Client: Why wou…

Client: Why would we pay $3700 a month for a one bedroom apartment in a luxury building then pay a fee to use the amenities???

He was the coolest rabbi I’ve ever worked with.

What Are We Saying?

So lately I’ve been thinking about language and how it perpetuates gender stereotypes and inequalities. Why is it that when we want to encourage someone to do something we say “man up…” Women had to fight to vote, work and they bear children. So how did that phrase come about?

How come when men are being scary they get called a p*ssy?? But when you do something brave or bold it’s considered being “ballsy?” Last time I checked p*ssies take poundings, push out children, tear, get stitches and always bounce back. Squeeze a ball too hard and see how quickly a mans eyes water up. Why do we call a sensitive or soft man a bi*ch? A bi*ch is a female dog and they don’t just give birth–they have litters! And if you try to mess with one of her pups that bi*ch will kill you. So I really think we need to make a conscious effort to use phrases that more accurately reflect what we mean rather than this ridiculous language that makes women seem so soft….

Happy 34th Birthday DaJuan

I have a handful of days that are really hard for me and November 3 is one of them. On November 3, 1979 Bridget Gibson welcomed a beautiful, smiling baby boy named DaJuan into the world. 17 years later we would meet and he would instantly become 1 of my best friends. 6 years after we met his life was cut short and 10 years later my heart still hurts. Last year I wrote him this letter and since nothing has changed I figured I’d share it:

As I sit here on the eve of what would have been your 33rd birthday, I’m thinking about you, something I often do. It’s been 10 yrs and my eyes still pour tears as I laugh at the times we shared. I often ask myself if I had known in 1996 that you would be gone 6 short years later would I do anything different; and the answer remains the same; ABSOLUTELY NOT! I would do it all the exact same. We would have the same great laughs and share the same hugs. We would have the same conversations about music, life, politics & love, and go on the same blank missions looking for reckless teenage adventures. We would watch the same Timberwolves get swept by the Houston Rockets in their first trip to the playoffs and break the same bread over the same alcohol we were far too young to be drinking. We would have the same argument about something I can’t even remember and not speak for the same 8 days because with a 9:00 am Saturday phone call and a simple “What up girl?” You showed a young me that real friends will have dumb arguments and real friendships would always prevail. We would share the same warm hugs. I mentioned those already but man I really, really miss them. I miss your blunted reality and the way you could listen to me pour my heart out and often reply….”What the hell are you even talking about right now?” followed by a long laugh that was so real and so heartfelt, I had to join in and laugh too. I mentioned the laughs again because I can’t tell you how much I miss those. We shared so many of them. Your smile and laugh had the amazing ability to light up a room and everyone around you. A light that everyone who knew you shares, a light that will bond us all forever. I still speak to you often and when I do, I still feel that light…but I digress. I would have the same last conversation, me calling to say that I’m not coming to MN in June because I was going to Saudi Arabia for the summer to save money for a new truck. You responding, “get that money…” Then telling me about the soccer team you were coaching and your plans for culinary school on the East coast. You were leaving in October. I’d try to come to MN in Sept. We’d end the conversation with the same simple “I love you’s” as we did that day. Not because we’d know it was the last time we’d ever speak as physical beings, but because that’s how we ended all of our conversations. I wouldn’t change a single thing about how our friendship because our friendship was one of the realest, most meaningful friendships I’ve ever had. And I can’t even say it was just OUR friendship. You had amazing relationships with all of your friends because DaJuan you were an embodiment of LOVE. People loved to be around you and you were always the life of every party, never to be forgotten. But for those of us lucky enough to have been considered “close” you can’t be forgotten because you never died. You physically left us but your spirit lives on. Your spirit lives in us, your spirit shines through us. I could go on and on about what a great man you were or the greatness that was destined for you, but the truth is you lived your greatest destiny. You touched the hearts of everyone you ever came across, and I’m sure you’re 1 of the busiest angels (you have a lot of us to look out for). So straight from my heart all the way to Heaven I say, Happy birthday DJ-G, until we hug again…❤❤

