What may come of dreams

I awake most mornings from the same dream, where inside my head I am dreaming as well, only when I awake from that dream I am in a unfamiliar world. A world where the people speak with a foreign tongue, eat with a foreign spice, and live life with a foreign zest.

Although I do not comprehend everything that they say, I am rapidly picking up on their language, and if spoken slowly enough I can usually piece together the gist of the conversation. It feels similar to when I am on vacation only this time I have the added pressure of finding a job. Even though this should be a great source of stress for me, I am not worried as I have many talents, and have always managed to fend for myself.

In fact, this is a dream, so worries about practical things like work and housing are not invited. My worries are along the lines of pork or seafood for lunch, beach workout or gym, love fast or slow, red or white wine? I hate this dream as it makes me forlorn, for I am not in a foreign land, but in a land known all too well for its frowning upon dreams, dreams that have nothing to do with capitalism that is. In this land people dream about getting a job, then with that job they dream of having the opportunity to see their loved ones, to do something nice for themselves, to simply smile...but not smile to keep from crying.

I live in a land where all things material are of value, and everything is to be possessed, where the right hand wants what the left hand has, and we mock those who place emphasis on anything that is not financially valued. A land where everything is nothing, and nothing is everything. A land where instead of men doing something to earn the pride of being men, women have to falsely convince them of their titles, all while downplaying their own merits.

I know that this land too is a dream for many. However to that I say, If you give a mouse a cookie,. He's going to ask for a glass of milk. When you give him the milk, he'll probably ask you for a straw. ... and so is the story of many of my countrymen...never satisfied....when sometimes all you really need is the milk and the cookie.

Of Mice and Men?

What is a man I ask, I obviously need a role-model in that department. What I see everyday, who I meet, who I talk with, these actions have left me feeling as though a man is really a mouse.

Let me explain:

In the past 5 months I have had to move several times around the city, just me and my 6 suitcases, taxi to taxi, Upper East to Murray Hill. Each time I just packed up my own stuff, hailed a taxi, and did all the heavy lifting myself. Repeatedly carrying these suitcases up flights and flights of stairs, pain ripping through my muscles, sweat running down my face, cursing the antique pre-war walk-up that dominates New York.

Out of each move only 1 time did a guy offer to help me- one guy. He offered to take up 1 suitcase 3 flights of stairs, and then he continued on with his day. However, every single time I moved random women would come over and ask if I needed help, to which I obviously turned them down.

The other night after working more than 12 hours at the office, so tired that my eyes were stinging and tearing, I attempted to hail a cab home. Standing in the cold on the corner with one hand in the air, I watched as a man came out of his building, walked beneath my raised arm, walked directly up to a cab, and opened the door to get in. I of course, stunned to my core, yelled at him "hey, are you fucking serious"? It was only then he stepped away from the cab, leaving the door ajar for me.

Last week I hired a mover to drive and carry my things for me because it was my birthday and I deserved to not do hard labor that day. The man arrives in all his tight-shirt, bulging muscled glory, and within 20 minutes he was breathing hard, leaning against the wall, and taking several long pauses. I on the other hand, had things to do so proceeded to carry my own things (i.e. air conditioner) up the flight of stairs, my Nikes' literally feeling like "Air" as I flew up the stairs and back down again.

My conclusion is that I've come to realize that most men today have no heart. I mean yes, there is a muscle there with 4 chambers, ventricles, etc, etc... but that's not a heart. A heart is what most women have. Its nurturing, its fulfilling, its thoughtful, its strong. Just when its on its last beat, it takes a weak pause, then starts back up stronger than ever. Women have heart, and in today's world we have to depend on it a lot more than our ancestors did.

Me personally, I feel men have the hearts of mice..perhaps of Mice and Men would be an aptly title for this theory? On the other hand I have the heart of a beast. Similar to those monsters in the old horror movies that never die..that's me. I have the heart of a ghastly, grizzly beast, and I have to ascertain when to let that beast out, and when to retreat to the tiny mouse so I can get him to come out and play with me.

