i think i'm learning

so i've been shying away from considering the potential of a committed relationship with the man i've been seeing for the past few months. i make lots of excuses- oh, he's too young, he's an actor and doesn't know what he wants, what if end up hurting him?
in the end, i know the real reason i push away conversation of relationships is the way i allowed my last one to end- with my heart and my sense of self crushed and run through a freaking blender. if i weren't such a coward i probably would have tried to end my life (stupid, right?). it really fucked me up. i had nothing left, or so i thought. i acted out, said/emailed/blogged a bunch of cruel things between bouts of drunkenness and binge eating that i thought might make me feel better, and nothing really worked. i basically became a functional alcoholic, and ate myself into 20 added pounds. i guess i was trying to end my life the cowardly way, from the inside out. i thank a divine being and my family and friends for helping me snap out of it, but the emotional scars remain.
i was confronted on facebook today by pictures of my ex and his girlfriend, who seem much happier than i ever felt dating him. i, as "over it" as i am, felt some tears welling up. over that relationship that ended so long ago. over seeing him with a girl i've known he's been dating since, oh, probably a month after we broke up, which is just about a year ago now. not a new idea.
then, as i'm starting to sink into my self-pitying, "no one will ever fit me like that again" abyss, i hear my ringtone through the drone of chrisette michele on my ipod earbuds (god, that's like a bad line out of a "chicken soup for the soul" memoir). who is it? the new boy. the one i spend so much time not considering as a viable love option. the one i make excuses about. he's calling to ask how my day was, to tell me how much he enjoyed our walk yesterday, how an agent thought his headshots are great and will be sending him out to auditions post-haste. if only i believed in signs...

password

random note: i don't know if this is happening to you, but a weird pop-down menu greets me when i come to my own blog, asking if i have a password. i don't know what the fuck that is. i am sorry if you're experiencing it as well. if you're not, i am worried about the state of my sorry computer...

also, this is not turning out to be the best week ever. fuck it all, vh1, why can't you leave a little "best"-ness for the rest of us? having a lot of drama at work, created a little personal drama for myself by pressing the wrong button on my cellphone (numerous times) tonight, and am looking at even more drama presenting itself in the office tomorrow. at least i have good friends (new and old) to help me figure it all out (and/or to listen to me babble nonsensically and offer necessarily nonsensical advice).

it's only tuesday.

bring it on, week! i think i'm ready.

mlk 40

the root is doing amazing things today to commemorate dr. king.

check out dana cook's remembrance series (there are a bunch of articles, i can't link to them all). sam fulwood III's piece on the black middle class is worth a glance too, as is melissa harris-lacewell(academic crush alert!)'s piece on the women so often depicted behind the men. and so is everything else.


let's not forget how much we owe, and to how many.

liberty city= a havestrength homecoming

i saw april yvette thompson's play on sunday night, the night before my aunt deedee's wake, and it fed my soul.

my great-grandmother largely raised my grandmother and her brother, my uncle george, in liberty city. uncle george and his wife, dee dee, made her house their second home throughout my childhood. it was in my great-grandmother's bathtub, while drying off from a bath, that i asked aunt dee dee to be my second grandmother (because my father's mother passed away soon after i was born). liberty city holds a special place in my heart.

i love seeing/reading/hearing/experiencing expressions of other people's loves for the places i love. i love having that venn diagram moment when you realize that there are things about yourself that you share with others. i took a friend to the play, someone that doesn't know me or my rituals very well yet. afterwards he commented on the way i reacted, audibly, to the references to homemade corned beef hash and hamburger patties with green peppers and onions and cornflakes, wrapped in foil. the way my eyes lit up with recognition when she spoke about a woman's husband taking the boat back and forth to nassau every weekend. the tears in my eyes as she recounted the mcduffie riots, and i imagined my parents, my aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents, and where they must have been during that crazy time.

i called my mother on monday morning to tell her about the play. as i explained what thompson addressed, my mother began asking questions about her name and where she went to school- "did she tell you her mother's name? i bet momma knows her family!" it was a homecoming for her through my telling as much as it was a nostalgic journey for me. my mommy wants to take her mommy to see the play. we're just waiting for it to make the journey to liberty city.

you should see the show if you can. it's playing at the new york theatre workshop. 20 buck tickets for all seats on sundays at 7, cash only.

for more information, check www.libertycityplay.com.

