Who is you?

Who are you? 

Or rather, who am I...to me? We know the question of how we are seen by others is one rife with the idea of multiple right answers, as how you're seen depends on where you are in your life, your relationship to the observer and a half dozen other factors. You're not the same person to your life mate as you are to your old college roommate. One of them has to hide the sweets and the other is projecting from a version of you that they haven't seen in more than twenty years. No, the real question is who are you to yourself? Not the bathroom mirror you who can sing or the kitchen you whose recipes are word for word back of the box perfect, but the real you. And more importantly, who is that person...to you? 

It said you'll only going to spend your whole life with one person...YOURSELF. (Yes, very cliche.) So it is suggested that you learn to like that person. Or at least figure out how to get along. Because that person, yourself, is going to be the person who supports you, who makes sure that you get what you need, that hopefully loves you. So it's important that you know who that person really is. And not the version you show the job, or the version you show social media, or your mate, or friends. The real you. Who are they? 

That's where it gets tricky. Because part of knowing who you are to yourself is taking the time in the quiet to listen to yourself and hear what you have to say to you. In an honest and forthright fashion because lying to yourself is a special kind of silly. Tell yourself the unvarnished truth, and what hopefully will happen is you'll discover why you are. Yes, this sounds like therapy doesn't it. But, once you know the why of you, then you can start the process of becoming the intentional you and not a you that is just the product of your experiences. 

The rough part is that some of us know what we're going to say to ourselves and we're pretty sure we're not going to like it. Where we have to admit things to ourselves and deal with it. The ugly side. The unpleasant things. Our personal truths that we see as flawed. They may or may not be but we see them this way. This by the way is why far too many of us NEED our distractions - music, television, trips, going out, anything for something to do. Just like we avoid difficult conversations with other people instead of sitting with ourselves and listening we turn on some music or clean the house. For the third time this week. No, it's not that damn dusty. You just don't want to have that conversation.

Every year I implore people to do something, anything, but just be active because life is too short. This year I'm asking you sit down, with no music or television, no distractions and just listen to your own thoughts. Discover who you are. Listen to you. And try to understand who you really are, on your own terms, away from career and family, away from outside expectations and other influences. In an effort that I hope will set you on the path to becoming a very intentional version of yourself. Whatever that means to you (see what I did there?). Because life is too short to not understand who you are, to like who you are, to love who you are. 

So, who are you? 

The Personal Festival

Ramblings Post #210
If you're gonna be a bear, then be a grizzly. That line is from some movie of my youth. I want to say Cannonball Run for some reason. Anyway, what it means is that if you're going to do something, then be the best you can be. Which isn't that much more difficult to say, now that I think about it, but lacks the folksy wisdom feel of the grizzly thing. All that said, I know a lot of grizzlies.

Girlfriends - The successful black woman's ideal

Most of my personal dealings are with a specific sub-set of black women - financially independent, childless, early 30's to mid 40's and out doing the damn thing. The number of women on my Facebook page whose daily updates include gym check-in's, marathon finishes, photos from trips abroad, career sucesses, stories of their charity work and etc., must surely be above average. And living this life means they don't have simple birthday parties - they have Birthday Festivals.

What is a Birthday Festival you ask? It's just like it sounds, a festival. They usually have four or five parts over three or four days. It usually involves multiple group activities, various locations, clubbing, and lots of drinking. One I remember had it's first night start with a "Wine and Paint Hangout", where we would all go to a group painting lesson (Learning how to paint say, a still life wine bottle) while sipping the aforementioned wine. Another I one I was invited to, but didn't attend, started with a Saturday morning 5k "fun" run for some charity before heading into the north Georgia mountains for white water rafting. These festivals sometimes include T-shirts, commemorative CDs and gift bags. This all comes to mind because I just finished Serve's Birthday Festival. 

