The Rain

 

It is raining cats and dogs in DC today y’all. And it’s cold as a bitch too. I just got soaked a few minutes ago, and I was pissed off (black people can’t stand getting wet) until I went on youtube to listen to some tunes. Youtube is indeed the devil, but dammit if it doesn’t pass the time away.

Some people say that the rain makes them want to stay home all day and practice making babies. Yeah, I feel can feel that. I’d rather practice making babies in my office right now because I’ll be damned if I get in my car and go home in this shit. But for me, when it rains and the window is cracked a little bit to get the smell of rain and a slight breeze in my crib, I like to listen to some GOOD music (a.k.a. music written before 1991). I feel like listening to sad shit right now but I really don’t know why. I’m in a pretty good mood. And, I don’t know where this post is going, so bear with me…

This morning I was thinking about how hard women love. It’s actually very remarkable. The dude can be the grimiest person in the world, but if his women is in love with him, she will put up with so much. She will ignore his cheating, and she will ignore the man attempting to court her that has all of his ducks in a row just so she can keep abusing herself. All because of her love for this man. Amazing!

OK, true, there are men that love trifling women, but they are usually pussy-whipped (I’ve been there, and it is not the bidness), or just glad that someone is giving them some sweet thang.

But the thing with women is like heroin. I spoke with a recovering heroin addict not too long ago, and he said that the whole addiction is based on the fact that the addict is trying to get as high as he got the first time he shot the dope in his arms. The problem is that the addict will never feel that high again, but he thinks that if he tries it one more time, then maybe he will feel as good as the first time. Then he gets sick when he tries to kick the habit, and he eventually goes back to shooting it up again because he has been in a comfort zone for so long that he feels all wrong when the “dope” is not in his life (yeah, I know. Run-on sentence). Wow, that’s kinda heavy…

Trifling brothers will put on the most beautiful mask in the beginning, and once his woman is trapped, or “hooked on the dope” if you will, he will show his ass. He will break her down, and she will feel sick every time she decides to “kick the habit.” When she finally goes to rehab (usually after a tragedy) and kicks the habit, she becomes very paranoid and she won’t be able to decide whether the next “drug” is good for her or not. Damn…

So, anyway, we were talking about music and rain right? Holy shit! My brain is all over the place today! Well…..speaking of drugs and women, check out the video above. It is one of the saddest songs ever, and it happens to be one of my favorites. Oh shit…is the sun trying to come out?!

Sticks and Stones…

 

Is it worse for a heterosexual person to call a gay guy a “faggot,” or for a white person to call a black man a “nigger?” This was inspired by a lengthy conversation I had this morning on the issue. I think they are both horrible words, but I stated that I thought that the word “nigger” was worse because of the long history of the word, the 400-year struggle of the black race in America and yadda yadda, but my point of view could possibly be skewed by the fact that I am prejudiced a black, heterosexual male.

The person that I debated this issue with had some good points, including that “niggers” can get married, but for the most part, gays can’t, therefore being called a “faggot” is worse. As if!!! Please discuss…

My Everyday Struggle: Religion

 

I was raised by my mother, who was, and still is, a devout Christian. I attended church most Sundays throughout the first 16 years of my life, and for the most part we attended Charismatic churches. For those of you unfamiliar with the “Charismatic Movement,” it is very similar to the Pentecostal denomination of the Christian Church. You absolutely know when you’ve been to a Charismatic church service; no sleeping going on in there! For one, many parishioners speak in tongues, and believe that God has given them the gift to speak in tongues. Now I could be wrong, but the purpose in speaking in tongues is to be able to pray for things that your conscience mind may not think about praying for. (Please correct me if I’m wrong about this, but this is what I remember being taught regarding speaking in tongues).

During my adolescent years, I also attended some very small (maybe 12 people) churches where services could last most of Sunday. Most of the time, you could forget about watching any of the 1:00 football games on Sundays. During these services, there was, of course, a collection of funds and a sermon. Most of the time the pastor preached, but sometimes one of the church members would prepare a sermon for the weekly service. I think I remember my mother preaching a sermon (she actually did very well).

