I Changed My Mind…

(I don’t want you know more…or love you know more? Y’all know the song by Keyshia Cole!)

I had thought that my Monday Meditation was going to be about the Superbowl commercials. It may still be. But there have been so many topics that have been brought up today that I’m not sure what I should write about.  I want to write about Let’s Talk About Pep, Celebrity Fit Club, this whole unconventional love letter thing, the Shakespeare sonnets, job developments, and everything else. I saw What Happens in Vegas. I have a lot going on.

Superbowl commercials. I didn’t really want to talk about them, but rather, the idea of them. People first spend 3 million dollars for 30 seconds in which they have the attention of the vast majority of all of America. Now, what to do with it? What do you say when you have an audience with such high expectations, when you finally have your moment to show the world what it is you do and why you’re the best at it? Now, I watched the commercials with Mr. Perfect, and in between twittering and laughing, I wondered about all the commercials and all of the years I saw them. For the most part, the companies that always advertise–Doritos, Budweiser–are offering something people consume or use at gatherings like Superbowl parties, and are moderately successful. But there are always companies who, to me, seem like this is a last ditch effort, something to generate revenue. To me, it’s like being on bended knee and asking a woman to marry you, then having to wait until the next day to get the answer. It’s a coin toss. If you had to present your passion, your life’s work, as a Superbowl commercial, how would you get someone to buy what you’re selling? To remember what you were selling, and not just the funny thing that happened?  How do you present yourself to the world when you have the world’s attention?  Or better yet, how do you present yourself when the only person that matters is looking?

Let’s Talk About Pep–I love this show! First of all, I love the format,  four friends getting together each week for lunch to dish about men and life and relationships. All of the women are different. If I didn’t have friends so different from myself, I might find it hard to believe all of these women could coexist in a loving friendship with one another without someone feeling exhausted from trying to mother everybody, or rein in the wild one, or bust free from the restrained, refined one. But they clearly all love each other, and it works. And the men that they meet…wow! Toe sucking men, similac breath men, sexy men who can cook, sexy men who been to jail, crazy men, men who stand them up…if they weren’t all gorgeous one would wonder how in the world they meet all these men! One of these days, I’m going to catch up with all the episodes and give a real in-depth interview, but my admonition is to watch it.

I did watch What Happens in Vegas with Mr. Perfect. I was all set not to like it, but it was so cute. I know that it’s cliché, it’s juvenile, it’s unrealistic, but they tugged on my heart. I always love crazy Cameron Diaz and Ashton Kutcher is just so cute as the guy that doesn’t want to grow up. I’ll write a real review one day…maybe. I don’t know if it’s worth a review, but if you love romantic comedies, polar opposite couples, that one moment when you think it can’t be fixed, and the aww-inspiring conclusion kiss, it’s worth a watch.

So much other stuff to start a dialogue about, but it’s nearly twelve and I’m tired.

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Good Morning!

Okay, well, it’s not THAT good of a morning, but sometimes you have to fake it until you make it. I do feel a little better. I watched the middle of a really weird movie on the Sundance channel that had David Boreanz in it, and this other little man that I know but don’t know his name. It seemed that Boreanz was a “writer” and he was moooching off of staying with the little guy. There were some random Colombians he invited to stay at the little man’s house, random women he hooked up with, etc. The little man was a very cultured man who liked the Opera and wrote scores. He enjoyed high brow literature. He was very easily taken advantage of. It looked interesting from the 30mins somewhere in the middle that I saw of the movie. I don’t know the title though.

My boss is trying valiantly to find out what comes next for me and when I will actually be returned to the underwriting department, but he’s not getting anywhere either. I was told by the new accounting person assigned to oversee the backfile scanning that she was meeting with the Accounting Manager (I believe her official title is Controller…ironic, isn’t it?) on yesterday to find out what was next and she would email me after that meeting. No, not so much. Meanwhile the Controller never got back to my boss, and the CFO, he of the loud shirts and louder mouth (seriously, this guy speaks at a 10 all the time…and always sounds angry and impatient), has not gotten back to him about my next move. Am I going to corporate next, or back to Underwriting? What, exactly, is left to do in accounting? Suffice it to say I haven’t gotten anywhere on my career goals, but it’s not for lack of trying.

We’ve already talked about my lack of progress financially here, so we will skip evaluated that goal other than to say I’ve made no progress.

