Just got back from a well deserved, week and a half long vacation in NY and I am feeling refreshed and rejuvenated! It’s a new year, full of promise (unlike 2011…) and I want to start off with a post because I haven’t written as much lately.

I know a lot of people who are teachers, and I envy them for their admirable hard work. Trying to teach someone something new is a challenging feat. For me, learning has always been straight forward. Here are facts, and facts (whatever they may be) are never wrong. For example, early on I learned that 1+1=2. I look at the whole equation (rather than individual factors) as a fact, one that has proven empirically, beyond a shadow of a doubt, so I need not trouble myself with actually learning how to do it. I just accept it the way it is written and proceed on to the next problem. It’s like a fast track to memorization. I was able to absorb large quantities of information in this manner. Of course this requires an extreme amount of faith in the public education system and the people around me… I’ve always been the type to go with with the status quo, but fortunately my mother was there early on to guide me and from there I was able to develop my own intuition in order to know when to question things. I know I could never be a teacher because I don’t know how to apply what I’ve learned in bite-size, digestible lessons for students. I just expect people to absorb the data I present and regurgitate when requested. Obviously, that is not applicable in the real world because we all have different learning styles and trying to cater one technique to multiple individuals is not possible.

Recently I’ve become a fan of The Big Bang Theory. I’m glad this show has gained in popularity! It’s about time nerds got some love and attention (and not just around ComicCon). I’m a nerd at heart, even if I’ve dumbed down a bit since I was last in a class setting… (Some days I’m Sheldon, other days I’m Penny)  One thing I reflect on while watching this show was how much more attention I wish I paid to Physics! I hated Biology with a fiery passion (too many details for me to absorb in large quantities). I  enjoyed Chemistry, but I was always on the outs with Physics. It didn’t seem all that interesting. Can you imagine trying to get students interested in sound waves? It didn’t spark anything inside of me. Our teacher had a Doctorate degree, but couldn’t impart the knowledge that he had learned to us, because well he didn’t know how to teach! It was painful for all involved. How could a man so smart be so uninspiring in a classroom? When I watched an episode on Nova (does that still come on?) about String Theory, I was riveted! So I started paying attention in class hoping that we’d get to the cool, exciting parts (it never came). However, in that long, boring process, one little nugget of information from that uninteresting class five years ago would stick with me, hiding in the corner of my brain, hoping I’d make use of it one day. That day was today. I sat on my bed, meddling with the latest gadget I had bought. I couldn’t understand why this electronic, which was working just fine a few days ago, had ceased to work. What had I possibly done wrong? I went to three different stores looking for alternate batteries and I was about to fish out the receipt to send the item back (reluctantly, since the store was in New York) when the lesson from years ago hit me over the head. I had taken out a piece of plastic from where the batteries had been resting. It finally dawned on me that the plastic was actually a conductor, used as a conduit for electricity! TA DA problem fixed! Now bear with me, because this post is about more than a lightbulb moment (pun intended?) about electrical conductors!

The inspiration for this post revolves around the way we absorb information. I was able to use something I had previously viewed (albeit through a memory) and use it as a learning lesson for the present. I’m pretty sure that if I had tried to Google my way through my dilemma, I would not have found an answer. This was a reminder to challenge the way I answer life’s problems, as going with conventional wisdom will often causes one to overlook other innovative ways of solving problems.

Now to why we’re here… If you’re reading this post, you probably found it via Twitter. I get all of my content through there. Earlier today, I read a tweet from @ColonelTribune: “Joran Van der Sloot pleads guilty to killing that young Peruvian woman: http://trib.in/wuKINt Still no charge for Natalee Holloway in Aruba.”

I felt momentarily taken aback… “that young Peruvian woman”? Natalee Holloway wasn’t referred to as “that young white woman” I felt indignant, yet I didn’t know how to respond. If I proceed in accusatory style, the tweeter will go on the defensive and we won’t get anywhere. This is generally how it goes with any controversial discussion regarding gender, race, sexuality, etc. I’ve seen conversations that last for days and go nowhere. I wanted to make a statement, not a complaint. Complaints go unnoticed, tossed in a pile with the rest on the Internet. Everyone has something to complain about, so how do I make an effective point without going through the usual channels. (What’s my usual channel, you ask? I lecture people.) I almost went that route – a lecture on how women of color are perceived in the media if they go missing or are killed when compared to the coverage that white women receive. I could see their reaction now – an exasperated sigh, eye-rolling, etc. – I envision them telling me that I need to calm down, or that I’m overreacting. I often hear, “It’s not that serious, or you’re reading too far into it.” By that point I’m now doubly frustrated because now my judgement is being called into question and nothing could be more infuriating than trying to make a point only to have it turned around on you.

