I Am Not My Hair

I'm having an India.Arie, Lauryn Hill evening. I get in these moods sometimes. More often I have a Carlos Ponce, Olga Tañón night. But not tonight. Tonight is about the sisters (the Colored Girls). And rightfully, ironically so. I'm acknowledging an awarenss of my internal hair struggle tonight. It never really goes away. I just have learned to ignore it. Like last night when I read the first paragraph of an article about natural hair on Eat-Mangoes-Nekkid. I stopped after the first paragraph because I didn't want to deal with the internal, eternal battle being fought on the battle ground in the depths of my soul. The prize? Identity. I've concluded that identity sums up all of the little battles being fought inside of me. Identity is the most plural singular word there is. There are so many little tiny, tiny pieces that make up identity and tonight I'm wrestling over the tiny little hair piece.


I love black women with natural hair. I think it is absolutely gorgeous. I don't think I've seen a single sister who has embraced her natural kink and thought anything other than, wow, that is really pretty. I think it makes such a statement. It says I am beautiful. I accept myself just as I am. I am proud of my heritage. I am strong enough to resist the pressures of conformity, of unbalanced normative beauty, of what someone else wants me to be. I am so proud of these sisters. And a little envious because I just can't bring myself to give up the relaxers. Not yet.


I've thought about this for years. My best effort to begin to embrace my natural kink was to stop relaxing my hair perfectly straight so that I still have the option of letting it air dry and wearing it in poofy ringlets. It took me weeks to actually wear this style in public. The ex used to laugh at me. He thought it looked ridiculous. A guy friend recently asked me if I went to work like, "THAT!" But I get mixed reviews. The most favorable come from other women of color and white women. I haven't really gotten any feed back from non-black men, but the brother acceptance has been slim to none. Well, except for my actual brother. He likes it, I think. Yeah, he encourages it. I've never worn braids except for the corn rows with beads when I was little and for the most part I go between short Halle-style dos and the shoulder length hair I have now. (I will chop my hair off in a heartbeat.)


But it is so hard to make a decision to go natural. I hate to admit that I love my hair when it's silky and straight and long, but I do. I don't think it's necessarily wrong that I feel that way, but I feel guilty about it. And, as much as I love it straight I would love to be natural but I am terrified. I'm scared, quite frankly, that I'll be ugly, that I won't know how to style it and that I'll regret it and end up "selling out" and relaxing it again. I hate that I think of going back to relaxers as selling out. And, what I'm most afraid of is that it will clash with who I am. But then that's funny because this is all about trying to figure out who the hell that is. I'm not all that afro-centric, so I think natural hair would look weird on me. It would look like a misfit. I don't have any black art in my house...OK, I don't have any art in my house at all...but if I had any it would be a charcoal drawing of Morris Chestnut naked from the tippy top of his pubic hair upward...face looking down and away...I'd want the focus to be on the artfully sculptured bod. That's black art, right? Seriously, the art would be bodies. Naked bodies. I don't think there is much else more beautiful than the human form. I am soooo off topic...

I'm a black girl from DC who speaks Spanish as well as English, loves Latin music and food, different cultures and peoples. I have a wander lust to beat all. America's too small and closed for me often. I love things African, but I love things Japanese too. I think that much of appreciating other peoples begins with (or at the very least requires at some point) an appreciation of self. And I struggle with what my hair means in my efforts to appreciate myself.

I touched up my relaxer tonight. Then I blew it out straight, flat-ironed it, and now it's tightly wrapped and tied down so that it will be silky and straight in the morning. [Sigh].

Oprah the Colored, Creflo the Sheister and other Ramblings

I'm going to try to just let it rip tonight without deleting anything because I think someone might find it inappropriate. Here goes:

• We have a new attorney in our office. Today was my first day with her. She spent some time in Kentucky and grew up in rural Frederick county in Maryland. She's German and Irish according to our conversation today, with a little extra. She mentioned that she was part colored. Now, I'm trying to take all of her history and exposure into consideration and be fair, but um Houston, we've got a problem. Weez stopped bein' colored a looong time ago and I'm trying to figure out just how to break it to her that uh, she needs to stop using that word post-haste. My boss was right there when she said it and she turned bright red. She knows it's coming. A sister is going to say something real soon. I know some people think...oops, there I go...I mean, I don't give a damn if you think that I'm too sensitive about these things, but this word connotes a context that is just unacceptable to me in a professional setting in 2006, by a TWENTY-something. BLACK. Please, just call me Black. Don't try to figure out all the rest (African-American, American-African, person of color, Afro-American), Black will do. Thank you very much.

