Friendly Drama: Friends with “More Than Friends”

When you reach a certain age, you and your friends start to find “more than friends.”  Romantic relationships are healthy, wonderful, fun, etc.  Aside from nuns, priests and people who hate all human interaction, most people hope to eventually be in some lasting relationship.  Not everyone’s into marriage but something steady with someone you care about, are attracted to and can trust?  That’s gotta sound pretty good.

One phenomenon that I notice generally with women is ignoring their platonic friendships.  While I’m sure this happens with men on some level, I have less experience in that area so I’ll just stick with attacking the ladies.  Anything new in your life takes up time that may have allocated for something else.  And unlike a new job or a hobby, a new person in your life requires A LOT of one-on-one time.  You have to figure out who this person is, what they like to do, what you have in common, what drives you crazy about them, what you couldn’t live without, what you never knew you’d like, etc.  But you also have to remember the people and things that were in your life before this person.

It’s always amazed me the way some people can completely change how they live there lives when romance becomes part of the picture.  I’m not saying I’d be above this unfortunate generality but since I’ve avoided the second part of the scenario, I can still feel justified in my condemnation.

When your friend first disappears into the shadow/car/arms/bed/whatever of their new beau, all is pretty much forgiven.  They’re in the honeymoon period.  Let them have their fun.  However, when this new situation begins to affect YOUR normal life, it starts to become a problem.  When your old road dog/concert attendee/danceclub partner/movie buddy refuses keep things “the way they always were”, as the forgotten friend, you have to decide how much you’re willing to forgive and accept.

We’re not married to our friends.  As evident by the happily (or just long) married couples I know, your spouse is supposed to be your best friend.  All other friends are essentially utilized to share or vent about the things your significant other doesn’t/can’t understand.  This all sounds great.  It makes sense.  But living it for the first time is different.

I’m 25.  At this age, (while none of my immediate friends) a lot of people are already married or at least engaged.  I have friends moving in with their boy/girlfriends, buying furniture together, planning extended vacations, discussing rings, spending every available night together.  Despite the tone of this post, I am genuinely happy for them.  If they’ve found someone/something that truly makes them happy, how could I not be?  As a real friend, I have to support.

However, as the friend who’s found a “someone”, you have to decide if your friendships are strong enough to withstand your honeymoon period (no matter how long it lasts).  I may love you forever but that doesn’t mean that after 6 months of being ignored, I’m going to be all that open to keeping you busy just because your man’s out of town.  I might just tell you to kiss my ass. 

Like romantic relationships, friendships take time and courtesy.  We may not be going to bed together but friends do make uncomfortable sacrifices of their time for each other.  It’s just part of it.  Some people can maintain both worlds but the only way to do that is value it.  If you left me, you may have to put in work to get back in my good graces or just drift off…

One common misconception is that it’s the significant other’s fault.  Sure, they can influence what you do, who you see and how often BUT the ultimate decision, and therefore fault, lies with the friend.  Unless violence is an issue, no one can make your friend do anything they didn’t want to.  You may not like the boy/girlfriend but it’s never right to blame the stress or dissolution of your friendship on them.

As non-family members, friends don’t HAVE to love you.  They choose to.  Remember to appreciate that choice.  Not being friends can just be easier, even for the one not searching to make time for it.  Play with your friends, go home to your honey.  (Unless of course you live with your friends.  In that case, go to your boy/girlfriend’s house.  There’s no point in making your friend uncomfortable or feeling unwelcome/uninvited in their own home.  That’s a whole new level of stress.)

Weighing the pros and cons of living alone,

Jo’van

Shades of Understanding: Defining My Denial

Erykah Badu “Next Lifetime”

Comments and conversations made me realize that I failed to really make my point (if I truly have one) in my last post “Denying My Roots By Relaxing Them?”.  As usual, my post was littered with tangential stories and anecdotes.  But what it seemed to lack was a point.  Why do I even concern myself with my hair and other’s perceptions of it?

I want to look good and feel good about the way I look.  It’s just that simple.  My aversion to going natural is largely vanity.  Because I have no idea what my natural hair looks like anymore, I wouldn’t know what to expect until it was too late.  I don’t think I’ll look good with an afro.  And what if I don’t?  My hair grows soooo slowly that not liking it is really not an option.  It could easily take 10 years for my hair to get back to the short bob I have right now.  I feel my reasoning must be equivalent to those people who refuse to go back to their natural hair color from blond (or whatever color).  We all know it’s not real but they just KNOW they look better that way.

A reason to go natural, on the other hand, is financial.  Properly maintaining relaxed hair can be expensive.  Every 8 weeks, I pay someone $70 to straighten my roots and trim the ends.  That’s $420 every year.  This doesn’t include highlighting, deep conditioners and the random “it’s not time for a relaxer but I have to look good tonight” appointments.  Those would probably push it up to around $600 a year.  Now, I’m not exactly sure how expensive maintaining natural hair would be but I have to guess that it’s cheaper than that.  Just trimming and conditioning, no chemical processes required.

So why not just cut it off and perm it again if I don’t like it?  I don’t really have a good answer to that.  I’m not a huge fan of ultra-short hair on myself.  If my hair is going to be permed, it might as well be as long as it is now.

“But don’t you feel you’re denying the real you by chemically altering your hair?”  Sure, I can see the logic in that question but I just ask that people see the logic in my response.  I have no desire to deny myself.  I’m just doing what I prefer.  I don’t see perming my hair and being any different from putting on make-up, getting lasik or shaving my legs.  Sure, bare skin, bad eye-sight and hairy legs are all natural but no one seems to question my desire to change those things.  So why question my hair choices?  You don’t have to like it and I welcome any discussion about my choices.  But if your only point is that I’m wrong, do us both a favor, save your breath and just think it very hard.

Running her fingers through her short but straightened hair,

Jo’van

Shades of Understanding: Denying My Roots By Relaxing Them?

I wish there was a video for this version but alas, just the song.

India.Arie “I Am Not My Hair” featuring P!nk (Please note they both punctuation in their names. Haha)

I recently had the pleasure of having dinner and with two British gentlemen during a conference.  While the conversation covered a number of topics, we spent quite a bit of time on race relations and related issues.  I foresee any number of future posts inspired by this conversation.  One comment in particular made me think about my overall experience with my hair.

One of the guys (of Asian descent, while that distinction is not necessary, I believe it helps add a little color to the story, no pun intended) asked me innocently but pointedly if my hair looks like that in the morning.  At first, it took me a moment to grasp his meaning.  Of course, I’ll need to comb it but for the most part, unless sweat or water are a factor, I don’t have to do all that much to my hair.  Only having to wash it once a week, I generally just get up and go.

Of course, he didn’t necessarily mean the “morning” so much as was my hair naturally straight.  completely unashamed, I shook my head no and explained that it was chemically straightened and that my roots have to be processed every 2 months.  When asked why I did this to myself, I explained that it’s been this way since age 12 and that “going natural” would require cutting it all off.  I’m not entirely confident I could pull off the little boy look.  The other gentleman spoke of a woman he’d dated from the West Indies (I believe) who’d decided to “go natural” and how he’d quite liked it.  This comment is also important but I’ll get into that later.  The most important thing to take from their comments was that while they accepted it, neither understood the need/desire to permanently breakdown the chemical bonds of my hair.

So why do I relax my hair?  (You’ll commonly hear black women refer to perming their hair.  Our perms are actually relaxers.  They straighten, not curl.  The processes do different things.  A perm creates temporary bonds.  That’s why the loosen up over time.  A relaxer on the other hand breaks down bonds.  There’s no coming back from that.  It’s permanent until you cut the treated hair off.)  There’s no need to really dig into the history.  In the early 1900s, both commercial relaxers and hot combs (the precursor to the Chi) were unleashed upon the general public.  Needless to say, black women around the world have been straightening their hair for 100 years.  Walk through any African-American self-help section in a bookstore and you’ll no doubt find some book about the black woman ideal and our struggles with our hair.  History and magazines tell us we straighten our hair to emulate the Caucasian ideal.  But I’m not also bleaching my skin, my hair will never make it past my shoulders, and I’m obviously not going to be able to pass for white, so why do I relax my hair?

There’s no simple answer to that question.  The closest I can get is fear.  I’ve never known my hair to be any other way.  Sure, throughout my childhood, my hair was “natural” but it was still straightened.  The hot comb usually came out on Saturday so you’re hair would still be presentable on Sunday for church.  I’ve always strived for long, straight, full, beautiful hair.  As I came to accept my hair would never look like Tatiyana Ali (Fresh Prince reference for you) or Naomi Campbell’s, I decided to do the best I could with what I had.  For 13 years, as funds and availability allowed, I’ve paid someone to burn the hell out of my scalp to straighten the “new growth” aka my roots.

In college, I remember getting into a debate with an African-American male administrator at a conference funny enough about race and ethnicity.  While in a group circle to discuss the sessions of the day, he launched into a tirade about black women relaxing their hair.  With his age (50s-ish) and “participation” in the Civil Rights Movement, he felt completely justified in lecturing us.  (I’ll have to say that I believe he just saw a collection of early 20s black women as easy targets to vent.  His wife had bone-straight, chemically-altered hair.)  Although a few of the women in the room had natural hair, the general consensus among us all was that to relax or not to relax was a personal choice, usually driven by taste and convenience.  The same reasons I could use to explainrelaxing my hair, another women could use to justify going natural.  And you know what?  More power to us both.