The Festival of Serve started with a Friday night of Indian Food at Bombay Cafe and then smoking hookahs at Therapy Coffee Bar. Dinner at an Indian restaurant seems to both lack and have a certain something about it in group situations. I think due to the size of our party, the service was more personable - the belly dancer kept circling the table - but the it all lacked a certain intimacy. But that may have been because this was the first Indian spot I'd been to that wasn't half empty. Therapy Coffee Bar, on the other hand, was like finding a revelation in a closet, as the tiny spot had a live jazz trio and served a mean Old Fashion. I'm not too crazy about hookahs, but when in Rome...eh? the whole thing felt like a cool scene from a late 80's urban romance movie. Now, there was a final part of the evening that I did not attend, but from which I did get calls when people were headed home at 3am.

The festival resumed Saturday at Senor Patron, a Mexican grille in midtown. Well, that's when I rejoined, there may have been a day activity, but I had "thangs" to do. The Mexican food was supposed to be the start of a bar crawl, something I swore I had outgrown since I realized that I was way too old to be even drinking and walking any distance more than to the bathroom. I wasn't even going but Spanky begged me to come because she didn't want to be the only one to leave early and get talked about later.  However because this is a Fest- tee -vaal, the "surprise" group activity was a Midtown Scavenger Hunt. The women on my team were very competitive, but this was surprisingly fun, although I'm certain that various parts of this whole thing weren't fully thought through. Finding people to do the Mission Impossible theme, or one armed push ups, or even gathering napkins for bonus points wasn't that hard. In fact once we showed the list of items to strangers they were oddly eager to help out. No, it was the shots and drinks. At every location. By the time we were done (my team took second place), we'd "participated so throughly" it was no longer cold out.

The finale was Sunday at the Giants-Falcon game. And although me and Serve go back a decade, I wasn't about to kick out for a ticket to watch two teams I only care about in passing. There may have been something after that, but by then I was in the wind and trying to get my study vibe back on track.

I have a feeling in 2015, Serve's Festival will involve costumes.

I'm not sure what the deal with the Birthday Festival is. Maybe it's a need to get it all in while you can, as a lot of these single women are still planning on getting married and  becoming mothers at some point. Or maybe it's just a "why not go all out" attitude, that got and flaunt thang. Or an excuse to do something different with their friends while folks are in a good time mood. Or, and hope this isn't it, it'a an ego trip because they think that they're just that awesome and everybody should want to go all out to celebrate them. 

In any case I'm certain a Festival or three is around the corner. They do have their moments.

Barkeep. Water. Tall glass. It's holiday season, and all this drinking ain't even cool.

Thinking about odd things...

Ramblings Post #38
I started realizing I was old when home renovation magazines became as interesting as photos that formerly had held my attention since hormones hit when I was thirteen. Um, wait check that...since I was four or five. I suddenly remembered this thing I used to do with underwear catalogs. Don't get me wrong, I'm still interested in the same ole same ole...but let's just say I've added some levels of complexity. Damned maturity.

How do you know you're too old and too lonely?

When as a guy, you start to imagine getting married like it's a good thing.

Yes, I will admit, I have imagined my own nuptials, and no the bride is not in a mini-skirt, and no it does not take place in a bar with hot wings served between vows nor is the wedding gown formfitting around bride's ass....well, not obviously. It's not like I've planned anything elaborate, or even given the details any thought (and from my peoples that is married, I understand there are lots and lots of details), but I do know how I would like to feel. And yes, I've mentally put a person or two in that slot to see how it would work.


But I'm an old fashioned guy. I only plan to do it once, so the woman needs to be special. I'm not one for the apparently modern trend of "taking a shot" that seems to permeate our current national psyche regarding matrimony and keeps divorce lawyers driving Porsches. That and I realize now that I really want her to be my friend as much as a lover, as mathematically, no matter how much nudity I intend or wish, we'll still more than likely spend more time together with our clothes on than with them off. Thus, I'll need to like her, to talk to her, to be with her. And believe it or not, that liking doesn't always happen when you love someone (see my earlier comment involving divorce lawyers).

A woman friend of mine once told me that "there is the person you like, the person you love, and the person you lust after. And rarely do ever find them in the same person."

But as of late however, in my mind marriage is coming across more like the scene in the movie the Hangover, where I wake up missing a tooth, only the girl is still there and I'm not too sure she speaks English. Use your imagination.

Sad.

