Romantic Cynic: Seeking Temptation

Not the perfect fit but what can you do?  Maroon 5 featuring Rihanna “If I Never See Your Face Again”

I’ve recently started to try to be more open to dating.  I’m not overly excited by it or just saying yes but self-inflicted perpetual singledom may have reached its limit.  It’s started to get a little old.  I’d have to give a little credit to my roommate/ex-wife and her boyfriend.  I don’t want him or even what they have.  But he/they have caused me to lose my perpetually single buddy.  It’s really no fun to do it alone.  I could find a new lost-in-singledom comrade or, heaven forbid, abandon the title myself.

Against my own advice, I promised a friend (actually several) that I’d start being nicer to potential suitors.  As with most endeavours (possibly) worth taking, there are going to be bumps, hurdles and tragic moments that eventually become great stories.  In a seemingly very short period of time, I’ve re-encountered the assholes, wholly entitled, douche bags, horn dogs, swingers, dirty old men, unbelievably immature, hopelessly awkward and everything in between.  I’m not expecting (or even hoping) to find the perfect man.  For one thing, I have no idea what he looks like but I’m sure it’s the opposite of whatever I could come up with right now.  And second, I’m not even going to pretend I’m ready for anything that grown-up.  But what I am looking for is temptation.

Now, I don’t mean temptation in the completely physical sense (although that’s definitely part of it).  I’m looking to be excited to see you, worry about what I’m going to wear to see you, feel motivated to do my hair, brush my teeth right before I see you, shave my legs, etc.  Some of that may sound ridiculous but it’s not really.  (Or I really am just ridiculous.  What’s the real difference anyway?)  I need to be nervous, not annoyed.  And believe me, the opposite definitely happens.  And how do you gracefully get out of a situation that’s moved toward annoyance?

I recently spent some time with a gentleman who’d crossed what was a line in the sand turning it into a gulf as wide as the Grand Canyon.  Before I get started on this poor soul, I’ve got to be fair.  He’s nice (enough), intelligent, well-educated, attentive (maybe a little too…), fluent in a language I’d love to speak, has a great career in a highly specialized area of surgery, loves to travel, and I’m sure many other things.  He had a lot of the things that I imagine I’d include in a list of ideal traits in a partner.  However, two very important things were missing: the physical and the emotional.

From the outside, it/we probably looked promising.  He was completely “into” me (although I’d be willing to bet that was mostly physical) and he seemed to be able to keep me engaged intellectually.  Sadly, that couldn’t be the furthest thing from the truth.  True, he was “interested” but it was nearly impossible to determine if that was just in hopes of something physical or a genuine interest in both.  (Come on.  Let’s just be honest.  You can be as intellectually intrigued as you want to be but some level of physical has to be there to push you to continue.)  I, on the other hand,  wasn’t really “feeling” him and was already put off by the way we met.  You see, we met on Halloween.  I was intoxicated and half-naked (refer to Halloween Ho).  It’s rare that I’m that intoxicated and even more rare that I have that much skin exposed in public outside of pools and beaches.  The fact that I drew his continued interest that evening sent up red flags.  Should I take it as a compliment?  Sure.  But does that mean I care to pursue it?  Not really.  Regardless, he ended up with my phone number and called.  I had to decide if I was going to be a jerk or be a little more open.  After a little mental anguish, I thought “what the hell?”

Unfortunately, this gentleman just came on way too strong and way too physically intimate.  At dinner, the conversation was consistent but a little strained.  We were in a booth and he kept getting closer.  While I imagine he thought it was romantic, getting so close that I can’t comfortably lift my fork to eat is not hot.  I like to eat.  And how am I supposed to just take a bite when the conversation dies or gets awkward?  Get away from me.  I don’t know you.  Stop staring at me.  Don’t trace circles on the inside of my palm.   Can’t you read I’m getting tense and ever so slightly scooting away from you?  Telling me that American women are strange in the way we react to invitations and actions is not going to help your case.  I am American after all.  If you have all this background knowledge on our potential reactions, why feel the need to test your hypothesis on me?  If you decide to stroke my face as I’m tensing up and trying to get away, PLEASE don’t try to stick your finger in my mouth!  (No, I’m not kidding.  He did.)  One, I don’t know where those fingers have been, nor am I in a mood not to care.  Two, seriously?  What the hell are you doing?  If I back away, don’t get more aggressive with your desire to open my jaw.  When I ask you what you’re doing and tell you I’ll bite you if you try that again, don’t assume I’m being playful.  I’m serious.  I’ll aim to draw blood.  Get away from me.

Now, I completely understand that this particular man is not normal.  Whatever’s worked for him in the past is simply not my cup of tea.  And if I had felt anything for him, I might have been more understanding, accepting, thought some of it was cute, or willing to explain what I’d like him to do.  But because I really had no desire to be around him, I was just completely turned off by everything he did.  Yes, I realize that probably sounds mean and maybe somewhat conceited.  I’m not saying that I have all of these wonderful men lining up at my feet.  In fact, the only thing by my feet is my puppy Rodman.  But you know what?  If it’s Rodman or a man who gives me the creeps, I’ll take canine companionship every time.  When you find yourself thinking, “Please don’t try to kiss me.  I’d rather finish the DVD.”, it’s probably time to get out.  Like anyone else who’s tried it, I know it’s just not worth trying to force the attraction.

