I am my own worst enemy

Ramblings Post #370
I don't do as many personal posts anymore. I don't do a lot of things I used to do. My legend reads that my intent was to approach middle age with "a shotgun and bad intentions," but I now I think that me and middle age can sit down and talk about it, preferably over a drink or two. I have purposely made this blog rather banal; television & movie reviews and other inane rantings. There was a time when this was like therapy. Back before people asked for your website information on your job application. Hey, what I do on my time is my business. Mostly.

I am my own overthinking.

One of my terrible habits in my personal life is the way that I overthink an issue, teasing out possibility after possibility until the only course that makes sense is to figure out how to build a time machine because the moment has passed. Now, in a business setting I can assess what is front me and execute with confidence, ready to make changes, adjustments and refinements as need be as the results of my decision unfolds. This willingness to commit has value, it could actually be considered a skill, and it was one of the reasons I did well at a particular "ranch" for quite a long time. The difference between personal and professional is stark and actually quite weird, at least from the inside.

Which brings me to my current dilemma caused by overthinking: I'm thinking maybe I'd go visit someone. Or rather, I'm trying to figure out what would be a good time to visit someone. No, what I'm really trying to do is ask to see if my visiting someone would be cool with them. Well, I'm kind of wondering if that's a good idea...

..... four hours later....

...at the bottom of all this I want to find out if something that was there, is still there. And if it's mutual. To see what's what and who is whom. See my good-ass English, eh?No, the truth of the matter is I know the old proverb: The journey of thousand miles starts with a single step. But then I'm also smart enough to realize even a walk to the mailbox starts with a single step. Or the kitchen. You can't tell with that first step. And there-in lies the rub. How many steps do get? A marathon or a far enough to get a bag of chips from the cupboard?

In my personal pursuits, I'm classic overthinker. Anyone of the many novels I'm trying to work through has a slew of notes chock full of information about back stories and side pursuits that don't even go into the story. Some that only serve to mentally flesh out tertiary characters who might only pop up for one scene. And those side stories also need to make sense. Otherwise none of it does. But then that's a situation where there is no real clock, no looming deadline. Tinkering is a thing. But with the clocking ticking I execute. Hmmmm...

So, what's this all about? I would like to go and see Sporty. Yes, that Sporty. From the before time, the long, long ago. I would like to have a nice dinner or something, face to face, or really any where we can sit and talk. Or maybe go to a play or catch some live jazz then sit and talk over a few drinks. Yes, that is exactly what it sounds like: A date. That's it, that's all. And yes, I would travel just for a date if she said she was with it. You ever encounter someone with whom everything feels comfortable, natural, magical? For me, that's her. Or at least it used to be.

Am I hanging onto a memory? Yes, very much so, one that I would prefer not to spoil if possible. And I'm probably only remembering the good parts too, but it's a great set of memories. And it would be nice to do that again. But one of the grand issues of overthinking..and personal empathy... is looking at the situation from the other person's point of view.  In reality, it's been a long time since she and I shared the same air, and although we text each other regularly, digital versus live is a real gulf. Who am I to her? I'm certain that she's charted her own path and is doing her own thing. So who would I be? I'm not even sure what I'm hoping for on the other side of this. Sigh.

If this were a work situation, I'd make a decision based upon the available information and then go from there. So why can't I do that in personal life?

(Part of me remembers when she used to read this and I would have posted this hoping to avoid the question, a clear passive-aggressive act on my part that I should be past at my age. Now I'm fairly certain nobody reads this anymore as I'm too infrequent.)

My only choice is to ask the question. The one I've been rolling over in my head - make funny? Imply something? Be vague? Be direct? etc., - for the past two weeks. Yes, I still put a lot of thought into her. And I need to do have this conversation soon, because as I said...she charts her own path.

It's who I am. An overthinker.

Barkeep. Why are there five beers on the...Thinker, I said THINKER. Well, leave'em. They're already out. 

Tell me you a little about yourself...

Ramblings Post #185
I'm probably the most forward shy person you'd ever meet. I can be jovial, warm and friendly and it might months before you realize you know little about me other than my name and that I like brunch and sweet tea. I can be a fascinating conversationalist on a number of topics, none of which include myself. Yet, as in poker, there is always a tell. And me thinks I've found mine.


I wrote a quick little story the other day, which I posted on my FB account. The idea came to me in a blur, and over the course of the day, between my job and making notes for my upcoming "litigation exercise"...formerly referred to as the mock trial... I sewed together the little idea chunks into a quick little story about a guy in love over the course of a lifetime, held together by a single act of intimacy.

I put it up as a note, attached the names of some friends, and the rest is publishing history. Well, not really. Is putting it up on FB really publishing? Anyway, it was a nice little short, I got some positive responses, but it still could use a little polish.

But reading it again, looking for those ever present polishing points, I realize now that a lot of my stories have less than happy endings. Okay, sad endings. In my stories the guy never gets the girl. There is usually lots of love and emotion, but they always seem to come up short, the "happily ever after" appears to have eluded me. Not even the happily for a little while at least until the story ends endings. In one of my stories, the guy gets hit walking off the sidewalk after getting rejected, another it turns out after he dies he finds out the he was never supposed to have existed, and in another the guy and girl meet again in the twilight of their lives and he lets her go even though he's just going through the motions without her.

Me thinks me got a problem.

I like to think of myself a fairly happy person. Reasonably happy. I'm doing okay. A "make the best of the situation you're in" kinda guy. Flexible. Amenable. Resilient. I have a good time, I have good friends, I enjoy the challenge of law school (did I just write that?), and just like everyone else there is good and bad in my life but all in all I'm way ahead of the curve here. I think.

But ... then I use writing as an outlet for a lot of things I don't talk about. Is that I believe I'm never going to get the girl?

Admittedly, my romantic life has never turned out quite the way I figured. But in reality, whose has?

Wait, did I just write "never"? Never. That's a mighty long time.

Hmmm...

My poetry always seems to mention hope and possibility.
Well, except for the dirty stuff. Er...more adult fare.
My novels are always over plotted and start good but lose their way.
My stories are sad little tales of woe.

Hmmmm...

Maybe I do have an issue.

Barkeep, I need some thinking alcohol.

Really Really?

Ramblings Post #162
There is a saying. Okay, there are a lot of sayings, but this one is particularly apt: One shouldn't have any regrets, because at one time that which you regret was exactly what you wanted. It's a pithy little saying, probably made up by someone who just wanted to stop somebody who was complaining way to much. Still, there are moments when you just need a regret or two, to keep you from making the same decision again.


A few weeks ago, Spanky's new man told her...point blank...that his "rotation" was good and she needed to bring more the to table. There is more to his actual statement, but civility and the fact that I couldn't' believe he even "went there" forbid me from going further. Seeing as how she brings quite a bit to the table under any circumstances - brains, looks, will support with time and energy, cooks, etc - I was at a loss to what else he might have expected. But he'd showed his hand, she said it was over, and I figured there would be the usual few weeks of moping before the next "temp" appeared on the scene.

To bring you up to speed, years ago when we first started hanging out in Atlanta, Spanky wouldn't hesitate to cut a guy off with a quickness. So, because learning their name wasn't worth the effort if they might be gone the next week, I started referring to all her potential man-friends as "temps".

