O Brother, Where Art Thou?

My little younger (because he is over 6 feet tall) brother and I got into an argument the other night. Like a for real, voices raised argument. This is kind of a big deal because we rarely argue and were taught as youngsters not to yell at each other. This, I realized is why when other people argue all loud – I get really uncomfortable and just want to disappear, but that is not the point of this post.

The point is that I just wanted one simple thing – for my brother to take me to the airport next week. And he said no. And I don’t be taking the word ‘no’ so well. (Yes, I'ma take this single, carefree, girl, do you' time and work on that. Maybe. Heh.) Especially not from family who I lean and depend on lots. So then he went into this whole, “you need to ask other people to help you do things because I may not always be here (like in the area here - not, not alive here) and then what you gon’ do?” But what he really meant was: you need to call one of those nigs you tell me be taking you to dinner and such and make them put their money where their mouth is. And other clichés.And then I was like, “well you bet not ask me for nuffin.” And then he said, “what do I ever ask you for?”

Which shut my mouth. Cause ummm…he doesn’t really ask me for anything. And then I got to thinking what do men ask women for? To do for them? I mean beside the obvious. Huzzah!

I mean no man is going to ask me to come put this couch together (which I asked one to do), or help me clean my basement and take this heavy stuff to the trash can (which I have also done), oh and can you go ahead and change these light bulbs that are allll the way up there and maybe wash my car real quick?

Honestly, I have a very hard time asking for help. From anyone. Period. I really don’t like for other people who are not family to go out of their “way” to do things for me. Yes, it is somewhat cray cray when you think about how long I have known the people in my life and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. And people who I’m only quasi-cool with ask me to do seemingly random things for them and I usually comply if I can – so yeah it’s probably something else I should work on. But…That said, I really try to minimize my asking of men folk to do things, because…

Well because like Courvoisier brought up on Monday, once we get grown, men and women are never really just “friends” - so knowing this, and because I try to be a decent human being, I feel some typa way about inviting a nig over just so he can mow my lawn or spackle my wall or help me paint the living room. Cause I know, I just know that he ain’t coming over just out the goodness of his heart. And here he is probably thinking he’s building up credit, waiting for the right moment to strike and meanwhile I’m just glad someone else is doing the work I don't wanna do. At all.

Cause let's keep it real and funky, I am only an I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T woman by default. In the other life that I live in my head, I strongly believe in the separation of labor. Men do the heavy lifting and take out the trash. When they are around – I mean I do take out my own trash - hence the real life default setting. But no man wants to be used just for his muscles. I’m guessing of course. But I would liken it to the way I wouldn’t want to be used just for what I got ‘tween my legs.

But I think the reason, the real reason I went off on my brother, was because he hit me where it hurts. Made me think about the what ifs? What if there ain’t neva no other nig who loves me enough that I can call on him? And ask him if he could come over and _______? Put together this table. Or take me to the airport. Or kill the spider up above my head. Or pump the gas – all the time. And do most of the driving. Or unclog the toilet. Or shovel this snow. Or rub my feet cause it's Tuesday. What if it’s just me, always depending on my brother, then he gets married and has kids, and they [reluctantly] move me in the house and I’m like the crazy auntie they keep upstairs and slide meals to like in Soul Food?

Yes, the mind is a terrible thing to let run free. But I’m just saying. Right now my younger brother is all I got. And even that gravy train might be pulling away from the station. Especially if keep coming with all these mashed potatoes, smothered chicken, and Thanksgiving sized turkey requests. (Sidenote why did I recently ask my granny why white people's gravy is always white. She was like, "I'ont know. I don't think they use no drippins. Heh.) Sigh. Oh well. Guess if push comes to shove, there's always this place.

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

This song is giving me life right now! I love me some Bilal! I love that this is in black and white! I love that he's singing w/ no mic and his voice fills the room and is so clear and crisp! And I really love that there is absolutely nooo, nothing from the audience. Not a whisper. Not a giggle. Not a 'that boy is sangin' good' moan. Nuffin. It's like everyone is mesmerized. Captivated. In awe. Like literally holding they breath, taking it in, enjoying the beauty, and thinking it over.