It was a typical bar scene: Dim lighting, blue-grey smoke hanging in the air, loud conversation and whatever music was playing on the jukebox. Seeing Andy there wasn’t a shock, after all, “our” friends were all there. They clustered around a table, beers in hand, cliqued off by couple or by conversation topic.
I took a seat next to Andy, as I normally would, and attempted to start up a conversation. But his response was chilly, and eventually he walked away. I resumed my socializing, talking instead to some of my other friends.
After some time had passed, I thought maybe I'd attempt another conversation with Andy. I saw him through the haze of smoke and the maze of tables, so I waved him over. I was in the mood to talk to him; finally, I was at a point in our relationship where seeing him, speaking to him didn’t remind me of what we’d had. I was at a point in our relationship where the phrase “just friends” was palatable. It had taken me so long to get there that I was grateful for the feeling. And I wanted to share that feeling.
“I don’t understand why she keeps talking to me,” Andy said to Rob (Julia's boyfriend and Andy's best friend). “It’s like she’s trying to be friends or something.”
“I don’t know, dude,” Rob replied. He turned back to Julia, unconcerned.
I was hurt by the statement, and confused. The last time I’d seen Andy, things were awkward, but was that any reason not to attempt civility in public? My face probably betrayed my inner thoughts; I’m not very good at controlling my facial expressions and reactions to others. Especially my reactions to him.
So when he walked over to my table, I thought maybe he was going to make peace and play nice. I slid off my bar stool, ready to greet him. But my hope for a civil friendship started fade as he got closer. The stormy expression on his face spoke not of making peace, but of making war.
I suppose I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was when he bent me back, over the table, and started choking me.
I felt his hands around my windpipe. I felt the air trapped in my throat, buried under the fear. I don’t know how I got the strength to break his hold, but somehow I did.
“What are you doing?!” I shouted at him.
"Why are you trying to be friends with me?! I don't want to be your friend!" he shouted in response.
He moved so quickly, I didn’t guess his intentions. He pushed the leg of a nearby barstool against my throat. He face was red and angry. There was a hatred there that I've never seen before on anyone... it was scary and I started to panic. "He's going to kill me," I thought. My vision started to dapple, but even as I felt life being strangled away, I registered the nonchalance on the faces of the other people in the bar. I'm not sure they were even looking at me or aware of what was happening. It was just another boring scene in a bar to them.
Imagine my relief when I woke up in a cold sweat, sheets tangled around my legs, heart pounding wildly in my chest. The room was dark, the house was quiet. My mind was groggy… but the dream stayed with me.
4.24.2006
4.22.2006
Is this what a tdrunk post is like?
Hello, Yellow Tail Chardonnay. I love you because you are lses than $1-0 a bottle and you are delicious. In the "I just consumed your entire bottel" kind of way.
Dawn and Saryah, I see you drunk bposts and raise you onw.
Cheers.
PS did you see Borkeback Mouyntain? It is a love story. Nothing else.
Ah, lovely and relaxed and in spite of that fact that Sam Hottie with the Body Marachino Cherry's phone is a piec eof crap, life is good
Sam is a hottie with a body that I mest last saturday night.
Okay, enoght with this posting, I"m off to watch a chick flick and perhaps eat some milano cookies. Mmm.
Dawn and Saryah, I see you drunk bposts and raise you onw.
Cheers.
PS did you see Borkeback Mouyntain? It is a love story. Nothing else.
Ah, lovely and relaxed and in spite of that fact that Sam Hottie with the Body Marachino Cherry's phone is a piec eof crap, life is good
Sam is a hottie with a body that I mest last saturday night.
Okay, enoght with this posting, I"m off to watch a chick flick and perhaps eat some milano cookies. Mmm.
I'm still here, but barely!
Whew! Okay, this has been a weirdly boring and stressful week. Posting will be sporadic until I'm all settled into my new job and new apartment, the latter of which will not occur until the first weekend of May.
