Month: August 2013

Can Men and Women Really be “Just Friends?”

GalleryxoxoChrissy 3 Comments

Can men and women really be “just friends?” In my younger years I would always answer this question with an emphatic, “YES!” Now that I’m a little older, and presumably a little wiser, I’m less likely to answer the same way. In my younger, more optimistic (and possibly more naïve) days I would say “yes” because experience hadn’t yet shown me anything different. In the years since then I’ve learned that it is highly unlikely that men and women can be just friends.

Starting in college I developed a close circle of friends that has, at some times, consisted of more men than women. I’ve considered many of these men to be amongst my closest friends. However, at some point 80% of them have expressed interest in me either directly to me or to someone they knew would share their feelings with me. The first couple of times it happened I blew it off. When it began to happen with more frequency, and with individuals with whom I’d had longer friendships, I decided that it was highly probable that men and women simply can’t maintain plutonic relationships for long periods of time.

I once got into a debate with a friend on this topic. He and I started as friends but he later expressed interest in me. He was a firm believer that men and women could not be friends. Period. Back then I still thought it was absolutely possible. He bet me that if I were to poll three of my current, long-term male friends who had never expressed interest in me that I would find that they too at some point had been interested in exploring a romantic relationship with me. I took the challenge and polled three friends. The results were mixed. While none of them had previously expressed any interest in me, two admitted to having “considered” me at some point in our relationship.

After reflecting on my own personal experiences I’ve decided that it is absolutely impossible for men to be friends with women without wanting more at some point. Maybe this is true for some women as well but not for me, or any of the women I’ve polled. Men have told me, that it is a waste of their time to invest time in a relationship with a woman they don’t intend to have sex with (at some point). For these men, cultivating a relationship with someone of the opposite sex is singular in purpose: mating. That’s it.

So, ladies and gentlemen, what’s been your experience? Can men and women really be just friends?????

(Clarification: We’re talking about heterosexual men and women. However, that raises the question: Can two gay men be friends? Can two gay women be friends? Based on the experiences of some of my gay, male friends, the answer is “no!” What say you?)

I Like Words

GalleryxoxoChrissy 2 Comments

I like words. I’ve always liked words. I’ve been reading since I was three years old (another blog for another day). Maybe that’s why I’m so fond of words – because I’ve been a part of my life for so long. Or maybe I’m just fond of words because I’m an old school prude. Who’s to say?

I text. I text a lot. However, I rarely use “text talk.” I don’t use text talk because . . .

I. LIKE. WORDS!

Sure, I use “LOL,” “LMAO,” and sometimes “IDK,” (I also use “bc” for because if I’m in a hurry). But other than that, I use words. Part of the reason I don’t use “text talk” is because it looks lazy and unintelligent. When I meet someone new and they text me using text talk, I assume they do so because they lack the basic intelligence required to string together a simple sentence. I realize this isn’t always the case. One of my dearest friends insists on “text talking” me. I endure it because I know she’s highly intelligent and just being lazy.

I find text talk particularly annoying when it’s used outside the confines of a text message or iMessage (or BBM for the Neanderthals still using the Blackberry). When I see text talk in emails or in Facebook statuses, I decide it’s because the author is too stupid to know how to formulate a sentence. (I give a little slack for Twitter simply because of the character limits).

I don’t have a proper closing for this blog. I just wanted to rant.

I. HATE. TEXT. TALK.

Goodnight.

Just Let Go of the Reins

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About three years ago I was vacationing in the Cayman Islands. One of the things I enjoy doing during vacations is horseback riding.  It’s a great way to view the landscape of a new place.  As is the case in much of the Caribbean, many of the guided horseback tours include a ride along the beach.  Many also have the option of taking the horse into the ocean (the shallow part, obviously).