I didn’t submit anything for January. I missed a few days here, but I’ve made almost all of them up. I wrote down a few new ideas, but I haven’t gone beyond cataloging them at this moment.

As for my spirirtual goal, I have been going to church on Sunday and Bible study Wednesday, as well as being involved in the Singles’ Ministry. A sister approached me to help her take some of the older children to Second Harvest in March to volunteer and I agreed. A lady at work seems to think I’m close to God and asked me to pray for another coworker, which was my topic for the lost Wisdom Wednesday that I will be posting, hopefully later today.

Trying to be more present with my friends is going fine. Loopy friend and I are talking more, even though she acts so young I want to strangle her sometimes. She’s refreshing and honest, if nothing else. She also wants to be my gym buddy, so I will have someone to go with when her new work schedule takes effect. My other friend is thinking of moving here, my more mature, refreshing and honest friend. My 2nd Bestie. Hopefully she does.  That would be fun. We had some interesting times. (She’s the one who bought me the cake on my 21st birthday) I keep in touch with my Bestie on the phone, and other friends through facebook, twitter, and WordPress.

I still have some things from 2008 that I want to accomplish before my birthday, the official start of a new year for me. I want to finally watch this movie my coworker suggested. I have a library book to take back (super late, I know…hey, I renewed a time or two, so it’s not that late).  I have to change my W-4 as I only have one job this year. Some other things probably, but I can’t remember. Oh, and I’m going back through this blog from the beginning to now and adding pictures, categories, links to referenced journal entries, and so on to make it pretty and user friendly. I also need to get some more great blogs to read, so if you know of any, let me know.

I’ve done really well with the get fit part of my goal, now it’s time for the get healthy part. I’m going to start with the dentist before the doctor, just to get my feet wet (and basic first visit stuff is 100% covered with no copay, and I won’t have any money until next check, lol. ) I’m actually excited for the dentist. I have a tooth that is in need of repair, one that isn’t there anymore, and they all could use a deep clean and checking over. I’m told I have a great smile and I would like to keep it.

As I look into a new month that includes my birthday, hopefully some answers about my career, and a time where I finally see money from all the cuts I’ve made (about $115 per month in budget cuts), I’m looking to move forward even more fully. Everything before my birthday is really just an assessment, a dry run, an opportunity to see where I am and how far I have to go. February 24th is the jumpoff point. That’s when it counts, when it’s no longer practice. I’m a little sad about decisions I have to make (Michigan in May and Chapter 0th Anniversary are not looking good right now), I know I’ll eventually get to visit those people and do those things that matter. Just maybe not when I want to. I know that’s more the reason I was so upset about the tax return thing than the money. I want to see my sorors and my mama and family in Michigan. Sorors and family here are fine, but there’s nothing like home. Ah, well. Still working towards it.

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Another Freestyle Friday?…Um, K

A friend of mine told me not to claim one of my jobs on my taxes. That’s how she’s getting money back, she told me. And she claimed summer classes that she took (and claimed) last year for an extra education credit (for having to pay tuition). She says you have up to three years to claim income from your job. That would bite me in the butt even more, seeing as though I would then be claiming double what I made last year, plus the .30/hr more I make this year. So eventually it would bite me in the butt anyway, only harder, and take a chunk away with it. Whatever.

I am done venting my spleen about the federal government and how they stopped giving people trying to move up in the world a fighting chance. I don’t care about the economy, health care, immigration, trials for terrorist, Haiti, Afghanistan, Iraq, government spending, or John Edward’s sexual liasons. I don’t want to see Obama on my TV defending another policy, or know what him and Michelle are doing for Valentine’s Day. I am unplugging from all things political until after the Superbowl…probably longer. I never mention politics and government for a reason–either I don’t understand it, don’t care, it doesn’t affect me at this point in my life, everyone else has talked it to death, or it doesn’t make a good blog. That is all.

I went to the gym today, more out of a need to burn off some steam and mental energy than to actually work out. I went up a level on the stairstepper/elliptical type machine and maintained my new time of 30 minutes, even though it almost killed me. My butt burned like candle wax and my thighs burned and shook like jello, but I did it. I was bathed in sweat by the time I got off, and I don’t usually sweat anywhere but my forehead and lower back. I did most of the things I normally do. There were so few people in there, I could get on whatever I wanted without wait. I like that. I may go more Friday nights and Saturdays.