Also during these church services, exorcisms would take place. Now don’t get me wrong, I never saw people’s heads spin around, and I never saw people literally bend over backwards, but I did see some pretty dark-sided stuff. Parishioners often had demons or whatever inside of them, and they would ask the congregation to cast them out. There would be alot of yelling, screaming and speaking in tongues performed by church-goers in order to cast the spirits out of their friend in need. They would “cast out” spirits of envy, fornication, promiscuity, jealously, etc. You name the “sin,” and there was a name for it.

My mother also hosted prayer meetings at our house on Saturday evenings that would sometimes go on until 3 or 4 AM. These meeting were attended by all women, and some women would bring their children (some were my age or older) if they couldn’t find someone to watch them, or if their kids just wanted to hang out in my room and play Nintendo or whatever. I enjoyed the food that people would bring over for these meetings though. Much to my embarrassment, many of the kids in my neighborhood would walk by my house on Saturday evenings and listen in to the unintelligible words coming out of the mouths of the 15 or so women in my living room. They asked me a few times at the bus stop the next day WTF was going on, and I would give some dumb answer. They stopped asking after awhile. Needless to say, the whole process freaked me out.

They would often lay hands on me in order to get the evil out, but I never passed out or anything. Every now and again, they would pray for me to be baptised in the Holy Spirit, which basically meant that I would be able to speak in tongues. I actually wanted this for myself mostly because I wanted to know if it was real. It never happened. Maybe I was too evil. Or maybe I didn’t want to sip the Kool-Aid that they were handing out. Who knows? I am still learning, and only God knows what type of lessons will slap me in the face this year, or further down the road. But I always felt that my mother and her friends/spiritual advisors were digging into some stuff that they had no business messing with.

As you’ve probably noticed, I am pretty observant. If we are together, and neither one of us is talking, I am constantly looking around to study my surroundings. With that said, most of these women that I saw on Sundays were miserable. Most of them were single (not to say that a spouse is the key to happiness, but they always talked about finding a husband). Some looked aged beyond their years. One of the ladies who was considered a spiritual adviser amongst the crew looked 25 years older than she was. I always wondered why these women were so beat up. You would think that people as obedient to God’s word as these folks were wouldn’t be so miserable. Maybe the abuse is part of a much bigger plan, but I do know that the people that introduced my people to Christianity have lied to me so long that I don’t know what to believe. For all I know, the exorcisms and what not could be a form of schizophrenia, or it could be that people have suffered so much that they want something to believe in. I always struggled with that notion, and that has caused me to stray away from religion…at least for the time being.

Now don’t get me wrong; I am not an atheist. I am not a Muslim. I really don’t know what I am. I definitely believe that there is a spiritual realm. I think it’s foolish to believe that some higher being didn’t create all of this. The Earth and it’s beings are way to complex for there not to be a master plan in all of this. I just don’t know what to believe anymore…

We’ve all heard some folks say that Christianity was spoon-fed to us by the “white man” in order to keep us in our place during slavery, and after slavery. “Turn the other cheek nigga, as the good book says. All of your suffering, working for nothing, the whelps on your back and your separation from your family are part of God’s plan. Now plow them fields!” We are told that the “white man” actually saved us from our own ignorance. We were shucking and jiving in Africa for thousands of years until the pure white man came, tainted our blood and introduced us to Jesus. I guess we owe the white man reparations huh? I’m sorry, but I can’t buy it.

I can remember asking this question to a few pastors while growing up:

“What is going to happen to all of the people that are part of remote tribes in Fiji, or Thailand that have never been exposed to Christianity? Are they going to hell?”

The answer was usually:

“Yes, they are going to hell because everyone in the world will be exposed to Christianity before they die, and therefore if they knew what was best for them, they would’ve accepted Jesus as their saviour.”

Oh really? It seems awfully arrogant of us, don’t you think? How would Christians feel if a large group of Muslims tried to force their way of living on them? I’m not a prophet, but I would think that there would probably be even more bloodshed than what we are seeing as a result of the United States forcing it’s ideologies on the people of the Middle East aka the Iraq War.