After completing our land tour, we arrive at the beach and proceed to enter the water. As we’re riding, the guides increase speed slightly as they lead us through the section of water that is roped off for the tour.  The increasing difficulty of the ride leads to members of the group falling from their horses and struggling to get back above water. I watch as each one goes down.  As they do I yell, “Let go of the reins!!” You want them to let go of the reins because the horse doesn’t stop just because the rider has fallen off. So if the rider doesn’t let go of the reins s/he will be dragged along the ocean floor and, perhaps, get trampled by the horse as it continues to follow the group, as it is trained to do.

Fifteen or twenty minutes into the tour, I am still on my horse. Soon, I’m jerked backwards as my horse takes off at full speed. I’m startled but am able to gain my balance and stay on the horse as it wildly chases the horse in front of it. Eventually, I find myself sliding from the horse and splashing into the water while . . . holding on to the reins!

Intellectually, I know I should let go.  I know this. However, when you’re underwater and flipping over again and again, you lose your sense of up and down.  Your feet can’t find the ocean’s bottom even though the water is only 4 1/2 feet deep.  Your eyes have difficulty distinguishing light and dark on a cloudy day when there’s no sun to guide you.  You’re completely disoriented and the only thing you can firmly grasp is . . . the reins.  As a result, you hold on to the reins as if your life depends on it.

In life, we sometimes hold onto things as if our lives depend on them. Many of the things we’re holding onto can’t actually save us.  In fact, many of these things have the power to destroy us if we let them.  Holding on to things like anger, resentment, fear, envy or stress can, quite literally, kill us.  Intellectually, we know that holding onto these things isn’t good for us.  So why do we continue to hold on? Sometimes it’s because we’re stubborn.  Sometimes it’s because we simply don’t know how to let go. We’ve been carrying some baggage for so long that it actually feels normal to us. We’ve lived with stress or regret or defeat for so long that we think that this must be our lot in life and that we’re destined to continue to live the remainder of our lives with these burdens.

This isn’t true for any of us.

We all have the power to let go of the reins and save ourselves.We all have the right to live lives free of the many and varied burdens we pick up along our journey. We simply have to figure out how to do it.  Sometimes we can figure this out on our own.  Oftentimes, we need help  figuring out how to let go. This was the case for me as I was being dragged along the bottom of the ocean.  I was telling myself, “Let go.” I was hearing the guides yelling “LET GO!” I could hear the messages. I understood the messages.  However, I simply could not figure out how to get my fingers to open and let go of the reins.  After what seemed like hours, but was in fact just a few seconds, one of the guides reached down and gently tugged the reins.  I’m not even certain he had a firm grasp on them. But the slight tug was just enough to get my hands to open. It was enough to get me to distinguish up from down. It was enough to get me to plant my feet firmly on the ground and stand again. That’s all it took. A slight tug was all I needed to do the things that I always knew to do but simply hadn’t had the courage to do.

I relay this story to people fairly frequently because I think it’s a good illustration of how we hold onto things in our everyday lives that have the power to destroy us. Sometimes saving ourselves, our sanity, our happiness is as simple as letting go.  So, just let go of the reins and see what happens.

Dear Huma, Stand by Your Man!

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This blog entry was originally intended to be an open letter to Huma Weiner the long-suffering wife of NY Mayoral candidate, Anthony Weiner. I had all these grand ideas of sharing with her how incredibly weak and naïve she appeared “standing by her man” for the second time as he ‘fessed up to acts of betrayal committed during their marriage. I had plans of telling her how the message she was sending to young girls was an inappropriate one, blah, blah, blah.  Then I realized that this woman has zero obligation to act as a role-model to anyone’s child except her very own. Furthermore, her marriage is really none of my business.  Despite the fact that she’s chosen to live a highly visible life as a public servant, she has no obligation to be a role model to anyone.

“If your child has to look further than across the dinner 

table for a role-model, you’ve failed as a parent.”