For you, attraction may not mean the carnal, physical impulse.  It could be a more subdued desire to be around/with that person.  (Hoping that around means with.  I’m not promoting stalking.)  But if you don’t have either desire, you don’t really have anything.  If you’re not finding yourself willing to sacrifice your time (and possibly finances) to “hang out” with this person, just stop now.  More than likely the other person is feeling this type of “connection” and you’re running the risk of leading them on and coming out the jerk/bitch.  Cut if off early and save yourself the excess drama.

A good friend of mine constantly tells me that I have to give people (meaning men) a chance.  The hopeless romantic, she chooses to hope/believe things will work out in the end.  Just have fun.  You never know.  (Except I do.  Or at least I’d like to believe I do.)  The best relationship this friend has been in began without the mutual physical attraction.  In fact, there were a few things about this gentleman that didn’t fit her “list”.  She tells me to give the “not gorgeous” a chance.  ( Now, to be fair, my standards aren’t that outrageous.  They’re just particular.  I can’t tell you what I like but I can tell you when I do.  Anyway…)  Of course, I’m not gorgeous.  As I like to say, I’m pleasantly average.  There are times that I can look really good but I rarely look worse that I do on average.  I’m happy with this happy medium.  With this reality and subsequent mindset, I can’t expect to attract anyone too far out of my self-described category.  Although I’ll say that it is a little easier for men.  If you’re cute, you’re just cute. Sure a haircut, fresh shave, nice clothes, etc, can help your case.  But in the end, what you look like in the yard, at the gym, in the office, at the club doesn’t usually change all that much.  Women, on the other hand, have all of these tools to make us look better (while possibly not real).  But that’s an entirely different post.  Ideas….

The one thing my friend fails to mention is that while her man may not have been her ideal physical type, there was “something about him.”  His personality, their conversations, her reactions to him made her want to be around him.  Sure, when he first kissed her, she may have thought, “Why am I kissing this fill in the blank man?”  But she wasn’t thinking, “I’d rather finish the movie.”  It’s just that simple.

Once again, a resolution-less post.  I just wanted to make the point that temptation is a must.  The type and severity of temptations may vary.  Whether you count your successes by how well you resist or give in is completely up to you.  But if you’re not distracted with a smile on your face no one else understands, it’s probably not worth your time.

Looking forward to being unable to focus,

Jo’van

December 3, 2009
Categories: Romantic Cynic (Love And Lookalikes), Whole Truth, The . Tags: , , , , , , , , , , . Author: tjovand . Comments: 1 Comment

Quarterlife Crisis: THEORetical Weekends

Not completely relevant but I’ve already used “She Works Hard for the Money”.  Enjoy Vanessa Williams’ “Work to Do”

Vodpod videos no longer available.

For nearly 3 1/2 years, I’ve had two jobs.  When I moved to Austin to accept an entry level position in the communications field, I was making less than 30K.  It was a respectable income but not feasible to cover my monthly bills, student loan, credit card debt and new car note.  So two months into the new gig, I went in search of part-time additional income.  In hindsight, making that decision should’ve been difficult but I thought it was only going to be for a year or so.  I was young, had no family, dog or other responsibilities.  I could handle it.

At a friend’s suggestion, I applied for a position with a high-end brand I’d never heard of.  Forgive me, oh fashionable ones, but I’d never heard of Theory.  I never lived in a city that had an independent store and Neiman and Saks were not (and still aren’t) stores I frequent.  I admittedly have a shopping problem.  But (before Theory) I shopped for style, comfort and price, not so much any of that WITH brand name.  Paying $60 for a pair of jeans that fit perfectly was unheard of, let alone $250 for a pair of dress pants.

Despite the high price-point and occassional entitled customer (refer to the Retail Etiquette post), I’ve loved my time at Theory.  I met some wonderful women (and a couple men), found a life outside of my 9-5, made an exta few hundred dollars every month and now my closet (sadly) is now probably 45% Theory.  I have a new appreciation for paying a little (or a lot, if not on sale) more for quality.  Although, I also recognize that not all things expensive are high quality.  Sometimes you just need a Hanes white tee.

Now what am I going to do?  For more than 3 years, I have not had weekends.  I mean they came around every week but I was still working.  Mon-Fri I was at a desk, writing press releases, calling media, monitoring news.  Sat-Sun, I trolled cement floors in a sparse retail store folding, straightening, helping half-naked customers in the fitting rooms and trying on clothes when we were slow.  While I rarely enjoyed a day off, the work was easy and the people were cool.

For the first 6 months, I didn’t do anything.  I was always afraid I’d be tired.  I DID have to work the next day afterall.  I worked every day.  After a while, though, I just gave up.  If I wanted to go out, I just went.  It’s not like I was going to have a day off.  So why not just claim the night and pay the price in the morning?  Plus, I wasn’t alone.  Weekends are weekends.  Since it was retail, the ladies I worked with might have had days off but they weren’t always the weekend.  I can’t even tell you how many times one or more of us came in hungover and/or exhausted.  It just became a running joke.  As long as you were able to do your job, what’s the harm?

Working 7 days a week is not for everyone.  And to be perfectly honest, I can’t say that it was for me.  While in high school, I remember working with a lady who had two jobs.  I thought she was crazy.  I mean I understood the need and/or desire for more money but two jobs just seemed so extreme.  She’d work nights and weekends.  Plus, she was a adult, probably had bills, had a son.  I was 17 and really didn’t understand.  However, after 3 1/2 years, I now get it.  You can do just about anything.  You just have to force yourself to start and treat it as a given in your life.  People always asked me why/how I could do it.  There was never a good answer.  I just did.  You just do.  (Plus, I got used to the additional income.  Over 3 years, my income increased by nearly 40%.  But those extra couple hundred every month were difficult to give up.  I told myself I could pay down my debt faster when in fact, I just maintained my debt and grew my closet. Tsk tsk.)