The struggles I remember with my hair during childhood are not necessarily what I’d endure now.  For the most part, the issues arose because someone was trying to keep my hair straight and “manageable.”  Rain, sweat, swimming, basically anything involving moisture turned 30 minutes worth of straightening into a dual-textured, frizzy mess.  I’m not sure I’d experience the same battles now.  If I were go natural, my hair (texture-willing) would be worn in such a way that water would not by my enemy.  What a novel concept!  (Washing my hair once a week really limits my water-based activities.  Sure, I could wash it more often but I’m not really willing to go through the 1 1/2 hr washing-drying-straightening-curling process more often.  Some people find the once-a-week thing gross.  Please understand that my hair does not get oily or greasy.  I actually have to put the moisture into my hair.  Washing it everyday would require buckets of leave in conditioner or cause it to get brittle and break off.  Trust me.  Once a week is the way to go for me.)

I’ve recently begun to contemplate just being bold and cutting it all off, starting over.  Aside from the initial shock, I’m trying to imagine how bad it could be.  Aside from the extreme possibility of resembling a little boy for several years, I’m at a loss for “good reasons” not to do it.   Well, of course there’s always the possibility that I’ll absolutely hate it.  Slow hair growth makes this decision especially difficult.

If I ever choose to take the plunge and rediscover my hair unaltered, it will be for no reasons other than vanity and ease.  I would love to not hide from the rain, go swimming at will and not have to burn my ears accidentally or scalp intentionally every 8 weeks.  But I also like running my fingers through my straight, although short, hair and blending in.  Natural hair seems to make a personal and/or political statement I don’t really care to make.  Me going natural would not necessarily mean I’m trying ot be “more black” or embracing my cultural roots by growing out my physical ones.  For good or bad, my roots are just a part of me that showcases my melting pot heritage.  Relaxers or afros, they all seem to define or explain everything and nothing about me.

Wishing my hair would grow faster so this decision wouldn’t seem so monumental,

Jo’van

The Right to Think for Myself: Seatbelt Withdrawl

A few days ago, I rode without a seatbelt!  Shocking, I know.  It’s not like this was the first time or anything.  It’s just that in this situation I don’t have a choice, no option to forget.  Somehow that lack of option makes it a bigger deal (and thus worthy of a blog post…)

I was offered a ride up to a meeting.  Upon getting into the car, however, I was informed that the passenger seatbelt was jammed.  Why not drive?  I didn’t know where we were going.  Why not climb into the backseat?  2-seater.  No problem.  I’ll suck it up and take a ride on the dangerous side.  (It’s funny – or maybe sad – what constitutes as excitement in my life sometimes.)

Anyway, as I tried to sit comfortably and not focus on the fact that the smallest mistake by the trucker near us could send me flying through the soft-top roof or windshield, I couldn’t help but miss the black, 2-inch wide feeling of security that used to be considered such a nuisance growing up.

“Is everybody buckled up?”  A chorus of yes’s responded, the children silently hoping no one would turn around to expose the lie.  To a child, a seatbelt is an unecessary restriction.  What if you drop your crayon/book/video game?  Or what if your brother’s too far away to poke mercilessly when you’re bored?  See.  Seatbelts are a burden to all those under the age of 14.

As I got older and spent more time in a car behind the wheel than not, seatbelts became less of an issue.  They’re not all the uncomfortable once you’re a certain height or restrictive within a certain weight range.  (Yet another case in which I am happy to be “smaller.”  I don’t have an imposing bosom to raise another unique issue related to seatbelt comfort.)  But as a driver, you have to wear your seatbelt.  The last thing I’d want to deal with is being pulled over b/c I was too lazy to buckle up.  Speeding?  Sure.  Cutting someone off?  Ok.  Broken tail light?  Thanks for letting me know.  But a seat belt?! You’ve got to be kidding me.

So that’s it.  I’ve ridden without a seatbelt.  No accidents, injuries or tickets have resulted.  But just the fact that I have no option to ignore my seatbelt bothered me, made me think I’d bought into the car-safety propaganda.  Just like (although COMPLETELY different from) “No glove, no love”, “Guns don’t kill people”, “A mind is a terrible thing to waste”, and “Only YOU can prevent wildfires”, “Click it or Ticket” and the gruesome images that usually accompany the slogan are burned into my brain.

What taglines have (un)fortunately stuck with you?

Jo’van

No Patience For You: Retail Etiquette

It’s no wonder this song wasn’t released in the US.  Too many of her fans would’ve been offended.  But I like this song by Shania Twain nevertheless.  Or maybe b/c of it…

For three years, I’ve worked a part-time retail job.  The store and brand aren’t all that important to this post but let’s just say it’s the outlet arm of  a high-end women’s clothing store.  (Mentioning high-end is important because some customers seem to expect above and beyond customer service for potentially spending hundreds of dollars on 4 items.  But please remember, just because I work for a high-end brand, I don’t necessarily make – or care that you make  – high-end money.)

Anyway, one day,  a customer annoyed me.  Okay, I know that can’t possibly be all that surprising but it was nevertheless the motivation for this post. Upon complaining to my co-workers, the three of us devised a list of retail annoyances.  I thought we’d come up with ten or so and I’d provide witty explanations or examples.  However, we came up with about 35.  So here’s just a list of some of them.  Keep in mind lists like these are the reasons that I think EVERYONE should work in food and our retail at some point in their youth.  (Most of these points apply strictly to women but I’m sure for every one of those, men’s store associates could substitute something for the opposite sex.)

1.) Cell phones – Please suspend your conversation at the register (or at least pretend like you tried).  Also, please don’t shout as you walk through the store.  If you’re hearing or reception are that bad, you might need to go to the doctor or your provider’s store instead of mine.

2.) Disrespecting the clothes YOU just tried on.  There’s absolutely no need or justifiable reason to ball clothes up in a corner of the fitting room bench or throw them on the floor.  You came into our store partly b/c you liked the display.  It seems the same people that ball clothes up and throw them on the floor expect us to find another size 4 that not dirty/creased.  Hmmm, I wonder how they got that way.

3.) Hanging clothes inside out.  I know I shouldn’t complain about you hanging them back up but seriously, inside out?  You knew that was wrong.  If you’re putting up the effort, at least do it in a way that makes us like you.

4.) Personal trash in a fitting room.  Does a fitting room with $200+ items seem like an appropriate trash can?  If so, you have bigger issues to discuss.

5.) (Probably one of my top pet peeves) Make-up and deodorant stains you caused.  If I put a clean white shirt in your fitting room and retrieve a foundation-stained now to be considered “damaged” shirt, I blame you.  Either not wear make-up when you shop or plan to be responsible for you stains.  It’s not our fault you feel you need to hide your face.  And don’t tell me your make-up is just a little color.  We never find eyeshadow stains.  And deodorant rubs off.  Don’t stain it and then ask me to check for another medium b/c this one’s stained.  I KNOW it was you.

6.) Kids running wild.  We’re not a daycare.  Period.  I don’t care how cute they are (or you THINK they are).  A knocked-over mannequin is a liability I don’t want to deal with.

7.) Questioning associates’ product knowledge.  It’s our job to know our product.  At my store, it’s also our job to know our fabrics, cuts, the way things fit, and the sizes.  If I suggest something, don’t argue with me based on what you think your size SHOULD be.  Feel free to make your own choices but don’t disagree until you’ve TRIED it on.  Trust me, I don’t care what size you wear, just that it looks good on you.  When you wear our product, you’re representing our brand, a walking billboard if you will.  It’s in our best interest to send you out looking good.  We want more business.  When someone likes what you’re wearing, they don’t ask you what size.  They want to know the brand.

8.) Disrupting display walls.  Our store has cube walls where surplus items are folded and displayed.  Trust me, if an item is in the wall, it’s also somewhere on the floor.  There is absolutely NO REASON to unfold items in the wall, especially if they’re TAPED.  People don’t seem to grasp that concept.

9.) Arguing policies.  Unfortunately, at the individual store level, we don’t exactly have the ability to change corporate policies.  If a special situation arises, a store manager might be able to make an executive decision but if it’s just b/c you changed your mind or didn’t pay attention to the policy posted at the counter, explained by the associate BEFORE they swiped your card AND printed on the receipt YOU signed, I’m sorry but you should just be SOL.  No one forced you to buy our product thus agreeing to our policies.

10.) Unnecessarily disrupting racks.  There is absolutely no need to pull out every fourth item so that a rack looks like an alternating deck of cards.  There is no need to hang an item backward.  You’re adult enough to recognize directionality.  There is no need to knock an item onto the floor, look at it, and ignore it.  You did it.  I SAW you.

11.) Coming out in undergarments (or less) to ask a question or show me something.  You are NOT AT HOME.  Put some clothes on.  I don’t care how good your body looks, how much money you’ve spent to make it look that way, or that you have a superb level of self-confidence.  Don’t assume that my position in retail places me below, envious or subservient to you.  I might just ignore you until you decide to respect my vision and put some clothes on.

12.) Complaining to an associate about just about anything.  The prices: trust me, if they’re high, we probably don’t pay them either.  The fits of the clothes: we don’t design them.  Not everything fits us either.  Your weight: we didn’t make you eat that extra cheeseburger or whole pie  whatever the case might be…

13.) Entering a store within ten minutes of closing time.  We may be all about customer service but we’ve also just stood for 8 hours on cement floors selling clothes we probably can’t afford.  We want to go home.  Don’t apologize and then proceed to move at a snail’s pace around the store, try on half of the product and not buy anything.  Believe me when I say that we will hate you.

