I will be twenty-nine this year and since I can remember I've been super observant. This is something that I've had to grapple with because not only was I observant, I would feel the need to say what I saw. Not in a malicious way but I just thought it was fair game for conversation. Being opinionated is not a bad thing but it comes with lots of responsibility and risks. You can become a villain in a matter of syllables and by the time you've realized how your sharp your comment sounds, it has already assaulted the ear of the innocent.
You must know that it is totally fine to have an opinion, that's why God gave us cognitive ability however what is conceived in the mind might not always be beneficial if it leaves the mind. Some things are better left unsaid and their strength and novelty are based on their containment. If you have to share, make sure your timing and delivery are tactful and you are ready for the repercussions. Because even if you polish whatever you have to say and go over it to make sure there are no possible ways for it to be misinterpreted, you still can't guarantee that it won't offend.
After being put in my place repeatedly by my mom and other loved ones over the years, I've learned. that you can have gems of wisdom to hand off to someone but if you package it wrong they might as well be bricks thrown at someone's heart. You've seen how annoying bad reception can be with cell phone coverage. Ill-received messages and words can be just as bad anywhere else.
Being pregnant, I keep things light, watch a lot of comedies and make effort to literally bite my lips to keep in any loose words. I refrain from saying a lot to avoid the hormonal label. I'm not sure why people think that saying "Oh, you're pregnant so that's why _________" is a fitting thing to say. Everybody is an OB/GYN when you get pregnant. That's good to know because when this water of mine breaks that means I have a lot of capable people that can help me get this baby here safe.
That pregnancy/hormonal comment really negates one's responsibility to be respectful of someone else's feelings and makes them seem as if they don't matter. I'm not saying you have to hold our feelings dear to your heart but don't wipe your feet on them either. I feel like the sensitivity that comes with being pregnant mixed with my opinionated nature could be a recipe for disaster at times so the safest way to communicate is...being direct but making sure my words are few. I even have to trick myself into thinking that I didn't hear certain things before my heart can process it and get in my feelings. Hence why some of my friends won't hear from me until after I deliver. It's not that I don't want to talk to you, I would love to but I'm proactive in preventing offense...so I stay away.
For example, during this pregnancy and even last pregnancy I've been called "fat and greedy". I find this quite odd. When my grandmother passed away in 2007 and I packed on a few visible pounds, no one felt the need to critique my weight gain then but the times that I'm nobly toting more weight for the sake of bringing forth life...people feel the need to state the obvious. Strange.
Okay, I haven't been "skinny" for quite some time now and that's great because I was never a fan of my body type then. I've always preferred myself with a little girth. I didn't want to walk around looking hungry but now I've seemed to have been thrust into "fat and greedy" status. Hmm. Okay. Ironically, I eat less when pregnant so this statement really puzzled me.
I don't purposefully eat less but when I really thought about it, all the things I love to consume are most of the things on the list of foods I can't have while expecting. I try to opt out of those things for more substantial choices and they tend to have more fiber thus making me full longer. In addition to that all I ever really want is juice, I'm always so thirsty and I pee every hour it seems so I don't hold on to that long.
Anyway, who said it was okay for someone to comment on a woman's weight? Even more in depth, who said that it was fitting for a man to call a pregnant woman "fat and greedy"?! Boyyyyyyyyyyyyy. That should've been taught to you right up there with looking both ways before crossing the street because comments like that will get you hit.
I don't need anyone to state the obvious to me because as I've mentioned earlier chances are I've already thought it. If it's something that pertains to me or my body image I'm willing to bet I've thought it three times over and given myself just as many reasons to be insecure about it so I really don't need anyone to help me with that.
After the person proceeded to label me I felt myself getting ready to respond but I showed restraint. Because this person is an elder and highly respected, I wanted to make sure I didn't say anything that would come off as rude even though I would've been justified in saying something snide back.
In attempt to quietly reconcile being offended I thought to myself, now what does a man go through that would make him feel terrible if someone stated the obvious in that moment/phase in his life?
I thought of a few:
1. Preparing to make love and being stopped in his tracks. What if Mr. Casanova thought he was about to get down and dirty and his equipment didn't work. His lady companion says "Ahhh geez, looks like everyone's not on board huh?" A totally natural and common experience that happens from time to time right? Yet, if someone felt the need to comment on it, they would probably be ashamed. Not cool.
2. After a losing a fight. Literally, you win some and you lose some. I've seen men defend their lady's honor and not taking into account the muscle to fat ratio of said opponent, they get their tail whooped. This is a very unfortunate situation, more so than the previous. Every lady wants to feel like her man can defend her so when he falls short in this way, it's a bit scary. What if the lady wasn't as sensitive to her man's failure and was silly enough to say "He was way bigger than you, what were you thinking?!" She know that if the guy didn't attempt to fight on her behalf she would've labeled him a punk but now she doesn't know why he even tried. The nerve. He took that risk for you boo.
3. When a man cries. I personally see nothing wrong with a man that can shed a tear. If you are crying more than me, I might be caught off guard but certain situations would be understood and I wouldn't fault you for that. Losing a loved one, a burst of overwhelming joy during a life event, or even showing vulnerability all alone with someone you trust. It is normal and necessary to get out emotion somehow. I've seen a wife criticize her husband for crying more than her at her mother's funeral. "He's supposed to be comforting me and he won't stop crying". I thought this was a bit insensitive because most guys don't really rock with their mother-in-laws that hard let alone hail them closer than their own mother. This guy was really hurt by the loss and it was genuine. I would've just been in awe that my dude really loved my mom that much and in itself that would've been comforting to me because I wasn't alone in my feelings.
