANYTHING done? "Can I have that without the chocolate sauce?" "No, it comes with the chocolate sauce." "Okay, I know, but I don't want it. I don't like chocolate sauce. Can you just...not put it on?" "No, it comes with the chocolate sauce." "But ultimately, I'll be saving you both time and chocolate sauce because 1)you don't have to spend time swirling it across the top, and 2) you'll have extra left for whoever wants it." "But it comes with chocolate sauce." Really? Okay. Next. Our refrigerator broke. My mechanical expertise tells me that the motor has stopped running. Something we can't break, nor fix. So why is the landlord saying we have to pay to fix it because it occurred under our watch? Uh...no. My friend wants to change her flight. She called the airline. They said "we can't do it on the phone, you have to go to the office." She goes to the office. They said "we can't do it at the office, you have to go to the airport" (an hour away). I'm pretty sure that when she gets to the airport, there gonna tell her she has to call. This is bullshit. You need to get a document signed by a person in the next room. You can see them. They're right there. Why does it take 2 months? And then... make the pizza crust in a way that in can be picked up. What is this eating pizza with a knife and fork business? And the worst thing of all is the panty lines. You go to the beach - ass is completely out. Booty gets a full tan. Cheeks equally exposed on the sides. You put your ass into some tight polyester (yes, polyester) pants... and NOW you decide to wear full booty draw(er)s? The kind that are a little too small, and so display your bottom meat? Now is not the time! Get the thong from the beach, yo. Put that on. And have a smooth booty. Please. Then, I'm not a needer of personal space when in other places. That whole American "sit really far from anyone on the train" thing isn't really my thing. But don't walk directly into me. Know your body. Know where it's going. And know that the law of physics says it cannot possibly go in the same place as my body. So don't attempt to put it there. Lady watched me in the grocery store the other day, and practically ran up to me so she could push her cart into my heels. Really lady? And then she yells "OPA!" when I shove her cart into her gut. No, lady. That "opa" belongs to me. You just looked at me, and in a determined fashion, ran behind me so you could push your cart into my heels. My "opa." Thanks. So yeah... I don't know what's up with some of these Cariocas. Others are amazing. And I strongly like them. And oddly enough, with all of the bullshit, I sometimes still feel like I belong here. Especially when I'm in Bahia. I see people that look just like me. And that's kind of awesome. They're like... my color. My same shade.
Anyhow, been eatin'. Been eatin' good. Sometimes healthy. Sometimes not so healthy. If I cook it, likelihood is that it's healthy. But if someone out there cooks it, likelihood is... it's delicious (and not so healthy). Found an Italian place that has specials Mon - Thurs. I got this. And it was bomb.
The other day I had sushi for lunch at Minimok.
Eating part = check.
Praying part = all during that hike, for sure. check.
Sans love = as we were climbing yesterday, one of the girls from the language school that I went hiking with said "Kami, are you dating anybody?" I said, "no, why?" She said, "I think that guys think you're out of their league." I laughed. If it's hockey, I am. I said, "ooookay. I'm not sure that's it, though." (I personally know it's a plethora of things; being out of their league is likely not one of them). She said, "They would have to work to get to know you." "Ah," I said. Then she said, "You don't have your green light on." Awesome. I didn't even know I had one.
Beijos e abraços gente!
Monday, July 18, 2011
Rio is all about the hips, but Bahia is all about the HEART.
Aw... I loved it when she said that. I met a girl last night, from the states of course, who was talking about her experience with the different energies of Rio and Bahia. Love them both - for sure - but there is definitely a different energy that you feel in Bahia when you step off of the plane. She explained it thusly: Rio is all about feeling it in your hips, but Bahia is all about feeling it in your heart. It's just much deeper.
I haven't even made it to Bahia this time around yet, but I certainly can't wait to get there!
Anyhow, this week has been semi-eventful. I've managed to return to my routine walks around the awesome Lagoa. It's about 7 kilometers around, and you walk through a few neighborhoods as you go. Pretty cool - takes me a little over an hour because, well, I don't run. I don't run, I don't jog, and I don't trot. I walk.
Where did we last leave off? This week has actually been pretty work-filled. Classes everyday - and they actually want us to do homework. Lot's of it. I'm like...really? We finally got sun this week, and you want us to spend all of our time... doing homework??? Yes.
Anyhow, I woke up today lacking good old-fashioned internet. So, I'm in a cafe. Booo. And guess what cafe? GRINGO CAFÉ! Woohoo. I never come in here because the name is so cheesy, but it's right around the corner from the house, and so... here I am. I did the Lagoa this morning, and then came here. Today is pretty chill, and I'm probably going to keep it that way.