• Oprah really gets on my nerves and I need to flesh that out a little bit more. I hate when people think they have worked through their shit to the point where they are now the expert on everybody else's! I hate people thinking they know what the hell is the best for somebody else and that somehow they have arrived to the point of being able to dictate what worked for them that you should now try. Oprah is the Queen of this BS and I can't stand her! She thinks she knows everything. I don't object to her right to say the crap she says, I just hate when I leave my tv on and accidentally have to hear it. It sounds like evesdropping on a co-dependent, self-righteous, whack job therapist every single time I hear her speak! And she has the nerve to correct the professionals who at the very least read a book on ethics and boundaries in a counseling relationship...things of which Queen O hasn't the slightest clue. Remember when I mentioned gym cockiness? Oprah has life cockiness. She's like the mega-church prosperity pastors who preach about what you need to do go get your very own Lear jet and Bentley. "Give me more money (I mean, tithe) and you too can be as rich as I am." Oh, in Queen O's case, "keep tuning into my bullshit and I'll continue to make billions and you too can have the perfect life that I have." ARGH! I hate her. Sometimes I watch because there's a guest or topic I'm really interested. I really wish I could just mute HER in order to see the show. [sigh]
  
  
• Can someone tell me why on earth a pastor needs a Lear jet? Is he running emergency food drops to the Sudan, Malawi, Niger? Is he rushing essential first responder missions to the Gulf Coast, Indonesia, Sri Lanka, Thailand, Malaysia? No!! Well, what the hell's he doing with the church's money? Flying from Atlanta to preach at a second church in Chicago once a month to take their money too, you say? And I'm going to hell because I'm a girl who thinks sex is one of God's best ideas ever, and don't mind saying so? Creflo Dollar is my uncle Sheister. Ok, not really. But I bet he knows him!
  
  
• I am really mad that there is so much stupidity in the church. There are so many people who go who want to do good things in the world, but they have to wade through so much crap. And then they get discouraged and just stay home and watch Oprah, oy!!
  
  
• I'm sitting here watching 3 quarters of a pint of Haagen-Daz strawberry melt. I know it's wasteful, but I need a good excuse to get it out of the house. I have to go back to my rule of limiting junk food in the fridge. I just get too carried away. I never bought this ice cream, now that I think about it. I have lots of parties and people bring stuff and leave it...As you should. I mean, you're not allowed to take back something you bring to a party. But I'm going to have to start sending some stuff home. I'm a danger to myself. I haven't said much about the weight loss efforts recently because there's not much to say. I think I am making better choices, one day at a time. I ran quite a few days last week, but I'm off to a bad start this week. Vacations interrupt a workout routine. I'll keep plugging at it. I hope to see significant progress by Christmas.
  

• I can't wait for the new Survivor to start. I love controversy. There's quite a stir about it on Guilty With An Explanation. I can't wait. I have some real racial issues that I need to flesh out myself. I am hoping the issues brought up by the show will give me the space and a community to work through them. Prejudices are so bizarre. Too often we don't know where the heck they come from. When I get up the nerve I'll confess mine you'll see what I mean. It really is strange if you know anything about me at all. Maybe I'll tell you when I talk about the show once it starts in September. It's awful, but I can't deny it. I hope naming mine will give other's the courage to name theirs. I'll be working on building up my courage in the meantime. Today I'll just admit to wanting to choke people who refer to blacks as colored. That is SUCH a problem that must be addressed.

I've rambled about enough for tonight. Pick a topic and sound off!

Peace.

Family Reunion, Other Stuff and a Kiss Off

I'm a back and I am coming down off of the shakes and cold-sweats from Internet withdrawal over the weekend. Whew!

I'm thinking about a few things, so we'll see how this all comes out:

1. I went to ATL for my family reunion on my mother's side of the family. As with most families, family reunions are usually the pits. This one was great! I had a wonderful time, spent time talking to some folks I've only spoken to in passing and I am more convinced than ever that my family is nuts. But it was a lot of fun.

Why does everybody in the South have a nickname? I mean a straight up nickname...not like Lexi or anything. Here's some of my family:

Sug (short for Sugar, so pronounce it correctly, that's my grandmamma!), Honey (Sug's sister), Head aka Sonny Boy, Spook aka Slick, Sheister, Scoopy, Cheetah, Cootie, and I know there are more I can't remember.

And, if they aren't all out nicknames that have nothing at all to do with your real name, they're variations of your real name that have been used so often, your 42 year old brother doesn't even know how to pronounce your real name! I swear to God this happened. My cousin Darryl, whose real name is Henry, but since his middle name is LaDarian, we call him Darryl.... Darryl had to read his family's portion of the family tree. His sister Quinn had to correct him 4 times on the proper pronunciation of her real name, Quinicier (spelled Quincincier in the program, so who knows, maybe that's it.) The point is no one has ever heard this name uttered, so no one knows how to pronounce it. Why give children names we don't use? If you plan on giving your kids jacked up names (Henry and Quincincier) just to give them better nicknames before they leave the hospital, why bother with the jacked names?

2. And, people in the South, even Atlanta--as progressive as it is trying to be, live much slower, laid back lives. They're not in a hurry for anything. Not even high-speed internet. My uncle had dial-up. I nearly died. I have included a link for those of you who may have forgotten what that means. It took me 30 minutes to check my e-mail. I just gave up. Blogs were not an option. I don't understand how people function without unlimited 24 hour a day high-speed internet access. I think I may be an addict (in case you didn't click it the first time). Do crackheads think everybody should do crack? I don't think so. I really think everybody needs high-speed internet. It's like water--8 glasses a day! I don't even have to read blogs or post to mine. I just need to know that I can have instant access to information at my fingertips should I need it. Doesn't everybody need this?

