a couple months back a friend of mine virtually introduced me to a friend of hers in that no-pressure-but-this-is-kind-of-a-hook-up sorta way. dude (we'll call him malcolm) and i had a few phone conversations and then fell into a fcuk-effort crackberry messenger routine. after we got past the stats and talked about our respective wants, needs and can't stands, we then began discussing a potential meet and greet. you see, malcolm lives in the nyc area and i'm a nola girl (for now). i had a trip to the dc urreaa planned already so we decided to meet there.
the short and short of it is that my trip came and went with me not meeting malcolm (in the middle) during my visit. he apologized for "falling sick" during the weekend but expressed a desire to visit me in the crescent city. so he can't be bothered to hop on 95 and drive for a couple hours but he'll buy a plane ticket and come all the way to the gulf coast? boy stop!
what's clear to me is that he didn't want to meet me. and before folks get all "don't be so hard on him maybe he was really sick" on me, i haven't heard from dude since then. and that was 2 weeks ago. riiiight.
it's all good though. i never regret "meeting" a new person and having interesting conversation with them (for conversations sake alone). but this whole blind date that never was got me to thinking. if he wasn't feeling me why didn't he just say that? i'm a big girl, i can take it. no, really, i can. just ignore my bbm's till i get the picture (or respond who is this? to my next message.) lie to me and tell me you got a girlfriend. defriend me on facebook. send me an unsolicited text that simply says "yeah....no and no." i'm so serious. these are all acceptable subtle ways of sending me that not so subtle message that you're just not that into me.
cause really and truly that's what i should start doing. malcolm's no-show has me thinking, do i let the males in my life know i've tuned out? to be honest, i'm probably no more clear and straightforward than malcolm was. i keep numbers in case the need for a free lunch arises or a lonely saturday night rears its ugly head. maybe i oughta let go of the tubbies who i know i could never ever ever get with for real for real and stop meeting them for drinks when i've got nothing better to do. perhaps i should let go of my ole' ego stroke dinner companion and stop playing with his emotions. maybe malcolm was a little bit of payback in cold hard relationship karma. or maybe he really was sick...
Showing posts with label Honesty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Honesty. Show all posts
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Foot-N-Mouth Disease
I am one of the millions of people who suffer from Foot-N-Mouth disease, an illness that seems to afflict women more often than men. I first realized I had this problem while hanging out at Rum Punch’s church when we were in high school. A fellow male church member, who I felt was quite easy on the eyes, came over to talk to her about church bizzness. When he left I told Rum P. that I thought he was very attractive, but how difficult his life was going to be because he was soooo short. And no, I did not whisper…that would have been too much like right. So when Rum P. told me that this short sexy fella’s mother was sitting right next to us, I really couldn’t apologize for telling the truth. There was nothing else I could do aside from open my mouth and insert my foot.
Now over the years I think I have learned to control my disease using tact and politeness, at least I hope I have. To have my mom tell it, I have always been very opinionated. But I like to think that when I am dispensing my views to others I think they know I ain’t trying to be mean, just trying to be helpful not hurtful. And usually I prescribe my opinion pills will a spoonful of sugar (usually a smile or a back pat) to help them go down a little bit easier.
But on Sunday I had another flare up of my disease. My new, wise and older male friend has repeatedly expressed dissatisfaction with his job and life after comparing himself with other folks. It is his belief that he should be further along in life. Well ya’ll know how it is when someone you care about keeps talking about the same thing over and over and over again. I mean you care, but you also just want to tell them to poop or just get off the pot already! And since I am not a therapist, but tend to play one in my real life…I gave him a few suggestions on how he could be a better man. Yeah I know. Aside from giving him inspirational stories from the history of Black folks in America a la from slaves to CEOs, I gave my own tale of how I made it…and then I say things like: “Why don’t you…” “You need to…” “Insanity is doing the same thing and expecting something different…” I wasn’t trying to emasculate…but he thought I was wielding a knife in my hand.
And while numerous times he said I was right, I don’t think he was ready to hear what I had to say…especially coming from me, a younger woman he is attracted to, and as a person who hasn’t know him from way back when. I don’t even know the things he’s had to endure or is enduring on a daily basis. And while I was coming from a helpful place, he could have seen me as being mean and critical.
