Being about 'That Life'

I'm a lame.

I don't enjoy going to clubs, and I don't like bodycon dresses and can't afford red bottoms.

Though I can (and have) rock the hell out of a weave, I've been estranged from the track for some time now.

In a world where being a black woman is defined by hair, shoes and handbags, my identity is muted. I'm sitting back on the sidelines watching in confusion.

What do 'we' aspire for ourselves?...and is it so simple that it can be summed up by being tricked off and swagged out?

News broke this past weekend of a domestic dispute involving the recently wedded Basketball Wives cast member Evelyn Lozada and professional football player Chad 'Ochocinco' Johnson. While this post, or as I more accurately refer to them now as diatribes, is loosely influenced by their story, I'm not condoning any action of violence that occurred. Got it?... okay cool, follow me

We all know the girls out there that love to be seen and feel like they might miss something by skipping out on an event (All-Star Weekend, Award show after parties, fight weekends in Vegas/AC, concerts, etc...) you know, the mixxy chicks, get money girls, or the revolting, #teamBadBitch.... we all know some that aspire to take their place at the top. Or at least be able to chill at a table in VIP and "pop bottles"

So here's where things get tricky. The phrase "about That Life" is fairly new, but That Life is about as old as Moses.

The Life or The Game whether it be a woman hustling a man to get money, a man pimping a woman to get money or a man hustling in the streets to get money, that life or the game will always remain the same. The cast of characters is the only thing that's guaranteed to change.

My understanding of this comes from watching too many inappropriate movies and television shows as a kid and being raised by a woman that was always honest and never took to sugar coating.

There was a point in time when lifestyle portrayed in rap videos was alluring to me. My former teenage self was all about the boys with cornrows, chains and tattoos, while in reality there aren't any boys in high school that have this, unless his classroom was on a street corner.

Therein lies a problem, grown men have and can afford to (or at least front to) afford chains, rims (don't judge it was the early 2000s) and can groom themselves to look the part of what the girls like. And it was those grown men that were catching my eye, and unfortunately their grown asses were looking right back, and pursuing. (We can touch on this later...a completely different monster)

My mom always told me the stories of how her neighborhood peers made so much money hustling in the 80s that it was like a movie. And sure, we can watch Paid In Full or New Jack City and fantasize, but the stories I heard was about girls living in North Philly (her breeding ground) with "pockabooks" (how we pronounce it... ) worth thousands of dollars, jewelry, cars money, whatever they wanted, because they lived that life.

Flash forward to me in 2002, my mom saw that I was feeling myself a little bit. The dudes dug me, chicks were hating (...at least thats how I imagined it) and I could have easily transitioned into the game.

I was given a copy of 'The Coldest Winter Ever' by Sister Souljah.

My vantage changed. I asked questions. I wanted to know why Uncle 'So-and-So' was really in jail and why Aunt 'whats-her-face' was so haggered looking (...like I'd really name names)

All outcomes aren't as dramatic as the movies, but that game is real.

Groupies aren't just annoying fan girls. Some are very sophisticated, smart, and low key. They'd never approach anyone to ask for a picture or an autograph, but they know how to be at the right place at the right time.

Knowing all the pitfalls that come with being in the game, the players have to be dedicated and know for sure that it's worth the risk of getting into it.

I'm too sensitive and self-righteous. Money doesn't mean enough to me and fucking for a few ends, a semi-permanent spot in VIP and a nice bag would feel too demeaning.

But if I could take the, 'I love and respect myself too much' logic out of this situation, I'd be trying to secure my hotel and airfare for next year's All-Star weekend right now.

My gripe isn't that life, or the women that live that life. It's the inconsistency that bothers me. Those that talk the talk but get chewed up and spit out in the end are what makes the game so troublesome. Like they didn't know what they were getting into.

How could I ever judge the players of the game, when you see so many that win? Child support checks? Spousal support?... Roll your eyes if you want, but if you have the mentality of someone that feels that don't have much to offer other than a pretty face and a wet ass (as my mother would so eloquently put it) marrying and getting pregnant by a baller and living off the residuals is a win.

That's the point, it's a tough game, but you make it work.

Evelyn talked the best game of all the Basketball Wives, and for a while, it seemed like she was winning the most.