As I've said before, it's becoming clear to me that despite the charm, the wit, compassion, generosity, the style and beguiling nature that fate has blessed me with, to the modern black woman that only seems to count if it comes with a six pack and six figures. Both of which I am currently lacking. And even as the women of this modern age demand that men learn to love them no matter their size...they find no irony is turning the tables and requesting only man candy.

If I was studying to be a shaman holy man online...

In any case, I find it an odd thing to think about. I'm fairly certain I'm not the first man to admit this. Am I? I would like to think I shows a certain maturity and grace, that comes from being able to admit I have emotions other than sports anger, hungry, sex, gambling angry, dirty joke humor and filthy sex.

But looking at where I am now...and where I would like to be in five years...this mental construct might might the only wedding I get.

Do you have to be Jewish to have a Jewish Wedding? I'm just asking.

Barkeep...long flute of the champagne. Make it Korbel.

A House is not a Home

Ramblings Post #29
Sometimes you want to feel a certain way. You know, a feeling of how things are supposed to be. Like eating off of china instead of paper plates, or not being comfortable leaving the house until you've got your face on, or until you've had that first cup of coffee. Sometimes, and it's not always large or significant to anyone but you...you just need certain things, certain ways.

How is a house supposed to feel?

My house feels like an over sized apartment. Due to financial constraints and an unwillingness to incur unnecessary debt, my house is basically the furniture from my former apartment plus appliances, spread out. I believe since I've moved in my major purchases have consisted of a step ladder and a picture frame. I only have a decent sized TV because Spanky went flat screen and thoughtfully left,er...donated her old TV to the cause. And since I've decide to go to graduate school, a modern decor makeover doesn't seem to be forthcoming anytime soon.

Which is kinda depressing when you consider how old I am.

Thus my house feels more like a place I'm staying as opposed to say, my house...which still mentally invokes my mother's home in the Cackalack, with it's warm and homey touches that come from just living there. It's my house, I pay the mortgage but I don't feel like a live there. I feel like it's temporary. Which is fucked up considering the housing market and the sad reality that I'm gonna be the a while (barring lottery windfall or lighting strike). I need to stop thinking about the other house I shoulda bought.

When I first moved in I purchased the interior design books: Metropolitan Home, Renovation Style, Home and Architectural Digest and the like, hoping to get some idea of what I wanted. And every week passes and my house continues to resemble a college kids apartment. It is singularly frustrating. You know how it is, every time you get a little bit ahead, something pops up...transmission on the car, dental work, something else...and bang you're eating popcorn on that couch one more Tuesday night.

They say you never grow up to your parents, and although my parents have visited, they seem content with it. Which is hella disconcerting. I'm fast approaching middle age, and since a man's home is his castle, I figured they would at least be on me about making some upgrades. But no, they seem fine with it's decor about fifteen years to young for me.

So I'm a little ashamed to have folks over because of where it is and what is in it...which is the whole of the thing. True my friends "understand"...but I'm uncomfortable with how it looks most of the time, its not them. Call it ego. I'm not looking for flashy, but at least up to standard, ya know. I kinda wish I was brought up like apparently everyone else and only cared if my rims was tight.

I so do not want to go into debt behind this. I may have no choice for my own sanity.

Barkeep. Would you be interested in selling those loungers by the window...cheap.

Separate but Together

Internet Fodder post #1
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....

Should Married Couples have separate bedrooms?

I was gazing over one of the many chat rooms found on the internet, browsing for interesting reading, and found this question. Should a married couple have his and her bedrooms? Initially it seemed like such a strange concept, but then I started reading the responses.

Some of them were interesting - such as the person who gets hot very quickly and doesn't like covers, or is very sensitive to the touch of another. The espoused on the need for a private space, and how it would foster a calm in the relationship, as well as better health and better rest. And I was like wow, I never thought of it that way. These people have articulated some very rational and well thought out reasons for how they feel. I need to think about this.

So I slept it on it.

You ever have a conversation with someone and halfway through you realize they're missing a chapter or two in the story? That they don't quite get something that should have been obvious? You know, those people. Well I thought about it, and to me it sounds like more of the rife selfishness that currently infects our society.

Since when is marriage all about the individual?