Why do I have to dim my light, my brilliance, my spark, in order to get the mouse to come out of his hiding place? Why can't he come out when its bright? Why is it then even after I've dimmed my shine, the mouse can only take from me? Mr. Mouse never does anything nice for me, never keeps his word, and doesn't even do what a mouse should do well.

Mice have no problem at all with coming out of their hiding places when they're hungry, thirsty, sniffing around behind me via text and Facebook chat trying to secure some cookies ("If You Give a Mouse a Cookie" was one of my favorite childhood books, now I know why). The minute I say I want something, the mouse retreats to his hole.

Can I tell you something? I hate mice. Always have, always will. I'm more into Lions, Tigers, and Bears....oh my.

It doesn't pay to be a "good girl"

Recently while watching an episode of "Real Housewives of Atlanta" I watched a woman who has made it clear she only dates men with considerable wealth, and is currently screwing a married man, receive an engagement ring set larger than the bed I sleep in, from her married lover.

That's when it finally hit me- it doesn't pay to be a "good girl".

What is a good girl you ask? Well, because I'm in a very frank sort of mood I'll just go ahead and say it; I'm a good girl!

I've never dated married men, men who are in relationships, never cheated on any of the losers I've lost time to, never taken another ladies crush all to myself, hell- for years I had a rule that if we hadn't reached a certain level of connection, there would be no reaching in the cookie jar!

What do I have to show for it all? Nothing. I have no rings, necklaces, bracelets. No dried-up dead flowers from former lovers. No uneaten box of chocolates from a secret tryst. No receipts from T-Mobile, Citibank, or my landlord from him having paid a bill in kindness. No love letters stashed away in a shoebox. I don't even have the requisite stuffed animal from the one that got away.

I have been a devout "good girl" my whole life, and I have nothing tangible to show for it. All I have is a muddled hope for what my eternity may be like. A scripture or 2 promising that if I keep up this "good girl" show, I will have a very bright future...in death.

What about those girls who are having a good time, instead of being a "good girl"? They seem to be living for the moment, and absorbing in all the richness of simply doing what you want when you want. Meanwhile, I live with my lack thereof. All of my "good girl" behavior having left me broke and perhaps a tad broken....

I realize my birthday is 4 weeks away, and I won't have that box of chocolates, those tulips, that necklace, that love letter, nothing from "him", whoever he is.

My thoughts are inching towards dipping a toe or two into inequity. Pull a few 1 nighters, use my handbag to cover his wedding band, laugh at his jokes because I know he will pay for a new dress, boost his ego so that I boost my collection of french lace unmentionables.

I want to be a filthy, dirty, bad girl.

Excess

Tired of it all.

Ready to retire to a life full of literature, music, art, dance, wine, smiles, snuggles, ocean, olives, making jewelry, making furniture, sand, sunshine, natural, herbs, sea.....

When and where does this begin?

How long do I have to participate in the race, if I am no longer actually running?....merely trudging along searching for my appropriate exit.

I'm ready.

Top 8 Reasons I Know I Was Born "Different"

- As a child I held imaginary aristocratic affairs in my kitchen. All of my guests had accents, we drank wine (Welch's grape juice) & tea, and we wore fancy ballgowns and suits.

- I have always loved corners and crevices. My favorite alone-time memories are of me reading in a closet, under the bed, up in a tree, or just under the covers at night.

-As a child to say we were poor is a vast understatement. One example of our poverty is the government issued food we ate: the canned beef in the sliver can with the stencil of a cow in black on the front and the words "Beef", the powdered milk in the big white box that was labeled "milk". However, the poverty message didn't reach me all of the time. While I indeed enjoyed those "beef" sandwiches on some Wonder bread, I also refused to eat cereal or snacks that weren't name brand. There was a mandate for Chef Boyardee, Kellog's, Mott's, etc. Yes, I was a bourgeois child.

-My favorite TV channel growing up was Nick..but not just Nickelodeon, Nick at Night. I was obsessed with black and white tv shows; Donna Reed, Doby Gillis, Mr. Ed, My 3 Sons, Green Acres, Honeymooners, etc.... My favorite movie genre was horror and sci-fi, but more horror. I used to sit in the dark alone and watch Freddy Krueger movies, holding my knees to my chest, shirt stretched over them, eyes frozen with fear and wonderment.