Anyway, here is some evidence of my week:
1) Started the new job, was really excited. Then got thrown onto some projects that I'm really not qualified to lead. It isn't a self confidence thing, it's just simply not having the skills at this point in my career that are necessary to handle the job. I'm sorry I can't be more specific, but I'm just all talked out about it.
2) Bought a mattress. I now have all the furniture I'll need to move in... when I'm able to move in. For those of you keeping score, that is couch, mattress and the TV I already have.
3) I have a sinus infection that is causing the left side of my head and face a lot of pain. Weird that it is only one one side of my head, but whatever. Now I'm on medication, but since my new insurance card hasn't arrived, I had to pay for it all out-of-pocket before I can be reimbursed. Sucky.
So anyway, there is a post forthcoming that is in the style of the Bougie Black Boy, which will be good for me to get out. So look for that a little later. Other than that, I'm getting my hair cut today so that will be good. Ah, scalp massage!!
And thank you all for your lovely and positive comments. I liked reading them all this week, even though my access to the internet has been a little dicey and I haven't been able to visit you as much as I normally have (or would have liked to). Hopefully that will be remedied soon!
Anyway, here is some evidence of my week:
1) Started the new job, was really excited. Then got thrown onto some projects that I'm really not qualified to lead. It isn't a self confidence thing, it's just simply not having the skills at this point in my career that are necessary to handle the job. I'm sorry I can't be more specific, but I'm just all talked out about it.
2) Bought a mattress. I now have all the furniture I'll need to move in... when I'm able to move in. For those of you keeping score, that is couch, mattress and the TV I already have.
3) I have a sinus infection that is causing the left side of my head and face a lot of pain. Weird that it is only one one side of my head, but whatever. Now I'm on medication, but since my new insurance card hasn't arrived, I had to pay for it all out-of-pocket before I can be reimbursed. Sucky.
So anyway, there is a post forthcoming that is in the style of the Bougie Black Boy, which will be good for me to get out. So look for that a little later. Other than that, I'm getting my hair cut today so that will be good. Ah, scalp massage!!
And thank you all for your lovely and positive comments. I liked reading them all this week, even though my access to the internet has been a little dicey and I haven't been able to visit you as much as I normally have (or would have liked to). Hopefully that will be remedied soon!
4.17.2006
Job update
So the "first day of school" feeling passed. My first day of work was great. The people are nice, I think the work will be fun and I'm really confident that I made the right decision here. Plus, I got all new office supplies and stuff like that - I love new office products.
I got "promoted" on my first day here. My boss said he couldn't in good conscience make me an Account Executive when he is getting ready to promote several Assistant Account Execs to that level, not when I have so much more experience than these people who have been out of school for a year or less. So now I'm a Senior Account Executive. This is crazy, I'm freaking out. I have a lot of experience for being so young, but SENIOR ACCOUNT EXECUTIVE?! I'm not sure if I'm qualified for that. However, that title certainly puts me on the path of being a low-level Vice President by the time I'm 30... so I'll take it.
I should have asked him if I get more money. Damn.
Anyway, I'm looking forward to getting busy (HA HA!) really soon. This of course was a slower day because I don't have any projects. But I already have two client meetings scheduled for later in the week, so hopefully the week will pick up a little bit.
I got "promoted" on my first day here. My boss said he couldn't in good conscience make me an Account Executive when he is getting ready to promote several Assistant Account Execs to that level, not when I have so much more experience than these people who have been out of school for a year or less. So now I'm a Senior Account Executive. This is crazy, I'm freaking out. I have a lot of experience for being so young, but SENIOR ACCOUNT EXECUTIVE?! I'm not sure if I'm qualified for that. However, that title certainly puts me on the path of being a low-level Vice President by the time I'm 30... so I'll take it.
I should have asked him if I get more money. Damn.
Anyway, I'm looking forward to getting busy (HA HA!) really soon. This of course was a slower day because I don't have any projects. But I already have two client meetings scheduled for later in the week, so hopefully the week will pick up a little bit.