14.) Guilty holding.  Yes, we know that you tried on 25 items you knew (and trust me, we knew you knew) you weren’t going to buy.  But don’t feel the need to hold something just b/c you feel bad.  It’s fine.  We get it.  Allow us to put that item back with your other 24 balled-up, deodorant stained items.  There’s no need to get our hopes up that you might actually come back.

In addition, please remember that other industries are very similar to retail.  In certain aspects, pharmacy and banking are right up our alley.  My roommate is a bank teller and had these few thoughts to add.

-Don’t approach her station without your deposit/withdrawal slip filled out.  If you have a bank account, you’re probably mature enough to realize that that’s your responsibility.  But maybe not…

-Blaming tellers for your mistake.  If you miss a number and they catch it, don’t yell at them.  You should be so sensitive about your account(s) that you have that shit memorized.

-Don’t blame the bank for overdraft fees.  Sure, some banks’ fees can be ridiculous but the concept is pretty simple.  Don’t spend money you don’t have.  Write things down.

I could continue but I’ll stop there.  In closing, I would just like to leave you with a few thoughts.

1.) We have to greet you.  Don’t ignore us or give us dirty looks.  Trust me.  Most of the time we’d rather not have to (especially if you look like a bitch).

2.) Our job is to assist you and maintain a store’s appearance, not to clean up after adults looking to possibly spend money.

3.) The customer is NOT always right but we have to do our best to accommodate you, NOT break rules for you.

4.) No one knows what size you are until something doesn’t fit.  If you’re an 8, wear an 8 and you might look like a 6.  If you’re an 8 and wear a 6, you’ll look like a 1o or 12.  Cut the tags out if the sizes bother you so much.  (Or god forbid, do something about it.)

Thanks for coming.  You all have a good day,

Jo’van

Eye of the Beholder: I Don’t Want to Look Like THAT

I would’ve used Kanye’s “Workout Plan” but I’m still pissed/disappointed by his VMA stunt.  So….  I’ve decided to go with a new millenium Madonna video.  True, she seems to go overboard but it’s evident she works out.

Over the last 6-7 months, I’ve managed to lose a few pounds and inches.  I don’t know the specifics of both but let’s just say it’s been enough to make admiring my closet a less enjoyable endeavour.  You see I have a shopping problem.  And nothing like unemployment makes you realize the need to use what you’ve got (at least as it relates to clothes).  So rather than add to  and complement what I have, I’m having to figure out what would be tailor-able and pay more just to be able to wear something I already own.

I know that as a typical female I’m not supposed to complain about losing weight… but I can’t help it.  The whole (okay, well maybe not the whole) reason I changed up my gym routine enough to see a change (you know like actually going more than once a week) was that my clothes were getting a little snug.  I wanted to not have to go up a size.  Obviously, I went too far b/c now I’m forced to go down a size (or two in certain cases).  This scenario might be wonderful if I had the funds to replace all those 8s with 6s but that is sadly not the current case.  Thank goodness I have a wonderful tailor.  (For one of my interviews, I HAD to keep my blazer buttoned.  The shirt and skirt were so big it looked like I was playing dress up in my mother’s clothes.  But not necessarily my mother since we’re about the same size but you get the point….)

Aside from clothing adjustments, my weight loss has caused a number of people to speak out, either in support or lazy envy.  No one is negative toward me.  It’s just difficult to hear a sentence start “You look great” and end with “but look at me.”  Sure, we all have areas we could work on but for the most part, the people in my life look good.  (But I won’t deny we could all benefit from a few extra hours at the gym.  Flat abs don’t just appear and jiggle-y butts don’t suddenly firm up.)  However, in these and similar scenarios, I always wonder if people are saying those things b/c they believe them or b/c they’re hoping I’ll disagree.  Do I feed into the obvious set-up for a compliment or agree with their assessment (whether I really agree or not)?  Either response could be bad.  So I generally opt for the silent shake of the head “No” and smile.  Anyone can read into that what they like but having that conversation with someone like me could be potentially dangerous, especially if you pick the wrong side.

I have to admit that it’s interesting that my weight loss has prompted others around me to feel more comfortable to point out their faults to me.  Flabby arms, extra butt cheeks, non-pregnancy pouches, whatever.  It’s as if they project their insecurities onto me.  Obviously I too must have been unhappy with my own reflection to change it as much as I have.

My roommate recently made a comment that just made me laugh.  She’d been off in her own world thinking about something when she suddenly turns to me and asks “Is it bad that looking at someone else makes me want to work out?”  It took me a second to realize what she’d meant and then I just couldn’t help but laugh out loud.  I’d made similar comments for the last few years and been told that I was just being mean.  It was reassuring to have someone else say it out loud.

You’re not necessarily judging the other person.  You don’t know their situation.  But when you see someone else with a lot of extra fill in the blank you just might think to yourself “I don’t want to look like that.”  You’re not saying that person should change or that there’s even anything wrong with their fill in the blank. But you are realizing that you’d personally like to avoid that size of a fill in the blank. You don’t think you’d “carry it well.”  Arms that continue to wave after you’ve stopped, ass cheeks that spread to your hips, love handles you hate, fupas, cellulite (no explanation necessary), whatever your case might be.

There are only three ways to handle that situation.  Regretfully accept the evolution of your own fill in the blank, exercise and diet/eat healthy (I refuse to “diet”), or rely on drugs and/or tactics to limit your food intake.  I hope that no one makes themselves sick and understand that some evolutions just have to be accepted.  But I also realize that I am 25, single, not a mother, financially able to eat healthily, and physically able to exercise.  I don’t really have any excuses.  So I had to stop creating them when my pants didn’t fit anymore.

Excited that I actually have a waist now,

Jo’van

Office Appropriate: Cover Letter Blues

As evident by recent status updates, I HATE cover letters.  I hate writing them, reading them, editing them, giving up and sending them, the whole situation.  I realize that they are necessary but can’t help questioning their true purpose.  Are we supposed to view them as tools for showcasing our verbosity(big word )?  How over/underqualified we are for that position?  Or how well we seem to grasp the job description?  All three while remaining engaging, official and short?  Not a challenge at all…

Cover letters make me miss the days of reports and papers.  Sure, we were forced to read some of the most boring articles and books.  But in the end, you got to state your opinion/take on a specific question and back it up with facts and/or examples.  Of course, your professor could disagree or point out something you missed but all you had to do was have an opinion and express it with grammatical correctness (not to be confused with political correctness).  Either way, the whole thing was about something you thought, not on yourself.

The fact that I am about to write this on a personal blog seems to discount what I’m about to say BUT I don’t like writing about myself.  In a regular conversation, if you were to ask me about myself, I’d stammer out a list of general qualities.  But to really know what type of employee, friend, sister, etc, I was, you’d need stories, anecdotes and personal opinions.  Since a cover letter is used, if not expressly meant, to replace a first meeting, for good or bad, you’re given the opportunity to finely craft and proofread your first impression.

I’ve tried to view a cover letter as just a resume in paragraph form but that tactic is flawed.  A resume is supposed to tell what you’ve done while a cover letter is supposed to tell who you are.  That’s a lot of pressure for 3-4 paragraphs.  Plus, isn’t the whole thing about what you need in an employee and not really about me?

Regardless of how I feel about them, cover letters aren’t going away.  I just have to accept them as a part of the process and remember a really good one could help end the process for me.

I believe I would be the perfect fit for this position because….

Jo’van

Eye of the Beholder: Apples, Pears and Bananas

Alternative title: My Body: More than the Sum of Its Faults

(I couldn’t resist.  Gotta love Youtube)

Like any normal, American woman, I’ve had issues with my body image.  And by issues, I mean minor annoyances.  I’ve been blessed enough to not feel the need to go to extremes.  When I was skinny, I accepted being skinny.  When I had a roll or two, I just had a roll or two.  Deep down I knew my issues were minor.  But nothing’s truly minor to a 14-year-old, 19-year-old, or even a 25-year-old.  You just debate whether the pain and cost of doing something about it is worth the benefits.  In my case, it never seemed to be.

Growing up, I, of course, saw the same models, singers and actresses everyone else did.  They were all beautiful because someone else said they were.  But in my head, Whitney Houston was gorgeous b/c she could sing (despite the ridiculous crimped blond wigs).  Naomi Campbell was intriguing b/c she would’ve failed the paperbag test miserably and everyone still loved her.  Cindy Crawford was cool b/c no one seemed to care she had a mole, oh, excuse me, a “beauty mark”.  Madonna had a big group that no one seemed to notice.  I found these women and countless others interesting because we were all supposed to pay attention to what they could do and not the small things that would’ve been hinderances to people in the real world.

As I got older, I began to identify with women and characters who suffered the same ill fates as I did (or what I considered to be ill at the time).  Storm was my favorite X-Men, not b/c of her powers (although controlling the weather would be pretty cool) but b/c she was tall, slender and black.    (Don’t even get me started on Halle Berry being cast in the movie.  I love her but she’s SHORT!!!)  Kate Hudson became cool in my eyes not b/c of her skills but b/c she’s rather flat-chested.  The Jet beauties were interesting b/c they always had big butts.  Tyra Banks never lied about her weaves.  (I’ve never had one but I understand the desire.)  Etc…

Most of the women I’ve named are black.  This is not to say that I don’t see the Catherine Zeta-Jones, Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Lopez, Lisa Ling or Heidi Klums as beautiful.  Of course they are.  But they’re just not who I generally measured myself against.  What was the point?  My mother worked very hard to surround me with milk chocolate-skinned, dark brown-eyed and raven-haired dolls, pictures, barbies, books, etc.