Since August 2006, 7 days a week was my schedule.  Now, after approaching burnout and finally putting in my notice, I’m officially done.  I clocked out on Sunday for the last time.  While I’m pretty strong and difficult, it was a little sad.  I think the pure exhaustin of the last few months has really caught up with me.  I hugged the ladies goodbye and enjoyed my going away cookie cake but I don’t think it’s completely hit me.  I imagine by February, my emotions will catch up and I’ll really be sad.  Until then, I’ll just have to figure out how to prevent my dog from waking me up on Saturday mornings so I can sleep in past 9 am.

Losing the excuse not to have a life outside of work.  Already missing the paychecks but expecting to spend less money,

Jo’van

December 1, 2009
Categories: Quarterlife Crisis, Whole Truth, The . Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Author: tjovand . Comments: 1 Comment

Quarterlife Crisis: Giving Up the (615)

Oh, young Luda.  Gotta love it.  This song doesn’t really apply but it came to mind so here you go!

A few weeks ago, I made one of the hardest decisions of this year.  (I’d say of my life but that would just be over-dramatic.)  Sure, getting a tattoo, cutting off my hair, accepting a new job, finally having “that” conversation with my roommate were all important and took guts.  BUT giving up the phone number I’ve had for nearly 8 years was a big deal.  Not only am I too lazy to remember another number (since 2001, it’d just rolled off the tongue) but getting this new number meant something more important: giving up the 615 area code.

I am originally from Nashville, TN.  While there are things about the city and region that I can’t stand (race relations, ignorance, allergens, men with grills, etc), Nashville is home.  Mother, grandmothers, childhood home, high school friends, familiar restaurants, great hairdresser, you know, all of the important things. 🙂  As a high school senior, there was nothing I wanted more than to get out of Nashville and Tennessee.  College (luckily) was never a question. I just knew that I was not staying  anywhere with a TN in the address.  So I told myself I’d go to whatever school gave me the best offer out-of-state.  I was blessed to be an above average student with high PSAT scores, from a middle-class family, a female and a minority.  For schools looking to offer “merit-based” scholarships, the combination doesn’t get much better.  I’m not foolish enough to deny that.  However, that could be an entirely different “Shades of Understanding” post.  In fact, the school I actually attended was the school that gave me the second best offer but that explanation deserves another “Shades of Understanding” post of its own.  In due time.  In due time.

Anyway, I attended Iowa State University.  For all accounts, it was a good school.  Like anywhere new, there were things that were less than ideal and just plain sad, but I met some wonderful people, received a good education and was given several wonderful, life-altering opportunities.  But obviously, Ames, IA was not home.  So I never changed my cell phone number.  I knew I wouldn’t be in Iowa for more than four years.  There was something rebellious about keeping my hometown phone number.  I WOULD NOT become a resident of Iowa.  Sure, it just made sense at that time to keep it.  TN was still a part of my permanent address and drivers license.  Holding onto that 615 wouldn’t really mean anything until I had a new permanent address.

3 1/2 years ago, I accepted a job offer in Austin, TX and moved.  Not everything has been perfect but it’s been good.  I don’t regret that move and have come to appreciate the city.  I still don’t know if Austin’s going to be home but until a new target city emerges, I’m perfectly content here.  Two months into my stay, I got a speeding ticket and had to get a TX license to qualify for defensive driving.  That was pretty painful but legally required.  Not having a real choice makes it easier to choose.  Since then, I’ve done pretty much all things Austin and Texas.  I’m still waiting to purchase my first pair of cowboy boots but give me time.  The one thing I hadn’t done was change my phone number.  Somehow 512 just didn’t sound as good as 615 to me.    8 years is a long time to have a relationship with anything.  In this digital age, your cell phone number and email address are really a part of your identity.  I preferred to remain identified with Tennessee.

So what made me finally give it up?  Money.  I wish it was something more poetic but it’s just not.  My new gig provides stipends for cell phones and smartphones if you agree to use them for business.  Seeing as I’d already put my work email on my Blackberry, I figured I should accept the stipend.  The amount is actually like 150% of my regular monthly bill.  Ok, I’ll take that.  I’ll make a little profit for doing what I was already planning to do.  The only issue was that since we’re an Austin-centric business, it only makes sense for employees receiving the stipend to have Austin numbers.  So save a little money or hold onto an area code that means nothing to anyone but you?  Ok. Don’t be stupid.

Sure, I’d had that number for almost a decade.  Yes, my grandmothers know the number.  Sure, you’d run the risk of losing touch with old friends.  (But then again if you were really that close, you’d find a way to get in touch.  I’ve had the same email address since 2001 also…)  But I’m also 25, have lived in Austin for more than 3 years and it’s makes financial sense to change.  Done.

I sent a mass text to the people in my phone that ended with something like “Please update my number or use this as an excuse to lose touch.”  I got some negative responses to that but that just means they were paying attention.  The people that didn’t respond were handed their way out. 🙂

Still struggling to remember my new number,

Jo’van

November 29, 2009
Categories: Quarterlife Crisis, Whole Truth, The . Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Author: tjovand . Comments: 1 Comment

Quarterlife Crisis: Halloween Ho

So this Halloween I did it.  I did what every judgemental woman and man loves to see on Halloween so they can feel justified in their judgement.  I fulfilled the stereotype of women who just want an excuse to be naked in public.  I looked like a Halloween Ho.  Please note I said looked like a Halloween Ho.  Actions would require an entirely different post.  I just dressed the part.

