26 Reasons Why 26 Was F^#&%*G AWESOME

In thinking though how to adequately summarize the sheer perfection that was 2010 and the age of 26, I've come up with a list. This list will be the reference point for my next 26 posts. After the misery of 2009, I believe I was overdue for something magical. 2010 was just that. I established and strengthened incredible relationships with dynamic friends--new and old. I ran and ran and ran... I joined an organization to help me get into business school and what I got in return, however, was a network of brilliant, funloving minds. These people study hard, work harder and party the hardest. They're my kind of folks and I'm not sure I'll ever fully articulate how much they have meant and still mean to me. I will try to in a post, however. :-)

So here goes. 26 Reasons why 26 was F-ing AWESOME. As per usual, I've tried to preserve the anonymity of my life and all who are a part of it...



1.1. MLT


2. Cohort 5

3. Career Affinity Groups

4. The Giving Committee

5. Houston

6. Minneapolis

7. Los Angeles

8. Las Vegas

9. Midwest Tour

10. Accounting 2101

11. Graduation

12. Team in Training

13. ING Half Marathon

14. Silent Auction

15. Nike Women’s Half Marathon

16. The First Chapter

17. Dominican Republic

18. Linesisters!

19. October

20. Homecoming

21. Corporate Responsibility Council

22. Corporate Volunteer Day

23. Adopt-A-Family

24. Ruby Johnson

25. Rock ‘N’ Roll New Orleans – Mardi Gras Marathon

26. Acceptance

Unexpected Expenses

I'm sorry I've neglected The Single Aesthetic for so long! Life has truly blessed me over the past 18 months. I got so caught up in the whirlwind of running, applying to school, getting accepted, celebrating and TRAVELING that I never stopped to write it all down. I took plenty of pictures. I tweeted up a storm. But, I didn't blog about it. I'm sure I'll one day regret that. I'll try to do as much back-logging as I can over the summer... but that's not why I'm here. I'm here today because I'm pissed. Royally. Here's a post to detail said pissed-ness.

Dear Universe,

I feel like I can't win for losing sometimes. Not that volunteering, or serving the community, or vacationing with best friends is "losing" per se. But, the financial toll is really taxing! Let me back up. In the past year and a half, I've run two half marathons with Team in Training (Go Team!), a full marathon with BFF Cece, and I'm now a Team in Training mentor for a third half marathon--Rock N Roll San Diego. Clearly I have an addictive personality. Anyway, with each Team in Training event, runners are asked to fundraise for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS). Once you're a mentor, however, you can choose whether or not you want to fundraise. After all, you're going to be responsible for mentoring new runners, encouraging them to fundraise and helping them during training by providing water/Gatorade in alternating shifts. Your contribution is less tangible as a mentor, but still equally as important. So, after raising over $10,000 for the cause in 2010, Cece and I decided to sit this one out. We'd raise the minimum $250 and pay our own way to San Diego. Cool.

Well, my little brain got to thinking. Since they're going to bill us for our hotel stay at San Diego anyway, I wonder if we can't just fundraise the cost of the room? I asked. Lucky me, the San Diego TEAM coordinator told me I could fundraise $250 plus the cost of the room and be totally covered! Awesome!

Too bad she's a liar.

Today, she calls me asking for $475. What in the hell? After two phone calls and an email exchange she essentially tells me she misspoke and, while she could deduce my bill by $100 since she made the mistake, I still owed LLS $375. Shut the front door. Who do I look like? I do not have that kind of money just laying around. Gah!

On top of that, Anisa and Corinne and I are planning our GET RITE (remember that??) 2011 Summer Fun Extravaganza Trip to Playa del Carmen in July. We've already booked an all-inclusive hotel stay and simply need to finalize our flights. Well, since I've been whizzing around the country for the past year-and-a-half (pats self on back) I've racked up quite a few frequent flyer mile-point thingies. I have enough points to get me anywhere Airtran flies. It was in this mindset that I sat my happy ass down at work this morning and, before even opening Outlook to begin real work for the day, started to book my flight to Mexico. Welp. All the "A Plus Rewards" seats have been redeemed for the days I'm flying. Looks like I got played--again--and will be shelling out a handsome $350 to vacay with two of my closest friends. I'm not complaining, really, because you can't put a price tag on quality time with friends, you know? But damnit if I'm trying to charge $700 in one day!

My goal was to go to graduate school free of credit card debt. If I incurred debt from student loans, so be it. But I wanted to leave that grey cloud of irresponsibility behind me. To me, credit card debt symbolizes the happy-go-lucky recklessness of my post-undergrad years. 2006 through 2011 were thrilling, emotional, wild years. I'm glad I had them. I'm happy to have paid for them... with interest. Those were necessary life experience years, you know?

But I'm going to GRAD SCHOOL. A really good one, too. And, I'm not saying that I want to "close that chapter" in my life, really. Except I kinda do. I don't want to continue to pay this freaking credit card bill while I don't even have an income! I don't want to continue to pay for trips, or car emergencies, or silly mistakes I made two and three years ago. I want a new, fresh life experience. I want endless possibilities. I don't want a monthly statement. I don't want a minimum payment requirement. I don't want a freaking BALANCE!!

Unexpected expenses. That's life, right? As soon as you're doing well and making progress, life hits you with a swift undercut (or two) and knocks you back down. Wellllll Universe, you know what? You can have your silly little $700. Yes, on my credit card. Damnit. But guess what? I'm STILL going to grad school. And I'm going to have a purposeful BLAST in San Diego with my mentees who raised thousands of dollars to combat blood cancers (God bless each and every one of them). I'm still going to Mexico with two ladies who know me oh so well... and we're going to gossip and cry and laugh and drink and party and celebrate life eeeeven if it costs me an unexpected $350. It's all worth it. It's just money. And one day... although later than I'd hoped... I will pay it back. With interest.

So there!

Sincerely,
Me

The Passion

I’ve always been the “friend with the cool job”. In college, every internship or work experience I had was with a well-known media behemoth. Clear Channel Communications, MTV, Fox News, you name it. Even after I graduated I finagled my way into freelance production work with NBC Universal. When I’d catch up with college buddies and tell them I had just seen Adam Sandler or Denzel Washington on set, their mouths would drop and they’d beg for details. Little did they know that I been fetching coffee and directing pedestrian foot traffic all day. It was important that tax-paying citizens not walk on the public street where we were shooting, or else they’d interfere with the scene. Making films is serious business, after all.


I really believed that the media industry was for me, and that I just hadn’t yet found my footing. When I landed [my current position], I was confident that this would be the solid career foundation I was looking for. After three years with the company, I still have yet to be convinced. When I head to work each morning, instead of worrying about meetings, or action items on my to-do list, I’m focused on what I’ll be doing after 6 pm. I may run a few miles with Team in Training, which is a subsidiary of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS), I may have a committee meeting with the “Light the Night” Walk volunteer group (also of LLS), or I may be tutoring at the Jerusalem House. Even my weekends are packed with mentoring and volunteering for the organizations I have come to love. My commitments to these organizations are what motivate me each morning, and what keep me going when my less-than-fulfilling job begins to weigh on me. My associations with non-profit organizations are my driving force; they are my passion.

