TLC’s “Unpretty” (Remix featuring 2Pac – His rap really doesn’t fit but that’s kind of why I like it…)
Sitting under the dryer at the hair salon, I can’t help but wonder “Why am I doing this to myself?”. Every 4-8 weeks, I’m paying someone to straighten this, highlight that, thread those, wax that. On special occasions, I pay more to have this cut, those painted or that lasered. (I’m no longer just talking about the hair on the top of my head.) To keep in line with the costly exterior upgrades, I also pay to have access to those weights and run on that treadmill. In short, I’m a normal, healthy, self-conscious, vain 25-year-old woman.
Now, I understand all of these “services” are voluntary but I see most of them as necessary to stay in line with my contemporaries and expectations. And to be completely honest, I feel better about myself and my appearance afterwards. No one believes my hair’s naturally straight with red highlights, eyebrows perfectly arched, or that my toes naturally appear in various shades of reds and purples. BUT I imagine more people would notice bushy eyebrows, kinky (and not in the attractive afro style) hair, and a mustache. I do what I can and what I think I need to. (Sometimes not the same things.)
A few months ago, I went to see Chris Rock’s documentary “Good Hair”. If you’re at all interested and/or curious about the processes, costs, stigmas, and assumptions about black hair, I’d highly recommend the film. As my friend and I found ourselves laughing and nodding our heads in agreement with the commentators, one particular moment, or better statement, stuck with me.
A well-known, arguably renowned, hair stylist preparing for a major hair show and competition decided to go the extra mile for vanity and try Botox. The costs and pain were worth it for him to look his best. After the procedure, once the bleeding had stopped, he looked in the mirror and said, “I don’t feel as beautiful as I anticipated.” I couldn’t help but laugh and wonder “Do we ever?”. This man’s in the business of making people look and feel better and he’s still unsatisfied with himself. Of all the people, shouldn’t he have more realistic, and therefore more achievable, expectations?
For good or bad, God made me whatever I am. While I’m not considering anything as drastic as plastic surgery (although an upper lip and cup sizes proportional to my backside would be nice…), my actions are, in effect, trying to improve on His design. He loves me hairy legged, nappy headed and ashy. I should be able to too. And you know, I do love myself. I just like myself more well put together. Hair, make-up, outfits, shoes, they’re all a front. The question really isn’t “if I’m putting up a front with my efforts” but “if I can accept and admit a front’s all it is.”
Not anticipating beauty (just hoping really hard for it),
This song’s a bit more extreme than what I’m going through but aren’t most? I heard it for the first time during my make-yourself-miserable phase of the mourning period and it stuck with me. This is essentially what I felt he was saying to me. Or maybe what I was hoping he was saying… (Plus, I needed a guitar riff to honor the ex. Most sappy r&b songs just don’t have those.)
Rascal Flatts “I Feel Bad”
I recently got out of a decent relationship with a good guy. To be more specific, I was let go. Much like being laid off, I saw it coming but just tried to keep smiling and pretend as if nothing was happening, waiting for the cloud to pass over. No one wants to admit they were the one broken up with. But I find a level of comfort in at least being intelligent and sensitive enough to not be surprised.
Anyway, 3 1/2 months in, things just weren’t working the way they should. If we were really being honest with each other and ourselves, the same thing could’ve been said a little earlier. 1 1/2 months in, it wasn’t really working…enough.
We looked great on paper; considering the other person to be attractive, intelligent, intriguing, funny, promising. A 14 year difference and “jungle fever” only made things more interesting. (The latter not being a real issue but an issue just the same at times when I made it one.)
As much as I’d like to list out all of our problems and why I knew this wasn’t going to work and pat myself on the back for knowing ahead of time but trying, I just can’t. Sure, there were things that made me raise an eyebrow or made him take a step back. We liked different things. When I was ready to slow down, he was ready to speed up. Our life experiences were drastically different. (Shit, he actually remembered the 80s! 🙂 ) His confidence can come off smug or arrogant. My unease can come off defensive, or, worse, indifferent. But in the end, I’d say it truly came down to one big thing that when ignored, made all of the small things eventually blow up in our faces.
