Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Plus, you live in a haunted house!
Frank called. A full seven months after we last spoke. I must have a lasting impression, because this isn't the first man who's kept my number far longer than I would dream of keeping theirs.
I was meandering through the aisles of A Market in Manchester. A cozy natural food store with great produce, I was on a bit of a mission. My good friend, C, eats mostly organic, likes organic cosmetics, vegetarian... and I was looking for a sweet gift basket or at least some inspiration for her Christmas gift. I received neither, but I picked up a bitchin organic avocado and poured myself a steaming cup of yerba mate.
Heading over to the vitamins, I heard my cell ring, although muffled, inside my tiny purse. I never miss it, though. Dr. Dre has a pretty distinguishable beat.
I looked at the caller ID. A 617 area code. Mostly relieved that it wasn't work calling me in for some dire emergency, I answered almost sheerly out of curiosity.
"Hello?"
"hey, how ya doin?"
"Who is this?"
"haha hey what's up?"
"Who is this?"
"It's Frankie!"
A week prior, I was in downtown Boston and telling my mom, "I don't think I've heard the last of Frank".
A week later, my intuitive powers were once again validated.
"So I've been thinkin' about ya"
"oh yeah? Are you addicted to drama? Because all we did was fight"
"I know, huh"
We went on to discuss careers and how I may work in Boston but will never move there because I'm not a Masshole. Frank didn't like that.
Frank and I fought about everything. We fought from our first date on. I kept telling him I wasn't a fighter, but he didn't know better. Being with Frank brought out the worst in me. I couldn't figure out why. Was it the constant tension in his voice? Was it the awful directions he gave and sent me an hour out of my way? Maybe it was when he told me it was in his cultural heritage to have a mistress once married. Before we got to the third date, we argued over how our Frankie Jr. would be raised.
A side note - Frank bought a new car fairly soon after meeting me. A few other of my beaus have also done that.
Frank earned a few nicknames with my friends. Pasta Perv, Fettuccine Frank, and I would come to call him "Fucking Frank" - and not in the good way.
Frank sells fresh pasta. He also opened a cafe in Roslindale with a business partner. I never got to see the cafe. A week before opening, I injured my back. I'm 100% better now, but at the time, I was at home on Flexeril and Vicodin, waiting for a chiropractic appointment. I couldn't stand up straight and it hurt to sit. My options were skulking around or laying flat.
He was busy with the cafe. He asked if I'd like to go out over the weekend. I told him I was still hurt, and very high, by the way. That drug combination is a winner. He could come see me, but I couldn't drive. He told me he'd visit and make me feel all better. I popped pills and waited, but no Frank. When he finally called, I confronted him. I told him if all he was looking for was a fun, hot date, he wasn't going to get one that weekend... and is that why he didn't show? Silence from Fucking Frank. I hung up and deleted that bitch from my phone.
Seven months later from the skincare aisle at A Market, we discussed why it would never work. I told Frank I had enough stress at work - I don't need to come home and fight with someone every night. I'm looking for a healthy, stable relationship. I'd be crazy to marry someone who admits he'll cheat on me because it's in his "heritage". I told him his parents may be from the old country, but he's not. How does someone blame a country for his own moral inadequacies, anyway?
"And if that's not enough, you live in a haunted house!"
I giggled inwardly as I imagined other A Market customers eavesdropping on what must have sounded like a very strange conversation.
I arrived at Frank's house an hour later than expected. He left out a minor detail when giving me directions - such as changing routes. Completely frustrated, I stopped twice and got directions from a cop and a liquor store attendant. When I was calm enough to speak to him, he talked me in on the phone, and said how amazing it would be if we got past this and stayed together. His boss offered to drive out to find me and escort me to Frank's house. I eventually arrived and attempted to calm myself down before stepping onto the driveway.
He was waiting on the porch for me. He said he felt like a little kid with his baseball mitt, waiting for dad to come home. I found that and some other things endearing about him. When I saw him, all my frustration disappeared. He hugged me and ushered me inside. He told me he'd make it up to me. I told him he'd better.
