A Response to Why Black Women Are Fat

May8

Link to the original article

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/06/opinion/sunday/why-black-women-are-fat.html

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Once again, Black women have found another reason to sigh. The original NY Times article titled “Why Black Women are Fat” (which was later changed to Black and Fat) is one woman’s perception on why Black women are statistically more obese than white women.

The author of the piece, Alice Randall (yes, she’s black, put away the stones) said “Because too many experts who are involved in the discussion of obesity don’t understand something crucial about black women and fat: many black women are fat because we want to be.”

Her articles goes forth to explain black women (and their men) find the fatter size to be more appealing and as a result choose to stay fat. She encourages Black women to get under 200lbs and to eat healthier and live a better, more active lifestyle.

All of that is perfectly valid. People should be out exercising, eating healthy, and not morbidly obese.

However, the sweeping generalization of black women is what brings about the sigh.

My issue is that she doesn’t address a lingering factor of obesity – the mental compulsion that drives someone to eat. It’s anorexia in reverse. Seeing as our community only believes in God and the Devil it’s no wonder that the mental health issues surrounding obesity in the Black community go unnoticed.

I have never once met a bigger person who was big because they “wanted to be.” What I have met are bigger people who eat emotionally and compulsively. I’ve met bigger people that accept their fate to be big and are not fat because they “want to be” but fat because they feel they have to be fat.

Randall does have a point that our society accepts and encouraged curvy black women with little waist lines that may be pounds heavier than the obesity index says she should be. HOWEVER, some of us will never get to the obesity index’s perfect level.

What if I told you I was overweight? According to the BMI index. At 170lbs and 5 foot 5 inches I’m very overweight. And yes that’s a recent picture.

At this same weight, I’ve done more exercise than I have in my entire life and I’m more conscious of what I eat daily. So I should desire to not be “fat” according to the scale?

Another point that Randall is missing is that skinny people have heart attacks too. I know skinny women that haven’t run for anything other than a shoe sale. Skinny or smaller doesn’t equal being healthy and we should ALL be striving for healthier choices and more exercise – regardless of size. Focusing on size alone will only lead to our continued body image issues and completely leave off the most important thing – overall good health.

The article should have addressed the overall eating habits of women of color and not just their size and weight. We all know Jennifer Hudson showed us it was possible to become a size two and sing to yourself on a commercial, but that will NOT be every woman’s story. No matter how much weight she has lost, Jennifer is still “curvy” by the model standards. BUT she is healthy now.

We need to push health in our community – not hitting a number on a scale or a pants size. Articles like this one encourage body image issues in black women to get to a certain size and shape but completely bypass overall health. Size is not sole the determining factor in how healthy someone is or is not.

Our communities can be food deserts without access to fresh fruits and vegetables, but a KFC on every corner. In that statistic about black women and obesity, is poverty even considered? Or are we all just fat because we want to be, not because we have no choice but to eat what is available?

Most importantly, black women are tired of being white America’s science experiment. Last time I checked, Paula Deen had diabetes and it’s because she was eating fried butter on a stick dipped in sugar. Seriously, who still cooks with that much lard? American’s as a whole are unhealthy, sometimes lazy, and the product of convenient, terrible food.  I completely understand leading the charge to bring curvy women into good health and fight the health problems that rage in our community – but focusing 3/4th of an article on SIZE isn’t the way to go about creating that change.

I wish the article had done more to encourage our community rather than damn them to diabetes hell or a perpetual cycle of body image issues.

I’m healthy. My heart is working fine. My blood work is superb.

And my booty and hips are huge.

I’m a “fat” black woman who is healthy and happy.

It’s quite possible….no matter the size on the pants or the number on the scale.

Bamboozled, Hoodwinked, and Led Astray

May1

Inspired by graduations season and my own approaching (amount of years removed) reunions.

Dear Post-Graduates,

CONGRATULATIONS! I remember my graduation day. That’s me in the photo (middle), on what was supposed to be the start of my brand new life. After that moment, college was a memory and the real world stood before me ready for the taking! With degree in hand, I walked across the stage and into ….. bullshit.

College is a make-believe place where the real world is only a rumor. Enjoy your few weeks of rest, because this thing called “work” is about to kick your ass. Instead of professors you affectionately call your homie and friend, you have “the boss” , “that bitch”, “the weird guy”, your “work crush” and hopefully one friend. Be warned – the snooze button is the devil and will get you fired.

