truth with a side of hate

one thing about friendships that has always made me sad is the inability for women to speak truth to other women about what's going on in their lives.  sometimes you can tell your best girlfriend that she can't squeeze into that sundress that she loved so much cause she's picked up a few pounds.  sometimes you can honestly say, "girl you can not leave your stable job as a receptionist to audition for idol.  your voice sucks."  but you can rarely speak truth to your woman friend about her dealings with men.  because most times it is seen as
A) hateration or
B) hateration.
sad + true
now why is that? why are relationships often off limits to outside opinions in ways that other areas of our lives are not? i've got 2 theories about this.  follow me as i open the mind of mint julep...

theory 1:

bitches be hatin! all the time. 24-7.  when you think they aren't.  they are.  and when they aren't........they still are.
when they just want the best for you.  when they know you better than you know yourself.  when they suddenly become clairvoyant and know 5 days or 3 months or 2 years from now that his ass will cheat (with her). 
they be hatin!
and so whatever "truth" you think they're speaking to you, or whatever "truth" you think you're  imparting to your best homegirl might just be HATE with a layer of sweet cream cheese frosting on top. 
for example: a friend of a friend just got engaged.  and before the dude proposed, he came and talked to my friend about what he should do and how he should do it.  and the woman also talked to my friend about the possibility of dude proposing and whether the two of them should get married.  my friend told me some of the things she said to her friend and to dude.  there's not enough white space in this post to get into all the ins and outs of both of those conversations but i had a few O_o moments as some of the things my friend said she told them. 
i wondered to myself (and asked my friend): how does her perspective color her responses?  does the fact that she's single with no man (and no engagement prospects) influence the truth she speaks to her friend about whether she should be marrying this guy? 
sometimes we as women have to hold inside whatever "truth" we want to speak to our friends.  we have to step back.  take that truth home.  unpack it on the kitchen table.  grab a knife and cut it open.  dissect out all the hate.  all the envy.  all the jealousy.  all the hurt.  all the why not me's.  then selah on what we wanna say.  package it back up. and then go back to our friend.  and speak that truth. 

theory 2:

women don't wanna HEAR the truth from other women.  women invented the side eye.  we are perpetually skeptical.  we always on some, "what's her motivation?"  or "she want my man" type ish.  so any time another female comes at us with some friendly advice, we get our backs up.  we dismiss any comments, thoughts, reflections and opinions as hating.  even if they are actually grounded in fact and reality.
now one should always question the motives of the messanger but i do think women sometimes are too quick to shut down any rational practical thoughts about their love situation just because we don't like what a friend is telling us.  we don't wanna hear the truth.
for example: if a dear friend comes to you and says i seent your man last night out with another woman making out in the back booth, you can't say she just hating.
but how many of ya'll readers would even tell a dear friend that you saw something like that?  you'd have to run it by some of your other girlfriends to see if they thought you should say something.  and you'd still hesitate.  because you wouldn't wanna be branded a hater by your friend.  cause your friend can't handle the truth.

and that's what makes me sad.  that we as women can't tell a friend what we think about their love lives.  when that's what friends should be able to do.

or not....

what say ya'll?

The Mistress and I

So I have a friend who is a mistress and I still like her as a person. This is worth stating because as Courvoisier’s mom pointed out yesterday women folk are programmed to hate the other woman. But I guess we hate the other woman when it's our own situations. I don’t know why women give men folks a pass in these three way triangles. Maybe because we expect boys to be boys and men to have roaming eyes and feet. Which is sad, because I feel like men deserve to have us give them greater expectations. I think we here at the 5 spot have written many a post about men and their “sly” ways…and I think we’ve touched on the importance of sisters strengthen sisters even when they are in the most f***ed up predictament.

For example, this morning my mistress friend tells me that her "man" called his wife the other day (for what I don't know) and before he could get his salutation out she hung up on him. Now since we live in a world of caller id-this answering and hanging up was definitely a passive aggressive way to let her husband know that she was mad. Now amid plans to purchase a house with my friend he is suddenly thinking he shouldn’t since he’s not sure what head space the wifey is in these days. Will she slash his tires? Put out a hit? Put something special is his spaghetti? He's decided to cow-tow until his wife makes her move.

But so you can share in my joy let me set the table for you…

The man is almost twenty years older than my friend. Has two grown children. Hasn’t lived with is wife for two years-and this is the third time he has separated from his wife in their 28 year marriage-but has not filed for a legal separation.

My friend has a six year old daughter and has just gotten a legally binding divorce last month.