While I generally judge, I can’t really say anything against people deciding to be half-naked in public.  Do what you do.  It just provides me with more things to point and laugh at.  So as one of these perpetually judgemental people, why would I volunteer to be cold and naked in public at the end of October?

There’s not a good answer to that question.  Or at least there’s not one that sounds good.  To be perfectly honest, the situation simply presented itself.  Between feeling more confident in my body, caring (a little) less about what strangers think of me, enjoying the company of my friends, having flatter abs than ever and someone providing me with the outfit AND shoes, saying no just would’ve been stubborn.  Not wrong, just stubborn.  I never did the teenage/college Halloween Ho thing.  I’ve always been covered and warm.  For whatever reason,  the outfits never really caught my attention.  I mean of course I noticed that attention they did grab but somehow I was above all of that.  This year, I wasn’t above, below, beside, behind, or anything else.  I was indifferent and thought “what the hell?”

Any regrets? No, not really.  I could use the justification that I was more covered than I would be at a beach.  But that scenario is flawed because I wouldn’t be the only person in a bathing suit.  Dressing like a pirate wench with her chest elevated, abs exposed and boots covering 4 times as much skin as her skirt, I didn’t expect to see too many people looking like me.  And to make things even worse, we spent our evening on the “classy” side 6th street, the infamous bar area of Austin.  (Yes, there are other interesting/entertaining districts, but 6th street is well known.)  Instead of hanging out with the 19 year olds with fake IDs and more skin showing than clothes, I instead hung out with the “I’m too old east 6th but still want to get drunk at a bar downtown on Halloween” crowd.  The median age was probably a year or two older than me and the metabolisms had already begun to slow down.  We were past the “all I consume is beer and pizza and I’m still a size 4” times in our lives.  The gym or bigger clothes are our only options.

And to be perfectly honest, I was uncomfortable at first.  The outfit was borrowed but I was still the most naked of my group.  (In fact, the lady I borrowed the outfit from was fully covered this year.  That’s just not fair.)  I wasn’t ready to be judged the way I judge.  But some vampire vodka, supportive friends, and realization that I would probably never see any of the people who might judge me again helped me get over it.  Bare the abs, fishnet the legs, zip up the boots, gloss the lips and straighten the wig, I’m ready to go.

Blushing after a car full of men yelled “Captain Jack Sparrow”.  Thanks, guys.  Thanks.

Jo’van

 

Fishnet Bar Battlewounds

Bar Battlewounds

I’ve already picked my outfit for next year.  As long as I get my legs in shape, I’ll be in search of a crazy blond wig, a dress with more fringe than length and Hanes stockings.  Tina Turner here I come!

November 19, 2009
Categories: Quarterlife Crisis, Whole Truth, The . Tags: , , , , , , , , . Author: tjovand . Comments: 3 Comments

No Patience for You: “My Bad” is NOT “I’m Sorry”

“Tired of Waiting for You” by The Kinks

This evening I was supposed to have band rehearsal.  Yes, I’m in a band…  Sunday evening, our keyboard player asked me to get together sometime this week to work on a song I’d written.  We settled on Thursday and I put it in my phone, making it official.  🙂

I knew today was going to be a LONG day.  And it was.  But the only things to do after a long day are relax or have fun.  I was excited to work on this song and had no problem with all of the shitty things associated with it.

  • You see we hold our rehearsals and studio sessions at our lead singers house.  He just so happens to live 20 miles from my home, 25 miles from my office.
  • With my new job, I  can only rehearse after work, which means after 5:30 or so.  Going 25 miles in rush hour traffic can easily take you over an hour.
  • Going straight to rehearsal after work means no dinner.  So I stopped at Whattaburger near his house.  They were out of chicken strips and asked me to pull around and they’d bring it out to me.  20 minutes passed and I went inside.  They’d forgotten about me and were out of chicken strips again.  They comped my meal, apologized profusely and 10 minutes later I had my meal in hand, although it was technically 30 minutes later.
  • If you arrive after 7:30 pm on a weeknight to my apartment complex, all of the close parking is taken (including by my roommate’s boyfriend).  You’re forced to park 8 buildings from your own.

All of these things suck but are not a concern when you’re doing what you’re supposed to.  Sacrifices I make to rehearse or record with my band.  HOWEVER, these things are not okay when other people screw up.

As I left the Whattaburger down the street from the house, the lead singer returned an earlier call.  He wasn’t home b/c the keyboard player hadn’t answered any calls that day.  Okay, call the keyboard player.  He started by making excuses, backtracking.  It was obvious he had no idea why I thought we were getting together.  It was someone else’s fault.  I mean no one else was available.  We’re getting together tomorrow. Blah blah blah.  When I mentioned the name of the specific song we were supposed to work on, I could practically hear the light bulb go on it his head.  “Oh, Tiff.  That’s all on me.  I completely forgot.”

Being completely annoyed, I refused to make him feel better about forgetting.  It was his idea.  He set it up.  And then tried to blame other people?  No.  Okay, okay. Shit happens.  Things get lost.  And all of the crappy additions making this situation worse are not his fault.  BUT admitting fault is not the same as apologizing.   I wanted to hear him say I’m sorry.  I’d just sat in an hour of traffic, waited 30 minutes for 3 minute food, lost any good parking at home and all I get is  “That’s all on me”?  No shit, Sherlock.  It couldn’t be on anyone else.  I just need to hear you apologize.  Be sorry I just wasted 2 hours of my life b/c you were too lazy to write an appointment you set down.