-Preference for caramel over chocolate....chocolate is just not that special

-Obsession with the heat. If I got sick at school as a youngster, instead of asking the nurse to call home, I would scale the highest point on the monkey bars and just lie out all recess until I felt better. Its a wonder I had any friends at all........

-My penchant for being equally sour as I am sweet. I love big, open, freely, and wholeheartedly, and my disdain runs the same.

-My fickleness....One day I love a certain candy or something. I indulge everyday for 6 months, then one day I just stop liking it..forever. This happens with people too. I'm hoping this is behavior specific to people who are deserving of abandonment, and not just me being a brat.

With all these differences I listed, You can still surmise that I am human. I'm far from perfection, whatever that may be. I want a life filled with love and happiness, and refuse to accept less from myself or others in my life. No matter how much I divulge about myself you will never know all there is to know, its impossible. Life is ongoing, everyday the story continues to be written.

To be continued.....

My Seemingly Immortal Grief

I miss you, although truth be told I never had you to begin with....
Days, weeks, and months can go by without nary a thought of your missing presence in my life, then someone will tell me a story of their mother...the advice, the phone call, the offer of love...and my pain rears its ugly head again.

For some reason I was too much for you to love; you couldn't be there for my first words, steps, or first accident. You insisted that I refer to you by your given name "Tasha" for hearing my tiny child-like voice refer to you as Mommy was too burdensome...

So "Tasha" I grew without you there; a tree grew alone in Chicago, California, Atlanta, and it continues to grow in New York. There were times I wanted you there..Tasha or Mommy..I'm not sure. Did you know I graduated 8th grade when I was 12?...no one was there to congratulate me...Did you see me graduate high school when I was 16?..oh wait, not a single person attended on my behalf...it was embarrassing but I still walked...Where you at the hospital that night my head went through the windowshield?..,no, in fact no one was there...

Thanks for all of your advice on life, men, love, all the important things women share with their birthed doppelgangers. Your advisement came through all of your actions, or lack thereof. I made it through school, I'm not knocked up, I work for my living, on the other hand I am single, I can't remember the last time I told someone I love them, and I still haven't figured out where I'm supposed to live in this world; so I guess not all advice is good advice.

I want to believe that maybe one day I will stop caring, I will stop picking at this wound that can't seem to heal on its own. My logic leads me to want to hate you, but unfortunately its not allowed by God. So instead my heartache continues on, time hasn't really healed anything. In fact the older I get, the more I remember of you Tasha...I remember your expressions of love through your bitter punches, slaps, kicks, chokes, and my favorite the full-body pummeling sessions. I still have tokens of your affections on my scalp, legs, and back, emblazoned not only in my soul, but also its shell.

I hope my grief for you will not make me so miserable that I am incapable of trusting. I wish to be no part of "Tasha", I even gave away the name you hastily bestowed upon me that cold winter night some 20 something years ago.

I am now Phoenix. I am a fiery, colorful, creature, that many gaze upon in wonderment. Every now and again I build a nest around myself that I ignite and I burn into dark ashes. But each time I rise from these very ashes anew, reborn to live again. I have a wanderlust for the world and this new life, and I won't let you take that from me.

Where are we?

Perched atop my bed watching my nightly dose of sleepy-time tv (Roseanne, Seinfeld, SATC, etc..) when the lack of skin tones on my screen nudges my inner think-tank. For years the debate over the lack of Black people in the media has been a constant subject, though often times not spoken about publicly. These conversations tend to occur amongst black people while watching a tv or film they genuinely enjoy, but wondering aloud "why a Black person couldn't have portrayed the character just as well?"

The ad for "Away We Go" starring Maya Rudolph (Black & Jewish) & John Krasinski, is actually what got me going tonight. Although they don't reveal it entirely in the promo, it appears to be a film where the difference in race will not be a part of the central storyline. This is how it should be...at least in my opinion. Acting is just that, acting! Its make-believe, pretend, imagination, and while often times the coincidences are striking, that just lends itself to the old question of "life imitating art, or art imitating life?"