My suggestion is for you all to lead a morally sound life. Do what you feel is right. If you feel that being a good Christian is right, then that is what you should do. Do I need the Bible and a church to lead a moral life? That is part of my everyday struggle, but honestly I think you can. I know many decent people who happen to be Muslim or Buddhist. It’s really hard to believe that they are going to hell, when I know so many evil, tithes-paying Christians. I don’t want to kill, I don’t want to destroy, I don’t want to steal, and I want what most people want: happiness. Whether you find happiness in the smiles of your children, in a successful career, or in giving to the less fortunate; go for it.

I will leave you with this. Religion has caused my mother to disown me; not because I am a thief. Not because I am a murderer. She has disowned me solely on the fact that I am shacking up with my girlfriend. I also fornicate with her from time to time just so you guys know. I understand how some can see this as a sin, and maybe I do also to an extent, but I’m surviving the best way that I can. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, so I had to hustle my way through college the best way I saw fit. Needless to say, I accumulated alot of debt. My debt has since been payed off, and I attribute that to the fact that I sliced my bills in half by shacking up. Sue me! The alternative was to move in with my mother and end up in a straight-jacket. I honestly believe that if I lived by myself like the good Christian boy that she raised me to be, I would be in the same fucked up financial situation that I was in years ago. I could’ve chosen to wait for this miracle money-drop that was going to fall out of the sky (the same one that she has been waiting 50+ years for), and everything would’ve been fine and dandy. But, I understand that simple mathematics is just that; simple mathematics. Maybe my obedience to the good book would’ve payed off in the long run, but when is it going to pay off for my mother and her miserable friends? Maybe I’m impatient, but I don’t have 50 years to wait. I know many successful Christians, but are they truly blessed or just smart enough to know that alot of the Bible is misinterpreted due to being lost in translation? Is there a healthy balance between between being as extreme as my mother, and being completely liberal?

This is part of my everyday struggle. I mean really, is it feasible to still stone homosexuals (I think not)? How come we don’t see stories like Noah’s Ark, or Moses parting the Red Sea anymore? Were they just folklore? As dark as the current times are, you would think that God wouldn’t have stopped allowing the “Noah’s Ark” type of stories to still occur. Many of us are confused, and if something like that happened today then I wouldn’t doubt Him for one minute. Or maybe we haven’t “seen nothin yet”…Something to think about. Discuss.

-Contradiction

High Expectations and Low Patience (Please Excuse My Ramblings)

 

At least three times a week, someone in my office or out in the streets asks me, “You think you are the shit, don’t you?” I’ll usually say “Yes… Yes I do. Thanks for noticing.” I mean seriously, if I don’t think that I am, then who will? I don’t go around verbally reminding people that I think I am, because true swagger is very quiet. I will catch your eye by silently entering a room and having a seat. You can’t help but notice me; I don’t blend in well. I’m not arrogant, just confident.

I guess the evil looks and snide comments I get from people on the street come from the fact that some see me as an “atypical black man”. Many expect a black man to not have a firm grasp on proper sentence structure. (Now don’t get me wrong, because I can get down with the street vernacular too, but I know when to turn that it off). Some see me as trying to be white when they catch me mingling with a bunch of white folks at a local pub, or when they see that my clothes aren’t three sizes too big. I wear a suit everyday when I really don’t have to because I understand how important appearance is. I don’t want to come off as your typical guy; I want to stand out in a crowd. I hate mediocrity. I am a stickler on how I’m represented, and how others represent me. I will also let you know if I don’t like the way I’m being treated by you. I’m always a gentlemen, and I guess I expect certain things from people because of how I treat people. With all of that said, I will give you some scenarios, and I will tell you how I handled them. After I handled the situations, I was called and asshole after each one, or at least stared at as if I had a booger:

Scenario One: I met this young lady on the Metro one morning. She was tall, light-skinned, fine ass all outdoors, her gear was tight and had a body like Jessica Biel. The thing that really attracted me to her was that she had a very inviting aura about her. I think is was her pleasant face. She wasn’t looking at anyone in particular, but had a smile on her face that said, “I like to meet new people, so I’ll talk to just about anyone.” I decided to see what the steelo was looking like, so I approached her. And we hit it off. I slid her the business card and we talked for a week or so before we went on our first date.