4. A man with a disability or physical short-coming. If someone has an assisted device either crutches, cane, etc. They don't want someone coming up to them saying "looks like you're having a hard time getting around". Uhhhhh, probably so. If they need a device to ASSIST their movement. Men are viewed as strong and want to feel unbreakable, they don't want your pity so this is a direct hit to the core of what they are seen to be. Making such a comment would be extremely irrelevant and downright stupid.
So on behalf of all the other women full of fetus, I'm urging everyone but specifically the men to think before you speak. If someone as opinionated as me can scale back and take the time to review my comments before sharing them, I think anyone can. It would be nice if you could do the same.
Friday, March 4, 2016
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
Commuter Commentary
I'm sure many of you who take the time to read my blog have noticed I like to people watch. Just one of my eccentric pastimes. I'm not ashamed and thank you for humoring me.
Riding the metro for 18 years will make you an expert at people watching and more exclusively viewing your surroundings undetected. If any of you are familiar with any type of public transportation in a fairly large city, you can vouch how colorful a commute can get. So many personalities housed in one confined train car. Once your eyes get somewhat familiar with the new faces that come on the train, familiar enough to remember the color coat they have, on the combination switches up again. A new array of faces to memorize in a matter of seconds before the next train stop. It reminds me of that card game where you had a few seconds to memorize each card's position then they were turned over and you had to match them up. I used to love making a game out of trying to remember the attributes of my fellow commuters. As light-hearted as this sounds, it really wasn't for sport or fun, though it was great at passing the time away. I actually did this to be able to identify someone in event something shady went down. Theft of cell phones, purses and even shoes are common occurrences on this mode of transportation. Door open, thief out, merchandise gone, door close...and that was that.
As I got older and wanted to make my commuter observations more challenging I started to look a little more closely at each individual's mannerisms and inclinations. Not as means to stereotype but I guess intuition was passing the torch to observation.
When I tell you I've rode every metro line and probably gotten off at every stop at some point, I'm serious. I started to notice patterns of the people who rode the different color lines. Ha, color lines (see what I did there?). There are distinct differences. Of course this is just my opinion, what I see is not law or to be taken and set in stone.
For example, the red line (the oldest, first line erected). God bless those people that have to take that thing every day. I'd take the bus! Anyway, the red line is always breaking down at the most random points, usually in the middle of two stops in the tunnel. Rat central. As a result, of the inconvenience the people on the red line have the worst anxiety and are the most impatient. I've seen people jump in front of people in motorized wheelchairs to ensure a spot on the train. Really though guys? You were pressed to use your functional limbs to get on the train before them only to have to wait on the same car that will break down in five minutes. Good show impatient red-faced, red line commuter...good show.
I won't go through the all the lines but I have to mention the orange line because it is a segue into the meat and potatoes of this post (mmm, potatoes). I used to take the orange line from the end, Vienna-Fairfax/GMU to get to work in DC. I could count on it to sit at Rosslyn for a good ten minutes and I could get a solid power nap if I was sitting inside window seat away from the door. If I got on the train early enough it was quiet and my nap would last until Metro Center. All the shuffle of those people wake you up immediately. Before any of that, I'll rewind to when I first get on the train. I would smile and/or nod as to say "Hello" to whomever would attempt to sit next to me. Almost as a way to say, "Please sit, I won't bite". Even with going the extra mile to show how friendly I was. I was starting to get offended. I mean, I'm hygienic. I often smell of vanilla or mint. I have a bright smile and I check to make sure I don't have traces of my breakfast in my teeth. Why were these people fleeing from me? Maybe they weren't "fleeing" per say but sitting where they felt more suited. I'll explain...
I won't go through the all the lines but I have to mention the orange line because it is a segue into the meat and potatoes of this post (mmm, potatoes). I used to take the orange line from the end, Vienna-Fairfax/GMU to get to work in DC. I could count on it to sit at Rosslyn for a good ten minutes and I could get a solid power nap if I was sitting inside window seat away from the door. If I got on the train early enough it was quiet and my nap would last until Metro Center. All the shuffle of those people wake you up immediately. Before any of that, I'll rewind to when I first get on the train. I would smile and/or nod as to say "Hello" to whomever would attempt to sit next to me. Almost as a way to say, "Please sit, I won't bite". Even with going the extra mile to show how friendly I was. I was starting to get offended. I mean, I'm hygienic. I often smell of vanilla or mint. I have a bright smile and I check to make sure I don't have traces of my breakfast in my teeth. Why were these people fleeing from me? Maybe they weren't "fleeing" per say but sitting where they felt more suited. I'll explain...
Again this is just what I think but test it out and see for yourself.
(In order of priority/availability): We sit by...
...people we know (usually a given, if you're in mid-conversation, you'll find somewhere close to sit to continue talking or catch-up if you haven't seen them in a while
...people we are most similar to, i.e.- race and/or gender
...people who we think are attractive
...people who look like they pose the least threat
I sat down one week and wrote down the attributes of each person I sat beside on my five-day commute to compare the similarities/differences on paper. I wanted to see my own preferences. A five-day train commute, to and fro would yield about ten metro rides. I sat down eight out of the ten times. Sometimes I like to stand if I've been sitting all day, so for two days, coming home I chose to stand. For M, T, W, TH in the morning I sat beside elderly women. They varied in race. Friday morning, I sat beside an older African-American gentleman. Then the rest of the days I sat by Caucasian males that looked like they could've been my age, slightly older. All of these people looked to be dressed for success, assumed to be going to work.