The agenda for that particular evening was cooking! Frank was a professional chef for many years. He told me to bring whatever I like to eat, and he'd create a meal for us. We cooked together and laughed and drank the awful wine from the vineyard we visited on our first date. I enjoyed myself, and before long, it was very late. I had to work the next day. He invited me to stay over, but I felt it was too early in our relationship to do that. He told me not to be silly - I had already been on the road two hours that day. I asserted that there would be no hanky panky (well, maybe a little - he still had to make the driving frustration up to me), and he agreed.
Frank told me to go upstairs and hop in bed while he cleaned up the kitchen. There was no light switch at the bottom of the stairs. I carefully climbed the stairs in the dark, but when I approached the top, I felt that awful familiar feeling of thickened air and heavy atmosphere. The feeling of a haunting. I hesitantly approached the top of the staircase and ran my hands across the walls, searching for a light switch. Nothing.
"Frank?" I called out.
He came to the bottom of the stairs.
I asked him where the light was, and he came up and turned one on in his bedroom. I followed him in, then asked where the upstairs bathroom was. When I stepped out of his bedroom, I felt it again. It was hanging around the top of the stairs. It was so noticeable I was very surprised Frank didn't seem to notice it himself.
He eventually joined me in bed and I tried to sleep. I was awoken several times throughout the night with BIZARRE dreams. The type of dreams one has when they're in a highly charged psychic environment. I was in the room we were sleeping in, with Frank's family (whom I hadn't yet met), discussing the "thing" in the hallway. In another dream, I was in his basement being attacked. I knew that Frank would not protect me and that I would have to defend myself. All night these dreams and others went on and on.
Around 3 am, Frank stirred and asked if I was up. When he looked at me, he knew for certain I was very awake. I asked him if his place was haunted. He said no one had ever come out and asked him that, but anyone who sleeps over never gets any sleep. In fact, he said he sleeps BETTER when he's away from home. I told him that it's usually the opposite for most people. We talked more about what was in the hallway, and then tried to sleep some more.
I left early in the morning and hit the most welcoming, heart warming rush hour traffic on the southeast expressway in Boston. After just a very short few hours of sleep and a stressful drive the day before, I decided I was done with Frank.
But what about Frankie Jr? We gave it one last try for our son we would never have and took a day trip together. Frank is of course Catholic, but doesn't practice. I'm a non-denominational bible based Christian who does practice. Frank wanted Frankie Jr. to be baptized at birth, first communion, etc. I want my son to know God through Jesus and choose to have that personal relationship with Him. We couldn't agree.
A week later, I was flat on my back waiting for fair weathered Frank to darken my doorstep. It speaks volumes about people who are around for good times, but are nonexistent when you just need a DVD, some take out and a back rub.
We wished each other well over the phone, he driving in Danvers, me in the A Market.
I hung up, paid for my avocado and now almost empty cup of yerba mate, and laughed to myself about the strange, odd and never boring people who come into my life.
Some have said I attract them! So what does that say about me? :)
I was meandering through the aisles of A Market in Manchester. A cozy natural food store with great produce, I was on a bit of a mission. My good friend, C, eats mostly organic, likes organic cosmetics, vegetarian... and I was looking for a sweet gift basket or at least some inspiration for her Christmas gift. I received neither, but I picked up a bitchin organic avocado and poured myself a steaming cup of yerba mate.
Heading over to the vitamins, I heard my cell ring, although muffled, inside my tiny purse. I never miss it, though. Dr. Dre has a pretty distinguishable beat.
I looked at the caller ID. A 617 area code. Mostly relieved that it wasn't work calling me in for some dire emergency, I answered almost sheerly out of curiosity.
"Hello?"
"hey, how ya doin?"
"Who is this?"
"haha hey what's up?"
"Who is this?"
"It's Frankie!"
A week prior, I was in downtown Boston and telling my mom, "I don't think I've heard the last of Frank".
A week later, my intuitive powers were once again validated.
"So I've been thinkin' about ya"
"oh yeah? Are you addicted to drama? Because all we did was fight"
"I know, huh"
We went on to discuss careers and how I may work in Boston but will never move there because I'm not a Masshole. Frank didn't like that.