This was the first “real” relationship I’ve had in quite some time, 8 years or so; of relationships altogether, nearly 4. I don’t have a good explanation for such extreme breaks. My feelings have been hurt. I may have even been burned in the past. But I can’t say that my heart was broken or that I was bitter. Instead, I found some undue comfort in preventing those things. Much like other actions generally tied to relationships, abstinence is the only true way to prevent…
For all intensive purposes, I would say this man is a good (not perfect, but good) man and, equally important, could have been good for me. Unfortunately, I just wasn’t able to do what should come naturally. Better said, I wouldn’t allow myself to do what did.
For whatever reason, I told myself not to get too excited. I guess I thought if I kept my reactions calm and under control, I’d be able to prevent going overboard. I went so far as to downplay my happiness and appreciation around friends, choosing to refer to him by a less than flattering but endearing nickname rather than simply using his name, avoiding the term boyfriend, trying so hard to not appear invested and vulnerable. Unfortunately, that did not work for him and therefore we did not work. I was actually dating a man who wanted to know what I was feeling and thinking about us. He was the first one to speak of an us and call me his girlfriend. I should have been ecstatic.
This is a longer post. Depending on your reading speed, you might be in need of another song to get you through the second half. Sade’s “Soldier of Love”
I was expecting games and slow, if at all, growth. He offered (and similarly expected) straight honesty and a clear path to deeper. Once I realized that he was being honest, not playing any games, I truly froze up. I didnt’ know what to do. It’s easy to dismiss and/or play along with something fake. You just tell yourself you’re having a good time, going with the flow, intentionally not getting too invested, not even allowing yourself to daydream things’ll turn into something else. Realizing someone you genuinely like may actually genuinely like you too should be exciting. For me, however, it was terrifying and I, unfortunately and unintentionally, shut down. Externally, I was there, agreeing, participating, but not really giving.
I wanted to give. Everything in me wanted to enjoy being happy and do what I could to try to make him as happy. We both deserved that much. And to be fair, I did give but it was only the things I’m generally comfortable giving. I gave my time, my attention, my affection. I didn’t give the things he went so far as to ask for; my emotions, concerns, fears, joys.
Every time I started to say or do something risky, I caught myself. There weren’t any voices screaming in my head or flashbacks of horrible experiences. I just didn’t trust myself, didn’t know how or where to start. So I never did. I was so worried what other people would think and whether my efforts/feelings would be understood or enough for him. Unfortunately, instead of appearing scared, I simply appeared cold. I cared way more than I let on and nobody understood that until I was upset it was lost. I did a great job of protecting myself. (Go me!) In a sad way, I think I knew not trying would end it but at least I’d play some part in the decision; feeling some sense of control albeit not positive.
While I wish I could have stepped up and done whatever my head/heart/gut wanted to do in the moment in this situation instead of overthinking and running, I still don’t really have any regrets. I WILL be that woman eventually, maybe even as soon as next time. I have the capacity. I just didn’t have the confidence. And I think it took me experiencing something that could have been real, could have been something, and essentially ruining it to get it. His inability, or better unwillingness, to stick around hoping anymore very well might’ve been the swift kick in the ass I needed to wake up.
Despite our failure as a couple, I’m very happy to have considered this man a part of my life. I don’t know if we’ll be friends but hope we’ll at least be friendly. If I had a regret, it would be that he won’t be able to reap the benefits of his frustrations with me. I’ve given more to less deserving people. (Sad commentary, I know.) Well…actually… I probably haven’t. They just got more of the same…
I think I needed a buffer to get me back into the mindset of dating to do more than satisfy a curiosity or a feeling of loneliness. I needed something shallow for the sake of shallow but fun, a test run if you will, to get me ready for something potentially real. Too bad this opportunity, this man didn’t come along after that buffer, rather than partially serving as it. Things might’ve been different. We still might not have worked out but it would’ve been because of something that happened between us, rather than something everyone from my mother to bandmate recognize to just be a part of who I am (right now), an onion if you will. (Please note the Shrek reference.)
But he didn’t come along later, things aren’t different and you know, that’s just fine. I’m just fine either way.