I did some volunteer work in college, and when I moved to [my current city], and finally got settled in, I began searching for ways to give back to my community. Big Brothers Big Sisters of America was immediately appealing because I’d have one young lady for whom I was responsible. The time commitment was manageable and, given all of the perks I had inherited from [my job], we’d always have something fun and/or educational to. After our very first meeting, I could see how valuable our relationship would become. I was going to learn a great deal about poverty in [my city], the education gap, the achievement gap, and I’d gain exposure to an entire sub-culture of black America that I’d never before seen, even [in college]. In turn, I was determined to teach her the rules of English grammar, proper etiquette, the necessity of trying new things, and the importance of building a relationship with God. She and I are still building, but I’m so proud of how far along we have come.

I began tutoring at the Jerusalem House after a Volunteer Day activity in September of 2007. The Jerusalem House is a non-profit housing establishment that permanently caters to families affected by HIV/AIDS. The students at the Jerusalem House are bright and enthusiastic, despite the many challenges they and their families face. Even when my schedule prevented from tutoring on a weekly basis, I found ways to give back, ranging from a [local college] campus tour to a family outing to a [baseball] game.

My most personal tie to a non-profit organization, however, is with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. In March 2009, my mother was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. It was shocking to all of us because she was a healthy woman. She didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, and had no family history of this particular cancer. It was a trying summer, and in October when she received her final treatment of chemo, I vowed to do everything possible to commemorate her remission. I started by raising $1000 for LLS’s “Light the Night” walk. I was proud of that accomplishment, but knew I could do more. In November, I began training for my first-ever half marathon with LLS’s “Team in Training” program. Though Team in Training, I gained an instant network of friends and fellow athletes committed to raising awareness and fighting blood cancers. We all raised funds and trained together, supporting one another when family members fell ill, pushing each other to complete each run with a strong finish, and vowing to never forget the lives lost to blood cancers. It was the most emotional yet fulfilling experience I have had in my life. This is what truly opened my eyes to what I believe to be my calling.

If I can find a way to help non-profit organization such as BBBS, the Jerusalem House and LLS thrive, I will consider myself accomplished. I don’t want to just help these organizations and others like them succeed; I want to see them grow to the highest of heights, enlightening others of their missions along the way. Whether I’m helping them to raise money or coordinate events; recruit volunteers or build better business plans, I want my impact to be relevant and long-lasting.

By societal standards, I am already a success story. I have my own place, my own car, and I work for an amazing company with great benefits. But I don’t want to be a success; I’d rather be significant. I’d rather have my life’s work feel meaningful and important. I don’t get that from media, and I doubt I ever will. There are certainly aspects of my communications background that will serve me well in my future endeavors. But, I intend to dedicate myself to the non-profit sector, and advancing organizations that face more challenges, and deserve more resources than the “cool” media giants. I cannot, in good faith, think of any reason to choose film and television over the young girl with sub-par reading skills, the single-parent family with AIDS, or the husband who has just learned that his wife has cancer… life is too short for that.

Playing "Mom"

The weekend was absolutely beautiful. It was the first weekend since the half marathon that I could actually sleep in, relax and enjoy myself! But of course, other duties called. I was overdue a visit with Ruby and had other responsibilities that required my attention. It was fine, though. For the first time in a long time, I was NOT going to be training, studying or stressing. I was looking forward to what the weekend had in store.

Saturday I woke up with plans to take Ruby to a theme park. Cece's goddaughters were in town too, so she, her boyfriend, her goddaughters, Ruby and I headed to the park for a makeshift family reunion. It was sure to be a crash course for us in what parenting was *really* like. We were excited.

Ruby had never been to the park before, and I could see as we neared the rollercoasters and excitement that she was eager to explore it all. Unfortunately she'd been having "attitude problems" lately, according to her mom. So, I told her we were going to the museum. Her face quickly fell. I couldn't help myself. I've given her the impression that I'm an outlet for fun, I think. I needed to remind her that, as mentor, I was here to help guide her in all facets of her life - and a bad attitude was not going to cut it.

My facade quickly faded as we made our way into the grand entrance. But I made Ruby pinky swear that she would heed her mother's directions (the FIRST time, not after being asked repeatedly), she would NOT talk back to her teachers, and that she'd make better efforts on her nightly homework assignments. We'll see how that goes.

After an afternoon in the sun, we took our kids to Saturday Night Service. It was Easter weekend, and we had MUCH to be thankful for. I could tell Ruby was less than enthused to spend her Saturday evening at church - but tough luck. Among the many things I hope to teach her during our relationship - one will be to praise Him from whom all blessings flow...

The pastor did a dramatic interpretation of Jesus' Crucifixion from the viewpoint of Cleopus, preaching from the book of Luke. It was powerful.  Of course the poor child couldn't sit still through the hour-long service (short for Easter, right??), but what disheartened me most was that she had never even heard the Easter story before. She didn't know why we celebrated Easter nor did she understand or appreciate the significance of Jesus dying for our sins and rising again...

::sighs::

I did my best to provide her with the Cliffs Notes version on our ride back to her house. I then challenged her to remember the Lord's Prayer (she couldn't) and delve a little deeper into understanding it's meaning. She bored of our little talk very quickly.

I know it's not my responsibility to teach her religion or spirituality. And I know when I was eleven I hated going to Church each morning. But now that I'm an adult, having grown up "in the church", understanding the meaning behind Christian holidays, and knowing that I can always count on God - I don't know what I would have done if my mom DID NOT make me get out of bed each Sunday to worship Him. I don't know how I would have made it through some of life's trials thus far. Because my mother instilled that discipline in me early - to go to church every Sunday - I've managed to carry it with me through adulthood...

Is this an L I'm just going to have to take with Ruby? I don't have the patience to monitor her every Sunday... pick her up, make her sit still, explain the sermon to her, and take her home. After all, she's really not my child. But, I feel like if I could leave her with anything - better grammar, higher self-esteem, the ability to make good choices... the most worthwhile and relevant would be a relationship with God.

I'll pray on it...

The Truth Is...

...the longer I continue to hold onto this, the longer it will take for me to fully move on. And, if I'm serious about my future; if I'm serious about my goals; if I'm serious about keeping my past in the past and claiming tomorrow's glory then I really, really, honestly and truly need to let it go.

Let it go!

Self: I forgive you for what happened. I forgive you for holding on. I forgive you for putting more faith in man than in God. I forgive you for losing sight of what was really important. I forgive you for compromising yourself. I forgive you for getting caught up in the superficial and the fake. I forgive you for dwelling. And dwelling, again. And I believe everything will get better.

I believe everything will get better.

I will move on.

I will move forward.

I will be okay.

I'm going to let it go.

If You Want to Know... Ask

http://www.formspring.me/seraphima29

Perhaps this will be theraputic... Time will tell.