4.16.2006
4.13.2006
Okay
Although this blog didn't and won't necessarily become a political one, I did like this quote that a friend of mine has in his IM profile. Also, I'm a big *buzzed* and wanted to do a drunk post and at the moment this is as close as it gets:
"In November 2000, the United States held a presidential election, and nobody knew who won, so we just kind of made up an outcome and tried to act like that was normal. Less than a year later, airplanes flew into office buildings, and everybody cried for two months. And then Enron went bankrupt, and the U.S. started acting like a rogue state, and "The Simple Life" premiered, and gasoline became unaffordable, and our Olympic basketball team lost to Puerto Rico, and we reelected the same president we never really elected in the first place. Later, there would be some especially devastating hurricanes and three Oscars for an especially bad movie called "Crash."Things, as they say, have been better."-Chuck Klosterman
Okay, well I liked "Crash" and I think "The Simple Life" is funny because they really are THAT DUMB in real life. Other than that, yea, I pretty much agree.
"In November 2000, the United States held a presidential election, and nobody knew who won, so we just kind of made up an outcome and tried to act like that was normal. Less than a year later, airplanes flew into office buildings, and everybody cried for two months. And then Enron went bankrupt, and the U.S. started acting like a rogue state, and "The Simple Life" premiered, and gasoline became unaffordable, and our Olympic basketball team lost to Puerto Rico, and we reelected the same president we never really elected in the first place. Later, there would be some especially devastating hurricanes and three Oscars for an especially bad movie called "Crash."Things, as they say, have been better."-Chuck Klosterman
Okay, well I liked "Crash" and I think "The Simple Life" is funny because they really are THAT DUMB in real life. Other than that, yea, I pretty much agree.
4.11.2006
Reminded
Although I don't officially move until the first weekend of May, I've been taking the time lately to go through all of the stuff I've accumulated in the past 25 years. Yesterday, I took on my desk: This gorgeous, real wood, roll-top number that I got when I was probably about 8. The insides of the drawers still smell like the original new desk smell.
That desk has certainly seen it's fair share of stuff, so yesterday I set about cleaning out the bottom drawer. I've always considered it my "file" drawer, where all my old papers and stories and journals and stuff went. I'm sure you'll see some of my former work resurface here.
I came across an old journal from college and opened to a random page. And stepped back in time, to the first semester of my junior year (that would be late 2001, for those of your keeping score). I read the pages greedily, and then found myself flipping the pages to the front part of the journal and starting over again. I am grateful that I took the time to chronicle that part of my life; even if reading it reminded me of sadder times.
The page that I randomly flipped to detailed the break up with my college boyfriend, Joe. I was very much in love with him at the time that I'd written the entry - and the one after that, and the one after that.... Some of the pages were a little smeared with long since forgotten tears. Sometimes, the script was hastily scrawled, as if I'd been rushing to commit my thoughts to paper. Other times, it was very neat and measured; I must have put a lot of thought into those entries. In the early part of the journal, there was happiness, giddiness, excitement. An overwhelming outpouring of emotions that were too big, too much for the pages. At the end, there was pain, and bitterness. Grief. Loss.
But as I continued reading past the break up and the disintegration of the friendship that followed, the entries about or pertaining to Joe became less and less frequent. The journal started taking the shape of my life that year - where I'd gone, the men I'd dated, the friends I'd had. I'm not sure what facilitated the healing of my heart, whether it was time passing or the gradual mellowing of my feelings. The last few entries didn't mention him at all.
It was good to be reminded of our relationship. I remembered how much I'd hurt when it ended. But I also remembered how much and how deeply I had loved this person. To be able to read about my life at that time, to think about Joe and what transpired between us - good and bad - to be able to look back on it fondly and without regret is truly a gift. There is no more pain, bitterness, grief or sense of loss. Only the knowledge and happiness that he has a good life now, and a hope that it will continue.
I smiled to myself, thinking back on that time. And then I put the journal away in a safe place. It won't come with me when I move. It will stay in a box at my parents' house, gathering dust but not forgotten. Waiting for me to be reminded again.
That desk has certainly seen it's fair share of stuff, so yesterday I set about cleaning out the bottom drawer. I've always considered it my "file" drawer, where all my old papers and stories and journals and stuff went. I'm sure you'll see some of my former work resurface here.