I hope you majored in something with a direct equivalent such as medical school = doctor. If you were a liberal arts major like me, you really majored in “find myself 101.” The job you thought was out there doesn’t actually exist, so you’ll find your own way eventually.  You didn’t learn anything you really needed like budgeting, financing a house, couponing, how to professionally cuss people out in an e-mail etc.

I was SOMEBODY when I was in college. I had accolades, a good GPA, hell I even ran a magazine. I walked into “work” with my resume on my chest. Don’t do that.  Turns out, none of that mattered and nobody cared. I was new, younger, “smarter” and a threat. Make friends with the secretary. She will save you.

Post – college you begin aging in dog years. Remember partying till 9 am, going to class at 10 am, hitting lunch with friends, a quick nap, skipping class, free dinner, another nap and hitting the club doing it over again? Now, if you do more than two activities in a day you need “rest” and “probably won’t make it out tonight.” When friends plan things on a weeknight you’ll ponder if you are going to make it because you “worked all day”. Your life now revolves around your favorite show. Don’t worry, you’ll also complain it comes on too late. “Don’t they know people have to work in the morning?”

Weight gain is incredible. Just stop eating now and start running 10 miles a day.

Liquor. Oh liquor. You’ll have a love hate relationship with liquor. The words “happy hour” make you smile but the morning after will have you swearing off liquor again and again. You’ll be back on Friday.

You’ll be tired all the time – even though all you did was think and be quietly irritated all day. There’s no scientific explanation of this phenomenon but adults are never rested.

A moment of silence for what we call BILLS.  Perhaps you lived on campus or some sort of catered-to-college student living that usually had utilities included. You’d spend hours on a video game or have every light on in the house for no reason. Now? Now you know power bills are HIGH and you’ll sit in the dark with a sweater on before you turn on one extra light in the winter. Don’t ever get sick. Co-pays are real and you’d rather just have the flu and suffer.

Sallie Mae is the Mafia boss from hell and you ponder why you spent that refund check on those clothes instead of returning it in the first place.

I miss my friends the most. Eighty percent of my closest friends were downstairs, across the hall, and two buildings over. Planning a dinner took ONE mass text to meet at the ATMs at 7pm.

Planning to see my friends now is like scheduling a NASA flight plan. Sure, I should make new friends. But do you know how hard it is to make friends in real life? You’ll spend awkward days in the company cafeteria randomly sitting at tables or at Yoga trying to strike up a conversation without sounding like a creep.

It’s okay. Your fun as an adult is either planning for a vacation, on vacation, or telling stories about when you were on vacation. When you finally do see those friends, make sure you aren’t the bum friend.

Most importantly, everybody grows up.

Oh yea, even THAT person does too.

You might look around one day and have 5 wedding invitations, 3 masters/PhD graduation invitations, and 2 baby showers to attend. As the single friend, you are the last of the Mohicans.  Remember to grow up sometime too before the question changes to “Oh, you still single?” and the pitty-face look. Oh and one last thing – dating sucks. It’s like trying to find black panties in the dark  – even if you find someone you have to hope they are clean and don’t belong to someone else.

But alas, it’s not all bad. You start having real relationships, bigger and better trips, and you can eat real food that’s NOT from a microwave every day. You watch friends who never settled down fall in love. You become a god mommy/daddy or a mom/dad yourself. You start doing stuff that REALLY matters in your career and become a SOMEBODY to the whole world, not just your campus.

And I promise, one day, you will make enough money to eat AND pay bills in the same check.

And right when college seems like such a memory and the stories start to fade, homecoming comes around. You’ll stop eating for 3 months so you can get back to your college weight and show up looking like fresh sunshine. No matter how life is actually going, homecoming is a sacred time where everybody is allowed to fake it till they make it without judgment. You will meet with your friends over a raggedy lunch table, talk about old times, and party till the morning comes.

Then you will sleep for 3 weeks afterwards.  Your back hurts, head hurts, and all you want to do is eat and lay down. You’ll be so happy it’s only once a year and return to real life.

This is the post-graduate struggle – you don’t always want to be out here but damn if you want to go back either. So hats off to you and welcome to the other side.

Twitter Psychologist, FB Prophets, and Instagram Artists

Apr24

Social media allows everyday people to experience what can only be described as delusions of grandeur. An “Update” function and a screen name allows you to become another person with skills that you don’t actually have and a life you never lived.

Isn’t online life grand?