(Although, I must say, it’s a little frustrating not to be able to say something promising failed because it wasn’t meant to be, rather than being able to narrow it down to your inability to accept being happy as a realistic option. A really wordy way to say we might’ve still failed but I wish I hadn’t have given myself an easy out.)
John Mayer has been in the news lately. Instead of dating another tabloid-worthy Hollywood blonde, he’s speaking with PlayBoy and performing an ill-advised brain dump. Now, I’m a John Mayer fan. I know that he comes off as, and probably is, a royal douche bag. But what can I say? I like his music. Much like Robin Thicke, he’s a guilty pleasure I feel no need to defend. I’ll just politely change the music if someone doesn’t care to listen to him whine in my car.
Unfortunately, John Mayer is one of the many recent celebrities who believe and, more importantly, who reporters and fans believe should be heard. Everyone has an opinion, famous or not. With the ever-expanding array of access points to celebrities, we learn more than we may need to about our favorite pop stars, rappers, actors and athletes. Some know how to just be good at what they do without sharing the details of their personal lives (for example Beyonce). While others attempt to revive dead careers by allowing us access to EVERYTHING (for example Bret Michaels). Either way, as the fans/consumers, we have to decide just how much we care. John Mayer’s latest interview reminds me why it’s best to just appreciate the music. I don’t need to necessarily appreciate the person.
The only reason I paid any attention to this interview was all of the drama following it. Aside from sharing unsavory details about his obsessions with porn and masturbating, interesting comments about exes and unnecessarily using the N-word to justify a hood pass, John Mayer is apparently not interested in sleeping with black women. Shocking, I know! But who cares? As a black woman, I’m not all that interested in sleeping with him either. My heart’s not broken.
PlayBoy: Do black women throw themselves at you?
Mayer: I don’t think I open myself to it. My dick is sort of like a white supremacist. I’ve got a Benetton heart and a fuckin’ David Duke cock. I’m going to start dating separately from my dick.
I’m not trying to downplay the possible connotations. Maybe John is a racist. Maybe he considers his overworked dick too good for a little chocolate. While eliminating the possibility of a fruitful relationship with a “sista” is unfortunate, it’s not innately wrong. As long as John sees no problem with other people doing it, he’s completely entitled to his preferences. If I were to say I prefer black men over white, does that make me a racist or just aware of my preferences? Somehow I feel Usher wouldn’t be shunned for saying he prefers to date black women…
When probed by the reporter, John admits that he has found some black women attractive.
Mayer: I always thought Holly Robinson Peete was gorgeous. Every white dude loved Hilary from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. And Kerry Washington. She’s superhot, and she’s also white-girl crazy. Kerry Washington would break your heart like a white girl. Just all of a sudden she’d be like, “Yeah, I sucked his dick. Whatever.” And you’d be like, “What? We weren’t talking about that.” That’s what “Heartbreak Warfare” is all about, when a girl uses jealousy as a tactic.
Funny. I don’t know if that statement is more offensive to black women or white women. I wonder how he thinks a black woman breaks your heart. And are all white women manipulative bitches? Oh John, it may not be that chocolate’s your problem. You just might like people as immature as you are.
When this interview came out and all of the SHOCKED responses started, I thought there had to be more to this story. I don’t regularly read PlayBoy articles so I had to look it up. After reading the entire article, I was more bored and annoyed than offended or outraged. I understand why these shocked responses about racial comments came out. Aside from describing a generally goodie two-shoes ex as being sexual napalm, there really wasn’t anything else all that interesting to mention. John Mayer seems like an intelligent person who attempts to balance sounding important and indifferent. Somehow he generally manages to just sound like a douche.
What I found more interesting was his description of “being black.” As a black person, I don’t know if I can describe being black. Sure, I could spout out historical facts and statistics, but I really feel it’s about experiences related to those facts and stats. Thank goodness John Mayer could explain it to me.
Mayer: What is being black? It’s making the most of your life, not taking a single moment for granted. Taking something that’s seen as a struggle and making it work for you, or you’ll die inside. Not to say that my struggle is like the collective struggle of black America. But maybe my struggle is similar to one black dude’s.