I went through a brief phase of imagining how much easier it would be to be blond and blue-eyed but I emerged content to be brown.  Next came the feeling of not being black enough.  I seemed to lack the desirable attributes of black women.  Instead of full, luscious lips, my top lip all but disappears when I smile (think Jim Carey’s Fire Marshall Bill from In Living Color).  The voluptuous coke-bottle figure lovable even with a little extra padding completely missed me.  With my small chest, no-existent hips and lack of waist, I was much closer to the $1.79 2-liter bottle.  As puberty ended, it became apparent I’d never be a Jet Beauty or Cover Girl.  While missing out on those particular careers was fine, the sad truth was still sad.

You see genetics had not been as kind to me as they could have been.  The women on either side of my family are uniquely beautiful.  Faces aside, you have apples and pears.  My mother’s side of the family generally rocks the apples.  Red delicious, granny smith, pink lady, take your pick.  Top-heavy w/ smaller bottoms and, dare I say it, skinny legs.  That shape may not be everyone’s ideal but it is what I saw growing up and expected to resemble.  My dad’s family on the other hand were the classic pears.  Petite tops and small waists poised upon “thick” bottoms.  While one side struggles to find button-ups that don’t gap, the other struggles to find bottoms that fit the ass AND the waist.  I could’ve been the classic coke-bottle, big-little-big.  Instead, and in keeping with the fruits, I ended up a slightly deformed banana, straight up and down with a butt, only one of the desirable curves.  :- ) This realization was only worsened by a “harmless” comment my mother made during my teens.  “I used to worry I’d have to chase the boys away with my family’s top and your dad’s bottom.  But now, I guess I don’t have to worry.”  Thanks, Mom.  It’s all pretty funny now but not 10 years ago when I was 15.

To be fair to her, the boys weren’t all that interested in high school (or college for that matter).  Between going to a small school, being a smart-ass, and strongly resembling Steve Urkel, no one had to worry about me and the boys.  This complete lack of attention (despite my “amazing” outfits haha) probably impacted my self-esteem more than I’d care to admit.  Rather than just accept it for what it was, I gave them excuses.  “Well, of course he wouldn’t be interested in someone who looks like a 12-year-old boy when I could talk to her…”  Colored eyes, longer hair, bigger boobs, a better butt, whatever the case might be.  I’ve since outgrown those excuses.  A lack of interest is nothing more than that.  I’m not interested in every man I meet.  Why should I expect or home for the same?  But sometimes you can’t help but slip back into asking “why not me?”

So where’s the resolution you ask?  There’s not really one.  Am I stressing as much as I used to about my image?  No.  But I’m also doing more proactively to adapt what I see in the mirror to what I’d like to see.  I’m just too lazy to daydream about changes I couldn’t make with a few extra hours at the gym or a trip to a hairdresser.  I’m cheap and have no desire to go under the knife now that my wisdom teeth have been removed.  If plastic surgery’s the only thing that’s going to make me love the way I look, I guess I’ll have to accept just not hating it.

Realizing why she loves banana bread, smoothies and laffy taffy so much,

Jo’van

The World…As I See It: A Stranger’s Wedding

Cheesy pop wedding song.  98 degrees are one of my guilty pleasures.  White boys on Motown?  Come on.  I HAD to love them.  This wasn’t one of my favorite songs but it works…

98 Degrees “I Do (Cherish You)”

I attended a lovely wedding with a friend this weekend.  A quick and simple 25 minute ceremony on a hotel lawn followed by a 5 hour dinner-DJ-dancing reception.  The bride looked flawless and the groom looked so happy you just wanted to pinch his cheeks.  The grandmas were precious and the mandatory crazy aunt seemed to never leave the dance floor.  Classic rock, country, hip-hop, r&b and swing played throughout the night.  Wonderful hors d’oeuvre, a delicious dinner, ooh la la pear mojitos to die for.  The only thing that could’ve made the whole event better for me would’ve been knowing who the hell these people were.

Aside from my date, Chivis, I knew absolutely no one at the wedding.  Leading up to the event, I thought this small fact would be an issue.  It turns out that a stranger’s wedding might be the most interesting type to attend.   But let’s be clear, I didn’t crash.  I was a plus one.

Normally, when you attend a wedding, you’ve previously known the bride, groom or couple.  You have some funny little story about her or an embarrassing photo of him  You’ve witnessed some part of their personal and relationship-based trials.  You’ve been to one of their apartments or parents’ homes.  You’re happy (hopefully) for them because you know what they’ve been through to reach this point.  However, when you don’t have any of this background, you don’t need the because.  You’re just happy for them.

Her dress was gorgeous.  Cool.  I’m happy for them.  He was on the verge of tears.  Sweet.  I’m happy for them.  Their parents looked so happy.  Wonderful.  Happy for them.  The food was good, DJ on point, string quartet amazing.  Happy, happy, and happy.

It was a lot like tuning into a movie that’s been on for a while.  You know the wedding scene mean they’ve been through some “things” and persevered but you’re not at all that concerned with the details at the moment.  Instead, you want to get caught up in the beauty and hopeful happily ever after.  After all, wouldn’t you hope that’s what a stranger would think or feel on YOUR wedding day?

Anyway, as I watched this abstract couple and all of their family and friends celebrate the fact that they’re “sinners who’ve chosen to dedicate themselves to each other” (paraphrased words from the pastor, no joke), I start to consider my own wedding (if).  All I can see is the color scheme: black, white and red.  (If you’ve ever been to my apartment or spent significant time with me, that can’t be surprising.)  I think black and white weddings and classy and simple but I’d still need a little color.  But aside from the colors, I’m at a loss.  Destination or hometown?  Big or small?  Church or hotel?  Inside or outside, summer or fall, intimate or a celebration?  I have no idea and have never spent the time or energy to fantasize about it.

We’ve always been told that girls plan their wedding days from an early age.  Sure, I had my Wedding Day Barbie and matching Ken doll growing up.  But to me, her wedding dress was nothing more than a white version of the pink ball gowns I already had.  In fact, Ken’s tuxedo was more memorable because it was gray and I thought that was odd.  In my head, Barbie and Ken were already married so why make a big deal about the day now?  I’d quickly move onto wanting Beach Barbie and Dancer Ken (or whatever was in that Christmas’ Toys ‘R Us catalog).  My dream was to be a singer, not a wife.  (I understand you could do both but when you’re day-dreaming as a child, you can only focus on one thing at a time.)

Now, I don’t mean to sound anti-weddings.  I fully support dream weddings and marriages.  I think they’re both wonderful and something to hope for (if that works for you).  But I’ve just never been in the mindset to plan my own.  Rest assured, if it ever happens, I will allow it to consume my every waking moment and turn into a prime candidate for an episode of Bridezilla All-Stars.  Bridesmaids beware.  Haha.  I think I’m just practical enough to not get that caught up (yet).  I have to take baby steps like… dating.  In the meantime, I’ll enjoy the anonymity and easy emotion of stranger’s weddings in person (or onscreen).

Laughing at Bridezillas (while I can),

Jo’van

Quarterlife Crisis: Meeting Me at the Airport

I’ve been traveling (and moping) a lot lately.  Wyclef Jean’s “Gone Till November”

To break the monotony of unemployment, I flew to both homes last month.  A week or so in Phoenix, a few days in Nashville, moms, dads, sisters, brothers, grandmas, friends, babies, bbq and lots of fresh fruit, a proper vacation.  Of course, everyone asked me how things were going and the like but everyone (except for my father) only asked once.  They pretended to accept my well-rehearsed, positive yet realistic response and let it drop.  Ah, family. 

Because I’ve been moping around a lot lately, I’ve started to notice things that could be better but never really mattered before like someone being there to meet me at the airport.  Of course, when I’m traveling to see someone, family or friend, there’s always someone there to pick me up.  But they’re always in their cars.

I’ve traveled 4-6 times a year for the last 20 years of my life.  With parents on different sides of the country and later attending a university in another part of the country, flying has just been a part of what I do.  Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever flown to go on a vacation with my family, just to go see them.  I can distinctly remember thinking how cool it was to be taken care of by the stewardesses (oh excuse me, flight attendants), meeting the pilots, being able to push the attendant button for just about anything I needed.  When I was about 6, I remember there was this really sweet stewardess who let me help her serve the drinks.  That was when you always got a full can, not just poured glasses.  This really scruffy looking guy ordered something alcoholic and let ME keep the change.  I felt so special.  Haha.

Anyway, back in those days (and probably because I was a minor), people always met you at the gate.  My parents were always there and it felt special to be able to look for someone instead of just go collect your luggage.  When all of the rules changed, I was already a teenager and didn’t necessarily want my parents to meet me at the gate.  I enjoyed the sense of independence.  Plus, just meeting me outside is much easier for the people collecting me.  As long as we’ve got our cell phones, we’re golden.