The First Step is Always the Scariest

It’s been over a year since I got on an airplane with 1 oversize suite case, a piece of a plan and the sheer determination to not spend another winter in Minnesota ever again. When I landed in New York I remember thinking, “Wow I really don’t have a return ticket..” It was a feeling that was simultaneously exciting and quite scary. My short time here has been an adventure–one that has taught me more about myself than I ever expected. New York has humbled me–there’s nothing like sitting next to a sleeping homeless person on the train to make you appreciate having a roof over your head every night. New York has shown me what it means to grind–working 12 hour days is the norm, working 16 hour days then going out to network afterwards–THAT is a grind. Most importantly New York has shown me that my faith is far stronger than I realized and I’m really just as strong as everyone has always said. That being said if you know me you know that I’ve always said my dream job is to be a travel writer. I love to travel. I love to write. And people get paid to do both so why can’t I? I know that writing isn’t a secure career but it’s what I love. And it’s something that I’m pretty good at. I don’t expect to start as the Senior Staff Writer at a Hearst publication but I’ll get there if that’s my path. I’ve sent out a few resumes for internships/free lance gigs to a few lifestyle publications here in the city as well as a few in Atlanta and I actually have an interview tomorrow with a media management company for an internship. In the mean time I probably need to get a job with a salary. I don’t intend on quitting real estate, I just need to add something that pays consistently. I truly have no idea how this is going to play out but it feels good to have taken the first step.

The time he told me he couldn’t be my friend

The other night I was on another late night Songza session when Trey Songz “Can’t Be Friends” came on. I’ve heard the song millions of times but this was the first time I truly felt it because very recently I found myself in a very similar situation. 9 years ago if you would have asked me where I would be in 10 years I may not have told you where I would be–but I could have definitely told you who I would be with. We were young, reckless and having fun. He was a ladies man and I was free spirited flirt who really didn’t do relationships very well (but let’s be clear–no one really does in their young 20s). When our worlds collided it was amazing. Whether we were going out in a group or hanging out solo we always had fun together. And when we did what grown folks (or 20 somethings who think they’re grown) do–it was great. It wasn’t official so when he dropped the L bomb one day it caught me off guard. Although I was very much in love with him (or at least I thought I was at the time) I totally flubbed. Long story short things were never the same after that and a few months later when he called (we lived in two different states) to tell me he had began dating someone else I was crushed. I had suspected it for a while but nothing hurt more than hearing the words come out of his mouth. I had heard about this thing called heartbreak but I had never experienced it until that moment–and let me tell you–it hurts. Although I was silently sobbing and literally felt my heart breaking into pieces I managed to keep it together through the rest of the conversation and let him know that we would always be “friends..” I retreated to my bed, cried until the tears would no longer come and kept Destiny Fulfilled (tracks 3-11) on repeat for at least a month until one day it clicked. Bey and the ladies were singing “ain’t no feeling like being frreeeee” and I realized that I would be more than okay. As I gave it some real thought I began to realize that I was more in love with the idea of being with him than I actually was with him. In reality while we may have had fun together I had no interest in living the life he was preparing for. He was already a father, still in the military and preparing to enter the ministry while I was a full time college student who only worked to take vacations and start trouble in as many places as possible.  I had gotten so caught up in being the one he chose (because there were tons of women chasing) that I ignored the fact that I didn’t want to live in his world and he would never live in mine. This realization didn’t mean I loved him any less–it just meant that I loved him differently than I had initially believed.  This realization also made it much easier for me to be an active friend in his life–or so I thought. What I failed to realize was although I was perfectly fine being his friend he wasn’t quite ready to have me in his life regularly. We were very distant for years until recently when I came across an old picture of us and decided to send him a “hello friend” email. I knew he had gotten married and he informed me that he and his wife recently had a baby (I think he’s now a father of 5 while I’m still considering getting a puppy to practice for babies), life as a newlywed was great and he was an active Deacon in his church. Finally he let me know that he would be close to NY very soon and offered to fly me out to where he was going to be for the weekend. I can’t lie–I entertained it for about a minute before politely declining and I didn’t hear from him again for months. When I finally did hear from him it was an email basically telling me that we could never be friends. He said that having me in his life pulled at his heart, brought up too many “what ifs” and that I was carnal temptation (his exact words). And for the first time I realized that our “break up” was harder on him than I’d ever thought. I figured because he was dating someone else I was the only one hurting. I also (some what selfishly) figured that once I was okay we could be friends again. It never once crossed my mind how hurt he had been by the whole L word situation (the obvious changing point in our “relationship and something he brought up in the email). But as I read his words I could do nothing but respect him for speaking on it and respect his wishes–even if it meant closing the door on our friendship. So when Trey came on the other night and sang about wishing he never did it I felt it in a way different than any other time I’d heard the song. But I’m glad we did and at the end of the day I hope he is too.