While compelling, and making for entertaining television, her story is no different than other women that find themselves involved in a relationship with a baller. They met (at a club) he swept her off her feet, she got comfortable and accustomed to the lifestyle, he proceeded to show his ass (cheat, lie, disrespect, etc.)

So she left (before or after his money disappeared remains a mystery that I wouldn't blame her either way) and landed a reality show. From there came celebrity and the introduction to another baller. A bigger one, with more money and a higher profile than the previous one.

Yet, this time things were different, she was bringing in her own cash and didn't have the identity as just some trophy.

So her reputation as a bitter and angry hothead was overshadowed by the fact that this new baller put a huge ring on her finger within less than a year of knowing her. While this seemed strange to the rest of us outsiders, it's common practice for these women to be involved with different ballers, that's how reputations are built and commodity is determined. (There's a difference between the Superheads/Kat Stacks and the Evelyns, but the common denominator is there's always a baller out there that's willing to get involved with both types)

With all that Evelyn had gone through in the past, she was prepared for the role as wife and the temptation that her husband-to-be would face.

She even asked that he be honest with her and to use condoms if the temptation became too hard to resist.

Evelyn even gave an interview where she detailed her sex life that in essence meant anything and everything she could do to please and satisfy him (including, bringing other women into their bedroom) she'd do it.

Then Saturday night happened.

Without going too far into detail, a receipt for a box of condoms was found.

So, speaking from the perspective of someone standing on the side watching the game, what's the problem? Is that not how the game is played?

As much as Evelyn had all of us and herself fooled, she in fact in not about that life.

Being the hottest chick with the baddest shoe game can't protect you from the shock of realizing that all of the material things won't keep a man from stepping out. Shit, even Halle Berry got cheated on.

So what is 'That Life' really about?... and can we as women really handle it?

Remember when Steve McNair was murdered by his mistress a couple of years ago? I bet when she realized he was married, she lied to herself saying that she could handle being the other woman, only to realize that he had no plans on leaving his wife for her, she snapped and took his life and her own.

If she was really about that life, that would've never happened.

'That Life' is a front. Let's be real with ourselves.

Every woman likes nice shoes, expensive bags and jewelry, but what any woman would appreciate the most, whether she realizes it or not, is to be respected. Until love and respect holds more value than a monogrammed bag and shoes that have red soles on them, the game will remain strong and the ever changing cast of players in the quest for 'That Life' will continue to entertain us.

Girls like you...

To preserve my sanity and as a ritual of self-confidence, I make it a point to not compare myself to other women. It's a lofty standard, and my record is nearly pristine,not counting that one time I walked by Kim K at the Grove and nearly disintegrated into an ugly pile unwomanliness.

Reality show superstars aside, I'm standing strong in all that comes with my experiences (good and bad) with my womanhood. 

With that said, I'm compelled to examine (vent, purge, rant...whatever you rock with) about a major pet peeve of mine: Girlish Women.

We all know at least one or two...might be you

At any rate, this isn't an attack (actually, it is. Just going to hit you with a soft blow that won't leave bruising) it's a plea for understanding.

Before I get into my bitter [sounding] rant, let me preface this with some facts: You're winning. You look good, have a great social life and at the present moment are likely excelling financially. Odds are in any typical social setting, the men I'm most attracted to approach you before me and the ones that I'm disgusted by stay far away from you and cling to me. And to be totally petty about it, your pictures on Facebook get more likes than mine. Congratulations. 

So here's my question: Why are you so fucking annoying? Like seriously, so blood bubbling, skin crawlingly, teeth clinchingly irritating. Why?

I guess my real question is this: What is the appeal of being a doe-eyed, helpless little girl that extends past puberty? 

As a confident woman (am I overstating this?) I appreciate a beautiful, charming and dynamic woman. There's strength in sisterhood. *Cue the kum-ba-yah*

But when I'm in the presence of a woman that defaults to the practice of the using the high-pitched baby voice, the squeling giggle, or by far the most revolting, the pouting of the lips, I succumb to a wave of primal anger. 

Strong words. I really mean them though. Not to worry babydolls, the primal anger doesn't reach a level of wanting to be violent, that's a level strictly reserved for people that yawn without covering their mouths. (Just know, if you're ever around me and yawn with your mouth wide open, I'm imagining how great it would feel to punch you in the jaw)

But back to the overgrown Shirley Temples... 

