WE ARE: 5 women navigating our twenties in search of peace, happiness and love (or not). WE WRITE: about everything and nothing. From the insane to the mundane- you will find different paths taken, lessons learned and lives lived. WE THINK: you’ll enjoy it...Warning: Consumption of these views may leave you enlightened while intoxicated.


The View From Here will conclude on Friday, October 1, our third year anniversary. We would like to spend this month thanking all of our readers, followers, haters, visitors, family, friends, and fans for your continued support, encouragement, and comments over these past few years. Thanks y'all!
-The Five Spot

Friday, May 16, 2008

I'm Living the Single, Single Life

This week Amaretto wrote about Secret Single Behavior also known as SSB. When I commented to her post I mentioned that I had been single for so long that I question if I’ll even know how to do the basic things like share or listen or be thoughtful.

There is plenty o’truth to this. I have already accepted a lot of things about myself, first and foremost, my selfish tendencies. And since it’s been just me, myself and I for years and years and years (ok maybe it’s only felt that lonnnngggg) I have had plenty of time to do some self analysis. Which I guess is a good thing. Especially since everything and everyone feels the need to tell me that I’m single for a reason. A. I need to get myself together, get to know myself. B. I need to figure out what I want in a relationship. C. I need to learn about me. D. When I’m ready and have myself together then my man will come. Hmmmm…

These have always seemed like bullshit reasons to me. But you know whatever. The truth of the matter is that I have been reflective, but it’s not because I was purposely thinking that if I do x,y,z, get to know myself, know myself then I will get a man. And now that I’ve said that, let me just say that getting to know you can be slightly overrated. Don’t say that Rum Punch! Dammit I said it. I think I know me by now. I have been to dinner, shows, museums, and a rack of other shit by myself. I have been immersed in my own thoughts. I have learned how to be alone. Now where is my man dammit? Or do the people who belong to the 'the reason(s) you don't have a man...' school of thought have more mountains for me to climb before my man allegedly comes?

Oh I can’t have those thoughts? Is it wrong to have those thoughts? Is it wrong to admit that shit sometimes I am lonely? Sometimes I am tired of myself all the damn time. Mainly because I know that I’ll be with myself until I die. I know that admitting these things is not “politically correct” so to speak. But I went to the Katt Williams show last week (by myself) and one of the opening acts, a female comedian named Leslie asked, “Where all my single women at?” Cheers from the audience. And then she called us some lonely bitches. And said our theme song should be, “If you think you’re lonely now then wait until tonight, and tomorrow, and Monday, and Tuesday, etc, etc.” And she said something about us single (love to claim we independent) women having that break down and being like “Why am I still single? Lord, you said if I tithed you’d send me a man…” Oh you had to laugh to keep from crying. Because the truth is there are a myriad of reasons for one’s singleness and they don’t always have to fit under that ‘get to know and love yourself' or the 'you must be doing something wrong, if you still single' umbrellas. I’m just saying.

I personally think that I am single because God is keeping me from having to cuss someone out. I mean I have been approached by some straight fools. Straight fools! And I think that God is doing me a favor by showing me these fools and helping work out in my mind what I’m truly looking for. You know since I already know all about myself. Now I can focus on the other side of that coin, errr relationship.

However, I suppose my true fear is not that I’ll be single for years and years and years. But that I won’t be. That I’ll get in a relationship and won’t know what to do. A part of being with myself all the time is that I have learned how to do for self. And I wonder will I be able to actually let someone do something for me? Cause it’s been so long. As this singleness "drags" on there becomes a comfort in being single. Since I know myself and I know what I'm going to do, there are no surprises. Feeling hungry? Well let me go get me something t'eat... Want to see this show? Well let me go ahead and get me a ticket, no need to plan or think of logistics. Want to eat all of that and not have to share with anybody? Go ahead, it's yours! Oh but throw another person in the mix and it's like, "You wanna do what? You wanna eat where? You want some of my what? And I gotta wait on your ass."

I suppose it's about finding that balance. Truly enjoying this time that you have alone, to be "free", to travel and visit friends, to see shows and plays and all black orchestras with your girlfriends without feeling sad about it. Without always looking over your shoulder like, "ok how long do I have to do the by myself thing? Is that my man standing right behind me?" To learn how to truly live my life like it's golden, golden. Because even after I have gotten myself together, learned all about myself, done me, it still might just be me. And I gotta love me. Cause I'm all I got!

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

Thursday, May 15, 2008

roommate chronicles

Roommates can be fun and interesting or positively horrible. Ok, there might be a middle ground in there somewhere but finding a roommate who doesn't bother you and keeps to themselves is pretty hard to do. I've had my fair share of roommates in this life. Come with me as I take you down memory lane and highlight my most memorable roommates.