3. Oprah gets on my freaking nerves!!!! Sorry. She's on now, invading my audition. OK. Now I'm watching the Secret Life of the Sandwich. Much better. Previously there was a WUSA-TV 9 special report on the demolition of the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. Food Network really is the only channel anyone needs.

4. I have reached a place many of the more well-seasoned bloggers I read have spoken of frequently. I've noticed that I've been here for some time now, and I'm putting it out here now, hoping that confession will help me stop. I find myself writing for a freaking audience. There are so many things that I filter out because of who might read it and what they might think about me. There are some things I find absolutely fascinating, that I just don't talk about because it might not be proper for an ex-pastor/pastor's wife. I hate that I do it, but I do. I lived that life for too long (pretending not to care about things others would disapprove of) so I'm going to stop doing it here. I brought this up in the comments to my last post, so I'll say it here for all. If you don't like what I say here, stop reading my blog!!! Don't waste precious time judging me. Get. A. Life. OK. I feel like I've created some space for myself on my own damn blog now. Hate that I felt like I needed to do that, but I did. I feel better. And then again, I could just be self-deluded and grandiose to think that there really is someone out there with nothing better to do than judge the one who has already accepted her fate handed down by the holier-than-thou: hell in a handbasket with gasoline drawers!! I feel like I'm making progress, but I'm really scarred by the last 9 years of my life! Whew! Pray for me, ya'll! LMAO.

5. I am so glad to be home and naked. I enjoy traveling, but nothing like your own space to just be you.


6. Oh, and injera makes me want to vomit. I love ethnic food. I love Ethiopian food, but this bread makes me gag. I hate the texture. It feels like you're eating a sponge. I have a serious craving for comfort, stewy, family style, eat with your fingers food. But I need crusty bread. I had Roasted Red Pepper and Lentil soup with a baguette from Panera Bread for lunch today. I was in heaven. I didn't even eat the half a sandwich I ordered with it. I love this kind of food. But, once a food activates my gag reflex, that's it... forever! I can't do it. Do you think the Ethiopians would be offended if I ordered a baguette with my Doro wat? Oh, Kitfo is out of the question too, along with all other forms of tartar. I've tried them. I hate them. I gag.

That's all I'm thinking about right now. I have sooooo many thoughts about my weekend read: The Almond by Nedjma. I can't decide where to start. I made a few comments here. I'm working on that post. Stay tuned.

Confession of a Guilty Pleasure

My guilty pleasure has become somewhat of a compulsion. But damn, it brings me so much joy. What is this pleasure, you ask. No, it doesn’t take double A batteries, but it does involve sex. Actually it involves the sex book section of Border’s, my favorite store in the world (well, next to Pier One I suppose). I digress.

I absolutely love the sex book section of Border’s. I discovered my fascination with it by accident, but it’s almost a compulsion now, but not for the reasons you’re thinking. See, there’s always a man in that section. And, I discovered that men get very, very uncomfortable when a woman walks into, I don’t know, the den of their secret sin? Well, now I can’t resist doing it for kicks. I walk into the sex book section, find the inevitable guy, stand uncomfortably close to him, start looking intently for absolutely nothing (ok, maybe not exactly nothing) and wait for the inevitable squirming to start. Right when he’s sufficiently annoyed and hoping like hell that he’s invisible, I remind him that he’s not by asking him a question. Today it was, “Are these alpha by author?” As usual, this one got flustered, slammed his book shut, threw it back on the shelf and walked off. It was the best!!

Americans are too uptight about sex. What’s the big deal? So, you enjoy reading about sex. I’d be more embarrassed to get caught in the needlepoint section.

It was so much fun. If you’re not shy and blushy about sex, you should try it sometimes. The laughs will turn a grey sky blue, any day!

P.S.

Upon re-reading I realized that you might think I was suggesting trying sex if you aren't shy and blushy about it. I wasn't. Try my pleasure.

Hand-washing in the Potty

There are three types of bathroom hand-washing practitioners that I am aware of, the always hand-washers, the never hand-washers, and by far the most intriguing group to me, the always before hand-washers. I am proudly an always hand-washer. I am grossed out by the never hand-washers (and as a result am an always grab door with paper toweler), but what’s the deal with the always before washers? I was just in the potty with one a minute ago.

After getting over the embarrassment of someone walking into the bathroom while I was número dos-ing, I was shocked to walk out and find her at the sink and not in the stall where she would not be able to associate a face with the stink. But there she was at the sink washing her hands and then she proceeded to her stall. I have a friend who washes first and he says it’s because he’s not touching his penis and contaminating it with something gross from the office when he has to “go home and use that thing on [his wife]”. I swear to God he said it just like that. I’ve also had guys give me more vulgar renditions of why they wash their hands first, but I think this was the first woman.