Yesterday was an awesome beach day! I missed most of it because I walked the Lagoa first, but I still got a few hours of sun love. Plus, I actually got in the water for a total of about 3 minutes. I went all the way in though - just got over it really quickly. Ipanema beach, and others in Rio, are just not like those blue water beaches in the Caribbean. If they were, I'd be out there everyday! But nope... the water is green. And a little gross. So I stays away.
Anyhow, sidebar. You know how dudes can be so annoying by refusing to act like people? You know how instead some may act as though they're desired by you when they're really not? And you know how that feeling is just created in their heads, and no one ever gave them any idea that you may have wanted them in the first place? Well, yeah. So I met this dude. Cool dude, although I only knew him for a few minutes prior. Friend of a friend. We're in Rio, so duh... meet up with people who know people you know in Rio. I mean, that's always fun... at first. So dude was cool, but then he started... I don't know... 'showing off.' You know how dudes do that 'showing off' thing by saying really stupid things at the most inopportune times that would only be funny if someone attractive, or that you were at least mildly attracted to said it? So, yeah. This dude started doing that. And then they think you're mean when you give them the "that's dumb" look. Dudes seem to equate being "nice" or being "cool" with wanting them. I don't get that. I'm cool and nice to all dudes that are cool to me, and that by no means means that I want them. And then when I realize that they have somewhere in their odd heads told themselves that there is a chance, I have to be a little 'shorter' in my words, and really make sure that every action is super-neutral. But once you do that, they don't wanna talk to you anymore. That's bullshit. They start telling semi-sexist, completely-idiotic jokes for the benefit of the audience and the girl that, let's face it, can only be funny if you're super fine - and barely even then. So why is it that when they go there and you try to politely be done with them, they get all super-dramatic and sensitive? It's like, hey jackass, you're the one who just made a jackass out of yourself by ignoring social cues that everyone else seemed to receive, so don't be mad at me for having to be overly neutral in your presence because you chose to ignore the implied social cues that were big, bright, and obvious to everyone else. It is because of you, and only you, that I have to now be overly clear about not even being slightly attracted to you. And by that I mean SUPER DUPER OVERLY clear. To the point where now... what?? I'm...mean? NO. You're just an idiot. When I was nice to you, just like I am to everyone else, you wanted to take it to the head and think I wanted to utilize your sperm. None of the other dudes did that! They were all normal. It's just you, dummy! So don't have an attitude with me now cuz you forced me to give you a shutdown that would've been unnecessary if you would've just acted like a person!!! (This is completely why this blog is sans love. I'm just not in tune with non-human males, and those tend to be the ones that have no fear and will do the most in front of/for chicks).
Sorry for the vent. That all occurred the day I went to the beach, so I was reminded when I started talking about how awesome the beach was. Anyhoo...
That night, the roommie and I traversed the terrain down the street to a classmates apartment, which was on the 22nd floor, and therefore had a magnanimous view of the beach, mountains, and the lagoa. Boom. That's all I need to say.
Moving backwards, Friday night we ended up at Casa Mango Mango, a bed and breakfast in Santa Teresa where they randomly had live music! Ok - I don't know if it was random, but it was completely off the beaten path, and outside of my knowledge. They were a samba/bossa nova band, and they were awesome. I really wish I could remember the name, but alas, I cannot. Anyhow, some older woman kept pulling me up to dance. So what was I to do? Indeed, I danced. And then danced some more. It was awesome. Everything is awesome. Even when it's not awesome. Awesome. So...
Continuing backwards, Tuesday and Thursday were both awesome Lagoa-going days for me. As I stated earlier, it takes me about an hour and 10 minutes to get around the whole thing. There is a dog park with a grand amount of golden retrievers. There's an area for renting corny pedalinhos shaped like swans, and there are a few places to rent kayaks and do some rowing. The Lagoa will also be the official location for the rowing games in the 2016 Olympics. Sadly, there is also a guy selling churros with doce de leite. It takes everything in my power for me to not purchase one in the middle of my workout/brisk walk. But, I did seal my walk the other day with an agua de coco. Estava bom!
So, what happens when I don't regularly check in is that I forget some of the cool happenings of the week. That has happened here (insert sad face). That, and the fact that Beach Sucos sells caiparinhas for R$6,50 and I had one last week during our lunch break, and one during class on Friday when we had class at the beach! OH YEAH, that's right. Forgot - on Friday, we had class AT THE BEACH at one of the Skol kiosks! Nothing like having class at a beer stand. Oh, Brasil...