I believe that too often parents put unrealistic expectations on celebrities and other public figures. They overreact when their children see these individuals behaving badly.  Then there’s the media with the talking heads asking, “What kind of message is s/he sending to his/her young fans?” I fully understand the temptation to respond in this way (refer to the first paragraph). But before we hop on our soapboxes telling people we don’t know how they should live their lives, we have to do a few things: 1) Realize that people are free to live their lives in any way they choose – even if it goes against our own fundamental values; 2) Realize that nobody is responsible for our children except us; and 3) Take full stock of the examples we’re setting for our children and ensure that they’re good ones. The people children encounter on a day-to-day basis have far more influence on them than anyone they’ll see on television or on the Internet. If parents are indeed doing their jobs, then children won’t feel the need to search elsewhere for the guidance of strangers.

“But I can’t stop my child from consuming the images of

wayward celebrities that litter the airwaves and Internet.” 

No, you can’t keep your children from seeing pictures and “news” clippings of public figures displaying acts of questionable character.  However, you absolutely have the power to establish yourself as a more important, more credible role model and source of encouragement than some person they’ve never met.

So . . .

 

Dear Huma,

Never mind.  Carry on.  After all, we don’t even know each other.

My bad.

xoxo,

Chrissy

The Top 10 Pick Up Lines and the ONE that Actually Works

GalleryxoxoChrissy 5 Comments

This is not the “top” ten you’re thinking about.  This is actually the bottom ten, the absolute worst pick up lines . . . EVER.  Unfortunately, all of these have been directed at me personally.  Most didn’t get responses.  Some provoked laughter of the “loud, country” variety.  You know, when your mouth is wide open and your head is thrown back as tears begin to stream down your face as you alternately holler and laugh.  Others rendered me speechless.  Imagine that!  Here are some of the “better” pick up lines I’ve heard:

10.  “Come here!”

(I’m sorry, even my father isn’t allowed to summon me this way.)

  1.  “Do you got good credit?”

(The grammar alone made me cringe.)

  1.  “I’ll give you $100 to have dinner with me.”

(So I’m a prostitute now?)

  1.  “You sexier than a muthaf&^ka!”

(Exactly how sexy IS a “muthaf&^ka?)

  1.  “Guhl, let me buy you a fish sandwich.”

                 (This one got the loud, country, laugh! Especially since I was walking through an airport when I heard it.)

  1.  “D@mn! You look like you got a good job, like you a secretary or something.”

(*** Blank Stare ***)

  1.  “You lookin’  young and healthy.”

(I didn’t get this one until one of my girlfriend said “Well, you see these old, sick looking chicks in here!)

  1.  (Staring at my breasts) “They sho’ll is pretty.” (briefly looking up at my face) “And you too.” (returning his attention to my breasts)

(CRINGE!!!)

2.  “Let me get your number.  No?  Can I get a quarter?”

(This one got laughs too.)

  1. “You got a Twitter?”

(What am I, 15??)

Do men actually think this stuff works?  I certainly hope not.  I might be able to understand men saying these things if I were the type to walk around looking cheap and skanky.  But since I don’t, I am completely perplexed by my being a “lightening rod” for these comments.  What gives?  What prompts a man to even attempt a pickup line (of any kind)?  Does he know when he’s shot a brick or does he continue to use the line in hopes that it will work . . . eventually?

Oh, BTW, the ONE line that actually works:

“Hi.  My name is ___________.”

See how easy that is?

There Really Are Leagues to this Thing

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For the very first time I heard a man acknowledge that there are dating “leagues.”  When I say league I’m talking about exactly what you think I’m talking about.  My girlfriends and I talk about it all the time.  Men don’t recognize, acknowledge or respect the fact that there really are leagues.  Maybe that’s because they don’t have to.  It’s perfectly acceptable for a man in the “major” league to date a woman on a “farm team.”  They do it all the time.  How many highly successful, well-educated men have you encountered who are dating, or married to, a woman with a GED and a job that doesn’t even offer a 401k plan??

Go ahead and count.  I’ll wait.