Layered Frustrations

I can’t really find the words to articulate the source of my frustration. But I know there are several layers that are interfering with my daily thoughts, feelings and general disposition. To start, MLT has commenced and, while I was initially enthralled with the idea of participating in such a highly competitive program, the very first challenges are proving to be slightly overwhelming. The writing portion of our monthly assignments will get handled. No sweat. But this f-ing GMAT score might be the death of me. I have invested a nice portion of my annual income into a Kaplan course and, for whatever reason, cannot seem to find the time or mental capacity to study. There are 1000 things I’d rather do each night, every weekend, and in any spare moment I may find. What is my problem?

On top of that, after months of counseling, a new boy, and countless “breaths of fresh air” I find myself troubled with thoughts of the Old Boy again. This past three-day Valentine’s Weekend was emotional to say the least. In fact, the months of January and February combined have been a bit tumultuous for me. I’ve been in a constant funk for no reason at all. Perpetual PMS, if you will. I’ve managed to keep it (for the most part) to myself and try to let it pass. But V-Day weekend was kind of a big deal, and for me to be alone while he’s in NY living it up pulled at every heartstring I think I have.

I get that Valentine’s Day is a “Hallmark Holiday” invented by the consumer products industry to gross over 14 billion dollars annually… but so what? What’s wrong with celebrating love and affection once a year? What’s wrong with telling people (be they friends, lovers, parents, etc.) how you feel? What’s wrong with dinner, flowers, or even a movie night to celebrate the warm fuzzy feeling you get when you’re with that special someone? And, if you have no one… what then?

I ended up at a dinner with friends on Sunday night, and it proved to be just what I needed – lighthearted and full of laughter. Even Monday was pretty cool. I ran a few errands and visited with grandma (who’s still hanging in there!). Whatever.

I think that the failed relationship with the Old Boy coupled with the disastrous disappointment named Aaron is weighing on me more than I’d care to acknowledge. And, trying to focus on my future is not proving as helpful (or even as plausible) as others would lead one to believe. It’s like I’m living in my own mini-hell (again) and everyone is just standing around watching. Even my friends from college appear to be gravitating toward the Old Boy and his new girl… quoting them both on Twitter, causally mentioning them in conversations, appearing to enjoy their company overall. It’s annoying. Try as I may, I can’t seem to escape this sociopath. And he appears to have all of my “college friends” clouded with his devilish deceit. Smh. I hate this.

I have got to get out of here.

I Met a Boy, Part II

On the Monday following said “incident” he called me to confirm a few things. He couldn’t quite remember exactly everything that had transpired. Okay, cool. Everything is fine. Nobody has ANYthing to worry about. But his tone… there was something in his tone that I just didn’t quite like. It was a subtle mix of fear, mild condescension and too much tact. When we hung up I felt completely put off, and somewhat discouraged. The old Michele would have “let it go” meaning: toss and turn all night, wrack my brain to figure out what his “tone” meant, and do everything but, in fact, let it go. Instead, I called him back. I told him that there was clearly a conversation that we should have had a long, long time ago, and the idea that this was making him exceedingly uncomfortable was beginning to make me uncomfortable. The conversation ended civilly enough, and I felt good about speaking my mind instead of being my typical passive-aggressive self. We resolved everything. On to the next one.

Except, I didn’t talk to him at all that week. No text. No calls. No gchat. No nothing. By Friday, I was on the verge of just cutting him off once and for all. Instead, I sent him an email. Cut and paste for your reading pleasure here:

I know you're not a phone person, so I'm hoping you're an e-mail person. I know you're slammed with work and grad school apps, but I was hoping to get a little of your time this week or this weekend. My schedule is pretty crazy too with last minute holiday stuff, so I imagine it may be difficult. I'd still like to try to get together, though.

We haven't spoken at all since Monday. I can't help but assume it has something to do with the nature of our last conversation. I've been thinking a lot about it, and I feel as though we handled it appropriately. I will admit I was annoyed at how it happened and how we resolved it, but I'm hoping that it's something we both feel okay about.

Aside from that, I'm having trouble figuring out the best way to get to know you. I thought we liked each other, but perhaps I misread something. Without consistent phone calls or text messages, we're limited to going out. Given both of our schedules, those outings seem to be few and far between. I'm not complaining, but I do want to make sure we're on the same page. We've been hanging out for a few weeks, but I can't say I really know you any better than I did on October 24th.

I hope this note finds you well. Perhaps I'll see or hear from you sooner than later.

Short. Sweet. Non-emotional. To the point.

He responded, via g-chat, with bullet points.

hey. just read your email. a few thoughts:

12:25 PM -- thanks for the thoughtful note. i think you've been very respectful of my time commitments (or lack thereof) and I'm appreciative of that

12:26 PM -- on the Monday conversation/weekend events... I'm quite disappointed in myself by my saturday actions and not just what happened between us but how much i drank and the fact that i drove after drinking so much, so i'm still trying to get a grip on that

12:27 PM -- on the getting to know me piece: this is a much longer conversation and one that may or may be better to have in person. however, i'll say a few quick things.

12:30 PM actually, i'll leave it at that

Now, I know my email was concise and all, but it was still a letter. His response was so... formal. It must be the consultant in him. I let him know I had a lunch commitment for work and that I needed to leave the computer for a bit, but that we would catch up later. Do you know I didn’t hear from him for three weeks? No “Merry Christmas,” no “Happy New Year.” I didn’t even bother calling him on his birthday (December 27th) because I was so disappointed at having been ignored for a week and a half. Time passed, and I was slowing “letting HIM go” (aggressively, not passively) by occupying my time with the Holiday 5K, heading home, seeing an old flame, connecting with high school friends, etc. etc.

But this past Wednesday I decided I wanted to break the silence. Clearly he just wasn’t that into me. And, that was fine. I had been through worse. I could call a two-month fling what it was, and not be scarred by it. Yes, I would have liked to have seen our little blossom continue to bloom… especially during the cold winter months… but I could accept that that was not going to happen. I just wanted to know 1. if he had gotten some of his belongings that I had mailed to him and 2. what had happened? Had I done something wrong? Was he really THAT busy? (NO) Did he have the balls to say he just wasn’t feeling me anymore?

I sent a passive gchat note. He responded a day later with a passive reply. I have yet to say anything else. I’ve confided in Melanie to see if she has any insight; and all she harbors now is contempt for Aaron. She’s upset that a guy that smart could be so dumb. It happens. I think she’s more mad than I am! LOL. I’m not even mad, really. It’s like I said – he’s the biggest (and most confusing) highlight of Q4, 2009. And, perhaps that’s where he should stay…


The jury is still out on that one...

I Met a Boy, Part I

So, I took a little break in November in December. I had the time of my life, to be perfectly honest. The end of October was AMAZING. I was feeling myself. I can't even lie. I had gotten over the hurdle. There were some residual emotions, but I was working through those. I had raised the funds for the Light the Night walk, and completed the event with minimal tears. Homecoming season was right around the corner, and while I would not be attending my alma mater's annual festivities, there were two other HBCUs that would surely fill that void. In November I kicked ass at work, increasing productivity and content for our little online store by 250%. I kid you not. December was the wind-down month. It was full of holiday parties, charity work, warm, fuzzy emotional moments with friends, and plenty of reflection. I headed home for Christmas, and thoroughly enjoyed a week of shopping, drinking with Mom and friends, a major party, one late-night rendezvous, and plenty of much needed rest.