Marriage by it's very construction is a compromise. Two people coming together and functioning as a team. And you grow and adjust, taking into account the other person's likes and dislikes, anxieties and comforts, pleasures and pains . And you share a bed. Sharing a bed is one of the more important aspects of marriage, as it encourages a non-sexual intimacy; those moments of closeness that allow you really know someone. Some marriage counselors I read even suggested queen sized beds as opposed to king sized to encourage contact and interaction.

A relationship with separate bedrooms is really nothing more than roommates who sleep together.

A friend of mine once confessed to me that she was scared of losing herself, her identity, in a relationship. Part of being in a relationship IS losing that identity. Not submitting to the other person totally, but the two of you forming a hybrid composed of a compromise of each others likes and dislikes. And I think that separate bedrooms is another way to keep this person you supposedly love and want to be around for the rest of your life at an arm's length. If separate bedrooms are okay, why not separate living arrangements? And on that logic we swiftly get back to why get married at all.

I think too many of us have confused a relationship with a something else. A relationship is a commitment to some degree, particularly a marriage. That you want to be able to go to YOUR room to be away from your partner is kinda of up there with a marital pre-nup: Planning for failure. And this way is more pernicious, as the former is at best a uncomfortable precaution, the latter is active resistance to committing to a coming together.

And if you're most interested in the one than in the two, maybe you should just stay one.

Barkeep. Double shot of ...oh, hang, I'm not drinking. Kool-aid and sprite then.

Sometimes it's simple stuff

Mental Rehab Post #44
What can I say. Sometimes it's not the dreams of wealth and excitement, it's more than that. And if you don't get it, I've been around the folks with pockets full of cash and I've seen how when they think they really got it all, they generally look around and find out they're missing something really important. Then they find their keys, and start thinking about relationships.

I really like Arlo and Janis. It's a simple cartoon strip about a couple getting a little older and still being in love. Which I my age honestly, I want to STILL be, not find myself hoping to be.

Little strips like this is where I'd like to be in my life.








Hey, I said I was a romantic. Jeez

Barkeep...shots of that new Patron

One of them weekends...

Mental Rehab Post #43
There was a time when as a young man, I could hang out till 5am, go home shower and shave and turn it back on just like that until quitting time the next day - then crash. And sometimes I could do it two or three days in a row. But as I've gotten a little older, I may have to start taking vacations to recover from my time off. Or as a friend of mine said, "Man, after this weekend I need to get back to work so I can rest!" I need to get back into party shape. Where can you find a party trainer?

The problem with limited time off is that you try to squeeze everything into those few scants moments. In my case, three weeks off is not enough. Friday night I stayed home and enjoyed the private pleasure that only red kool-aid, sugar laced snacks and Grand Theft Auto can provide. Sometimes that shooting things - if only a video game - can be soooo soothing. When my excitement waned I would pause the game and read some of the novel I started before law school or watch a movie that I paid for two months ago when I thought I might have time to watch it or surf the web looking for stuff that was probably old now but I had missed in throes of education. The back to the game.

To put it bluntly, I nerded out. On a Friday night. In Atlanta. Seriously...what the fuck?

Yeah, trying to cram way too much in.

Saturday was the Come as You Are Cocktail Party. We have it pretty much every year, a drop-in with a drinks and food and people you know. This was early for us, usually we do it between Christmas and New Years, but the end of this year is so crowded. The function is an informal affair, and we usually get a nice small manageable crowd or around 100 or so.

The party went down at it "the Estate", which is how I'm going to refer to that particular venue. It's where we held the Halloween party and had people parking down the street. It's fairly big house on 12 acres with requisite pool and jacuzzi, wine cellar, playroom and wet bar. We're thinking of having the SuperBowl function there. It's nice.

In any case, we cooked up some pasta - veggie and regular, boiled some crab legs, fried some shrimp, broiled some fresh lobster tails, and warmed up some pizza rolls. Hey, we happen to like pizza rolls. They're really good, especially the sausage and pepperoni. Then we turned on the Cowboys - Ravens game and opened the doors.