Men can get away with this because it’s socially acceptable for a man to marry a woman who is not his educational or economic equal.  As long as she’s cute, presentable and can halfway carry on a decent conversation it’s perfectly all right for a man to date down.  This gives men an exponentially greater advantage in the dating game.  They simply have more options.

I’m fairly progressive.  I consider myself to be a rather open individual; however, I absolutely am not open to the possibility of dating a 30+-year-old man who’s working on his GED while working two minimum wage jobs.  It’s not happening.

I’m familiar with the women’s rights movement, however, I think men have taken it too far.  Yes, women are closing the pay gap.  Many of us now earn a wage equal to, or greater than, our male counterparts.  There’s less of a social stigma associated with a man earning less than his girlfriend or wife.  But men are taking the movement a little too far. Just because we want equal pay for the same job doesn’t mean we want to support a lazy bum. These are two separate and unrelated issues.  So, please, let’s set the record straight once and for all.  STAY IN YOUR OWN LEAGUE!  Maybe, just maybe, it’s ok to date up, or down, one league.  But that’s it.  Ladies with GEDs, multiple babies and babies’ daddies: STAY IN YOUR LEAGUE!  Stop chasing ballplayers, bankers and brokers.  Date the dude who works security in your building.  He’s in your league.  Fellas with a high school diploma, 12 baby mamas, NO JOB, living in your Big Mama’s basement, stop approaching professional women who have their stuff together!  You look dumb . . . unless you’re in Atlanta (but that’s another blog for another day).

The point is that everyone needs to bring something to the table.  Your kids, your drama and your bills don’t count.

I’m Taking My Ball and I’m Going Home!!

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I’ve been toying with this piece for well over a year now.  It seems that every time I tuck it away and decide not to finish it someone brings the topic back to the forefront.  Sometimes it’s brought up by an acquaintance, sometimes it’s a friend-of-a-friend and sometimes it’s some random person whose conversation I over hear on the street.  No matter how it comes up, I have the same reaction: DISGUST! 

Every time I hear about women knowingly sleeping with married men I become disgusted.  I’m disgusted by the arrogant S.O.B.s who think they deserve more than one woman. I’m even more disgusted by the women who allow themselves to be degraded in such a way.  Women who knowingly sleep with married men are giving the men permission to disrespect them and treat them as second rate.  Why would any woman subject herself to such treatment?  Low self-esteem?  Bad experiences?  Yeah, whatever. 

Ladies:

If a man will lie to and cheat on the woman he stood before God, his family and friends and pledged to love and honor for all of eternity, what makes you think he’d be decent to you, the other woman?

Fellas:

What kind of self-esteem must you have to even think you deserve to have the affection and attention of more than one woman?

Married men have approached me on more than one occasion.  I’m always offended when it happens.  One of the most disrespectful things a man can do to a woman is to ask her to be his “side piece” his “jump off,” his “Ho.”  He may not use any of these labels but in reality it is what he’s implying.  Obviously there are women out there who don’t mind being a sidepiece.  These women don’t mind playing second fiddle.  They don’t mind getting whatever scraps of time and attention a man can steal away from his wife (and children).  I’ve heard all the excuses why women become involved with married men:

  1. “It just happened.  I never meant to become involved with him.”  Stop lying to yourself.  Affairs don’t just happen.  You chose to take part in the affair.
  2. “I dated him first.”  So!  You lost.  He married the other chick.  Move on!
  3. “He’s not happy with her.”  Then make him man the f*ck up and properly remedy the situation before you become involved with him.  He’s lying to you.  He’s as happy as a pig in sh!+ because he’s doing her AND you too!  Dummy!
  4. “He’s gonna leave her when the time is right.”  Stupid, he is not going to leave her!  Your best bet is that SHE will leave him and you’ll get him by default.  That is if one of his other sidepieces doesn’t snatch him up first.
  5. “He is only with her because of the kids.”  No, he just told you that because he thinks you’re stupid enough to believe it.  But I guess you are because you repeated it to me.  Idiot!
  6. “He doesn’t love her.”  And he doesn’t respect you.  That’s not a problem though because you obviously don’t respect yourself.