Anyway, messing with Spanky last week I hit her up about some foolishness that occurred in her neighborhood. The kind of stuff you post on Facebook because if you just tell somebody about it, nobody will believe you. We text back and forth for a minute, then I suggest we "go get drunk", a way of saying lets go out have some food and drinks and BS for while. It had been a minute since we'd got together, finals and all, I needed a night out and since her incident I figured a night sippin' might brighten her spirits.

She can't. She's "busy".

I'm pretty, but I ain't slow. Well, not that slow. Slowish. So I'm like "that was a quick, a new temp already?"

"Nope. Same temp."

I think I'm about to have to stop talking the Spanky.

According to her, ole boy apologized and claims he was "just testing her loyalty". Which sounds way past childish as old as we are. In his apology, he brought up marriage to her again, something he did early on in the relationship. I think is part of what has her hooked. Spanky has been anxious to tie the knot for at least the last five or so years. Okay, anxious is a understatement.

This is way way bad though.

You kinda hate to see your people get played, but you can't body block folks off from living their lives either. I've told her I don't think this is the best idea, and she claims she's knows he ain't serious or worth a damn anymore, but she's gonna give him another chance. Maybe. Or maybe she's just lonely. I can tell you that I'm not looking forward to the aftermath of this.

Barkeep, set up the tequila. And just keep it coming.

Really?

Ramblings Post #158
Sometimes you think your situation is bad. Real bad. I remember a speaker one time who said that if everyone in the room brought him one problem...their mortgage, the divorce, their issue...he would make it go away. The deal however was that to get yours taken away, you had to then come down and blindly pick up someone elses. Their lives put in perspective, he got no takers.


Life popped my girl Spanky in the forehead. Again.

But she, like a lot of the women I know, is extremely resilient. I mean, Slim had her house broken into twelve times and still lives there. I've had two break ins and I'm halfway out the door already. Spanky has had her entire house pilfered and shrugged it off. Resilient.

Her relationship woes however, usually give me pause. The term "piece of work" was invented to describe some of the guys she's gone out with. But I think I'm glad I never met this last brother. After his previous declaration that he wasn't looking for a girl, but she wasn't going anywhere, he topped himself.

His statement to her last week: "I have a pretty good rotation right now, you need to bring more to the table..."

It's one thing to have it like that. It's another to just put it out there. Even I was like DAMN.

Now Atlanta, for those uninitiated, is the a city where, for all intents and purposes, men can act like women. And I don't mean in the mid-town Atlanta sort of way - pride flags, antiquing and man hugs - but where a reasonably attractive guy with a little bit going for him can treat women in a fashion that women usually treat men. It's just that thick, and there are more lonely attractive women than you believe. I've witnessed this "reversal" situation on more than one occasion.

Side Note: And for all my study I still haven't figured it out. I don't possess the swagger, or something with the eyes I can't do, or maybe there is a cologne I'm not buying. That, or I just don't have it in me to use somebody like that. I'm thinking of taking a class. Right now I'm really more of the reverse of a booty call, you know, where a guy who wants the sex but no relationship calls certain women. I'm the reverse, women who want the relationship without the sex call me. I apparently give GREAT relationship. Which is why I've hit yard sales, set mouse traps and learned to eat brunch. (By the way, I have come to love brunch).

So Spanky hit me today the BBchat with that info and she asked why her. Whereas I can think of a lot of women in Atlanta who might become better people after seeing the game from the other direction, she wasn't one of them. She was already pretty cool. As I've said before, she is a I was glad that she a) finally indicated she was dumping him, b) took the Christmas present she bought him back and c) finally didn't call me in the midst of the crisis.

That last part I liked the most. I've been on the end of too many crying jags I had nothing to do with.

And it's moments like that where I'm glad nobody I ever went out with did me like that. Or at least had the decency not to throw it in my face like that.

Except for them couple of times. Kinda.

Barkeep... tequila. Lime. Salt.

The Serious Men

Ramblings Post #147
I alluded to this document here, so I felt compelled to post it. It stems from a comment I heard, this young woman once said her problem was she didn't know how to make her man get serious. My thought was that her outlook was the problem. She needed to stop trying to make the man she wanted become serious, but look for a serious man she could want. To sum that up, I penned this:
Who are the serious men?

Serious Men come in all shapes and sizes. They’re not just male model types, but regular guys. Just as beautiful women don’t only come in a size two, the serious men don’t all have six packs. Some are sharp dressers and some just put on clothes, but a serious man is concerned about his appearance, he just doesn’t obsess about it. A serious man cleans up nice, but doesn’t look like he’s putting on a fashion show just to go to grocery store. His style is flexible, but usually not trendy. He knows the labels, but makes up his own mind as to what works for him.

Who are the serious men?

Serious Men are men who have a game plan for life, not just the now. Their weekends aren't this club and that party all the time, they tend their property, their plan or a personal project regularly. They know more than the sports page, they know the front page and larger issues. They can go out and have a few drinks and be the life of the party of that's what's called for or sit quietly and watch when it isn't. Some drive the same car they drove in college because its paid for and they can put the money to something else. Some drive the latest car because they realize they need to project that particular image to get to what they want. Some drive that car because that's just what they want. But they all live within their means, so that they can continually expand those same means.

Who are the serious men?

Serious Men haven't given up on the dream, they've just reformulated it. They're not trying to get a record deal, they're trying to run a record label. They realize they're not going to be a pro athlete, so they begin to plan to buy a pro team. Serious men put their old dreams aside so they could pick up new dreams. They are educating themselves, through study or life experience to get to the next plateau. Serious men know where they want to go, and realize there aren’t shortcuts to get there.

Who are the serious men?

Serious men are the guys you talk to who expand your mind. They are the men you ask for advice when you want more than a emotional opinion. Serious men can see both sides of the argument, and conversations with them that are insightful and knowledgeable, spanning more than their circle of friends, more than their locale, more than simply where they are right now life, and take into account the larger dynamic. Serious men ask questions because they want to know, not because its expected at this juncture. They get their news and other information from various sources and conceive their own opinions, they don’t parrot other’s words without confirmation. Serious Men don’t let their egos get in the way of learning, of listening, and understanding.

Who are the serious men?

Serious men grow over time. You don’t look at him and see the same person from five years ago. A Serious Man self renovates, and though he may be on the same path, over time he has adapted his plan when faced with new obstacles, he has adopted new tactics if they appear more effective and if where he’s going becomes unattainable, he’s prepared to re-direct his energies. Serious Men don’t stagnate, they evolve.

Who are the serious men?

How do you recognize a Serious man? You can’t tell who he is by just looking at him, you have to observe him. You can’t tell if you’ve met a Serious Man in a day, in a weekend, or a month. It takes time. He's not Hollywood blockbuster, he's timeless classic literature. He is the guy who takes an interest in your activity because it’s YOUR activity, and if he commits he gives all his energy, he goes about it whole heartedly. He is a missing element when he is absent, and solid team player when there. He’s rarely the superstar, and usually recognizes those who help him, even in private. He's honest, even when it doesn't help him. Often people mistake his kindness for weakness, but a he’s the guy who will go all in if necessary when others disappear. He is the man you can count on…before you’ve been naked with him. He’s the guy you can count on…after you’ve stopped getting naked with him. You can count on...even if you never get naked with him.

Who are the serious men?

Do You Really Know How to Date?

Ramblings Post #146
I stole this topic. Don't worry, I told the person I stole this topic from I was gonna steal this topic and he's good with it. I got from my message board, the only one I ever joined for the conversation, and where I've been a active participant for a long time. It's like an internet gated community. The original answers to this question were funny, thoughtful, and insulting. And I found out a lot of folks really aren't satisfied with "dating" as they see it. Kinda sad.