Anybody out there care to chime in? What kind of washer are you? And if you’re an always beforer, why?

What's Life Without Passion?

I read this at Eat-Mangoes-Nekkid . I was captivated. It stirred me. Drives me. Calls me to passion. What's life without passion? Without something you're willing to give your life for? Without feeling deeply? And all that feeling implies? This one's for you, Renae:

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for,
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love,
for your dream,
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow,
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain,
mine or your own,
without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy,
mine or your own,
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to be careful,
to be realistic,
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself,
if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul;
if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty,
even when it's not pretty,
every day,
and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure,
yours and mine,
and still stand on the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,

“Yes!”

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up,
after the night of grief and despair,
weary and bruised to the bone,
and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not
shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you,
from the inside,
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

~~ oriah mountain dreamer

Ho Hum!

I don't have too much to talk about today. I replied to all of the comments on the previous post and then Blogger zapped me. So, just know that I said thank you for all of the encouragement and a few smart remarks, but I forgot who those were for.

I have 4 boxes left to unpack in my new place and then I'm done. I bought organizers for my closet and put them together all by myself, only to find that they were .75 inches too deep for my closet!! I was a little pissed, but then I turned them into a chest of drawers/future TV stand. I'll have a TV for my bedroom as soon as I figure out what to do about getting a bigger one for the living room. I have gotten plenty of suggestions. In a nutshell: I left the ex with 3 TVs, 3 very nice TVs. I just don't want the hassle.

This weekend was busy with unpacking, organizing, getting things ready for this business and shopping for the house. Nothing too eventful. Except for dinner with the Williams last night. My first dinner guests. Yay!!! Remember, I hate to cook for 1, so let me know when you guys wanna eat. I'm up for the company.

I brought leftovers, but my co-worker has put her food into an empty microwave only to open it to find a live bug crawling around her food...TWICE!!! Will you please tell me how the food made it into the microwave for a second shot? No. Way. In. Hell. My boss suggested putting boric acid in the microwave and asked me what kind of shi-shi background I come from, not knowing how to deal with roaches. OK. Hear me people. Don't. Do. Roaches. Never have. Never will. If that makes me shi-shi, a snob, a brat...whatever!! I'm sorry if you have roaches and are offended. I can't deal. Apparently city dwellers are becoming more and more tolerant. Even the uber-expensive buildings in DC seem to be infested. Well, let me tell you, the first bugger I see in my apt. will be the last. Even if I poison myself in the process.

Back to the food...I'm actually going to eat cold pasta for lunch because I'm sticking to my guns about saving money on food, but I'm NOT putting my food in that microwave!!! I didn't even put my lunch in the fridge. It's sitting right here on my desk lukewarming up! Yum!

Make me laugh somebody. Or give me controversy. I need something to talk about.

Strictly Business

This morning I am kind of shaking my head trying to figure out what in the world just happened. Here's why:

I've been talking a lot about not making the most of my skills and about needing to make more money. I've been saying this for years and have gotten more suggestions that I wanted to start my own business. Well, I've always held that I lack the business sense and salesmanship to do that. Well, today I'm a business owner guys. It happened so fast I'm still kind of in a fog.

The long and short of it is that the business I dreamed of in college is actually now a reality, with real life clients and contracts and all. I came up with the name when I was 18 or 19. It's actually available in MD. The Language EXchange, Inc. Get it? LEXI (hahahah!) OK, shut up. I know it's corny, but I just got my first client, so there! [sticks out tongue] The client's a restaurant owner who wants ESL classes for the staff of his 4 restaurants. Other services offered by The Language Exchange are translation and interpretation services and group or individual Spanish lessons. This first contract is so huge, I need to start interviewing for another instructor, and classes haven't even started!

Let me say that I can't take any credit for this all coming together. My business partner is a friend from high school who I just happened to "run" into on myspace. His expertise is marketing and he got me this first contract and the subsequent ones he's already working on. Thanks, Shelby.

I'm a little dazed right now. I've always been terrified to freelance. I'm not that much of a risk-taker. And, I'm not used to success and things coming together like this. I'm such a pessimist. I think my overwhelming sentiment right now (more than HOW is this happening to me) is, "WHY is this happening to me?"

So many unexpected pieces of "the life I'd love to live" are falling into place right now and I don't know what to do with it? I know I'm crazy, but it's hard to just go with it. I have this message taped to my laptop, and I read it every day:

Believe it: You have all the ingredients for success well within your grasp. It's time to reevaluate your goals and what you can do to reach them. You're about to embark on a whole new cycle of success.

I taped that to my computer about 3 weeks ago. Why is it so hard for me to believe in myself and to expect to succeed? I really am a whack job, huh?

ISO Road Trip Companion

My family reunion is in ATL on August 26th. I may be able to get off of work on the 25th, but I'll be turning right back around on Sunday to come back.

I'm broke. Flying is not an option.

Anybody wanna take a road trip?

I'm a lotta fun! We'll have free lodging and food!!