The two met at work about 4 years ago, and so began their affair. When they started out they were both married, yet 4 years later she has left her husband, gotten a divorce and he hasn’t so much as gotten a legal separation! This man and my friend seem to think that wifey spotted my girl in her husband’s car and this is why she’s upset, but they really aren't sure of the wife's ire because she refuses to answer the phone when her husband calls.

This is where I pour you a cool glass of lemonade and tell you that my friend is a natural blonde, and in this situation is totally living up to the stereotype. I had many questions upon hearing this latest story. Like, if he and his wife are separated and on the road to divorce why would she be mad at him if she saw him with another woman? Or why all of a sudden do his plans to buy a house with you have to come to a screeching halt because wifey saw you riding with her husband? Amaretto is of the opinion that this man left his wife under the guise of relocating for work and that there are no plans for divorcing. After 4 years together my friend has only met his friends from work-no family. And I've learned that after they find a house that meets their needs he always finds an excuse not to bid on it-be it a fear of mold or of the Mexicans living next door. It just doesn’t make sense from where I sit. If I were a magic 8 ball I would tell her that the outlook of her relationship is not positive.

The facts are that this man will have to give up half of his retirement if he divorces his wife. HALF! Half is a whole lotta money especially when you ain't got much. Yet my friend believes that when this man retires in two years he’s going to make an honest woman out of her. But for why? According to her they are having good times and great sex! What’s his incentive to give up HALF of his check each month to his wife and take on a life that includes raising a 6 year old?

With each insight into her relationship I just want her to shut up, stop and wake up. If she ever asked for my opinion I wonder if I could tell her that I honesty don't think he plans to marry her? Sometime I wonder if I should just tell her that even though she's never asked what I thought. But how do you go about telling someone you think the person they love is worthless? Especially after she talks about the house they just found. Or she says how excited she is about their sailing trip over the weekend? What should I say to this mistress who has given up everything and has become a friend who I know isn’t strong enough to handle the truth? For now I'll just remain silent and hopeful that I am wrong.


See You In Seven

You Don't Know Me

Has someone from your past ever reappeared in your life, talking that yakkity yak, that jibber jabber, asking you to do this one little favor, or expecting something so outta this world from you, that it has you giving them the once over from head to toe, taking inventory of their seriousness, cocking your head to the side, and being like, “Excuse? You want me to do what? Muhfcuka you don’t know me.”

But they have to kinda know you to step to you like this right? Riiight. But maybe what they know is an old version of you. Like an eight-track, or a Betamax, or a PC. Heh. I remember seeing comedienne Sommore perform and she said, “one time I saw an old friend on the street and went up to her and was like ‘what the fcuk is up bytch? How you doing? Expletive, expletive, expletive.” Friend’s response: “um I’m saved now.” Sommore was like, “say whaat? When that happen? You gotta let a bytch know.”*

Change. Growth. Maturity. So obvious to the one going through it. So imperceptible to the rest of the world. I mean wouldn’t it be nice if you could walk around wearing a sign that said: BELIEVE ME I DONE CHANGED CAUSE IF THIS WAS XXX YEARS AGO I WOULDA CUSSED YOU OUT, BEAT THAT ASS, BEEN YOUR ONE NIGHT STAND, GOTTEN FCUKED UP AND STILL MADE IT TO WORK THE NEXT MORNING, LOANED YOU MONEY YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE ASKED ME FOR IN THE FIRST PLACE, LET YOU CRASH ON MY COUCH AND IN MY HEART FOR MONTHS AT A TIME, SUPPORTED YOUR RAP "CAREER", PLAYED THE FOOL.

In reality only people who are your constants can recognize your growth and praise you for it without calling you out on your past. You know not mention that was you who once slept with every other nig you met in a bar. Or who cussed like a sailor. Or who held grudges. Or who was at that no good’s beckon call. Or "took" her man. Or had that baby at 16. And then that abortion at 19. Or enjoyed one too many happy hours. Or who shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.

But people who come in and out of your life don’t really know you at all. Just know the you from that time. And so that you is like frozen in their memory banks and you just can’t chip away at that block of ice. Can't make them see what you know for sure. That you done changed.

You are forced instead to see what they still see. The old you. And isn’t that what sucks the most – that when confronted by them – you have to confront the fact that you were once a different person? A bytch. A chick who wasn’t necessarily a whore, but may have had ho like tendencies. Selfish. Naïve. Mean. Foolish. A sucker. Young. A person who made what now seem like obvious mistakes. But you've gotten to the place where you know not to make them again.

