Wine & Popcorn

What's wrong with Tough as Nails?

2010-03-13T14:00:00.000-08:00

Wives, submit to your own husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, as also Christ is head of the church; and he is the Savior of the body. Therefore, just as the church is subject to Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything. - Ephesians 22-24.

Plenty of women in and out of the Church are familiar with all or part of this scripture. Most greet the Word with tight-jawed scorn and the signature neck-rolled, slanted-eyed, "Well, that was then...." Men, on the other hand, cross their arms over their chests and nod in affirmation, "Yeah, I am the man, because God says so." Even I roll my eyes to that one --- to both of them.

I was raised in a family of strong women. I have seen a female relative verbally cut her man's penis off and put it in her purse. I've seen the man walk away with slumped shoulders and lowered eyes as he thinking of the face that he's gonna put on for the boys. But I could always see through it. I hate that. There's nothing like seeing a man cry -- on the inside or out. Then she's pissed off because she can't seem to get him to do what she wants and then claims he's not man enough for her. Duh, stupid. He's not a child. He's a man, and what you say as his woman can a lot of times determine how and what he does. It's just how you put your mouth to it.

On the same hand, I disagree that just because a man is a man, that he must be obeyed. Hell, even men don't believe that. Boys know nothing about being a man and a lot of grown men don't have grown man sensibility until they are only old enough to just tell someone else about it over barber shop talk and coming-of-age discussions over dominoes or spades. Or, folks have got the wrong idea about submission. Submission does not equate to slavery. Therefore, a man does not have to put his hands on a woman or holler like he's cussing horses, to get her to do what he wants. And woman should not feel like less of a lady to get down on her knees for her man. It's an honor to serve a king, to be called by him, to be treasured by him, to be loved by him. Just make sure it's not a jack.

As a baby Christian, well, I was still a baby age-wise, but I decided I would not be offended by this submissive verse. I knew that all I wanted was to please God in every way. So if God wanted me to be submissive, fine. You got it, Daddy God, but on one condition. I will do whatever you say, because I know you will help me do it. I said I will be submissive to my husband if you send me a husband that I could submit to. The end.

Husband. Sent. That I can submit to.

Therefore all of the jokers who come worming around wanting to tame the untamable can hang it up. It won't work because the question is, "Who are you?" What have you said or done to make her want to trust you? Then a lot of men meet a woman like me and automatically think that's what they want. I hate to play devil's advocate and agree so strongly with my ex-husband, but "Man, you don't know what you're getting into."

And then she shouldn't have to chase you. Every profound connection that I've had with a man just snuck up on me. I had no idea he was interested, even when he did stop me directly. He had to make it plain. And finally, a man has to be ballsy to submit first. Know that you don't know every doggone thing and that you aren't the only one who knows that. Hello, I know it, too. But that doesn't mean you can't find out.

Then don't try to feed a girl some bogus lines and expect that to hide your true motives. She's certainly beautiful, which is nice to hear, but hardly a pantie-dropping compliment. Really, now, ladies -- do you think they guy would run up on a girl he thought was ugly? But don't get it twisted, fellas, we LOVE to hear it. It just won't seal the deal. She knows she's smart because she's probably still paying for it and even though she didn't ask for your help, doesn't mean she don't need it. Ladies, kill that front. There is not a door, or a gas pump, or a small of a back, or a lawn mower, or heavy box that doesn't have a man-that-you-know's name on it. She knows she must be funny, because you laughed or she made you uncomfortable. And if she's not, fake it like she does for you. Just that. Any other faking is not funny.

I always ask a new likey if he's a praying man. Yes, spirituality is very important, but I ask for different reasons. I know if a man really is interested in me, and really wants to stick with me, then he'll have to be a praying man. I know what I want, but I don't always know what to do or what I'm doing. So hell, don't ask me. Ask God -- he made me & obviously put something in you that liked me. You're the crazy one. It's not impossible to love a strong woman. But it's not for the faint at heart either. If you're not sure if you can take it, you'll soon find out the same way a cowboy finds out how the ground feels. Hard as hell.