Do you really...really know how to date?

Let's see. For most of us, dating in our twenties was a movie, where we sat in the dark and watched in silence, then a bit of awkward conversation over a rushed inexpensive dinner at the local mid-range chain ( Applebee's, TGIF's, Red Lobster, etc. ) and then off to someone's place for sweaty heing and sheing. Not much later, the non domiciled participant would be expected to leave. Then after a month or five, everyone would switch partners.

This was dating? Really?

I'm older. Not necessarily wiser, but definitely older, and I'm not happy with where I've been and where it looks like I'm headed. But I know that this was was "seeing" somebody, not really dating. It struck me once, that the sum total of a relationship that was about to get intense, consisted of maybe six hours of being together (over the course of three dates) and four or five phone conversations, one of which was a call to tell me she needed to push one of those dates to another time. From strangers to grooving in less than seven hours.

Really?

Spanky once asked me what happened to courting? Where a man got to know a woman before they got to the tricky tricky, and I told her that somewhere we'd all reversed the game. A confluence of events conspired with fate and Starship. Men, aware of the sad reality of the "friend zone" and the reduced status that came with it sought to move up the endgame. Women, liberated and free to do as they pleased after ages of repression, decided that they didn't have time to waste, and indulged heartily. People got straight to the doings, before they found if they actually could stand one another.

I mean, let's be honest here, for the first date, you aren't yourself. You're an extra clean, slightly smoother version of the normal you. The second date is worst than first, because you weren't sure of what you getting into at first and now you're spiffing up with an agenda. By the third date you're just about a completely pretend human, synthesized to fit the other person ideal so you don't talk yourself out of the naked cha cha slide you figure is still on deck.. Which is why after a month or two, I'm guessing thirty to forty hours of real time interaction, it is only then that you realize that this person is, and always was, a less than worthy candidate, or worse...a psycho. And then you move on, find a new mate...and repeat.

So what is dating? Or as Spanky called it...courting?

It's taking the time to get to know someone. Really know someone. A month or two. Or five. I was appalled the first time I heard a woman say she had a minimum of ninety days before she'd go there with a guy. Unilateral decisions regarding co-physication have always been abhorrent to me, and still are, but.... I now see that she was expecting "courting". The getting to know someone before the getting to know someone, in the biblical sense. And that there was a strong possibility that she understood that love meant more than just quality time. That the quality time she was looking for was two souls sharing existence, liking each other, before touching each other.

Dating is more than movies and dinner. It's talking, about life, loves, hopes and dreams. Its when you see what the other person is really about, not the show they can put on. Figuring out if they're hanging around because of the way your hips look in them jeans, or because of how much money they think you have. And a lot of us don't do that because, as we like to phrase it, "we don't have the time." All we got is time. Time to that or be lonely and mad, because nothing comes prepackaged. And honestly, at times learning who someone really is can be painful, which I think is the deeper reason we don't want to fool with it. When you've taken the time and turns out they were just a good performer, it stinks.

As I've stated before, and will state again: The best couples are people who actually like each other. You know, friends. I also know most of the world does not agree with me. But then I am who I am, so go figure.

Let's see, counting up the number or euphemisms I used for sex. Eleven, man I'm good.

Barkeep, eleven shots of tequila. No, I'm not gonna drink them all myself. I need six volunteers.

[Update: I missed one. There are actually twelve. It was early...my bad]

So exactly what do you mean?

Ramblings Post #144
We all want to find the one. Okay, when you're young you want to find the two or the three depending on your personal appetites, but in the end you want to the find the one. And it will be great, everything will fall into place, your needs will be satisfied, and you can rest easy knowing they are there. So, you're looking for the one. But when you get down to it...what does that really mean?

Where we all want to be in the end.

(someplace warm, I mean. Tropical shirts and all that)

Lately I've been trying to figure out what is it women mean when they use the term "good black men". Do they mean money? Actions? Ideas? A combination? And it's different for every woman. It confounds me, primarily because despite my concerted effort to be something else, in essence I've always been the guy who ascribed to the imagined ideal of what a guy should be [ at least by standards set by the influential media of the late eighties - early nineties of my formative youth]. As a old high school friend put it even then, my problem is that "I actually gave a damn."

This comes up because of two videos I recently saw on Youtube, Black Marriage Negotiations and it's companion piece Black Dating in a Hip Hop Society. Both of which depict an "extreme" and at times hilarious perspective on our modern day relationships, and the influences it looks like we draw from to reach those conclusions. A number of people I know found it funny, a bunch of other folks I know are upset because the way they feel it degrades the black woman. It has been remarked that if the video upsets you, then it must hit a little too close to home. [ Note: I didn't say that, it was some chick on Youtube here.]

I know a lot of black women. A lot of independent black women. A lot of single independent black women.

I realized watching those oddly compelling videos is that a lot of younger women have no idea at all what a good black man looks like, or acts like, or does. And if you don't know what you're looking for, how can you expect to find it?

A confluence of events make this possible, some of which are the ascendancy of the single mother household, the rise of the "gangster mythology" in black media and the natural rebellion and the desire for excitement. I don't have the time (law school studies) or the energy for a complete analysis right now, and I don't want to lay all the blame on the women, men ARE responsible for their share of this mess. But I'm going to focus on the women's issues for the moment, these three in particular.

The ascendancy of the single mother household : Believe it or not, those of us with two parent households learned a lot simply by breathing. My parents worked hard to make sure we had what we needed, but the real key was the incidental life lessons we learned as their relationship made it though year after year. Children in this situation see a relationship - and the interdependence necessary to make it work. Somethings you can't tell a person, they have to witness. But young girls raised by single mothers see only independence. Which is great, until you realize you can't be independent in a couple..

With no constant father in their life, a lot of young women [and men] grow up not knowing how a real relationship works. The details and nuances that only come from seeing it happen, this informal life lesson, is lost to them.

The rise of the "gangster mythology" in black media: Snoop dog has been a gangsta for twenty years. Jay Z is in his forties talking about dealing that happened over a decade ago. Weezy can barely speak and resembles by his own admission, a goblin, commands media attention from jail. When I was young, we didn't idolize the criminals, not even in the black community. Now, because the music that permeates our neighborhoods and the accompanying videos dancing across our TVs glorify an unsupportable lifestyle of loose money, expensive cars and jewelry, this life of excess is now how we grade success, it's become what we aspire to, what we expect... not the houses our parents and grandparents struggled to get.

With our values skewed, the idea that we won't "settle" becomes a mockery. Determination to achieve excellence is laudable, even admirable, unless your excellence is an almost cartoon fantasy of an existence. And that's about where we are.

Natural rebellion and the desire for excitement: Everybody wants to hang out with the fun people. People who study long hours, follow instruction and obey authority are boring. And between fifteen to twenty one or so, the idea of future is a fantasy, not the constantly arriving destination it becomes with maturity. So young girls chose the exciting guys, the cute guys, the guys who superficially satisfy the fifteen year old mind. And I can't blame them one bit. This one I got no answer for. Nerds ain't sexy. Girls just don't dream of marrying an accountant or a claims adjuster. Even without the fantasy enhanced by the media, it just isn't going to happen. But...

We need to instill in our daughters the idea of marrying a doctor or lawyer, and raising a family. Going back to the rise of the single mother, too many daughters see independence as their key, but yearn for the opposite of family. Those girls need to be told: it's okay not to be independent.