Frank and I fought about everything. We fought from our first date on. I kept telling him I wasn't a fighter, but he didn't know better. Being with Frank brought out the worst in me. I couldn't figure out why. Was it the constant tension in his voice? Was it the awful directions he gave and sent me an hour out of my way? Maybe it was when he told me it was in his cultural heritage to have a mistress once married. Before we got to the third date, we argued over how our Frankie Jr. would be raised.
A side note - Frank bought a new car fairly soon after meeting me. A few other of my beaus have also done that.
Frank earned a few nicknames with my friends. Pasta Perv, Fettuccine Frank, and I would come to call him "Fucking Frank" - and not in the good way.
Frank sells fresh pasta. He also opened a cafe in Roslindale with a business partner. I never got to see the cafe. A week before opening, I injured my back. I'm 100% better now, but at the time, I was at home on Flexeril and Vicodin, waiting for a chiropractic appointment. I couldn't stand up straight and it hurt to sit. My options were skulking around or laying flat.
He was busy with the cafe. He asked if I'd like to go out over the weekend. I told him I was still hurt, and very high, by the way. That drug combination is a winner. He could come see me, but I couldn't drive. He told me he'd visit and make me feel all better. I popped pills and waited, but no Frank. When he finally called, I confronted him. I told him if all he was looking for was a fun, hot date, he wasn't going to get one that weekend... and is that why he didn't show? Silence from Fucking Frank. I hung up and deleted that bitch from my phone.
Seven months later from the skincare aisle at A Market, we discussed why it would never work. I told Frank I had enough stress at work - I don't need to come home and fight with someone every night. I'm looking for a healthy, stable relationship. I'd be crazy to marry someone who admits he'll cheat on me because it's in his "heritage". I told him his parents may be from the old country, but he's not. How does someone blame a country for his own moral inadequacies, anyway?
"And if that's not enough, you live in a haunted house!"
I giggled inwardly as I imagined other A Market customers eavesdropping on what must have sounded like a very strange conversation.
I arrived at Frank's house an hour later than expected. He left out a minor detail when giving me directions - such as changing routes. Completely frustrated, I stopped twice and got directions from a cop and a liquor store attendant. When I was calm enough to speak to him, he talked me in on the phone, and said how amazing it would be if we got past this and stayed together. His boss offered to drive out to find me and escort me to Frank's house. I eventually arrived and attempted to calm myself down before stepping onto the driveway.
He was waiting on the porch for me. He said he felt like a little kid with his baseball mitt, waiting for dad to come home. I found that and some other things endearing about him. When I saw him, all my frustration disappeared. He hugged me and ushered me inside. He told me he'd make it up to me. I told him he'd better.
The agenda for that particular evening was cooking! Frank was a professional chef for many years. He told me to bring whatever I like to eat, and he'd create a meal for us. We cooked together and laughed and drank the awful wine from the vineyard we visited on our first date. I enjoyed myself, and before long, it was very late. I had to work the next day. He invited me to stay over, but I felt it was too early in our relationship to do that. He told me not to be silly - I had already been on the road two hours that day. I asserted that there would be no hanky panky (well, maybe a little - he still had to make the driving frustration up to me), and he agreed.
Frank told me to go upstairs and hop in bed while he cleaned up the kitchen. There was no light switch at the bottom of the stairs. I carefully climbed the stairs in the dark, but when I approached the top, I felt that awful familiar feeling of thickened air and heavy atmosphere. The feeling of a haunting. I hesitantly approached the top of the staircase and ran my hands across the walls, searching for a light switch. Nothing.
"Frank?" I called out.
He came to the bottom of the stairs.
I asked him where the light was, and he came up and turned one on in his bedroom. I followed him in, then asked where the upstairs bathroom was. When I stepped out of his bedroom, I felt it again. It was hanging around the top of the stairs. It was so noticeable I was very surprised Frank didn't seem to notice it himself.