Social media is now the virtual high school cafeteria. Each new site becomes the cool kids table as long as it’s exclusive and the ‘regular’ people don’t know about it yet.

Remember Myspace? It was all the rage for the 80s babies back in the 90s when you couldn’t talk on the phone AND be on the internet at the same time. Now Myspace is the Wal-mart sneaker of social media. What happened? The regular people found out about it and suddenly it wasn’t cool anymore. They didn’t know the “rules” and as the sparkly descending hearts of ‘just showing some love’ html’s flooded your page, it was time to go. Then came Facebook.

Remember when Facebook was THEfacebook.com? Those were the days. Only those with a college e-mail address could join the VIP section of social networks – regardless of actual enrollment status. But that’s another story.

It was the place to be and be seen. And let’s not mention when you could start adding more photos and status updates. Suddenly your whole life was saved in an imaginary space with real life consequences. You aren’t a true Facebooker if you didn’t have at least one conversation (read: argument) with a lover about a tagged photo or a wall post with a smiley face. Then Facebook went public. The “regular” people jumped on Facebook and all of a sudden it was The Church of Facebook and a place to remind you how single you really were as engagement photos and ultrasounds flooded into the newsfeed. It’s safe to say when grandma gets on to a site it’s time to move. The cool kids then departed and found a new safe haven from the ‘regular’ people. Enter  Twitter.

Oh, Twitter. A site that many claim is “just twitter” well until someone gets a beat down on their front porch over 140 characters. Twitter evokes real feelings and sometimes real friendships. You interact with people EVERY DAY, ALL DAY and follow their lives through new jobs, breakups and award shows. People who have never left their mother’s basement couch can be a lawyer, doctor, chef, sexual acrobat, and political activist if it’s trendy at the time.

It’s only been around for a few years but already the cool kids who are used to the exclusivity and relative free reign of twitter are starting to complain. It seems the ‘regular people’ have found them AGAIN! Imagine that. A place that is open to the public actually consists of (wait for it) THE PUBLIC. That is just too much for the cool kids to stand.

With one last hope the cool kids leave yet again to find a place with fewer words.

Instagram comes along and it’s the saving grace for those that are ‘over twitter.’ Now the cool kids can take a picture of a pencil on a notebook, filter it in black and white, with the caption “waiting for the words to come” and be considered an artist. Close ups of door knobs and 3,500 ‘sitting in my car at a red light’ photos now make the cool kids ARTISTS and DEEP. But here it goes again. Here come the regular people and their photos of words (makes no sense). Now it’s time to move again.

Frankly, it’s just a bunch of bullshit.

I enjoy social media. If you follow me on twitter, you’ll see I have my best jokes there and have met amazing people offline. It’s an INCREDIBLE networking tool if you do it right. My biggest issue with social media is the cool kid phenomenon. We all embellish a little sometimes, which is normal, but I’m talking about whole new lives and the power people feel for being “popular” online. The imaginary power is so great that they deem others as ‘regular’ and therefore “less than” themselves. The talented tenth now has a .com address and is hell bent on never being associated with the masses.

The cool kid table that social media has become will likely never end. The cool kids vs the regular people is a direct reflection on how we interact in our society. Cool kids are threatened by the masses. More ‘regular people’ join and suddenly there’s more competition. Like the real world, someone is funnier, wittier, sexier, and a better door knob photographer than you and the jig is up. It’s time for the ‘cool kids’ to move on to a place and rebuild. Much like the high school cool kids eventually move out of the cafeteria to the outside eating area, then off campus in a desperate attempt to maintain their ‘cool kid’ status through the great chasm of society – exclusivity.

Has our society created a generation of people unwilling to accept that everyone can’t be king? So we create new worlds and new platforms where anyone with an IP address can leave the life they live and create the life they want? What was once meant to bring people closer has yet again found a way to draw the line between ‘us’ and ‘them.’ It’s erupting in REAL LIFE violence and struggles. Was social media ever meant to BE society instead of just an extension of it?

I doubt it. As for me, I’ll continue living my life online at the nerd table of social media. I can only hope that everyone with the desire to be the ‘cool kid’ remembers a simple truth – you have to log off sometime.

What Becomes of a Dream Deferred?

Apr17

What becomes of a dream deferred?

It goes to a cubicle and dies.