[Full disclosure] Would I recognize a good black woman? In all probability, no. Not unless she looked like Melyssa Ford or some other model type. At least not in the instant tense. Attractiveness is what it is, you have to want to start the conversation, geez. I'm far, far, far from perfect, but since most of my relationships are built on trying to enhance relationships with women I already know and care about, a lot of this only mildly applies to me.

So I ask again. What is a good black man? I wrote a piece called "Who are the Serious Men" a little while ago [ I just realized I didn't post it here - so later, I promise], and I hope they qualify as good guys. But I said before and I'll say it again, if you're not sure what you're looking for, how do you know when you've found it?

Barkeep, I would like a Manhattan. I have no idea why.

Do you deserve....

Ramblings Post #139
I believe in a lot of things. I believe in love and warm summer afternoons spent with friends and a few libations. I believe in home cooked meals, holding hands and a comfortable pair of shoes. I believe that the force is real, fame is 95% luck, money doesn't buy happiness and most people are kind deep down. I also I figured out what not to believe in.

I've often told a girlbuddy [new term] when talking about affairs of the heart that they "deserve" someone good and who will care about them for them. But am I making a gross assumption? Do they really deserve someone good?

This idea comes about because, well, I read a lot at work, primarily because I don't have time anywhere else. And, the creative company internet blocking protocols mean whereas you can read Facebook and get Lindsey Lohan updates, other things termed "social media", games, sports or Armed Forces news are blocked, so half of being on the web is figuring out the logic of the idiots running the web server. Which is how I ended up on the website the Frisky. Don't ask. There, the advice lady had a letter from a woman who described herself as pretty, but in less than likable personality terms. Okay, evil terms. Then she indicated she knew that"she deserved someone good" in the end. The columnists first question, and rightly so, was a succinct: why the hell would you believe that?

Sadly, not all of us deserve someone good.

If ever there was a sense of entitlement that existed in the world, it's that we "deserve someone good" to be in our lives. Simply for breathing apparently. Think of all the unpleasant people you know, and ALL of them are waiting on that special person. They believe it. We believe it. I mean, we can be short sighted, selfish, mean, petty, materialistic and vindictive and still believe that someone "great" is just around the corner, and that they will overlook our shortcomings and it will all be magic! It is a subtle ego trip that that many of us indulge in, for far longer than we should. What are you really doing to deserve someone good?

Who among us hasn't said or thought "I deserve better" in the midst of distressed couplehood. When the reality, if you looked at it with a serious detachment, there was a whole other story. You were putting a robust 30% into the relationship (when you could find the time), or trying "win" the relationship or expecting someone to worship you. Everyone claims they're looking for a partner, but for a partner you have do something crazy like, sacrifice or occasionally put their needs ahead of your own.

The applicable saying is,"we judge others on their acts, but we grade ourselves on our intentions." They need to act, be great, and do those great things but we only need to mean to do them, and its the same thing. At least to us. I've already written about the wrong version of love most of us have come to believe should exist, the worship version, so I won't repeat it here. (apparently the worship thing will be another post, because I can't find it here)

But let me repeat this: We don't all deserve someone good.

I mean, if we're fucked up...and a lot of us are...does the good person deserve to have to deal with us and our drama?

So the question we need to ask ourselves, are we good enough to deserve someone good? What are our good tendencies? Are we really selfless, patient, kind and forgiving? Do we do good things because they need doing, not for a reward? Are we really good people, and not deluding ourselves? [ If you really want to find out, ask a close friend or somebody who hates you for a real opinion. You'll be surprised how close the two opinions are.]

I'd like to believe I deserve somebody good. I wonder if I'm right.

Barkeep, something to make the world a much friendly place. With ice and just a spritz of Sprite.

When a writer has no words...

Ramblings Post #136
Words. Sometimes all I have is words. Sometimes when I've got an opportunity, in the moment, when I missed my chance to act, sometimes all I've got are words. They can be eloquent and soothing, or cold and terrifying. Words more than anything show who we are, by our use of them, or lack thereof, by the way we hold them, read them, discard them. Words are. So what happens when you have no words?




Sometimes, I'm at a loss.

The first anniversary since Sporty lost her grandfather, a man she with whom she was very close, just went by. It promised to be an emotional day for her. She said she'd keep busy and asked for me to pray for her. I did.

You ever just want to hold someone until their pain goes away?

When you're half a country away, that's kinda hard. So, because sometimes all you have is words, I thought I would throw to together a short story, something with elements of fantasy with a theme of the love of family being eternal and dragons and all matter of foolishness. Something to read and take your mind away from it all for minute, but still give you a good feeling about family, only personalized. And just when I began thinking how I wanted to lay the whole thing out.... each page a chapter, five or so chapters, character creation, etc.... then I remembered I had a midterm to study for! And in my mind this was turning into a multi-hour project that might take all night.

So maybe installments? But that would still be writing and editing in one hour chunks all day.

Okay, I got realistic. I couldn't write an epic in a night and still get in my exam prep and class reading. Maybe words of comfort, so I started looking through the bible trying to find the right verses, figuring if I could find enough I would send them every few hours as encouragement. So I went to sleep, a few passages ready for the morning.

That morning I did my reading, and some clean up and then hit myself with a new question. What if she's coping well, and my words just muddy the waters? Well that would have been fine and dandy, now wouldn't it. Nothing worse than good intentions.

So I spent the day reading for class, working out my outlines and notes for upcoming classes, sneaking in football scores, making personal flashcards, going through previous classes power points and debating if I should or should not contact her. I didn't want to derail the coping train (she's a strong girl), but then I didn't want to call up and find out I should have spent the night writing, because I didn't have enough to send (she can be fragile too). There I was: thoughtful but helpless, clueless, and busy with my own shit.

In the end, I did nothing...and I feel like I abandoned her. But I don't do death well.

She asked me to pray for her and I did. I didn't want to intrude on a what is a highly personal moment. So why do I feel so bad?

Barkeep, a time machine and cold glass of water. Set it to 1975...

A Question for the Ages

Ramblings Post #130
There are many great questions in the world. Some are mysteries that will span the ages like how they really built the pyramids, or the the real purpose of Stonehenge, or why you never can quite get that last bit of milkshake. Some are simple questions that can be given direct answers like "So, Melyssa Ford, what is your phone number and are you free Friday?" Still there are more pressing questions, and ones I actually expect to get the answer to...

A lady friend of mine asked this question:

A straight female asks a straight male friend to hang out the following evening. They meet up to go to dinner, then they leave to go to their own homes, with no romance involved. Is that a date?

My opinion, as was the opinion of most of the people in our little circle, was no, it wasn't a date. We didn't go into specifics or the various permutations that could apply, but the general idea of two people who already know each other going out to eat didn't really qualify as meeting the fuzzy parameters of what we like to consider a "date". I think she was trying to clear something up. Now, I did qualify my answer by indicating a one time situation is one thing, a continuing affair needs to be discussed. Once it becomes regular, it helps if you're both on the same page.

My answer was based on the reality that Sporty and I went out a lot, and looking back I think that for a long time we were in different books, never mind not on the same page.

So, with the idea that my mind needs a break from this befuddlement that is work and the bafflement that is law school, what is exactly constitutes a date? I mean what are the parameters, not necessarily the activities, which can vary greatly. Can friends go on a date? Does a date have to involve romance? If you've gotten buck with them, are they still considered dates or something else? Let's just say, as a nice guy, I have vested interest in the answer.