He eventually joined me in bed and I tried to sleep. I was awoken several times throughout the night with BIZARRE dreams. The type of dreams one has when they're in a highly charged psychic environment. I was in the room we were sleeping in, with Frank's family (whom I hadn't yet met), discussing the "thing" in the hallway. In another dream, I was in his basement being attacked. I knew that Frank would not protect me and that I would have to defend myself. All night these dreams and others went on and on.
Around 3 am, Frank stirred and asked if I was up. When he looked at me, he knew for certain I was very awake. I asked him if his place was haunted. He said no one had ever come out and asked him that, but anyone who sleeps over never gets any sleep. In fact, he said he sleeps BETTER when he's away from home. I told him that it's usually the opposite for most people. We talked more about what was in the hallway, and then tried to sleep some more.
I left early in the morning and hit the most welcoming, heart warming rush hour traffic on the southeast expressway in Boston. After just a very short few hours of sleep and a stressful drive the day before, I decided I was done with Frank.
But what about Frankie Jr? We gave it one last try for our son we would never have and took a day trip together. Frank is of course Catholic, but doesn't practice. I'm a non-denominational bible based Christian who does practice. Frank wanted Frankie Jr. to be baptized at birth, first communion, etc. I want my son to know God through Jesus and choose to have that personal relationship with Him. We couldn't agree.
A week later, I was flat on my back waiting for fair weathered Frank to darken my doorstep. It speaks volumes about people who are around for good times, but are nonexistent when you just need a DVD, some take out and a back rub.
We wished each other well over the phone, he driving in Danvers, me in the A Market.
I hung up, paid for my avocado and now almost empty cup of yerba mate, and laughed to myself about the strange, odd and never boring people who come into my life.
Some have said I attract them! So what does that say about me? :)
Friday, December 05, 2008
An Open Letter to Single Christian Men Who Don't Go to Church, by Camerin Courtney
An Open Letter to Single Christian Men Who Don't Go to Church
(and a postscript to those who do)
by Camerin Courtney
Dear guys:
First of all, let me start by saying I get it. I know it's no picnic being you in a pew these days. Books such as Wild at Heart, Why Men Hate Going to Church, and No More Christian Nice Guy have raised our awareness to how feminized many American churches have become. Too much touchy-feely, felt-needs emotionalism and not enough iron sharpening iron. Too much meek and mild Jesus, not enough miracle worker and champion for the poor. Too much kum-ba-yah, not enough commitment.
I once said to a single female friend that sometimes attending church as a single woman feels not so unlike a person struggling with infertility going to a baby shower every Sunday morning. So much understandable family-focus, yet so much opportunity for the 44 percent of the U.S. adult population that's single to feel like outsiders. My friend nodded her head in quick agreement. If this is true of us, I can only imagine that the challenge for you is exponentially worse.
If the stereotype is true, you guys, by and large, like to feel needed. And I'm sure church is no exception. I've heard men complain that outlets for them to serve in their church are somewhat limited. One reader wrote to me saying that if he were to volunteer for his church's nursery, they'd look at him—a single man—as a potential pedophile. From my observation, the main outlets for service for single men in many churches is music or youth ministry. If you're not into either of those things, I'm sure you can feel stifled.
I wonder if leadership opportunities for you are limited as well. I could count on one hand (one finger, actually) the number of single men I've seen on the governing and elder boards at churches I've been part of over the past three decades or so. Are the leader-type men not present or are the doors not open for them? Either way, it's a problem.
If you venture into a church's singles class that's populated by more women than men, as many are, I'll bet you can feel like a juicy steak that's been tossed into a den of hungry lions. Or you're bored and wishing you were home watching the game instead of sitting there in what can feel like a girlified garden party. Or you're immediately approached to lead a Bible study or help plan a hayride.
Overall, I know it's possible for you, at turns, to feel isolated, invisible, pressured, misunderstood, or scrutinized when you darken the door of a church. These feelings in and of themselves are hard enough, but somehow experiencing them in a place that's supposed to be sanctuary—God's house—feels even worse.
Or perhaps you've been influenced by the independent, lone ranger American ideal and think you don't need church. You can pray and read your Bible on your own, thankyouverymuch. You might even be able to do so even more faithfully and fruitfully on your own.