But it wasn’t until my phone call rang twice and went straight to voicemail that I thought that maybe, just possibly my foot had snuck back into my mouth again. And as I wrote my apology text message, that progressively grew into a full fledge email, I realized that I wasn’t sorry for what I said…but moreso if he was hurt by what I said. I guess I’ll know for sure if or when he accepts my apology. So until then, Dr. Amaretto is out of business until her foot can be surgically removed from her mouth…
See You In Seven
Now over the years I think I have learned to control my disease using tact and politeness, at least I hope I have. To have my mom tell it, I have always been very opinionated. But I like to think that when I am dispensing my views to others I think they know I ain’t trying to be mean, just trying to be helpful not hurtful. And usually I prescribe my opinion pills will a spoonful of sugar (usually a smile or a back pat) to help them go down a little bit easier.
But on Sunday I had another flare up of my disease. My new, wise and older male friend has repeatedly expressed dissatisfaction with his job and life after comparing himself with other folks. It is his belief that he should be further along in life. Well ya’ll know how it is when someone you care about keeps talking about the same thing over and over and over again. I mean you care, but you also just want to tell them to poop or just get off the pot already! And since I am not a therapist, but tend to play one in my real life…I gave him a few suggestions on how he could be a better man. Yeah I know. Aside from giving him inspirational stories from the history of Black folks in America a la from slaves to CEOs, I gave my own tale of how I made it…and then I say things like: “Why don’t you…” “You need to…” “Insanity is doing the same thing and expecting something different…” I wasn’t trying to emasculate…but he thought I was wielding a knife in my hand.
And while numerous times he said I was right, I don’t think he was ready to hear what I had to say…especially coming from me, a younger woman he is attracted to, and as a person who hasn’t know him from way back when. I don’t even know the things he’s had to endure or is enduring on a daily basis. And while I was coming from a helpful place, he could have seen me as being mean and critical.
But it wasn’t until my phone call rang twice and went straight to voicemail that I thought that maybe, just possibly my foot had snuck back into my mouth again. And as I wrote my apology text message, that progressively grew into a full fledge email, I realized that I wasn’t sorry for what I said…but moreso if he was hurt by what I said. I guess I’ll know for sure if or when he accepts my apology. So until then, Dr. Amaretto is out of business until her foot can be surgically removed from her mouth…
See You In Seven
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Model Behavior
Hello I’m name is Amaretto Jenkins, and I am a recovering America’s Next Top Model-holic.
You wanna be on top? Oeeeee oeee ooooeeeee Oeeeee oeee ooooeeeee.
Sorry, sometimes I just bust out with the theme song while walking down the street. Now I say recovering because I’ve missed quite a few cycles, namely because Tyra’s modeling advice and Ms. Jay’s antics were going above and beyond ri-DAMN-diculous. But also it was getting to the point that I wondered if these doe eyed contestants had ever watched the show before. Like hello? We’re on cycle 80, there have been countless girls now who have come out of the ANTM machine and fallen into the frays of our collective memories. Aside from Eva, every other Top Model requires us to go over the river and through the woods before we can remember who they were. But really Top Model hopefuls, you know you are going to get a makeover, stop crying because they cut your hair off. You know that you are going to be asked to either pose with an animal, at an extremely high altitude or in your naked suit-so stop protesting! But I think the largest reason, aside from the formula, that I’ve turned my back on ANTM is because these girls believe that their purpose in life is to be a model. Say what now? People are starving in this world and God purposed you to wear clothes and strut?
Hmmmmm. Oeeeee oeee ooooeeeee Oeeeee oeee ooooeeeee.
I don’t have anything against models ya’ll. I’ll have you know that some of my family members think they are models. Somebody on the Jenkins family reunion committee thinks having a family slash afro-centric fashion show is the business. It’s just always a little troubling that some of the members (who I love dearly) think they are doing the darn thing when they are have on the latest in street fashion with the token Kente print scarf while hobbling down the cat walk with their canes. And you can’t laugh or boo, you can only encourage because its family. And with that encouragement the family keeps thinking the fashion show is a good idea…when it ain’t. And why do we do that to ourselves? When keeping it real is necessary? When honesty should be the best policy? Politeness comes, kicks down the door waving its .44 and we lie without saying a word.