So what is it that will get a woman, tough as nails, to break? Men, it's what you know and what you do. Admit that there are times that she has been or will be stronger than you and that you love her more than she knows, regardless of how she feels about you and you don't care who knows. To say that you will be with her, even when you aren't around and there's nothing that she can do that will change how you feel about her because you say it and that's it. The end. That is the strength to break the unbreakable.

Show her that there is nothing wrong with a strong, beautiful, successful woman who knows who she is and knows what she wants because it never takes anything from who you are; being strong enough to love her only makes you stronger. Show her that, and you will see a woman who loves you more than your mother could, who never feels ashamed to call you king of the castle and crowns you in the bedroom and in the street. She will bear your children and your burdens, and walk beside you or behind you or in front of you as long as she is walking with you. Her voice will be your banner and your comfort and her hands will be your beer snuggie and your masseuse and your chef and your confirmation that YOU ARE THE MAN!

Caution: Step Away From the Skirt

2009-07-28T23:28:00.000-07:00

Ok, I usually comment on my own inner turmoil, but today, I must reflect on the chaos outside of myself. Brothers, what the hell are y'all doing? I want to clarify that this term "brothers" is not limited to men of African descent, but to all men to whom the following question applies. If a woman says, "I don't want to be bothered," why is that so hard to believe?

It doesn't have to mean that she's a lesbian, married, has a STD or even gas. It just means she doesn't want to be bothered. It may not mean that she finds you unattractive , or that she already has a man, or anything. She just does not want to be bothered.

Sometimes women want to go out and have a good time and not have to be anyone else's anything. Not a mama, not a girlfriend, not a wife, or a nurse or a teacher or anything. She just wants to be a woman. She doesn't want to feel like she has to dress for anyone but herself. We can look good just for the woman in the mirror and that's ok. Whether you like it or not is purely inconsequential. Sure it's nice to be complimented. I am not knocking that at all. Sure it is nice for someone to be attracted to you. That's just the cherry on the banana split. But honestly, if she verbalizes that she wants to enjoy the evening without the potential of going to bed with someone, then why can't men respect that?

If more brothers would stop trying to play "Captain Save-A" then that would eliminate 85% of the use of the "B" word. Now the other 15% still applies. But seriously, fellas, pick your battles. It's one thing if you already know a woman and you know her moods. Maybe she does want you to pursue her and show that you want to make her happy. But Brothas, if you just met this girl and she seems to be enjoying her evening alone, chances are that's how she wants to end it -- alone. If you suavely set your course to her table and ask if you may join her, you may get 1 of 3 responses:

A) A smile a quick glance, and "Sure," which means the game is on;
B) A frown, rolled eyes, and the "neck roll" -- keep on movin' buster, or
C) A doubtful gaze and a dry "Free Country" -- you might want to double check your watch. Two minutes is about all you get before you can easily piss her off no matter how charming you are.

Some man with some sense needs to rewrite the Playa Handbook. Or maybe some of y'all just need to read it. There is a time and a place for everything. If a woman says no, leave the lady alone. It's not always one of those scripted moments where she really means yes. Honestly, she'll probably respect you and maybe even like you a lot more if you give her the space that she requests. Otherwise, you might be walking into Cat Scratch Fever. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Numbers

2009-07-27T15:40:00.000-07:00

The first chapter of Numbers in the Holy Bible is a record of a census taken of the Israelites. Every person was numbered for his tribe, his ancestry, and his purpose. Have you ever numbered the people in your life? Have you taken a census of who you know and why you know them? Why you continue to keep them in your life -- in your mind?

First encounters are so interesting to me. When I meet someone for the first time, I often wonder, "Where is this gonna go?" Some people are only in my life for a season. I wonder will it be a winter or a spring?