Maybe I am overly confident but I am not a woman who will accept being relegated to second-string status.  I don’t carry myself like a sidechick, I don’t look like a sidechick and I refuse to be treated like a sidechick.  I am worthy of being the #1 chick . . . the ONLY chick!  If I can’t be the only chick, then I don’t want to play.  I’m taking my ball and I’m going home!!

That brings me to the alleged #1 chicks who acknowledge and accept that other chicks exist but refuse to address the matter with their mates.  You’re just as bad as the sidepieces.  He doesn’t respect you any more than he respects the sidepiece.  He lies to you and he cheats on you.  The only “advantage” you have is that he introduces you to his family and friends (who all laugh behind your back because they know he lies to you all the time).  Please, somebody tell me what’s the benefit here?  And please don’t say that you take it for the kids.  Kids aren’t stupid.  They know how he treats you.  Your daughters know that their mother has no self-respect.  And guess what?  They won’t have any either because you’re teaching them that it’s ok to not respect yourself.  You’re teaching your sons that it’s ok to treat women this way.  Hey, if that kind of treatment is ok for mama, then its ok for every other chick, right?

To the alleged #1 Chicks:  Make him man up.  Make him respect you.  There is nothing he can buy you that is worth your dignity.

To the sidepieces:  Please don’t confuse “Side Piece” with “Dime Piece.”  Remember, you’re the one he keeps hidden.  You’re the one who gets the leftovers (i.e., stolen moments at odd times, a few hours every other holiday, dinners at out of the way places, the cell number that he only answers when his wife isn’t around).  Know your worth.

Whether you’re a woman cheating with someone else’s man or a man cheating on your woman, you need to know that karma is a bitch in pointy-toed boots.  And when she comes for you, WATCH OUT!!

Coming From Where I’m From . . .

GalleryxoxoChrissy 3 Comments

I was born in Detroit but moved to small “suburb” of the city two months before my fourth birthday.  That city was Inkster, Michigan.  Population 35,000.  The city is approximately 65% Black.  Inkster is a working class community with many residents earning a living in the factories of one of the Big Three (Ford, Chrysler and GM).  The residents of Inkster are down-home folks yet “fabulous” in so many ways.  For the most part people work hard, want the best for their children and seek nothing more than to make a good life for their families.

Inkster has received its fair share of bad press.  Crime levels are at or above national averages in many categories.  We’ve made the national news on, at least, two occasions.  Once was following the 1987 hostage stand-off and murders of three Inkster police officers at the Bungalow Motel.  We made national news on another occasion when we were the subject of a segment on ABC’s Nightly News.  The subject was the Demby Housing Project in Inkster commonly referred to as “Little Saigon.”  That segment was wildly popular.  Statistics cited during that segment intimated that Inkster had more crime, and criminals, per capita, than Detroit (the nation’s very first “Murder Capital” of the United States).  The ABC news segment, and the murders at the Bungalow Motel left an indelible impression in the minds of Michiganders, Midwesterners and Americans.  To outsiders Inkster Michigan was one of the worst places in the country to live.

It wasn’t until I left Inkster that I realized that it was such a “horrible” place.  While I haven’t always felt that I fit in in the place nicknamed “Ink-town” and “Crooked-I” I always thought highly of the people around me.  My block was a normal American block.  Parents worked hard to provide for their children.  The girls jumped rope and played with baby dolls on sidewalks and porches.  The boys played football in the middle of the street or in backyards. People looked out for one another.  The Smiths, the Walkers, the Jeffersons, the Robinsons, the Johnsons, the Hendricks, the Eatons and the Gilkeys all looked out for one another.  Back when I was in second or third grade and we had 12 inches of snow fall on the first day of spring, all the families on my block banned together to shovel each other’s driveways and walkways.  Somebody’s mother made hot chocolate for the kids while the men coordinated the effort.  In the summer the retired Mrs. Hall (R.I.P.) kept a watchful eye on all the kids on the block and told our parents when we did something wrong.  My friends and I freely rode our bikes around the six square miles of Inkster without fear of becoming victims of crime.  And with the exception of the summer that a serial killer terrorized much of the Midwest, I generally felt safe in my environment.