Still …
The Body of Christ needs you. In fact, we're incomplete without you. Many of our churches have been limping along with you, a vital part of the body, missing. We're lacking your talents, insights, and helping hands.
I recently joined a new committee at my church. Our six-member team consists of three married men and three single women. I've served on at least a half dozen different service/leadership teams over my ten years at my current church, and I've never served alongside a single man. I'm not saying I'm bummed I didn't get to scam on any men at these meetings, I'm saying I would have loved your input. We would have been a stronger team if your skills and perspectives had been represented as well.
Over the past two months, three different friends of mine have confided in me about attractions they're struggling with for inappropriate men—guys who are married or who don't share their faith. All three of these friends told me that they know these guys aren't the type of man they should be holding out for, but all three have also told me—with palpable frustration in their voice—they don't see appropriate men for them to be interested in. In their churches and other Christian communities, they don't see single Christian men for them to consider for dating purposes. I'm not saying their struggles are your fault, and I'm not trying to make you a scapegoat for their temptations. I am saying they might be a tad less susceptible to these unhealthy attractions and pursuers if they looked around on Sunday morning and saw you.
From a completely personal perspective, when I look at you as marriage potential, I'm a bit cautious. If you leave church when it's uncomfortable and tough, what's to say you won't do the same in a marriage once it gets uncomfortable and tough (as it inevitably will). Where's the proof of obedience and commitment in your life? I'm not asking you to be a spiritual giant; I'm just asking you to show up. And hopefully to live like you mean it when you say you're a Christian—at least as well as any of us fallen human beings can.
I also worry for you. It's not easy being Christ-like in our materialistic, narcissistic, sex-saturated society. And we weren't designed to go it alone. We need community, accountability, mutual encouragement. I'd be happy to spur you on in love and good works, to together figure out how to live in this world but not of it. I know God told us not to give up the practice of meeting together (Hebrews 10:25) not as a legalistic ruler but as a loving Father. He knew it wouldn't be easy, that we'd need one another. I need you. You need me. That's the point of the church.
And maybe, just maybe, if enough of you show up, it will get a little easier for your demographic—and mine. To feel visible and valued. To do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with our God—even more effectively and joyfully for walking this road together.
Respectfully,
-Camerin
P.S. to Men Who Do Attend Church:
No, I don't think you're chopped liver sitting there in the pew every Sunday morning. On behalf of the Body of Christ, thank you. Really. For showing up. For being a vital member of the family of faith. For giving your time and talents for the corporate good. For faithfully obeying God's command to meet together, even if it may be difficult at times.
Also, I'm sorry—for the times when we single women overlook you, take you for granted, see you only as a potential marriage partner (or not), don't handle your romantic interest with honesty and integrity, or fail to give you opportunities to serve and lead. I know there are many single men in the church who are hurting from the actions or inactions of their single sisters. And for that, I'm sorry.
If you're one of those people who sneaks into the service at the last minute and bolts at the final amen, would you consider finding a place to serve in your church? As I mentioned above, we need your skills and abilities. I know there might not be a lot of open doors for this, but perhaps if a few more of you express interest in serving and leading, a few more opportunities will open up. We're at a deficit without you.
And if you're in one of those churches where being single—and especially a single man—is easy or great, please please please invite your single brothers. You can get them into a congregation more authentically and healthily than we women can. The single men outside the church need you to be a positive influence in their life, to open doors for these missing family members. And we in the rest of the church would be eternally grateful to you for helping the Body of Christ to become more whole.
(and a postscript to those who do)
by Camerin Courtney
Dear guys:
First of all, let me start by saying I get it. I know it's no picnic being you in a pew these days. Books such as Wild at Heart, Why Men Hate Going to Church, and No More Christian Nice Guy have raised our awareness to how feminized many American churches have become. Too much touchy-feely, felt-needs emotionalism and not enough iron sharpening iron. Too much meek and mild Jesus, not enough miracle worker and champion for the poor. Too much kum-ba-yah, not enough commitment.