And so wouldn’t it be nice, if when someone reappeared in your life, you could just hand them the poem below. Leave them with their mouth open, lips still moving and for x,y, z and then some, while you walk away. And don't look back. With plans to only meet them again when you both become extraordinary.

People from My Past

People jump from my past

to tell me when they knew me when

And I tell them

I knew them also

I tell them I have moved

so unnoticeably

to other worlds - - as they have done

I tell them once the friendship dies

we cannot accept the ordinary from each other

We must become extraordinary to meet again.

-- Tracy Connely

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

*Can I just say this is my one of my biggest "fears" that one day I'll be pushing my kids in a stroller, walking with my huzband, coming from worshipping the Lord, and I'll run into an old skripper from my waitressing at the Gentleman's Club days and she'll be on some, "don't I know you?" LOL!

Dressed to Impress

Sometimes, when I’m walking down the street taking in the sights, I see a lady wearing an outfit that gives me pause. And I pause because it is not the type of outfit that is urbanely put together. It is not the type of outfit that I covet, or one that I would see in today’s fashion magazines. It’s the type of outfit that causes me to ask if this chick has any friends. Not girls she happens to know, but friends, true friends who don’t sugarcoat but will call her out and hold her accountable. And a friend would do that, because a genuine friend is a person who has your best interest at heart and in mind. A friend would have pulled over the 28 chick who loves to wear bright spandex pants and tiny baby tees when she always looks pregnant that looser material would best suit her body type and insist that she change her clothes! And 28 is her size by the way, not her age!

No matter how PC America gets let’s not play ourselves into thinking that it’s what’s on the inside that always counts. We all know that it doesn’t. Especially not when you first meet people and they have no idea that you have a great personality and have willed your entire fortune to an African orphanage. I’m not just talking about how important your appearance is in getting a job, duh we know that! I’m talking about on the relationship level! Ask any dude about his initial impressions about a woman, and sure enough he’ll mention something about her appearance. Not just the T&A, the waist ratio or even the cute face factors. But dudes notice what she wore and how she carried herself. I think Mr. David Chappelle said it best when attempting to explain the thoughts of men…okay you are not a whore, but you do have on the uniform!
Um can the preacher get an Amen and maybe a boom chaka laka?! So chick don’t be mad when he just calls you for the booty!

So why, when I entered the good District of Columbia in hopes to find something to eat last night, did I spy a woman standing at the bus stop wearing a leopard print sleeveless top? This was cool cause it warm out and animal print in moderation is fashionable. But then she had the nerve to have on some school bus yellow spandex pants with a burnout cheetah print! Lawd have mercy upon us! I know that you good readers of the 5 spot have no idea the image I have in my mind as I type this from my desk. And really it’s hard for me to find the adjectives that aptly describe this woman’s assemble, but trust me the vision was enough to drive a person Oedipal, at least the eye gouging part. The image was enough that I am forgoing doing work to type about it!

When I realized that woman, who was fearfully and wonderfully made was going for a wild animal theme I wondered WTF? She was not a small woman, nor a very young woman, or a woman just going out to pick up the newspaper from her front stoop. Who she was trying to attract? Surely not a man with some sense, job, bank account or even all his teeth! But the question truly was, where in the world where her friends? Even if birds of a feather do flock together, she was just extra wrong enough for someone to have said something to her…even if it were merely a girl stop!

And these wrong-n-extra chicks are everywhere! And I’m confused if they are really confident or just so low on self esteem that it just don’t matter no mo!

Last month, Rum, Dark & Stormy, Courvoisier and I were at a night establishment, enjoying some music and chicken wings…when this 28 girl walked in wearing a short, short short Catholic school pleated skirt, pink polo tee and a backpack purse! After we got past the wrongness of the outfit we parked ourselves at the fact that who wears backpack purses in 2009 who are over the age of 12 and when it ain’t designer? The answer is NO ONE! But backpack purse aside I was mad at her friend. The one who was more decently dressed, the one who was encouraging her girl to get all extra low with it, so at times goodies where displayed to the masses. I was mad at the friend who kind of chuckled like the rest of us when her friend went past having a good time and was pretty much the fool of the night!

And now I wonder, what kind of friend does that?

See You In Seven

The Bridge to Friendship

So one day I was talking to Amaretto and I said:

“Remember how in high school you would categorize people you know. And you’d have acquaintances, associates, friends, best friends?”
And she said, “Yeah. I still do that.”
And I said, “Yeah but remember how in high school it was like ---“
“A caste system,” she said.
“Yes!”