But the biggest (and most confusing) highlight of Q4 of 2009 is "the new boy". We'll call him Aaron. I met this young man at the first of two consecutive HBCU homecoming weekends. I partied for two weeks straight - yes I did. I deserved it! Anywho, I met this guy... well, I had known him for awhile... he's Melanie's boyfriend's BFF. And, awhile back he'd mentioned to Melanie that he might, sorta, kinda have a thing for me. Well, I was completely preoccupied with that trashbag of a man who shall forever remain nameless, so, I never paid him any mind. Welp. I called myself ready to entertain something new, and there he was - friendly, happy to see me again, slightly intoxicated, handsome, and perhaps still a tad into me. It felt niiiiice. We chatted at the tailgate, and even danced together at the massive block party into the early evening hours. Afterwards, the whole groups of us (me, Anisa, Melanie, Mel's boyfriend, the boyfriend's friends, etc.) went back to his place for post-tailgate/pre-game/follow-up drinks to keep the party going. His. Place. Was. AWESOME. A gorgeous loft with smooth concrete floors, an exposed brick wall, a sunken in living room, space for a dining table AND desk, a full downstairs bathroom, and a quaint upstairs bedroom. Being a consultant paid well, I saw.

We were drinking, and he was doing/saying all the right things: pulled me aside, told me he wanted to take me out... on multiple dates. Once to the art museum. Again to the movies. A third date with his "little brother" and my "little sister" since we were both mentors through BBBS. It was cute. And I was thrilled.  A nice guy who liked me?! And had manners? Where do those come from? People were starving and the two pizzas he had graciously ordered for the group had apparently evaporated or something, so he asked me to come outside with him so we could order Chinese. We were struggling. We were both drunk and, I don't know if you know this but, Chinese take-out places don't typically deliver. But we were steady calling these take-out restaurants for food, perplexed as to why they wouldn't deliver food to us. Yeah, we were in the hood... so? 

After call four or so, my stomach was still growling, my head started to droop in disappointment when he leaned in and kissed me. Out of nowhere. This shy, somewhat awkward, but otherwise really cute guy pulled me closer to him and just went for it. Boy. Oh. Boy. Do you know how long it had been since I'd been kissed like that? With passion but uncertainty? With newness and excitement?! It was the kind of unsteady kiss that had us backing into the hallway wall, stumbling over each other's feet, forgetting about it, sinking into it, losing ourselves, relaxing... Whew, chile. I want to do that again.

We made our way back inside, empty-handed, and decided  a drive-thru might be a better alternative for our hunger woes. He drove. And, at every stop sign, stoplight, and remote pause in our trip, we were kissing. It felt so amazing. It felt so freeing. It felt so naughty! LOL. Was I back in school? This was fun! Innocent enough, but still kinda sneaky. Right up my alley.

The evening passed quickly enough. Aaron kicked everyone out, claiming we were headed to the W. No one was really feeling that, so we ended up just peacing out. From there, though, bloomed a cute little thing. We had a lunch date two weeks later, and subsequent outings after that. I was enjoying it. Granted, he was hard to get a hold of lots of times - he traveled for work, and wasn't much of a "phone person" outside of that (as he put it) - but we were maintaining. And it worked for a nice little while... Well, a month and a half.

"Not a phone person," hm? I could understand that, and I could respect it... but it became more and more of a hurdle with every interaction. He wasn't much of a communicator period. There would be HOURS in between texts; days between simple "check in" calls; and, a convenient amnesia that seemed to creep into our plans every once in awhile. Like, how was I supposed to get to know this dude if we rarely saw each other, and couldn't catch up over the phone in the interim? Couple that with the fact that we began a physical relationship rather prematurely and, well, it ended up turning into more of "a situation". We were nowhere near a "relationship" and I'm too old to be called a "boo". So, we were dating, and sleeping together, but not effectively communicating - at least not to my satisfaction... and that was troubling.

The death of our "situation" occurred on the eve of his company holiday party. I had gotten all dolled up, and pissed because everything kept going wrong. I ruined my manicure. The rain was f-ing up my new hairdo. I spent too much money on make-up, and was rushed to get ready when he surprised with an early pre-game time. Whatever. I got to his place and broke the f-ing wine bottle opener in the cork of a Merlot. I gulped a vodka cranberry instead and just did my best to calm my nerves. I was too jittery. The party ended up being a blast. His colleagues were great. We followed that up with a trip to his friend's house celebrate a GRE completion for, none other than, his BFF - Melanie's boyfriend. Blah, blah, blah. We decide to go out for more drinks and celebrate. Aaron and I were the first to leave, and in the parking deck, while we were waiting for everyone else to come out, we start to fool around. I'm not going to bore you with the graphic details, but we ran into a little... um... uncomfortable/awkward situation(s). It hasn't been the same since.

Life Training

I've made my mother upset with me. Well, not "upset" upset... but, you know, more than uncomfortable. In my exuberance and excitement following the "Light the Night" Walk hosted by the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS) I decided to sign up for a half-marathon in March. LLS has this organization called Team In Training - a group of extreme sports athletes who raise funds for LLS and train for marathons, half marathons, triathlons, you name it.

The stars aligned to even get me to this point.  During my blogging hiatus I applied to Yale's Diversity Weekend and got rejected. In an effort to stay positive, I applied to Stern's "Women in Business" weekend, scheduled myself to attend a class and grab a coffee with a current student. In the midst of my NYU weekend, I met an applicant who happened to mention how she had raised funds for this organization because her father had Leukemia... 

"Wait, did you say your father had Leukemia? Have you heard of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society?" I inquired.

"Yeah!" she said, shocked. "They have this thing called 'Team in Training' where you train for these races and raise money for LLS. It's great because you have a team to motivate you even when you may not feel like training. They give you a coach, and a trainer... they prep you with all these health seminars along the way. It's really rewarding," my new friend said.

I was sold. As soon as I got back to work the following day, I googled TNT, found a local race, and bam! Not only was there an upcoming half-marathon in my area, but it happened to be the EXACT SAME RACE CeCe had mentioned to me a few weeks before. When she first suggested it, I was less than enthused. At the time, we still had our little 5K to run (we both killed that on December 19, btw). But knowing that I could continue to work with LLS and tone my petite little self at the same time was too much of a good thing. I let her know we were doing it, and even got her on board to fundraise with me. Friends - and I mean REAL friends - are very hard to come by.

Fast forward to this week. I had retrieved my mother's address book over the holiday break and let her know I was going to be sending fundraising letters to a good portion of the people in it. To be honest, when I drafted the letter for this particular fundraiser - much like the email I sent out for the "Light the Night" walk - I referenced my loved one as "a close family member". I tried to maintain anonymity and respect my mother's privacy.  But... Mom beat the cancer in October. She was feeling much, much better. She was singing, traveling, and living her life like her old self. So, in the final letter, to compel people to donate, and to make it even more personal, I stated I was raising the money for Mom. I was proud of her. I was emotional. And I wanted to let people know that my mom was one tough cookie.