When my critique of my own observation was done I looked at the preferences of my fellow commuters. I didn't sit and actually write anything down because I didn't want them to see what I wrote and think I was creepy but I looked and made mental note. Majority of African-American men sat by African-American women, most whites sat by other whites whether male or female, Hispanics didn't seem to care who that sat by. They really didn't spend a lot of time looking for options of seats when available they just took the next possible seat. Most elders sat by other older adults and if there were children/teenagers with open seats available they would stand and wait until another choice was open or just stood the duration of their ride. These were the things I saw when choices were available and there was vast selection but when seats were slim to none, a few people sat wherever but a good majority made the choice to stand.
There could be a lot of factors into play here. They might eyeball seat space and just decide to take the loss and stand to avoid lack of room. Or after a day of sitting and just want to stretch their legs. I often enjoy the sway of the train and like to stand. So if I'm not sleepy, I'm more prone to stand.
(In order of priority/availability): We sit by...
...people we know (usually a given, if you're in mid-conversation, you'll find somewhere close to sit to continue talking or catch-up if you haven't seen them in a while
...people we are most similar to, i.e.- race and/or gender
...people who we think are attractive
...people who look like they pose the least threat
I sat down one week and wrote down the attributes of each person I sat beside on my five-day commute to compare the similarities/differences on paper. I wanted to see my own preferences. A five-day train commute, to and fro would yield about ten metro rides. I sat down eight out of the ten times. Sometimes I like to stand if I've been sitting all day, so for two days, coming home I chose to stand. For M, T, W, TH in the morning I sat beside elderly women. They varied in race. Friday morning, I sat beside an older African-American gentleman. Then the rest of the days I sat by Caucasian males that looked like they could've been my age, slightly older. All of these people looked to be dressed for success, assumed to be going to work.
When my critique of my own observation was done I looked at the preferences of my fellow commuters. I didn't sit and actually write anything down because I didn't want them to see what I wrote and think I was creepy but I looked and made mental note. Majority of African-American men sat by African-American women, most whites sat by other whites whether male or female, Hispanics didn't seem to care who that sat by. They really didn't spend a lot of time looking for options of seats when available they just took the next possible seat. Most elders sat by other older adults and if there were children/teenagers with open seats available they would stand and wait until another choice was open or just stood the duration of their ride. These were the things I saw when choices were available and there was vast selection but when seats were slim to none, a few people sat wherever but a good majority made the choice to stand.
There could be a lot of factors into play here. They might eyeball seat space and just decide to take the loss and stand to avoid lack of room. Or after a day of sitting and just want to stretch their legs. I often enjoy the sway of the train and like to stand. So if I'm not sleepy, I'm more prone to stand.
Taking all this into account, I have also noticed we steer clear of people who move a lot, take up a lot of space or are carrying a lot of baggage. Sound familiar? Our public transportation seating choices have a striking resemblance to who we choose to be near or avoid in life. Coincidence?
Maybe. Maybe not. I could just be rambling for all we know.
...but you are curious now, aren't you?
Love,
Cam
Love,
Cam
Monday, February 16, 2015
Thoughts of February 14th from an Analytical Hopeless Romantic
Valentine's Day. Hate it or love it. Your stores will force you to respect its presence in pop culture.
The married person ends up treating it like any other day and the single person wants to be wined and dined with red balloons and whatnot. Valentine's Day is a vehicle in which people think that the grass is greener on the other side.
A commercial holiday should not be the determining factor of whether you are happy with your relationship status. Not your relationship with another person either. Your relationship with yourself. Love isn't how you feel about someone else, it starts with feelings of self that are imposed or projected by expression of feelings toward another person. I learned this once I started to analyze my Valentine's Days and learned that how I celebrated them really was a direct indicator of how I viewed myself whether single or in a relationship.
Let's go down Memory Lane, shall we? Feel free to laugh at me if you'd like. I laugh at myself so please join in.
Ever since first grade, I've dreaded Valentine's Day. Not because I was pathetic and couldn't grab the interest of anyone. That's never been an issue. Even with my bushy hair, ashen complexion and (back then) my hot pink bifocals I caught an admirer or two (I know, it's amazing to me too). It was more the pressure that came with the day that made it awkward for me. How your worth or attractiveness/love was put on a scale to be weighed. The more cards you got, the more desired you were thought to be. This would later on fuel my thought that "hotness" was measured by the number of suitors attempting to pursue you at any given point in time opposed to actually just being confident in yourself.
Remember back in the day when you passed around those Valentine's Day cards but only to your BFFs and you might have gotten bold enough to sneak one in your crush's desk/coat pocket/locker? This was before schools made you give EVERYONE a card so no one felt left out. Pansies! Or better yet, the cards were anonymous so you spent the whole day trying to figure out who liked you. Usually the creepy looks you were given while eating your snacks started the investigation. If every time you looked up there was a little fellow smiling at you, he was probably the card culprit.
...and there you have it...your "Valentine". Cute right?
Doesn't work like that once you go to middle school. It gets real. People start talking about having feelings and they actually kiss with tongue!!! I learned this the hard way because my first kiss was during class while playing truth or dare, we had a substitute (this alone makes me dread the day my daughter enrolls in school). That "kiss" was the most unromantic, nerve-wrecking thing you can think of. I literally thought we would peck and be done. Nope. When did it become customary in America to French kiss?! The only thing I wanted French was my fries. My disdain for PDA started around this time too for obvious reasons.
Then the boys started strutting around asking "Can I have a chance?" A chance at what?! Not to court me for real because neither one of us could even drive. I guess it was a chance at a small scale relationship. Whatever, I wasn't opposed to having you carry my books to class or sitting next to you at lunch. Just keep your tongue in YOUR mouth and buy me a snack from the a la carte line. For a girl who had reduced lunch ($.40 opposed to the $1 and some change some people paid according to household income), that was the equivalent of a dozen roses. Get me an iced honeybun and we're practically joined for life.