Cause I remember how it was hard for someone to move up or down the “friendship” ladder. Like oh I don't fcuk with her like that, she’s just an associate. And then insert whatever definition associate meant to you. But even today, as we’re grown, even if we don’t break it down in those hard terms, out loud for everyone to know, we still have an idea of what constitutes a real, true, for real, for real friend.

Awhile ago I was watching a Seinfeld episode and Jerry had made a new “friend.” So off the break new “friend” was all, “Can you help me move this weekend?” So his real homies were on some, “how dare he ask you to help him move. Y’all just met. That’s like asking someone to drive you to the airport.” Ain’t that the right.

Cause depending on your city and your proximity, you don’t take or pick up just anyone to and from the airport. You gotta be on a certain level with that person. Have at least shared one deep, dark secret with each other. Cried on their shoulder. Gotten fcuked up together and lived to tell the tale. Met at least one of they family members. Gotten some blood or a kidney from ‘em and need to return the favor…I ain't lying. You know not everyone you know loves or even likes you enough to take you to the airport in the wee hours of the morning or circle and circle whilst you wait for your bag...

In this facebook and myspace age where the person you sat next to in Kindergarten can be your “friend,” it truly makes the typical definition or idea of friend null and void. Can make you forget what a true friend is. Until you need one. I dated this guy who thought anyone he met was his friend. So, he had hundreds of “friends.” Which I thought was stupid because in reality only a handful of people are really gonna have your back in this lifetime. And as you get older, that number gets smaller and smaller. One because you get tired of telling people your life story over and over, of having to build a foundation, garnering trust, playing the ‘are they good enough to be my friend' game… And two because people will start to die. I mean that's life, right?

In these past few weeks, I have gone through it. Lamented the single life, car got stolen, unnecessary drama, etcetera, etcetra. And I’ve called (literally on the phone and for emotional support) on my friends and they’ve been there. And I love ‘em for it. I love my one friend for riding through the hood with me to look for my car. I love my other friend for telling me to get it together, grouch and stop thinking no one will marry me. And I love my other friend for believing in my writing ability when I have doubt. And for having copies of all my stories after my flash drive was stolen.

I am reading one of my favorite authors - Dianne McKinney Whetstone’s book, Trading Dreams at Midnight and there’s a part where a homeless man asks one of the main characters who is going through her own shyt, “You got anybody laying down for you baby?”
“Huh?” she asked.
“A bridge? You got a living bridge? I only asked ‘cause it’s important for a person to know where their bridge is.”

As I get older, I realize who my living bridges are. And I'm oh so thankful for these people who encourage me, help me, would loan me money if I needed it, but still call me out on my shyt, wish me Happy Birthday every year, make me laugh, let me cry, whine, babble, ramble, talk shyt, and just love me for me with all my flaws, quirks and mistakes. So, who's your living bridge?

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

live your life...

After New Year, I played phone tag with a friend (Kenny) who was attempting to exchange niceties. I caught up with him on Friday, and as our conversation evolved he shared a story about a friend (Ronald) who as of today should have relocated 3000 miles away (west coast). And Kenny informed me that besides himself, folks ain't too happy about him leaving. As six degrees of separation would have it, I know Ronald's best friend (Tony).

Apparently, Tony is being selfish. He doesn't want his road dog gone and have to settle for phone calls. Now Tony and Ronald are both parents, so I must add that Tony is worried about the welfare of Ronald's child. Last time I checked Ronald is a grown man. But apparently for Tony that's not enough, he is downright pissy.

Now, there is a lil' more to the story.

Ronald didn't relocate because of his job, it's because of a women. A young one I might add but age ain't nothin' but a number?, so with no family or friends on the west coast...Ronald put up his deuces sought a transfer with his job and said peace to the homies!
And men, think only women are emotional?!? Ha!
I also must add, that Ronald has never really ventured out of his home turf until he met Tony. Traveling and such is a new phenomenon for him. I reminded Kenny to inform Tony, that if it doesn't work out he'll come back east. And in the meantime,they can purchase plane tickets to vacation in a place where the sun and palm tress are plentiful. I really don't see the problem with Ronald living a little.

Even if Ronald living a little, may be initially perceived as stupid, naive, etc... He's living and in my book that's all that counts. You only live once, so you must live life to the fullest. Try as hard you can, not to have regrets! cue Rihanna...