I miss nights like that. It was unseasonably warm, chicks had the arms out, short skirts were worn. I met a chick with January tattooed on her back (Okay her last name was January, but it still sounded hardcore at first, didn't it?) and ran into a few people's I hadn't seen in a minute. Serve and I will have to work on some memory mnemonics for her, as she could not remember the names of people she hung out with regularly just two years ago. Even my junior drinking partner showed up for the first time in a year, told me she was into S&M cause she thought my spiked wristband was hot and just like the first night I met her, I made her breakfast at 4:00am from what was left in the kitchen - a spicy scrambled egg hash with sausage and shrimp sprinkled with a Spanish rice. If she hangs around long enough this time, she might even qualify for a nickname. Even my "Hoodlum Friends" turned up, which is misnomer for a group of girls who really are cool as hell.

The party lasted until late, because unlike other parties where we close the bar to speed up the end, I in error left that racket open till 2:30am. I ended up paying for breakfast for "security" - two chicks who sat at the bar all night and had a ball harassing people and actually paid my impromptu bar back. As such by the time I got loose, after clean up and excess liquor putaway, the party was effectively over. I finally pulled up stakes at around 4:30am. And I should have stopped for breakfast because...

...Sunday might have been the laziest day in recorded human history. I awoke sometime after 1pm. I was asleep by 9:30pm. I took a nap somewhere in the middle. I might have forgotten to eat. During that time I was supposed to do some laundry, do the dishes, go out and do the little bit of Christmas shopping I was going to do, go and see a folk or two and in the end I did just about nothing. I did wash the dishes. But I didn't leave the house, or do that stuff in the yard, or take out the garbage or anything. I almost didn't get out of bed. Schmoopy is gonna be so mad at me.

In two weeks that will not be possible. The grind will be back on. Law School Part 2 promises to be no joke. And I stop drinking too? Noooooooooooooo!

Barkeep. Two shots of Patrone with a Henie on the float.

How to Insult a Guy

Vent Post #3
I've been venting a lot lately. Yes, for me, three times is a lot. I've been called the "whatever man" and "the sane" one for so long I'm not sure if I have these other feelings. So yeah, I'm still just talking to myself until I'm tired of listening to me. It's not gonna fix anything and probably won't make me feel better. And I repeat, there are NO answers here...and in this case I don't think I'm even trying to find some. You won't either. Don't try.

You want to know how to insult a guy? Tell him that he's a great guy.

Er..what?

I get told I'm a great guy lots of times a day. I get told I'm a great guy for somebody else.

See? See what I did there?

It's a backhanded compliment with a sneer. I know to the person speaking it you might even mean well, but to the person receiving this it's the same as punch to the gut. No, it's actually worse, because you can be angry at a punch to the gut and maybe punch back, and to this you just kinda feel withered inside. It ranks right up there with "I'm sorry" in the pantheon of most useless phrases in the English language.

I sound bitter you say? I should. But tone doesn't discount truth.

If I'm so great, then why don't they (the assaulting person) want to be with me? There is obviously something wrong. I'd prefer to hear what I can improve to be more desirable than to be given babble and baby kudos. I understand tact and sensitivity, but if we get to the point where we're even having that conversation...and implied knowledge of who I am... then honesty is more appreciated.

Actual help is always more important than mutually masturbatory encouragement. If there is an issue you as the woman is aware of, then improving or assisting with improvement would only be appreciated.

And you'd be surprised how many other guys feel the same way.

I'll serve myself from the home bar.

Though I stumble...

What had shoulda happened this weekend, but I ain't been nowhere and ain't seent nobody. I swear I'm putting on the makeup as fast as I can.

Friday I should have gone to Sporty's long delayed Going Away/En.....well, Going Away party but she got upset with me because I told her I might not make it. I was worried I might not be festive and didn't want to put that on her. She told me she didn't want the drama. So we agreed on something. I stayed home on a Friday night in Atlanta depressed. Did I eat?

Saturday I could have gone to Utopia (around the corner), or Old School Saturday (a little further around the corner) or to a house party (I'd still be driving back from Villa Rica) but I stayed home and watched crazy movies. At 4am something with Nick Nolte and Terrance Howard in the 20's where they talked about deviant sex. Yep, a little depressed.