I went on runnersworld or some other website to see what they had for beginners. I’m thinking of adding some short runs in my gym time. Why not? They have all those treadmills. I prefer the stairstepper/elliptical thingy, the hamstring machine, hip abductor machine, and yoga because they keep my booty big and round and firm,  but a little running shouldn’t take my booty (but it can have my stomach!) .

My loopy friend, she of the changes boyfriends like I change socks and maybe more frequently, has, apparently, finally nabbed her man. She told me she had been interested in dating him for over five years, but timing was off, he didn’t want to date long distance, blah blah blah, and they finally got together a little while ago. They went ring shopping this weekend. If she gets married I’ll be highly surprised. I’ve known her 5 months longer than Mr. P & I have been dating, so let’s say 2 1/2 years. In that time, there have been nearly ten guys she’s dated, 3 seriously enough to live with. They all go the same way: she’s in love, she gets bored, she stops sleeping with him and waits him out until he cheats, then she feels justified in breaking up, “I’m gonna do me and get myself together,” two weeks later—new man. I don’t know; maybe all the rest were just ways to bide her time until this guy became available. Maybe he’s the one. If he is, I’m happy for her. But I woudn’t be saying I do just yet. Let the relationship get a little older, see how it goes. Have a disagreement and see how y’all deal with it. But who am I to stand in the way of true love?

My birthday is fast approaching, and I have no great hopes for it. I’ve had one really great birthday in 13 years, when Mr. Perfect first came to visit me in Florida. I hadn’t had a birthday party before that in 11 years, unless you count the aborted attempt at my 21st birthday. My girl bought me a cake, which was nice, but I was going through some things at the time..ahem…Before that, there was the year I played pool with the white frat boys, one with a black eye from a fight at another school, one who got drunk and spoke Russian, and one who was cool. Before that, I spent my sweet sixteen, listening to a drunk woman cry at my grandmother’s house about her life and my grandma gave me $20 she wanted back for her birthday in August. One year I was alone in the dorms. One year, a snow storm snowed everyone in and no one came to my party. One year, my little brother had his party with me, and none of my friends showed up because they didn’t want to go to a kiddie party. One year, my little cousin, celebrating his birthday with  me, put his face in my cake and his brother (or one of the other three kids that had it) gave me chickenpox. I was sick for nearly two weeks. I don’t usually get birthday cards, let alone gifts. A bunch of people I don’t know will write happy birthday on my facebook wall, same as every year since 2004. My mom and Aunt Pink Susie will call. My mother is doing physical therapy and grieving the loss of my stepfather, struggling to raise a hardheaded teenage boy while doctors try and diagnose some of her ailments and get her disability confirmed so she can get her disability. She’s not used to not being able to work and has too much time to worry. Being Mom, she will be worrying and sad she can’t do much for my birthday, but I completely understand why she can’t. My dad will call and do that lame thing where he says he can’t remember what’s so special about today, which would have been cute had he been around to do that when I was five, but I’m turning 25. Sometimes my dad forgets to call at all. Sometimes he comes to Florida and never even bothers to call, let alone come by.

Having Mr. Perfect in my life definitely helps around my birthday, because they usually aren’t great otherwise. He seems happy that I was born and goes out of his way to do something–cook for me, take me out, something small but sincere. We’ve talked about going to a play, The Clean Up Woman, but we haven’t bought tickets yet. I hope we get to go, though.

The Superbowl is this weekend. I don’t really have a team to root for per se, but Mr. Perfect is rooting for the Colts. I just want to see a good game…I get so tired of dumb blowouts. I hope the commercials are good this year. I wanted to have a Superbowl get together, but I have a small TV for that kind of thing, and I don’t have many people to invite outside of church folks (who will probably be in evening service).

Don’t mind me; I’m just not in a good mood at the moment. I’ve tried everything I can try to improve said mood, but nothing is helping. Maybe Mr. P will call and lift my spirits. Or my mama. I’m not answering anyone else tonight. No need to spread my bad attitude.