More Thoughts from Vacation

Our second stop was Dallas. Tania's brothers and some other family members live there. Since a picture is worth a thousand words, let me let you take a look at these:




Now, I don't know about real estate in your neck of the woods, but where I live, these are half a million dollar homes. Easily. These guys are paying a mortgage on these homes that is the same as the rent I am paying for a one bedroom apartment with no bells or whistles. And, since half of Texas is Spanish-speaking... you know where I'm going with this, right? I SO want to move to Dallas when this lease is up. I spent some time thinking through why this is so appealing to me while on the trip and I'll paste some of those thoughts here in a second.

But first a little background. I have posted previously how overwhelmed I feel by life as a single-again. The DC area is not friendly for someone living alone, no matter how much money you make. I have some irons in the fire for some freelance work, that should supplement my income sufficiently to keep my head above water, but that means I'll be working 6 days a week to survive. I don't want to live like this.

I know that relocating to a more affordable area means that I need to consider that I may not make as much money. But come on! Do you see the price of these homes?? I want to be 35 and have something to show for a degree and a half, interpreter certification, 7 years of marriage and gainful employment! I've got goose-eggs right now.

I just took a looked at my journal entry on the topic, and I'd have to edit out too much of stuff I'm not ready to discuss in this forum, so I'll give you the abrigded version:

August 10, 2006

12:28pm

Dallas, TX

It’s incredibly hard to come face to face with normal. I’m crying, but I’m not sad. I’m hopeful. I’ve just spent time with Tania's uncle. He’s a truck driver. He has a nice home and nice family and although I know it’s impossible to make a full assessment after only a few hours, he is a respectable man who provides for his family and obviously loves his wife. Now, some other interactions we’ve had down here may have solidified a little my inclination that all are crazy and good for nothing, but right now I am refreshed...

...Why does hope make me cry? I wonder why in moments of extreme hope I break down. Why does hope scare me? I believe in the possibility, but do I believe it for me? Today I think I do.

Let me explain those thoughts a little. Have you ever come face to face with what you want, only to realize how far from what you want what you had really was? That was the moment I found myself captured by. Suddenly all the dysfunction and insanity seemed like dysfunction and insanity. The noise was silenced and I heard calm. I heard normal, peace. I didn't hear perfection, but I heard a calling to sanity. I don't know if I'm explaining myself well at all. I just know that I was overwhelmed by hope in this instant. And, I still am.

This trip affected me. More than I expected. If you want more, read the post and comments on Tania's blog about the trip.

I'm going to do some work.

Some Thoughts from My Vacation

I am feeling a little more settled today than yesterday. After work yesterday I went to clean the old place and leave the key. It was more of a relief than I thought it would be (I hadn't anticipated being accused of stealing a shelf.) But hey, what's life without surprises? It's over. I'm out. Moving on...

My Vacation

I went on a road trip down south with my friends Tania and Kwesi, their kids and Tania's brother James. I love, love, love a road trip! We were six in a mini van, driving 21 hours across country. First stop, Gibsland Louisiana, Tania's hometown and proud ambush site of the infamous Bonnie and Clyde. I'm serious folks. There's a museum on main street run by the son of one of the deputy's who took them down.


This is Mrs. Kate's store, where Bonnie and Clyde would stop through and chat it up with the locals, including Tania's Gramps, while they were on the run. Yes, the locals knew who they were. No, they did not turn them in because, according to Gramps, "They were good people. They would help anybody."

The store is at the end of a very long country road with about 4 homes on it. (I'm talking miles ya'll.) One of those homes is Tania's grandmother's house, where we stayed most of the week. Straight. Up. Country. Now, I may not have said this before, but I'm a city girl!! I need to be able to walk to something other than the cemetery (which we did our first morning there), but there was the church and the cemetery and nothing. No street lights. Nothing. Oh, there were bears and coyotes and all manner of creepy crawly things. But other than that, nothing. The closest town was 15 minutes away. We went to Minden daily. Some days twice. For my sanity.

I'm really just kidding about the sanity part. The quiet of the country was a serenity that is hard to find where people live busier lives. I really enjoyed it. But there were parts that freaked me out. First of all, it's Louisiana. To me that means the occult. If people aren't actively involved in spooky shit, they believe in it, see things, hear things, talk to things, rebuke things, take antidotes for things...I was not feeling being in an old house in the woods where people have seen apparitions from beyond the grave and such in the house. Here's the deal with me. I have a healthy respect for the spirit world. I believe in it, and I think we need to live separately. I don't go Ouji-ing and bothering them. I would appreciate the same respect. I have had two significant encounters with the paranormal and that's just about enough for a lifetime. Thank you very much. No, I don't care to share, because there's no need for me to sound any more nutso than I already do. I really appreciated Fresh Air Lover's July 9th post on the subject though. Made me feel less nutso.

My travel companions knew that I was scared to death and didn't hesitate to take advantage of any and all opportunity to freak me out. Turns out the place was harmless, but I didn't stop checking behind doors and peeking around corners until 3 or 4 days in.