I take the first step and tweet @ColonelTribune: “I know that you were trying to give a frame of reference to readers, but you should actually use her name.” Nothing personal, not attacking, just a friendly, informal suggestion. He tweets back: “Thank you so much for the feedback. It can be tough to fit all the news in 140 characters, so I try my best.” It feels like a cop out in my head, seeing as how her name would have been fewer characters than what was actually typed, but instead of calling him out on excuses, I change tactics. He actually engaged me in a convo, astonishing for someone who is following over 20K people and has over 800K followers. Also, he took the time to reply to me in response to a tweet that only got one RT. In other words, the article wasn’t exactly a hot topic (too many people concerned about whether or not the President’s motorcade would interfere with their drive home during rush hour traffic). Lecturing him wouldn’t get me anywhere. I wanted to engage him, again, this time more concisely and more effectively. I racked my brains to figure out what would appeal to this man’s sensibilities when it hit me. Maybe I don’t need to be the one to making the argument… I recalled seeing a something by the late Patrice O’Neal where he talked about this very topic. Shortly after the death of “that young Peruvian woman” he did a comedy special talking about the value people place on white women over WOC. However, he broached the topic in a clever manner. He asked people for the name of the woman who had gone missing while vacationing in Aruba. The audience promptly answered, “Natalee Holloway!” He then asked them to name the woman Van Der Sloot had murdered the previous day and no one, of any race, could answer the question. Even with the event in recent memory, the crowd was unable to think of her name, whereas Natalee Holloway’s would linger in their minds indefinitely – a powerful message on how we all internalize things. I decided to send a YouTube video of the clip to @ColonelTribune: “I wish I could really explain to you why that was not P.C. but instead let me leave you with this video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eIM1gU_T2RQ“

I left him with the video and gave him time to view it in its entirety. I didn’t spend the time in between tweets putting him on blast, instead I let him watch it on his own schedule and hoped that he would get back with me to let me know what he thought. A few hours went by and I thought to myself, “Oh well, at least I tried. Even if he doesn’t tweet me, I know that he saw the video and would be unable to ignore such compelling social commentary.” So I let it go and a few hours later I got a response. He thanked me sincerely for my feedback and this time it felt like he got the point I was trying to make. Let me reiterate, I never felt that there was ever any intentional slighting of Ms. Stephany Flores, but I still wanted to convey a point about disparities in coverage between the two women. I was satisfied with the genuinely sincere response from @ColonelTribune and we all walked away richer: he  added her name and resent the tweet (without any prompting from me) and I learned that by challenging my own conventional wisdom, I can achieve goals thought to be insurmountable (like navigating awkward conversations – online & IRL - about race & perception in the media)!

Not in the narcissistic way that you’re probably thinking of, but in a different way – the way you’re supposed to love yourself.

Loving yourself can be hard, especially when you’re as masochistic as I am…

Self-love is so important. I remember my mother used to always tell me that I’d never be able to be in a loving relationship until I learned to love myself. I always shook my head and said to myself that was a silly concept. I know how to love. I know how to give. Often times I’ve given my last – to family members and friends, even strangers on the street.

I didn’t try to learn how to love myself. I grew up thinking I was defective, that something was wrong with me. I was anti-social; the kid everyone picked on. If my mom wasn’t LSC & PTA President I would have gotten my ass handed to me everyday.

When I started going to college, I was working while going to school full-time. I ate out a lot and wound up ballooning in weight. Ironically, I hated myself so much that I didn’t even notice. If you could only understand how much I had been through, you’d be able to realize just how small those extra pounds were in comparison to the rest of the events going on in my life at that time. At some point the self-loathing dissipated. I went through a late stage of self-awareness and developed a shell of myself that was functionally operational.

I had finally reached a place of self-acceptance, but I was slowly beginning to pick up on the weight gain that my friends had noticed years ago. I would joke with them and say I look like I’m wearing a fat suit. Still in self-acceptance phase, I told myself – I have gained this weight, but I am not my weight.

I used to eat hot pockets & frozen pizzas almost everyday, so a few years ago, I stopped buying frozen foods. Nothing happened. I started walking home after work. That’s 2.7 miles once a day. Nothing happened. Stopped eating breakfast and lunch and stuck to a early dinner. Nothing happened. Tried (but failed to complete) a crash diet. Incorporated fruit into my breakfast, ate light lunches & small, healthy dinners. Nothing happened. By this point I’m starting to get more than a little frustrated, but I keep saying to myself – I am not my weight.

You know what sends me over the edge from time to time – shopping for clothes. It was a luxury never really afforded to me as a kid. Most of my stuff are hand-me-downs or things mom picked up from thrift stores. I don’t mind. However, on the rare occasion I do visit a store with the intent to buy something, I find myself sorely disappointed when I find something cute that’s not in my size. Actually, it’s rather devastating.

