Sunday

I usually feel like people don't get me, and I usually think I'm right about that.

Maybe I'm not as forthcoming as I'd like to believe I am. Maybe that same forwardness throws people off.

With all I'm given, maybe I'm a sponge to some, meant to soak up all of their mess when they purge and cleanse themselves, leaving me soggy and dishelved in a corner somewhere.

Maybe I give out way too much love, more than I can replenish at once. Maybe there just isn't enough to go around.

Maybe, just maybe, someone out there does understand what I'm saying when I say it, can look at me and know that when I feel, I feel all.
Yours. Mine. Theirs.

Maybe that someone won't be able to handle it. And I won't know them. Or feel for them. Or love them.

I wonder how He did it?
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Everybody hates (still) Saint Valentine...

After years of observation and experience, it is safe to assume one thing about St. Valentine (or the numerous St. Valentines): everyone still hates him and one way or another wants him dead. Again.

Men of today want him re-dead because he costs them valuable money they could spend on beer, video games, or a flat-screen TV. Women want him re-martyred because they think that the men are going to kill him (again) anyway, though they hope that the conjectured belief of the Saint's life shines through anyway. Safe to say, people think they'd be happier without the commercial observation of Saint Valentine's death. Some think they'd be even happier without love or companionship.

I'm kind of a rebel to this philosophy. I love Valentine's Day and I love love. When this "holiday" comes around, I get more than a little excited, solely because I realize that it's not about me. It is about making the person (or people) you love feel special, reminding them that you care and, if you're committed, that you still find them desirable. When I walk through a retailer in January and early February, I don't think about what I should/could get from the racks or how I'd love to smash a glass heart vase, I think of how much my mother would love the heart shaped box of Almond Joy chocolates, or how one of my friends would laugh at the 8 X 10 Snoopy valentine card. The joy of giving and seeing others smile is what it should be about, not necessarily who should get you what and how much they should spend.

Your boyfriend or girlfriend, husband or wife could give you a break from chores as opposed to a new watch or bottle of cologne and the meaning would be just the same. Your partner could spend time with you and that would mean so much more than spending $80 on a dinner that barely filled either of you. Gifting is great; I enjoy giving and receiving gifts. But I'd rather have a kind offering than a gift from obligation, any day.

This is where the wires seem to get get crossed. I feel

Blinders off

My sisters Kristen and Rachel referred me to a verse today in the book of Isaiah.

Chapter 43, verses 1 through 10.

No time for citations, but essentially everything is already ordered; I have no control. Ever.

God wants me to know peace. And love. And happiness. But first, he wants me to know Jesus.

The excerpt from Isaiah lays out this plan. There will be low points--floods, fires, and famines, if you prefer the biblical. But in my life, sickness, loss, sadness, disappointment, heartache...but in all of these things, He wants me to come to Him. To heed Him. Not to do what seems best for me or what I determine will make my life easier. My life is not my own in that way.

In this mode, before hearing this Scripture, I woke up this morning anxious to get the day over with. Washed my hair. Showered. Prepped for the day....jewelry, clothing, socks and scents. God said "Cry. Be still. Listen". I did. Just like I did when he had the digital "penstroke" working last week.

I sat there, fully clothed and completely broken. All I wanted to do was work. That's all I have control over. Work. It is all I know these days.

God said, "Not today. Be still."

I resigned to His will. I couldn't even pick up BabyBerry, my constant companion, for a Twitter update.

He gave me no peace until, fully clothed, I lie in my bed under blankets. The calm was overwhelming. I think that was His way of hugging me, letting me know that he was there. I stayed there 3 hours, literally until I had his permission to get up

Did that provide closure or any real resolve? No, not really. But I know to wait for His blessing, I know not to stress and to keep living. I know that He will not overwhelm me with more than I can handle.

The storm is the prelude to the blessing. With my umbrella and galloshes, I'll remain humbled and faithful.

I can do no more than this.
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The Unspoken

I'm sitting on the edge of my bed wondering why, this time, I got what I prayed for.

But who am I to question God?

I was frustrated, I was broken and disappointed. My heart, hardened--with purpose, I believe. I prayed for words, for voice, through tears. Finally, tears.

Hours later, I woke up and began to speak. Silently.

I realized that this was not my doing alone, and I didn't question what was written. I just clicked "SEND".

Numbness.

I went a few days not speaking of the unspoken, but I assume the damage is done. I'm done, too. I think.

Still frustrated, broken and disappointed...but my heart...

Someone said this would be equivalent to an amputation...something so needed, so wanted, suddenly gone. For the sake of survival...

I wonder if there could be something more to this, if this is not what is supposed to be happening. But I have no control over that. Love is a funny thing. The only constant thing, really. Eternally.

I wish I could say more.

Birthday/Christmas List (by request of NICOLE)

Because Nicole has NO idea what I want for my birthday or Christmas, I'm making this list to give her options (LOL!). Both "holidays" are relatively close (December 6 and December 25), and, since roughly 2002, the weeks around these two dates are so jam-packed with school and work obligations that I never have time to plan anything for myself. And thus, here is my wish list:

1) Adult Swim in a Box: absolutely fantastical!