And now it's Sunday morning and the sky has opened up with a glorious rain that city needs desperately. So the Urban Soul pool party is probably off. Well, in this rain it probably won't be as festive as it could be. Bummer.

That would be 0-3 for the weekend and now the batter should take his ass back to the dugout.

I did send Sporty the internet version of "let's be friends still"...the silly pictures with even sillier captions email. I hope I don't have to break out the stupid videos.

In other parts of my life, Shade has moved to DC to pursue yet even more medicine. Schmoopy is trying to get me to go back out for another Saturday of Habitat for Humanity, bless her little too damn energetic soul. Slim is having her own semi-drama, and won't tell me what she means by her "magic trick." Her new semi-man betta get it together.

There is just too much going on.

Barkeep. What you got in the back? Way way in the back? It will do.

Maybe I shoulda been a therapist...

Friday was a day that will live in ...well it wasn't that bad. Shade called me up to vent on Friday morning. She and her bestest and dearest friend - who shall be referred to as Scoop - were at each other's throats. And not in the oiled up and rolling around naked way that I've often imagined.

Scoop is a woman I like and admire, and not because she introduced me to her husband of three weeks as the man she would have married had he not stepped up. I like Scoop because she has the ability to let issues go...a talent few other women I know possess. I've known women to stop talking forever due to a disagreement over who met somebody first. Neither dated him, but they were adamant who met who first.

Back to the matter at hand, Shade and Scoop are like sisters. Scoop described their relationship as "marriage minus the romance and sex." They've stopped talking, then started again in continuing cycles and I don't think they even know why they still hang out. In reality they do love each other and have let a lot of petty foolishness get in the way of them being them. I still think they could work out with some baby oil and a bit of whipped cream.

And Shade reads this blog, so yes...this is what I think.

So Shade and I talk for the better part of an hour. I get to work, sit down, blow off a meeting. But by the end she's feeling better, and I may have accidentally agreed to mediate a session between them and given her some relationship homework. Accidentally.

The the woman in my office who won't get a nickname shows up at my desk. She won't get a nickname because ...well, because. She has her own issues and damn if we don't discuss them too. I could have sworn my degree was business. She explained she left a previous fiance because he was depressed. He'd been out of work for year, so I wasn't sure why she thought he should have been happy go lucky. She didn't seem to get that a guy not working (and with minimal prospects) would not have some reservations about living with their regular spending habits. That he might want to cut back. That he might get depressed. Didn't click with her for some reason.

Silly me.

But that was another hour of conversation. And now I think she's looking at her reaction to the relationship in a different way.

Is it just me? Maybe I look like a damn therapist. Ah, physician heal thyself!

But I am a good listener.

Oh well, Barkeep...something smooth and shiny.

Saturday night throwback

A few years ago, gas was about a 1.50 a gallon, my insurance was $800 a year, and had no car payment. And I kicked it five nights out of six. Justin's, Chaos, Havana Club, Velvet Room, Martini Bar, Kaya, 112, the list just goes on and on.

But on Saturdays we caravaned. We load up three or four cars and hit three or four house parties, sometimes more. We would show up and sometimes getting the party started. Other times when we left we'd have six cars trailing taking the party with us. Well Saturday I did something I had done in a while, we hit three on the parley.

This Saturday we started on the southside, in 1) Ellenwood GA, a suburb of the ATL. A little birthday set for a young lady we hang out with from time to time.

It was ugly. They had maybe eight girls there, though if you divyed them up into normal sized girls you might have gotten twenty five. So we dipped. E walked back out with the twelve pack he brought in.

Then we drove up to 2) Woodstock GA. Check a map, that's about forty five minutes to an hour away. Better function, more normal sized women folk, crowd looked a little less buffett and internet intensive. We hung around for a while, hollered a couple and tried to figure out why the guy in the suit jacket and sweatervest would normally hang out.

So we leave it's around one, and in the car my boy gets a call and it's back to 3) Stone Mountain. Check the map, that's another half hour. We get there it must be around two or so but the party is still working. And it's got the largest selection of good looking women all day. We finally get outta there around three thirty and back to the crib and it's nearly four.

Been long time. I wonder how the young folks do.

Barkeep - Some Pinch and branch water.