Even in the midst of such devastation, I manage to stick to my mantra – I am not my weight. I’m tall, so more often than not I can dress myself in a manner that doesn’t betray an unflattering image. However, after a recent trip down State St, I found my resolve weakening. I started to question my mantra, but then I reminded myself that I get approached by guys all the time, so if they see something in me, why can’t I? Even my mother took time to console me when I was feeling down, but in the back of my head all I could say is – You’re just saying that.

I haven’t dated in years. I always questioned guys who approached me. Why are you interested in me? Something must be really wrong with you… Brushing them off because I wasn’t ready for anything romantic. So in my new phase of self-love and self-discovery, I put myself on the line and offered myself up for dates to guys I liked. It seems to go well. They like me, I like them. No problem, right? Well I got stood up. The first guy had an excellent reason, but that didn’t stop me from being disappointed. So while waiting on that guy to come around, I offer to take another guy out for drinks only to hear another excuse. At this point I’m thinking to myself – Two in a row? It’s gotta be me.

Today was my breaking point. I was fine earlier; didn’t even see it coming. All of a sudden I’m eating, despite not being hungry. Funny, I say to myself, I thought I had mastered this already. If my body is not hungry, I won’t eat. If I feel the impulse to eat something, I’ll go nosh on some fruit, but today, I more than doubled my caloric intake. I was self-medicating on food, so I went home to try to deal with the issue. I took a shower and there I felt something break from within.

I sat on the floor of that shower and cried, struggling to maintain some sort of balance between my mental plane which was telling me that I am not my weight and my physical plane which was reminding me that my size 12/14 frame was not getting any smaller. I had eaten so much that I wanted to throw up. I contemplated bulimia. We eat food because it tastes good, right? Who needs it after that? I could easily stick my finger down my throat and throw it all up. And well what about anorexia? I laugh. Sure I could do it, but at some point I would have to start eating again and we all know how that’d go. I’d just start binging to make up for all the food I didn’t eat while on a starvation diet.

I cried some more. I seriously considered going to another country just so I could get liposuction. It didn’t matter how risky the procedure was, I just wanted to get rid of all this fat that had fused itself to my body. I didn’t care how, I just wanted it gone. Then I thought to myself – Isn’t that what Tameka Raymond (Usher’s wife) did? She went somewhere for an operation that wound up putting her life at risk. Is that what I was devaluing myself to now? Had I not told myself that I am not my weight? My weight does not negate any of the other positive attributes or characteristics that are part of who I am. After wallowing in self-pity for awhile longer, I picked myself off the floor and commenced with writing this post. This is my purge; I’ll binge on these words when I’m feeling down.

I dunno what to say about Mel Gibson. I mean this really takes the cake. I remember his anti-semitic tirade against a cop in 2006. I brushed it off because he was drunk. Now let me stop here. I personally don’t believe that we should hold things people say when they are drunk against them. There are things people say when they are uninhibited by alcohol that we know that they wouldn’t say if they were sober. I tend to give them a pass. That’s not to say that they don’t mean what they say though…

I’m an 80s baby, so I loved the 90s. One of the first movies I ever saw was Ransom, which came out in 1996. (I was eight.) My mom had taken me to see Pocahontas in which, ironically, Mel Gibson voices John Smith. We had missed the first part, so we stayed in the theater, hoping to catch a 2nd viewing, but instead Ransom came on. It was the first Rated R movie I had ever seen. I had a strict upbringing, almost everything I had seen up to this point had been either been a Disney movie or it was made well before I had been born. Ransom introduced me to what good modern day movies looked like. This was the point where I fell in love with movies.

(*side-note* While researching details on the movie, I noticed that Ransom is coming on TNT in 30 minutes. What’s Independence Day without a Mel Gibson movie, eh?)

Back to the movie…
Ransom was everything I wanted in a movie. Gritty, with a sliver of neo-noir. It had Ron Howard at the helm with a great cast of actors: Mel Gibson, Rene Russo, Gary Sinise & Delroy Lindo. We even got our first glimpses of Donnie Wahlberg, Evan Handler &  Liev Schreiber at the start of their careers, before they were famous. It had the perfect balance of action sequences to dialogue. I really don’t know what more you could have asked for in a movie at that time.

Forgive me for seemingly romanticizing the movie, esp. in light of Mr. Gibson’s recent remarks, but this is a part of my childhood that I cherished. Now what am I supposed to do with this little bit of nostalgia?

I looked back at the rest of Mel Gibson’s filmography. Lethal Weapon came out in 1987, a year before I was born. I like the series. Payback was alright. The Patriot was absolutely amazing (esp. to history buffs such as myself). The last movie he did that I liked was What Women Want in 2000. He did surprisingly well in that comedy, which c0-starred Helen Hunt (where is she by the way?). I never saw The Passion of the Christ or Apocalypto, both of which I heard were pretty good.