The house was pretty small, and we were six. We rode together for 21 hours, lived together 24-7 for 7 days and rode back together another 21 hours. This trip really tested my capacity to live in community, which brings me to something I was processing last week. I actually forgot to take my journal with me, so I journaled on my laptop. Good thing. Now I don't have to re-write this entry, I'll just copy and paste it for your voyeuristic pleasure:

August 11, 2006
12:45am
Gibsland, LA

Rick told me a little later, I should be living in community. He said I
should have people around bugging me and getting under my skin because without
people I could not grow. I could not grow in God, and I could not grow as a
human. We are born into families, he said, and we are needy at first as
children because God wants us together, living among one another, not hiding
ourselves under logs like fungus. You are not a fungus, he told me, you
are a human, and you need other people in your life in order to be healthy.

I am reading Don Miller's Blue Like Jazz. In this paragraph he talks about living in community. I've been living in community for a week now on my vacation, and I identify with the sentiments found in line 2. I have experienced moments of aggravation, annoyance, irritability and impatience. And I have experienced moments of belonging, healing, support, belly laughter, and peace. I feel like I've learned some things about myself, things that should help me to grow. Here's what I've learned:

1. I am impatient. Really impatient. Among my travel companions are a 9 year old girl and an 11 year old boy. Brilliant, beautiful wonderful children. Inquisitive children. They ask lots of questions. Lots and lots and lots of questions. They want things. Lots of things. They need things. Lots of things. They are kids. I don't have kids. I love these kids. I don't understand how their mother still has hair on her head. And she as good kids. Great kids. Not hellions by any stretch of the imagination. In community I've been privy to a mother's patience with her children around the clock for a week. I lost count of the times I would have screamed, demanded that they be quiet, told them no and never to speak of a subject again, or quite frankly smacked them. I don't think I would have ever realized how utterly unready I am to be anybody's parent without this experience. It's one thing to see someone interact with their kids off and on, here and there. But around the clock in close quarters for an entire week has been eye-opening. I've observed so much that I admire. So much I am not.

2. I am obnoxiously opinionated. I enjoy arguing. Sometimes just for the sake of the argument. I remember loving debate in college. It never mattered which side of the argument I was on, I'd argue it to the death. It also reveals the arrogance I speak of later down the list. And as opinionated as I may be on some things, I probably lack much of the conviction about these things people may think I have. Sometimes I just want to win the argument and don't really care that much about it. Sometimes I don't know what the hell I'm talking about, but I can convince you that I do. Why the hell do I do this? But then there are things that I have really strong convictions about. Some of my rants are reactionary. Most of them are. Some of these convictions I hold purely because of past hurts that obviously have not healed. This makes me an absolute social ass, often.

3. I am mildly to moderately violent. I mentioned this in number one, but it has struck me to the point that it bears mentioning individually. I can see how attractive violence is to those who lack other conflict resolution skills. It is powerful tool to restore order, to regain control. And violence is not always physical. I've noticed too many times my urge to yell, or be short and cutting in my responses. I've resisted the urges quite a bit, but they come from someplace. Control is a theme that has come up a couple of times in my community vacation. It's important for me to feel like I'm not being controlled. I'm willing to go to significant extremes not to be controlled, even if that means taking back control by whatever means necessary. More on this further down.

4. I am a bit arrogant. Maybe more than a bit. I verbalized things on this trip that I have rarely if ever uttered before. Specifically that I need to be with someone who is my intellectual peer, someone who is capable of going deep with me. I know what I mean when I say this and I really don't mean it as a bad thing, but I'm afraid it is. I think anytime I can name the people I think I'm smarter than, that's a problem. When I can list things I've done in conversations or otherwise to confirm, to myself if to no one else, that I am right about this it's a problem. I can be a real bitch. Especially when I'm cranky and annoyed with your apparent ignorance. OK. Ignore that last statement.

5. I am quite selfish. Perhaps hopelessly selfish. I really am all about me at this point in my life. In a way, I make no apologies for this, because I am healing from a ton of crap that has festered because I have failed miserably to care for and pay attention to myself. But I am pretty self absorbed. Part of it is motivated by fear. I feel like I have to be self absorbed because there's no one else looking out for me but me. But I miss the me that is giving and compassionate. I have lived in a place of having nothing left to give, but I think that's different from me being the most important person in the universe. Right now, to me, I am. I don't want to be in this boat alone, so I'll add that I think most of us are. Great people who have changed lives for the good are those who've won the battle against self-absorption: Ghandi, Mother Theresa, Christ, Millie.

6. I am guilty of malicious hatred and cruelty. I already knew this about myself. I learned this in my marriage. Community gave me a place to confess it so that I can really examine it. People have different responses to being wronged. Some are hurt, some angry or apathetic. Some allow some or all of these to snowball into hatred. I've gotten there. More times than I want to count. "Hate is such a strong word." Yep, it is. But it's real and as un-nice as it is to say we hate people, I've found freedom in being able to call hate hate when I feel it. In community this week we've talked a lot about racism and reverse racism and how loving and accepting people where they are means loving and accepting the ones who hate you with or without a cause. I don't know about you, but it's hard for me to focus on loving someone who hates me when I won't admit that there are people I hate, or at least have hated at some point. Hatred, unacknowledged, turns malicious and the fruit is cruelty. I'm guilty of all the above. And as normal and human a response of hatred may be in certain circumstances, it still ain't right. Ah, I'm so far from who I want to be.