We decided to go to McCormick and Schmick’s, so I picked her up around 7:00 on a Saturday night. When I came to her door, she was on her cell phone. I’m thinking, “No biggie, she’ll get off by the time we get to the car.” WRONG! Aiight, so the ride to the restaurant was about 30 minutes, and she was on the phone for about 25 of those minutes. Apparently, Taekwondishaya’s baby daddy got locked up again, and she just found out that she was pregnant with his fourth baby. So, we “small talked” for the rest of the ride and actually had some good conversation at the dinner table.

Things were going well until this dude walked over and was like, “Renee, what’s up girl!” She jumped up, and gave him a hug. (No biggie, because I’m always seeing some random girl that I dated while I’m out with a new thang). So, instead of introducing me to bruh, she says, “I’ll be back,” and rolls over to the bar with cuz. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes roll by, and homegirl is still at the bar getting mad cozy with dude (knee-rubbing and the whole nine). By then, the server had been to my table four times to see what we wanted to order. The last time around, I told the server that we decided not to eat, and I gave him a twenty for his troubles. I got my coat, jumped in my ride and left her rude ass at the bar.

About twenty minutes later, she called me yelling, “Where the fuck did you go?!” I told her that I was glad that she hooked up with her long lost friend, so I left because I didn’t want to step on any toes.

“What!? How the fuck am I supposed to get home?”

“Dude can’t give you a ride?”

“Naw, he didn’t drive. Why the fuck did you do that?!!!”

“Ay sweetheart, the train is 2 blocks from the restaurant. I heard it’s nice this time of day…”

Aww man, homegirl called me all types of “bitch ass niggas” that night. That was our last date. I mean, I like to think that I’m a gentlemen and all, but shorty was out of pocket and inconsiderate. Leaving a damsel in distress like that was probably not the nicest thing to do, but fuck that shit! She had it coming. Was I wrong? Do I expect too much from folks?

Scenario Two: Some friends of mine were having a birthday dinner for me a few years back, and the dranks were flowing. I brought this young lady that I had been dating for a few months with me. I had already told her how arrogant and ignorant one of my friends (ex-friends; we’ll call him Derrick) was, but I had assumed that the stuff that I told her about his attitude was in confidence. When they were introduced, she said, “Oooohhhh. So this is him? Yeah, I’ve heard alot about you!” So, I tried to play it off, and I said something like, “Yeah bruh, I told her how hard you are on the ladies.” We left it at that.

Aiight, so some of the fellas (including myself) get into a pretty deep conversation about religion. The conversation goes on for about 5-10 minutes, and homegirl, who had already had too much to drink (and is slurring her words by now) says, “Why don’t y’all talk about something else?! Something I want to talk about!” WTF? Get in where you fit in. We were having an intellectually stimulating conversation, and plus it was my birthday. That’s the type of shit I do on my birthday cuz I’m boring like that. Shit…

She then throws her arms in the air and says, “I’m going to the bar.” And I’m thinking, “What the fuck ever. Shit…Peace.” By the time she comes back, it is almost time to end our evening. She tells us that she has had too much to drink (no shit), and that she was a tad bit scared to drive 30 minutes to her house. I think something was wrong with my car, so I couldn’t take her home. Plus, she couldn’t stay at my house because I believe at the time I was temporarily staying at my Mom’s crib. She then says, “Outblandish, why don’t you let me leave my car at your house, and Derrick can take me home.” I’m like, “Naw, that’s alright. We’ll figure something else out.” But she wouldn’t let it go. She kept saying over and over again, “Derrick should give me a ride home.” By now I’m thinking that, “I need to cut this bitch off. She doesn’t know what to say out of her damned mouth!”