 

What’s Your Number

You meet a man and after a few weeks of dating bliss he pops the question…No not that question. He asks you how many sexual partners you’ve had. What do you do? Do you lie and leave a few of those escapades out? Do you answer honestly and hope that your “number” isn’t too high for him? I’m pretty sure we’ve all seen the trailer for What’s Your Number? the romantic comedy staring Anna Faris, a woman determined to track down all 20 of the men she’s had relationships with to figure out what went wrong. I’m sure the story puts quite an entertaining spin on what can be a very awkward situation. The truth of the matter is, I was once asked about my sexual partners by my then boyfriend. Although my “number” wasn’t very high, I knew it was higher than his so I lied. Back then, I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to lie, but looking back, I realize I was afraid of him judging me based on a few youthful indiscretions. And let’s be honest, as women we are taught not to be like, “those girls,” or “loose.” It’s one of those absurd double standards placed on the female gender by society. A man can have as many sexual “conquests” as he likes while us women are barely allowed to publicly acknowledge that we enjoy sex, let alone actually admit that we’ve had more than a few partners. As I’ve gotten older and more comfortable in my sexual skin I no longer feel the need to lie about the number of partners I’ve had; however not only do I refuse to answer the question if asked, I also refuse to ask others. It doesn’t matter to me how many women my partner has been with in his past, all that matters to me is that I’m his present and future. Happy, healthy relationships shouldn’t focus on past partners but should focus on being safe! The only thing I want to know about your past is when was your last test and when are we going together. Once that’s been established, there’s noting sexier than a couple exploring sex without limits :-).

There are NO Madea’s in my Family

Yes, I’ve actually had to say those words to quite a few people and that’s the problem with Tyler Perry and Hollywood. I’m not sure if it’s Hollywood or us as the supporting audience, but it seems as if only one Black anything is allowed to be hot at a time, and right now, Tyler Perry is hot. His movies gross millions, ($500 million to date),his book, Don’t Make a Black Woman Take Off Her Earrings: Madea’s Uninhibited Commentaries on Love and Life , reached number 1 on the New York Time’s Best Seller list, he has not one, but two television shows on TBS, and he’s done something that not many Black actors/producers/directors have ever been able to do: He’s had crossover success! And while I would never hate on anyone’s success or hustle, I often wonder if we (Black women in particular) are paying the price for his success. Far too often I’ve heard people (both Black and White) make references to Madea and expect me to respond in a knowing manner. In fact, I’ve heard Mr. Perry himself say on numerous occasions that there’s a Madea in all Black families. But the truth of the matter is, there are no Madea’s in my family. In fact, most of the characters in Mr. Perry’s movies are completely foreign to me. All of the young women in my family are bright, ambitious, and motivated, not lost and looking for love like most of Mr. Perry’s female characters. This may sound shocking, but NONE of the young men in my family have been to jail, and while they may not be angels, they’re certainly not the woman beating, dead beat dad’s so often portrayed in Tyler Perry films. And while my grandmother (may she forever rest in peace) was a force to be reckoned with, she was a far cry from Madea. My grandmother’s strength did not come from her handgun or her ability to tackle grown men. Her strength came from her experience. If she saw you making a mistake she had made herself, she’d let you know before you did it. And if you went ahead and made that mistake anyway, she’d call you a fool, let you know that she told you so, and help you figure out how to fix it.