I understand we are a complex group of people with all of our varying skin tones, hair textures, body shapes, intellect levels, storied pasts, chaotic presents, and bright futures. However, with such varying characteristics to choose from, surely there must be some qualified thespians who can accurately portray these traits? Is it hard to believe that we could be those girls on "The Hills", those friends on "Sex and the City", those neighbors on "Everybody Loves Raymond"? Are we not students at similar schools as the one in "Gossip Girl"?

I know, I know some of you are thinking to yourselves "is she really writing this, the whitest black-girl I know"? Yes, that's a little backhanded "compliment" I receive regularly from people of all backgrounds. Ask yourself just how Black is Black? I mean are we questioning my actual percentage of heritage, because if so then all Black people have some explaining to do over their lack of 100% scores. Are we questioning my loyalty to being Black, because last time I checked it wasn't a group I elected to join, I'm a life-er. And if a person's "Blackness" were going to be quantifiable, shouldn't it be based on knowledge and power in regards to the culture?

Not only have I personally dug deep into the culture from the bowls of the Chicago projects, to the "Black Beverly Hills" of Ladera Heights, but I also have absorbed massive amounts of literature detailing the trail of the diaspora to modern day. However, I do still do not consider myself to be " black royalty" of pure black blood unspoiled with that of another heritage, nor do I consider myself a "black intellect" smarter than the average bear on all things related to Black Americans.

I'm just me; female, friend, Black, woman, American, girl, American Creole, gypsy

These things doth maketh parts of a Phoenix.....

Unsure of What a Friend Is

I know that I am strong.
I know that I am independent.
I know that I am short-tempered.
I know that I am imperfect.

I know that everyone is completely imperfect as well.
Why is it that you feel your imperfections are better than mine? There is no such a thing.

It would be nice to have a support system of true people in spite of all these things. It would be nice to have someone to support me, instead of constantly criticizing. Stop telling me how beautiful and smart you think I am, and tell me something I actually need to hear. Try telling me that you're here for me, or that you understand what I'm trying to be. Tell me you care about me, and that you'll stick by my side.

Dum spiro, spero

Wing-Woman

To the guy who asks me where I am from, I reply Chicago....
I'm bored with this conversation already, but I'll do you the favor of asking you the same question..

Me: So, where are you from?
Guy: North-West Africa..a small country
Me: Well let's see...on the Mediterranean Crescent there are 5 countries
Guy: Its called Morocco
Me: Yes, I've heard of it. Next to Algeria and Tunisia
Guy: *brightly smiling* Yes, how did you know?
Me: Its called education. I have one; both formal and informal

Tip to Guys: If you've somehow mustered up the courage to converse with the wing-woman (yes, I am not searching for a man of my own, so I relish in this role), don't do something stupid like underestimate her intelligence. Give her all the benefit in the world. Northern Africa is not like a Rubix cube, its very simple actually. Always assume the woman knows and that the woman is right, this will get you very far.

Had you not assumed I was dense, I might have saved you from your white-sweater wearing isolation at the bar in stead of slipping away for a dance without you.

Word.

Shape of Things

I've come to realize that I am without shape. I'm something akin to that lime green slime that Nickelodeon uses in every kid show. Even when I am in a jam or stuffed into a specific box, I somehow manage to seep out the sides or over the top just a tad. It seems as though being shapeless means that I also lack the ability to be contained.

I'm trying to look at myself and make a constructive argument for both sides...on the one hand I can be seen as a free spirit. I roam wherever, whenever I feel like it, not stopping to think about the conventional things in life such as a job, friends, etc... Those things to me are attainable anywhere.

On the other hand I can be seen as restless, fleeting, even lacking stability. I move more than men in the Army do, I dump people I don't see contributing to my happiness without a second thought, or for that matter I dump ANYTHING I don't view as a contribution to my personal happiness. I'm certainly not normal, whatever that really means.

I feel like the older I get, the more life chips away at my innocence, I lose more of my free spirit. I still haven't lived in a foreign country, I'm not fluent in any 1 foreign language (just suck at a few), I'm slacking on writing my biography because I'm too busy living it, I haven't finished my family tree, haven't gone ATV riding, bungee jumping, or sunbathed nude!!!