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The IRS is Not my Friend Anymore

I can’t believe the federal government is trying to get me to pay them taxes instead of giving me a tax refund like they give every other no account individual in these great United States. People all over the land and country are stimulating the economy with their ill gotten tax gains right now, having claimed other folks children and all. It’s not my fault I don’t have eight kids. I’m an almost 25 year old single woman who’s never been married–why the hell would I have any kids? I think I should get a tax credit for keeping my freaking legs together instead of making children for you (federal government) to support. It’s not my fault I pay my stupid student loans every month instead of staying in school and collecting money from you (federal government) in the form of loans to avoid paying all the money you already gave me and to get a bigger tax return.

Forgive me if I sound a little peeved, but I’m going to be real with you: I am BEYOND peeved. I will even tell you all my business so you can grasp the full extent of my peeved-ness. I only made 23 and some change last year. Nevertheless, I paid rent (in an area where rent is inflated by students and corporate people who work in the research park), paid another car payment (since my other car was totaled by a kid who was so young he had to call his dad to the accident), car insurance, 4 separate student loan payments, phone, lights, gas, gas for car, cable, internet, food and etc. I know people who make twice what I do who have their loans in forbearance, people who don’t have any legitimate reason for not paying other than they don’t want to. I know people who don’t pay because they have kids to feed and bills to pay, but I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about people who somehow manage to trick the system into allowing them not to pay, or who reenroll in school every time their student loans come out of deferment. I didn’t do that. I am broke as soon as I get my check every week, but yet and still I paid for what I had. Now you mean to tell me people who make two and three times what I make with less bills and obligations will get 3, even $4000 back, and I owe the government? I’m sorry, the hell I do! The government owes me for the lie they sold me that if I was a good student and got into college and did well, there would be an at least $30,000/yr. job waiting for me; that promised me that I would see all of these tax breaks and incentives; that lead me to believe that doing the right thing gets rewarded in this country. The only things I’ve seen are tax breaks for folks who seem to be doing quite well, well enough to buy brand new fuel efficient cars, well enough to buy a house in this buyer’s market, well enough to afford to have 2, 3, 4 children, well enough to afford contributions to stocks, bonds, money markets, CDs, IRAs. If I had money to do all of that, Federal Government, I wouldn’t need a frickin’ frackin’ tax return. I you would’ve just made good on your promise of a 30k or higher job, I wouldn’t need it either. The fact that I don’t have any of these things should let you know that I can’t pay yet another person anything.

You would have gotten all of my money back anyway. I was going to pay up my student loans with it, go back and visit my mother and officially moved the rest of my things out of the family house, celebrate my chapter’s 30th anniversary, buy Mr. Perfect a valentine gift, pay up my car insurance and renew my tags. I wasn’t going to buy a flat screen, get my hair and nails done, or spend it on shoes and purses, as much as I would have liked. The truth is, IRS, I needed that money for things that mattered. Obviously, you could care less.

Screw you, IRS! I would like to give a friendly balanced Christian response, to say that we are governed by the laws of the land and we need to respect the offices that God has ordained. I would like to say that I have no problem paying taxes because of all of the benefits that said taxes afford me and my community. But I don’t see any benefits and God is still working on getting me to a place where I can accept that others get breaks in this life that don’t deserve them just because for them this is all there is. That’s cool, but I’m still broke and they’re still asking me to pay them money. God help me regain my cool and not pack up and move to France!

*WOO-SAA*

Now I get to go eat my Chef Boyardee and wrap up in my blanket and be mad while watching this cable I paid for. After I missed all my shows filling out this tax refund. Excuse me, while I filled out this paperwork to see how much I owed the federal government. With the heat and the air off because nobody is going to pay the ridiculous electric/gas bills but me. Oh, I am steaming.

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Sleepy, Sick, and Sideways

I am so sleepy and I don’t feel good. I haven’t felt good for a while, but I’m trying desperately to feel better. I refuse to be sick. I gotta go to work and do things, I can’t afford to be sick. I have been feeling less than fantastic since last Wednesday. This is very unacceptable.

I am going to have to redo this entry when I have something to say and/or when my head isn’t pounding, my eyes aren’t burning, my sinuses aren’t hurting,  and sleep doesn’t seem like the best thing since sliced bread…maybe since the wheel.

I finished Carrie.Yay for me! I don’t know what I”m reading nxt. I could read Stephen King’s It, but it’s crazy long…1086 pages long. I could also finally finish Invisible Man, but all that thinking right now will only make my head hurt

Saw Let’s Talk About Pep today–and you know I want to talk about it. Pep’s show is a mess. But I can’t do it justice right now because I want to fall over, so I will save my review for another time.