However, these recent trips made me think about the feeling of being able to look for someone.  I always smile as I pass the security stations and see family and friends with signs welcoming home the soldiers, students, whatever.  The anxious boyfriends with flowers.  The mother/father with little kids straining to be the first one to see him/her.  It’s just so sweet.  Someone is that excited to welcome someone home.  (In fact, I can distinctly remember the last time someone met me at the airport.  It was in high school and a “boyfriend” wanted to see me.  He didn’t even drive me home because my mother had arranged to come pick me up.  He can just to see me.  How sweet…)

Now, I’m not saying that my family and friends aren’t excited to see me.  (At least, I’d like to believe they are.)  I just think we don’t feel the need to do more than the minimum.  We can hug in the car.  Catch up as we’re driving home.  When I pick people up at the airport, I don’t ever park and wait (unless their flight is running late and then I just wait in the parking lot).  We all just pull up to the curb nowadays.  What’s up with that?  Are our relationships not worth getting out of the car anymore?  The first 30 minutes are usually free.  It won’t necessarily have to cost us anything but the effort.  I can’t complain if I don’t step it up myself.  I just wonder if anyone else would care as much as I do…

Re-evaluating airport curbside service,

Jo’van

Office Appropriate: Managing Up

I have to say “Manage Up” is definently the most interesting term I’ve encountered since entering the professional world.  Sure, “Circleback“, “Ping” and”Head Down” are formiddable contenders but nothing is quite as puzzling or seemingly faulted as “Manage Up.”  “Moving Forward” we’ll refer to it as simply MU. 

Very early in my career, my boss introduced me to the term when we discussed my not-so-smooth relationship with a senior colleague (please, note that I said senior colleague and not boss).  I was basically told that if I wanted to successfully (and sanely) work with this colleague, I would have to learn how to MU.   At first, the term sounded confusing, then almost empowering.  I was being tasked with a sense or level of managerial responsibility.  Only after I “Noodled Over‘ the term further did it become apparant that my “Due Diligence” in the successful excercise of this managerial responsibility would only serve to directly and positively impact the perception of my senior colleague’s managerial abilities, i.e. I realized it’s true meaning.  (Jo’van Definition: Managing Up = Learning how anyone above me works, thinks and performs and catering my delivery and workload to their quirks, no matter how ridiculous or egotistical.)  Suddenly, empowering transformed into enabling.  (I will NOT be an enabler!)

Granted, MU will be a part of everyone’s day-to-day life in corporate America.  But that doesn’t mean you have to like it.

I’d love for someone to explain to me why it is my responsibility to manage someone who’s being paid tens of thousands of dollars more than I am to manage me (amongst other things).  I can’t seem to “Wrap My Head Around” the concept and all of its implications.  Yes, they are senior to me because of their experience and years worked (even if the latter is more imporant in the hiring process).  But why would they be promoted to a position that puts people “under” them when they’re not mature enough to manage effectively AND respectfully?  OK, so maybe not everyone’s situation is that serious but the point still stands.

It is frustrating to manage a manager (and not get paid extra for it).  And yes, I do understand that there will be a transition period for a new manager.  BUT that transition should not be at the expense of your team dynamics.  Your junior colleagues are not automatically transformed into secretaries or interns.  (No disrespect, but those are simply not my titles.)  Your transition period should be about “Drillng Down” to learn to properly manage, not properly managing to piss me off on a daily basis.  (OK, off the rant…)

I’ve realized that in my case, learning to MU means:

1) Doing MY job to the best of my abilities (justifying my paycheck)

2.) Not doing YOUR job (unless you plan to share the proceeds)

3.) Staying calm as I tell you how/why I won’t be doing your job (listing my daily projects and objectives)

4.) Keeping my emails and IMs politcally correct and office appropriate (in case of an audit)

All the while 5.) Cracking jokes and smiling politely as I silently curse you out with my eyes for shortening my name (The fact that my name has common derivatives does not give you the automatic right to call me any varierty of those derivatives.  I simply don’t like it.  K?)

Hint: You’re probably safe to call people whatever they sign their internal emails.

Respectfully,

Jo’van

Eye of the Beholder: Health vs. Vanity

I’m on a fresh gym kick right now.  I’ve had this gym membership for about two years and every few months, something prompts me to re-engage w/ the elliptical machine.  (Usually when my pants are uncomfortable.)  I’ve often said that I go to the gym b/c I like my current wardrobe and want to compliment my closet rather than start over with a larger size.  However, I wonder just how true that is.  Would I be as bothered by baggy booty from losing 23 lbs as I seem to be about the virgin-ing muffin top from gaining those 23 (seeming all in one location) in a year? 

You see the problem is that I was not properly equipt for this particular issue.  From age 4 to about 15, I was an absolute STICK.  Looking back at pictures, it was kind of sick.  No matter what I ate and how little I did, I was thin.  I graduated highschool at 5′9 and under 130 lbs.  Somewhere in college, I filled out and became “normal.”  I can handle normal.  I’ve been told it looks good on me.  I’ll take it.  (It’s very convenient that my shoe and pant sizes are now the same.)

Every time I’ve been back in the gym for a few weeks and see a slight bit of progress, I’m really tempted to just stop there.  I mean I’m just trying to tone up, not lose any weight.  (Well, that is until I really gained more than 5 lbs….)

So, I have bad knees and shoulders.  And I refuse to watch what I eat any more than the short trip it takes from my plate to my mouth.  Yes, diabetes, heart disease, and obesity run in my family.  Yes, salt and butter are my favorite ingredients for any meal.  Yes, I know that genetics are not in my favor.  BUT somehow that collection of facts is not enough to get me into the gym on a regular basis.  But give me a muffin top sighting or mid-30s looking thighs 10 years too early and you’ll soon see me huffing and puffing, breaking a sweat on the leg press with my iPod in its armband and my red Nalgene water bottle at Gold’s Gym.  (Correction: I don’t sweat, I glisten.  And by glisten, I mean sweat like a pig 5 minutes into any workout.  It’s really unattractive but I digress…)

From apples to pears, I see the shape of my future in my family.  And one day I’ll be comfortable enough with myself and/or my body to not immediately react to muffin top.  For right now though, I’ll submit to vanity and work to remain a salted, buttery piece of corn on the cob.  (Shout out to all Iowa babies!!!)

Air kiss (b/c I’m sweaty and stink),

Jo’van

Romantic Cynic: A Face for the Fantasy

A couple of weeks ago, I met a boy (as Chivis would say).  He was everything I needed to know at the moment: cute, amazing body, fun, seemingly genuine and COMPLETELY not for me (not in order of importance, just in order of what I noticed ).  Nothing could really be expected from this encounter other than the immediate excitement.  And as the excitement passed, I accepted that it had to b/c we were not in the same place in our lives, figuratively or literally.  However, that realization did not affect the nearly immediate daydreaming involving him.

You see while I am (and will probably always be) a cynic and extremely girly or cutsy things (or movies) make me physically ill, I am also a hopeless romantic.  A single flower for no reason and self-made CDs, notes in the pocket of my jacket and a sweet text message in the middle of the afternoon, asking about my friends and seeming interested, opening my car door, taking my dog out in the rain b/c I just got a relaxer, things like that regrettably make me (for lack of a better word) swoon.  Don’t tell me I’m beautiful when I’ve never felt more unattractive or take care of me when I’m sick if you don’t want me to want to remember it.

However, being a person who avoids any possibilities of relationships past friendship (don’t ask me why, I haven’t dug that deep into my subconscious yet), I don’t often encounter people I would allow to make me swoon.  Most often if they do, they fell into my lap, therefore catching me off guard, as did this boy.

Being a romantic cynic has its perks in that you can judge and appreciate anyone and their gestures as you like.  However, it generally just serves to foster a wonderful imagination.  Just b/c you don’t do relationships doesn’t mean you can’t know (and imagine) what someone would have to do to absolutely render you weak in the knees.  If there’s not enough personal material to pull from, you simply create it.  (The beauty of a daydream)  This provides those fleeting crushes (or infatuations depending on the situation) with yet another purpose: to serve as the face of your current fantasy.  You know this person would (probably) never do the things you daydream about but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t.  The imaginary man of your dreams temporarily has a distinct name and face (or more).

To say/write this out loud is a little strange but I promised to speak only the truth.  So for now my imaginary prince charming has a face (and abs) I can describe and care to remember. 

Personally judging but forever honest,

Jo’van

Eye of the Beholder: Shot Glass Therapy

Ok Ok.  It’s not as bad as it could sound.  It’s not the type of therapy you get from the contents of a shot glass but from the messages printed on them.  Like this one…

A Cutie with a Bootie Needs a Hottie with a Body

This particular shot glass makes me laugh because it’s so ridiculous and so true.  Only I’d substitute the “Needs” for a “Wants”.  I don’t need a man with a nice body but it sure would be nice.    But I wonder, if I’m looking for someone with a six-pack and beautiful arms, does that mean I should at least have a flat stomach and nice legs?  (Long does not equal nice, only more to shave.)

Is it unfair to want a level of attractiveness you yourself don’t live up to?  I’m average, normal, whatever. But I want to be with someone gorgeous.  Yes, that might lead to jealously or possessiveness but I’d be basking in his glory in the meantime.  I’d like to be THAT couple you see on the sidewalk when you wonder (almost out loud) “Why is he with her?”

This level of expectation is unrealistic, I understand that but somehow it creeps into my mind whenever a prospect approaches.  If I don’t know you well enough to consider you a friend, I can only evaluate you on two levels: appearance and conversation skills.  However, I’m  most often approached when shot glasses are an appropriate part of the decor.  Conversation skills are then affected by alcohol, people and noise and I’m left solely with appearance.

Is it so wrong to want a potential boyfriend to not have bigger boobs that I do?  I’m on the petite side.  Any competition could be detrimental to my self-esteem.

How about a guy who’s body is pretty solid?  I’d like to be the soft one in the relationship.

And I just have a weakness for sculpted arms.  It must have something to do with a feeling of security.  Flex for me, baby.

I’ve got some expectations to re-evaluate.  Until then, I’ll just admire from afar and appreciate all of the hard work some of the guys at my gym are putting in.  Can you work out enough for the both of us? 