I'm kind of tired of the hard life....Its not that I only want to have fun (but of course I can't give all of that up) I just want to have more silk in my life, more satin. I want a little more congruency. I want sunshine, rainbows, laughter, warmth....

Maybe what I want is shape....but what shape would I be? Is an anomaly a shape? Can I be misshapen? This is harder than I thought........

Exquisite Passion

Exquisite passion is what I live by. It may not be the practical ideology pumped into you by your parents, but its the best way I can see living. Perhaps it stems from my overly-structured childhood, where I would have to hide in the kitchen or under the covers to fly away and attend aristocratic soirees in Paris and Milan. Or perhaps it stems from my witnessing thousands of unhappy people rise every day with sadness upon their hearts, because they are bound by what they do, not by what they love.

I don't think Americans were bred to feel a sense of "joie de vivre", which may explain a lot. The high divorce rate, the violence amongst family members, the lackluster feelings in many relationships, they're all impediments on one's ability to live up to their maximum happiness.

I refuse to take part in this droll sense of just trying to get by. This is the only life I know I have because I am currently living it. I don't know about the next life, I don't even know about tomorrow. What I do know is that today, I did everything I could to be happy...and succeeded.

Judge me as careless, ignorant, a dreamer..I don't mind. I wake up each morning and I don't dread going to work, I don't dread coming home, I don't dread interacting with the people I've chosen to include in my life....can you say the same?

Dating on Speed..Better known as Speed Dating

Just a few observations from my recent trip into the land of the seemingly desperate (or adventurous depending on how you look at it) super blind dating..on crack.

1) Don't knock it until you've tried it. Yes, I am in the latter group of adventurers, and will try almost anything at least once. However, now that I've tried it please believe me I am knocking..and knocking loud!!!

2) Don't go in with low expectations or high expectations, go in with the mentality of a person who is embarking on a evening at the comedy club. This way you will be plenty prepared for the laughs that will ensue.

3) For the man from Russia who looks like a walking advertisement for "self-bronzer..now available in flaming orange!", yes I am American, and yes I do have a background and a culture. Where the hell do you live where Americans, (particularly Black Americans) have no culture or background? When I tell you I am Black, American, Creole, at least feign intelligence. Don't reply "Oh, from Africa?". Just 2 minutes ago I was culture-less. I did not appreciate having to school your old, dumb ass on a little timeline of World History, that included Spain, France, Haiti, and the U.S., which led up to the Louisiana Purchase. Next time excuse yourself and go the men's room and google it on your phone!

4) For the man who sat with his body leaned sooooo close into mine, you would have thought there were magnets attracting in our foreheads, back up!
Have you never heard of personal space? We are at a table for 2, in a private room. I do not need the heat from your breath moistening the blush on my cheeks.
Also, don't you dare ask me about why I am still single! What kind of "Idiot's Guide to Getting Ignored" have you been studying? The reason I am still single is because of men like you. There is no amount of desperation in my soul that will allow for me to settle with someone like you...no amount!

5) The guy from Brazil with the thing on his face, don't worry about "What I Do". I do a lot of things like eat candy in vintage lingerie, dance on top of my bed like a child, and organize my medicine cabinet by most desirable products of the moment. Those things will give you more insight into my personality, than knowing that I'm a Web Analyst. Hell, most people don't even know what that is!

6) The man from Long Island, Living in Long Island, Working in Long Island. Seriously? You are already in your late 40's, what's wrong? Are you afraid of flying? Are you afraid of meeting someone with a different accent other than a New Yawk one? Better yet, why are you teaching high school swim at a high school in Long Island.
Ok, maybe there's nothing wrong with this, but I've got a lot of life to live, and its not going to be in Long Island! I like adventure and travel, a trip to Ruby Tuesdays does not count.

7) The guy who asks me what I like in men...I tell you, then you ask me if I like to make out passionately? What the hell, are you 10 years old dying to know what a kiss feels like?
Who asks these sort of things? By the way, if we are not actually making out passionately already, then the answer to your question is " no I do not, not with you".