I once said to a single female friend that sometimes attending church as a single woman feels not so unlike a person struggling with infertility going to a baby shower every Sunday morning. So much understandable family-focus, yet so much opportunity for the 44 percent of the U.S. adult population that's single to feel like outsiders. My friend nodded her head in quick agreement. If this is true of us, I can only imagine that the challenge for you is exponentially worse.
If the stereotype is true, you guys, by and large, like to feel needed. And I'm sure church is no exception. I've heard men complain that outlets for them to serve in their church are somewhat limited. One reader wrote to me saying that if he were to volunteer for his church's nursery, they'd look at him—a single man—as a potential pedophile. From my observation, the main outlets for service for single men in many churches is music or youth ministry. If you're not into either of those things, I'm sure you can feel stifled.
I wonder if leadership opportunities for you are limited as well. I could count on one hand (one finger, actually) the number of single men I've seen on the governing and elder boards at churches I've been part of over the past three decades or so. Are the leader-type men not present or are the doors not open for them? Either way, it's a problem.
If you venture into a church's singles class that's populated by more women than men, as many are, I'll bet you can feel like a juicy steak that's been tossed into a den of hungry lions. Or you're bored and wishing you were home watching the game instead of sitting there in what can feel like a girlified garden party. Or you're immediately approached to lead a Bible study or help plan a hayride.
Overall, I know it's possible for you, at turns, to feel isolated, invisible, pressured, misunderstood, or scrutinized when you darken the door of a church. These feelings in and of themselves are hard enough, but somehow experiencing them in a place that's supposed to be sanctuary—God's house—feels even worse.
Or perhaps you've been influenced by the independent, lone ranger American ideal and think you don't need church. You can pray and read your Bible on your own, thankyouverymuch. You might even be able to do so even more faithfully and fruitfully on your own.
Still …
The Body of Christ needs you. In fact, we're incomplete without you. Many of our churches have been limping along with you, a vital part of the body, missing. We're lacking your talents, insights, and helping hands.
I recently joined a new committee at my church. Our six-member team consists of three married men and three single women. I've served on at least a half dozen different service/leadership teams over my ten years at my current church, and I've never served alongside a single man. I'm not saying I'm bummed I didn't get to scam on any men at these meetings, I'm saying I would have loved your input. We would have been a stronger team if your skills and perspectives had been represented as well.
Over the past two months, three different friends of mine have confided in me about attractions they're struggling with for inappropriate men—guys who are married or who don't share their faith. All three of these friends told me that they know these guys aren't the type of man they should be holding out for, but all three have also told me—with palpable frustration in their voice—they don't see appropriate men for them to be interested in. In their churches and other Christian communities, they don't see single Christian men for them to consider for dating purposes. I'm not saying their struggles are your fault, and I'm not trying to make you a scapegoat for their temptations. I am saying they might be a tad less susceptible to these unhealthy attractions and pursuers if they looked around on Sunday morning and saw you.
From a completely personal perspective, when I look at you as marriage potential, I'm a bit cautious. If you leave church when it's uncomfortable and tough, what's to say you won't do the same in a marriage once it gets uncomfortable and tough (as it inevitably will). Where's the proof of obedience and commitment in your life? I'm not asking you to be a spiritual giant; I'm just asking you to show up. And hopefully to live like you mean it when you say you're a Christian—at least as well as any of us fallen human beings can.
I also worry for you. It's not easy being Christ-like in our materialistic, narcissistic, sex-saturated society. And we weren't designed to go it alone. We need community, accountability, mutual encouragement. I'd be happy to spur you on in love and good works, to together figure out how to live in this world but not of it. I know God told us not to give up the practice of meeting together (Hebrews 10:25) not as a legalistic ruler but as a loving Father. He knew it wouldn't be easy, that we'd need one another. I need you. You need me. That's the point of the church.
And maybe, just maybe, if enough of you show up, it will get a little easier for your demographic—and mine. To feel visible and valued. To do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with our God—even more effectively and joyfully for walking this road together.