I never try to hold a first encounter against someone. It can be misleading. But it's the second time you run into a person. When you catch them off guard. Maybe, you see them and they don't see you yet. When they haven't had time to rehearse or fix their hair or check their breath. That awkward smile and the look that says, "Hey, I've met you before and now we are in the same place at the same time, again." I love that look. It's like now I can really talk to you and find out what you are about.

I have met some intriguing people. It's like -- "OOh God, I didn't know you made 'em like this," like a new candy or something. But then it could be like those dark jellybeans and you don't know if it's grape or licorice. You take a bite into this new relationship and brave the flavor, hoping for a pleasurable aftertaste.

But then again, everyone has a place. Everyone you meet has a singular deposit for your life, whether good or bad. We either learn from this person about them or about our lives. Sometimes the message is not so profound. Sometimes it's just a whisper or a glint of a reflection of who we really are. But sometimes, you mean so much more to the other person and you may never know.

I have some folks that have stuck around in my life.I still don't know why. Then they secretly revisit me like that piece of chicken that you just couldn't get out of your teeth and then it finally comes around and you remember how good it was. I have those strays that tend to magically appear with a funny face. Then they mysteriously disappear as if they were never there. Then all of a sudden, a familiar face reappears as if it had never left. I had to learn that when the cat comes back, the very next day, that Mama must be putting the good milk out. If you feed it, it comes back, makes a home there. Even though I may frown at one's pitiful existence, I know deep down, I am relieved. Even strays keep the rats away.

New Rules

2009-07-21T18:08:00.000-07:00

In Leviticus in the Holy Bible, God gave the Israelites a bunch of new rules that seemed staunch, but were essentially set up to protect them. I have been considered by some loved ones, to be wandering through a wilderness right now, waiting for my divorce to be final and anticipating what's next in my life. And now everyone is trying to come up with these new rules for my life to protect me. I can say there has been a change in my climate. I've been shark bait, emotionally vulnerable, and hotter than a virgin in a pro-football locker room. I've heard everything from, "Be careful," "Do you," and "Don't do anything at all." The craziest thing I've even been told was that I cannot think on my own and that I need counsel on my life choices at this point. Like I need a mental accountant. Yeah, right!

It seems easy to make decisions for someone else about their situation when you are not directly involved. Sure, you can say how you'd handle it, if it were you. But that's just the point. It's not you, it's me. It's hard for me to accept any person's advice who A) does not know everything that has happened, B) claims that I can't hear from God myself about what I should do, as if my prayers are blocked by a pre-divorcee' film, or C) starts off their statement, "Well, all you need to just...". NO. It's never that simple.

All my life I have tried to do what's right, whether in God's eyes or in man's. I found that the art of people-pleasing is a con. Not only are you fooling others, but you are fooling yourself. I had to learn the hard way that the only rules I need to stick to are the ones decided by me & God. God knows my heart and He knows what He wants me to be. I have to find that out and live according to my own standard.

For some strange reason, I've been preoccupied with everyone else's feelings other than my own. Like my happiness doesn't matter. Like it's ok to sacrifice my peace and joy and sanity so someone else won't get mad. I felt that if I could appease my circle then I could have peace, too. What a crock! Unfortunately, some of the main people who were so near and dear to my heart were the first one's to turn on me. Really, they tried to make me drink my own poisoned blood. It was the most crushing, humiliating, debilitating experience to have my own turn on me. I had never experienced that before. But I've learned, it's part of growing up.

Now I have amended the rules for my life and my heart. I have fresh spectacles that let me see beyond the consciousness of my youth. I can't say that I don't still make mistakes, but I have learned to look at situations with an adult perspective. I am learning to discern what's real and what is bull crap. I know that just because people want to love me, they don't always know how. I've learned that you can't hold someone accountable to what you have not clearly communicated. And finally, I've learned that no one is all good or all bad, even me. I can be loved in spite of and that I should never, ever try to change for someone else. I am fearfully and wonderfully made and most people fear what they don't know.