One thing I can attest to is that both people have to agree that it is a date. I know it ruins some of the magic, but also eliminates surprise moments; like the one Shade and I had once where it turned out she was eating with a friend and I was on a date. Awkward. In my defense, it looked like a date: two people, food was served, I was paying, light conversation. But apparently I was incorrect. Which is odd, and odder still because I've been in similar situations with Shade that were actual dates, and similar situations with Schmoopy, Spanky and Spur which weren't.

So it's not the activity, it's the intent. Did both parties intend to go out on a date? And like most things, it's the intent that gets you.

There are, and always will be, women who use men as "entertainment centers": men who are great to foot the bill for a meal or a night in the club but that's it and in the reverse guys who don't call until 1am. I think here is where the breakdown occurs and where bad feelings originate. My initial answer included the qualifier for frequency, in that as a friend I'm happy to take a pal and eat a meal or two, catch up every once in a while. But a guy - and I'm referencing this to the guy since, well, I am one and he's usually the one with the misunderstanding - but a guy who takes the same person out for drinks and eats again and again and some more begins to develop concepts. Assumptions if you will. These concepts are not always shared by the other party.

His situation is less than optimal. I'm just sayin'

One night - some semi swank eatery in Atlanta...
His thoughts: Gee, we go out all the time, she really likes me. Maybe this going somewhere.
Her thoughts: He's so nice, its like going out with a girlfriend. He and Joe would make such a cute couple.

And when people have gotten buck a few times *cough*ladies *cough*, things can flow the other way as well.

One other night, someplace else dark and sweaty in Atlanta...
His thoughts: Man, after this I hope she don't catch no feelings.
Her thoughts: Do I suggest to him to move in now, or do I wait for him to ask me?

You see. Two people. Same place. Same conversation. And we have a miss....

Thinking about it, I'm suddenly even more baffled, as we all seem to know the game in college, but forgot it after graduation. Whole different post.

So a date is about what the parties think about the date. Circular logic I know but that appears to be the case. Now I've paid for a meal for a friend a thousand times and I'll probably pay for a thousand more. The answer here, if you weren't paying attention, is communication. Say something. Which is the key to most things.

Or you could end up sitting there drinking a fucking lemon drop watching her purse, the purse you gave her for her birthday, while she freak dances that guy she JUST met, you know... Dexter St. Jock, because, after all...you're like one of the girls. Go ahead. Laugh.

Barkeep, um, separate checks. And no, I really don't want to hear how sensitive Joe is.

Clearing something up

Relapse Post #7
Occasionally we have misunderstandings. You said this and meant this, they heard that and assumed something else entirely. Which is how I assume Lindsay Lohan stays famous. Tangent. Forget that. But in the end, we all need to step back occasionally and ask questions then give slow, measured responses, the fully explain the how's and the why's in measured even tones. They will then of course, assume that we think they must be slow. I also think this is why bars stay in business.

After editing my last post, then admitting it, my girl Sporty is now concerned that I'm censoring myself for her benefit, and that I'm not being true to myself. Me having an outlet for myself is very important to her.

My God that is suddenly an amazing thought.

You see, there is a difference, at least to me, between censoring myself and being intellectually and emotionally honest by editing.

What I did here was editing. Let me explain.

I wanted to say, to those readers interested ( which by my estimation is probably three people ) that I'm scared of the day Sporty will, well, what I'm going to call "the beginning of her journey out of my life". I call it that because I realize two things here. One, that in a way much like when she gets into sports, she focuses. I realize now she went to great lengths to hang out with me during that long spring of 2008, but I'm an observant cuss and even when it was us chillin', it was still them. Her commitment to something like this is, just like my ole buddy Spanky, is simply a beautiful thing. One does not hinder ... *sigh*...love. He is coming. At least I figure he is. I would like to be him, but let's just say those are long odds. He's gonna get the focus. So there's that. And two, I would have to go.

I just realized I'm going to have to explain #2. That's a little later.

Now, what I wrote that eventually ended upon the cutting room floor, because I realized it was something I didn't need, was an overly dramatic retelling of something I'd already written about on this very blog. And in my humble opinion, a fresh memory is usually better than a revisionist version, the guts of which incidentally was shaping up to include phrases along the lines of "sound of the end of the world", "dreams burning into nothing" and "ache in my tortured soul"...and other ridiculous phrases specifically designed to be seen by Sporty.

Stuck for a word, I read back through it and realized I only wrote it like that because I was trying to elicit a certain response, not because it was accurate. It read like I was trying to get back at her for something that wasn't her fault, a situation long past. She knows I was hurt, so why more? What I was doing was taking my dramatic license and driving all up on the curb, trying to clip somebody. I tried to create a mental picture of feeling hurt and suddenly I had the story in the middle of a horror movie happening in a disaster film. It wasn't true, even worse I was writing for reasons that confused me. I love her, why was trying to do this?

So I edited it. I pared it down to the what it was: a very emotionally painful day, so i could talk about the next day like it this in the future. Like the opening words of "Since I lost my baby", the birds were still singing, the sun was still shining... but I was hurt in that moment, but I'm willing to stand there until the next time it happens because, ...well love doesn't always have to give logical reasons, now does it? That's what I wanted to say.

The bare essence: I had a very bad day. And one day I'm gonna have another. And it hurts already.

And then instead of just editing it and moving on...I wrote about editing it, because that's being true to this blog. In the end I think I got a better post, a more honest post, without turning on the sad music and the drama machine.

It's not like she did it on purpose then, and its not like it will be on purpose in the future. It will simply happen. Life goes on, and these things happen. And I will not love her one bit less.

But then I'll have to go. Because me hanging around, still in love with her, would be creepy. And a little stalker-ish. And delusional. Add a couple of other words that just suggest uncomfortable to round that out. And in the interest of his peace of mind, and their eventual continued happiness, it would be just be better if I wandered off into the sunset. No need for the drama when one person can just move on. And I still would not love her one bit less.

Eventually, I'll learn to cope. It won't go away, I'll just be... able to deal with it.

I was confusing then, as it is confusing now, why the words even came out.

Um...I just realized the link to Luther is kinda the sad music. Well, at least I didn't turn on a drama machine.

Right now, I just hopes she keeps reading. It just feels right. My plan for the uncut funk as it were was just my way of ensuring I was sticking to her expectation of uncensored thought. Perhaps I didn't explain that right before.

The plan - No censorship. She keeps reading. World keeps spinning. Life gets better.

Barkeep. No...I am not so giddy or so sad that I'm going to buy a round for the house, are you crazy?

Frying Pan. Fire.

Out of the Blue Post
Did ever wish you could turn back the hands of time? Realize that sometimes the good deed ain't the best deed? Realize that maybe you really were better off being an ass? Think that every once and a while, you could just see the accident and keep driving? If you answered yes to just one of these questions...then I'm not alone. Read on.

Next time, I'll just not answer the phone.

Apparently neither Scoop nor Shade understand that people sleep at night. This morning at 1am or so, my phone starts buzzing and my mind immediately goes to the worst. Family? Sporty? Spam in my inbox?

But it's Scoop. And she's apparently taken the time to write me a little letter explaining her side of the current conflict with her former friend Shade. It's a rather long writing, at least on a BBerry it is, and at 1am, with the attached writings takes some scrolling. What it said I'm not sure, because I didnt' read it. I might, but at 1am with nobody dead or pregnant, I just didn't take the issue as as especially pressing.