"so live your life..."

cheers,

Bellini

Self Serve

It's been almost a year since I wrote about my decision to be celibate. Um ok cue Usher's these are my confessions... Last December I slipped and fell on some d.ick, so technically I have officially been celibate for a whole nine months. And what a looonnnggg nine months it’s been. But somehow I have managed. Well I think we can all guess how I’ve managed. That’s right let your mind wander and settle there.

Self pleasure is something us single gals rarely sit around and talk about. Oh sure we might talk about men, our love lives (or lack thereof), that crazy chick at work, the last time he put it on you and it was sooo good you were calling God, Jesus, Allah and Budda's name, but m.asturbation - forget about it. That you keep to yourself. Literally. And yet somehow we all know that we’ve done it at some point or another. Even the most prudish of your girlfriends has let the shower head nuzzle across her special place at least once. But she wouldn’t dare tell you about it.

Oh sure from time to time you might slip and talk about your actions aloud. The other night after several cocktails I made an off hand remark about my "me time." And my homegirl said, “I know that’s right. I swear my hand’s going to fall off soon.” Laughter. Shared understanding. And that was it. It's not that you're ashamed or anything, it's more like a don't ask don't tell, what happens between you and your va jay jay stays between you and your va jay jay policy. It’s like being part of some secret, anonymous society. And if you dare come from the cloak of darkness to reveal yourself, it has to be quick, preferably in the form of a joke, and then everyone must return to normal, as if nothing ever happened.

I suppose it’s because it's truly a personal act. And unlike sharing with and demonstrating to your friends the proper way to ride a man, (that's not personal at all), you don’t really want to tell them (nor do they really need or want to know) just how you get through those lean, mean and in between times. I mean it's just an unpoken understanding that we all fall on hard (or not so hard) times. And it's kinda crazy to think that no one self medicates. There'd be a lot more road rage and other psycho chick occurences if us ladies didn't take things into our own hands! So you just gotta do what you gotta do. On your own. Or with the help of a battery operated friend. And when you're done, tell no one.

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

Best Friends Forever?

Y'all Show Your Love as 5 and a Possible Present: Raspberry Martini

Raspberry Martini: A classic with a feminine twist. Strong, sweet, and to the point. I am a 20 something teacher who is known for her Type-A personality and humor. Read my entries and you will find musings on my adventures in education (or lack thereof), dating (or lack thereof), and weight loss (or lack thereof).

**Ring Ring** You have reached the Sprint voice mail of..."

THREE DAYS LATER

Friend: "Hey, Raspberry Martini, I saw that you called…What's up?"
Raspberry Martini: "Yea, I just haven't heard from you in a while. Just wanted to see what was going on. What have you been up to all summer?"
Friend: "Nothing much, just working…"

***Awkward Pause***

Friend: "You know, we should hang out some time."
RM: "Sure! what are you doing this weekend?"
Friend: "Well…um, let me get back to you, I think My Baaaaby may have something planned."

Situation sound familiar?

You call your friend, she doesn't return your call for days. You ask her to hang out, and she never seems to have the time. Your sporadic phone conversations usually come back to one topic. Sometimes you don't even know if you are talking to the same person anymore, and wonder if her personality has been hijacked by some unknown force. Is this friend on drugs you ask? No. Decided to practice Scientology? Nope. Is she mad at you, you ask? No.

She's been dickmatized!!

Perhaps I am being a bit dramatic (all a part of my charm), because most have been there at one point or another: a budding new relationship, a delightfully consuming new beau. Everything he says is incredibly sweet, intelligent, unique, or hilarious. Not to mention, he makes your body tingle like Dr. Bronner's peppermint soap. Suddenly, weeks have passed and you have been conspicuously absent from every social outing with your girls. And you can't understand why, lately, your friends seem to be annoyed with your conversation. Could it be that for the past six months every sentence starts with, "Well *insert mushy boyfriend pet name here* says/thinks/does/feels/ …" Let's face it, while we may be happy for you, and we may want to hear about your happiness (to a point), not everybody is going to think your new man shits diamonds.

My female friends tend to fall into one of two categories concerning new relationships: either they pull a temporary disappearing act (natural when building a new relationship) and return to normal, or they permanently distance themselves because their life becomes a constant orbit around their new Prince Charming. I always feel awkward when his happens because I understand the tempting time warp that your new man can become. However, when you are on the opposite side, you can't help but feel some sort of resentment and hurt that your friend has indefinitely placed you on the back burner.