Help me understand how I can peacefully co-exist in a world with you.

Other than being a perpetual sex kitten, what are the benefits to your act? Is it to garner attention from the opposite sex? Is dumbing down yourself a part of your scheme to find your Mr. Right? Or are for entertainment's sake, Mr. Right-now?

Or how about in business? We all know people that are deemed attractive are more favored in business (to a certain extent), but how far do you think the sing songy voice tone will get you in a corporate environment? Or is your intent to be wifed up before that even matters?

My [brilliant] theory, you may correct me if I'm wrong, is this: you relied on this daddy's little princess routine as a child, and it worked. In fact, it worked well. So well that it became an innate charateristic of your personality.

There's also the other possibility that you may have been neglected. Not given the full love and attention that a young girl should have, and you do this to compensate.

Either way, here's the thing, why can't you turn it off? You know, like a switch. Turn it on when you're stroking the ego of some poor sap that is imagining how lucky he is to be talking to a girl as beautiful as you are.

But for the rest of us, that could give less than a fuck about how perky your boobs are, that you have a cute giggle, and don't find it charming or even remotely amusing that you don't know the difference between a slam dunk and a grand slam (not that you have to, but it's a tired joke), turn it off. 

I know, I know.... strong habits are hard to kick. But please give this a shot. It's so worth it.

Not saying you'll need to speak like you memorized Wikipedia, but it will help greatly to not say 'oooh' after you are given previously unknown information. (Bonus point: before you ask any question, think to yourself, 'Self? Can this answer be easily figured out with the help of a little environmental awareness and good old common sense?' If the answer is 'Yes' don't ask the question)

This was helpful, no? This is probably the most dialogue I had with you girls in a while. No worries, I'll limp back to my dark corner, and let you shine 

(P.S. Yes, I am looking at your boyfriend. Calm down, he hasn't paid me a bit of attention all night, you might want to check your homegirl though ;-))

Stay winning... for now *evil laugh*

Nasty Gal.

Meet Sophia Amoruso.

I find inspiration in just about anything, but what she says in this video really hits home

Moment of Brave Insanity

A mentor of mine suggested that I start recording myself on video as an excercise of confidence and a way to get my emotions out.

A lot can be said about some of the things that I've posted on this blog (some things I don't regret, some that I do) but, I've never dreamed in a million years that I'd record a video of myself and post it on the internet for strangers to see.

Writing honestly is one thing, but doing a video is another level of vulnerability that I never thought that I'd be willing to challenge.

Well... I did it. I'm absolutely certain that I come across as a damn fool, and chances are no one will likely watch this but me, but it's up.

It's me.  Crazy, honest and silly.

After I hit this 'Publish' button I'm going to hide in a quiet corner for a while and pretend like this never happened.

Thee Quarter Life Crisis... and Victory

Hello out there....

It's been months. Seems like the only time I post on this thing is when I'm in the midst of some life altering drama, unemployed or just have a spark of creative and motivating energy. Alas cherubs, I am able to circle the all of the above circle on this one.

Worry not, the doll of all things hot and messy is doing quite well.

I use the words crisis and drama to describe and outsiders perspective of what might be going on with moi.

To the average outsider my life is shaky. I've failed more times than I can count (probably more than I realize, but my delusions of grandeur won't allow me to conceptualize them) I'm isolated from the people that support and love me most (...ironically, the same ones that understand me least) AND I'm DEAD ASS BROKE.

I get bills every month in the mail and laugh. Seriously, Sallie Mae and 'her' notices... Bitch please.

My career... HA! 3 jobs in the time span of a year. The first one I ran out of like Angela Bassett as Tina Turner when she ran across that highway to escape Ike's crazy ass. The second... FAIL The third?... Man listen. At this point in my life, the 'paying your dues' speech means absolutely nothing. I'll spare the details, but let's just say telling your boss that she's inconsistent, a push over and focuses on irrelevant details is the quickest way to find yourself without employment. It probably also didn't help that I announced that I don't drink coffee and didn't give a damn what the rest of the office has to do to get their caffeine fix.

So here I am. Back to square one.