You see, the only real issue now is extrication. Of me. From this disagreement.

I've talked to one about it, and now I'm gonna talk to the other one. With any luck, I will convince both of them I am wholly uninterested in the details, or even the consequences any longer. I mean, I hate to see people once so close now at odds, but in reality, if they never speak to one another again, it wouldn't be the end of my world. They're both good people at heart, who mean well towards one another, but I'm guessing the words are coming out wrong.

I hope.

I'm promising myself I'm not going to try to fix this. I'm promising myself that I'm not picking sides. I'm hoping that I can get out of this still able to talk to both of them.

Barkeep. Man, if I pull this off...

Are you happy?

Ramblings Post #121
Sometimes life doesn't work out the way you figured. You get exactly what you asked for, only to find out it doesn't work quite the way you thought it did. That candy bar you wanted has Brazilian nuts. Your dream car doesn't have manual transmission option. That tall fine sister in the short skirt is an idiot. So you gotta make the call. Is that piece I'm giving up really that important? And for the record, she wasn't all that fine.



Spanky hit me up.

Okay, I hadn't hollered at Spanky in a month. She's in "relationship mode" which for her usually involves an all consuming faithfulness to the object of her affection. She cooks, cleans, calls, cuddles and will hop on one leg and bark like a dog - a big dog - if you ask. Her level of commitment is complete. It's actually a beautiful thing to watch.

Provided the guy deserves it. Usually they don't, in my opinion, but then I'm not doing the choosing. Eventually she figures that out too, but it takes a while.

So, Spanky hit me up. Which means something is wrong. As I've related earlier, she can complete the rotation from strong career woman striding the earth with purpose to needy self conscious little girl and back again faster than you can run the hundred. And on more than one occasion I've been her cheerleader, life coach, cat wrangler, confidant, spiritual adviser, psychiatrist, and drinking buddy, so it's understandable. She called this time to tell me she almost broke it off last night with her current beau.

So I asked why. Touch my bass? She just noticed he has a artificial leg? She discovered he's a Young Republican?

Turns out he something to the effect of : I'm too old for a girlfriend, what I really need is a best friend. And I know you're not going anywhere, so just f-ing deal with it.

So I started telling her about my diet.

Like I was getting into the middle of that mess? Okay, I did ask her the only question I ever really ask anyone at at moment like this: are you happy with that? Not can you get by, or does that work for you, there are a lot of things you can work with that make you miserable. Are you happy? There are so many other aspects to life which can throw you, so a relationship should be your bastion, it needs to make you feel better, even if only in little increments. The Pros have to outweigh the Cons or you're just wasting time.

You can do bad by yourself.

But then she said she's not going anywhere. That's what she said. I checked her on it a few times. So it must be better. Or she's whipped.

Meh.

We'll see.

Barkeep...let me get a Screaming Viking. Only lightly bruise the cucumber, please...

Fighting out of the Blue Corner....

Ramblings Post #116
Sometimes people disagree. Tense words are said. Emotions are rubbed raw. Opinions turn into weapons and before long somebody's underwear is on fire and you have to pull forks out of the ceiling. Or so I've heard. Those things don't happen to me. I have always been the cool one. The patient one. The level headed one. I'm the one you call so the the cops don't HAVE to take you to jail (don't laugh, it has happened). And I sit quietly and listen to people's issues, ask a few questions and before long most folks have solved the problem themselves, once the emotions have drained away. This is not one of those stories...


Scoop and Shade are battling. Again. Again.

When I first met these two chicks they were closer than sisters. I don't think I ever saw one without the other. They traded clothes, bought matching outfits (they claim) and hung out in that elite round of people who knew just about every spot in Atlanta in which good time could be had and libations were available. They were part of my circle and there were things about each that made them both cool to hang out with and amazing to watch. They had a crazy fun vibe.

Then Shade went to medical school. And Scoop got married. And somewhere along the line something hit a snag, the gloves came off and they started these little ...disagreements? Brawls? I think they were closer to the those domestic disputes, and resembled in many aspects a couple, fighting and then getting back together again and again. You know, this month they're talking, the next month they aren't etc, and so on. I have been lucky in that I haven't had to pick sides and they are both still friends of mine.

Now, like an old couple who know each others weak points a little too well, it seems like they're re-enacting a bootleg version of the War of the Roses.

As reported earlier in these writings, Shade took some time off from her residency (which is less like Scrubs and more like say... Saw, than you would imagine) to fly down and see Scoop for her birthday, and to help comfort her through this first year of grief from losing her husband. But the wrong things were mentioned, rehashed, brought up, whatever... for the umpteenth time, a "disagreement" ensued and so she called me for a spot of relief. As the unofficial cut man in her corner, I counseled her that she needed to exhibit patience, charity, kindness and more patience. All moments of rough were to be met with displays of sisterly affection. Light and healing would reign in the House of Scoop. And as duly reported earlier, that trip did not go well. And by "did not go well" I mean in the sense that it was an unmitigated disaster.

I was not, and don't wan to be privy to the details.

So when my phone started buzzing one morning at 4am, I almost relived to find it was Shade venting to me about her and Scoop's latest shenanigans instead of a call from Texas with an emergency.

Apparently somewhere in the virtual darkness off in the distance, text message bombs were being tossed as quickly as fingers could dance across phone sized keyboards. And Shade assumes I turn my phone off when I go to sleep ( I don’t) so what was supposed to be a soap opera morning was a tense few moments in the early am. And well I guess it was venting, or something along those lines. And I'm not sure if there is a comment I can give. Or even want to give. Well, I didn't then, I went back to sleep.

Those pesky messages were still in my phone when I woke up. So, now I have a dilemma. What is the best way to just bow gracefully out of this conflict? I mean technically, I only have Shade's side of the story, so I don't really know all the facts. Man, law school comes out of you in everything doesn't it. I will not be choosing sides here. This is clearly no win, at least for me.

I talked to Shade later that day, and it seems like the friendship might be over, which is kinda sad. I've never really thought of friendships as being over, just on hold. My girl Spur once told me that people come into your life "for a reason, a season, or a lifetime." It had been so long, they'd been through so much, I knew this was a lifetime friendship.

But a lifetime ain't over. Yet.

Barkeep. No, I ain't even buying them ladies a drink, get me a Bud light in a plastic cup. But leave the bottle.

It's going away to a farm....

Ramblings Post #82
All things considered, I rather be Detroit. Which considering the state of Detroit is a pretty bad thing to say. Life is as it always was, fraught with uncertainty and shaded with doubt. Sometimes I wish the world really did come with a rewind button. Or a least a pause.

I'm about to go back to all classical music. I'm currently trying music "of the world"...something upbeat but due to my lack of languages I don't quite understand the words. It has a certain soothing to it that makes me think of running away from it all.

I believe I have let my imagination run wild again.

Okay, I've spent to last two or three months perhaps deluding myself that that Sporty and I just might end up together. And if you aren't aware, I've got a very vivid imagination. Like Avatar detail vivid. Occasionally Hustler vivid. In HD with surround sound vivid. Just because we talk all the time lately and I send bits of encouragement, job listings she might have missed in Atlanta and in Texas and other "helpful" bits of help. And because I don't ask direct questions where my emotions are involved - really old bad habit - I'm going to end up the lonely old man at the end of the street whose house has a thousand books in it and an old photo in a frame of love that only existed in a dream.