Cooling off but still annoyed,

Jo’van

November 5, 2009
Categories: No Patience For You (SIGH), Whole Truth, The . Tags: , , , , , , , , . Author: tjovand . Comments: 3 Comments

Friendly Drama: Friends with “More Than Friends”

When you reach a certain age, you and your friends start to find “more than friends.”  Romantic relationships are healthy, wonderful, fun, etc.  Aside from nuns, priests and people who hate all human interaction, most people hope to eventually be in some lasting relationship.  Not everyone’s into marriage but something steady with someone you care about, are attracted to and can trust?  That’s gotta sound pretty good.

One phenomenon that I notice generally with women is ignoring their platonic friendships.  While I’m sure this happens with men on some level, I have less experience in that area so I’ll just stick with attacking the ladies.  Anything new in your life takes up time that may have allocated for something else.  And unlike a new job or a hobby, a new person in your life requires A LOT of one-on-one time.  You have to figure out who this person is, what they like to do, what you have in common, what drives you crazy about them, what you couldn’t live without, what you never knew you’d like, etc.  But you also have to remember the people and things that were in your life before this person.

It’s always amazed me the way some people can completely change how they live there lives when romance becomes part of the picture.  I’m not saying I’d be above this unfortunate generality but since I’ve avoided the second part of the scenario, I can still feel justified in my condemnation.

When your friend first disappears into the shadow/car/arms/bed/whatever of their new beau, all is pretty much forgiven.  They’re in the honeymoon period.  Let them have their fun.  However, when this new situation begins to affect YOUR normal life, it starts to become a problem.  When your old road dog/concert attendee/danceclub partner/movie buddy refuses keep things “the way they always were”, as the forgotten friend, you have to decide how much you’re willing to forgive and accept.

We’re not married to our friends.  As evident by the happily (or just long) married couples I know, your spouse is supposed to be your best friend.  All other friends are essentially utilized to share or vent about the things your significant other doesn’t/can’t understand.  This all sounds great.  It makes sense.  But living it for the first time is different.

I’m 25.  At this age, (while none of my immediate friends) a lot of people are already married or at least engaged.  I have friends moving in with their boy/girlfriends, buying furniture together, planning extended vacations, discussing rings, spending every available night together.  Despite the tone of this post, I am genuinely happy for them.  If they’ve found someone/something that truly makes them happy, how could I not be?  As a real friend, I have to support.

However, as the friend who’s found a “someone”, you have to decide if your friendships are strong enough to withstand your honeymoon period (no matter how long it lasts).  I may love you forever but that doesn’t mean that after 6 months of being ignored, I’m going to be all that open to keeping you busy just because your man’s out of town.  I might just tell you to kiss my ass.  🙂

Like romantic relationships, friendships take time and courtesy.  We may not be going to bed together but friends do make uncomfortable sacrifices of their time for each other.  It’s just part of it.  Some people can maintain both worlds but the only way to do that is value it.  If you left me, you may have to put in work to get back in my good graces or just drift off…

One common misconception is that it’s the significant other’s fault.  Sure, they can influence what you do, who you see and how often BUT the ultimate decision, and therefore fault, lies with the friend.  Unless violence is an issue, no one can make your friend do anything they didn’t want to.  You may not like the boy/girlfriend but it’s never right to blame the stress or dissolution of your friendship on them.

As non-family members, friends don’t HAVE to love you.  They choose to.  Remember to appreciate that choice.  Not being friends can just be easier, even for the one not searching to make time for it.  Play with your friends, go home to your honey.  (Unless of course you live with your friends.  In that case, go to your boy/girlfriend’s house.  There’s no point in making your friend uncomfortable or feeling unwelcome/uninvited in their own home.  That’s a whole new level of stress.)

Weighing the pros and cons of living alone,

Jo’van

October 29, 2009
Categories: Friendly Drama (The Ones You Choose), Whole Truth, The . Tags: , , , , , , , , . Author: tjovand . Comments: Leave a comment

Shades of Understanding: Defining My Denial

Erykah Badu “Next Lifetime”

Comments and conversations made me realize that I failed to really make my point (if I truly have one) in my last post “Denying My Roots By Relaxing Them?”.  As usual, my post was littered with tangential stories and anecdotes.  But what it seemed to lack was a point.  Why do I even concern myself with my hair and other’s perceptions of it?

I want to look good and feel good about the way I look.  It’s just that simple.  My aversion to going natural is largely vanity.  Because I have no idea what my natural hair looks like anymore, I wouldn’t know what to expect until it was too late.  I don’t think I’ll look good with an afro.  And what if I don’t?  My hair grows soooo slowly that not liking it is really not an option.  It could easily take 10 years for my hair to get back to the short bob I have right now.  I feel my reasoning must be equivalent to those people who refuse to go back to their natural hair color from blond (or whatever color).  We all know it’s not real but they just KNOW they look better that way.

A reason to go natural, on the other hand, is financial.  Properly maintaining relaxed hair can be expensive.  Every 8 weeks, I pay someone $70 to straighten my roots and trim the ends.  That’s $420 every year.  This doesn’t include highlighting, deep conditioners and the random “it’s not time for a relaxer but I have to look good tonight” appointments.  Those would probably push it up to around $600 a year.  Now, I’m not exactly sure how expensive maintaining natural hair would be but I have to guess that it’s cheaper than that.  Just trimming and conditioning, no chemical processes required.