Do I sound bitter? If so, it's because I am going through this situation with someone I considered a very close friend. We used to talk / text several times a week about any and everything, share secrets and inside jokes, confide in each other about major life decisions, and hang out regularly. We were girls. Now we rarely speak because she returns calls days later and rarely initiates phone calls. She always states, "We should hang out sometime…" like we are schmoozing at some C-Class networking event, but somehow plans never seem to materialize. I chose to keep mum with my feelings and gave her her space in hopes that she would come around at some point. However, when she moved in with her new man without telling me, I knew that our relationship had taken a detour, and I had no idea where we stood anymore. I felt completely left out.

When I finally spoke to her about my feelings, she said: "Well, I don't have a car, so I go where ever My Baaaaby goes." Let us all pause for the lameness of that excuse. At this point, I don't know what to do aside from mourn a formerly close friendship. Her boyfriend is a nice guy and a great catch, but why does that equal disappearing into his world? I am at a loss about what to do, or perhaps, more accurately, frustrated that I can't really do anything about the situation. Do I bring it up again at the risk of alienating her even more? Or do I disappear as well, and if our friendship ever goes off pause mode, hope I can let go of the resentment that has festered.

Internet Diva facade aside, I am a tad bit jealous. Not only because she spends all her time with him, but as I said, he is a great catch. In my present singleness, I would love to have someone to cuddle up with and perhaps build a future. I am still waiting for my catch. Damn, sometimes I'm still waiting for a decent bite or nibble (literally and figuratively). However, mostly, I just miss my homey.

This situation taught me that all relationships take work and dedication. As we grow older, acquiring more responsibilities and commitments, time and energy become increasingly scarce and therefore sacred. I guess as my friends start to pair off, get married, and procreate, our relationships will change and shift. Is this all a part of growing up? Unfortunately, it is. How you and your friend decide to navigate the new terrain of your friendship will help you decide if they are there for a reason, season, or a lifetime. What I've learned from being on the other side is that through life's changes it is important to continue to nurture all of your relationships---romantic or otherwise. You never know, three days can easily become three years – and life doesn't have a pause button.

Keep it Shaken,

Raspberry Martini

Brother Do-Right

He is my King, He is my one
Yes he's my father, Yes he's my son
I can talk to him, cuz he understands
Everything I go through and everything I am
He's my support system, I can't live without him
The best thing since sliced bread,
Is his kiss, his hugs, his lips, his touch
And I just want the whole world to know, about my..

- Brotha, Angie Stone


Last weekend, my homegirl's car stopped while she was sitting at a stoplight. She was on her way to meet me and some other friends to attend a comedy show. The guy whom she invited to the show [luckily] happens to be the manager of an auto shop. He and his brother were also on their way and were not far behind. They met my homegirl, pushed her car into a parking space, and made it to the show just in time to see the first act come onto the stage. The following day, dude had the car towed to his shop and someone was working on the car by the time they opened for business Monday morning.

Later that Monday afternoon, my homegirl called me full of joy. She was literally in tears as she expressed how grateful she was for the way in which everyone rallied together to help her in a time of need. She was especially surprised by the generosity exhibited by old dude. I remember her saying something like "It's not that I think I don't deserve it, but I am not used to a man being so responsive and attentive."

I thought to myself, you need to greatly expand that pool you're fishing from.

My homegirl may be reading this. I am sure she knows that I love her and want only the best for her because she deserves nothing less. The same goes for the rest of my sistas out there. This is why it is imperative that we stop giving men gold stars for being decent human beings.

If a man has his own crib (whether he rents or owns it), earns legal income, has a bank account, dresses neatly, has manners, speaks proper English, can hold an intelligent conversation, and washes behind his ears, he ain't special.

If a man calls you to see how your day is going, sends you flowers on a day that is not pimped by Hallmark, opens the door for you, helps you put on your coat, and holds the umbrella when it rains, he's considerate. But he ain't special.

I understand that we feel shortchanged and flimflammed when it comes to the quality [and quantity] of brothas we have to pick from. However it is mad dangerous to lower expectations to a point where we start subconsciously applauding men for doing shit they are supposed to do.

I wanted to point out to my homegirl that while it was very nice of auto shop dude to help her the way he did, she still had to pay for the work being done to her car. Even if it was at a discounted price. And as my mama would say, any real man would've done the same. Just because. That's what real men do. But I couldn't find the proper words...

I am worried that my friend has already given him a "pass" or stamp of approval just because he did what he was supposed to do. All the while not giving herself a chance to evaluate necessary shit... Like how he spends his money, the characteristics of the people he surrounds himself with, his relationship with his mother, his relationship with his child's mother, his personal goals for next 1-5 years, inability to work the middle 'cause his thing too little (c) Lil' Kim, and on and on and on...