I’m happy you realize your struggles aren’t necessarily equivalent to ours, John. Very happy. Now tell me about being Latino or Asian…
Let me state for the record, “I don’t understand why any man would not be attracted to black women.” We come in all shapes and sizes, features and attributes. It’s a pity any man would deny himself the love a good black woman but if that’s what he so chooses to do, the fault is on him. There are plenty of men, black, white and other, who can appreciate our beauty. Why should we care about John Mayer’s lose?
(Plus, he’s just young and naive. Everyone knows black women age exceptionally well. For the most part, our skin stays taut. Fewer wrinkles, fewer apparent birthdays. Black don’t crack, baby. AND we don’t have to tan. This beautiful bronzed look is year-round, free and natural. 🙂 )
Monica knew what I’m going through. We just want/need different responses.
Today is just one of those days (or in the words of Monica “one of dem days”). I feel emotionally and physically drained, stressed about work and my home situation, missing the support system I used to rely so heavily upon but ignore and all I want to do is go to sleep. It doesn’t help that Eve is here for her monthly visit. In addition to what I would call normal daily stressors, Eve shortens my attention span, level of patience and ability to react appropriately to small annoyances. In short, I’m PMSing and it’s not all that fun.
According to WomensHealth.gov, PMS can include a number of physical and emotional issues. In my case, acne, feeling tired, upset stomach, backache, muscle pain, trouble concentrating or remembering, tension, irritability, mood swings and anxiety or depression. A.K.A. I’m a mess. These symptoms start a few days before and generally last throughout. PMDD is essentially more severe PMS. If Iwere to go with the description on the site, I may actually be suffering from that. But whatever it is, I don’t care for it.
PMS is nothing new. Most women experience it and most men learn to deal with it. Everyone’s collection and severity of syptoms are unique but there’s a common trend: We’re not completely ourselves. Or should I say we’re heightened versions of ourselves. For whatever reason, I take that personally. I am angry every month that I’m angry every month. Rather than be naive enough to ask why or really blame Eve, I am naive enough to believe I can control it. They are afterall my body, my brain, my emotions. I’ll excuse myself the physical limitations. The human body can only take so much. Debilitating cramps at points worthy of muscle relaxers and codeine are understandable. Pop a couple Aleve, fire up the heating pad and succumb to the fetal position. But overly emotional and not completely in control? Not my cup of tea.
I feel I should be able to maintain my general even keel when things are going on inside my body. I definitely have bitchy tendencies. But for the most part, I can control it. Chemical changes are just changes. This is my body dammit. I want to be in control. But I’m obviously not. Eve comes and I lose my ability to function gracefully. Things that aren’t a big deal send me off the deep end, comments that wouldn’t phase me seem like personal insults and I lose the general constraints on my mouth. Or should I say the response processing delay is completely removed. There is no filter…with my friends and family. (For the most part, I can keep it together around those responsible for my paycheck.)
The most distressing symptom, however, is the unhappiness. I don’t feel depressed but I also don’t care to really do much or be around that many people (according to the commercials those are the symptoms…). I bounce back to normal as soon it’s over but I can’t imagine I’m easy to deal with during. I either don’t want to be around you or run the risk of jumping down your throat. At this time, my ideal day would include spending most of it in bed with good movies, good books, good ice cream, some carb loaded food like pasta or potatoes, snuggling with my puppy and maybe a patient, understanding man. If he’s around, I need him to stay quiet and hold me. Sometimes I just need a hug.
As much as I like to be in control and not rely on another person, if I’m comfortable enough to be around you when I’m not completely comfortable with myself, I need you to tread lightly. My guards go up quickly and may impale you. I probably don’t mean what I say but I’ll probably say it with a vengeance and not be all that willing to back down soon after. I understand why people wouldn’t want to be around me these 3-7 days. It’s easy to pity the physical discomfort. The emotional rollercoaster, not so much.
If/when you hear me mention Eve, run away or just give me hug. It won’t fix anything but it sure makes me feel better. Plus, it’s harder for me to be mean to you if you’re just being sweet. Sometimes words aren’t enough. Even bitches need reassurance.
The Truth: According to Jo'van 