This post isn't a narrative of my insubordination and failure to comply with corporate culture. It's not another rant meant to inspire or declare myself a winner. The truth is, I believe that I'm a winner regardless of any career achievements I receive (...and likely won't) I don't give a damn about office politics and the ever so sickening 'playing of the game'

I'm writing this as my victory speech (permission granted to roll your eyes)

I celebrated my 26th Birthday a couple of days ago. It was a typically quiet and unrecognized birthday, like all the others (pardon me, I'm the type that gets emo and remembers how unpopular I've always been on the social scene...j/k I have friends!...j/k No I don't)

This birthday stands out more so than others because it marks the completion of 25.

25 was a doozy.

25 was hell.

25 was a blessing.

In a span of 12 months I've experienced every emotional high and low one could ever imagine. Giving you the play-by-play of the events of my 25th year would read as drastically dramatic, bi-polar and somewhat unbelievable sappy Lifetime throwaway. (If it ever come to be, may I request that my part is played by Zoe Kravitz? She's the only one that I believe best embodies my sultry-hippy vibe and old soul yet youthful sensibility. If she's not available, I'll accept little KeKe Palmer)

Surviving 25 and still standing (with my hand on my hip and my new grown woman booty poked out) at 26 shows me that all the cliche phrases we've all heard a million times are so true (cue in your Granmammie's voice: This too shall pass baby)

I will go as far to say that 25 was my life defining year, and standing on the back end of it makes me believe that anything is possible.

I've talked to a few of my peers and they confirmed with me that 25 was the 'What the Fuck?' year for them as well. That is if one is lucky. This year has also made it clear for me that not all adults are fortunate enough to experience this grown-ass graduation. 12 months ago if I was referred to as a 'girl' it wouldn't dawn on me. Try it now.... *wishing a MoFo would*

If I had to go back and relive that year, I wouldn't. It was scary. But what it gave me is so invaluable I wouldn't trade it in for any material possession or super power in the world. 25 gave me ME.

It was the year that I had to face myself upfront without any protection, excuses, validation or backup from anyone. The world showed how cruel it could be and made no apologies for it. Just when  I thought I was back on pace there was another curve ball thrown my way. Each one hit harder than the previous one.

Life does not slow down. The world will not stop and comfort you. If you're are lucky, someone will show you compassion, but don't mistake that for a pass to fall back. Keep going.

25 also showed me my weaknesses. It put me in so many uncomfortable and compromising positions and didn't relent until it made sure I felt every jab of all the battles that I'd eased away from unscathed in the past. I'll say honestly, some of the decisions I chose made me disappointed in myself.

I learned that the ones that I've trusted and relied on the most are not perfect, and are not always honest. It's cool, neither am I.

Through all the personal growth that I've accomplished at 25, I will finish off with the most enlightening (at least for me)... It's not THEM, It's ME.

Am I the only one that has the hard time with the following phrases?: Adapting, fitting in, adjusting, accepting my station in life, playing the game....

Yes? Okay, cool. Yeah, for 25 years I've wasted time trying to do those things. Guess what? It ain't happening here. In lieu of sounding like an angry, anti-establishment militant black woman, let me explain.

Earlier this year I read something in Sydney Poitier's autobiography that set me off. A phrase that I've heard numerous times, but never really examined until that moment. The statement read something like, working twice as hard as your white peer to get half as much.

Yeah... Fuck that bullshit.

The day that someone shows me who my white peer is, will be the day that I conform to the idea of playing the role of the non-threatening black girl that won't speak her mind for fear that it will come of as too aggressive. That same day I will pretend that I am quite okay with having the same educational background (Private school and college educated) as my white peer but will settle for making sure that same scatterbrained bitch has a hot pot of coffee every morning while she comes into work 25mins late and checks Facebook before opening her work email, all while getting paid more than double my salary.

No.

Well so much for not coming across as an angry black woman huh?

A well meaning acquaintance suggested that I settle into my station in life. That no matter I hard I work and how much I accomplish, I'll never be one of 'THEM.' He said that once I came to that realization, I'd have more of a concrete path to focus on and won't be frustrated with falling short of my lofty aspirations.

That's good advice right?.... The problem is, I was cursed with the lack of simple mentality.

So my realization that it's not THEM, it's ME is a lifesaver.

The game that I realized I'd been trying so hard (...or not so hard) to adapt to and failing miserably at was not my game. It's theirs'.

The same way that Lebron James doesn't compete with Tim Tebow is the same way I could never compete with anyone else.

My game is very different. 25 was my championship season. The parade happened on my 26th birthday.