So why not just cut it off and perm it again if I don’t like it?  I don’t really have a good answer to that.  I’m not a huge fan of ultra-short hair on myself.  If my hair is going to be permed, it might as well be as long as it is now.

“But don’t you feel you’re denying the real you by chemically altering your hair?”  Sure, I can see the logic in that question but I just ask that people see the logic in my response.  I have no desire to deny myself.  I’m just doing what I prefer.  I don’t see perming my hair and being any different from putting on make-up, getting lasik or shaving my legs.  Sure, bare skin, bad eye-sight and hairy legs are all natural but no one seems to question my desire to change those things.  So why question my hair choices?  You don’t have to like it and I welcome any discussion about my choices.  But if your only point is that I’m wrong, do us both a favor, save your breath and just think it very hard.

Running her fingers through her short but straightened hair,

Jo’van

October 25, 2009
Categories: Shades of Understanding (Race Relations), Whole Truth, The . Tags: , , , , , , , . Author: tjovand . Comments: Leave a comment

Shades of Understanding: Denying My Roots By Relaxing Them?

I wish there was a video for this version but alas, just the song.

India.Arie “I Am Not My Hair” featuring P!nk (Please note they both punctuation in their names. Haha)

I recently had the pleasure of having dinner and with two British gentlemen during a conference.  While the conversation covered a number of topics, we spent quite a bit of time on race relations and related issues.  I foresee any number of future posts inspired by this conversation.  One comment in particular made me think about my overall experience with my hair.

One of the guys (of Asian descent, while that distinction is not necessary, I believe it helps add a little color to the story, no pun intended) asked me innocently but pointedly if my hair looks like that in the morning.  At first, it took me a moment to grasp his meaning.  Of course, I’ll need to comb it but for the most part, unless sweat or water are a factor, I don’t have to do all that much to my hair.  Only having to wash it once a week, I generally just get up and go.

Of course, he didn’t necessarily mean the “morning” so much as was my hair naturally straight.  completely unashamed, I shook my head no and explained that it was chemically straightened and that my roots have to be processed every 2 months.  When asked why I did this to myself, I explained that it’s been this way since age 12 and that “going natural” would require cutting it all off.  I’m not entirely confident I could pull off the little boy look.  The other gentleman spoke of a woman he’d dated from the West Indies (I believe) who’d decided to “go natural” and how he’d quite liked it.  This comment is also important but I’ll get into that later.  The most important thing to take from their comments was that while they accepted it, neither understood the need/desire to permanently breakdown the chemical bonds of my hair.

So why do I relax my hair?  (You’ll commonly hear black women refer to perming their hair.  Our perms are actually relaxers.  They straighten, not curl.  The processes do different things.  A perm creates temporary bonds.  That’s why the loosen up over time.  A relaxer on the other hand breaks down bonds.  There’s no coming back from that.  It’s permanent until you cut the treated hair off.)  There’s no need to really dig into the history.  In the early 1900s, both commercial relaxers and hot combs (the precursor to the Chi) were unleashed upon the general public.  Needless to say, black women around the world have been straightening their hair for 100 years.  Walk through any African-American self-help section in a bookstore and you’ll no doubt find some book about the black woman ideal and our struggles with our hair.  History and magazines tell us we straighten our hair to emulate the Caucasian ideal.  But I’m not also bleaching my skin, my hair will never make it past my shoulders, and I’m obviously not going to be able to pass for white, so why do I relax my hair?

There’s no simple answer to that question.  The closest I can get is fear.  I’ve never known my hair to be any other way.  Sure, throughout my childhood, my hair was “natural” but it was still straightened.  The hot comb usually came out on Saturday so you’re hair would still be presentable on Sunday for church.  I’ve always strived for long, straight, full, beautiful hair.  As I came to accept my hair would never look like Tatiyana Ali (Fresh Prince reference for you) or Naomi Campbell’s, I decided to do the best I could with what I had.  For 13 years, as funds and availability allowed, I’ve paid someone to burn the hell out of my scalp to straighten the “new growth” aka my roots.

In college, I remember getting into a debate with an African-American male administrator at a conference funny enough about race and ethnicity.  While in a group circle to discuss the sessions of the day, he launched into a tirade about black women relaxing their hair.  With his age (50s-ish) and “participation” in the Civil Rights Movement, he felt completely justified in lecturing us.  (I’ll have to say that I believe he just saw a collection of early 20s black women as easy targets to vent.  His wife had bone-straight, chemically-altered hair.)  Although a few of the women in the room had natural hair, the general consensus among us all was that to relax or not to relax was a personal choice, usually driven by taste and convenience.  The same reasons I could use to explainrelaxing my hair, another women could use to justify going natural.  And you know what?  More power to us both.

The struggles I remember with my hair during childhood are not necessarily what I’d endure now.  For the most part, the issues arose because someone was trying to keep my hair straight and “manageable.”  Rain, sweat, swimming, basically anything involving moisture turned 30 minutes worth of straightening into a dual-textured, frizzy mess.  I’m not sure I’d experience the same battles now.  If I were go natural, my hair (texture-willing) would be worn in such a way that water would not by my enemy.  What a novel concept!  (Washing my hair once a week really limits my water-based activities.  Sure, I could wash it more often but I’m not really willing to go through the 1 1/2 hr washing-drying-straightening-curling process more often.  Some people find the once-a-week thing gross.  Please understand that my hair does not get oily or greasy.  I actually have to put the moisture into my hair.  Washing it everyday would require buckets of leave in conditioner or cause it to get brittle and break off.  Trust me.  Once a week is the way to go for me.)