proving your _____-ness. fill in the freaking blank.

so i ran across this article at times today (it's listed as one of the "most emailed.") basically, the article is titled "how do you prove you're a jew?" and it has me thinking about an experience i had this weekend with some friends.

i never have to prove my jewishness. i am not a jew. i do, however, sometimes feel that i am asked to prove my blackness. it's something i resent and that i have struggled to deal with and get past my entire life.
(more after the jump)

one reason the whole argument over barack obama's blackness never made sense to me is the fact that i have often been accused of not being "black enough" and both of my parents are black. i have no white mom to confuse my identity. i do, though, have a variety of experiences and a history of self-doubt and low self-esteem that have created an adult who still wrestles with "proving herself."

so back to this weekend. i was hanging out with a boy. a boy that i have a humongous crush on. we went to the black comedy experiment on friday, and the apollo on saturday. it was nice. he's cute. he's smart. he's funny. he's also BLACK (yes, in all caps, just like i told my friend laura a few days ago). i, on the other hand, am black (yes, in all lowercase). he went to an HBCU. i went to a top ten small liberal arts school. he was a tv junkie as a child; i was only allowed to watch tv for a few hours on saturday, after i finished my chores. he loves 90s hip-hop and other "black" music; my fanatical parents only really let me listen to the radio once i was in high school. before that, i was relegated to james dobson's focus on the family, d.c. talk, and jars of clay.

we are different, yes. but is it our "levels" of blackness that are in question? if so, what is this checklist of things that "real" black people must aspire to fulfill?

now, i know that there are tons of complications (in my own mind as well as in the minds of others) on this issue. a few of the ones that come to mind:

1. when white people do/like/are interested in things that are given other racial markers (i.e., things that aren't listed on what white people like), they are regarded with suspicion and considered to be co-opting another culture.
   
2. when black people "sell out" and support/do things that are considered to be negative for their own race, they're seen as "oreos"

now, like i noted, i think that way as well. i think al sharpton's permed hair is an abomination, and white people with locks and dirty clothes that try to preachify on issues of equality and revolution annoy the hell out of me. but i don't feel like i'm trying to be "white." in fact, that's the last thing i want to be. i have devoted my life to education and activism to further the "struggle," yet my authenticity is still measured by whether or not i can recite the script of that boondocks episode by heart.

sometimes i am still the 11 year old girl i once was, with glasses and braces, feeling uncomfortable at the BSA meeting at the prep school i was only able to attend with an almost-full scholarship and countless sacrifices on the parts of my parents. the other black kids at the school, and in BSA, had parents who drove mercedes and lived in big houses in nice parts of town. they called me an "oreo" while laughing at the uniform clothes my mom found for me in the lost and found. i was the inauthentic one, always, because i didn't think the black scholarship boys, who came from liberty city and overtown and played football, were so exciting as to be worthy of my adoration. my hair wasn't permed or pressed yet, and i liked to read and study and get good grades.

any ____-ness, any identity, has its markers, i know. and i know there are any number of reasons to feel like an outcast in a situation. i also know that i was just a nerd, and that was just as viable a reason for the kids to make fun of me as any other. i guess i just feel like i didn't, and don't, want to have to change to be able to be seen as part of my race. if i can't sit at the cool kids' table, so be it. but to not be black because i don't hate acapella singing groups? damn.

that smarts.

computer burn

finished formatting curriculum, and my eyes feel like they're going to fall out of my head. cannot wait to finish editing and spot-checking...so i can go home and clean the bathroom?

i can't believe this is my "grown and sexy" life...

i need a man, part 2

i thought long and hard, and realized that everything else i need from a man is conditional on the specific person, time of my life, and city in which i reside, so i'll just leave with you a little crooning from america's least favorite hip-hop artist, p. diddy** (is that even still his "name"?).