I came across an old journal from college and opened to a random page. And stepped back in time, to the first semester of my junior year (that would be late 2001, for those of your keeping score). I read the pages greedily, and then found myself flipping the pages to the front part of the journal and starting over again. I am grateful that I took the time to chronicle that part of my life; even if reading it reminded me of sadder times.
The page that I randomly flipped to detailed the break up with my college boyfriend, Joe. I was very much in love with him at the time that I'd written the entry - and the one after that, and the one after that.... Some of the pages were a little smeared with long since forgotten tears. Sometimes, the script was hastily scrawled, as if I'd been rushing to commit my thoughts to paper. Other times, it was very neat and measured; I must have put a lot of thought into those entries. In the early part of the journal, there was happiness, giddiness, excitement. An overwhelming outpouring of emotions that were too big, too much for the pages. At the end, there was pain, and bitterness. Grief. Loss.
But as I continued reading past the break up and the disintegration of the friendship that followed, the entries about or pertaining to Joe became less and less frequent. The journal started taking the shape of my life that year - where I'd gone, the men I'd dated, the friends I'd had. I'm not sure what facilitated the healing of my heart, whether it was time passing or the gradual mellowing of my feelings. The last few entries didn't mention him at all.
It was good to be reminded of our relationship. I remembered how much I'd hurt when it ended. But I also remembered how much and how deeply I had loved this person. To be able to read about my life at that time, to think about Joe and what transpired between us - good and bad - to be able to look back on it fondly and without regret is truly a gift. There is no more pain, bitterness, grief or sense of loss. Only the knowledge and happiness that he has a good life now, and a hope that it will continue.
I smiled to myself, thinking back on that time. And then I put the journal away in a safe place. It won't come with me when I move. It will stay in a box at my parents' house, gathering dust but not forgotten. Waiting for me to be reminded again.
4.07.2006
Parental Control
I was watching a show on BET the other night called "My Two Cents". Music videos intersperse the discussion of everything from Hollywood to issues relating to gender, race and culture. The contributers are four African American 20-somethings, but they also include comments from people they've stopped on the street.
The four contributors were sitting around talking about Angelina Jolie and the fact that she has adopted baby Zahara from Africa. The question arose: "Do you have a problem with a white woman raising a Black baby?" One of the contributors said flat-out that she absolutely had a problem with it.
"A white person can't teach a Black child about their culture or their roots. The Black culture is very unique, and that can't be replicated in a white home."
Another contributor responded, "But don't you think that a white person might work twice as hard to learn about the Black culture and teach it to their adopted child?"
"I suppose that could be true," said the first contributor. "I just don't think it is right."
Now, I realize that I don't have a lot of room to comment on the Black culture vs. the white culture. Nor do I have a lot of room to judge the contributor's comments. But the way that she was so disdainful of the thought of white parents raising a black baby was surprising to me. A sort of reverse racism that I wasn't expecting.
I guess I think of it like this: If a family is willing to and capable of loving and raising a child - whether it is their natural child or an adopted child - shouldn't they be free to do so?! Does the color of the parent's skin matter?
There are a couple of different tangents that I started thinking about:
Cultural influences
What distinguishes the Black culture from the white culture? If a Black child is well-educated, well-spoken and achieves levels of greatness beyond athletics, they are considered "bougie". If a white child likes hip-hop, speaks ebonics and wears a do-rag, they are considered a "wigger". Both terms are equally insulting, because they suggest that a person's upbringing and interests must be dictated by the color of their skin.
But beyond the outward appearances, what influences do Black children get at home that white children don't get? Is there a deep understanding and appreciation for the struggles of their forefathers, for the unfettered beauty and cruelty of their African homeland? Are family roles and expectations different?
Criteria for parenthood
I firmly believe that is isn't the color of the parent or child's skin that makes them a family. It is the love that they share. For adoptive parents, they child you bring home with you is YOUR CHILD. You don't love it any less than you would a biological child. To me, it shouldn't matter if I am a white woman raising a black child.