I’m good at my job. Damn good actually. And in this economy I’m grateful for a job that was basically mine as long as I wanted the position. But one day, slumped in my uncomfortable office chair, surrounded by piles of paperwork and my own mind’s clutter, I pushed away from the desk.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

I’d done the whole get good grades – go to school – get a “good” job – contribute back to the community thing and I should have been thrilled.  Right?  Instead I felt like I was stuck on a board game. Constantly rolling the dice and trying to move steps ahead (and sometimes back too damnit) when really all I wanted was to walk on a different path. But everyone else was on this path right? We all wanted to walk these colored squares to that big star at the end and win the game!

Win what exactly?

When I started asking myself that question my spirit gave up trying to fit the round peg through the square hole. The path I started did not lead me to the prize I wanted. It led me to the prize I was told I wanted and had resigned to accept.

I would not sit like milk preparing to spoil in my office because it was a “good” place to be.  What if there was actually this thing called “greatness” out there?

What if “someday” actually became today and today was amazing? And tomorrow too? What then?

A very close friend stopped me one day and said, “When you talk about things you want to accomplish, you always laugh.”

I attempted to disregard her statement and continue my story but she cut me off again. We were over the phone and I still felt like she shook me and looked me in the eye. “You don’t think you can do it do you?”  There wasn’t anything I could really say.

I’d made my own visions an urban legend of a life I had not yet lived.

Are you laughing at your dreams too? It’s interesting to note that when a passion comes up in our hearts, our first reaction is to count the reasons why we can’t do it. Money, location, time, space, energy, it’s Monday, fatigue and whatever else comes to mind.

All of which are ever-changing variables yet we imagine those variables as the sun to the universe and our dream as the planets. The geniuses, the ones who really accomplish their dreams, are the ones who understand that the dream is the sun. Everything else will rotate and fall in line once the sun is burning brightly.

Inside of you there is talent or passion. Imagine if that talent had a purpose. And that purpose had a mission. And that mission did something incredible.

Nobody said you ever had to die with the dream still inside. If you do one thing, just one, you will have done 100% more than 90% of the people with the same dream.

What’s that one thing…?

Try.

 

My favorite quote:

Here’s to the CRAZY ONES! The misfits. The rebels. The trouble makers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. The ones who don’t play by the rules. And they have no respect for status quo. You can quote them. Disagree with them. Glorify of vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them.  Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the CRAZY ONES. We see genius. Because those people who are crazy enough to think they can change the word, are the ones who do. – Steve Jobs.

 

I’m Tired of Being Black

Apr9

something I’ve been cussing about lately…

I’m tired of being black.

I park in my garage in my affluent white neighborhood. I live near a restaurant. Every few days someone tries to kindly tell me “you can’t park there for the restaurant” despite the sign we can all see that says ‘no restaurant parking.’  I usually look at the mail in my hand, my groceries, and say I live here. There’s a few minutes of stares and a quiet ‘oh.’

I’m tired of being black.

I walked into a sandwich shop and was the only chocolate chip in the milk on the ‘other’ side of town. I was uncomfortable and felt threatened by the stares. Strangely, I was the threat to everyone else. Imagine that. One of me was a threat to 50 of ‘them.’ I wanted to eat there but just took my food to go. I wasn’t welcome.

I’m tired of being black.

I worry when I have a son will he be killed simply because he’s alive. How will I have “the talk” that tells him no matter how educated, loving, and wonderful he becomes – he’s still an educated, loving and wonderful BLACK man and will always be a thug.

I’m tired of being black.

As a woman, I’m a bitch anyway when I’m assertive. As a black woman, I’m a black bitch and don’t know my place. If I ever need public assistance like my mother did when she lost her job in the 90s layoffs I’m a welfare queen. I remember “the talk.” You must think harder, move faster, reach higher and work double to just be one step behind instead of two. I can do anything but remember that the higher up you go, you may run into someone who attributes your success to affirmative action. You are a black woman and you carry everyone’s burden. And don’t eat fried chicken at work.

I’m tired of being black.

My college experience was…different. I left the comfort of my all black area, where I was labeled “too white” and went to a majority white university. My high school teacher, one of the few white teachers, was SHOCKED (his words) I got into that university because my White and Asian counterparts had not. I can’t recall how many times I was asked did I work in the cafeteria or what sport I played. I’m only 5 foot 5 inches on a good day and the only muscle I have is my brain. What damn sport could I play? Competitive studying is not on ESPN.

I’m tired of being black.