**correction: after 50 cent's comments on obama, he and p. diddy may find themselves in a dead heat for last place...

get your game up

just spent 15 minutes on the bus listening to a man bullshit his girlfriend over the phone. i mean, WOW.

not only did dude screw up his story over and over again ("I'm walking to the train station over here in Brooklyn...what's that sound? Oh yeah, did I say I was walking? Oh, my bad, I'm on the bus, baby!"), he was also trying to get at me in the process! dude, i know you're lying to another woman RIGHT NOW. and badly, to boot! no, i'm not gonna give you my fucking number. and you're the second dude i've met this weekend wearing british knights (yes, readers, by british knights i mean british knights).

if i thought i could have jumped off the bus fast enough to get away without any possible injury i would have blown his story up, but i'm just not that nimble. oh well.

interview for being a fellow advisor is coming up soon. keep the digits crossed!

i'll leave you with an ode to footwear:

fighting takes too much energy

i spent part of my day yesterday, and too much of my night last night, upset about something. i'm sapped of energy this morning. the conflict was with a person i dated for a long time who broke my heart. it's been six months since i last saw him or heard his voice, and yet we still have things to fight about, apparently, and knowing how little he cares/cared about me still brings tears to my eyes.

you would think (like i have) that we could find a way to (really) forgive each other and move on, but you and i would both be wrong.

on the shaking of tailfeathers

if a certain male coworker asks me again when i'm going to "get crunkalicious and shake my tailfeather to the flo'," i'm going to have to share the following, no matter how embarrassing these truths may be for him:

1. i am not eligible for crunkaliciousness. yes, i am black. yes, i get drunk. but no, i do not get crunk. i am far too bougie for that. lil' jon would laugh my ass off the dance floor if anyone were to ever tell him that i was "crunk." also, you, a white man from wisconsin who seems to have a penchant for essentializing people of color into the most reductive and offensive stereotypes possible, are not crunk and will never be crunk, even though you special order the crunk juice that pays lil' jon's rent by the case.
   
2. "shake your tailfeather" and "to the flo'" are NOT phrases that are uttered together. they are from different songs, by different artists, and when you scream them at the top of your lungs in crowded bars, even the fratty white boys look up like, "WhaaAT?!"
3. i have an ass, a booty, some junk in my trunk. i do not have a tailfeather. nelly is not a benchmark for 2007 cool. nelly is a benchmark for 2001 not-cool. nelly wears air force ones. even if i DID have a tailfeather, you would have zero reason to refer to it. my ass is none of your damn business.
4. lastly, all of this just leaves me feeling really, really bad for your girlfriend, who is of color but must be really lost. to spend time with you and your racist, faux-liberal stupidity must be a daily struggle of a type that i can only begin to imagine.
   

please jump off a motherfucking cliff.

i am legend, aka jdo

sooooooooooooo how excited am i that one of my boyfriends, the now beautifully silvered will smith, timed his new movie "i am legend" to come out alongside my 25th birthday?



THIS EXCITED!

big willie also coordinated things so that the "i am legend" new york premiere would be happening at madison square garden, which is directly in front of my building of employment. thanks will, sweetheart! one problem- you didn't arrive while i was sitting staring out of my coworker's window at the entrance, you silly goose!

i cannot wait to watch will and his dog kick some zombie ass. now i know will has his flaws, as one of my coworkers so decisively decried his homophobic tendencies back in the day on the fresh prince as well as in bad boys I and II, but you have to hold it down for a black man married to a black woman with black children who is not denzel washington. a man who tried, i think, to push the american public to interrogate the meaning of being a young black male. maybe i'm going too far. maybe i'm remembering it the way i wanted it to be, and not the way it was. but i do heart will smith. i mean, jada even had a mustache for a minute! talk about being open and accepting!

anyone wanna see "i am legend" on sunday?? anyone?

reclaim my game

so i'm feeling somewhat disoriented as of late. i'm no longer totally heartbroken (the crying only happens every once in awhile, when my mind happens across something that it shouldn't), but somehow i just haven't gotten back to the way i used to feel. back when i met him.

the confidence i had about myself and my worth and my appeal went missing in the midst of the worse with him, and i have yet to locate it and bring it back. i'm trying. i am. i'm trying not to go out looking busted, i'm trying to think about the way i react to people, i'm trying to be open. i'm making new friendships and new connections, working hard, and trying to be reflective. i think i'm doing what i can.

the difference between now and before, though, is that i always feel unsure. i've lost my key to my self-worth. i gave it to him. i let him have control over how i felt about myself. he doesn't want it. he never did. but somehow i think i've let him hold on to it. now i realize it's time to go out dorothy-style and find the wizard to get a ride back home to kansas.

where's toto when you need him?

upgrade you

gotta love that beyonce jam. the upgrade chain in the mouth is a little nasty, but hey, why can't a girl have a little fun, right?

my boss asked me today what my top three personal goals are for the next two years. she wants to be my fairy boss and grant me three professional wishes (and thereby keep me from running off to grad school/back to the classroom/off to a position that actually pays). that, of course, made me think. what are my top three personal/professional goals for the next two years? what would i really like to accomplish?