7. I am guilty of taking pleasure in stripping another of dignity. OK, take the hatred and the arrogance and roll it up in one and this is what you get. Pride is ugly and evil. I can be down right evil. It takes a lot. I should have learned to forgive and get away from the circumstances that drove me to abject hatred and meanness, but I didn't. I'm not proud of it. I mentioned to someone recently that revenge didn't appeal to me. No, I'm not turned on by tit for tat. I go for the jugular, to the core of a person, to the soul. Now, that's just wrong. I am so in need of redemption.

8. I am a hypocrite in my refusal to endure another's attempt to strip me of mine. Given number 7, I have the nerve to be willing to fight you to the death if you dare to treat me in a manner that disregards my dignity. I will gauge out the eyes of a man who talks to me like I'm his child. What a hypocrite!

I've learned all this about me by living with 5 other folks for a week, traveling 42 hours in a van, halfway across the country. Other people really do force you to see yourself for who you are.

I'm so far from who I want to be.

Peace.

Back, Moved and Catching Up

I am back. I'm all moved in. 75% unpacked. Tired. Tired. Tired.

I had a great time on vacation, and I'm glad I went. Thanks for all the advice. It was needed. I had plenty of time for introspection. You'll see more posts about what I was processing later. Right now I'm just trying to settle in.

I moved into my new digs and I'm sooooo happy. I'm tired because it was a lot of work in one day, especially after driving 21 hours the day before, but I'm glad I'm in. Miles gracias to all of my friends and fam who helped get it done yesterday: Rick, Seth, Kwesi, Tania, Kaleb, Kharon, Ricky, Daddy, Mommy, Shanada, James, Amani, Milan and Kayla. I really feel like everybody pitched in and did a huge part, but nothing too much fell on any one person. I hope you guys feel the same way. I love you. Couldn't have done it without you. (And I still have a handful of boxes and much organization...jump in if you'd like...even those who weren't able to help on Sunday. I still welcome the extra pairs of hands.)

I have to catch up on my blog protocol. I've missed so much. I only had about 15 minutes of internet access on vacation (when I posted the previous post), so I've missed a lot. OH, I haven't told you what I did for vacation have I??? I will, give me a chance to breathe and for my DSL to be up and running at the new place (tomorrow?) and I'll fill you in. You'll understand the lack of internet access. LOL. But it was so much fun.

OK, I'm tired. My clients need to be attended to. I've neglected them for a week and now I must get back to the business of saving lives.

Stay tuned...

8 to 80, Blind, Cockeyed or Crazy

Warning: If you are PC sensitive, skip this post….cuz it’s not.

There comes a time in every woman’s life when she needs to be reminded that she still has it. This week has be a week of reminders for me. I am the heaviest I have ever been in life, am experiencing the freedom of not putting on make up or doing my hair just right every day and actually loving life. I am probably far from what many would have considered my “best” in terms of my physical appearance, but I’ve still got it!!!

Man, the heads that have been turned this week. OK, I’ve yet to find the 8 year old with a crush…but let me tell you about the other ones.

Apparently I seem to turn the heads of 80 year-old, hairless, toothless, old white men in Wal-mart. Yeah Doggie!!! That’s right. They’re following me around the store and stopping in my aisle just to take it all in. Watch it guys. Don’t want to set off those pace-makers. Down, boys. Don’t hurt yourselves.

And then there’s the cross-eyed Rainman working in Bradford’s Fish Market. He damn near drooled on his shoes! Couldn’t take his eyes off of me (all tangled up or not), poor thing. I see you checking me out baby. Don’t hurt yourself. Pick up that fish you just dropped on the floor now. Can’t have you losing your job now, can we?

And, just in case any doubts remained about the effectiveness of my feminine wiles, there was Walter. Gotta love him. He’s Tania’s birth father. Crazy as hell and she wouldn’t mind me saying so. Vietnam vet who just hasn’t been able to keep up with the times. He is high as the sky, skinny as a rail, and crazy as hell (oh, I said that already.) Well he was smitten. Told me that I’m just his siiiize of woman. “Jack Sprat could eat no fat, baby don’t eat no lean!” Check me out! Admire the eloquence I inspire, ladies. Reciting me original poetry and all. I still got it!!!

Whoever coined the phrase “8 to 80, blind, cockeyed or crazy” must have had me in mind, cuz I’m turning heads on my vacation.

Don’t be too jealous, girls. I know they are a prized few, but there are still enough to share.

Here’s to finding the admirers necessary to stroke that ego right back into shape. Oh YEAH!!!!

(Can you hear the country accent that’s rubbing off on me?)