Every class discussion I’ve had about slavery the class looks at me, “So what do you think?” I don’t know I wasn’t there. I need to get over slavery apparently even though the impacts of slavery aren’t over. When my people are portrayed as ignorant, sex objects, uneducated, or otherwise ill-equipped to be in society I guess I’m supposed to apologize for them or BE one of them. How does one represent all?

Watching the news and the latest crime or ignorance I pray “please don’t let them be black.” We can’t keep giving “them” reasons to hate us.

I’m tired of being black.

I’m followed in stores or refused service all together – no matter my credit score and my business suit. My daddy is a felon so I’m a statistic. Rounds of applause erupt because I ‘speak so well’ and ‘made it out the hood.’ I’m part of “those people” in “that area” that aren’t willing to learn or do better no matter where I grew up. I work in a school full of students who are “those kids.” The lost ones no one mentions except to say “they just don’t want to learn.”

I’m tired of being black.

When I take a road trip through certain states I know I can’t stop. The confederate flag tells me so. I fear my life in 2012 on dark, back roads and being asked “what are YOU doing here.” When I ride in someone’s luxury vehicle I’ll have to explain how we aren’t drug dealers and be told “this is a nice neighborhood.” I guess our presence brings down the property value.

I’m fucking tired of being black.

Even in the presence of my own people. Every day it’s a choice, which type of negro will you be today? Too black to be accepted by some yet black enough to be rejected by others. We are all so different, yet lumped as the same. I am relentless in my attempts to reach back and pull the entire race with me. If I don’t, who will?

I’m fucking tired of being black.

I wish I could just do like the majority and just live. Just live and not represent my whole race yet be the exception at the same time. Just live and have my hard work be equivalent to my co-worker with less education and experience yet the same salary. Just live and sing my music, do my dances, talk how I want to, and eat my damn fried chicken at work. I don’t want to have any more talks about how you might accidently get killed. No more talks about us and them. No more ‘be an acceptable’ negro. Why can’t I just be an acceptable me?

Ignorance is bliss long passed the first day someone called me a ‘nigger.’ There was no going back then. Off came my post-racial society rose colored glasses.

As James Baldwin said, ‘To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all the time. ‘

This is so stressful. I am constantly reminded and conscious of my race. At all times and if I ever forget someone takes the time to remind me.

I’m tired of…Well, I love being black.

I just wish being black wasn’t so exhausting.

I’m just tired.

I Ain’t Saying She’s a Gold Digger…

Apr3

“Love conquers all, except bad credit.” – Dee Rene

By the end of this, you will call me a gold digger and I will not care.

I’ve seen women take care of men. No, not like fix him a sandwich and do laundry, I’m talking about pay all the bills and take care of the household. It’s not because he isn’t able bodied, it’s because he didn’t have much to offer in the first place and just was. Not. Ready. I’ve also taken care of men. I just paid off some credit card bills from trying to make it work with men who didn’t bring anything into the relationship and drained everything out of it in the process.

The term “gold digger” is tossed around so freely. Apparently, any woman who brings up a man’s financial status as a consideration for dating him or not is suddenly out there trying to achieve manifest destiny and find gold in the hills.

Not true.

Let’s consider what grown up dating is like. At some point, we need to eat. We also need to have experiences and those aren’t always free. If I love you enough, we might need to get a house someday or support some children. Please explain how we are going to do that if all you bring to the table is love and a smile? I can’t eat love and smiles don’t keep the lights on.

Getting your financial life in order is part of maturing. We aren’t popping bottles in the club anymore and our lights are getting cut off. We aren’t parking hummers in front of section 8 housing. We are looking towards our future and our generation’s intense desire to retire early.

I consider it perfectly reasonable to take a partner’s financial situation in mind when deciding to enter a relationship. True Gold Digging is making his financial status your ONLY requirement for a relationship with the intention to take the money and run.  I’m no longer interested in do-it-yourself projects or rescuing a partner from his financial quicksand.

Some will be confused and think I want an NBA baller to support me which is not the case. I can support myself. I just ask that you be able to support yourself as well. Some will also say I will leave a man who is down on his luck later in the relationship which is also false. If I love you, we started well, and you lost your job, I’m in your corner and we will make this work. But damn signing up to be your financial backbone in the beginning.

Money issues can rip love to shreds. The last thing I want to worry about when building a new relationship is if my account will be overdrawn trying to support you too. Financial stability doesn’t mean you need to be rich. It simply means you should be able to pay your bills, eat something other than Ramen Noodles, and have a little something left over to share with another person. He can expect me to do the same.