I suddenly don't really see the point of going to law school.

Which is kinda fucked up when you consider how far in the hole I've put myself to get here. What did that mean you might ask? Well, I've never really worked with myself in mind for the future, I need, for lack of a better term, a muse. She was that. (Even when she moved to Texas to marry the other guy...no, this makes absolutely no sense...I know, deal with it.)

I'm a fairly simple guy. I like what I like. And I like Sporty. A lot. She is cute, funny, emotionally strong, intellectually curious in real life and in my mind I have envisioned her....well, that's what got me in the mental mess in the first place, so strike that. But the ethos is "know thyself and to thine own self be true"...and I know that as long as know her, which is looking like a long long time, I'm not really gonna be interested in anyone else.

Which is kinda even more messed up, when you consider I'm such a nice guy, I don't have it in me to just use somebody. So I'm kinda stuck.

I'm getting too old for this shit.

Barkeep. Whatever. It won't matter. Just make sure it's cold.

Sometime it rains

Ramblings Post #81
Sometimes it rains. That was the title of little story I sent my friend today when she got some bad news. Because sometimes it rains, the wind howling and the cold and damp get into your bones and all you want to do is crawl under the covers and hide. Yes, sometimes it rains, but always remember: It never rains forever.


This has been a week that started off so good, but ended up so...well, it's kinda like the karma that was 2009 hasn't washed off yet. That stink of not quite getting it is still with me.

My career in "chicken plucking" that I had planned to end sometime early this year as I transitioned into law just got the "hold up for second" signal, along with about half a million other plans. Sometimes it rains. At my current employ I enjoy a bit of seniority and other respects, but I'm ready to give all that up for something more mentally challenging and a better future...even with a modest pay cut.

Then Sporty hit me with the news she didn't get the job she had already got. Yeah, read it again because I wrote it right. Technicality. Which kinda shocked me, even though I was expecting it. I just knew something was taking too long. And if it hit me, I think it shell shocked her. She tough, but inside she's ...well, inside she isn't as tough. I wrote her encouragements a off and on all day, text - email (that sometimes it rains thing) - chat and she hasn't responded since noon. I'm about to call her because I'm a little worried.

Sometimes it hurts a little bit when I realize I can only do so much to help her. But I'm between a rock and hard place myself and taking another pay cut, when I am already taking a pay cut where Iam just to go to school, will put me a position to help her even less. Yes, that means what you think it means, but only in emergencies. If you can't do it for those you love, I mean really.

On a good note, my pushups are going well. That said, tonight I will probably hurt my wrist.

That say that just because you made the plan, that's not always how things go. I've known that for years [see my life in toto], but sometimes knowing she's in these "less than stellar" times hurts in ways... well, it just hurts. Real, real bad.

Barkeep...a tall glass of kool-aid and a little quiet.

The Holiday Season amidst

Ramblings Post #78
Life is like a cookie. Or like a cheese log. Or like an oyster. Or a box of chocolates. Or maybe even like a ice cream sundae with caramel and whipped creme. Well, not really, life is like life...and that about sums it up. There you go, reality for Christmas. And I didn't even wrap it.

I've calculated that over the years, since I've been working at my present job, I've not used upwards of 90 vacation days allotted to me, out of the possible around 120 or so I should have had. To put that in context, if the days rolled over - which they do not - and took them all starting in January, I would have to come back to work until the second week in May. It maybe for this reason, people think of me an a workaholic. Or at least Sporty used to.

These holidays are no different. The, for lack of a better term, gentleman who fills in for me when I'm out is off and so I'm stuck. In the office, watching the hours flit by I wonder how soon it will be before my brain turns to mush. They've unblocked Youtube, so when it gets really boring I watch British comedies I would much rather buy on DVD, but that they don't sell in this country. Right now it's Hyperdrive with Nick Frost of Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz. It's Star Trek if the Kirk were an idiot, Spock an psychopath, and Star Fleet were run like a real government agency. Really a good show.


The holidays went well. Family is all well, and life is well, lifing right along.

My time with Sporty was short, but lovely. Sunday, my RP hollers at me that right after Christmas he's having a Sunday drop in, a little food, a little drink and some folks through to watch the Falcons game...or rather, let the Falcons game play in the background while we play cards (spades, bid whist, whatever). A little earlier that morning however, Sporty hit me that we'd get together as soon as she is out of church, so I'm planning on doing two great things - seeing her AND having brunch, my favorite meal. But she hasn't hit me by eleven, so I figure I'll run over and show my face at my RPs, and then roll out to see her when she calls.

The drop in doesn't drop, but rather avalanches. People just keep showing up, and instead of the 10 or so folks I thought would be dropping through, it's 35 or so people. But I'm a romantic (or sucker, your call) and although there are plenty of women there, I hit up Sporty around 2pm and tell her to "remind the Reverend that she is going to church again next week, so he doesn't have to explain the whole God thing today". I thought it was funny.

So she invites me over to where she is right then. And in the midst of a party, a nice little set where the ratio of men to woman is heavy in my favor and everyone is festive...I get my coat and walk out the door.

Life is about Priorities.

Over there me and her talked and talked and hung out and watched the game and got accosted by small child and, well at least for me, basked in the personal warmth of seeing someone you wanted to see. She liked to little book I bought her for Christmas, and the little book that I made and it was as an enjoyable a two hours as I've ever spent. As we hugged in the street saying our good byes it was like we didn't want to let go. And she told me love me...or rather she shouted she loved me from the curb as I got into my car, as though she'd forgot to say it and was making sure to get it in. I shouted it back. We're out of sync...but apparently both want to get back. So it was a Merry Christmas.

I rolled back out to my RPs spot where the party was still in full swing. A head or two missed me, but most hadn't realized I'd slipped out. Spanky noticed and because she didn't know where I'd been, Serve was non-committal (for the record, Serve does not like even the idea of Sporty). Then the day just kept getting better, as the Cowboys beat the dogsnot out of the Redskins! Oh, how I need the Cowboys to end up with a No. 2 seed to end the hate, er...piss off the Cowboy haters. *insert snide cackle here*

Soon school will start again - one of my professors was nice enough to send the reading assignment the day before Christmas Eve - and work will continue as, well, work has a tendency to do. It's the end of the year, start of a new decade, a start of new...something.

By the way, I'm not really a workaholic, I'm quite the hedonist. Well, maybe I used to be quite the hedonist, but I'm hedonism semi-retirement. Or so I like to think. Maybe. But that's not important right now.

Barkeep, that really was rambling...wow. Something strong, I stop drinking on Thursday and I need to get my last licks in!

A Quick Restaurant Review - The Social House

When I was college quite a while ago, I had a professor make a statement that at the time was probably true: That only black people ate at black restaurants. It was sociological statement that at the time may have been true, but does not hold water today. That or all those "other" folks in there had no idea it was a black owned place.

Saturday, my lil buddy Schmoopy and I slid into the Social House to check out the board of fare. She'd hit me Friday talking about she wanted to hang out for second, but she was broke and it was "her turn" to pay. She and I have known each other for eight years, worked together at two different firms, and at one point she asked me to marry her and for some reason she thinks $30 or $40 bucks will stand between us and a hang out. I said I'd pay and told her to bring her tail on.

