I Don't Want To Write Anymore

I've been writing about my life, for public consumption, for eight years. I think I'm done. My writing style has changed. The tone of my writing has changed. I'm bored with my own stories, thoughts and opinions. I don't think this is a negative thang. I believe it means that I've reached the point where I know myself.. . . . completely. I may grow in my experiences, but my core self will remain the same.

It feels good. I am satisfied and proud of who I have become. I look forward to this continued journey. . . . in private.

Be Blessed!

Family History

My California cousin mentioned that an Ohio cousin had received an invitation to a family reunion. I thought it was a nice gesture until CA cousin said it was an invitation to the reunion for the white side of your ancestors family. What I'm trying to say is my CA cousin is taking my great aunt, the matriarch of my family to meet the family that owned her grandfather. Wow!

It's just so Sally Hemmings and Thomas Jefferson-ish. My great great granfather was the son of a slave woman and her master. She had 22 children. Eleven were half white.

And then I find out that I might have some Italian blood. I knew I loved pasta for a reason!

I am constantly amazed at the history of this country we live in. The truth of manyy of our famies seems to still conjure shame and uneasiness for white people. It is exciting to know that this group of white folks is ready to meet their "darker side".

Life never ceases to amaze me.

Weed on the Stairs

I was walking home from an 8 hour day filled with qualitiative research and small group dynamics. I was enjoying the sun on my back as I thought about the dissertation I would begin to write next semester. I decided to take a short cut through a neighborhood. There were stairs that led from one street to another that is parallel.

I smelled a skunk as I got closer to the stairs and realized that there couldn't be a skunk in the busiest area of San Francisco. I came upon two young African American male teenagers who were sitting on the stairs smoking a joint. They saw me coming and scooted to either side of the stair. I said "hello" as I walked by.

I heard one of them say to the other, "We should get to the library and get those books and do our homework and study". I wanted to say something like, "Stop lying", but I knew there was no point. I realized that the lie was a run-on sentence. Why would I notice something like that. Probably because he just sounded dumb.

Lately, I've been wondering aout W.E.B. DuBois' talented tenth. I wonder if I'm part of the tenth who will overcome many of the challenges of being Black and being a woman. In roughly two years, I will be be a doctor of education. I will have reached a certain level of educational success and hopefully I will have some financial success which will allow me to live comofortably and pay off my student loans before I retire.

What will happen to these young men? I'm sure that my one interaction with them will not define their future, but I wonder.

Cabernet, Tuscany Orange and Olive

Can a man be straight and use those words? I don't mean to stereotype. Maybe there's been a paradigm shift and I just haven't caught on yet. Don't straight men use simple words like red, orange and green when discussing color? I think that's a fair question.

When did straight, virile, fine ass muscular Black men start caring about calling a color by it's specific name? More importantly, when did I begin to question a man's sexual orientation based on how he described colors? Over the last couple of years, I have come to realize that all Black men are either married, gay or don't date Black women. . . . .until otherwise notified. I am 35.9 years old and these are the three reasons why I don't date very often. I also believe this might be specific to living in the Bay Area. I don't see this phenomenon as a negative. It's just a fact. Now, the upside to it is that I have some great male friends. Because I have found that most men are married, gay or don't date Black women. . . . .until otherwise notified, I spend alot more time getting to know men, being thier friend. My relationships with men are much more rich and satisfying.

In the end, I am old fashioned. I want a man to be a man. The color is black, not dark charcoal; blue, not azure; or white, not snow. Some things should be simple.

Be Blessed.

And The Devil Said, "Ahhh Yes. . ."

I have been unemployed for approximately three weeks. Of course, I made some goals as to what I wanted to achieve. It was all of the usual stuff:
1. Read as much as possible
2. Finish Todd’s afghan
3. Do my homework and assignments in a timely fashion
4. Visit my elders, who hardly hear from me or see me
5. Apply for one job every day
6. Spend time walking in areas of San Francisco where I haven’t been before
7. Hang out at a bar or lounge at least twice a week for a least one hour each time
8. Exercise at least five, if not six times a week

I haven’t met ANY of my goals.