Well. Tonight I got my first shocked phone call from a cousin. Wamp, wamp.

"HOW IS SHE? HOW DID I NOT KNOW? WE ARE DEFINITELY GOING TO DONATE."

While I was happy to get my point across, I knew my mom was about to be pissed about these upcoming phone calls. Seventy-five letters. I sent out seventy-freaking-five letters to family, close friends, and a handful of personal Atlanta contacts.

I've done the math, and I think only about 33 of the people on the list MIGHT actually call her... and that's if they have her number. But damn. This is exactly what she wanted to avoid by not having ever mentioned it to family friends before. Point taken. I'm sorry.

I called her to prepare her for what might ensue. She told me she was proud of me, and didn't want to rain on my parade, but this is why she hesitated to even help out with fundraising to begin with. She didn't like the way people looked at her or spoke to her when they found out she had cancer. She said people will continue to use the word "have" - the present tense - even though she's already beaten it. Once a cancer patient, always a cancer patient. "There's power in words," she said. "I don't want words interfering with what has already come and gone."

And perhaps this is just me, but that is where I disagree. God shines brightest through other people's trials and tribulations. We learn how to be strong by watching and surrounding ourselves with strong people. Over the past few months, I've had more friends tell me they admire MY strength than ever before. My strength? What makes you think I have that?

They watched me cry. They watched me pray. They listened to me rationalize. They saw me grow. They saw GOD carry me through what was truly the most difficult period in my life. And, you know, I hope that means I was able to bring at least one other person closer to God. I hope my overcoming was evidence for someone else to believe that God is able. God will not fail. He will not forsake you. He will carry you through.

And... well, maybe... I'm hoping that Mom will see it's time to shine her light a little too. When people call or approach her with the whiny 'how are you feeling' schtick, maybe she can just smile, gracefully, and let the person know she's feeling fine. She's 100% better. She's good.

And, maybe, when they ask how she got through it, she can say "the Lord got me through it."

And, maybe, it will touch one person. To touch just ONE would be enough. And they'll take those six words home with them and begin a new relationship with GOD...

Or maybe she'll just ignore her phone for the next few days.

Sighs. I hate when I get on a person's bad side. She's my mom, so I don't expect I'll stay there too long... but. Man. I was just trying to do something good! Something positive! For HER! My excitement got the best of me, I guess. Lesson learned. 

Motivation

It doesn't take too much to get me going. Attending an Alumni Reception on Friday evening to meet my alma mater's new president was an enriching and motivating experience. I met with the Dean of my former school, shook a few hands, misbehaved with my prophytes and linesisters, caught up with former peer mentors, and partook of free food and spirits. It was a lovely way to kick off a Friday evening.

Perhaps the most poignant part of the evening , however, was when the 16th president of our university stood to address the crowd. He spoke briefly about the present atmosphere on campus, and swiftly moved into where the university was headed. He told us he needed our help. His vision for our school was about more than being a "top HBCU". We were on the road to becoming a "top school" period. Whereas in my mind, I've always found my school to be a "top school" I could see how the masses might need convincing. And, I was ready to help.

Come 2010 I'll be joining the local chapter of our alumni association, paying dues, and actively recruiting high school seniors to pursue a place that I affectionately call home. I'll be sending chunks of my paycheck to the School of Communications in efforts to assist with the new building. My small financial donation will be honored with my own personal chair in the new auditorium . That's right. When the new school is finally built, and the new auditorium finally opens, you'll find a cozy seat with my name engraved on the back of it. For a school that provided an academic scholarship, a loving support system, stimulating coursework and memories to last a lifetime - the least I can do is give something back.

I'm finding that when I'm helping others and making a difference, I'm at my best. I like that feeling. Even when spending time with Ruby, or volunteering at a local non-profit, something stirs within me and warms my heart. Spending time next year recruiting high school students, giving back and continuing to network with fellow alum will be nothing short of amazing. Plus, adding philanthropy to my life resume just sounds so "grown and sexy"...

Friends Who F- Things Up

I need some friends who do dumb shit. I need friends who f- things up every once in awhile. I need some friends who make mistakes. I know I have them, but as I reflect upon some of the dumb things I've done recently... I don't feel like their sob stories compare.

I was taking Cece to the airport the other day, and her roommate overheard a conversation we were having regarding the boy. I lightheartedly (but seriously) mentioned that I'd like for him to get hit by a bus... or something to that effect. After giving the roomie the cliffs notes version of the story she reminded me to "be careful of my words" because "words have power". Wow. If I thought I had the capabilities of determining his fate, you can bet your bottom dollar I would have done so by now. While I understand that people can 'speak things into existence' I won't believe that my deepest desires for that boy to succumb to bewildering tragedy will happen until... well... it actually happens! I don't think my words have *that* much power, basically. It is what it is.

The conversation with the roommate progressed as I reflected upon what my mother had told me just a few short months ago. She said to me "Michele, YOU are still in a relationship with him, but HE is not in a relationship with YOU. So, you can spend as much time dwelling on this as you like - but until you get to the point that you don't care anymore, you'll continue to be in this relationship. You need to reach a point that - heaven forbid - he could fall off of a cliff and it would not phase you. You gotta move on from him."

Preach, Mama!

But the roommate contended that "not caring" is "not of God" and that if I'm depending on myself to reach that very extreme point, I may never 'get over him'. Fair enough. But THEN the conversation started to sound a little bit like a lecture. And, I had to turn my brain off for a second because I wasn't a fan of being lectured by peers. I have a relationship with God and I'm fully aware of how my actions played a role in the devastation of this summer. The course I used to 'move on' is mine and mine alone. If I need to make snarky remarks every once in awhile to make myself smile then so be it. God knows where my heart is and that is all that matters. More importantly, everyone in a relationship with God knows that it helps to share an empathizing story rather than quote gospel. The most compelling stories about God's greatness come from people with a TESTimony. So, don't tell me what I'm doing wrong - tell me something YOU did wrong and how God fixed it. It's difficult to hear God's word from someone when it sounds more like a Sunday School lesson than compassionate words from a consoling friend. Anyone can quote scripture and make you feel bad for saying mean things. Who can empathize, counsel and guide without coming off as condescending? Hmmm.

On top of that, a few weeks back I confided in Denise that I felt guilty for fooling around with a platonic friend when I knew he had a girlfriend. I. Am. Sorry. But we established a level of comfort a looooong time before he met this girl and when coupled with the fact that I'm LONELY and kinda-sorta don't give a damn, what we have is a recipe for potential disaster. She chastised me too. Look people - it's not like I don't already beat myself up when I make bad choices, okay? I'm an intense, borderline OCD perfectionist who has a hard enough time letting little shit go. I'm not a sociopath. I know the difference between right and wrong. But what the hell? Cut me some slack! Pat my back! Tell me it will be okay. I don't need a smack on the wrist or religious guilt. I need some reassurance that these shortcomings are a bi-product of recent events and do not necessarily reflect on my moral character. Tell me what I already know.