The spot is off Howell Mill, which is and is not an odd place for a restaurant of this type, considering the unusually abrupt meeting of industrial and residential that occurs in the area. Then you turn a corner and you see where the clientele is coming from. The restaurant is literally is in a old house with a dark brown stucco outer coat, and it looks like they merely ripped out the walls, painted everything and stuck in the tables. In fact one of the tables is a regular dining room table for eight or ten, that accommodates smaller couples and foursomes by seating them at the extreme ends of the table. Genius.

We settled in and it was then I realized it was a black owned place. The service isnt' exactly lighting fast. After a quick review of the menu, which looks interesting, Schmoopy got the Salmon with Poached Eggs and I opted for Country Fried Steak Biscuits and scrambled eggs. As usual, she didn't like the OJ, which I believe for her needs to be fresh squeezed. But that's a personal thing. The sweet tea, for those keeping score, actually tasted a bit salty?

Since service was ...well, less than quick....we had a good chance to catch up. And it turns out this week Schmoopy found out about "body issues". In that other people have them. Although she is probably a size 2 or below (and has been trying to lose weight forever), the idea that someone might not be comfortable with how their body looks appears to be a new idea for her. One of her girls didn't want to take a cruise because of how she'd look in a swimsuit, and my girl was a little confused. Looking through someone else's eyes is always a little difficult, but I think she'll get it. I also think most women standing next to Schmoopy feel a little self conscious. The rest of the convo was our usual relationship catch up (me:none - her:on break) and the other sundry items that people who need just a bit more real money talk about: Bills, job, moving, life, etc...

Then the food came. Let me say this: the decor was very nice. Note, the menu said it was Country Fried Steak Biscuits, not country fried steak and biscuits. I didn't notice this until the plate hit the table. The country fried steak could have been more country, the eggs were, and I found about yet another way to classify something as a hash brown. It was different. And I found out what a caper is, as my buddy's salmon came with them.

Country Fried Steak Biscuits and Eggs
From the Social House

How do you know someone is your buddy? When they reach onto your plate for food and you don't even blink an eye. She never did tell me how the piece of steak tasted.

So we ate, and it was okay. And then we went cheap folk shopping because neither of us had anything else to do until 5pm. Cheap folk shopping means you look at a whole lot of things you MIGHT buy. Later. When you got some money.

So Social House, sister of Rare and Harlem Bar, was okay. Nice decor, fast seating, less than quick service, food on a different level...and salty sweet tea. Go figure.

The Fifth of July

Ramblings Post #42
As of late, the great holidays in which I had vested so much attention, Valentine's, Memorial Day, Cinco De Mayo, summer, the 4th of July, have all had to take a backseat to the what I'm hoping is my future. But with the recent spate of celebrity demise, I begin to wonder if I'm not wasting time, and that the future I'm looking forward to, I've already passed. Or I'm just lonely. One or the other.

My long lost buddy Shade called for the fourth. She's in DC, finally having moved into the condo of her dreams - walking distance to work, swanky, pool on the roof, other swanky stuff, etc - and now she's about to give up on men. Again.

What seems to be passing for attractive. Dare I say...trifling?

Her quick assessment was that all the men she meets are trifling. Which was bad assessment, because after she explained to me, one was just plain a liar. The rest were as she put, less than worthy with stood up dates with no call and the like. Yes, she'd come into contact with a number of trifling men, I have to admit. Including the one determined to stay out of the friend zone. We never got around to what the alternative would be, but since she rarely makes my dreams come true - it will probably just be a dating sabbatical for a while.

I spent the holiday in the books otherwise. I have two finals in the next ten days and I intend to ace them both. Then apparently have to go see family, as my father was quick to mention family reunions when i spoke to them as well. But already got a something for that first weekend. So I got that going for me.

Sporty is still in town, but she has tons of other friends here and as much as I would like to monopolize her time, or at least keep bugging her, I'm not. I'm nice guy. And you see where I am right?

She told me some things at dinner on Thursday that made my first free Friday in a while into a series of naps - up at 10am, study, nap at 1pm, wake at 5pm, study, nap at 8pm, wake at 11pm, waste time - which is a sure sign of either disease or depression. And my doctor just checked me over, so I'm betting on depression. It gnaws away at you when you can't help someone you care about, and I'm a little short in what Sporty needs right now.

So Friday was sleepy, Saturday was slow except for a few phone calls (and Steve McNair apparently getting clipped by the other woman), Sunday was slower with more studying and less thinking.

A famous comedian, Jerry Clower, once asked the philosophical question:"Where will you be when you get where you're going?" It may not be the most highbrow way to ask an existential question, but it does the job.

Where will I be when I get where I'm going?

Barkeep. Ice tea. Sweet. No lemon.

New Lessons from the Obama Presidency

Internet Fodder Post #3
You ever see something on the internet while you're just browsing and have something to say about it, but realize that you don't have the vast forum that whoever you read has, so that you can put your word to the people's ear in such a like fashion? Well, I do. But I do have a forum, maybe not as vast or as neatly kept, and I'm going to spout off like the last person. Well, maybe not spout off, but at least say something....

The internet site theRoot.com has an interesting article on what Single Women could learn from Michelle Obama, asking the question would your average black woman today have even considered dating a guy who was, at that time, a broke big eared community organizer with a funny name.

Who knew? I mean..really?

It was as though they had unleashed the lions at the Roman Colosseum the comments were so thick with criticism.

"it's so sad to see silly black women like the author of this pathetic piece of so-called writing and, predictably, black men telling black women how flawed we are what we need to do to be appealing to black men, blah blah blah."

"Nonetheless, it seems that the most generous and underappreciated of all women are still getting blamed for the social ills of the world..."

"He was not hostile to black women, or color-struck. If he was raised by blacks, he'd share the contempt they all have for black women."

And that's just a quick sample from ten on the first page of the comments when I read (there were a lot reposts. People wanted to make sure they got heard!). The comments were so rife with defensiveness and animosity to the concept that maybe, just maybe, the black woman might be some of the cause of her own problems, that it struck me there might be a real problem. Logic says if the there is an issue and the only common denominator is you, then you must be the problem. Response after response asked why should the woman lower her standards instead of the man meeting those standards? Obviously something was wrong with the man, not the woman. And it continued...

The funnier part of this, in my opinion, is the article wasn't about lowering standards. The article as written was about even after a guy has met the basic standards of education, employment and some social standing, Type A women found the new hurdles and other grounds to reject him, from his lack of aggressive nature, or his lack of an appropriate car, or that he might like Star Trek, or his height, or that he drank hot chocolate instead of coffee.

The standard that the author, herself a Type A personality woman of color, had asked her sisters to reconsider was the grading between the A+ and B+. The responses she got seemed to cover the anger of the idea of giving everyone a passing grade for showing up. It's though they have an argument on deck, ready for the issue. People, reading is fundamental.

One of the reasons I'm on my health kick is the realization that although I have a sparkling wit and charming personality, a refined palate and adventurous soul, a generous and loving nature, am degreed, employed and attempting to better myself with a graduate education, as well as being unfailingly modest (ha!), it turns out all that means a lot less if you don't have six pack abs or good bit of personal "funding."

There I said it.

So the question isn't who is right and who is wrong in the this dance of the sexes. Both sides are flawed to some degree, and should admit it. And after that we all need to take the time to re-assess who we are and what we really do bring to the table. Remember the old proverb: You cannot reward a man with that which he does not value.

And yes, I'm sorry ladies, it means you might have to date the brother with the ashy toes. Who knows, he might be worth keeping a little bottle of lotion in your purse.

Barkeep...whatever, I'm tired of arguing this point.