What Mr. Perry doesn’t seem to realize is that far too often people believe that what they see on the big screen. And if I didn’t know far too many awesome Black women, I would think we all hated men, were over bearing bitches, gold digging, single mothers, down on our luck and were the spawn of Madea. I would think that the majority of Black men are superficial, dead beat dads, that work blue collar jobs. Tyler Perry is in a very unique position: he’s a Black man who can actually help shape the way Black families are viewed by non Black audiences. How dynamic would it be for his next films to feature successful Black women happily married to successful Black men and raising children that are ambitious and motivated? Or even single Black women that don’t hate Black men and are enjoying life on the single circuit? My hope for 2012 is that Tyler Perry realizes what a powerful medium he has and uses it to help change some of the perceptions of Black women and the Black family…

Realizations

Over the past month or so I’ve had lots of realizations in both my personal and professional life. Some were quite obvious, (I absolutely cannot work in a cubicle or sit at a desk the majority of the day), others were surprising, (it takes a strong partner to stick it out when things aren’t rosy)and some were hard learned, (not everyone can be the friend you expect or need them to be). One thing I’ve definitely learned, my spirit is not be to be tamed or contained and even the strongest people need a shoulder to cry on. Sorry it’s been so long, it won’t happen again 🙂

I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T Do You Know That Means?

I was perusing Facebook recently when I came across a (semi) friend’s status in which she was proudly proclaiming her independence. The comment thread was filled with comments from women all making similar proclamations. Me, being the inquisitive (aka nosy) person that I am couldn’t help but click on a few of these “independent” women’s pages and what I found was A. they all had children, B. they were all single and C. on Father’s Day almost every single one of them had negative statuses referring to their child’s absentee father. Eventually I made my way back to my friend’s page and posed the question, what does it mean to be independent? The response: “I don’t need no man, blah, blah, blah,” that same tired man hating rhetoric that I have come to find both comical and quite troubling. So I posed another question, if your independence is dependent on your need of a man, or lack there of, are you truly independent? After a few more, “I don’t need no man, ” anthems I let it go but it definitely made me think. What exactly does it mean to be “independent?” It’s a word we seem to throw out rather quickly and there’s usually a certain amount of respect in being described as such…But what does it mean? According to Webbie, an independent woman is one who has her own house, her own job, two kids, no man, and is a bad broad. Well, I currently rent, have no kids, a wonderful partner, and while I have no problem referring to myself as bad as hell, there’s just something about the word broad that may get you punched if you EVER refer to me as such (please don’t test me on that one). So I guess that puts me out of the “Independent” category. So I ask again, what does it mean when we claim to be independent? Most women will say they’re independent because they don’t need a man for anything. Well, let me let the cat of the bag: men, partners, and spouses are not the be all end all of independence. My independence means that I’m able to what I need to do to accomplish what I need to accomplish and feel secure enough in making those decisions on my own. And the truth of the matter is, I’ve been that way for a long time. Long before I even noticed the opposite sex. My mom often jokes that I was born doing things my way, often times without first asking or getting her permission. She would make jokes about my, “strong will,” and “inquisitive nature,” but she was really quite supportive of my exerting my independence at a very young age. As long as I understood the consequences of my actions I had her full support. And that freedom fostered true independence. When I was 18 and decided to join the Air Force, there wasn’t a family discussion around the table like you see on television. I came home and informed my mother that I would be leaving for basic training in August. That was in June. When I decided I was sick of relaxing my hair, I simply stopped. I didn’t ask anyone for their opinion. I could go on and on about thousands of decisions I’ve made completely independent of anyone but there’s no need. I will say that while I admire women who don’t “need” a man for anything, let’s keep it real ladies: the vast majority of us want and long for a happy, healthy, loving relationship. For all of my independence and ability to do for self, I must admit, it was nice to have a man around to save the day when I pulled the shower knob out of the wall and water was shooting all over the bathroom. And admitting so doesn’t make me any less independent, it simply makes me human.