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Music Maven

I’ve been searching the world for new music all week long, things to add to my iPod for Working up a Black Sweat, for Sittin’ Up in my Room, for  dancing around my apartment in my T-Shirt and Panties, for Dancing in the Streets, (ooh, that’s a good one, let me write that down), for getting Good Love (don’t I wish?), and for when I Just Came Here to Chill. I have been discovering old school, new school, using old music for new purposes…I am really delving deep into the music and coming up with some elusiveness.

I love music. I love the way I’m able to find just what I wanted to say in the lyrics. I love the way it can make me feel happy, sad, in a sexy mood, in a party mood, all with a beat, a moaning sax, a jazz scat, a sultry riff, or–let me get that 808, that 808! I love the way that I always have to music, when friends won’t answer their phones or their email, when family acts funny, when Mr. P. is M.I.A. or on my last nerve, music is there and it hits all the right notes.

Music is the lifeblood of my day. I listen to music nearly all day everyday at work. I listen to music when I’m sweating in the gym or out in the setting sun. It seems I’m always listening. I listen to The Fray and Train. I listen to Mary J. Blige and Whitney Houston. I listen to Evelyn Champagne King, Rose Royce, Regina Belle, Gerald Levert, New Edition, the Gap Band, Zapp & Roger, Stacie Orrico, Sara Bareilles, Noel Gourdin, Van Hunt, Maxwell, Michael Bublé, Aerosmith, Brad Paisley, Carrie Underwood, Martina McBride, Faith Hill, Faith Evans, Kool Moe Dee, Heavy D, LL Cool J, Trina Broussard, Anita Baker, T.I., Young Jeezy, Usher, Trey Songz, Lupe Fiasco, Talib Kweli….and I dance, smile, sing, snap my fingers, stomp my feet, cha cha, giggle, dissect lyrics, search for the meaning of life, and slip through the sounds to the soul of another human being.

When did you fall in love with music? What do you listen to? When do you listen? Why do you listen? Let’s meditate on the joys and disappointments of music. And bob our heads to the beat.

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Crystal Ball and Soothsayin’, Y’all

Today was a hopeless mishmash of crystal ball gazing and warnings against divination, soothsaying, palm reading and other forms of Black Magic. It started in church, where the sermon was about Jacob’s ladder, or rather, the dream Jacob had of the ladder. We discussed dreams and how dreams are used in the Bible, who interprets them, and the dangers of erroneous interpretations of dreams.

I had a dream. I didn’t offer mine up for interpretation, 1) because a sermon is not a two way discussion but a lesson and 2) my dream took place in a sex store. Yes, it did. I was in a sex shop with Mr. P., right next to the fake “peeps” and “fleshlights,” arguing about our wedding. He was talking about some wedding he went to or heard about where the people built their own domes on the church and afterwards they had steak and blah blah blah. “I don’t want chicken or fish; why can’t we have steak. They had steak at their wedding.” “We can have steak, too. We can put murals on the walls. Whatever. What does this have to do with anything? Why are we talking about this?” Never got the answer to that question. All of a sudden we were at my aunt’s house. But of course it wasn’t her house. It looked like a mansion. My grandmother, much younger and lighter skinned with green eyes, kept telling me to stop cursing, and for some unknown reason I kept saying “hell” (the offending curse word) in sentences such as “Where the hell is Mr. Perfect”, and she started slapping me and shaking me like a crazy woman. I had the impression we were planning this aforementioned wedding, but I can’t say how I know that, that was just the feeling, even though this wedding wasn’t mentioned.

Later in the day while we hung around doing nothing, Mr. Perfect and I had one of our oft revisited discussions about marriages and why you can’t just up and get married and all the things that had to be considered. I must have put forward a hundred hypotheticals, some of which he answered even though they were rhetorical. How would we handle money? Would we keep our individual phone plans or get a family share?  What’s appropriate discipline for the kids/ how are we raising children/ are we having children? What contraception are we going with? What would be the agreed upon nookie commandments? You know, the serious questions people sometimes don’t ask because they assume “love conquers all.” Through all of this, I kinda got a glimpse of what married life with Mr. P. could be like. Hmm…something to think about.