The OR (original roommate): My lil sister a.k.a. the dirtiest roommate known to man. You wouldn't know it now but back in the day I used to really hate my lil sister. Even though in sunday school they taught us we shouldn't hate anyone, I truly did feel venom and wrath when I thought about her most days. Mainly because we shared a room and while I like things decent and in order, she preferred to hide bowls of cereal under her bed for weeks at a time. Ewwww. We fought like cats and dogs about closet space, cleanliness and who would be the one to turn the light out when it was time to fall asleep. We even drew one of those lines down the middle of the room and dared each other to step foot cross it. So I ended up making the leap from my side to the hallway just to exit my own room.

The bestest roommate ever: a.k.a. Rum Punch. I'ma let ya'll in on the biggest secret in roommate success. Come close, you ready.... SEPARATE BATHROOMS and to a lesser but equally important extent, separate bedrooms (i.e. bedrooms at either end of the apartment so no one hears a thing....ever!). We would convene in the living room, lay on our respective couches and watch vh1 soul all day, until the rotation came back around and we would yell out the next video before they even played it. Grocery shopping was an event, since neither of us minded sharing the necessities like water, milk and bread and we'd happily split the bill down the middle. She'd proof my history papers, even though I wrote them at the last minute in the wee hours of the morning mere hours before they were due. Yet we both could retreat to our secret places for some much needed solitary confinement. Those were the days!

The oldest roommate in America: a.k.a. Granddaddy. I didn't literally live with my grandfather, instead in an even weirder turn of events, I lived with someone else's grandfather, a man old enough to be my granddaddy. Ahhhh the things one does for cheap rent in the big apple. Half the time he was gone and the other half he watched over our little block from his perch in his bedroom window. I had to get used to the sounds of salsa music blasting from his room on Saturday nights and the cigarette smoke did nothing for my developing allergies but other than the fact that I could never bring anyone over for fear of having to explain what I was doing living with a 70 year old man (i think), this situation was pretty alright. But maybe that's because I only did it for 4.5 months.

Thankfully, I'm done with roommates....for now. Until the day I find my ultimate roommate, the one who will carry me over the threshold of our new pad. While I anxiously await that day, I'll enjoy my non-roommateness...

No more waking up in the middle of the night in a panic because you think you heard something decidedly non-human scratching and sneaking in the corner.

No more sleeping with the lights and the radio on because you're afraid to go to sleep for fear the non-human thing will crawl all over your body.

No more scurrying to the bathroom in a robe or a towel.

No more lighting 50 thousand candles and scented oil thingies to get rid of the smell of smoke and old people.

No more waking up on a Saturday morning at 8am to a 5 year old staring you in the face asking, "can we play now?"

No more running random errands for your mama nem on your vacation days cause really what would ya'll do if i wasn't here?

No more funny stories that start with "girl, guess what my roommate did last night..."

Do y'all have any funny roommate stories?

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

wishing on a star...

Yesterday, I hit the gym after being incognito due to weather and on travel status. After my workout, a gym buddy – who happens to be an older woman—explains to me how her married grown son exes fiend for her attention. Now there is one caveat – not all these women are aware that their ex is married. But does it matter?

There happens to be one ex in particular who is her son’s senior by 9 years, hence a grown ass woman – and she calls his Mama like clockwork. She mentioned how girlfriend will call her during the airing of “Desperate Housewives” (if her affinity for the show is akin to my intense love of the Wire – you betta not call Bellini until after credits) so immediately I understood her pain. Now this ex – for the sake of this post we’ll call her Jennifer. Jennifer acknowledges to Mama that her son has lied to her time and time again – and yet there is something about him. Him – let’s call him Darryl. It is also my understanding according to Mama – of course—that all of Darryl’s exes including the wife all know each other. They went to college together and everything. Now Jennifer dates and apparently has and continues to be courted by decent fellows, but its something about Darryl that keeps her caught up. So, Mama asks me should she tell Jennifer that Darryl is married.

My instinctual response said “Hell yea”. But then again, I got to thinkin about what Big Poppa would say and he believes one should never meddle in other’s business hmmmph, but she asked for my opinion – and it’s not like I know any of the parties involved. So, 3 seconds later – I retracted my response and told her to give me 48 hours – enough time to post this on the blog and get your feedback.

Here’s some background if it helps. All parties are grown individuals. Mama is married and hubby has told her to hang-up on these women. Mama has pity for the sorrowful state of these women. In Mama's defense, it seems like a girlfriend is callin' her to chat although a lil' too frequent for her taste. Mama has asked Darryl whether he's fooling around and the he said NO. Mama is not playing the role of operator. If she confides in anybody it’s her husband, but she divulges no information between Darryl and Jennifer, nor other exes. Darryl does not live home with Mama. As, I said before he’s married and has 1 child with his wife. At times, Darryl chooses not to wear his wedding ring. And Mama implores why – and lies to Mama and concocts a bullshit ass excuse about his line of work (criminal justice) being an interference (what crock full o’ shit!). And Mama feels she can’t make it her issue if the wife is happy – it ain’t nobody’s business?

Now supposedly, Darryl is not cheating on his wife or is he? Darryl didn’t disclose to all of his exes that he was married and he’s been married for 3 years. Also, all the exes call him at work or his mobile – no one calls his residence. Darryl feels it ain’t nobody’s business that he’s married. And one time Jennifer called the mobile late at night, although he was home and the wife had a tiff about the late night booty call. Mama knows her son is no good, but the exes are drawn to her – but it’s not like they’re coming over for tea & crumpets, or barbecues/cookouts.
Does it matter?

