Change is a-coming!

A big life change is on the horizon.

The final decision has not been made due to a last minute opportunity.

In the meantime, enjoy some over the top grandstanding.

Black men make me tired

Ok.

I have to get this off my chest. This morning, I came across two websites that really got my blood boiling.

First.

What About Our Daughters

I go back and forth about how much I enjoy this website. At times I find the women screechy and I don't know that I actually agree with all of their messages and tactics.

What attracted me to them initially was the portrayal (and betrayal) of black women in the media. I wondered what we were teaching our children about the value of black women.

Every week they do a podcast with black bloggers on blogtalkradio.com. This week they discussed the New Hampshire primary returns.

Second.

I came across Dear Black Man: I'm Not Angry, I'm just mad as hell .

Intriguing.

The website features stories about ways black women can relate to black men in a more meaningful manner.

Nice. I guess.

After further review I discovered that it's not black women who are mad as hell, it's the black men.

The site features an open letter section where black men can air all of their tired laundry.

How are these two things connected?

Well, on this week's WAOD roundtable a caller decided to voice his concerns with the fact that these ladies were not Obama supporters. This was a surprise to the ladies because they are not against Obama, they are just trying to figure out the best candidate for them will be.

The caller (a black man) asserted that all black women should be supporting Obama, we should put our gender aside because that is not important and that Obama needs to be our choice because he is the first viable black candidate. Professor Tracy took issue with the request that she forget her gender to support a candidate that might not be best for her well-being. Another blogger then challenged Mr. Black Man to explain the issues that Obama supported that would positively change their lives. (I'm paraphrasing). Mr. Black Man could only come up with He's not Jesse, he's not Al, he's not Shirley Chisholm. Then he was asked what issues make him, (Mr. Black Man) support Obama. Same story. First black man as president.

hmmmm.......

As this was going on in the background I was reading this:

...Now she wants to be independent instead of us teaming up to build a dynasty. I really feel that BM woman wants to lead the BM and control all aspects of black life. More times than not when a BW acheives socalled success there was a man in the picture to help make it happen. The BW wants her own materialism. Once a BM has been burned in this way he very seldom ever trust another BW. Do BW hate BM? I actually have been able to build my businesses successly with out her. I never would have beleived that she was the one whom did want me to succeed because she wanted her own recognition. Now she now one the 70% of BW looking for a good man.

Here's my thing, I feel like everywhere I turn, I read/see/hear something that speaks to the problem with black women:

1. We're too educated
2. We're too outspoken or we have an attitude
3. We're too independent (A condition caused by the abandonment of the black family en masse by black men, even if you weren't a victim of said loss, you still consume it as part of the culture at large)
4. We don't care what happens to men now because we have so much for ourselves.

All of this is usually followed by "Who are you going to date now, you've got so much for yourselves now your all alone. Ha!" or "Welcome to the 70% of black women who are unmarried!"

Well now wait a second. If you really don't care about us, and we don't deserve your attention, and you're better off with out us and that's why you only date white women, then why do you need us to vote for Obama without questioning his position?

Why do you need us to not have our defenses up when you step to us in the club or at the bar?

Why do you need us to support you financially when the going gets tough?

Why do you need us to subvert all of our goals and aspirations just so that we can make YOU FEEL LIKE A MAN? Act like a man! Are you a man? Why is that not enough? Why must black women act like sub-humans in order for us to be feminine?

Why, after all of this screaming that we aren't good enough, that we aren't worthy, that we aren't pretty, that we are worthless; are we supposed to support what any black man does, just because they are a black man. This is not a two-way street, and I resent expectation. (Oh I could go on and on about expectations).

I'm done.

A-kimmie's Heel

wan·der·lust
Pronunciation: 'wän-d&r-"l&st
Function: noun
: strong longing for or impulse toward wandering

As I walked into my office building today, I was overcome with ennui. I felt it as soon as I opened the door.

Ennui.

I even mentioned it to Julia. (Her response was "what are you talking about?!")

All day long, my personal soundtrack ran through my mind. I could hear my mother saying:

-"No matter how far you've gone down the wrong road, turn back."

I can hear myself telling a co-worker:
- "You haven't even given this place a chance. How do you know it's time to go?"

My friend Philip is yelling:
-"You need to have a job with no responsibility for awhile. Take the money, figure out what you really want to do, and then RUN! Literally. "

Well, I have said job. There are responsibilities (that I do not like), but the salary is high enough for me to do the job just for the money. There are relationships and events at work that make me uncomfortable. The alarm in my head started out small and quiet, now I cannot hear anything else. I'm trying to suck it up, while I desperately come up with a game plan. My problem is, all of this wandering has taught me a bit about what I should not be doing, but I still do not know what I should do instead.