Respectfully,
-Camerin
P.S. to Men Who Do Attend Church:
No, I don't think you're chopped liver sitting there in the pew every Sunday morning. On behalf of the Body of Christ, thank you. Really. For showing up. For being a vital member of the family of faith. For giving your time and talents for the corporate good. For faithfully obeying God's command to meet together, even if it may be difficult at times.
Also, I'm sorry—for the times when we single women overlook you, take you for granted, see you only as a potential marriage partner (or not), don't handle your romantic interest with honesty and integrity, or fail to give you opportunities to serve and lead. I know there are many single men in the church who are hurting from the actions or inactions of their single sisters. And for that, I'm sorry.
If you're one of those people who sneaks into the service at the last minute and bolts at the final amen, would you consider finding a place to serve in your church? As I mentioned above, we need your skills and abilities. I know there might not be a lot of open doors for this, but perhaps if a few more of you express interest in serving and leading, a few more opportunities will open up. We're at a deficit without you.
And if you're in one of those churches where being single—and especially a single man—is easy or great, please please please invite your single brothers. You can get them into a congregation more authentically and healthily than we women can. The single men outside the church need you to be a positive influence in their life, to open doors for these missing family members. And we in the rest of the church would be eternally grateful to you for helping the Body of Christ to become more whole.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Giving Thanks
I am thankful for so much. It's really important to me to be grateful for all I have. Sometimes I am sickened by American excess. It's never enough for some people. We wake up every day to clean water to drink and bathe in, most of us have access to food, lots of us have warm shelter and 93.5% of us are fortunate to have a job that pays us. Yet we want more. Okay. A vehicle is great. So is cable tv, an mp3 player, going out to dinner and drinks with friends, etc.
Do we ever stop to think about the billions of people in developing countries who have none of that? As women, we can choose our reproductive future, vote in political elections, are protected against FGM and can educate ourselves to whatever extent we wish. When we run, we run for pleasure, to be fitter, slimmer and in better heart shape. When people in developing countries run, they run as a means of getting from A to B or they're running from things that threaten them. We try not to eat too much, while others search for food and often go without.
I'm so thankful for the things we deem as "basic necessities". There's lots more I'm thankful for, but I think it's important to pause at the basics and truly give thanks.
Black Friday is tomorrow. Are you worried about how much you may spend on Christmas? Take a minute and watch this, and consider what could happen:
Do we ever stop to think about the billions of people in developing countries who have none of that? As women, we can choose our reproductive future, vote in political elections, are protected against FGM and can educate ourselves to whatever extent we wish. When we run, we run for pleasure, to be fitter, slimmer and in better heart shape. When people in developing countries run, they run as a means of getting from A to B or they're running from things that threaten them. We try not to eat too much, while others search for food and often go without.
I'm so thankful for the things we deem as "basic necessities". There's lots more I'm thankful for, but I think it's important to pause at the basics and truly give thanks.
Black Friday is tomorrow. Are you worried about how much you may spend on Christmas? Take a minute and watch this, and consider what could happen:
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
I wanna
date a hot Indian man named Raj
go to Egypt a second time
buy a car that's actually good in the snow
sunbathe on a nude beach
live in Chicago for at least a year
marry someone who's foreign with a wonderful voice
write my book
buy a sweet house with tons of character
sip wine in Napa Valley with someone who appreciates wine
have a koi pond
in the next five years.
go to Egypt a second time
buy a car that's actually good in the snow
sunbathe on a nude beach
live in Chicago for at least a year
marry someone who's foreign with a wonderful voice
write my book
buy a sweet house with tons of character
sip wine in Napa Valley with someone who appreciates wine
have a koi pond
in the next five years.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Summatime
I'm creating a daily blog apart from A Long Walk. I'll update A Long Walk periodically with stuff that's amusing, interesting, whatever... but for now my daily blog journal will be private. Nothing personal, yo!
Things are great and I am happy. My new position is fun and worthwhile. I have a date Saturday that I'm very strangely excited, nervous and anxious for. Normally I don't get nervous for dates or interviews. I've been trying to uncover what is making me so nervous, but I think I will leave that to the professionals. He has a surprise for me, and he said I sounded like an excited little kid when he told me our date will be a surprise. I told him all I needed to know was if I can wear heels or not. I can. So I will. But yikes, I love surprises like this... we'll see what happens!