That’s why it came as such a shock to me to find out that Inkster wasn’t the safe, nurturing haven I’d made it out to be.  When I arrived at college I began to notice that one of the main icebreakers was “Where are you from?”  I’d reply, “I’m from Michigan . . . Inkster.”  That’s when I’d get the looks.  Even people from outside of the state (I went to school in Michigan) gave me the “Oh, really?” look.  I didn’t really understand what it meant until later.  It was later that I learned that what I perceived as the “Oh, really” look was really the “Oh, you must be the Affirmative Action kid because everyone knows that Inkster schools are isht so you can’t possibly have earned your place here” look.  At first I was offended.  But when I found myself earning grades comparable to, or better than, many of the prep school kids who looked down on me I snickered just a bit.  I figured, If I’m the stupid Affirmative Action kid and I’m kicking your @$$, what does that make you?  Eventually I went on to graduate (in four years) and begin my career and left a number of them behind, still struggling to finish their degrees.  Some of them took an additional year, or two, or three, to finish.  When they’d finally phone or email to announce their graduations I snickered again.

Even after college I continued to encounter people who would give me a curious glance when I told them where I was from. When asked, most times I simply respond that I’m from Detroit.  It’s easier than trying to explain to people who are unfamiliar with the state where I’m actually from (17 miles Southwest of downtown Detroit or four miles due north of the main airport).  Having lived outside the Midwest for most of my adult life I’ve been able to get away with the “I’m from Detroit” statement without much inquiry.  But even that has its drawbacks.  I’ve had colleagues ask, “Are you from Detroit, Detroit?  Like, the actual city of Detroit?”  Sometimes I say yes just for shock value.  Because Detroit’s reputation isn’t much better, if at all, than Inkster’s, they have a difficult time believing that I’m actually from Detroit.  Because I have an education and speak well, most non-black and uppity black people assume I’m from some Northern, Oakland County, suburb of Detroit as though it’s impossible from people from Detroit to speak anything other than Ebonics, have careers and live respectable lives . . . lives like their own.  When I encounter people who are familiar with Michigan and the Detroit-area I tell them that I’m from Inkster.  Some react as though they think I’m joking.  Others seemed shocked that I’m from Inkster. “You don’t seem like you’re from Inkster,” “You must not have lived there long?”  “You just don’t seem like the type.”  I have actually had one colleague, repeatedly, tell others that I’m from Ann Arbor.  While it’s true that I lived in Ann Arbor for four years while attending college, I am not from Ann Arbor.  For him Ann Arbor, the upper-middle class suburb that’s home to the University of Michigan, is a more acceptable place to be from.  Ann Arbor is also more reflective of the person he believes me to be (mild mannered, smart, well-spoken, composed, etc).  While these are all characteristics that I possess, they are not the whole of who I am.  Who I am at work, where I make the money necessary to support my lifestyle, isn’t completely reflective of who I am at home when I’m surrounded by the people I love.

It is sad that when people think of Inkster, my hometown, they think we are a monolith.  That couldn’t be further from the truth.  From Inkster has come world-renowned athletes (Olympic and NFL), Legendary Motown Recording artists, educators, scholars, musicians, artists, lawyers, doctors, judges, engineers, scientists and insurance professionals (me).  So this piece is a “shout out” to all my friends and family from Inkster who continue to defy the stereotypes.  This piece is a tribute to those who hold their heads high and represent their hometowns with pride.  Here’s to us!