I’ve recently begun to contemplate just being bold and cutting it all off, starting over.  Aside from the initial shock, I’m trying to imagine how bad it could be.  Aside from the extreme possibility of resembling a little boy for several years, I’m at a loss for “good reasons” not to do it.   Well, of course there’s always the possibility that I’ll absolutely hate it.  Slow hair growth makes this decision especially difficult.

If I ever choose to take the plunge and rediscover my hair unaltered, it will be for no reasons other than vanity and ease.  I would love to not hide from the rain, go swimming at will and not have to burn my ears accidentally or scalp intentionally every 8 weeks.  But I also like running my fingers through my straight, although short, hair and blending in.  Natural hair seems to make a personal and/or political statement I don’t really care to make.  Me going natural would not necessarily mean I’m trying ot be “more black” or embracing my cultural roots by growing out my physical ones.  For good or bad, my roots are just a part of me that showcases my melting pot heritage.  Relaxers or afros, they all seem to define or explain everything and nothing about me.

Wishing my hair would grow faster so this decision wouldn’t seem so monumental,

Jo’van

October 23, 2009
Categories: Shades of Understanding (Race Relations), Whole Truth, The . Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Author: tjovand . Comments: 2 Comments

The World…As I See It: Seatbelt Withdrawl

A few days ago, I rode without a seatbelt!  Shocking, I know.  It’s not like this was the first time or anything.  It’s just that in this situation I don’t have a choice, no option to forget.  Somehow that lack of option makes it a bigger deal (and thus worthy of a blog post…)

I was offered a ride up to a meeting.  Upon getting into the car, however, I was informed that the passenger seatbelt was jammed.  Why not drive?  I didn’t know where we were going.  Why not climb into the backseat?  2-seater.  No problem.  I’ll suck it up and take a ride on the dangerous side.  (It’s funny – or maybe sad – what constitutes as excitement in my life sometimes.)

Anyway, as I tried to sit comfortably and not focus on the fact that the smallest mistake by the trucker near us could send me flying through the soft-top roof or windshield, I couldn’t help but miss the black, 2-inch wide feeling of security that used to be considered such a nuisance growing up.

“Is everybody buckled up?”  A chorus of yes’s responded, the children silently hoping no one would turn around to expose the lie.  To a child, a seatbelt is an unecessary restriction.  What if you drop your crayon/book/video game?  Or what if your brother’s too far away to poke mercilessly when you’re bored?  See.  Seatbelts are a burden to all those under the age of 14.

As I got older and spent more time in a car behind the wheel than not, seatbelts became less of an issue.  They’re not all the uncomfortable once you’re a certain height or restrictive within a certain weight range.  (Yet another case in which I am happy to be “smaller.”  I don’t have an imposing bosom to raise another unique issue related to seatbelt comfort.)  But as a driver, you have to wear your seatbelt.  The last thing I’d want to deal with is being pulled over b/c I was too lazy to buckle up.  Speeding?  Sure.  Cutting someone off?  Ok.  Broken tail light?  Thanks for letting me know.  But a seat belt?! You’ve got to be kidding me.

So that’s it.  I’ve ridden without a seatbelt.  No accidents, injuries or tickets have resulted.  But just the fact that I have no option to ignore my seatbelt bothered me, made me think I’d bought into the car-safety propaganda.  Just like (although COMPLETELY different from) “No glove, no love”, “Guns don’t kill people”, “A mind is a terrible thing to waste”, and “Only YOU can prevent wildfires”, “Click it or Ticket” and the gruesome images that usually accompany the slogan are burned into my brain.

What taglines have (un)fortunately stuck with you?

Jo’van

October 7, 2009
Categories: The World...As I See It (Everything Else), Whole Truth, The . Tags: , , , , , . Author: tjovand . Comments: Leave a comment

No Patience For You: Retail Etiquette

It’s no wonder this song wasn’t released in the US.  Too many of her fans would’ve been offended.  But I like this song by Shania Twain nevertheless.  Or maybe b/c of it…

For three years, I’ve worked a part-time retail job.  The store and brand aren’t all that important to this post but let’s just say it’s the outlet arm of  a high-end women’s clothing store.  (Mentioning high-end is important because some customers seem to expect above and beyond customer service for potentially spending hundreds of dollars on 4 items.  But please remember, just because I work for a high-end brand, I don’t necessarily make – or care that you make  – high-end money.)

Anyway, one day,  a customer annoyed me.  Okay, I know that can’t possibly be all that surprising but it was nevertheless the motivation for this post. Upon complaining to my co-workers, the three of us devised a list of retail annoyances.  I thought we’d come up with ten or so and I’d provide witty explanations or examples.  However, we came up with about 35.  So here’s just a list of some of them.  Keep in mind lists like these are the reasons that I think EVERYONE should work in food and our retail at some point in their youth.  (Most of these points apply strictly to women but I’m sure for every one of those, men’s store associates could substitute something for the opposite sex.)

1.) Cell phones – Please suspend your conversation at the register (or at least pretend like you tried).  Also, please don’t shout as you walk through the store.  If you’re hearing or reception are that bad, you might need to go to the doctor or your provider’s store instead of mine.

2.) Disrespecting the clothes YOU just tried on.  There’s absolutely no need or justifiable reason to ball clothes up in a corner of the fitting room bench or throw them on the floor.  You came into our store partly b/c you liked the display.  It seems the same people that ball clothes up and throw them on the floor expect us to find another size 4 that not dirty/creased.  Hmmm, I wonder how they got that way.