You don’t even have to bring as much as I do to the table, but you better bring something. That’s like showing up to the potluck with no dish. We bring something, share and make more. WE don’t just take mine and split it.

If being a gold digger means I want a financially stable relationship to start with…then I’ll be that.

 

 

What Becomes of the Broken Hearted Man?

Mar20

GUEST POST – @SilentAzzassin6

“The consequences of a damaged man last 10x longer than a woman. IDK the science just trust me on this lol” ~@AllThingzRandom

So that is the root of this post. First, let me state, I fully agree with this statement and I hope to explain the science behind why. Second, I hope this is appreciated because I’m seriously doing a cannonball into my feelings right now to put this together. I’ll try and be as short as possible.

But before we get to the man, post-damage, let’s talk about how and why he got to this point. Now ladies, when I say man, I mean a MAN. M-A-N. A mature, intelligent MAN. Not theD-boy on the block, not the hoe nigga, not the nigga that ain’t bout shit. A MAN. A man that has his wits about him, is ready for a serious relationship, and possibly even ready for a family…alluhdat (and yes, ladies,  we do exist so kill that noise immediately).

Once you find this man (or, as it should be, HE finds YOU), it’s going to take a lot for him to open up. This will be the case for even the strongest of men. He’s more than likely been raised all his life to hide his emotions. From the first time he fell down, scrapped his knee, and started to cry, he’s been told some form of the following phrases: Big boys don’t cry, Suck it up, Quit crying, Stop being a punk, etc. etc. etc. So, what do we, as young boys, learn? When we hurt, we’re not supposed to show any emotions. Fast forward throughout life and that’s pretty much what we end up doing. Even through the silly relationships in high school and college, we hardly show a female any resemblance of a “soft side.” That is, until we find THAT ONE…

That one female that makes us take a step back and say to ourselves, “She just might be, could be, may be, possibly be, THE one.” That one female that, when in room with our boys, we will proudly point and say, “That’s my girl/lady/one right over there,” as she walks in. Now up to this point, we’ve probably treated her the same, if not ever so slightly better, than our previous relationships. But, when a man really admits to himself that he is IN LOVE with this woman, things change. He now has to ask himself this question: Do I tell her I’m in love with her? This is a serious struggle because it goes against everything he’s been taught from his youth. When you tell someone you love them, you open yourself up, you become vulnerable, and face possible rejection. No one in their right mind wants any of that. It goes against common logic, but we all know that, with love, logic is thrown out the window.

So I say all to say, it takes a lot for a man, any man, to tell a woman that he is in love with her. When he does, just know ladies, he’s placed his heart in the palm of your hand. What you do with it from there can make or break how he deals with women in his future (you, his daughter, or other women). If you take care of it, then he’ll take care of you. If you crush it, the damage can be irreparable because, as I’ve said, it took so much for him to get to that point.

At that moment, he may decide to never let himself get hurt like that again, which means he turns into Mr. Asshole. Oddly enough, that attracts a certain type of woman, who he inevitably ends up hurting. She then turns into Ms. Bitch, then hurts the next man who was willing to open up to her. And the vicious cycle continues.

Mr. Asshole may decide to love again, but please trust and believe, he will not forget about Ms. Bitch and how she hurt him. His heart may close the wound, but a scar will always remain.

I’m sure you’re probably saying to yourself, “Well, the same is true for a woman.” And I’d agree…to an extent. It’s tough for anyone, to willingly make themselves vulnerable to another human being. But the vast majority of women aren’t conditioned to hide their emotions as young children. Think about that little boy that fell in the third paragraph and how he was treated. Now, instead of a little boy, imagine if it were a little girl. I’m willing to bet a crowd of people would be more concerned about the little girl than the boy. And I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that; we raise our boys to be tough and our girls to be..well…girls.

In conclusion, a man is more likely to be jaded than a woman simply because he went against everything he was taught as a child and has ever known in his adult life, and it backfired.

I hope this has helped some of you ladies understand where most men are coming from.

Now someone toss me a life preserver and drag me the hell up out of my feelings ASAPidly!!

- Written by @SilentAzzassin6

And I thank him for it !

What’s Your Number?

Mar13

Disclaimer: This post is not for hoes. This post is not for virgins. This is for normal, sexually active women in between.

“So how many men have you slept with….”

Blow the candles out and turn off Maxwell because he just killed the mood. For some reason, men keep asking this question to the despair of women everywhere. This question leaves us with no other choice but to lie. Here’s how it goes…

Hypothetically….