Dreaming of Morris Chestnut abs and Dean Cain arms,

Jo’van

Romantic Cynic: Lustration

A friend recently asked me how I did it.  How do I manage to avoid relationships altogether?  Being a self-affirmed man-hater who is now in a wonderful relationship, she now thinks it’s time for me.  “X-amount of time, really?”  I can only shrug my shoulders and smile. 

A lot goes into giving up singledom.  Many people feel quite the opposite, dreading every moment of not being attached.  However, if you’ve been unattached for long enough, the opposite can almost become true.  Giving up that freedom and opening yourself up to that level of risk again begins to lose its wonder.  You can become quite self-sufficient and rediscover the level of dependence you once had on your platonic female friends.  You find new ways to keep yourself busy (or distracted depending on how fresh your singledom is).  You start to redefine (a.k.a. narrow) what you’re looking for in a partner.  The more time, the longer the list, further perpetuating your singledom.

The only thing that can’t be killed with time is the physical, the carnal, human touch.  (I just really like to use the word carnal whenever possible.)  As the memories fade, so should the urges but alas, no such luck.  The subtle things can be the most detrimental.  A kiss on the back of the neck, a hand on the small of the back, a t-shirt that smells like him.  (Side note: If smell is supposed to be the strongest sense tied to memory and that memory is tied to desire, does that mean scent is tied to desire?  If so, that explains a lot, damn Dolce & Gabbana…)  Colognes would have to be my ultimate downfall.  Certain scents will make me turn into one of those girls in the Axe commercials.

Whatever it is that reminds you of the (beautiful) things you’re missing out in your current singledom, when it comes to the carnal, you’re most often left with feelings of lust and frustration.  I call this uniquely annoying  and potentially dangerous feeling “lustration”.  On one hand, if you’re into self-deprivation, it’s a reminder and test of your dedication to avoiding “messy” relationships.  On the other, if you don’t mind physical connections without the “messy” emotional ones, this feeling could get you into some trouble.  I’m not advocating or disavowing one-night stands, but at a certain level of lustration, they become a considerable alternate.  If you’re moderately attractive, clean and willing… 

If a one-night stand is not enough for you, lustration can prompt you to re-evaluate your reasons for perpetuating your singledom.  I’ll never say anyone should enter a relationship to satisfy a physical “itch” (probably a poor choice of words) but it can be a strong enough force to consider one.

I’ll end by saying lustration is a royal pain in the ass; mostly because it may just be that nudge you need to want to do something different.  Lazy and avoiding life can often look the same UNTIL your next wiff of sexy cologne…

Avoiding attractive men at all costs (apparently),

Jo’van

No Patience For You: Creeper Quote “I Bathe My Wife Everyday”

Recently, I went to coffee with two young ladies I’ll be working with for at least the next year.  The important thing to note is that I’d never met these ladies before.  While we were politely chatting amongst ourselves, this average looking man approaches our table and proceeds to tell me that I was beautiful and looked exactly like his wife.  I responded with a polite smile and an awkward “thanks.” Big mistake.  For some reason, I didn’t get the “creeper” vibe immediately.  For the next several minutes, he proceeded to creep us out by telling me:

1.) How much he loves his wife who looks exactly like me

2.) The reason my hair is not longer is because I don’t take care of it

3.) After flexing and asking each of us to touch his bicep, his entire body is as hard as a rock because of the navy; arms, abs, thighs

4.) How much he loves his wife who is my twin

5.) He could come to my house if I ever had car problems (Need a business card for a creepy local mechanic?  I have his.)

6.) How he bathes, massages from head-to-toe and brushes the ultra-long hair of his Spanish/African-American wife daily (But it’s okay because she does the same for him)

7.) If he weren’t married, he’d ask me to call him for drinks

And then walked away….

While my new associates were (understandably) asking me if/how/why, I simply sat there completely speechless.  Where the hell did this guy come from?  And why me?  If he’s married, his poor wife.  If not, that has to be the worst pick-up line ever “You look exactly like my wife.”  And why would he flex for three perfect strangers to show what 12 years in the navy can do for you?  How do your thighs enter ANY conversation?  Did I look inviting to this kind of ridiculousness?  And why in the world would you ever tell someone you bathe your wife everyday?

I seem to have a knack for attracting the crazies, the true creepers.  They must recognize my unrelenting curiosity.  Don’t approach me with ridiculousness.  As much as I’ll want to tell you off (and my actions and words will echo that sentiment), I find myself almost equally intrigued.  Just how crazy are you?  Can you top the last guy?  And what do you think will work on/for/with me?

That is until you cross the line and truly prove how creepy you can be.  Often, however, reaching that point (as immediate as it may be) means it’s too late to get out of a situation gracefully.  Overt rudeness or a friend’s rescue are your only hopes.  Just hope you have friends who want to spare you the pain rather than sit in a corner and laugh at it.

Confused (and still slightly uncomfortable),

Jo’van

No Patience for You: New Millenium, Same White Cleopatra

Imagine 1963; the politics, the Civil Rights Movement, the Vietnam War.  Fast forward 35 years;

• Barack, a man of obvious African descent, is realistically running for the presidency
• Halle and Denzel have Oscars in leading roles (Morgan finally got his for supporting)
• Oprah is arguably the most powerful woman in America (Condi coming in a close second)
• Tyra has managed to create and host two surprisingly successful television programs (my she’s come a long way from Victoria’s Secret and Sports Illustrated)
• Beyonce is EVERYWHERE
• Cool is defined by Rihanna, Kanye and Usher
• Two of the “whitest “sports in history are dominated by Tiger, Venus and Serena.
• My 40 year-old boss is greeting me with a daily frat boyish “Yo”, a fist pound and discussing how T.I. is true gangsta rap
• There is a line of clothing actually called Apple Bottoms (It still amazes and mystifies me when people suffering from the dreaded Noassatall (sound it out) have baggy apples for pockets)
• Queen Latifah, rapper-turned-actress-turned-singer-turned-actress, is the only celebrity in history (at least in the US) to have her own full line of branded cosmetics under a major cosmetic distributor (Go Cover Girl!! The Queen’s Collection in the light purple packaging.)
• And I use all of their first or stage names because everyone knows EXACTLY who I’m talking about.

African-Americans have come a long way in 35 years.  (Permanently pigmented brothers and sisters of lighter shades, keep your head up.  There is hope for us all!)

However, the one iconic role identified with the entire continent of Africa has been once again given to an actress lacking of pigment (at least in her skin).  The Welsh-beauty Catherine Zeta-Jones is said to have been cast to play the iconic Egyptian-beauty Cleopatra in an upcoming film.  Now, I LOVE Catherine.  I think she is truly one of the most gorgeous, glamorous and classy actresses of her time.  We forgave her horrible accent in Zorro and delighted in her acrobatic skills in Entrapment.  We laughed at the worst movie ever, America’s Sweethearts, and cheered her (and her wig) on in Chicago.  But Cleopatra: The Musical starring Catherine Zeta-Jones is just ridiculous!

Are you telling me that there is not one pigmented beauty (who can sing, dance and act) they could possibly cast as Cleopatra?  Not one?  And I don’t just mean throw a black girl in some gold jewelry and cat-eye makeup.  Beyonce would be a mistake.  No Cleopatra should EVER be blond.  And while I’m sure Angela Bassett could get her groove back jungle fever-style with Hugh Jackman’s Marc Antony, the features would all be wrong.  But what about Halle Berry, Rosario Dawson or Thandie Newton? 

Do you think they considered any of these actresses for the iconic (and/or Oscar winning) roles of June Cleaver Carter, Queen Elizabeth, Helen of Troy, Joan of Arc or Jackie O.?  “Well, of course not, Jo’van.”  Weak cough, squirm in chair, clasp hands and lean forward for a more intimate delivery.  “It’s not that these actresses could not have done amazing jobs.  We just wanted a true historical representation.”  So why the hell the double-standard for this character?  Everyone knows she was the ruler of Egypt (which happens to be in northern Africa for all casting directors who seem to overlook that fact).

I understand why an undiscovered (more physically appropriate) actress for a film of this magnitude would not be chosen.  But at least pretend like you tried.  Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra was wrong in 1963 but it was at least understood for the time.  We’ve come so far since then.  Can’t people of African descent finally claim this one historic role on the big screen?  The most beautiful (or desirable, depending on how you see it) woman in history was brown, the shade variant is debatable but brown nonetheless.  Can we finally claim her as our own and see an image closer to a “true historical representation”?  Catherine Zeta-Jones with a spray tan and liquid eyeliner is not enough in 2008!  If that’s the case, let’s do a bio-pic on Jackie O. starring Halle Berry!

Annoyed,

Jo’van

(Note: I said that Cleopatra is the most beautiful woman in history, because being the Latin geek that I am, I consider Helen of Troy the most beautiful woman in mythology.  And don’t get me started on the horrible casting for her role in Troy.  Brad Pitt or not, there was absolutely no reason for Achilles to be prettier than her.)

Office Appropriate: Where Is Your Casual Attire Considered Business?

Business casual attire seems to be a common problem for companies across the country.  Jeans, polos, flip-flops, short skirts, shorts, tennis shoes, open-toe suede platform stilettos.  Where is the line drawn?  Has it in fact only been drawn in the sands of time?  If so, was there a corporate sand storm I missed while watching What Not to Wear?

I recognize that while I am relatively young in the workforce (just barely under 25), I am a traditionalist at heart.  In the office, I feel there should be difference between what you wear to the office and what you wear either to the bar or just to grab a few groceries on the weekend.  If the outfit calls for your sexy, sassy perfume or would best be accessorized with a color-coordinated pair of Crocs, may I suggest that you return to your closet before proceeding to work?