3.) Hanging clothes inside out.  I know I shouldn’t complain about you hanging them back up but seriously, inside out?  You knew that was wrong.  If you’re putting up the effort, at least do it in a way that makes us like you.

4.) Personal trash in a fitting room.  Does a fitting room with $200+ items seem like an appropriate trash can?  If so, you have bigger issues to discuss.

5.) (Probably one of my top pet peeves) Make-up and deodorant stains you caused.  If I put a clean white shirt in your fitting room and retrieve a foundation-stained now to be considered “damaged” shirt, I blame you.  Either not wear make-up when you shop or plan to be responsible for you stains.  It’s not our fault you feel you need to hide your face.  And don’t tell me your make-up is just a little color.  We never find eyeshadow stains.  And deodorant rubs off.  Don’t stain it and then ask me to check for another medium b/c this one’s stained.  I KNOW it was you.

6.) Kids running wild.  We’re not a daycare.  Period.  I don’t care how cute they are (or you THINK they are).  A knocked-over mannequin is a liability I don’t want to deal with.

7.) Questioning associates’ product knowledge.  It’s our job to know our product.  At my store, it’s also our job to know our fabrics, cuts, the way things fit, and the sizes.  If I suggest something, don’t argue with me based on what you think your size SHOULD be.  Feel free to make your own choices but don’t disagree until you’ve TRIED it on.  Trust me, I don’t care what size you wear, just that it looks good on you.  When you wear our product, you’re representing our brand, a walking billboard if you will.  It’s in our best interest to send you out looking good.  We want more business.  When someone likes what you’re wearing, they don’t ask you what size.  They want to know the brand.

8.) Disrupting display walls.  Our store has cube walls where surplus items are folded and displayed.  Trust me, if an item is in the wall, it’s also somewhere on the floor.  There is absolutely NO REASON to unfold items in the wall, especially if they’re TAPED.  People don’t seem to grasp that concept.

9.) Arguing policies.  Unfortunately, at the individual store level, we don’t exactly have the ability to change corporate policies.  If a special situation arises, a store manager might be able to make an executive decision but if it’s just b/c you changed your mind or didn’t pay attention to the policy posted at the counter, explained by the associate BEFORE they swiped your card AND printed on the receipt YOU signed, I’m sorry but you should just be SOL.  No one forced you to buy our product thus agreeing to our policies.

10.) Unnecessarily disrupting racks.  There is absolutely no need to pull out every fourth item so that a rack looks like an alternating deck of cards.  There is no need to hang an item backward.  You’re adult enough to recognize directionality.  There is no need to knock an item onto the floor, look at it, and ignore it.  You did it.  I SAW you.

11.) Coming out in undergarments (or less) to ask a question or show me something.  You are NOT AT HOME.  Put some clothes on.  I don’t care how good your body looks, how much money you’ve spent to make it look that way, or that you have a superb level of self-confidence.  Don’t assume that my position in retail places me below, envious or subservient to you.  I might just ignore you until you decide to respect my vision and put some clothes on.

12.) Complaining to an associate about just about anything.  The prices: trust me, if they’re high, we probably don’t pay them either.  The fits of the clothes: we don’t design them.  Not everything fits us either.  Your weight: we didn’t make you eat that extra cheeseburger or whole pie  whatever the case might be…

13.) Entering a store within ten minutes of closing time.  We may be all about customer service but we’ve also just stood for 8 hours on cement floors selling clothes we probably can’t afford.  We want to go home.  Don’t apologize and then proceed to move at a snail’s pace around the store, try on half of the product and not buy anything.  Believe me when I say that we will hate you.

14.) Guilty holding.  Yes, we know that you tried on 25 items you knew (and trust me, we knew you knew) you weren’t going to buy.  But don’t feel the need to hold something just b/c you feel bad.  It’s fine.  We get it.  Allow us to put that item back with your other 24 balled-up, deodorant stained items.  There’s no need to get our hopes up that you might actually come back.

In addition, please remember that other industries are very similar to retail.  In certain aspects, pharmacy and banking are right up our alley.  My roommate is a bank teller and had these few thoughts to add.

-Don’t approach her station without your deposit/withdrawal slip filled out.  If you have a bank account, you’re probably mature enough to realize that that’s your responsibility.  But maybe not…

-Blaming tellers for your mistake.  If you miss a number and they catch it, don’t yell at them.  You should be so sensitive about your account(s) that you have that shit memorized.

-Don’t blame the bank for overdraft fees.  Sure, some banks’ fees can be ridiculous but the concept is pretty simple.  Don’t spend money you don’t have.  Write things down.

I could continue but I’ll stop there.  In closing, I would just like to leave you with a few thoughts.

1.) We have to greet you.  Don’t ignore us or give us dirty looks.  Trust me.  Most of the time we’d rather not have to (especially if you look like a bitch).

2.) Our job is to assist you and maintain a store’s appearance, not to clean up after adults looking to possibly spend money.

3.) The customer is NOT always right but we have to do our best to accommodate you, NOT break rules for you.

4.) No one knows what size you are until something doesn’t fit.  If you’re an 8, wear an 8 and you might look like a 6.  If you’re an 8 and wear a 6, you’ll look like a 1o or 12.  Cut the tags out if the sizes bother you so much.  (Or god forbid, do something about it.)

Thanks for coming.  You all have a good day,

Jo’van

October 5, 2009
Categories: No Patience For You (SIGH), Whole Truth, The . Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , . Author: tjovand . Comments: 2 Comments

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