Good parents can be measured by the following: Teaching your child to respect everyone, not just their elders; Teaching your child goodness, kindness, altruism, humanity, what it means to be a good person; Teaching your child to love, and how to love in a healthy way; Teaching your child to respect themselves; Teaching your child to embrace their intelect, to make their own way, to worry not about what other people think of them, but what they think of themselves.
So why would this Black contributor to "My Two Cents" care what color skin makes up the family unit. What are white parents missing out on? What can Black parents teach Black children than white parents can't?
I'm not sure, but I'd love for you all to weigh in.
The four contributors were sitting around talking about Angelina Jolie and the fact that she has adopted baby Zahara from Africa. The question arose: "Do you have a problem with a white woman raising a Black baby?" One of the contributors said flat-out that she absolutely had a problem with it.
"A white person can't teach a Black child about their culture or their roots. The Black culture is very unique, and that can't be replicated in a white home."
Another contributor responded, "But don't you think that a white person might work twice as hard to learn about the Black culture and teach it to their adopted child?"
"I suppose that could be true," said the first contributor. "I just don't think it is right."
Now, I realize that I don't have a lot of room to comment on the Black culture vs. the white culture. Nor do I have a lot of room to judge the contributor's comments. But the way that she was so disdainful of the thought of white parents raising a black baby was surprising to me. A sort of reverse racism that I wasn't expecting.
I guess I think of it like this: If a family is willing to and capable of loving and raising a child - whether it is their natural child or an adopted child - shouldn't they be free to do so?! Does the color of the parent's skin matter?
There are a couple of different tangents that I started thinking about:
Cultural influences
What distinguishes the Black culture from the white culture? If a Black child is well-educated, well-spoken and achieves levels of greatness beyond athletics, they are considered "bougie". If a white child likes hip-hop, speaks ebonics and wears a do-rag, they are considered a "wigger". Both terms are equally insulting, because they suggest that a person's upbringing and interests must be dictated by the color of their skin.
But beyond the outward appearances, what influences do Black children get at home that white children don't get? Is there a deep understanding and appreciation for the struggles of their forefathers, for the unfettered beauty and cruelty of their African homeland? Are family roles and expectations different?
Criteria for parenthood
I firmly believe that is isn't the color of the parent or child's skin that makes them a family. It is the love that they share. For adoptive parents, they child you bring home with you is YOUR CHILD. You don't love it any less than you would a biological child. To me, it shouldn't matter if I am a white woman raising a black child.
Good parents can be measured by the following: Teaching your child to respect everyone, not just their elders; Teaching your child goodness, kindness, altruism, humanity, what it means to be a good person; Teaching your child to love, and how to love in a healthy way; Teaching your child to respect themselves; Teaching your child to embrace their intelect, to make their own way, to worry not about what other people think of them, but what they think of themselves.
So why would this Black contributor to "My Two Cents" care what color skin makes up the family unit. What are white parents missing out on? What can Black parents teach Black children than white parents can't?
I'm not sure, but I'd love for you all to weigh in.
4.06.2006
Um, hello?!
Stupid horoscope: "Money matters should be going very well for you right now, dear Pisces, and therefore today you might decide to make a long-desired expenditure concerning your home. You might decide to buy some furniture, do a little redecorating, or even go out and purchase a new home. Land investments might also warrant some considerations. Whatever you do, you'll enjoy doing it, and the results could make a very positive difference in your home life. Enjoy!"
Maybe this means I'm going to win the lottery today...
Maybe this means I'm going to win the lottery today...
4.05.2006
StrEsSed OuT!
I have a little less than a month to move into my new place, and I have no furniture. Plus, I have no money to buy furniture. And since I'm currently debt-free, this does not bode well for my future financial security. Relations are strained with my mom, whom I'm very close to. And my car insurance was due TODAY and I forgot to mail the check. I had a total meltdown a few hours ago.
Shit.
Shit.
4.04.2006
Doncha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?