So what’s my point? Why should I stop watching some of my favorite movies because the actor in them decides he wants to be an asshole of epic proportions. I get it now when people talk about separating famous people from their public personas. Movies are my personal form of escapism. I use the characters from these movies to live vicariously through. What these actors do outside of their roles is different. When I watch movies, I’m not looking at Mel Gibson, I’m looking at Martin Riggs (Lethal Weapon), Tom Mullen (Ransom) & Benjamin Martin (The Patriot).

Mel Gibson was able to bounce back (somewhat) from his anti-Semitic remarks four years earlier. Whether or not he will be extended a 2nd reprieve is yet to be seen. I believe that all human beings are capable of redemption if they are frank & earnest in their quest for forgiveness. I don’t think Mel Gibson is at that stage yet. He has a lot of demons to battle. His journey is a personal one and until he finds his way, I’ll just hold onto my memories from 90s…

I know this stuff already, but it’s an all too convenient fact that I like to forget. I walk out the door with his words weighing heavily on my mind. It’s sad to think that anything could happen to run off quality teachers & professors, but it happens here.

It was a nice day. It was long, but I decide I want to walk home. I need the sights and sounds of my city to refresh me, washing away the harsher reality of my professor’s words.

The school I go to is neatly tucked away on a modest street in the downtown area. It’s quiet out. (As well it should be for that time of night.) I head toward Michigan Ave. The silence disappears and the liveliness of the city bursts forth as soon as I turn onto the famous avenue. The Taste of Chicago has ended for the night and young kids are swarming forth onto every corner, eagerly exploring and looking for something to do.

At first, I feel overwhelming joy. This is what my city represents – vibrancy! You can practically feel the city radiating. I walk onward, but by the time I hit Randolph, I can feel a slight tension. There are a lot of black kids out tonight. Trey Songz, a young, famous, black performer had just finished a set at the Taste of Chicago and the streets are literally flooded with young people unsure of what to do with themselves now that the concert is over. They seem filled with newfound curiosity for Chicago’s nightlife, however another feeling is setting in, threatening to taint their excitement – panic.

It’s minimal, but I can feel it gradually building. I can see the look of puzzlement & bewilderedness on the faces of people who usually frequent downtown this time of night. They look slightly concerned. However, they too are merely curious at the sight of such a strange phenomenon. The real danger is still ahead.

I reach the corner and a TA (traffic aide) says watch out, they’re shooting tonight & the cops are shooting right back. I didn’t take her seriously. Yes, I know there had been trouble the past two years. (Some shootings had occurred in close proximity to the Taste.) With this many people in such close quarters, it’s only natural to expect an increase in crime, so CPD (Chicago Police Department) stepped up it’s presence accordingly.

I looked at her sideways. “For real?” I ask her. She nods her head affirmatively. I look around. There’s no sign of heightened police presence in the immediate vicinity. I ask her again. “For real?” She replies, “Girl, don’t you know where you live at? We’re in CHICAGO!” My heart sinks with despair. This is not what I need to hear right now. I walk into the thicket of the crowd. Nothing alarming has transpired. Just another person hyping up the crowd into a sense of panic.

I put my sunglasses on. It’s dark as can be, but I don’t care. I want to be able to observe the people and see what’s going on without seeming too obvious and what I see are young black kids. Lots of them. I see the acknowledgement in their eyes that they don’t feel entirely welcome. They are blanketed with looks from everyone else on the sidewalk that seem to imply “Why are you here?’ I feel remorse. These people obviously feel stripped of their exclusivity. The thought of having to share their precious downtown area for even a night seems unbearable to them.

In that moment I felt humbled. I was reminded of what it really means to feel my color. I take it for granted because I take steps to make myself blend in. By the time I’m done, I look like a non-threatening black female. This intentional deconstruction of myself happens in order to make those in places of privilege feel safe around me. I’m not extraordinarily tall, but at my height and weight, I know that many unfamiliar with me may feel threatened. I do my best to come off as friendly and approachable & do everything in my power to combat the stereotypes of your average “typical black woman”. I don’t know where this fear came from. I daresay it was a feeling of self-preservation for dealing with white Americans who had never come in contact with black people and didn’t know what to expect from us outside of what they had seen on tv or heard on the radio.

I’m at the epicenter now and what I see leaves me speechless. I cannot describe to you the sheer amount of police officers patrolling Michigan Ave. Cop cars line side streets from one side to another. I’d estimate about 20 cops on each block, standing on the corner. I didn’t see this many cops any other time this week. The Taste of Chicago gets about 3M people every year. There’s a concert everyday. Friday they had Bell Biv Devoe, Salt-N-Pepa, Doug E. Fresh & Slick Rick. Saturday they had Gavin Rossdale. Sunday was Emily Osment. Tuesday was Los Lonely Boys. Wednesday was Mat Kearney. My point? There weren’t this many cops present for any of the other concerts, so what’s with the beefed up presence now? I resented it. I despise the fact that we have it so ingrained in our society that if young black kids go out en masse that something bad is going to happen. I can only imagine how many cops got pulled from poor, under-served areas, just so they could come and preserve the integrity of Chicago’s precious Loop.