But somethings will never change. I know that if I love someone once, I'll never stop loving them. And I know that I'll never regret loving anyone. Life changes and the rules might need to change with it.

Dance with my Daddy

2009-07-16T12:01:00.000-07:00

With my arms raised in two thin, brown arcs, I close my eyes and tilt my head this way and that. I am dancing with my Daddy God and it's the safest, most loving place I can be.

My Earthly father is a great dancer. He likes to swing and rock to the rhythm with such ease. We both have long feet, so our toes do the tango as well. In the past year, I have relied on my father to step in again and be the man in my life, where someone else should have been. I remember the days of my youth, when I was a daddy's girl. I loved my mother terribly, but I wanted to be everywhere my father went. Except when my aunts were around, because they had the greatest gossip, you could catch me running at his heels or sitting on his knees. There was nothing I wanted more than to fish with him, cook with him, learn to play cards and spank the table or mimic his thoughtful expressions in a good chess game. I wanted to drive like him - reading and steering simultaneously, and read and be smart as he was, with a thirst for knowledge that related to "God and the real world." My father had a profound impact on my formative years where, even through his faults, he taught me how to be the a good person and his conversations taught me to be the type of woman that a man could respect and admire.

Sadly, his employment and my own pre-pubescent relationship shattered our friendship. He had to work all the time. I felt like he couldn't understand where I had been. My heart had been broken by another. The first time in my life. And I felt like I should have never been in that situation in the first place. I had loved to soon, foolishly, as young people do. I was too embarrassed to tell him all the details. And he probably would have never known to ask, save the uneasiness that fathers have as daughters emerge into womanhood.

I eventually picked myself back up, he changed jobs a few times. But I felt like I lost a necessary connection and I did not know how to get it back. Over the years, my siblings often resented my dad. Our family's financial struggles created tensions that everyone dealt with in their own ways. I wanted more than anything during this time for my dad to know that I still loved him and still believed in him. I had to. He's my dad. Then I developed an innocent crush on a choral music teacher. His efforts to control the class and make something amazing out of his dreams reminded me so much of my father. I wished that the rest of the students could see him as he wanted to be and that they would not detract his unrefined, blue collar demeanor. I followed his passion for music and pure sound like a young, eager convert. When I accidentally started crying while I explained the piteous, romantic tone of one of our practiced pieces, I think I scared him. He quickly diverted his eyes, barely recognized my comment and moved on. I felt mocked and betrayed. I had never been so embarrassed in my life!

Henceforth, I learned to live above the game. Backroom eavesdropping of my brother's conversations with his friends taught me exactly the kind of emotional mess of a woman not to be. My daddy's frat stories came to my remembrance every time an older man seemed a little too interested in my affairs. My dad and I spoke briefly of my college beaus, even though he met them all. But I basically handled my business from a defensive end. When I decided to get married, I did not need him to be daddy anymore. I would not even let him preside over the wedding ceremony. "Just walk me down the aisle and give me away," was all I asked. Tearfully, he did, as much as a loving father could.

Fast forward to the present, I am reminded of how important it is for a woman to have a good man in her life. My father picked right up where he left off, even though he never did leave me. He gave me away and when it was time, and he welcomed me back home when I returned. He has been a rock for both me and my daughter to anchor our feminine sensibility. I know her father will always be in her life. I am so thankful that despite the song my heart sings or the dance partner that I choose, my father has always been in mine.

Exodus

2009-07-14T15:04:00.000-07:00

What does it mean when someone leaves? Was it your fault? Was it theirs? We often want to blame the other person, even in death, or even if we know we had a hand in that person's absence? But who's fault is it, anyway?

When my husband left, I couldn't say that I saw it coming, but I can say that I was not surprised. There are signs in all these circumstances. I think we are saddened by the fact that we have missed the signs. People can be gone from our lives before we even know it. I find myself hanging on to dead relationships long after they should've ended. It's like holding hands with the dearly departed while the grave digger is shoveling soil over the casket. Who is it that can't let go? Is it the frozen beloved, that will never change and is never coming back, at least not in this form. Or is it me, scared to see what life is like without them, as if life wasn't, before they came?