8) Last but not least the guy from Bulgaria. Sweet enough, but clueless beyond belief. I overheard him ask the event organizer if he could also trade emails with some of the guys he met.
Sweetie, this is not an audition for Bromance, if you want some guy friends grab a beer at a local bar, and shoot the breeze about sports with the rest of them. Don't go to an event to meet women, and inquire about the men.

All in all, I did have a comical time. Drinks were really strong, and only $4, and I got to walk off my experience through the streets of Soho, LES, and West Village
while contemplating my next drink. Good Times!

Bark..Whimper. Meow...Attack?

Today I was at the gym, when the ever so common subject of comparing men to dogs and women to cats came to mind. Before I get into it, let me start by stating my positions on both the canine and feline species as they are. And yes...some man's behavior at the gym is what started this whole thing.

I LOVE dogs! Big, little, fat, skinny, hairy, bald, slobbery, saggy, I love all dogs. Despite their shedding, neediness, inability to be self sufficient, and all other things, my love still prevails. (Sort of like my love for men, but we'll address that later)

On the other hand, I hate cats...very much so. They are sneaky, moody, fickle, and unreliable. I hate when they are in the same room, in bed with me, staring at me from afar, I mean I just don't like them. (Not exactly like my feelings toward women, but I've definitely met my share of feline-like twats in my day)

In relation to actual men and women, I do think there are some striking similarities that can be drawn, just by shrewd observation. For example, men tend to be the less self-sufficient of the sexes. I mean really, is it that hard for you to know how to do your own laundry, and properly Swiffer a floor? Or, wait let me guess because you are sooooo focused on being the best lawyer, doctor, engineer, etc. etc. you can be, you can't possibly multi-task and actually urinate into the huge hole of water, or for that matter shake when you are done.

I will liken my previous example to the teachings of puppies. Much like men, puppies can only focus on 1 thing at a time. First you have to get them potty trained, but don't try to teach them tricks at the same time! You'll end up with a dog who can roll over while he pees, but who's incapable of doing either separately.

Dogs have a reputation for being the fierce protectors of the 2 species. Loyal, kind, aggressive when necessary. Man's best friend...I wonder why? I happen to think contrary to this ideal. You see, dogs may appear to be tough at first ;what with the gristly exterior, the sharp canines, the rough growl, but have you ever called a dog on his bluff? Most dogs bark, but if you call them on it, buck at them, or even try to kill them with kindness, they are putty in your hands. My thought is dogs bark, but then they whimper.

Let's move on to cats, kitty, kitty, cats. Cats are very independent animals, to the point that its easy to deem them as "users", using people for affection only when they feel like it, but turning away when someone needs it from them. Cats are content to curl up under you, and purr in your ear, just so they can get that behind the head massage, then go back under the bed. Let you come after a hard day's work and really need a big meow from your pal, she's nowhere to be found, too busy licking itself, or just doesn't give a damn to move. This makes them completely unreliable, and not very good friends.

Cats do keep it real though. They are the true bitches. A cat will warn you with a meow or if you're lucky a hiss. But rest assured a good scratch attack is sure to follow soon thereafter. There is no bluff about it, cats meow then attack! But hey, at least you had a good idea that it was coming...

Perhaps there are some that think my observations are callous, one-sided, or biased. I never wrote these things to be fact, as there is a margin of error for every set of research data. I can only go off what I have actually observed and experienced. Maybe if we humans used less common animals as house pets such as goats and monkeys, then this entire study would be completely debunked? Who's to say that both a goat and a monkey would fit into either role? Would a goat be docile, and a monkey not simply go ape-shit? I'm not sure, but for now I'm content to continue to let my untrained, slobbery, mutt get closer than that hussy cat down the street.

Seek and Ye Shall Find?

Its vague really, this quest for happiness I seek.
Since deciding to not give up on this lifelong goal, I've come across many an obstacle.

Obstacles that take on the shapes of men, women, corporations, sometimes the very people put on this earth to love and protect me.

Since happiness did not reveal itself to me in my childhood, nor my teens, my 20's left me hopeful yet desperately thirsty for that which evaded my heart.

Having received small droplets of this every now and then, my quest continues.

That which hath not killed me, has made me stronger...but is there such a thing as too strong?