You see, I told her before that night that Derrick lived around the corner from her. And as I said before, dude can be a tad ignorant at times. So, I knew for a fact that dude was going to blow this shit up into something that it wasn’t. I honestly don’t think that she was trying to get it on with Derrick, but I knew that:

1. He was going to take it as her offering up the coochie. Or:
2. He was going to tell people that my game was slipping.

Either way, she should’ve seen that I was totally against the idea of my friend taking her home. Needless to say, I let her have it when we were alone (I don’t remember how she got home, but I’m sure she ended up driving). I let her know that I’m big on representation, and that she didn’t represent me well that night. We didn’t see each other for a while, but it eventually worked out. I found out years later that Derrick told a third party that he could’ve “fucked my girl if he wanted to.” Do I expect too much from people? Do I think too much of myself? Do I take myself too seriously?

My issue is that I expect people to have common sense. I also expect them to be considerate, because I try to be. I guess I’m old-fashioned like that. But, I’m really learning that common sense is infinite, meaning that my common sense might be totally different than yours. Sometimes when you say that people lack common sense, in all actuality their common sense makes perfect sense to them. And some people are just dumb as rocks…No getting around that. And now that I’ve read this post over, I realize that I am probably an arrogant, pompous asshole. Sue me…

Random Thought #1 – Women and Shit

Disclaimer: This post is not about me. It is about a “buddy” of mine. I have plenty of room in my closets…so much room, that I can probably have a breakdancing competition in any one of my closets (real talk, as the young kids say). And if you believe this disclaimer, then you are crazy.

I have about 10 random thoughts every minute, but only a few of them are worthy of being posted on this blog. As much as I claim to know everything, I am guilty of being stumped every now and then (believe it or not).

This is a question for the ladies out there. What is it in your genetic makeup that makes you unhappy until you fill up every single inch of your/our home with shit things? Is it to piss us off? How many grocery bags do you need to hold on to? How many Victoria’s Secret, Macy’s and Linens N’ Things bags do you need? Do the bags become valuable after your favorite stores change their logos? Do you keep all of your old ass clothes to remind you of when you booty was smaller (cuz it sure isn’t fitting in those jeans ever again)? Or maybe the clothes remind you of when you were in a better relationship then your current one? I’m not even going to get into the shoes and handbags!!! What kinda fuckery is this?!

What makes it OK to go to Target the day after Christmas to stock up on marked-down Christmas ornaments when:

1. You didn’t use half of the ornaments you bought on December 26 of last year?
2. You had an extremely hard time getting your coat out of the closet to go to Target because the closet was filled with shit that no one needs?

I can remember visiting a family member in NC (sorry cuz) a little while ago, and she had little knick-knacks and statues EVERYWHERE!! I knocked over two miniature statues on my way to use her bathroom, and she got pissed. I literally had to tip-toe throughout her house in fear of my footsteps causing things to fall over. And she’s a big girl, so I don’t know how in the hell she doesn’t break something daily.

Lastly, why make a trip to Costco for meat when you were hardly able to close the freezer when you left the house? Why does a household of two need 15 jars of spaghetti sauce? Holy shit!

And ladies, don’t get mad when your man comes home late from work for no apparent reason. Please don’t get mad if he would rather chill with his boys then come home to you. Yeah, I know you IM’ed him all day about all of the nasty and sick shit you would do to him when he got home. But, don’t get mad. He is probably tired of looking at all of your shit nice things. Or maybe he just feels like your shit is suffocating him? I’ve never suffocated before, but I’m sure asphyxiation is not the way to go out. How can you blame him for wanting space? After all, you probably ignore all of the crap that you have that serves no purpose just to ask him about some old socks of his? “Why do you keep these old socks anyway, baby? Why don’t you just get rid of them?” WTF is that about?

So ladies, tell me what this is all about…please. Maybe your plan is to open up a thrift store. No? OK, then maybe (just like with 95% of the stuff you do) it’s just game. I’ll have to admit, y’all are the smarter species and most of you all have game. Maybe you suffocate us with the intent on us coming home late so that you can have your time to do whatever (i.e. talk trash about us to your girlfriends, or get down with you thug ass ex-boyfriend who could care less about your borderline “hoardish” ways). Or maybe this is just my “buddy’s” situation. Discuss…