What I NEED are people who understand me, grant me wiggle room, allow me to vent, allow me to cross a few boundaries, and essentially prevent me from driving to NY and punching somebody. I need people who understand what it's like. People who have their own flaws and don't live in these cookie-cutter lives with all the answers but none of the testimony. I need friends with patched-up hearts, religious conviction, and empathetic wisdom... who happen to occasionally do some really DUMB shit.

Where ARE you guys?!

Note to Self...

Stop. Checking. Social. Networking. Sites. You. Dummy.

It's no good for you. You never learn anything useful. Who cares what he's doing? Who cares how he's feeling? Your trying season has changed for the better; his pleasurable season will soon come to an end. The same way troubled waters eventually wash away, storm clouds will silently creep into view. This rollercoaster called life cannot afford us those gleeful peaks without an uphill climb. And we never endure those valleys for long, because another exciting twist or turn is just around the bend. So, chin up. Shake it off. One mindless check-in isn't such a terrible thing - but it is unnecessary. Fabulous people with fabulous lives need not check in on the lowly, selfish, slimy hoebags who twice threatened said fabulosity.

Homeboy now has a blog and twitter account. How nice for him. He constantly updates his Facebook with pleas for people to follow him, keep up with him, check in on him and basically behold the mesmerizing nothingness that summarizes his life. How sweet.

He has plans to pursue business school with his 2.0 GPA and 2+ years of non-work experience. (Getting fired from Merrill and quitting a non-profit gig hardly qualify as "experience"... am I right?) Pah! I laugh at this. I hope the coldness of New York winter consumes his scheming little soul and leaves him shuddering in the misery of his own poor decisions. I hope he encounters insurmountable heartbreak and cries himself back to his southern roots for mama to take care of him - again. I hope life starts to reject him the same way he rejected me. I hope he gets hit by a bus. I want the universe to abort him.

It probably doesn't help that I checked his f-ing page after 6 flimsy hours of sleep followed by running 3 miles and almost hurling this morning... It doesn't help that I checked on him to delay the voluminous workload that's already beginning to wear me down. Now I can't even concentrate.

I'm cranky. But I'm also sincere. My anger has subsided but not completely dissipated. Linda isn't sure this feeling will ever go away, either. I hope she's wrong. Perhaps small glimpses into his self-proclaimed "happy life" will always trigger a tiny bit of anger or resentment. But that doesn't mean I have to fuel it. I'm actually fine. So, mosey along now. Nothing to see here.

Dear Boss

Dear Boss,

When we go over things in meetings - do you listen to me? When I clearly lay out the parameters of a project, illustrating costs, profit margins, investments and revenue totals - do you camp out in Lala Land until my lips stop moving?

For the past 6 weeks I have been working diligently on a project that has produced (aside from results) obstacles, challenges, setbacks, creative discrepancies, email floods, questions, comments, and maybe even a few gray hairs. Now that it's time to pull the trigger and start making deposits and other financial commitments to BACK said project, I'm confronted with even more obstacles, challenges, questions, comments and concerns.

No, sir.

I can not and will not be stressed beyond my current stress level, which is already high. I thought I had learned to relax in the workplace as a bi-product of the summer's events. Evidently I'm hardheaded. But as I sit here, typing, breathing deeply and recounting some of Linda's advice from my lunch hour, I have reached this conclusion: I cannot be consumed by nit picky trivialities that you overlooked the first three times I presented this information to you.

The reasoning behind this decision is that I have the tendency to wear my emotions on my sleeve. When I'm tired or stressed by work, the whole world can tell. I don't like that. I pressure myself to at least present the illusion that everything is okay... from 9 am - 6 pm at a bare minimum. When I go home, or find myself in the presence of friends, I'm allowed to break down and let it all out. But at work? I keep it professional. Well, to the best of my ability, which is trying when my workload is increased exponentially during the busiest and most pressure-filled quarter of the year.

Such is life.

Linda was helpful in allowing me to see that I can "have it all together" and still succumb to daily stressors in the workplace. My innate reactions are within reason and understandable, particularly considering what's at stake and the expectations of me. Anyone would be on edge. And, while that makes 100% sense, it doesn't completely set my mind at ease. When a person sets high standards for herself, and typically exceeds even her own expectations... what do you have? A recipe for success... or perhaps a catastrophe.

In the end, I'm confident I will close out 2009 on top as far as my career is concerned. In the meantime, however, I'm going to need my boss to pay closer attention when I explain things. It's really as simple as that.

Best. Week. Ever.

The storm won’t last forever. It’s funny, because it’s been raining cats and dogs down here all week. But, the tide has officially turned; the seasons have finally changed… and SOMEBODY is reaping all of the benefits. Last week was, by far, the best week ever! The events of the past few days have been breathtaking, enthralling, nostalgic, inappropriate, profitable and deeply warming all at once.

Last Friday I came home and did nothing - just what I needed. After leaving work at around 8pm, I reached my sanctuary for an ultimate wind-down of TiVo, peace and quiet, and much needed rest. Saturday I awoke to the rain. It was just as peaceful as anyone knows Saturday morning rain to be. While I would have loved to lounge around, I had a full day ahead of me – and I was ready for it! I showered, dressed, grabbed my umbrella and headed downstairs just as Cece was pulling up to my apartment. She was extending a heartfelt “thank you” to one other friend and me for helping her through grad school over the past two years. We enjoyed coffee and a filling brunch at Parish – a New Orleans inspired restaurant complete with recipes, ambiance and hospitality that instantly transported us to the Deep South. We then headed to the spa for deep tissue massages and facials. My goodness. My massage was so relaxing that I had trouble getting up once the 50 minutes had passed. Oils, fragrances, kneading, rubbing and soothing music all synthesized to produce a relaxing, somewhat sensual experience that I’m still trying to recreate for myself. I have a few ideas of how I could accomplish this recreation… but perhaps I’ll just rely on the memory of the experience for now.

As we departed the spa, tipsy with wine and merry with laughter, we watched Black Thought of The Roots casually stroll past us to check into the hotel. I was giddy to see him, knowing that just a few short hours later he’d be on stage and I’d be in the crowd screaming his praises. He was doing a free concert with Common and other guests that night. I couldn’t wait.

The concert did not disappoint either. Amerie and Boyz to Men made guest appearances. Common oozed with raw sexuality and poetic genius. The Roots performed classic hits, freestyled new ones and created an impromptu jam session that felt endless. Free Hennessy was flowing (I’m now a fan of brown liquor) and I was finally feeling like my old self. It was magical. I partied with new friends I had made in the entry line… and danced with old friends I’d made over the past two years. I was beaming the entire night.

Sunday morning I picked up a few extra dollars babysitting, I headed to the gym to train for an upcoming 5K, shopped for groceries, quickly showered and then went to a local indie movie theater to see “The September Issue” with friends. I was completely in my element. It felt nice to have cash in my pocket instead of wallowing in the misery of being broke. The jog at the YMCA was rejuvenating. I had meals for the week, and I was en route to attend a cultural event rather than a blockbuster movie premiere. I’m not bashing the latter; I simply prefer the former.