1. publishing something would be nice, i think. a book with my name on it, and learning how to do some press for such a book would be ideal.
2. honing my management skills, and adding a major management project to my resume. not sure what the project would be, but i really want something that proves that i know how to manage people and not just information.
3. #3 is up in the air, folks, and baffling me just a little. any suggestions?

gift for the 4th (i open them before i go to bed because i am a 5 year old in a mid-twenties, quickly widening body ;)): two pairs of socks. cute. striped. but still not an ipod. :(

harlem, meet barack obama

my man barack, at the apollo last night. chris rock and cornel west introducing. crazy.

also, what is this tidbit about him having dinner with mr. sharpton at sylvia's beforehand? why can't people figure out that sylvia's just isn't that hot? come by my grandma's house, opa locka, fl. 33055 if you want good soul food. sylvia is just trying to make a buck off your ass.

not sure why i do it

sometimes i catch myself wondering where the balance lies in our information-rich tech world between knowing to know, knowing to remind yourself of a purpose, and knowing to demoralize.

i find myself reading blogs, books, and news articles that remind me constantly of the negativity that surrounds me and people with whom i try my best to be in solidarity on a regular basis. i read blog posts that "reveal" the negative acts, then i often subject myself to reading the nasty comments that accompany them. and sometimes, all i can feel is down. like, seeing all the negativity of people manifested in ignorant comments or pantomimes or articles is just more than i need. because i already know it's there. i have the facts in front of me. much of my college education showed me where it all lies. and, being of color, i see it myself all the time.

on monday i wore a necklace-- black and white beads, from gap, could be construed as "ethnic-looking," i guess, if you were so inclined. someone commented on how beautiful it is, and i said, "oh, it's only from the gap." the someone replied, somehow, with "oh, i guess i'll have to go to africa, then!"

short example. but definitely shows me that i don't need to go looking for proof of my status in this society. so why do i do it?

i know that one reason is that i don't want to be my parents-- so focused on staying positive in the face of the negativity that surrounds me that i cocoon myself into a world where none of it exists (or so i tell myself). that is the world i grew up in, and while ignorance is bliss, in this world leaving the cocoon then becomes a dangerous mental act. when someone finally jolts you into reality with a comment, or a glance, or by spitting in your face, you don't have any way to understand what's happening.

i also know that in order to keep myself going in the various jobs i take i must remind myself of my purpose. why do i put up with working very hard for very little money? because of all of the horrible things i see around me. i want to be a part of a movement for change. i want to do what i can to make this world better for my children. i want to know that i can go to sleep at night knowing that i am helping others beyond myself. i want to know that i'm helping me. it's almost therapy. my way to fight back on all of the ugly things i see. is it terribly effective? no. but as long as i know the "evil" is out there, i continue to want to do what i can.

finally, i know that there's some premium in our day and age placed on knowing...everything...because you can. if you don't know the latest youtube video, political snafoo made by a presidential hopeful, the latest hot song on itunes, and where the protest was at last week, you're behind. woefully so.

so what to do? i try to get away by writing at this "personal reflection" blog every once in awhile, but i'm not sure where else to take it. what to do. maybe take a break from the information overload for awhile, and then find a blog that will do a full recap of the daily show, the project runway premiere, ANTM, racialicious, the ny times, the post's education series (SO GOOD by the way-check it out), keeping up with the kardashians, i <3 new york, and everything else that makes it onto my radar every week.

ha, that rundown of obsessions didn't make you feel very good about me, did it?

clean slate

i erased every email he ever sent me last night. this morning, i'm feeling relieved but scared, hesitant because this means i am really starting over. it means i'm actually going to end up having to try the whole love thing again, eventually, and that freaks me out.

you didn't really want to know this, but

the last time i was in california i was with him. we flew into LAX, just like i did last night. we drove the same stretches of road.

just those facts were enough to have me crying in the shower this morning.** to wake me up with bad dreams of missing him, of wanting him back, last night.

when will it ever end, i ask.


**fuck it, i'll be honest. i'm crying right fucking now. i can't stop fucking crying.
someone is going to have to fucking pay me to trust a man again. it just ain't happenin' of its own accord.