Okay, the song "Doncha" from the Pussycat Dolls. You know the one: Doncha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?/Doncha wish your girlfriend was fun like me?/Doncha wish your girlfriend was raw like me?/Doncha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?
Do guys think that like?!
I mean, if you are dating a total bitch, then yeah, you're probably wishing your girl had more of those qualities. But if you were dating the object of desire in the song "Doncha" sounds kind of slutty to me.
Just something I'm thinking about today.
Do guys think that like?!
I mean, if you are dating a total bitch, then yeah, you're probably wishing your girl had more of those qualities. But if you were dating the object of desire in the song "Doncha" sounds kind of slutty to me.
Just something I'm thinking about today.
4.02.2006
Let the packing begin!
I found it! I found it! I found it I found it I found it!!!!
And by "it", I mean an apartment. AKA a place to live when I relocate to Cincinnati in two weeks.
Here's how I found it: My best friend Rebecca's mom is dating a guy named Mike. Mike's son Greg just signed a lease with his friend Matt. Matt just bought a two-family home in Hyde Park, a suburb about 10 minutes north of downtown Cincinnati. It's a smattering between old money and young professionals. Bars, shops, restaurants and a mall 5 minutes away. So, perfect, right?
Anyway, Matt wanted to rent out the first floor apartment of this two-family home. And when Rebecca told Greg that I was moving to Cincinnati and looking for places in Hyde Park, he offered up the afore-mentioned apartment.
So I looked at it this weekend, and it is PERFECT. Okay, well, the closet space sucks. And the bedroom is a little small. But the kitchen is NEW, the living room and office are HUGE, the place has CHARACTER and it is perfect for me. Plus, it is within my price range, Matt's giving me the first month free and a minimal security deposit AND I'll have two guys that I can trust (one of which is my landlord) living above me to help me out if I get into any trouble. I think this is called kismet. Or serendipity. Or just plain good luck.
I can't move in until the first weekend of May, because Matt doesn't take ownership of the house until May 1. But I can use that week to clean and paint and figure out where my (currently nonexistant) furniture will go.
Speaking of which, I have a couch picked out, a duvet cover picked out and a bedroom set picked out. I just have to have a firm delivery date in mind and then I can actually BUY all of this furniture. I need a kitchen table and chairs, but I found some at IKEA that are cute and workable. So, really, I just need paint colors and to actually purchase the furniture and I'm good to go.
Things are happening, people! Let the packing begin!
And by "it", I mean an apartment. AKA a place to live when I relocate to Cincinnati in two weeks.
Here's how I found it: My best friend Rebecca's mom is dating a guy named Mike. Mike's son Greg just signed a lease with his friend Matt. Matt just bought a two-family home in Hyde Park, a suburb about 10 minutes north of downtown Cincinnati. It's a smattering between old money and young professionals. Bars, shops, restaurants and a mall 5 minutes away. So, perfect, right?
Anyway, Matt wanted to rent out the first floor apartment of this two-family home. And when Rebecca told Greg that I was moving to Cincinnati and looking for places in Hyde Park, he offered up the afore-mentioned apartment.
So I looked at it this weekend, and it is PERFECT. Okay, well, the closet space sucks. And the bedroom is a little small. But the kitchen is NEW, the living room and office are HUGE, the place has CHARACTER and it is perfect for me. Plus, it is within my price range, Matt's giving me the first month free and a minimal security deposit AND I'll have two guys that I can trust (one of which is my landlord) living above me to help me out if I get into any trouble. I think this is called kismet. Or serendipity. Or just plain good luck.
I can't move in until the first weekend of May, because Matt doesn't take ownership of the house until May 1. But I can use that week to clean and paint and figure out where my (currently nonexistant) furniture will go.
Speaking of which, I have a couch picked out, a duvet cover picked out and a bedroom set picked out. I just have to have a firm delivery date in mind and then I can actually BUY all of this furniture. I need a kitchen table and chairs, but I found some at IKEA that are cute and workable. So, really, I just need paint colors and to actually purchase the furniture and I'm good to go.
Things are happening, people! Let the packing begin!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