Let me tell you, I’m not the biggest defender of our young folks, but to see them behaving so decently, and by decently, I mean no cursing, no yelling, no screaming, no pushing, no fighting, just walking calmly down the street in an orderly manner, only to see them rewarded with a police force meant to hold back a small army, well I can’t help but feel incensed. Almost all of the cops were casually chatting with one another. On one block, I saw 10 cops sitting next to each other with their heads in their hands, at a loss for what to do with themselves. I wanted to go over and ask them if there wasn’t better use they could be making of their time. Isn’t there crime they could be stopping elsewhere in the city, or was downtown simply too precious to leave alone in the hands of the dozens of other officers there?

This isn’t how I expect our young people to be treated. These aren’t angry protesters outside of a G20 summit, they’re kids dammit and we ought to be able to show them a little more respect!

Realizing you’re crazy (there are varying degrees of course) is a very freeing notion. It releases you from the constraints placed on you by (…) Societal norms can go right out the window, it no longer matters what anyone else thinks. It’s similar to wearing rose-coloured glasses, except the clarity is much brighter.

Society is all about conformity. People feel safe within these man-made constructs. It’s within these walls that we tear down & build up. Dare to be different & see how much happier (and more successful) you will be.

Here’s the deal. I don’t have a lot of friends. Never did, so the idea of going out of my way to maintain friendships does not appeal to me. Why? Don’t get me wrong. I’m not selfish in the way you are thinking of… I bend over backwards to help everyone: friends, family, strangers. I’ve loaned out money & material possessions. I have no problems doing anything within reason. (Manual labor is negotiable depending on how much I like you).

I am actually not a half bad friend. I practically bend over backwards in the beginning to get you to like me, but once that trust is earned, I expect it to remain in place no matter what… Now why in the world would anyone do that? In this world, there are static people and there are dynamic people. What these two terms signify is that static represents those whose life does not have significant fluctuations, whereas dynamic people undergo changes. I am a static person. I cling to consistency. If you liked me in the beginning then chances are, you’ll like me for a long time.

Herein lies the problem. Most people admit to loving me in spite of me. I’m not perfect. I don’t ascribe to anyone’s standards but my own. I know I’m a good person. I plan on dedicating my life to assisting others. I know I’m different, but we’re all different.

It’s funny, I’m not even that different. I’m not a goth, I don’t dye my hair loud colors, I don’t do anything that brings unnecessary attention to myself. I try very hard to be as boring as possible.

My thought process seems to be what disturbs many. I’ve got a wall up 24/7 so many wonder why I sound so unaffected in speech and when I do find myself affected by an issue, I get overzealous and worked up about it. Just one of many contradictions that seem to puzzle my friend. My contradictions are not intentional. I simply am. I don’t go about overanalyzing things that are reflexive to me. It’s me and my moral compass, so as long as I hold myself accountable to myself, I tend to do just fine, and considering how hard I am on myself, trust me in saying that I have no problems disciplining myself. The emotional self-flagellation is quite intense…

Unfortunately, that can rub people the wrong way. People push me to elicit emotions from me, which merely results in me throwing up more walls, which makes me seem cold, distant and unapproachable. Gosh, don’t you people know what a defense mechanism looks like? It’s amusing to me to watch you frustrate yourself as you attempt to make me mad. It won’t work.

So every now and then someone sneaks past my defenses and gets what they are looking for. As soon as they find that button, they push it at every opportunity, exploiting my Achilles heel. This is the point where we have to break up as friends.

Other times, someone is mad at me and I haven’t realized why, so we go on a timeout for a period of time, sometimes lasting up to a year. Fact is, most of my friends don’t think it’s worth the time to explain to me why they are upset. They think I won’t get it by my lack of visceral expression. The idea that I don’t understand a concept because I’m not reacting to it is absurd to me.

This backfires in reverse as well. I’ve had people who say I’m too serious and simply disassociate at that point. This is mind boggling to me. Simply put, if I didn’t care, I wouldn’t pick up the phone when you call, or show up when you ask me to be somewhere. I believe that my actions & words speak volumes. They are not open for interpretation, because I am too open & honest to leave any room for confusion. My directness is not to be confused with bluntness. I have tact and class. I know how to say things. I know how to mince words in an effective manner that conveys the same point. I am all for the preservation & sparing of one’s feelings, and I expect the same from others.