The week that followed began with a much needed talk with Dionne to address and resolve some of our lingering friendship issues. It went well enough, and I believe we’ll be able to move forward from here. I was also able to secure free football tickets the non-profit where I volunteer. I got a free gas card in the mail. I learned about discounts at local car insurance agencies (my mom has OFFICIALLY cut me off; I am 100% independent now) and eventually secured a great rate with State Farm. I transferred a chunk of my debt to a 12-month, 0% interest credit card. I ran three outdoor miles with Cece. I kicked off Wednesday evening with a simple enough happy hour and wound up at an MC Battle/Talib Kweli concert (for the free)!! I (inappropriately) flirted and entertained a platonic male friend who keeps me smiling though he’s in a committed relationship. I babysat, earning myself more spare cash. I attended an annual HBCU Classic football game (courtesy of my phophyte). I raised funds for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society in honor of my mother. I organized my life. I reached a few goals. I smiled.

Hello, Autumn. It’s so nice to finally have you here.

Food 101

Linda says I’m mildly depressed.

For the past week, I’ve unconsciously begun to own that concept and it has slowly ruined the past ninety-six hours of my life. It really doesn’t matter what I do. I’ve been to the gym twice, I’ve been to two happy hours and I’ve partied with high school friends who were in town for the weekend (even cuddled on the couch with one after the evening’s festivities were over). I spent Saturday night at home watching Gossip Girl and crying over the mushy parts. I’ve been to church. I’ve re-gained my appetite. And yet, nothing is wholly cheering me up.

Linda encouraged me to get back to my “normal routine” though I haven’t lately felt motivated to do so. She reminded me that, after any stressful situation, it can be difficult to get back into the full swing of things. So, that’s where the aforementioned events have come into play. I’ve been forcing myself to do the after-work activities that I normally do. I can’t wait until it starts to make a difference.

I’m down. And, it’s not even rooted in the issues surrounding my mom, grandma, that boy, or work. I’m just in an inexplicable funk; a “mild depression.” It troubles me to even say those words aloud. What’s even more troubling is that the life that surrounds me – one that once offered solace and refuge – feels more like a different planet as each day passes. Not only is my parent fighting cancer, but so is everyone else’s! Corinne’s dad. Melanie’s granddad. Denise’s Mom. WTF? Since when is cancer the norm? Why is it so pervasive? And when, for the love of GOD, is everyone going to get better?

No one prepares us for these things. No high school or college courses prepare you for the pains of real life. Going to class and making good grades? Check. Joining student council and working part-time? Check. AP courses, college applications, French club, dance club and graduating with honors? Check, check, check, check, CHECK. Dealing with heartbreak… watching a parent’s health fail… juggling personal and professional trials and tribulations... Um. Good luck! There’s no manual. There are no guidelines. And if you don’t have faith, you’re essentially left with nothing. Luckily my parents provided me with a sound spiritual foundation. I know and believe that God will answer my prayers. Even still, learning to pray, relying on that which cannot be seen, and trusting that everything will turn out as it should is difficult to learn. The Sunday school teachers and pastor can be the best coaches imaginable – but it doesn’t guarantee that any of us will ever be fully equipped with the spiritual playbook we need.

Learning to trust the God within us… and listen to the calm, soothing voice that guides our feet – THAT is what we’re all working towards. Knowing that our peace is not rooted in things or relationships (even the ones we think we can’t let go of), but rests solely in our walk with God – THAT is what we’re all working towards. The world could take away ever THNG we own, and every PERSON we love. Does that mean we stop existing? Does that mean we stop going? Does that mean we give up? No. We place our trust, our faith, and hearts in God’s hands. We leave it to God. And unfortunately, it takes life lessons to reach that point. It requires knowledge acquired inside and outside of the classroom.

Learning how to handle life, in essence, means learning how to live it. Just as toddlers learn to walk – slowly, pacing themselves with one foot in front of the other – we learn to live. We begin slowly. We make mistakes. We encounter obstacles. We fall down, but we get back up. If a toddler stopped trying to walk the first time it encountered defeat, it would crawl forever. Who can imagine a life like that? For that very reason, we must accept the challenges life presents to us and consciously move forward, no matter what new days may bring. We must keep going – though we sometimes feel as though we’re completely unprepared for everything being thrown at us. We must take things in stride. Grieve when we have to. Let go of the things we want and trust that we’ll always have exactly what we need. We’ll have to work; sometimes we’ll have to cry. We will keep trying. We will fall. We’ll stand back up…

Know that everything works out in the end. If it hasn’t

Oh Well

What you did to me
Made me see myself something different
Though I try to talk sense to myself
But I just won't listen

Won't you go away, turn yourself in
You're no good at confession
Before the image that you burned me in
Tries to teach you a lesson

What you did to me
Made me see myself somethin' awful
A voice once stentorian is now again
Meek and muffled

It took me such a long time to get back up the first time you did it
I spent all I had to get it back, and now it seems I've been outbidded

My peace and quiet was stolen from me
When I was looking with calm affection
You were searching out my imperfections

What wasted unconditional love
On somebody who doesn't believe in the stuff

You came upon me like a hypnic jerk
When I was just about settled
And when it counts you recoil
With a cryptic word and leave a love belittled

Oh what a cold and common old way to go
I was feeding on the need for you to know me
Devastated at the rate you fell below me

What wasted unconditional love
On somebodyWho doesn't believe in the stuff
Oh, well

Symptoms of Progress

It's interesting how progress can be so uncomfortable. So... uneasy. So un-easy. And yet, progress is freeing. It's liberating. It's fulfilling.

The drive home is always therapeutic for me. I can zone out, blast my iPod, and breathe easy. Heading home is centering because I know I'll soon be surrounded by people who love me unconditionally. There are no expectations of me, either. No one needs help with anything... except Paris, who needed help moving into her dorm. I don't have to cook - Mom and Dad still do that. No one needs to be taken out - Daddy takes ME out. I don't feel guilty about sitting around the house instead of going out and partying. I go to bed early and I wake up late. The phone doesn't interrupt my thoughts. I don't have to report in to anyone. There are no project deadlines. I can talk about myself endlessly without feeling self-conscious of self-absorbed. I can be honest. I can try and sort out my future with my parents, and know they'll offer guidance with ONLY my best interests at heart. I'm not obligated to say or do anything out of friendship, political correctness or standard networking practices. I'm not compelled to conform. I can be myself - the person I am when no one else is looking - and not feel bad about it. There really is no place like home.

The drive, however, is such a huge portion of the trip, that it takes on a life of it's own. It's as much a part of the trip as my actual destination. I can usually make it in 5 hours from door to door on a good day (with no paroling cops) or a maximum of 7 hours in traffic, with stops, and lots of police officers along the interstate. The music sets the tone. Fiona Apple is a favorite.