Now back to this smooching thing. It became the standard. In middle school, Valentine's Day was a great point of anxiety for me because your "boo" would want a kiss and just your luck everyone in your class would see it and whisper about it later. My fears were germs and that word would somehow get back to my Mama. Mama was the neighborhood candy lady so everybody knew where I lived and if someone wanted to be petty, they could come buy some snacks and rat me out on the low.
For that reason, I would literally time my gift-exchange at school so that in the hallway all we had was enough time to exchange gifts and the bell could ring right after so I'd have to jet to my next class.
I thought that having a "boyfriend" would make this whole Valentine's Day thing easier. Little did I know it was just pressure in another way. I was guaranteed a gift/attention from someone but so much was expected in return even at such a young age. Why can't I just get my little CVS teddy bear with attached assorted chocolates and be done with it? Doesn't work like that. If a boy gets you sweets, he wanted some sugar...which brings me to my next span of time...high school.
My high school experience described in one word was "huh?!". I learned just how naïve I was when it came to love and the like (see what I did there). In my mind, if we like each other, we should just go together. Sadly it didn't go that smoothly, hormones made everyone like everyone and just your luck the guy you liked probably liked your friend more. I can't remember how many times a guy found out I had a crush on them and when they walked over to me in the hallway they asked, "What's good with your girl _______?". Ouch. Cold little high school boy, real cold. I guess it is fitting that Valentine's Day is in February *shakes fist*.
To the decent guys worth dating, I was considered just one of the guys OR a great friend. Man, I don't want to be your friend. Buy me some chocolates or something! I even practiced that whole French kiss thing and I'll kiss you if you don't tell anyone. Can we do that? No? Okay, I'll just go back to Friendzone where it's safe.
What I didn't know is that my personality made me "safe" and in high school dudes wanted the girls that were bold and ready to take it to the next level if you catch my drift. I was proud of JUST perfecting how to kiss and you have chicks in there getting knocked up. I guess my little accomplishment wasn't much. I was too scared of my Mama and what people thought of me to get loose. I can't lie, the loose life did look fun but I left it to the professionals. My conscience talked too much maybe even more than my peers and with track practice and an accelerated academic schedule I simply didn't have the time to be whoring.
I was able to snag a guy for the majority of my high school experience though and that relationship was the biggest waste of time, especially as far as Valentine's Day was concerned. His gifts and romantic gestures were only to distract me from the fact that he was Valentine-ing all around town with other girls. Yes, I got the teddy bears and even some expensive electronics but there were no receipts for the emotional and physical scars. Valentine's Day was only one day in a year but the rest of the 364 went unaccounted for. So this made me wonder if guys thought they could treat you like crap the other days but if they had a little change in their pocket to get you a decent gift, it was enough to get off on good behavior. Valentine's Day became a romantic Yom Kippur. For my suitor, it was his day of atonement, a chance to right the wrongs of yesterday...so he thought.
My best Valentine's Day was spent eating great food, watching a comedy in a dorm room with no pressure for sex. Doesn't take much to make me happy.
It was almost a little TOO perfect. Ahh yes, of course it was. The night was cut short by my roommate who came in crying about how her Valentine's Day wasn't up-to-par, so being the sap I am I apologized to my Valentine for having to end the night and told him I'd call him later because my roommate needed me. The abruptness of that Valentine's Day was a stone in the pond to ripple and ruin the Valentine's Days to come. Following that one, they all ended up being meager attempts to be better than the last one, only to be even more terrible in the end. These dudes were up all night to get lucky and I was just trying to make love to these chocolates. Don't get it twisted, by this time I wasn't a virgin anymore and had become a little more experienced, however a good day did not equate to a great night. Takes more work than that, my vagina has standards and makes good choices.
Now I'm married and I'm back to the dinner and maybe a movie formula, which I like and actually works for me. However, Valentine's Day still doesn't go off without a hitch. I either get a migraine, diarrhea, or some other random ailment that prevents me from enjoying the day/night in full.
I believe it was the great Andre Benjamin who so eloquently professed, "Happy Valentine's Day, every day is the fourteenth". It took me observing my patterns of this day for the past twenty years and a song on The Love Below album to finally get it. If you love everyday (yourself and others) then there is no pressure to have to do it "effectively" on Valentine's Day. I've learned to love me single or attached so that no matter the significant other, the activity of celebration or caliber of gift it is still just another day.
...but to the ladies and men who can only spend the fifteenth with their "love", you might want to start asking some questions. Just saying.
Love (or like),
Cam
The married person ends up treating it like any other day and the single person wants to be wined and dined with red balloons and whatnot. Valentine's Day is a vehicle in which people think that the grass is greener on the other side.
A commercial holiday should not be the determining factor of whether you are happy with your relationship status. Not your relationship with another person either. Your relationship with yourself. Love isn't how you feel about someone else, it starts with feelings of self that are imposed or projected by expression of feelings toward another person. I learned this once I started to analyze my Valentine's Days and learned that how I celebrated them really was a direct indicator of how I viewed myself whether single or in a relationship.
Let's go down Memory Lane, shall we? Feel free to laugh at me if you'd like. I laugh at myself so please join in.
Ever since first grade, I've dreaded Valentine's Day. Not because I was pathetic and couldn't grab the interest of anyone. That's never been an issue. Even with my bushy hair, ashen complexion and (back then) my hot pink bifocals I caught an admirer or two (I know, it's amazing to me too). It was more the pressure that came with the day that made it awkward for me. How your worth or attractiveness/love was put on a scale to be weighed. The more cards you got, the more desired you were thought to be. This would later on fuel my thought that "hotness" was measured by the number of suitors attempting to pursue you at any given point in time opposed to actually just being confident in yourself.