Things are great and I am happy. My new position is fun and worthwhile. I have a date Saturday that I'm very strangely excited, nervous and anxious for. Normally I don't get nervous for dates or interviews. I've been trying to uncover what is making me so nervous, but I think I will leave that to the professionals. He has a surprise for me, and he said I sounded like an excited little kid when he told me our date will be a surprise. I told him all I needed to know was if I can wear heels or not. I can. So I will. But yikes, I love surprises like this... we'll see what happens!
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Update on the Muffin stuff oh and the Floridian
Muffin and I had a great time together. He's funny as hell, sweet, affectionate and more mature than the average 22 year old. As he said, "We have a lot of sexual energy". True. But I need more than that with someone. We never fully consumated our little whatever we had, but it was great being reminded of my own energy in that area and knowing that it just takes the right person to truly bring it out in all its unbridled glory :)
Fine Ass Alex from Florida actually expected a physical relationship after just 3 dates. He told me he is a grown ass man and isn't accustomed to not getting what he wants. I know, I know, where on earth do I meet these people? Conclusion: He was nice to look at and it felt damn good to date a black man again. That's it. I told him I thought we'd be better as friends, and haven't heard from him since.
In more general dating news, I seem to be attracting lots of men WAY outside of my age range. They're either 24 or 48. The 24 year old was truly surprised at my actual age. He thought I was close to his age. The 48 year old thought I was older than 33. WTF!
I'm having no problems meeting people. Age appropriateness would be nice. I think it's funny that boys in their early 20's think have something to offer me and men in their 50's think we have lots in common. It's all charming but not close to what I need.
Fine Ass Alex from Florida actually expected a physical relationship after just 3 dates. He told me he is a grown ass man and isn't accustomed to not getting what he wants. I know, I know, where on earth do I meet these people? Conclusion: He was nice to look at and it felt damn good to date a black man again. That's it. I told him I thought we'd be better as friends, and haven't heard from him since.
In more general dating news, I seem to be attracting lots of men WAY outside of my age range. They're either 24 or 48. The 24 year old was truly surprised at my actual age. He thought I was close to his age. The 48 year old thought I was older than 33. WTF!
I'm having no problems meeting people. Age appropriateness would be nice. I think it's funny that boys in their early 20's think have something to offer me and men in their 50's think we have lots in common. It's all charming but not close to what I need.
My Blog Devotees
who check my blog every now and again, wondering what the heck I've gotten myself into these days... I'm coming back!
My old Commodore 64 has been rendered almost entirely useless. I had no mouse functionality, and for some reason that meant I couldn't post blogs here.
My knight in shining technology delivered to me a brand new totally portable and infinitely useful laptop this last movie night. A "birthday gift" he said. Hmm. Seven minutes sky diving in an indoor wind tunnel to... a laptop. But we are not keeping score, he says. It's the meaning, not the price tag. Fine. But this year I am paying for the $36 salad and chicken leg and $12 chili up north on the 4th of July.
So, new computer = more blog posts. Maybe even from Panera or Murphy's. Oh and I have a little built in webcam, so I can snap lame shots of me drinking coffee at Panera and typing my little blog posts. I love technology.
My old Commodore 64 has been rendered almost entirely useless. I had no mouse functionality, and for some reason that meant I couldn't post blogs here.
My knight in shining technology delivered to me a brand new totally portable and infinitely useful laptop this last movie night. A "birthday gift" he said. Hmm. Seven minutes sky diving in an indoor wind tunnel to... a laptop. But we are not keeping score, he says. It's the meaning, not the price tag. Fine. But this year I am paying for the $36 salad and chicken leg and $12 chili up north on the 4th of July.
So, new computer = more blog posts. Maybe even from Panera or Murphy's. Oh and I have a little built in webcam, so I can snap lame shots of me drinking coffee at Panera and typing my little blog posts. I love technology.
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