This woman is so beautifully intense. I remember in high school feeling a pure and real connection with her words, her music and her style. Even though at the time, I couldn't fully process what she was saying, and I couldn't really relate to her story, I understood. And now that I DO understand, and CAN relate, it feels that much more real. To endure hardships and remain standing really is a powerful and striking feat. Her eloquence amongst heart aching stories is what stands out the most. She captures the rawness of her emotions in heavy, layered, brutal but beautiful poems. Some are silly with a light undertone. Others drench you with tears, disbelief and depression. But she tells the complete story. She speaks of her triumphs and failures. She shakes some off; she carries others with her. Above all, she remains true to herself - unashamed... unabashed... bold. I love her for that.

When I traveled home in June, I couldn't stop crying. Every other song in the shuffle playlist had me in tears. Each song triggered a new pain. Each song triggered a reminder. Each song spoke a new truth. Friday's voyage evoked the same emotions, but solicited no tears. I smiled as I sang my heart out. I felt empowered by the fact that, little by little, I had moved beyond that stage of the grieving process. And, I marvel at the fact that I feel more "whole" because of it. I can empathize with her anguish. I can smile now, though just few months ago I felt incredibly wronged. I can breathe again.

The true test unveiled itself when "Oh Well" began to play. The opening chords stirred something in me as soon as I heard them. I inhaled deeply and began to sing... sans tears... loudly. I made it through the whole song.

I made it through the whole song... to the perfect summation:

What wasted unconditional love,
On somebody who doesn't believe in the stuff
Oh Well

Notes to God, III

Hi God,

::sighs:: I've been given a cumbersome load this summer. And, now that the seasons are changing, I'm reflecting on how I handled everything. I would say I did okay. I grew closer to you. I made some mistakes. I learned. I matured. I moved forward. But this weekend presented a new test... and I'm not sure why I needed to go through it. Perhaps my "street smarts" are not up to par with my "book smarts" but I'm not sure why I needed to be tested on those strengths just now? Not questioning you... just throwing that out there.

Friday was hectic to say the least. I woke up late, which meant I was late for my follow-up appointment with the doctor. I was having blood work done and getting a Tetanus Booster shot. Running late to that appointment made me late to my 9:30 meeting at work. That was just annoying. My manager understood and told me my health came first, which I appreciated. But DAMN. Why couldn't I have just gotten out of bed 30 minutes earlier? SMH.

I needed to go back home during lunch and straighten up my apartment. My cousins were going to be staying at my place while I ventured home to see Mom. The keys that I'd had made at Home Depot didn't work (again!) so they would be using my one and only key. I wanted everything to be perfect when they arrived, so I was exhausting myself to get things in order.

Rushed back to work to finish up a project that was due by EOD. Sped BACK home to meet my cousins, pass along the house key, and get on the road for my 6 hour trek to NC. I stopped at a gas station when a man stopped me to inquire about the dent above my right passenger wheel (from where I got hit a few months back). Interestingly enough, someone had stopped me about a week or so ago to ask about the very same dent, offering immediate assistance & repair... for a mere $400. Right. No thank you. Well this young, non-African American minority wanted to fix the dent as well for only $300! Now, I had just gotten paid, but I knew that was too much money to spend on a repair... especially in the parking lot of a gas station.

So, I pulled over to hear his pitch, and before I knew what was happening, he had jumped out of the car, was spackling little Jada with some green goo, and was hammering, prying and shaping the dent without my formal consent. He put the special goo all over the car really, telling me he'd get all of the smaller scratches/dents out for no extra cost. "I don't have $300," I said. "Whatever you can spare ma'am, God bless you," he replied.

I peered in his back seat and saw a young girl sitting there. His daughter, maybe? And sheesh, it was so hot outside. Was he really this desperate for cash? To stop me at a GAS STATION and perform an odd job on a whim? It was sketchy, I'll admit. But, why had so many men been asking me about this measly dent on my car? It wasn't impairing my driving. Why did they care?

Because I was an easy mark. I called three men in my life to ask what I should REALLY pay for the service this man was providing. He told me the "goo" needed to sit on my car for a few hours... to fully get the scratches out... and to protect the paint. So, I couldn't actually see how well he had repaired my car. My dad told me to pay the dude $50. My brother said $150. My cousin said "as close to $300 as I felt comfortable".

I should have listened to Daddy. I've been trying to get this stupid green gunk off my car for the past two days. After a few minor attempts I could see that the scavenging hustler lied to my face about every single "service" he was doing. The dent above my right passenger wheel is admittedly gone - but it still looks a hot mess. The scratch on the rear drivers side is still there - blatantly. The small scratches haven't disappeared. I'm upset about it. Why was he allowed to take advantage of me like that?

I didn't give him $300 like he asked. But I gave him more than $50! What's disappointing is that the money I spent was a nice chunk of the bonus from the hellish project I labored over this summer. That was MY hard-earned money. Gone. And this is the second time in one season a man has pulled the blinds over my eyes, sold me a dream, and left me with nothing. I'm tired of people taking advantage of me. Why does this keep happening.

I've been trying to process the whole series of events, and have decided I can feel one of two ways: 1. Glad I only spent the amount I did; appreciative of a lesson learned (albeit somewhat pricey); and hopeful that the money I gave him will go towards something worthwhile - like food or school materials for the daughter who was sitting in the backseat. 2. I could be pissed.

Obviously I'm going with the former, though the latter is still lingering in my brain. I'm pissed, man. That money was supposed to go towards my new David Yurman bracelet... or my upcoming GMAT class. Geez. That man got me on the okie-doke. I got "got". And I have no contact information for him... no nothing. I guess I was just so eager to finally have my car fixed... and happy to finally be able to afford it (even if it was in the parking lot of a QuikTrip). Now I'm out of money with nothing to show for it. I hope that man is enjoying his win.

So, I guess, God, I'm just wondering why that was necessary. Maybe he needed the money more than I needed a bracelet? Maybe you wanted to show me that I can't trust everyone. I really wanted to see the good in this guy, you know? I wanted to believe that he was doing something right; something positive. Trying to see the "good" in everyone sometimes gets me in trouble, however. It gets my feelings hurt. I can't always champion that glimmer of "goodness" into a personality trait. A glimpse of goodness does not a "good person" make. And, that makes sense. It sucks. But, it makes sense.

Thanks, God. Love you.

Are You Happy Now?

You know what else gets me? The fact that he's able to be happy without me in his life. That's a little narcissistic, no? But the idea that he could be truly perplexes me. How can he begin a new life without me in it, and honestly be happy? I haven't fully been able to re-start mine without him, and on most days, I'm pretty miserable. I'm confident that one day (soon, I hope) I'll be able to pick up those last pieces and start to march on again. But in the meantime, my only consistent thoughts have been of him. I wonder if he ever thinks of me? I wonder how often. And are they angry thoughts? Or, are they occasionally sad, remorseful, wistful, and/or depressing? I may never know.

How is it that some people are able to move on so quickly? Rapidly jumping from one relationship to another without any room to breathe or process what is happening in the midst of all of it? Can you honestly fall that hard, that fast? How is that possible? And, does it occur to you that you're hurting others in the process? Do you care about that at all? Does it even phase you? ::sighs::

Are you actually happy? Seriously? I'd really like to know.