Remember back in the day when you passed around those Valentine's Day cards but only to your BFFs and you might have gotten bold enough to sneak one in your crush's desk/coat pocket/locker? This was before schools made you give EVERYONE a card so no one felt left out. Pansies! Or better yet, the cards were anonymous so you spent the whole day trying to figure out who liked you. Usually the creepy looks you were given while eating your snacks started the investigation. If every time you looked up there was a little fellow smiling at you, he was probably the card culprit.
...and there you have it...your "Valentine". Cute right?
Doesn't work like that once you go to middle school. It gets real. People start talking about having feelings and they actually kiss with tongue!!! I learned this the hard way because my first kiss was during class while playing truth or dare, we had a substitute (this alone makes me dread the day my daughter enrolls in school). That "kiss" was the most unromantic, nerve-wrecking thing you can think of. I literally thought we would peck and be done. Nope. When did it become customary in America to French kiss?! The only thing I wanted French was my fries. My disdain for PDA started around this time too for obvious reasons.
Then the boys started strutting around asking "Can I have a chance?" A chance at what?! Not to court me for real because neither one of us could even drive. I guess it was a chance at a small scale relationship. Whatever, I wasn't opposed to having you carry my books to class or sitting next to you at lunch. Just keep your tongue in YOUR mouth and buy me a snack from the a la carte line. For a girl who had reduced lunch ($.40 opposed to the $1 and some change some people paid according to household income), that was the equivalent of a dozen roses. Get me an iced honeybun and we're practically joined for life.
Now back to this smooching thing. It became the standard. In middle school, Valentine's Day was a great point of anxiety for me because your "boo" would want a kiss and just your luck everyone in your class would see it and whisper about it later. My fears were germs and that word would somehow get back to my Mama. Mama was the neighborhood candy lady so everybody knew where I lived and if someone wanted to be petty, they could come buy some snacks and rat me out on the low.
For that reason, I would literally time my gift-exchange at school so that in the hallway all we had was enough time to exchange gifts and the bell could ring right after so I'd have to jet to my next class.
I thought that having a "boyfriend" would make this whole Valentine's Day thing easier. Little did I know it was just pressure in another way. I was guaranteed a gift/attention from someone but so much was expected in return even at such a young age. Why can't I just get my little CVS teddy bear with attached assorted chocolates and be done with it? Doesn't work like that. If a boy gets you sweets, he wanted some sugar...which brings me to my next span of time...high school.
My high school experience described in one word was "huh?!". I learned just how naïve I was when it came to love and the like (see what I did there). In my mind, if we like each other, we should just go together. Sadly it didn't go that smoothly, hormones made everyone like everyone and just your luck the guy you liked probably liked your friend more. I can't remember how many times a guy found out I had a crush on them and when they walked over to me in the hallway they asked, "What's good with your girl _______?". Ouch. Cold little high school boy, real cold. I guess it is fitting that Valentine's Day is in February *shakes fist*.
To the decent guys worth dating, I was considered just one of the guys OR a great friend. Man, I don't want to be your friend. Buy me some chocolates or something! I even practiced that whole French kiss thing and I'll kiss you if you don't tell anyone. Can we do that? No? Okay, I'll just go back to Friendzone where it's safe.
What I didn't know is that my personality made me "safe" and in high school dudes wanted the girls that were bold and ready to take it to the next level if you catch my drift. I was proud of JUST perfecting how to kiss and you have chicks in there getting knocked up. I guess my little accomplishment wasn't much. I was too scared of my Mama and what people thought of me to get loose. I can't lie, the loose life did look fun but I left it to the professionals. My conscience talked too much maybe even more than my peers and with track practice and an accelerated academic schedule I simply didn't have the time to be whoring.
I was able to snag a guy for the majority of my high school experience though and that relationship was the biggest waste of time, especially as far as Valentine's Day was concerned. His gifts and romantic gestures were only to distract me from the fact that he was Valentine-ing all around town with other girls. Yes, I got the teddy bears and even some expensive electronics but there were no receipts for the emotional and physical scars. Valentine's Day was only one day in a year but the rest of the 364 went unaccounted for. So this made me wonder if guys thought they could treat you like crap the other days but if they had a little change in their pocket to get you a decent gift, it was enough to get off on good behavior. Valentine's Day became a romantic Yom Kippur. For my suitor, it was his day of atonement, a chance to right the wrongs of yesterday...so he thought.
My best Valentine's Day was spent eating great food, watching a comedy in a dorm room with no pressure for sex. Doesn't take much to make me happy.
It was almost a little TOO perfect. Ahh yes, of course it was. The night was cut short by my roommate who came in crying about how her Valentine's Day wasn't up-to-par, so being the sap I am I apologized to my Valentine for having to end the night and told him I'd call him later because my roommate needed me. The abruptness of that Valentine's Day was a stone in the pond to ripple and ruin the Valentine's Days to come. Following that one, they all ended up being meager attempts to be better than the last one, only to be even more terrible in the end. These dudes were up all night to get lucky and I was just trying to make love to these chocolates. Don't get it twisted, by this time I wasn't a virgin anymore and had become a little more experienced, however a good day did not equate to a great night. Takes more work than that, my vagina has standards and makes good choices.
Now I'm married and I'm back to the dinner and maybe a movie formula, which I like and actually works for me. However, Valentine's Day still doesn't go off without a hitch. I either get a migraine, diarrhea, or some other random ailment that prevents me from enjoying the day/night in full.