2) Black Amethyst Body Wash, etc. : I <3 this stuff....as do men :)




3) Carol's Daughter "Recipe for Smooth and Shiny Hair": Smell the Black Vanilla first and ask questions later...if you know me, you know that I'm a little obsessed with my hair. Perfect gift, lol :)



4) Itty, bitty purse Bible: I'm tired of lugging my 10-pound Black Jesus study bible to church and Bible study. Help a sister out!



5) Any Christmas movie or set...especially this one, lol:



6) I absolutely LOVE this collection, but I don't own it: Langston Hughes's "Ask Your Mama: 12 Moods for Jazz" (1961)



7) Any kind of funky jewelry, especially nose rings or earrings: Time to dress my head up now; the hair is gone!


If all of this seems unreasonable, wine is also great. Or you can chip in for my next month of asthma medications. Happy holidays. And happy birthday to me :)

Um...Relax.

Since I was trusted to handle small non-digestible objects by my parents all of 25 years ago, I've been a huge Barbie enthusiast. German Barbie never did it for me, but Christie was my girl! Me and her, and eventually Kyra, the east Asian Barbie buddy, became best pals. I never looked at them in all of their size 0, waist-length maned, perfect-skinned glamor and thought any less of myself. Now, with the generation of children witnessing Oscar the Grouch being relegated to a recycle bin and "Veggie Monster" (not our cookie-craving chum) raiding the local garden, there's the complaint that black Barbies are too European featured--their hair too straight, their noses too narrow, etc...things that African American P.C. police have come up with to launch attack on America's beloved lady doll. So now, Mattel responds with this:

http://www.racewire.org/archives/2009/11/barbie.html

Now....the fact that this doll comes with a straightening iron could be a problem. But I feel that black women (and women in general) get a little too riled up on the issue of Barbie. While there is complaint about how black Barbies were just Barbies painted brown, I never had a problem these brown plastic women (aside ...from the fact that all her clothing fit strange) because they looked like someone I'd seen before. For example, the picture they include of "Colored Francine" from 1963 resembles my grandmother's style when I see old pics of her (slim, long straight hair (always too fine for a 'Fro), brown, narrow facial features, etc)

With the complaint for fuller hair and features, black Barbie opponents amongst women of color are failing, as well, to realize that we are all diverse, with varying hair preferences, hair textures, and bone structures. It is due time for a dark and lovely doll with some beautifully curly hair (oh but that's been done by Mattel--Shani, 1990s--I had that doll; did you?), but I don't see why Christie has to go to the wayside because she's not "black enough".

And as a matter of fact, scratch that point about the straightener being a problem. Nowhere in the ad, I'm sure, does it say "Straighten Grace/Trichelle's hair so she can be beautiful/get a job!". It is a CHOICE; she can stay "natural" if the girl who adopts her wants too. That's pretty forward thinking to recognize the VARIETY of beauty present in the black community. I'm done lol

On the subject of stupidity....

Some time ago, I realized that I would never accept any woman who chose to attach herself to my either of my brothers, including my dog. I've been all the wiser for it.

I've even told him verbatim, "Don't bring any of these women around me unless you put a ring on their finger (left-hand, fourth digit)." I meant that sh-- like I've never meant anything else. And I mean everything I say. Unapologetically.

And with that, to the sleazy and easy women of DontDateM-----T----.blogspot.com, I warn specifically of two things: 1) Get some self-respect/self-confidence and accept YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY for foolishness and lack of concern for your own well being, and 2) stop being a groupie sl--.

From Columbus to Ann Arbor to Muskegon, from 1998 to the present date, I mean this with the depths of my soul. My brother is a musician, he has the gift of gab (yes), and he's intelligent and charming and ...etc, whatever you all see in him before you decide that he's come to save your wack a--es. Do realize that, of no excuses, he's also a touring performer, he's a young man with the world ahead of him--a world that includes many different women (including some of you all in the past)--that gives him the opportunity to run freely until he feels it suiting to slow down and pick a life partner. If he didn't choose you, go back in line and wait for the next man picking, since you don't know how to go for self, appreciate your own worth, and find someone who will respect you.

As my boyfriend (as in actual and 6 years and counting--not imagined...or one-night stand...or constant obsession, as some of you all have experienced according to your little blog) stated once, it is time for you ladies to "Get the red mushroom and grow the f--k up". I shouldn't have even heard about your little blog, nor should I have lowered myself to addressing your internet tirades and petty jealousies. I can list names of all of you, but I won't; that would be embarrassing, wouldn't it? Actually, yes, for me; reading your stories and knowing the SOURCE(S) of all of this bunk, you've done enough to embarrass yourselves ;)

With this said, please get a job. Find a hobby. Keep your legs closed. Stop googling him and his lady. And stop googling me for my email....I'm a hacker; I KNOW when I've been searched hacked or "included".

And leave my brother to find his own happiness while you hopefully find your own. Being a vindictive b---- can grow to suck, I imagine.

Peace be with you.