Storm and the 35 year old Kid

I am 99% sure that the bagger at my neighborhood grocery store is in love with me, but to say the least, he is not my type.
This guy has to be at least 35. He has let it slip that he still lives with his parents. He is shaped like a weeble-wobble, and wears these HORRIBLE tight shorts that go all the way up to his armpits. On top of this, he has an obsession with Anime and science fiction, and follows me around the store telling me endless facts about Star Track and X-Men. I made the mistake of telling him that Storm is my favorite X-Man, so now that is what he calls me...Storm. He has even asked me to accompany him to some movies, like The Hulk and Iron Man.
But what can I say, I am just not into this guy and he clearly likes me. No, instead I am into guys that are clearly gay or that clearly have girlfriends. Why can't I like the guy that likes me, even if he is a bit odd?
What makes me sad is that I don't want to date this guy for the same superficial reasons that guys haven't wanted to date me in the past. I mean, it's not like he isn't cute. He's just uncle-who-has-finished-eating-short ribs-at-the-family-reunion-with-his-pants-unzipped cute. I mean, why can't I have a sexy man like my friends on Facebook who look like they are dating male models? He could even be a diamond in the rough. I mean, didn't Steve turn into Stefan Urkel?
All I can do is sigh about the whole thing. I'm just not attracted to my Dragoncon-attending buddy, although I wish I was. He's really nice, and not liking him makes me feel like an asshole. I'm too old and too not-perfect to be so picky. I don't recall Storm having such high standards. Neither does Halle Barry.

Hindsight

I'm watching the view right now, and Barbara Walters just talked about how she was watching TV and there was an interview with this old woman who just got out of jail on parole. She looked like she could be someone's granny, primarily because she'd been in jail for over thirty years. She'd tried to assassinate President Ford. Anywho, they interviewed her and she said looking back, she didn't even recognize the woman who tried to kill Jerry.
So if I look back, which can't be too far back, I don't think me at 12 or 6 would recognize me. I used to have such high expectations for myself. The younger mes predicted that I would be in a super serious relationship by now and living in some sky rise loft someplace, maybe Atlanta, maybe Paris. I was going to be AWESOME! Today, I have no drive. I wake up like six times before I decide if I want to get out of bed. Sometimes I don't. It's no secret that I don't have a man, and I live in a small room off my Aunt's garage with no window.
Uggghhhh, I am sooooo wiped out. Hopefully me at 48 will not be disappointed.

Strong Black Crap

Today I went out for dinner with my cousins. This was an especially special dinner because my cousins are in college, and I only get to see them on their holiday breaks. Plus my older cousin Steph, who is like the Golden Cousin if that makes any sense, was in town from Alabama with her boyfriend.
Yes, the boyfriend.
I have to say that I was excited about meeting him because I hadn't before. I only knew that he and my cousin had been dating for two years and that whenever I talked to her, she talked about him, so I assumed it was serious.
Yet sadly, I have to admit that upon meeting him, I was annoyed. But not regular annoyed. It was like he annoyed my spirit before he even said hello.
He was one of those animated brothers; one of those guys that talks with his hands and uses his voice like he's doing a spoken word piece. Very theatrical. He is also one of those brothers who talk over you and changes the subject frequently, even though he may initiate the conversation. It was weird.
We got into this lovely neo-negro discussion about the "independent woman" theory and yes, it has now become a theory. He quoted the Lynch letter and jail statistics to back up his point on why men can not approach women; why they should be cut a break. He was just going on and on, straying further and further away from the point, wooing my other cousins by his ability to state facts and statistics when out of nowhere I thought to myself, "This must be the strong black man."
This was a joke to myself initially, but as he went on and on I began to think about it. His need to prove a point even though it's not on the point. Going on and on to make himself look better. It was not only infuriating and annoying and agitating and boring but it caused me to wonder, as a young Black woman that took on the "Strong Black Woman" title, is that the way that I come off to others? Like an obnoxious prick? Don't get me wrong, he's a nice, funny guy, but it's like he could not talk about even the simplest of topics without quoting books and studies. I feel that this is a characteristic, and a flaw, amongst young, black scholars. Seeing it come from a man and not my HBCU girlfriends was both, to say the least, clarifying and horrifying.
I also could not help but think about the role that the young black scholar plays in our communities. If this is the way that we talk to our other brothers and sisters that may not have had our education, no wonder the community has detached from the talented tenth: we are assholes.
I guess we just need to go back to layman's terms...if we can remember how to.