I believe it was the great Andre Benjamin who so eloquently professed, "Happy Valentine's Day, every day is the fourteenth". It took me observing my patterns of this day for the past twenty years and a song on The Love Below album to finally get it. If you love everyday (yourself and others) then there is no pressure to have to do it "effectively" on Valentine's Day. I've learned to love me single or attached so that no matter the significant other, the activity of celebration or caliber of gift it is still just another day.
...but to the ladies and men who can only spend the fifteenth with their "love", you might want to start asking some questions. Just saying.
Love (or like),
Cam
Sunday, December 7, 2014
You Look Tired Revamped
Almost two years ago when I was in the infantile stages of blogging I wrote a post about why women hate to hear the phrase "you look tired".
I am now going on record to say that not only should you not say it to a woman but don't even think about sending an ESP message telepathically to a woman that is a new mom. Let me let you in on a secret. SHE LOOKS HOW SHE FEELS!!!
If you've ever had a death wish, just simply utter "you look tired" to a new mom. This is when stating the obvious goes terribly wrong. Not only did you feel the need to comment on the inevitable, you thought it was okay to verbally declare it to someone who was sleep deprived. You might as well call IRS and tell them you cheat on your taxes and leave your SSN before you hang up the phone.
As a new mother to a four month, two week-er, I find myself on edge quite a bit. I will admit that a good portion of that is my fault. I look for confirmation from people who are too busy critiquing to show concern or people who have no idea what I'm talking about.
Most times, I assume that because billions of women have had babies before they just know what I'm going through and are inclined to feel ever so sympathetic and possibly offer good sound support. I couldn't be more wrong. Half these women dismiss it from their mind so they can't pull from their memory bank to go back to that time when they felt that way. I think it's God's way of ensuring that we are fruitful and multiply because if anyone really remembered how crappy they felt postpartum we would all be only children or even worse, the human race would have died out a long time ago. So we are hardwired to forget the bad and retain most of the good.
I'm sure this time next year I'll probably be knocked up again and forget all about this blog post but as of right now I have to get this out.
"Old" moms so easily forget that they were once zombies treading through their house at 4am wishing for the gift of deaf to fall upon their ears because their baby has learned their true lung capacity. You would think someone would walk up and just say "I know. It gets better." and just walk away but they don't. Instead they walk up in the most scientific of tone and say things like "your baby should be sleeping through the night". Oh "should" huh? When did "should" put a guilt trip on a baby and force them to abide? "Ohhh man, you've got me. I knew better", says infant then proceeds to brush straight past REM and fall into a stage four sleep.
Is there a statute of limitations on this "should", "SHOULD" I just bank on the baby knowing that this unspoken agreement between them and sleep exists? Or put it in writing and make them sign it in drool??
I haven't quite found a solution on how to keep Nosy Nancys and Obvious Olivias away but I have found a way to make myself feel better about the situation. Like to hear it? Here it goes...
Give these people a taste of their own medicine. Since they think they are doing you a service by telling you that you look less than lovely, return the favor. Say "you look _________" and insert whatever adjective of shade you'd like. They'll see that the obvious doesn't go down so smooth. You mad??? Well I'm tired, we're even.
...and of course I must end deliciously sarcastic post with this very true and real disclaimer/declaration, I love my shrilling colicky baby, I know she doesn't mean any harm by crying and keeping her Mama up (who in turn keeps Daddy up to share in the misery). Crying is how she talks and I'm always open to communication. I'm adjusting to the Prada bags under my eyes after a long night's conversation...but until baby girl gets the sleep thing down I will wear my new accessories proudly. Hey, they go great with my stretch marks.
Til next time...probably the next sleepless night. Buh bye!
I am now going on record to say that not only should you not say it to a woman but don't even think about sending an ESP message telepathically to a woman that is a new mom. Let me let you in on a secret. SHE LOOKS HOW SHE FEELS!!!
If you've ever had a death wish, just simply utter "you look tired" to a new mom. This is when stating the obvious goes terribly wrong. Not only did you feel the need to comment on the inevitable, you thought it was okay to verbally declare it to someone who was sleep deprived. You might as well call IRS and tell them you cheat on your taxes and leave your SSN before you hang up the phone.
As a new mother to a four month, two week-er, I find myself on edge quite a bit. I will admit that a good portion of that is my fault. I look for confirmation from people who are too busy critiquing to show concern or people who have no idea what I'm talking about.
Most times, I assume that because billions of women have had babies before they just know what I'm going through and are inclined to feel ever so sympathetic and possibly offer good sound support. I couldn't be more wrong. Half these women dismiss it from their mind so they can't pull from their memory bank to go back to that time when they felt that way. I think it's God's way of ensuring that we are fruitful and multiply because if anyone really remembered how crappy they felt postpartum we would all be only children or even worse, the human race would have died out a long time ago. So we are hardwired to forget the bad and retain most of the good.
I'm sure this time next year I'll probably be knocked up again and forget all about this blog post but as of right now I have to get this out.
"Old" moms so easily forget that they were once zombies treading through their house at 4am wishing for the gift of deaf to fall upon their ears because their baby has learned their true lung capacity. You would think someone would walk up and just say "I know. It gets better." and just walk away but they don't. Instead they walk up in the most scientific of tone and say things like "your baby should be sleeping through the night". Oh "should" huh? When did "should" put a guilt trip on a baby and force them to abide? "Ohhh man, you've got me. I knew better", says infant then proceeds to brush straight past REM and fall into a stage four sleep.
Is there a statute of limitations on this "should", "SHOULD" I just bank on the baby knowing that this unspoken agreement between them and sleep exists? Or put it in writing and make them sign it in drool??