Apparently that makes me a bad friend…

I spend my evenings taking classes at a community college. Over time I built up somewhat of a friendship with two African classmates. Things seemed to be going well. We had hung out twice before and they had been very kind to me. The girl would insist I hang out with them; the guy would pick up the tab if I couldn’t afford to pay for food/drink & drive me home afterward. Recently she asked me if I wanted to with them to see her new apartment. She wanted my help picking out alcohol for her upcoming birthday party. Not having anything else to do, I agreed. I got in the backseat and she joined me. She said she was sleepy & wanted to lay down, so I placed my bag in my lap as a pillow for her head. I rested my arm against her & she starts holding my hand… Okay whatever, I’ve had a girl hold my hand before, but then she intertwines our fingers and starts playing with my hand. Not sure of what was going on I said nothing, but responded to her touch in order to reassure her that she wasn’t making me feel uncomfortable.

Background info: All I know about her is that she just had a kid. I assumed she had a boyfriend, but clearly, you see where assumptions get you…

Facts: I’m a 21 year old college student and well… this sorta thing seems to happen a lot (not to me in particular, just in general). I’m not homophobic, so I kinda just went with the flow to see where things would go.

Now I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Fact is, I’m confused. I was a bit wary when she asked my opinion on alcohol. Anyone who knows me, knows I rarely drink, but since we were just getting acquainted with each other, I let it pass in the hopes of getting to know her better as a friend. However, she seemed a little bit too keen on my opinion. As I said, we had been out before – late dinner after class at IHOP one night, drinks at Bar Louie another. Both times, I was broke and yet both insisted on picking up my tab. I was appreciative of the free food, yet suspicious of their kindness.

While in the car I remark that her bracelet is pretty. She looks at it, takes it off and gives it to me as a gift. I insist that it’s a nice gesture, but I didn’t want it. She insisted that I take it.

We go to a store and she let’s me pick out a bottle of wine & grab some cheese & crackers to munch on while the wine is chilling. We all head up to her place and she shows me around. At this point, things seem to settle down. I start to relax. Maybe it was all in my head, I think to myself. Boy, I must have some ego thinking that this girl was hitting on me. I let it go and we begin drinking wine. She doesn’t have wine glasses, so we’re drinking wine from regular glasses and the guy is practically filling my cup up to the rim. Suffice to say, I’m starting to get tipsy. We sit down and watch a movie. On the way out of the kitchen the guy laughingly pats me on my butt.

I’ve been asked to describe the pat on the butt – it wasn’t a squeeze. He didn’t come off like he was trying to cop a feel, but it felt more friendly than the pats guys give each other on the football field – kinda like he was testing the water to see how drunk I was… Again, I let it go.

This is an unnecessary detail, but I’m gonna add it anyway. While we’re watching the movie, the girl, goes, gets her baby and starts breastfeeding in front of us. I’m sure I’ve seen it done before, but had never taken an interest before now. She didn’t try to hide or cover herself. She felt no shame (nor should she, seeing as how she was in her own home). I was in awe of her and dare I say it, somewhat turned on…

Now I’m really confused! I’m tipsy and I’m fairly sure both of them hit on me. I don’t even know what their relationship is with one another! They are close and I can’t help but wonder if there is/was a romantic connection between the two of them. I’m concerned that they might both be flirting with me without the other being aware of it. This is getting complicated, fast.

Night is drawing to a close. The movie has ended and she has fallen asleep on the couch. I suggest that we head out at this time. He agrees. We’re flying down Lake Shore Dr at 60 mph at midnight. It’s truly one of the best driving experiences you could have in the city of Chicago. We near my exit and he asks me if I want to see his place. We just came from her place, so I see no harm in going to his place; plus it’s a beautiful night and I don’t want the drive to end just yet, so we zoom on down past my exit towards his place.

The closer we get to his place, the more sobering my thoughts are… “Why did I agree to this? Maybe we won’t go in… maybe he’ll just point his house out and then take me home.” I laugh cynically at myself for having such naive thoughts. As dark as it is, I know that there is no chance that he’s going to just drive by without stopping in, so I steel myself for what to say once we arrive.

We park & go inside. “What a nice place you have!” I shout from the kitchen, afraid to go in any further. I walk around his place, timidly stick my head in each room. I stand inches from his bedroom door. I have no inclination whatsoever of sticking my feet into that room. He watches me from across the room gauging my reaction. “So I guess you’re done drinking for the night.” he says. “Yes”, I say rather firmly, adding “in fact I hadn’t realized it was so late…” He grabs his keys & we head for the door. 15 minutes later he’s dropping me off at home and wishing me a good night.

So what do you think? Am I overreacting? Could this be boiled down to an issue of cultural differences? Or am I being naive about the while thing? Let me know what you think!

So if I’ve done all of this, what do I mean by “au naturale”? Well au naturale typically means hair worn without having been chemically processed by products meant to alter its natural state. I decided to take this one step further. I decided not use anything besides shampoo. That means no oil sheen & no hair lotion – nothing that is meant to enhance it.

Let me preface this by saying that there is nothing wrong with using product that is meant to enhance your hair’s natural state. I just never did it because… well after having all of your hair fall out as a result of some idiot putting a foreign object in your hair, you might tend to shy away from putting anything else up there.