By the time he asks about sexual history, he probably has an idea of how many past relationships she’s had. So when he asks how many men she’s slept with, it’s only logical that she can’t go below that number of past relationship or the lie is exposed.

If she’s had 4 boyfriends in life, she’ll tell a man she slept with 5 people. Of course she slept with the four boyfriends and there was that one random summer fling. He considers this accurate and excuses the summer fling as you being young and carefree. All is well.

Here’s what he doesn’t know. There was more than one summer fling and there’s some “boyfriends” that weren’t official so they don’t get mentioned. Take the square root of a white lie and divide by fear and her actual number is somewhere near 10. Whether that’s a high number to you or not, those were HER choices and they are DONE now.

However, if she tells the man her number is 10 he starts wondering. Who were these other 6 random men that you slept with outside of relationships? Now he starts thinking. The worst thing you can do is give a man space to think and fuel for his imagination. Before the end of the night, he’s concluded that you were on a corner somewhere calling yourself Ms. Cocoa Fire sleeping with every man that passed by.

He wants a virgin that can please him like a porn star in the bedroom and, in his mind she learned all these tricks from books. Let me enlighten you – if she knows how to do anything sexually it’s because she has done it before. Don’t worry about HOW she can backbend like that, just be happy she does.

A man doesn’t really want to know how many people a woman’s slept with, he wants to make sure he’s not dating a hoe. That is perfectly understandable. We know we live in a world of double standards. Even if his number is 100, he assigns a threshold number that she cannot pass. This ‘one size fits all’ hoe label is absurd and shouldn’t TRUMP everything else about her.

Kanye West said it best –  you are worried about the wrong things.

On the surface, a question about the number of sexual partners she’s had is an innocent question. However, he will crucify her or hold her closer depending on her answer. What’s sad is that if she doesn’t answer it’s assumed she has something to hide. He knows she is going to lie. She knows she is going to lie. Now she’s lied to you to appease your ego and insecurities, disguised as curiosity, and have accomplished nothing.

In conclusion, stop asking this stupid question. Start  asking the REAL questions:

- Do you have an STD/STI? Where is your paperwork?

- How do you feel about children or abortion?

- Is our sexual relationship monogamous?

- Here are my close friends; did you sleep with any of them?

Move on to the real questions and set your focus on the future. As long as the past is not truly impacting your present, let it go.

 

Always the Hoe, Never the Housewife

Mar6

Why is it that some women are always the hoe and never the housewife?

Admittedly, the two words I’m using –hoe and housewife – are more for alliterations sake. Always the bridesmaid and never the bride were just a little too cupcake for me.

I don’t mean hoe in a literal sense (that’s another post in itself). I mean hoe as in the one he smangs and entertains but stops short of making it official. Housewife translates to the woman he gives a title or even better a ring. So why do you find yourself in one lane more often than the other?

First, there’s that whole thing about incompatibility. Perhaps you all get along great in bed and on dates but what about long term? Often our goals don’t line up but as women we want to ‘make it work’ because he is a ‘good man.’ Well good man doesn’t always mean good man for YOU. He may recognize this long before you catch the hint. This may be why he chooses to wife someone else, even though you all get along well.

Secondly, it has something to do with standards. No one is saying your standards should be so high he can’t reach them, but you should have some. We spend a lot of time playing it cool. We don’t want to come out and say “no I really do want a relationship with you.” Instead we become concerned with appearing “crazy” or applying “pressure.” I’m not suggesting you tell someone on the first date that you want to be in a relationship with them. I also won’t divulge if I’ve made that mistake in real life…ahem. BUT when you reach the point that in your heart you want this to be something more you have to speak up.A close friend once told me that men will meet the bar a woman sets or move on. If you continue to play it cool guess what he’s thinking? You are cool with how things are. No matter if he reaches for the bar you set or moves on, you are true to yourself and that’s what matters.

Sometimes life really is about timing. I’ve been called the trampoline chick. And yes I needed a moment of silence after that revelation. I end up in the hoe lane because I tend to meet people recently out (or still damaged) of a long term relationship. They’ve had some one-night-stands and a few dates but nothing serious. I am the first woman that he meets that makes him consider being in a relationship again. However, he’s still not quite ready. So he’ll bounce around with me but never quite make that next step. Then when I eventually get tired of the whatevership and move on. Next thing I know he spring board right into a relationship with the next one. Thank you facebook for always making that my top news. There are other factors that can play into this but unfortunately not recognizing when someone is ‘relationship-ready’ can find you in anything BUT the housewife role.