I haven't quite found a solution on how to keep Nosy Nancys and Obvious Olivias away but I have found a way to make myself feel better about the situation. Like to hear it? Here it goes...
Give these people a taste of their own medicine. Since they think they are doing you a service by telling you that you look less than lovely, return the favor. Say "you look _________" and insert whatever adjective of shade you'd like. They'll see that the obvious doesn't go down so smooth. You mad??? Well I'm tired, we're even.
...and of course I must end deliciously sarcastic post with this very true and real disclaimer/declaration, I love my shrilling colicky baby, I know she doesn't mean any harm by crying and keeping her Mama up (who in turn keeps Daddy up to share in the misery). Crying is how she talks and I'm always open to communication. I'm adjusting to the Prada bags under my eyes after a long night's conversation...but until baby girl gets the sleep thing down I will wear my new accessories proudly. Hey, they go great with my stretch marks.
Til next time...probably the next sleepless night. Buh bye!
Monday, June 2, 2014
Food for thought, always room for more...
In middle school, my best friend and I had a composition book we used to pass back and forth. I still don't know to this day what made us start it but it was sooooooo much fun. We had almost every class together and saw each other at cheerleading practice then hung out outside of school. Somehow we always had something new to say. One would patiently wait and check the locker in anticipation of the most recent book drop off to respond or add our little tidbit.
The content of this book ranged from venting about a teacher we thought was insane, drooling over a cute boy, and my personal favorite; creating code names for people that were only funny to us. We'd see the person in the hallway, glance at each other and laugh hysterically. All in good fun though, we never bashed anyone just giggled. I'm more than confident this among many other silly pre-teen quirks was the reason why people thought we were so odd. Ha, the odd couple.
When we went to high school and the class options changed, we didn't have the exact same classes anymore so we didn't spend as much time together like we thought we would the years before. Our interests and class schedules guided us elsewhere. Not apart per say, but we were developing our own flair for life.
We started off both running track but then she was bit by the ROTC bug, flipping rifles, doing push-ups and other Xena Warrior Princess activity. I stuck with track and next thing we knew we both had found our "thing". Our first real thing outside of each other. A little scary but realistic. We were growing up.
In spite of the clash of our hectic schedules we always managed to find a way to meet outside of someone's class or lunch to pass our composition book to each other. We didn't share lockers anymore so we couldn't dare afford to leave the book in our locker and the person we share lockers with see our inner-most inside jokes. SECURITY BREACH!
As the years passed, we found moments to swap the book. We went through quite a few. Only the Lord knows where all of them are now.
Once we went to college she and I stopped exchanging books. She was in College Park, I was in Fairfax and it was almost impossible to swap. No common meeting places for drop off. After that I decided to pick up my individual journal again. I had one in middle school in conjunction with our friend book but this one was for separate self-expression. It was a journal with poems, drawings, and clippings tied to memories.
I went through tons of journals. There are two that I will bury in specific spots like a time capsule only to be found by my children. I think it will be cool for them to see that their mom was human too and that more than likely everything they have felt, I have felt. Most of the books I burned so they couldn't be found because I said some pretty wild stuff, and there is one that I found a while back at my mother's house. Good thing I retrieved it. If Mama would've seen that one, she might have caught me up on some beat downs that were passed due. LOL. Just the typical teenage rage.
I read this journal before I got rid of this one. It was cool to see the changes I’ve made in life and the things I’ve overcome were a good reminder that God kept me then and He will continue to even now. Trivial things and people that seemed to weigh so heavily years ago only made me laugh when reflecting. It showed me that years, months, and even days from now a lot of the things we stress about won’t even matter. Things that seemed too hard and so impossible to overcome at that time were now only a memory to be read in a journal.
I've also been really quiet in terms of expressing how I feel about certain things to avoid being the hormonal pregnant lady. Sometimes when pregnant, people are so quick to just chalk your concerns and gripes up as chemical imbalance when really at least 70% of these confessions are valid. But in fear of being seen as irrational, emotional, or just plain mean I've kept a lot to myself. In addition to that, I HATE when venting with select people and I'm patronized. I don't always want a pat on the back and I definitely don't want to be pacified. The baby will have enough of them should I choose to partake.
Holding on to emotion and then dumping it somewhere later on used to be a sure bet back in the day. Emotional littering; where I never got caught and fined. I always got away with it until my little passenger started riding with me. In pregnancy there is always someone who is with me (or in me I should say) that is directly affected by my moods whether I admit them out loud or not. Everything I think, feel, and eat...she knows and by way of me, she takes in. That in itself was extremely eye-opening to me, major reality check. Food for thought I called it. Hence, why this journal will bear the namesake.
In effort to finish out this last two months as stress-free as the previous months, I will write down my thoughts. I've been looking for new, cool ways to stay positive and encouraged. You know, put a fresh spin on life. My first entry starts today. I'll let you know how it goes.
Love,
Cam
Thursday, April 24, 2014
..."fuggedaboutit"
I've always admired the Italian culture. Their good eats, the beauty and fullness of their country (according to the pics *sigh*) and the way they carry on through life just somehow knowing that things will work out.
...and if things don't, "fuggedaboutit".
One could dispute what is dubbed the main staple of contribution from the Italian culture. Some might say pizza and I would agree that is one heck of a gift even though pizza actually originated in Greece. Anyway, if I had my pick, the most gracious contribution of the Italians by way of New York is that lovely quoted word above.
Though it has been said in Brooklyn for years beyond possible trace of origin, the term was made popular to the rest of us in the 1997 film Donnie Brasco.