This chapter of our lives is full of exploration and experimentation. We try, then try a little bit harder, and then try once again. We will lose some to win some. We will kiss many a frog and already have. How about wearing 3-D glasses instead of the rose-colored ones?

Let the real men show 'em how to do it.

Let the suckas take notes.

Let us not make excuses for any of them.


Tumultuously Yours,
Dark & Stormy

Five Dope Girls In A Cadillac

Someone (I like to think it’s a fan) asked me how the five of us women know each other. And I realized that we never explained our relationship on this here blog. I don’t know if it would add or take away if I gave the history, but um here it goes…

I suppose you could call me the anchor, I am friends with all of the four, and I introduced them to one another over the years, collecting these ladies like the treasures they are. I met Dark & Stormy in 2nd grade. We were part of the handful of Black students in our magnet program. We met, we bonded (over who knows what-a game of horseshoes, a game of horseshoes?) and we’ve been tight ever since. I met Amaretto in 7th grade, again we were one of the few colored faces in our program. We may have first bonded over the difficulties of being the ‘minority’, but over the years a genuine friendship grew. I met Bellini in high school. I’m not sure how or when or where, but somehow we became friends. I introduced her to Dark & Stormy and a high school clique was formed – and a friendship between the three of us still remains. I picked up Mint Julep in college. I guess we started off as peripheral friends (because we had a mutual friend), slowly feeling each other out. And when we became roommates Senior year and had our year of culture as we like to call it – going to concerts, seeing foreign films (City of God!), trying new restaurants, we found we had more in common than we realized.

I can say that the blog was my idea. It came to me during the summer of my discontent. I was working a job I hated (I’ll have a post about that some day, but thinking about it is akin to a Vietnam flashback) and praying for something new. One day I said to my mom, “why is life so hard right now?” And then I thought well if I feel this way, surely there must be others. And then a thought: what if x amount of young women who seem to be the same but are actually “different” started a blog? And everyone took a day and wrote about what was happening in their lives?

I approached the other four ladies with the idea. We were all in different places in our lives – most of us hated our job, some of us still do, we were all trying to find ourselves, get to that level of understanding of what makes us tick. And we were all taking different approaches to getting there. We had been through our own trying and fulfilling relationships with men. We all had different upbringings. We had different levels of education. On the surface, for instance if you saw us sitting and laughing at restaurant, you would think there go five Black women, eating and having a good ol’ time, never taking the time to think of us as individuals. Because you would seem the same: Black, woman, intelligent, funny, driven, loving, friend. But if you were to stop at the table, and ask a few questions to each of us, dig a little deeper, well then you would find our differences. And that’s what I wanted to highlight.

And so on Labor Day Monday, our country’s official farewell to summer, we all sat on my mama’s porch and decided to blog. And blog about shit that mattered to us – what was happening not just in the world but in our lives, our individual emotions, feelings, views on our present situation, whatever that may be. This time in our lives seems to be filled with such angst, wonder, question marks, and I hope, God willing that when I read this at 35, I’ll laugh and say, “what the hell was I so worried about?”

But for now, it serves its purpose. Over the past six months we have shared our lives, stories, viewpoints with the world (ok with whoever is reading) and we’ve reached the 10,000 hits mark. It may not seem like a lot to y’all (considering there are blogs that get 10,000 hits an hour) but we are talking about five very busy women who take time out of their lives to write what we hope are meaningful posts, digging deeper than just rehashing our day’s events.

This post is not meant to be self-congratulatory; I mean I understand that we are bloging, not curing cancer. But it is a thank you note to the other four ladies who carved out time from their world to help make my idea a reality. I know some famous person, (and I’m too tired to look it up right now) has said something about being proud of your friends. I am proud of these ladies. I am proud that they are in my life and that we are taking this journey together, wherever it leads. And I’m proud that we are writing about it every step of the way, chronicling our story, for the “masses.”

It warms our hearts when we get positive comments about people feeling our blog. Or when my younger, college-aged cousin sends me a text that reads, “that blog you sent me is amazing.” It feels good to know that we are connecting with other people who are going through their own quarter life crisis. And we can all talk about the struggle together. At first we wondered if anyone was going to read this. If anyone was going to care. And sometimes we still wonder. But as we watch the hits counter go up, it's continued confirmation that people are reading and we hope enjoying what we write... Who knows where this will lead or how long this will go on, but I'm glad that it's here now. And I'm glad/proud to blog with four of the best women this side of the Mason Dixie line: Dark & Stormy, Amaretto, Bellini & Mint Julep - who's world is this? The world is ours...