Additionally, I’ve always felt self-conscious about my hair. I know that I have looked at people’s hair & allowed it to shape how I feel about them. (i.e. Cornel West vs. Henry Louis Gates. I’ve always respected the latter’s opinion more because I can’t look at the former and take him seriously with his hair sticking up like that.) Instead of being so judgmental, I decided to place myself in the hot seat and see how folks would react to my little experiment.

I washed my hair, combed it & let it drip dry. When I woke up, I tried shaping it, but didn’t get too far. Semi-satisfied, I decided that I didn’t need to tweak it anymore.

First reaction was a delayed one. My aunt saw me, but said nothing. Finally when it was time for me to leave for work, she looked at me & said “You’re not going to work looking like that, are you?” She shook her head and walked away. She always perms/relaxes her hair, so I was not surprised by her reaction, but it didn’t do anything to strengthen my resolve. In fact, her words made me want to run back into the bathroom and pour a bottle of extra virgin olive oil on my hair…

I work as a receptionist at a black nonprofit in Chicago. Most of my co-workers wear weaves or perm/relax their hair, so I’m not expecting to be well received.

I get to work and one of the first people I see is the CEO who does a double take and laughs before heading into his office. I’m hoping he thinks my look is bold & courageous. He doesn’t like weave in women’s hair. Additionally, he’s in touch with the African side of his heritage & embraces it more fully than most others in the community.

I walk around to the copiers where one of the directors sees me and examines me (literally). “Where are the curls?” she asks. “It’s a little dry.” She seems more so curious than anything else. Her hair is fixed in a curly fro, so she’s comparing it to hers. I tell her I’m just trying something different, a day without any product whatsoever. She nods (whether it was acknowledgment or approval, I’m not sure) and we go our separate ways.

My co-worker in HR comes in and rolls her eyes. No surprise there, seeing as how her hair is always permed/relaxed. Can you say fried, dyed & laid to the side? lol

Finally, a co-worker who will understand me! She smiles as she sees me. “I see you decided to go au naturale today!” I explain to her what I’m doing and ask her what she thinks. “It’s wild.” Uh oh.. lol I need clarification. “Like Cornel West wild… ?” “Yeah” she replies, “like Frederick Douglas!” My heart sinks. “but I like wild!” she replies, lifting my spirits slightly.

The IT director sits at the desk next to me and asks me about my hair. I explain to her what I’m doing with it and that it’s only for a day. I don’t want to alarm folks. Interestingly, she’s one of the only ones who seems truly unopinionated on the matter.

I’m nervous. My boss has yet to arrive and I can’t help but wonder what her opinion is going to be.

The guy from Orkin comes in and gives me the black power sign!

A person from Finance and another from Education eyeball me.

A younger co-worker walks in. “Cool!”

Another co-worker walks in, squints her eyes and says “Hi Erykah… Badu”

Finally, a male co-worker! “New hairstyle? I like it.”

Another co-worker, “You know you need a whuppin, right now” (hope she was joking!)

My boss walked in and kept walking. I sorta wanted to ask her opinion, but I think I already know what she’s gonna say. She’s very sleek, stylish & refined, so I can’t see her approving.

The Director of Corporate & External Affairs walks in behind her. Her eyes bug out and she says I remind her of Angela Bofill, who Wikipedia has informed me is a half Cuban, half Puerto Rican R&B singer. Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing…

The CEO emerges from his meeting and takes another look at me. “Well?” I ask hesitantly. “Is that the new style?” he replies. He says it looks very in vogue (then again he could have been referencing the musical group En Vogue). Either way, I’m not going to get much from him. He’s smart enough to know not to get too involved in opinions on women’s hair…

“Hey Angela Davis, peace!” says the Orkin man before leaving.

“Couldn’t get your hair done in time?” asks one of the maintenance workers. “I did it on purpose.” “Why?” he responds. I sigh exasperatedly and tell him I did it because I was bored. He laughs. The funny part is that he’s trying to hit on me, so I’m not sure how to take his words. I mean I took them at face value, but the bluntness of it was dulled by the fact that he still found me somewhat attractive.

One thing the maintenance worker has brought to my attention is that yesterday was Easter Sunday, so it’s expected that I would come in with my hair done, not sticking out haphazardly like some freak show reject.

His boss, looked at me and said “What are you going to do with all of this fluffiness?” However she followed it up with the next statement “because it looks wild and shit…” I know she means well.

Finally, a rather blunt employee comes in and asks point-blank about my hair. I explain in greater detail the experiment, reminding her that it’s only for a day. I share other reactions. (She laughed at the Frederick Douglas comparison) She agrees that it looks big & wild and offers pointers on what I can do to make it better next time. I take note and thank her for her advice.