On another note, a colleague from school was here for a few days and we had an interesting conversation about being black and female here in Brasil. She had met with a friend of hers who was feeling really depressed about her 'invisibility' in this country. She's doing her work in another state (can't remember where). Anyhow, her experience has been that people will pretty much just bump into her on the street as if she is not even there. They mistake her for any other 'negra' they know, and oftentimes say things that are supposed to 'put her in her place' I suppose. Once they realize she's from the U.S., their whole attitude towards her changes. First, they have to speak to her in some way, shape or form to even realize that she is American, and therefore recognize that she is human. And second, how sad is it that some of these people feel that black Brasilian women (and men too, I suppose) are invisible, and unworthy of even spatial recognition in the first place? It was interesting to hear, especially since I receive an ample amount of stares and comments because of my hairstyle. It's quite like being on two opposite ends of the spectrum, but having the same sentiment. She is less then human, and not worthy of being seen; I am a spectacle to be gazed at, and still possibly not human. Although there is so much beauty across the Brasilian terrain, there is also a grandiose amount of ugliness.
Tchau my loves!
I haven't even made it to Bahia this time around yet, but I certainly can't wait to get there!
Anyhow, this week has been semi-eventful. I've managed to return to my routine walks around the awesome Lagoa. It's about 7 kilometers around, and you walk through a few neighborhoods as you go. Pretty cool - takes me a little over an hour because, well, I don't run. I don't run, I don't jog, and I don't trot. I walk.
Where did we last leave off? This week has actually been pretty work-filled. Classes everyday - and they actually want us to do homework. Lot's of it. I'm like...really? We finally got sun this week, and you want us to spend all of our time... doing homework??? Yes.
Anyhow, I woke up today lacking good old-fashioned internet. So, I'm in a cafe. Booo. And guess what cafe? GRINGO CAFÉ! Woohoo. I never come in here because the name is so cheesy, but it's right around the corner from the house, and so... here I am. I did the Lagoa this morning, and then came here. Today is pretty chill, and I'm probably going to keep it that way.
Yesterday was an awesome beach day! I missed most of it because I walked the Lagoa first, but I still got a few hours of sun love. Plus, I actually got in the water for a total of about 3 minutes. I went all the way in though - just got over it really quickly. Ipanema beach, and others in Rio, are just not like those blue water beaches in the Caribbean. If they were, I'd be out there everyday! But nope... the water is green. And a little gross. So I stays away.
Anyhow, sidebar. You know how dudes can be so annoying by refusing to act like people? You know how instead some may act as though they're desired by you when they're really not? And you know how that feeling is just created in their heads, and no one ever gave them any idea that you may have wanted them in the first place? Well, yeah. So I met this dude. Cool dude, although I only knew him for a few minutes prior. Friend of a friend. We're in Rio, so duh... meet up with people who know people you know in Rio. I mean, that's always fun... at first. So dude was cool, but then he started... I don't know... 'showing off.' You know how dudes do that 'showing off' thing by saying really stupid things at the most inopportune times that would only be funny if someone attractive, or that you were at least mildly attracted to said it? So, yeah. This dude started doing that. And then they think you're mean when you give them the "that's dumb" look. Dudes seem to equate being "nice" or being "cool" with wanting them. I don't get that. I'm cool and nice to all dudes that are cool to me, and that by no means means that I want them. And then when I realize that they have somewhere in their odd heads told themselves that there is a chance, I have to be a little 'shorter' in my words, and really make sure that every action is super-neutral. But once you do that, they don't wanna talk to you anymore. That's bullshit. They start telling semi-sexist, completely-idiotic jokes for the benefit of the audience and the girl that, let's face it, can only be funny if you're super fine - and barely even then. So why is it that when they go there and you try to politely be done with them, they get all super-dramatic and sensitive? It's like, hey jackass, you're the one who just made a jackass out of yourself by ignoring social cues that everyone else seemed to receive, so don't be mad at me for having to be overly neutral in your presence because you chose to ignore the implied social cues that were big, bright, and obvious to everyone else. It is because of you, and only you, that I have to now be overly clear about not even being slightly attracted to you. And by that I mean SUPER DUPER OVERLY clear. To the point where now... what?? I'm...mean? NO. You're just an idiot. When I was nice to you, just like I am to everyone else, you wanted to take it to the head and think I wanted to utilize your sperm. None of the other dudes did that! They were all normal. It's just you, dummy! So don't have an attitude with me now cuz you forced me to give you a shutdown that would've been unnecessary if you would've just acted like a person!!! (This is completely why this blog is sans love. I'm just not in tune with non-human males, and those tend to be the ones that have no fear and will do the most in front of/for chicks).