Do I ever dress inappropriately (by Jo’van standards) to the office?  Oh, yes.  Everything’s covered but that’s not always the final determining factor.  Some days I just don’t feel like putting up the effort to look as professional as I should/could.  Peer pressure to fit in and all.  I work in a pretty causal profession in a very casual city.  With tech companies redefining the work uniform as either a school logo-d t-shirt or polo, khaki shorts or jeans, and flip-flops or tennis shoes (Mix and match as the pile of clothes on your floor allows), success and appearance are no longer synonymous.  You can be a slob and a self-made millionaire at 25.  (On the other side, you can be half-naked and marry a self-made millionaire at 25…)  However, we are not all so lucky (or waxed).  Unless dressing up means ironing your commemorative UT National Championship t-shirt when a client comes into the office, why must we test the boundaries any (and every) other time?

A few pet peeves for the fellas.  (My list for the ladies is longer because we have more options.)

1.) Wrinkled or Fold-Creased Clothing: If I have to explain this, we have a problem.  Wrinkled or fold-creased just screams “I don’t care.  I bought the shirt.  You should be happy.”  Hint: NO drycleaner creases your shirt horizontally.  Iron that shit out.

2.) Tennis Shoes with Dress Pants:  Look I get it.  Women have more options.  But rest assured, our mass of options are just more choices of uncomfortable shoes.  “My dress shoes are uncomfortable” will not fly with me.  Wear some stilettos and let me know what you think after.  Just wear the shoes you know you should.  Hint If a Nike, Adidas, Reebok, Puma, Vans, etc logo appears on the outside of the shoe ANYWHERE, they’re tennis shoes.  Personally, I’m not a fan of cowboy boots with dress pants (or anywhere) but now live in Texas and have no say.  So if you need a change from the traditional dress shoes and loafers, go that route (as tastefully as possible).

3.) Unshaven messes:  Shaving sucks.  I agree.  (Mine covers more surface area but you have to walk around with little pieces of tissue paper on your face when you screw up.)  And you have the right to grow out your facial hair as you please.  However, do so with attention to your appearance.  As you try desperately to make those patches appear to be a beard, please keep them all even.  Monday’s 5 o’clock shadow turns into Wednesday’s “have you looked in the mirror.”

On to the Ladies…

Oh, to narrow it down JUST to 10.

1.) Flip-flops: They look cheap and are noisy.  I should never have to see that much of someone’s foot in a “shoe.”  (I HATE feet.   Everyone’s.  Mine included.)

2.) Decorated Flip-flops: A bejeweled or leopard-print flip-flip is STILL a flip-flop. 

3.) Mini skirts: They made a come back but were never appropriate in the office in the first place.  This applies to tall and short people alike.  The old high-school rule of hands to side and skirt passed your fingertips is no longer enough.  An office appropriate skirt should always be closer to your knee than you middle finger.

4.) Mini skirts with Tights: Mini skirts are still office appropriate skirts missing valuable fabric when paired with opaque tights.  Tights are thicker versions of stockings (or hose, depending on what you call them).  They are not a pant substitute.  If you would not wear the same skirt with pants (thus making it a wide belt), it should not be worn to the office at all.

5.) Ultra-tight or Ultra-clingy fabrics: If you have Jessica Biel or Halle Berry’s bodies, congratulations.  But that does not mean it should be flaunted at the office.  Feel free to rub it in the rest of the world’s face in other more appropriate situations.  For the office, stick with fitted.  Please note: Fitted does NOT equal tight.  If you are incapable of making the distinction, go with a little loose.  Clean cuts and fabrics not completely made of Lycra are a good start.  If you have not been following the Biel or Berry exercise and diet regimen, you should already understand why you should never wear tight or clingy clothes.  Showing off what you either don’t have but wish you did or do have and wish you could give away is not really showing off…

6.) Extreme Cleavage: Bosom-blessed women.  I’m sorry but this one’s just for you.  (Don’t worry.  The next one’s for people with my body type.)  Sexy and serious are not the same thing in the office.  In addition to the several men who will have ENTIRE conversations with your chest, you’re opening yourself up for chronic chest colds.  Companies like healthy employees.  If you cannot live without your v-neck or scoop neck tops, please invest in tank tops with HIGH NECK LINES.  If you tank only covers one of your six inches of cleavage, it’s not enough.  Good effort and all but no.  I’d also reconsider any top where the buttons covering your chest appear to be holding on for dear life.  Just a thought.

7.) Booty-Exaggerating Bottoms: If you’re blessed with a permanent cushion from backward falls, congrats but please recognize the careful attention you must now pay to work pants and skirts. Lines across the butt and skirts that come up three inches higher in the back than they do in the front are not cute.  Don’t overcompensate by swallowing your butt in extra fabric and ill-fitting bottoms.  Baggy booty is not attractive either.  But please, don’t wear pants so tight across the butt that we can describe the pattern of the lace on your underwear or we can actually see the thong you’re wearing (thus defeating the purpose).  Clothes should hug, not suffocate, your curves.  Plus, such ill-fitting clothes can actually create rolls, extra curves you don’t want.

8.) Spaghetti Strap, Strapless, or Halter Tops: Full chest, shoulders and upper back should not all be exposed in the office.  It’s a little too much skin.  Bra straps (clear or otherwise) are not supposed to be used as accessories.  Strapless and spaghetti are non-negotiable.  However, if the halter covers equally in the front and back (typically with a mock turtleneck style), this should be okay.  Otherwise, pair these tops with a cardigan or shrug you DO NOT plan to remove.

9.) Proper Undergarments:  I am not one to govern your underwear.  Granny panties or thongs, lacy bras or sports bras, do whatever is comfortable AND looks good.  For instance, I am personally anti-thong.  If I’m going to pay the same price, I’d rather pay for more fabric and comfort.  Anybody that tells me thongs are comfortable is a liar.   However, if I choose full-coverage underwear and form-fitting pants, I must be cognizant of the infamous panty line.  (I think I’ve finally found the brand and style that prevents this fashion faux pas.  Let me know if you’d like the secret to my newly found comfort.)  Likewise, if your top does not allow for a normal bra, it probably should not be worn to the office.  (Please refer to Number 8.)  For NO REASON should you enter a professional setting without a bra.  Hippies, I’ll debate you on this statement, if you’d like.  Saggy boobs and a physical thermostat for cold weather are not office appropriate.  Well, at least in my line of business…

10.) Junior Staff Dressing Better Than Upper Management: I’ve always heard that you should dress one level above your current level.  Something about your appearance matching you level of work, making the decision to promote you that much easier.  However, I take personal offense to the idea of the majority of junior staff looking more professional than their bosses and senior colleagues.  I’m lucky enough to work in an office with interns.  I find it very interesting that interns can (and do) dress nicer than their supervisors.  Do as we say, not as we do.  I get that.  But still, everyday out dressed by your intern?  Really?

I am a stickler for some traditional rules.  Unless I can dress like a college student on campus (not our interns at the office), I’m never going to be comfortable at work.  If I’m not comfortable, I feel I should look good.  My good may be different from your good.  That’s fine.  I just wish we could find a common definition of what professional looks like.  No one expects hose and ties but ironed shirts and jeans not frayed on the bottom shouldn’t be too much to ask.  And don’t tell me business clothes are too expensive when you’re walking around in Seven jeans and BCBG heels or Kenneth Cole tennis shoes and a Miss Sixty button-up.  Damn my mother for making me look nice growing up…

Reevaluating my closet,

Jo’van

Shades of Understanding: The Black, Female, Democrat Conundrum

Black. Female. Democrat.  If you’re not ALL of those things, this post may not apply to you.  The 2008 presidential election has been especially exciting for me.  (The final outcome was the highlight but I’ll write about that next week.  I still need time to digest.)

Leading up to the Democratic Convention, the country’s registered Democrats (and dissatisfied Republicans) were faced for the first time with two historic candidates: a young, charismatic mixed black senator from Chicago and a seasoned, well-known female senator from New York by way of the White House by way of Arkansas.  Both lawyers.  Both senators.  Both representing a fight for injustice.  One married to whom many considered to be the first “black president.”  The other on his way to becoming the first “actually black president.”  One a great orator.  The other a calculated speaker.  Not a knock to Barack Obama but I was a Hillary Clinton supporter.  Seeing as my side did not prevail, I will not dwell on my reasoning for leaning her way.  Just enjoy the below picture of my puppy Rodman sporting his “Howl for Hillary” shirt during her concession speech during the Democratic Convention.

Howl for Hillary

I think the most interesting thing about my choice of candidate was the reaction I received from other Black, Female Democrats (BFDs) in my life.  Some were appalled that I could even CONSIDER not voting for the black candidate, as if I was abandoning my race.  I didn’t realize that it was my obligation to vote for any black person running for an office.  If the person is qualified AND the best candidate, Hell yes.  If not, it may be my responsibility to help them become the best candidate, not just to give them a position and cross my fingers.  Luckily, Barack Obama was a candidate I could and did (eventually) support.  But what if he wasn’t?….

Until Hillary was out of the race and had conceded, I was hoping to see a Clinton back in the White House.  Following the father-son Bush deal, how cool would it have been to have a husband-wife succession?  Bush-Clinton-Clinton-Bush-Bush-Clinton.  And I still feel Bill Clinton should be the first First Gentleman.  Couldn’t you just see it: Bill Clinton in linen suits reading to underprivileged children in DC?  Simply magical….