As tempted as I would be to ask someone for a crystal ball, palm reading, tarot reading, whatever, to know whether or not I get married, who the incredibly lucky man is, how long I have to wait, whether I will have children, or if I die alone and my cats begin to eat me and no one calls the police except the neighbor who hasn’t seen me pottering around in the garden and smells a foul order coming from my house, I won’t do it. There are some things, to me, that just have to happen. In their own way, in their own time, in their own order. Any foreknowledge, other than woman’s intuition, would take the fun, and possibly the wisdom of the journey, out of it. If you take life one step at a time, eventually you’ll look over your shoulder and wonder how in the world you managed to make it this far, so far you can’t even see where you came from anymore. 

Who knows? Maybe my dreams are telling me something. As the minister preached (and provided scripture for), the one who has the dream is not usually the one who interprets it (Genesis 38-40…ish…where Joseph interprets the dreams of the baker and the butler in jail and then the pharaoh’s dreams), so it’s not for me to say what it signifies. Maybe me and Mr. P. will be engaged and having the age old debate of chicken or fish (or steak). I doubt it will be in the aisles of a sex shop, but maybe that’s just my anticipation of a wedding night, lol? Maybe my grandmother will find something to go off the deep end about and shake me silly (even though I don’t curse, and even if I did I especially wouldn’t around an elder…but I’m sure she can find plenty of other reasons to shake me silly). Maybe I’ll have a mansion. I don’t know, but isn’t it enough sometimes just to dream (and speculate?)

Quarter Century Mark

I talked to a friend yesterday during my downtime and she said something that struck me. “I’m am not about to turn 25 unhappy with my body, my career, and my life.” Or something like that. Just before I could get my mouth around an “amen” oh “mmhmm girl, that’s right,” I caught myself up. My friend turns 25 in July, so these are good goals, marginally reachable. If she can’t reach all of them, she can at least be on the path. But me? I’ll be 25 in less than a month.

My birthday, should you be interested, is February 24th. I’m allergic to chocolate, but I love caramel, graham crackers, vanilla, cinnamon, butter cream frosting, shoes, purses, cute medium shirts, CDs, books (especially Harlequins), movies (especially romantic comedies and Black films), iTunes gift cards, Walmart gift cards, shiny pretty cards, photo albums (acid and linign (sp?) free), and scrapbooking supplies, LOL. But seriously, in a short amount of time, I will hit my last pivotal age before each milestone is nothing more than the toll of a bell that signifies the passage of time, how little time left for you to do this or that or the other. Your biological clock starts to tick, then eventually winds itself down and dies. Ring watch picks up and then suddenly falls away to bland faces that would drop open in shock if your old butt walked in with a wedding ring. Ambitious career goals fade and your focus all of your energy on trying not to be replaced by a young hotshot who is up to date on the next Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube phenomena. You give up on children and a husband and buy a cat and get a library card. You sign up for netflix. You order Dominoes for the Cinnastix, even though you no longer have those idiotic, blind cravings/obsessions/ fixations on them because it’s “THAT TIME OF THE MONTH.” You don’t blink anymore when someone calls you ma’am. You cook at home or oder in because you don’t want to take up a whole table in the restaurant, just you and your loneliness, when you can have the company of your cat and your cable.

Hmm, maybe that’s a little bleak. It’s just that, well, I’ve never seen my life going too differently. I always knew I wanted to be a world famous writer, yes, but the rest? 

I don’t know what my wedding colors are. I can’t decide on a cake. Every dress I see and think I might like would make me look stubby because of my height. I have no idea where the wedding will be, what song my first dance will be to. Both the man I wanted to perform the ceremony and the stepfather I wanted to help escort me down the aisle are dead. None of that matters, of course, because I’m not getting married anytime soon. I just think it’s odd I’ve never thought of it. Most women spend their childhoods planning their weddings. I spent mine imagining what comes after, thinking of ways in which it can go wrong and ways it can go right, and that  mostly for the sake of the story. I sometimes pictured myself as married, but that was merely context for my future life, part of the world I would exist in. I thought it to death. Would he support my writing? Where would we live? Would we have children? Would our children be ugly like me (This was a common preoccupation, so much so I decided, disregarding how wonderful children find me and how much I love them, that I wouldn’t have any just in case…the things we worry about when we’re young!)? How would we coparent? What happens when the lights go out (or stay on)? Who cared about the wedding part? This person was going to be living with me, sleeping with me, expecting things from me just like I expected things from them. What if I let him down?