The new lady from Health & Wellness walks in. She laughs so hard that she struggles to make it through the door. I wait patiently for her response. She loves it! She thinks it’s nice & full.

The CEO walks out to leave. He sees the apprehension etched on my face as I brace myself for his latest response. He stops and asks me how I feel about my hair. Surprised, I say “Unencumbered.”

I swallow my pride and continue on with the day. I’ve gotten mixed responses, but everyone agrees I look like a wild child. I’m slightly amused. That’s not what I was aiming for. I was going for something a la late 80s/early 90s. Something you might see on A Different World. It’s a small fro. It’s not nappy (I made sure I combed it), so I’m not really sure how to gauge their reactions.

The fact is, I think I like this natural state of being. I enjoy being uninhibited by chemical processes. I tire of having to tailor my activities so that my hair is not affected. I am resistant to the perm/relaxer movement, and I don’t need weave, so I have decided to embrace myself and my hair’s natural state, despite the ridicule I might face. However, I realize that I don’t need to go completely bare with my hair to achieve & maintain a sense of what it means to be au naturale.

All of this is just another step in learning to love myself. I’m determined not to let others use my hair as a means to determine my self-worth.

I didn’t think I’d have anything of interest to post so soon, but something interesting happened to me… I had a nigga moment. Yes, I went straight from “uppity Negro syndrome” on Tuesday evening to a “nigga moment” Friday morning. Before I take a stab at explaining what exactly a “nigga moment” is, allow me to share a short video clip taken from an episode of The Boondocks…

Thank you, Mr. McGruder! I couldn’t have put it more eloquently.

I don’t even know what happened. The day before, a staff member brought what was left over from a catered event they had that morning. Well that’s all fine & dandy, but no one wanted to eat cold eggs & potatoes for lunch, so I suggested that we order biscuits, sausage & bacon and have a nice breakfast the next morning. Folks thought it was a good idea and started chipping in for the order. Quickly, it disintegrated into a logistical nightmare.

Staff members wanted to contribute different amounts, so I asked everyone to make a financial contribution based on what they felt they could pay. They didn’t know that I was picking up the tab if we weren’t able to raise the amount needed to cover our costs…

The staff at the restaurant didn’t know their own catering prices. I was dead set on this particular restaurant, (I like supporting local black-owned businesses) however, after multiple phone calls, I was forced to hold off on placing the order until the next day.

I get in and things seem fine. I place the order and everything seems like it’s back on track. Then the intern decides he doesn’t want to pick up the order…

Fine, I call my backup. Two calls, no answer. That’s okay, I’ve got a backup plan for my backup plan. I go to a co-worker and ask if she can pick up the food. She agrees.

The food is clearly going to be about 30 minutes late, but that’s fine because that gives everyone time to get here.

My temper is flaring, but I’ve still managed to keep it under wraps.

The food arrives and the most I’m out is $15. Perfect.

I help set things up in the back and alert folks that they can go eat now.

Somehow, somewhere in the midst of everything, I guess I just snapped. Not verbally, mentally.

It’s like everything caught up to me at the same time. I’d experienced this once before. I went to a club and had five cosmos back to back. Well… actually, it might have been four, I’m not sure if the fifth cosmo actually made it to my mouth. I’m sure I didn’t consume any of it. All I knew was that the previous four cosmos hit me all at once and when I came to, I was already in a taxi headed home. That’s what this was like. Every little irritation from that week had caught up & hit me like a bomb that morning.

It was the ex who lied, the business partner who stiffed me, the girl who won’t pay me my goddamn money, the deadbeat dad who won’t pick up the phone, the friend who stopped talking to me, the selfish intern, the disrespectful co-workers… all of it was hitting me now and I was mad.

In my mind, I just remember thinking I don’t give a damn what happens next. All I wanted was to punch someone’s lights out. It’s the type of anger that you can actually feel pumping through your veins. You feel the tension building as you struggle to find a constructive (read: non-violent) way to release all of this pent up fury.

I almost got into it with one co-worker. She doesn’t know when to quit. She just kept hammering away at me. I felt my resistance fading. I’ve been waiting for the moment to snap on her for awhile, and today was gonna be the day. However, someone intervened on her behalf and told her to leave me alone before I do something to her. She heeded their advice.

Soon word had spread that I was in a bad mood. Everyone thought it was their fault. The apologies flowed. I’m a receptionist that has been on the job for 3 & 1/2 years & makes less than $20,000/year… I start work at 8am and I’ve often stayed until 5:30. I’ve done 11 hour days for months on end until I begged for them to relent & hire another receptionist. I’ve gone above & beyond, and all I ever asked for in return was respect, and they couldn’t even give me that, so… I turned into the Incredible Hulk.

Not gonna lie… it felt really fucking good. The passive girl who stays late & is always willing to lend a helping hand, finally got what she wanted – a little respect… and I languished in every moment of it. I can’t wait to see what Monday brings.