For example…
This weekend I attended a wedding reception. It was after five, so you know there were certain attire expectations, you know black, sequins, satin or satin like materials. But, during the mother of the groom’s toast in walk two women of epic proportions, like they could have rolled in the crew that was trying to beat me down back in the day. And everyone noticed. And it wasn’t the fact that they were grossly late or that they were a little bit bigger than the average woman it was all of their fabulousness that caused the collective what in the world has the cat dragged in now? Sista and Girl had matching lime green and blue tee shirts and Capri pants…that might have been more appropriate for Six Flags or Kings Dominion. Sista had a long blonde curly pigtail hairstyle that allowed me to see the black hair she was born with, while Girl has long unruly curly weave. But what sealed the deal for me were their six inch fake eye lashes that rivaled those of camels and resembled the legs of a spider. And I started to chuckle, just like I do at the girls on Top Model as they try to take themselves seriously about modeling. But as fate would have it, Sista and Girl strutted over and sat down at my table. *sigh* Serves me right.
So much for whispering about them behind their backs or explaining to the children that they aren’t part of the circus. No I exhibited model behavior. I was as polite as polite could be and tried not to stare at their costumes. Afterall, my momma taught me better than that!
Oeeeee oeee ooooeeeee Oeeeee oeee ooooeeeee.
See You In Seven
You wanna be on top? Oeeeee oeee ooooeeeee Oeeeee oeee ooooeeeee.
Sorry, sometimes I just bust out with the theme song while walking down the street. Now I say recovering because I’ve missed quite a few cycles, namely because Tyra’s modeling advice and Ms. Jay’s antics were going above and beyond ri-DAMN-diculous. But also it was getting to the point that I wondered if these doe eyed contestants had ever watched the show before. Like hello? We’re on cycle 80, there have been countless girls now who have come out of the ANTM machine and fallen into the frays of our collective memories. Aside from Eva, every other Top Model requires us to go over the river and through the woods before we can remember who they were. But really Top Model hopefuls, you know you are going to get a makeover, stop crying because they cut your hair off. You know that you are going to be asked to either pose with an animal, at an extremely high altitude or in your naked suit-so stop protesting! But I think the largest reason, aside from the formula, that I’ve turned my back on ANTM is because these girls believe that their purpose in life is to be a model. Say what now? People are starving in this world and God purposed you to wear clothes and strut?
Hmmmmm. Oeeeee oeee ooooeeeee Oeeeee oeee ooooeeeee.
I don’t have anything against models ya’ll. I’ll have you know that some of my family members think they are models. Somebody on the Jenkins family reunion committee thinks having a family slash afro-centric fashion show is the business. It’s just always a little troubling that some of the members (who I love dearly) think they are doing the darn thing when they are have on the latest in street fashion with the token Kente print scarf while hobbling down the cat walk with their canes. And you can’t laugh or boo, you can only encourage because its family. And with that encouragement the family keeps thinking the fashion show is a good idea…when it ain’t. And why do we do that to ourselves? When keeping it real is necessary? When honesty should be the best policy? Politeness comes, kicks down the door waving its .44 and we lie without saying a word.
For example…
This weekend I attended a wedding reception. It was after five, so you know there were certain attire expectations, you know black, sequins, satin or satin like materials. But, during the mother of the groom’s toast in walk two women of epic proportions, like they could have rolled in the crew that was trying to beat me down back in the day. And everyone noticed. And it wasn’t the fact that they were grossly late or that they were a little bit bigger than the average woman it was all of their fabulousness that caused the collective what in the world has the cat dragged in now? Sista and Girl had matching lime green and blue tee shirts and Capri pants…that might have been more appropriate for Six Flags or Kings Dominion. Sista had a long blonde curly pigtail hairstyle that allowed me to see the black hair she was born with, while Girl has long unruly curly weave. But what sealed the deal for me were their six inch fake eye lashes that rivaled those of camels and resembled the legs of a spider. And I started to chuckle, just like I do at the girls on Top Model as they try to take themselves seriously about modeling. But as fate would have it, Sista and Girl strutted over and sat down at my table. *sigh* Serves me right.
So much for whispering about them behind their backs or explaining to the children that they aren’t part of the circus. No I exhibited model behavior. I was as polite as polite could be and tried not to stare at their costumes. Afterall, my momma taught me better than that!
Oeeeee oeee ooooeeeee Oeeeee oeee ooooeeeee.
See You In Seven
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