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

Wearing The Mask

Can someone please tell me how our ancestors were able to shuck and jive for white people on a daily basis? How they were able to give the illusion that they cared about Ms. Ann’s prolonged illness or Mr. Charlie’s dilemmas? Because I gotta tell you that this daily tap dance is getting harder and harder. I just don't know how much longer I can smile and nod and laugh at any more at these people’s aka my co-worker’s “jokes.” My jaw is starting to hurt...

First things first, I suck at idle chit chat (in general), the kind that you have with strangers sitting next to you on a plane, or banal banter with co-workers about the weather, your weekend, blah, blah, blah. I’m not one of those people who can just share who I am on a whim; pour out my life story in a two hour flight to Atlanta. And honestly, I don’t really care to hear the details of people’s personal lives. And yet somehow, there is something about my face, my charming personality that compels people to tell me all their business. And I get the feeling that they expect reciprocation…And dang it if they don’t keep prodding to get some kind of information from you…

At my last job, I worked at a small company where the majority of us were female, “minorities” and under 30. So a typical conversation usually went like this: “girl, come take a look at my myspace page…You see him, I used to mess with him at [Enter Your Favorite HBCU Here]…” I could handle that. We could bond over what spot we went to that weekend, the fact that we were working for a crazy person, dating drama…you know, anything you can find in a single girl’s handbook. And over a prolonged period of time, genuine friendships were made.

But now, I work with all white people who are married with kids, (or have significant others that they just have to talk about) and I have to hear about a sick baby, or a house remodeling project, or breast feeding/pumping issues (yes, why must I know this), or a home being taken over by critters, or that they had the most boring weekend ever, because once you have kids it’s all downhill after that. And I have to smile and nod, laugh at the appropriate places, volley a joke or a comment back to them, to keep this banter game going…And then they hit you with: So how was your weekend?

Le sigh and le groan. Oh how I wanna say, do you really wanna know white person? Do you really want me to share with you that for my homegirl’s birthday we went to see a contemporary go go band and that I got drunk as hell, or that I went to a Katt Williams show or a Jill Scott performance, or that I watched On Demand all Saturday and had my own The Wire marathon, or that I’m taking a writing class, trying to write a novel so that I never have to work for the man again? Because I really don’t feel like breaking some things down for you, having to explain to your blank stares when I mention an aspect from my life that you’ve never heard of or can’t relate to. Or coming to the mutual realization that we really have nothing in common. And I don’t appreciate that I tell one of y’all one simple, meaningless thing and the next thing I know the whole office knows! And yet you want me to bare my soul? Yeah, I’m not trying to give y’all any ‘did you hear the latest news about Rum Punch’ lunch time discussion fodder. And how the hell do I end up in y’alls conversations anyway?

Every time my co-workers come to me, asking me a personal question, I get this sense that they feel that it’s their mission to crack the Rum Punch code. And I give them just enough to quench their thirst, all the time remembering my mama taught me not to tell all my business to people, especially them. And I find myself walking that fine line that our people have had to walk for generations: being entertaining, giving up just enough information to keep them at bay, being a concerned listener, smiling hard so the mask doesn’t break…All the while trying to maintain my own sanity and peace of mind and wishing they would get the hell outta my office….

I can recall before I traveled abroad, the coordinator explaining to us that many foreigners weren’t as friendly as Americans, in the sense that they didn’t “believe” in instantaneous friendships, but thought they should develop in a more gradual manner. So when I got to Paris, it didn’t bother me that everyone didn’t smile at each other or start up random conversations on the train. I rather enjoyed it. Because in reality you can’t be friends with everybody, and definitely not in the first five minutes. You don’t need to learn all the details about someone’s life for your own personal pleasure or satisfaction. And just because we spend 8 hours together does not mean that I have to provide you with my family history and constantly share my hopes, feelings and darkest fears. But that’s not the reality I’m dealing with.

I am dealing with folk who get upset when I don’t come visit them for a daily chat, who want to see my face more, who want me to tell them some more stories so they can “figure me out.” So everyday, I have to pick a time to make my rounds and visit my co-workers, to appease them, to not appear like the anti-social Black person, to allay their ‘does she like us’ concerns, to make them feel good about themselves. It’s a struggle for me because I know that it’s disingenuous on both parts…let’s not play ourselves… But I also know that this is how the game is played. So with a sigh in my soul, I grin and bear it and put on my mask. But um, it’s starting to crack…

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