I know if I love someone once, I will always love them. It's like how energy is never destroyed, it just changes its form, moves, is redistributed. I am learning to redirect that love back onto an ever-straining source. I learned in marital counseling about a love tank that everyone has and that couples are supposed to fill each other's tanks so neither goes empty. But we are usually on the down side of love, giving too much of nothing from a dry, parched tank. Or we are filling up with gas, puffed up from sucking another love tank dry. Are we so selfish and scared that we don't share love, make love?

I wasn't angry at first, when my husband left. I did not want to commit him to loving someone that he could not. He has a choice as do I, to love whom he wants and to be loved in return. But if it had to end, I wish we could've done a better job of loving each other purely and unashamed. Adam and Eve hurt one another when they did not communicate and when they were ashamed to be naked in front of one another. Who else was there? Yes, they were ashamed in front of God, too. But they were ashamed to be pure and free in front of each other.

The next time I love someone with all my heart, I want to be "naked with the lights on" unashamed of who I am and who he is. And I know when we do depart from our loving embrace that we will see each other, by and by, soon and very soon.

Genesis

2009-07-12T12:10:00.000-07:00

Therapy wears many a mask. And I believe at some point in life, everybody needs some. I mean, there is no possible way of peacefully getting through this labyrinth called life without a mediator for our thoughts and our experiences.The two just don't seem to match up.

Sometimes all it takes is a therapeutic phone call, a couch session. A moment to verbally vent, to hear what you're thinking and have someone else shrink your thoughts into some manageable application. This only works if you can walk away with something you can actually DO. Otherwise, you've just yacked off your whole appointment or lunch and you just feel good enough that you gotten that stuff out. Then comes the question, "Well, now what do I do next?"

Sometimes you gotta work it out. Maybe sex, a drink, or even some other haphazard behaviors (for those who don't take life or the law very seriously). But when you come to, you're just sore, even more tired, and can't find your panties. Since I'm not a user, I can't say what druggies might do, but I suspect they are not as fulfilled either, which usually just results in another hit.

Sometimes, it is most therapeutic to create something beautiful out of a tangled mess of life and emotions. People paint, sing, exercise, and make music. I know lots of people who have done all of these things. Their messes have been masterpieces to share. Shamefully, I am thankful for those creative, chaotic episodes that my savant friends have experienced. Their pain has created fortune from their misfortunes and I think they are terribly cool people and a joy to be around. I love Prince and I think my favorite song, "Purple Rain," evolved from another Gemini's failed relationship. But it is sheer genius, melancholy, and eurhythmic.

I write. I love words and the power behind them. When I write, I can voice all of the things that I am embarrassed to say. I love the fact that you can speak something into existence, as God did the world, and it kinda hangs there in eternity. I like to know that my words can be like the sun, moon, and stars in someone's life. What I say can move like oceans and winds and can cause things to grow. And if I express the dark and dirty mire that lingers inside me, I can pile it up so high to create mountains to lift the good inside of me up! "I CAN AND I'M BEAUTIFUL AND MY SEX IS THE BEST!" And just like that, I have made made magic words into a reality.

This is my wine and popcorn. This is my therapy and the beginning of my love letter to self. At the end of any day, I can curl up on my couch, put on a favorite movie (usually Love Jones) or tv show (Sex and the City re-runs) with a glass of wine and a bag of popcorn. It's a guiltless snack and something to knock the edge off. I know that I'm not perfect, but whatever has happened is over and done with faster than these divorce proceedings. You know, how is it called "proceeding" when it doesn't seem to be going anywhere? Hmmm?

In that moment, while my kid pretends to be asleep, and my feet are resting from my day's misadventures, and I'm waiting for that late-night phone call, where I have to be someone else's goodie-goodie, because it ain't all that good for me, but, it is what it is; I can close my eyes and think of where I want to be with every scintillating sip.