But, it’s the beginning of a new month. So I began October with a 90 minute spinning class. I love spinning. Spinning is an energizing bike ride that uses music, tension and routine to help you achieve the best sweat you’ve ever had in your life.

Carrie had us in first, second and high and low third positions. We sped through The Go Go’s,, Madonna, Prince and some house music I ain’t never heard before. By “Little Red Corvette”, the sweat was pouring into my eyes, nostrils and mouth. Carrie kept telling us to go from high third to low third.

Let me explain low third. Picture yourself sitting on the bike (with a gel cushion, of course) with your arms stretched out in front of you, holding on to the farthest tips of the handles in front of you. Your ass is only itches off the seat. You are feeling the sides of your torso stretch as you hold on to those bars. You can feel the skinny part of the seat rubbing against your inner thighs as they go up and down.

And Carrie kept saying, “Get lower!” And I tried. My knees began to brush against my chest as I forced my torso to “get lower”. Just as I began to breathe into the posture and regain my spinning momentum, Carrie yelled, “Get lower”!

I thought to myself, “If I get any lower, I’ll be able to breast feed The Devil”. My man, Prince, was singing to me. So, I got as low as was humanly possible for a girl my size. I was doing it for His Purple Highness, if no one else.

And I heard The Devil say, “Ahhh Yes. . . . “.

Spinning does that to me.

Be Blessed.

I've quit my job, lost 30lbs and cut off my beautiful long hair. I'm a little shell shocked, to say the least.

All of it feels new to me. All of it is scary. I appreciate my friends rallying around me. I am humbled by the outpouring of love and support, but still I'm in this by myself. . . . .all by myself. I feel like I am on auto pilot, just doing what I'm supposed to do - look for another job, keep losing weight, wait for my hair to grow back. It's all very otherworldly.

I'm lost.

Liberation

After meeting with the HR Lady today to express some concerns I have about my supervisor and boss, I realize, more than ever, that I am being set up to be fired.

So, with my whole life (school, work, health insurance) up in the air, I am looking for good airlines fares. Might be the time to spend a little bit of money and see some friends.

Everything will be okay. It's just the journey to "Okay" that worries me.

Mr. Telephone Men

I talked to several of my male friends last night. And it felt good. I am constantly amazed, uplifted and on the brink of tears when I speak to them. Each of them gives me a gift with every conversation - something to think about, cry about or laugh about.

My best friend always seems to have my back. You see, I am having some. . . issues at work and am looking for other employment. I LOVE my job and don't want to leave, but my bastard of a boss is seemingly pushing me out in a very passive aggressive way. My best friend offered his home to me. I could come live with him and look for a job in NC. I instantly began crying. Although I am never surprised by his charity or generosity, I must admit that I was brought to tears by his willingness to offer his home to me. He was ready to support me and for that, I will love him forever.

Mr. Olympian likes to call me on his way home for any and every late night excursion. He always has a good story to tell. But, with this phone call he was my teacher and I was the student with a school girl crush. He amazes me with his insight and wisdom. I learn so much about myself, relationships and our friendship with every conversation. Last night, we talked about negotiation within a relatioinship. Sex is always negotiated. And periodically throughout the relationship, you must revisit the contract and negotiate again. Now, in some way we already knew that, but giving voice to the idea set off a 30 minute conversation.

My last telephone man, Papi, reminds me of how much I still need to learn about myself and this crazy world. He is much younger than me. . much. Our conversations, which occur almost every night at 8pm, seem to focus on group dynamics, sex and relationships. Is there anything else to talk about? We flirt with each other. We share pearls of wisdom. We dream together. We hype eachother up. We pray for eachother.

I have to give props to all my Telephone Men. I am a better, more secure and beautiful woman because of them. In each of them I find qualities that I want in a partner. I am sure that is why we are "attracted" to eachother.

Thank you.