It is translated "forget about it" but can vary in meaning according to the context. The most common use is to assure you that whatever is happening or being said is not worth a second thought or glance so in response you "fuggedaboutit", erase it from your mind.
The next meaning could simply be "hell no". For example, if that infamous favor-asker calls you to come thirty miles out your way to come pick them up, gas is about $4 and you KNOW they aren't shelling out any dollars toward the fuel fund this would be a fitting scenario to say "fuggedaboutit" and slam down the phone.
The last known meaning is when you are actually confirming something in excitement, a no-brainer of sorts. For instance, you go in the grocery store specifically because you want ice cream. You have about $7 in cash and don't feel like hitting up the ATM to aid your sugar efforts. You prepare to go straight to the grocery store brand because you know it's always cheaper.
...but wait! You see Ben & Jerry's has a sale 2 for $6. You can get better quality and possibly find a better variety. MAYBE EVEN YOUR FAVORITE FLAVOR!! Doesn't even matter what that store brand costs, thanks to Ben AND Jerry. You scoop those pints up like it's nothing and proceed to walk like George Jefferson to the check-out..."fuggedaboutit".
Ahhh, what a word! Versatile and so widely understood at the same time. My kinda lingo.
I think I'll even upgrade it from word to state of mind.
I encourage you to do the same.
Lord knows I have.
Buh bye!
-Cam
Thursday, April 17, 2014
I'm Pleased to Make Your Acquaintance
Okay...now you're in my state of mind so the following might serve as useful instead of typical blog banter.
This song means a lot to me because my husband actually chose it for our reception. You know the part when the wedding party comes in? He found it would be fitting to present our family/friends to this theme. The song is extremely catchy and for those 80s babies it is a reminder of hip-hop in its prime. Even more in depth, the song poses a valid question. It asks, "Friends. How many of us have them?". The question sounds easy enough. The automatic somewhat shallow answer would be "Of course I do", maybe even followed by a shrug and a smirk if you're feeling yourself that day.
...but sad to say most of us answer this question ignorantly. I know, I know. You want to know what the heck I'm talking about...follow me for a minute. Most of us mistake friends to simply be people we know. People we know are actually called acquaintances. According to Merriam-Webster, a friend is a person with whom one has a strong liking for and trust in, also a person who actively supports or favors a cause in which you are tied to.
All these dang years we've been calling people by the wrong name. We have been using it casually and wonder why our feelings are hurt when these "friends" do not reciprocate the level of liking or trust that we do. That's because due to our own omission we have committed an error in meaning. We simply didn't know any better.
On Sunday, my closest friend (yes, she's been cleared for adequate friend title) and I were shooting the breeze and noticed that she and I have known each other for over half of our lives and haven't had a disagreement. We noticed that we are almost the same person in terms of value and the handling of close relationships. We have seen each other used and abused and have observed one another long enough to sit back and take notes on the dos and don'ts when approaching our friendship. Because of this, we have never had conflict within our space. I'm sure at some point we've had a difference in opinion because points of view will vary but seriously there has been no point of ambiguity or unresolved conflict in terms of argument.
This blew my mind. Two women strong-willed, opinionated women with no conflict. I hadn't really heard of anything like this before. After hours of thought, on and off, I realized that it wasn't the lack of conflict that really fascinated me. Though it was an enigma in itself, it was when I saw that our friendship fit the definition of friendship. She has never given me a reason to question her trust, nor has she wavered in support and favor of my happiness no matter how silly the pursuit of that particular happiness may have been. For over 13 years she has always had my best interest at heart and genuinely liked me. I can say that with everything in me, I have done the same with pleasure. It was this unspoken covenant between us that has kept our friendship for all this time.
Time (one Mississippi...two Mississippi).
Now that I mention it, I noticed that a lot of emphasis is put on time in relation to friendship. I think it's awesome if you're 80 and have had a friend since you were 5. I would never take that away from anyone. Longevity is something that we lack as a society so it is something to be marveled. I just get nervous when I talk to people and then their justification for being friends with someone is "because we've known each other forever". I've heard this reasoning in romantic relationships but I won't even begin to touch that in this post. If you know me you know how I feel about that so I can skip it. If you'd like to hear my fist-shaking, gripes about it just leave me a message.
Let me just say this. I don't feel that anyone should ever slip through the cracks and snatch the title as friend. Friendship is earned. Stop being friends with people just because you've known them for a long time. Your time and emotion is worth more than that. When you hand people these unwarranted badges of honor and they disappoint you THEN you question their sincerity. Maybe you should've questioned your judgment.
Herpes is forever too but I can assure you that no one who has it takes delight in it, let alone in the sheer fact that its been around so long. Don't let people be a disease and/or parasite of your life.
Or you might look at it like hoarding. People can become a sense of comfort by way of collateral or collector's items because you want to surround yourself with something. People are not stuff and you're full of stuff if you handle people this way.
So what they've been there...but what have they done for you?! If you can't recall on one hand the times they have made your life better than they are just wasting space. Anyone can vent to you, especially over drinks...but could you call them in a life or death situation and know they would drop everything and come? Probably not. So that is a well-adjusted acquaintance, not your friend.
I don't know a lot but I have been gullible enough to know when life is holding up a neon sign over someone's head saying "Hey girl, this ain't your friend!!!" Now don't go around just slashing relationships left and right but really take the time to evaluate them. After all, that is emotion, time, and feeling that you invest and don't directly get back. However, the seed of friendship that you sow comes back indirectly in other ways and sometimes from the least likely of source. Be wise with your investments, make them work for you. Don't shell out anything you wouldn't feel comfortable losing. Ask a gambler, they'll tell you. Bet that.
Well...until next rant! Buh bye!
- Cam
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