If there are any wives who read my blog today, I want to hear from you – ‘cuz Bellini is trying to make sense of the madness. Husbands, please give me your two cents, too. I feel like Darryl is an asshole and he has a wife that has accepted his bullshit. Am I coming down too hard on the wife I'm not blaming her by no means-- but in the words of Tennesee Williams' Big Mama "When a marriage is on the rocks, the rocks are there." Now the statement may be far-fetched, considering the fact the wife may be totally content in her marriage. So, what's your verdict?



Tuesday, May 13, 2008

You're My Little Secret

So they are finally getting that Sex and the City Movie made and released. Okay! Two cheers for reconciliation between Sarah and Kim…all for the greater good of dollar, dollar bills ya’ll! Let the debauchery begin! *humming the theme the song in my head* Let the ugly clothes be paraded-
Yikes! Get me my cosmopolitan and let Carrie annoy with her questions until the end of time… Go Samantha, get your freak on! Go Charlotte, get you a baby! Go Miranda, you’re a lesbian!

But truth be told, I, like Oprah, love that show. And once it started getting played on the WB, er a CW it made it hard to go to bed before 11. I mean I just had to know what compromising positions those gals were going to get into next. Like when Carrie walked in on Samantha giving the delivery guy a blow job. Hilarious! Carrie dating the Russian…early bird specials anyone? That relationship was just nasty. Or when Charlotte dated that man who was more feminine than she. Tee hee! And how about Miranda pretending she was gay to get ahead at her law firm… Art imitating life? Hmmmmm.

But one of the bestest episodes, in my own personal opinion, was that one about secret single behavior (SSB).
Sometimes, as I sit in my room combing my hair so it sticks up like a troll doll (hey, it's lucky), I wonder at what point does a person care and share some of the things they do when no one is watching? I know I like eating peanut butter and jelly directly out of the jar. And I play the same song on my CD player back to back for about an hour. Why? Because I have to sing along. Then create an interpretive dance. And then sing and dance at the same time for my adoring fan base comprised of stuffed animals and pillows. And don’t get me started on playing dress up in my own clothes. Or the fact that sniff tests are conducted more often than I care to admit when deciding what to wear. None of these things I think are weird, like sleeping with a raw chicken under my pillow, but how will I be able to hide these truths, that are bound to be self evident? What happens to SSB when a single becomes part of a couple? Does SSB dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore- Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Yes, that was shameless borrowing from a much greater writer.

So what are some of your SSBs? Do you share them or not? If you do, at what point do you put yourself out there?

Ponder, marinate…or better yet comment.

See You in Seven

Monday, May 12, 2008

Riches to Rags

Happy Monday to ya. It is truly a dark, stormy, and soggy day here in the DMV urrea. With all the rain we've had over the past few days (and with more to come), corn on the cob better be sweet as sugar this summer! And now on to my topic for the day...

Last week, I caught a story on the local news about a man who was evicted out of his home due to foreclosure. This particular story made the news because the eviction took place in Georgetown, an affluent Washington, D.C. neighborhood filled with with million dollar homes.

Check the clip:

(Source: WJLA ABC 7 News)

I'm not sure whether laughter or tears are appropriate.

Mr. Aina, the evicted homeowner, claims he is a foreclosure property specialist, runs an investment club, and owns emerald mines. And yet he could not avoid foreclosure? He lives in a neighborhood nationally known for its prestige and notability. Movie scenes have been shot there. Senators, congressmen, and ambassadors make their homes there. Yet because of this "businessman", certain activity has been brought to the neighborhood which usually occurs on the "ghetto" side of town.

People are pulling their cars over and jumping out to get a closer look. Some do it out of curiosity, but most are just opportunists who cannot believe their luck at having a shot to dig through (and roll out with) the belongings of a million dollar home. The man is fortunate to have a few nice neighbors who try to keep an eye on his stuff and shoo away the vultures. Can't help but love the sista who shouts "I got your tag number!"

These are all reasons for me to laugh.

Now when I learned of Mr. Aina's nationality, I immediately raised an eyebrow. Nigeria has been linked to many shady business scams. My own mama has advised me to be cautious when dealing with Nigerians. It ain't right to profile someone based on their ethnicity or nationality. Lord knows, I know better being a lifelong victim of racial profiling. But it definitely raised a red flag to me.

Why didn't this man just vacate the premises when he got that letter marked "FINAL" telling his ass the U.S. Marshals were on their way? Was it his arrogance that wouldn't allow him to bow out gracefully? And why address the news cameras, adding further insult to injury? I was embarrassed just watching the clip. No need to dance a jig for the camera too. And speaking of spectacles, would this story have made the evening news if the homeowner was of European descent?

And who but a poor man has ever used a wheelbarrow to haul his prized possessions?

These are all reasons for me to cry.

Tumultuously Yours,
Dark & Stormy