Sorry for the vent. That all occurred the day I went to the beach, so I was reminded when I started talking about how awesome the beach was. Anyhoo...
That night, the roommie and I traversed the terrain down the street to a classmates apartment, which was on the 22nd floor, and therefore had a magnanimous view of the beach, mountains, and the lagoa. Boom. That's all I need to say.
Moving backwards, Friday night we ended up at Casa Mango Mango, a bed and breakfast in Santa Teresa where they randomly had live music! Ok - I don't know if it was random, but it was completely off the beaten path, and outside of my knowledge. They were a samba/bossa nova band, and they were awesome. I really wish I could remember the name, but alas, I cannot. Anyhow, some older woman kept pulling me up to dance. So what was I to do? Indeed, I danced. And then danced some more. It was awesome. Everything is awesome. Even when it's not awesome. Awesome. So...
Continuing backwards, Tuesday and Thursday were both awesome Lagoa-going days for me. As I stated earlier, it takes me about an hour and 10 minutes to get around the whole thing. There is a dog park with a grand amount of golden retrievers. There's an area for renting corny pedalinhos shaped like swans, and there are a few places to rent kayaks and do some rowing. The Lagoa will also be the official location for the rowing games in the 2016 Olympics. Sadly, there is also a guy selling churros with doce de leite. It takes everything in my power for me to not purchase one in the middle of my workout/brisk walk. But, I did seal my walk the other day with an agua de coco. Estava bom!
So, what happens when I don't regularly check in is that I forget some of the cool happenings of the week. That has happened here (insert sad face). That, and the fact that Beach Sucos sells caiparinhas for R$6,50 and I had one last week during our lunch break, and one during class on Friday when we had class at the beach! OH YEAH, that's right. Forgot - on Friday, we had class AT THE BEACH at one of the Skol kiosks! Nothing like having class at a beer stand. Oh, Brasil...
On another note, a colleague from school was here for a few days and we had an interesting conversation about being black and female here in Brasil. She had met with a friend of hers who was feeling really depressed about her 'invisibility' in this country. She's doing her work in another state (can't remember where). Anyhow, her experience has been that people will pretty much just bump into her on the street as if she is not even there. They mistake her for any other 'negra' they know, and oftentimes say things that are supposed to 'put her in her place' I suppose. Once they realize she's from the U.S., their whole attitude towards her changes. First, they have to speak to her in some way, shape or form to even realize that she is American, and therefore recognize that she is human. And second, how sad is it that some of these people feel that black Brasilian women (and men too, I suppose) are invisible, and unworthy of even spatial recognition in the first place? It was interesting to hear, especially since I receive an ample amount of stares and comments because of my hairstyle. It's quite like being on two opposite ends of the spectrum, but having the same sentiment. She is less then human, and not worthy of being seen; I am a spectacle to be gazed at, and still possibly not human. Although there is so much beauty across the Brasilian terrain, there is also a grandiose amount of ugliness.
Tchau my loves!
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Dear Brasileiros (and everybody else):
They were not slaves.
They were Humans.
People.
Africans.
Mothers. Brothers. Fathers. Daughters.
Living, breathing, humans who were barbarically enslaved.
You need to know who your ancestors were not to appreciate who they were.
Humans by nature.
When you say 'they were slaves,' you dehumanize them, just like those who enslaved them. Africans were never slaves by nature. They were people. Enslaved. When you speak about slavery, or YOUR OWN heritage, know that you do not come from slaves. You come from humans - beautiful humans - who were enslaved by animals.
There exists too much power in your words for you to just throw them around so wildly.
They were Humans.
People.
Africans.
Mothers. Brothers. Fathers. Daughters.
Living, breathing, humans who were barbarically enslaved.
You need to know who your ancestors were not to appreciate who they were.
Humans by nature.
When you say 'they were slaves,' you dehumanize them, just like those who enslaved them. Africans were never slaves by nature. They were people. Enslaved. When you speak about slavery, or YOUR OWN heritage, know that you do not come from slaves. You come from humans - beautiful humans - who were enslaved by animals.
There exists too much power in your words for you to just throw them around so wildly.
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