Culture...and other stuff

I was just talking to my officemate about a client who came in today and walked out with my calendar. She wanted to know why I gave it to her. Here's why:

I know that in Arab or Muslim cultures, when a guest admires something of yours, you give it to them. No matter what, even if it's your last or if it's very expensive. It's an insult to refuse the gift. Well, my client is South American and she admired a Spanish calendar in my office with survivors' stories of empowerment all through it. So, borrowing from my Arab brethren, I gave it to her. She was pleased. She wants to share it with her daughters who are survivors of their father's abuse.

This reminded me of another custom shared with me by my beloved Trini, Kwesi. He taught me never to return an empty dish. So, if I bring a dish to your house and leave it, you (the host) fill the dish with food when you give it back to me. I had the same experience with Korean friends. I think it's neat. My conclusion is that the whole world is so much more cultured than we damned Americans. Our version of returning a dish goes like this:

Here's your Tupperware. Sorry 'bout the spaghetti stains that got burned into in the microwave!

And our version of admiring something in your home:

Admirer: Wow, that's a really nice @#$@#$.

American: Sure is. It's an original @#$@#$@#$%#. Cost us $6 bizillian. I think it looks fabulous with our $8 bizillian %^*%%^*%%. Don't you? Next year we're going to add the ~^%$^, $14 bizillian!

Admirer: (thinking) WTH???

Anyways, I'm off to pack my bag for my vacation. I'm going go. Thanks for all who chimed in. The apartment isn't exactly packed, but I'll get as much done tonight as I can and then just have a killer weekend when I get back.

I don't know what my internet access will be. I may go through withdrawl from you all for a couple of days. :-(!

Have fun without me!

OH!! And, if anybody wants to help with the move, be at my "old" place at 11am Sunday, August 13th. If you can't make it then, call me for directions to the new place. Mojitos for all who pitch in.

LOVE to all!

Weigh - In

Today was the day of the official weigh in! Last night I made the decision not to try to trick the scale by doing stupid stuff like starving or not eating what I really wanted (Hershey's kisses and a beer.) I'm glad I was honest. No point in playing mind games with myself on this issue, or anything else, anymore.

The verdict: -1 lb. , -.6% body fat!

Not huge changes, but considering my 2 week hiatus from working out, I was pleased. I actually expected no change which, for me, would have been fine given that I had my normal stress reaction over the last two weeks: death by overeating. (I don't want to give the impression that I shovel gallons of ice cream in my mouth under the covers and hide candy bars in my glove compartment...That's just not the case. It's just that when I get stressed, I'm not likely to cook or make other generally healthy food choices.) I ate way too much fast food last week, so I'm glad to have made some progress in spite of it all.

And, I have worked out every day this week so far! I think I'm back on track.

Next weigh in: August 30th.

Grown-up Decisions

I am struggling tonight, actually I have been struggling all day with a decision about whether to go on my long ago planned vacation or not. I'm really feeling the pressure of moving into my new place and all the changes that means for my budget and now I'm questioning whether or not I should go on vacation, or just take the days off and use them to pack and "relax" at "home". (I'll explain all the quotation marks as I go on.)

On one hand I really need a break. I have a very stressful job. I work in a law office that represents sexual assault survivors in civil legal matters. Vicarious trauma is part and parcel with the job. I try not to carry the stories around with me, but it's inevitable. Never mind that some of them hit so close to home that some days are just overwhelming. I know I'm getting pretty close to burnout because I found myself absolutely annoyed with quite a few clients last week. One in particular who was being raped and beaten by her husband. She decided to go back to him, asked the court to revoke her protection order and now, two days after moving back home...he's back at it and she "doesn't know what to do"! Well, I had some suggestions for her! But empowerment advocacy requires that I affirm her power to make her own decisions for her life. I so wanted to say (and did once I hung up with her), "what the hell is wrong with you?!?! You can't be surprised!!" I screamed, "this is why I stopped doing domestic violence and switched to sexual assault." It is supposed to be a reprieve. Really. It is. Anyway, I know I can use the break.

And, the last time I took "vacation" was the first week of January. How did I use that time? Packing up the old house, going through the old stuff, dredging up all the memories and pain to move to my current location. It was heart wrenching and emotionally exhausting. Some vacation! I was an emotional wreck when I went back to work after that.

Add to this dilemma the fact that three sentences I go I referred to my current "location" and not home, because this stopped feeling like home 2 weeks ago. So as much as I'd want to consider chilling at home for a week, it's nearly impossible for me to relax here.

But my budget just got really, really tight. I can't really afford to take this trip, but I feel like I can't afford not to either. I need to get away. I need some down time to think. I haven't touched my journal in over 6 months. I need to make some career decisions so that I can continue to eat. And I just need some time away from clients' drama at work, and my own drama at home. I need a break, to get away, so I can re-engage and tackle all that's going to be waiting for me when I return: catching up at work, deciding if I should continue to do this work, the move, the new/additional job search, the stress of the new budget until something gives etc.

Part of me feels like I'm being financially irresponsible by going. Another part feels like I'm being irresponsible in my self-care by not going.

I need help with this one.

What would you guys do? What should I do?