No worries, I thought; you aren’t going to get married! Why would you think that? So I focused on being smart, writing, Aiming High and thinking of the future as the inevitable passage of time that had to occur before I was discovered, published, and revered.

Now, I’ll be 25 soon. This year I’ve embarked on many different things I wanted to do to flesh myself out, to make myself a three dimensional character with wants, needs, motivations. To have things I did just because they made me happy and not to reach a goal, and to have things that moved me closer to reaching goals. I’ve started to renew pursuits that have made me ambitious or contented, and sought out new ones. I’m trying to refine the image of what it is I really, to practice some sort of creative visualization to work towards. But what is it all for?

If 25 is a banchmark of something, true adulthood, coming into your own, figuring out what you want, or just realizing you don’t know anything at all, if it’s the starting point, where in the world am I supposed to end up? And why in the hell didn’t I save this for Meditation Monday?

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Freestyle Friday? Umm…k

***This is not the beginning of another weekly/monthly/whenever I feel like it…I’m just being lazy and have a lot of random things to say, so it’s like a freestyle–off the top of my head, creative (hopefully), and interesting.

Random thought number one: My abs and arms are burning! Yoga fit abs is twelve minutes of Hell on Earth, but I know it works because I finished over twelve minutes ago and my arms and abs are still tingling…or I’m that out of shape, but since I exercise quite regularly now, I revert to the former opinion.

Why have I been writing so much about sports/using so many sports metaphors lately, knowing I know next to nothing about sports. I need to get back to writing about things I know about–like writing, music, creativity, randomness, movies, cookies, cooking, and using my rapidly expanding knowledge of yoga and accounting.

I went looking for a site to find other black women who are into yoga (the fit part, and the breathing…I’m not into making it a religion, I have a Savior),  but instead I found BAP Living, a subject I’ve been interested in and aspiring to since I bought and read the BAP handbook. This site is not entirely like the handbook, but it seems like something fun to get into.  It still doesn’t have much to do with yoga, so back to square one on that.

Blondie doesn’t touch anything she would eat with her hands. It’s a weird OCD quality. She is a germophobe, so she doesn’t want to put germs on her food, I guess. She eats sandwiches and french fries with a fork. She puts her pills in the top of her asprin bottle and tosses them into her mouth. If someone puts their finger in her asprin to get some out, she will throw them away. While I find all of this overkill, at least I know she washes her hands faithfully. That’s more than I can say for a lot of nasty people I’ve seen walk in and out of bathrooms without washing a hand. Then want you to eat at the potluck…child, please!

Sara has given me so many shirts I may never have to buy shirts again, unless I keep losing weight in my waist. My pants no longer fit snug at the waist. I actually need a belt. Don’t have one, because I always buy snug jeans, but I needed one today. I think I may have flashed a cowork or two the waistband of  my boyshorts. Thank goodness I shower and wear clean underwear everyday! LOL Sitting here, I have a little less stomach in my lap. It’s progress.

A friend of mine wants me to review his music in my blog. I may get to it this weekend or next week. I’ve always liked his music before, but I thought he was primarily a jazz musician. This is a R&B album, he assures me. I’m glad, because I have no special qualifications to review jazz music, other than the fact my stepfather was a self-taught jazz musician, so I know what makes the compositions sound “smooth” (that jazz “real jazz fans” dislike), what improvisation sounds like, and how jazz slips in that little opening in your soul and plays with all of your emotions. I guess you could say I have the words for their sounds, but I feel on more sure ground with R &B, as I cannot myself do more than pick out a few notes and chords. I sang in choir, was even invited to sing in the Spring Festival for judges and be graded for the State competition, but I never went. It’s true; I am a chicken. I cannot sing in front of  a crowd to save my life, but I tear it up in my car, in my shower, in front of Mom, Mr. P., my brother, in a crowd, or in former times with my stepdad.

What other random things can I say? Yoga is teaching me rhythm, at least in breathing , something which is also helpful in the gym. I can focus in on my breathing and find my zone so easy. I’ll be running again in no time. Once I actually begin to jog, of course. I haven’t been on a treadmill in weeks. I am still conquering the cybex machine. I got up to 30 minutes on the weight loss program yesterday. My heart rate got up to an alarming 187 before my breathing exercises brought it back into the safe and fat burning  mid-150s. I can also hold myself up on my elbows and forearms and do those leg lifts. I can get up to ten in a row.  I can do fifty rows on the rowing machine, and fifty each on the hip abductor and adductor machines.