Since I have no one to answer to (no kids, no spouse, no boyfriend) it is quite simple for me to pick up and leave town. But why? I have other goals: I would like to be in a relationship, I would like to have children one day; I would like to have a hobby as a hobby, not a hobby as a career. For the past 2 years, I have been trying to figure out how to make "settle down" happen without much success. I tried staying past my comfort zone, and that turned out to be a disaster. Maybe this is still my time to wander, even if I am getting old.

David Brooks says that I am in the odyssey life phase. Somehow, I am chasing something that doesn't exist. What is that something? What am I chasing that I cannot achieve? If I can figure that out, I bet I will settle down.

Since you asked...

Here we go again.

I came across this letter on Salon.com. Here's yet another 30-something black woman who can't get a date.

I'm tired of thinking about this. I'm tired of reading about this. I really just want to give up. I think it's time for me to accept the fact that I won't be meeting anyone, I won't be dating anyone, I won't be marrying anyone. By the time I recover from this latest round of frustration, I will be well past my expiration date.

I'm never going to be one of those "fast" hyper-sexual women who exudes the promise of sex at every turn. I'm finished being forward, it just never works out for me. I'm tired of letting the man be a man, that usually turns into some controlling/borderline abusive situation.

For now, it's me, the dog, and the tivo. Occasionally I can visit my friends who've had the good fortune of finding a companion. Maybe I'll make some new friends.

As for dating?


I'm done.

(whew....that reads more bitter than I thought I felt)

The Resurrection

I'm slowly beginning to come out of hiding. I'm recovering from the disaster my life has become.

Most of the ruin is from my personal poor choices. Some of the ruin is from believing in people who don't believe in themselves, people who dealing with internal demons running away from the messes they've created. Well. I can relate to that can't I? While I sympathize I don't need to be witness to the madness, this time I must exercise a little self-preservation. Some of my destruction comes from my ability to see the potential in things...the other side of struggle can be glorious. Not everyone is strong enough to make it through the hard times and sometimes I need to learn the art of giving up or moving on.


Moving on...

The Happiest Place on Earth

Over the past few months I was lucky enough to work with a great group of actors and musicians. These people were dedicated to their craft and to their families, in addition to being very happy at work. (A direct contrast to my previous work experience.) The next few posts will be dedicated to the people who make magic for 150,000 strangers a week, and made magic for me every day.

I'm not that shallow

I just feel like posting because my previous entry is so shallow.

An update....Let's see.

Ugandaman is driving me nuts and I've officially turned into one of those women.

My mother and I had an awesome time in DC. Photos to follow shortly.

A former partner in crime, and the other half of the most meaningful relationship I've had with a man who is not my father, is getting married. At first I was upset, replaying events in my head. Finally, I mustered up the nerve to call and congratulate him.

The conversation resolved two very important things for me:

1. There was a reason we were such good friends. With the healing salve of time, I can place previous perceived injustices in a box and remember why he was my closest friend for several years.

2. My needs as a woman pushing 30 are quite different than my needs were at 23. As great as he is, if my friends introduced us now, I would never go after a relationship with him. I'm enough drama for two people, who needs to add an actor to the mix?

Well, maybe that's not entirely true. He is fine. However, right now I have my sights set on a banker, or a lawyer, or an accountant, or a contractor (I have a thing for tool belts), or someone who isn't determined to have a smoking career in entertainment. That's my schtick, and someone needs to buy the Dior and 7 jeans when I can't.

On a lighter note, I've lost 24 pounds and my hair is growing just fine.

hmmmm.......I wonder what the health curriculum covers in Uganda.....

Damn. Still shallow.

I Need You to Need Me

My second to last day at Little Shop was filled with excitement. The day began with my mother and her book group coming to see the Matinee.

The author of the month was Debra Dickerson. It was quite fitting that the front page of Salon featured a piece written by her. The topic? Black women's sexuality in America.

Sounds kind of selacious, it wasn't at all. That's the problem. Every black woman that I know has experienced one of the things described in the article (read it here). Invisible. That's how I feel at times.

Fast forward a few hours. The moms are gone, and James and I are headed to the clubs.

The evening was filled with desperation. The black men were desperate to catch one of the scores of white girls dancing suggestively while they imbibed. The black women were desperate for any kind of attention. Any at all. What's new.

James and I had a great evening. I even have war wounds to prove it.