Alter Talk

I decided to call my friend Chrissy the other day for some random kicks and giggles when she broke it to me that she is getting married.
As she discussed her plans for the wedding , this weird feeling swooshed around in my stomach. It was like I was totally happy for her, but mortified for myself. You see, Chrissy is the first one of my friends to actually be getting married. Of course, I have those friends who claim to be engaged or who call some booty buddy their husband, but Chrissy is actually getting married. I mean, she bought a dress, so it's pretty much official.
The reason I became creeped out is that everybody knows that once the first friend gets married, your when-are-you-getting-married clock starts ticking. I don't want to get married myself, but my blood ran cold thinking of how many weddings I would have to attend for my other girlfriends, having to keep repeating my Rated G reasons for why I don't want to tie the knot. Probably some bull-wrapped blabber about work and finances.
Even if I wanted to get married, the odds are not in my corner. Neither my mom nor my aunts are married, and I have come to believe that whether or not you will get married is genetic. Plus, my mom once told me that if you don't find your husband in undergrad, you will never get married. I used to think that that was far-fetched, but not anymore after meeting all the college-educated single women here in Atlanta, 30 and up.
I've known since I was a kid that I was going to be the old maid, primarily because everything an old maid has is her own. She doesn't have to share or answer to anyone. But now, since Chrissy is getting married and I'm sure that she is not the only friend that will, I will seriously have to come to terms with this way sooner than I wanted to.

Sometimes you feel like a nut...

The best, meaning the worst, thing about watching a loved one suffer from Alzheimer's is witnessing yourself crack.
Lately, I've found myself forgetting things which of course sends me into a panic similar to the ones that my grandma has when she can't remember my name. So now I find myself giving myself little mental quizzes and if I don't pass them, or if I don't feel I remembered a name or place quickly enough, I want to cry.
When I was younger I watched a documentary on ETV on Vivian Vance, the lady that played Ethal on I Love Lucy. Apparently, her mother lost her mind when she was young, so when she got older, Vivian carried a note card with her name and address in her purse so that in the event that she lost her mind, whoever found her roaming the streets would be able to return her home. The documentary was scary to me then, but its horrifying to me now. Funny how you take little things for granted like being able to know your own name off hand.
So the other day my mother tells me that my great-grandfather, my grandma's father, had Alzheimer's. I do not remember him, but oddly enough, I do remember spinning in circles outside of his hospital when I was younger. Nonetheless, hearing this tidbit of info was bone chilling. This means my mother could get this disease and I would have to watch this Hell all over again. Then I could get it, and get to watch myself waste away. I could get to watch myself not know my children, get my ass wiped by strangers, and overall lose touch.
The whole thing sucks to say the least. It sucks that I have to deal with this with my grandma, it sucks that I may one day have to deal with it myself, and there's nothing I can do about it now to prevent it.

No thank you, thank you

If one more person tells me that they are proud of me for deciding to work out, I am going to throw up.
I was on the treadmill the other day at the gym, sweating and minding my own business, when I noticed this woman staring at me. Not checking me out staring, but staring at me all the same. I am used to people staring at me at the gym, and in life in general, so I decided to ignore her. Then I noticed her pacing back and forth, you know, the way you pace when you are thinking whether or not to say something. Finally, she walked over to me, introduced herself, told me what church she went to, quoted a scripture, then told me that I was an inspiration to her. I fear that she would have hugged me if I was not in motion.
Later in the week, I went to a Kickbox Cardio class taught by an instructor that I secretly refer to as "The Nazi." The class was so tough that, by the end of the hour, more than half of the class had walked out. I would have myself, but I was not close enough to the door, and did not want to go through the humiliation of the rest of the class seeing that I couldn't stand the heat. At one point, I was literally crying face down on my mat because I could not lift my body on my fists. So, at the end of the class, as I limped over to the back of the room to put my mat away, the other women came up to me to tell me how well I did and to "not give up."
And who can forget that woman who makes the samples at my neighborhood grocery store who insists that I try to go on The Biggest Loser. She just knows that I could win because I have "personality."
I am literally being suffocated by all of the support. I am tired of my friends telling me that they are proud of me. Is there nothing else that I have done in 24 years of existence that deserves more praise than my deciding to go to the gym three times a week? I could write a fitness book on all the tips the women give me in the locker room and biographies of all their family members who were big like me and did nothing, now they have diabetes. It's annoying!
I know that people are trying to be helpful or supportive, but I am doing this because I have to, not to be some thin lady's role model.

The Sickness of Youth

Do you suffer from feelings of hopelessness, a lack of drive and bouts of Depression? Are you consistently tired? Do you find yourself crying as a solution to the irrelevant of issues? Are your easily agitated and annoyed? Do you find yourself wanting to be alone all the time? Do you often feel sluggish? If you recognize these symptoms, you could be in your 20s...or suffering from PMDD.
When I was a kid, I used to calculate how many years it would be before I was twenty-one. That was my ideal age in the second grade. At twenty-one I would have a boyfriend, a big, pretty apartment, a fancy car and a really cool job. Now, at twenty-four, the only boyfriend I've ever had is gay, I live at home in a small room with no windows and I do not know how to drive. However, my job is kind of cool.
I don't know who to be mad at, society or myself; society for leading me to believe that my 20s would be the best years of my life or myself for buying into the hype.
On television shows, women in their twenties are CEOs and have wild romances; they wear Jimmy Choos and have front row seats during fashion week. There is no way that I can identify with this lifestyle. If I had to define being in my 20s, I would define it by this panging, constant feeling of urgency; by this deep need to "make it" already. I feel like the memories of my early 20s are dominated by searching for jobs and planning for graduate school more than having carefree fun in the sun. I do not know what the next half of my 20s has in store for me, but I have to say, this half sort of sucks.