I still need to write more and get involved in more of these other goals before the month is over this weekend, but the Australian Open, Mr. Perfect, yoga, the gym, my mama, my friends, and my body’s needs for rest are probably going to keep me busy enough!

2blu2btru

Wednesday Wisdom: Championship Point

***I thought a lot about how this would be any different from the Monday Meditation. The best I could come up with is, if the Monday Meditation is to present food for thought and get other’s opinions, this is more to share with you what I THINK I’ve learned in the world. It’s also food for thought, and maybe you have opinions about it, but I like to think of this as my own advice/old woman’s column.

Today’s title is: Life is like a Tennis Tournament (in honor of the Australian Open).

Life is like a tennis tournament. There are certain concessions and governing rules that, if followed, with a little belief and hard work, along with preparation and perspiration, can ensure that you go fair, maybe even win. Here are a few that I’ve gathered from a couple of weeks of tennis:

1. Carry extra rackets and lots of balls. Sometimes changing the racket or the ball can change your energy and flow of the game. You can’t change the fact that tennis is played with a racket and ball, but you can change which kind you play with and how you use it. If the game isn’t going well, maybe a new racket is all you need, one that has more strings, tighter strings, a more aerodynamic head–whatever compliments the way you play the game, you can use it.

2. When you have nothing, you have love. Each time you have a new game, you start with love–love is the beginning. There are no zeros in tennis scores. What the eye sees as zero the announcers call love. Sometimes all you have is love, and that’s fine, to begin with. Everyone starts at love; it’s a good place to begin.

3. This game is all about position and placement. Your position dictates whether or not you can return a ball, whether you can reach a ball before it’s dead. Where you place a ball determines whether your opponent can return or if you have a clear winner. You have to be in a position to place things where you mean for them to be, where they will be the most effective.

4. Sometimes you just have to stay in the point and wait for your opportunities for winners/ opponent’s errors. You can’t always dictate the play or the pace of the point. Sometimes you are on the defensive; all you can do is respond to where your opponent places the ball. But you can’t give up. Sometimes, if you manage to hang around long enough, your opponent will make a mistake, or you will get the chance to step up and hit the winner up the line.

5. Just because you lose the game or set doesn’t mean you’ve lost the match. Even if you get down to the wire, you can still pull it out if you have the mental tenacity. Take Serena yesterday. She was down a set and the score was 4-0. She was two points away from losing the match. But she won anyway. She never gave up. She fought and scraped her way back from the brink of the ledge to the top of the mountain. It was hard work, but it wasn’t over until it was over. Don’t count yourself out  until the match is over.

6.Know when to challenge/save your challenges for when they matter. One of the greatest (and worst) advancements in tennis is the shot spot technology. There’s no reason for a shot to haunt you. Was it in? Was it out? You can know for sure. But you have to use the challenges carefully, when they matter. Li Na challenged a call that saved her from going down a set (she eventually lost the set, but that reversed call bought her some time). Don’t use all of your challenges on petty calls that don’t effect the outcome of the point/game/set/match. You only get so many; don’t use them and be without when you really need one. Stand up for what you believe, but do it when it makes the maximum impact.

7. Each round has its own rewards. Now win goes unrewarded. Whether you win one round or the whole tournament, the number of wins you garner will be rewarded accordingly. None of your winning is in vain. You may not go all the way, but just moving forward gets recognition.

8. Some serves give you easy points. When you get the opportunity to dictate the point, give it your all. Go for the ace, the unchallenged point. Any point you don’t have to fight for is a rarity. Take advantage of the opportunity to avoid confrontation and pushback while still getting your point.

9. Might doesn’t always make right. Just overpowering someone doesn’t always work. Sometimes you have to know how to volley, hit a drop shot, finesse the ball in. If you hit too hard, the ball will land out of bounds. Power must be combined with position and placement to win the point.

10. Finally, ranking only selects your half of the draw; it’s anybody’s game. The only thing that matters is winning. An underdog can win it all, and often does. What position you start in doesn’t dictate what position you end up in. Win it all and you can move up in the rankings. Don’t let it your starting position deter you from trying to move up. The top is the only place you have to stop.

Yep, the Australian Open is a lot like life.

Serving for the match,

2blu2btru