Lastly, you may end up the hoe if you are emotionally slutty. Did he really need to know that your daddy isn’t worth anything and you’re a recovering alcoholic on date 2? Did you really need to let him know (or show him) how “wife-up-able” you can be on date 3? Probably not. Someone needs time to accept all of you. When you are emotionally slutty you are trusting too much of your heart too soon. You can easily find yourself banished to crazy-girl-vile. My mother says ‘why buy the cow when the milk is on sale. It’s probably spoiled’ Something like that. Either way, don’t be THAT girl. Do not be so eager to be someone’s wife that you forget to guard your heart.

Someone will only treat you how you allow yourself to be treated. This doesn’t mean that everyone is going to treat you the way you desire or deserve. Take some time to reflect if you find yourself always the hoe and never the housewife.  You may find that you have more to do with it than you think.

Breaking Up With Friends

Feb28

He grabbed my arm and blocked my path. “Come on let me buy you a drink.”

I declined and tried to walk away.

He continued to block my path and now I was mentally going through my calm-down steps in my head. I have a thing about uninvited touching and I become ENRAGED when a man blocks my path. It’s like backing a dog in a corner – you are going to let me out or I’m going to fight you until one of us is rendered immobile. I’ve got a bit of a temper and he was screwing up my Namaste.

The night continued and on several occasions he continued to bother me, offer me drinks, TOUCH ME (lawd!), and attempt to talk. FINALLY, I have to yell “We were never friends!” and walk away.

Sounds like a crazy ex right? Well it is a crazy ex. But it’s not MY crazy ex. This ex belongs to one of my friends. He decided that since she was in the same party, but obviously paying him no attention, he should try to get back in HER good graces by spending the night getting on MY nerves.

Ninety-eight percent of the time when you break up with a partner, you also break up with their friends too.

The only exceptions include:

- You were friends with those friends before the romance began.

- The break up was extremely cordial and you both still spend time together or talk

- The relationships had gone on for several years and with time you did form a legit friendship with the partners individually, not just as a couple

I understand this is a difficult concept but it’s absolutely necessary for a few reasons.

We were never friends

Guys that date my friends think that because we all watched the game that one time that we are somehow friends. They feel the urge to adopt me into their life. I appreciate the gesture, but I’d only like to be adopted by Oprah.

As long as the relationship is going smoothly, I’m perfectly fine hanging out as a group. However, unless I’m helping pick out the engagement ring, we likely won’t spend any time together or conversations without my home girl involved. When your relationship ends, so does our communication. Men assume that if the friends of his Ex stop talking to him that the Ex must have “poisoned” their minds. I can’t count how many guys say “What did she tell you to make you hate me?” I don’t hate you. I just don’t have any reason to talk to you. We were never really friends.

It’s awkward

Can you imagine me saying “Yea girl I hung out with your ex today and his friends, we were all at the bar just kee-keeing it up having a good old time. How was your day?”  It may be the first time in scientific history where someone actually came through the phone to attack. Now I’ve got two competing friendships in my life and that’s too much work. I want to have a BBQ and now I have to decide which side dish I don’t mind missing because one of you can’t come. No thanks. I’ll just keep my original friend and cut my losses.

Playing the Middle Man

If you two had a bad break up, and I remain friends with both of you, guess who is stuck in the middle? I’ve literally sat, phone in lap, and watched two exes text me about each other for two hours. I also played the role of one ex texting a mutual friend. When experiencing a bad break up, you are searching for answers. Talking directly to the other person increases confusion so you find the next best thing – their close friend. The two want to sort through the mess and need a mediator. Suggest their hire a professional or attempt to get on Maury.

I learned the hard way to not get involved but if you remain friends with both people it makes it impossible. Way too much work and stress on my twenty something heart.

No break up is the same and no two situations are exactly alike. Some people are able to keep everyone around like nothing happened. That’s just not my gift.

There’s an old saying – “to the victor goes the spoils.” During times when you were fighting over territory, the winner not only won, but also collected all valuables in that territory. It works the same way for relationships. If the relationship is a winner, you get a great partner and a new set of family and friends. But if you lose that battle don’t expect to keep those valuables. Let your partner go when your break up was a mess and please leave her friends alone too.

Especially the one with a temper…