In the words of Sojourner Truth, “Ain’t I a Woman?”  Does a black man usurp a white woman in who’s holding my best interests at heart?  Who decides if I’m more or less a woman than an African-American?  Am I not allowed to consider the politics when race and gender are an additional factor?  I feel it should be a personal decision.  Clinton and Obama could have been (and I believe were) BOTH candidates for me.  I’m proud to call Barack Obama MY President Elect.  But I’m still not giving up on Hillary.  I respect her too much not to hold out hope.  No offense to Biden but an Obama/Clinton or Clinton/Obama ticket would have been this Black, Female Democrat’s dream come true.

Still sporting her “I Voted” sticker,

Jo’van

Romantic Cynic: Dating in the Group

Should you ever date in the group?  This question has come up for a couple of friends of mine lately.  When and how should this happen?  Is it selfish to not want to risk the group dynamic for a more personal relationship?  Does it have to be a choice?  These are all good questions and since I don’t have the answer I’ll just give you a few more to consider…

1.) Would this type of group accept and/or condone your “special” relationship?  I agree that no one can make decisions of the heart for you but they can make a particular option less comfortable than another.

2.) Has this person had other “special” relationships in the group? An ex can give you a good idea of what to expect OR jealously/bitterly make things much more difficult for you within the group.

3.) Who’s group is it really?  Should this not work out would you be facing a joint-custody situation?  Or would one of you essentially have to leave the group as a whole?

4.) Are you ready to mix your worlds?  How do you operate?  Do you keep your relationships separate from your friendships?  Are you ready for the group to know ALL of your business?

5.) Is the group or an individual in the group pushing you two together?  Who’s idea was this “special” relationship in the first place?  Although they may mean well, matchmakers aren’t always realistic, just hopeful.

6.) On the flip-side, is there someone in the group not as enthusiastic about this possible “special” relationship as you’d expect them to be?  If so, it might be worth it to pick their brain.  Often our friends see things we chose to ignore when they might affect the decision we want to make.

7.) Most importantly, are you genuinely interested in this person and willing to “see whatever happens”?  If so, none of these other questions matter. 

You can be respectful of the group AND go for broke all at the same time IF it’s worth it to you at that moment.  Sometimes things in a group happen naturally.  If so, go for it.  The easy transition from group friend to “special” friend probably means something.  However, if any part of it seems forced, it might be time to reconsider.  Anything remotely romantic or sexual can do a lot more damage than a platonic argument within a group. 

We form and join groups for various reasons; protection, inclusion, distraction, encouragement, whatever. Sometimes there’s nothing wrong with valuing those reasons above any other.  We may not be able (or want) to risk our current place and role in the group.

Just thinking,

Jo’van

No Patience for You: F Me Pumps

If you have not heard the Amy Winehouse song, please do.  (The video features her healthy!!!)

Amy Winehouse “F Me Pumps”

Amy Winehouse is a hot mess but she’s made a wonderful point in this song.  A few of my favorite lyrics:

• “You don’t like players.  That’s what you say-a.  But you really wouldn’t mind a millionaire.”
• “You can’t sit down right cuz your jeans are too tight and you’re lucky it’s ladies night.”
• “Without girls like you, there’d be no fun.  We’d go to the club and not see anyone.  Without girls like you, there’s no nightlife.  All those guys just go home to their wives.”

Oh Amy, you prophet.  Why do some women make themselves look so ridiculous?

Ladies, when we go out, we want to look hot, sexy, smoldering, gorgeous, whatever adjective you like.  BUT there are so many of us that confuse sexy with sexed.  There is a distinct difference.  Here are a few hints:

1.) If men look you up and down and focus on your face – Sexy

2.) If men look you up and down and focus on an asset and make sure their buddy sees it - Sexed

3.) If women look you up and down and roll their eyes – Sexy

4.) If women look you up and down and laugh and make sure their friends see you – Sexed

5.) If your clothes show off your curves but you wouldn’t be embarrassed to see your boss at the bar- Sexy

6.) If you think long sleeves make up for a deep v-neck and a mini skirt -Sexed

7.) If you know that balance can be achieved with skin exposure – Sexy

8.) If your shoes or hair (natural or weave) cover more skin than your outfit – Sexed

9.) If he considers you a best kept secret – Sexy

10.) If he considers you best kept a secret – Sexed

That’s the beginning of my list.  A few other things came to mind (ill-placed tattoos, crack-exposing pants, thongs as an accessory, bras as an accessory, ”accidentally” flashing, not knowing how to close your legs in a skirt, wearing anything by House of Dereon as a dress, Charlotte Russe) but they all seemed a little too obviously sexed.  And I didn’t have anything positive to suggest as an alternative.  I don’t have enough patience, I guess.

Ladies, regardless of what you have on, above all else, carry yourself with a level of dignity.  Being half-naked with a sense of entitlement might seem odd but at least you’ll have that.  If you’re comfortable in the outfit, it’s probably okay.  (Note: I said probably.  If you’re at all unsure, change.)  Just know who you’re wearing the outfit for; yourself or the theoretical “him”.

Shelving her F Me Pumps,

Jo’van

Office Appropriate: Chest Hair is NOT an Accessory

As an addition to my earlier “Business Casual” post, I’d like to add another item for the men.  In the same spirit as cleavage.

• Chest Hair is NOT an Accessory

Men, if you are furry, there’s nothing wrong with it.  There are a few perks.  For instance:

• You’re warmer in the winter (or in the icebox that is most offices)
• Some women (and men) like bears.  It somewhat reminds them of their stuffed animals growing up or something.
• You can pull off the rugged man look at the beach.  Think Hugh Jackman…
• You have infinite options for natural hair plugs in case you start balding.
• You could be a model for a hair removal product infomercial.

BUT, if you are in the office, keep the hair-colored brush covered up.

• It doesn’t look professional.  Glistening chest hair in a staff meeting can be quite distracting.
• Wear a t-shirt or tank top.  I can’t wear a wife-beater over my legs in a skirt.  Be happy you have the option.
• Button your shirts.  Most men’s shirts are not cut with a deep vneck in mind.  They’re evenly spread out.  Use your buttons near the top.

I like my legs.  And some people may find them attractive.  But that does not mean I can or should expose them at the office.  Chest hair is no different.  It’s natural and nothing to be ashamed of but do us all a favor and cover that shit up.  (Plus, it just reminds me of my dad.)

Stocking up on undershirts to hand out,

Jo’van

Romantic Cynic: Aching for Heartache

Are you a sap?  I am.  A self-professed sap.  Yes, I’ll judge other people for crying in public during movies.  But show me the same movie on my own couch and my eyes are likely to water and my lower lip to quiver.  I am an extremely emotional person, only I absolutely refuse to let other people see that.  (I guess I’ll just tell them about it in a blog post.)  I like to appear strong.  There aren’t many people I’d let see me cry (even in a public movie theater).  I can count the friends who’ve seen me cry since middle school on one hand.  Not something to necessarily be proud of but just giving you some background.

Do you ever find yourself watching movies or listening to music and yearning to feel what they feel?  The desire can be so strong sometimes that you may actuatlly seem to get caught up in that desired emotion.  A sad scene, your heart’s aching.  An apologetic lyric, your heart’s aching.  That crescendo in the score of an epic movie, heart aching.  Only it’s not really your emotion, at least not  your genuine, original emotion.  Can you want something to be real badly enough to make it real?  No, okay.  It sure beats indifference and boredom sometimes. 

Using a busy life as an excuse not to add one more aspect is pretty weak.  I personally like to multi-task and function better when I’m busy.  The one thing I don’t necessarily always allow myself to add is someone to relax with.  When your brain slows down and you get off work, you just might enjoy doing nothing — with someone else.  Going to a movie, watching a mindless television show, sharing a good meal with almost endless conversation or no need for one, doing nothing but breathing the same air, holding a hand gently but for dear life, just being close to someone.  It’s amazing how content those moments can make you feel. 

Contentment is not something to take lightly.  It (usually) takes a decent amount of work and awkward “getting to know you” moments to get to that level.  But once you’ve achieved it, contentment can be enough for quite some time.  I would personally advocate a little more contentment in all of our lives sometimes.  Until a source makes itself impossible to ignore, don’t feel ashamed of spending some more time with your couch and a romantic comedy as you continue to ache for the heartache, yearn for the yearning, and look forward to not looking back.

Searching for my copy of”The Notebook”,

Jo’van

No Patience For You: Concert Etiquette

I LOVE Live Music!!!!  There are not many things in life that are better (to me) than a band you like making you love them by sounding better live than they do on their album.  Give me a pair of concert tickets and a comfortable pair of tennis shoes and I am one happy camper UNTIL, of course, other concert goers get on my nerves.  It may be asking too much but I really wish people could exercise a little concert etiquette when attending a live performance, especially if it’s standing room only.  A few of my pet peeves:

• Hats — Unless it is an outdoor concert, there is little reason to wear a hat.  If you find it absolutely necessary to wear a hat, please do use all a favor and NOT wear one with a bill.  We’re all vying for valuable eye-level views.  Don’t be rude and block someone else’s if you can help it.
• Unnecessarily styled hair – Along the same lines or hats, big or obnoxiously tall hair is just rude.  Tame it down for the concert.  I know you want to express your individuality but a mohawk is annoying at a OneRepublic concert.  If you’re on a date, I understand wanting to look your best.  But the Gwen Stefani (redistributed Texas) poof is just stupid.  Bring it down, lighten up on the hair spray and please realize the people behind you don’t care how much time you spent to make it look that way.
• Big Curls — If your hair is naturally curly and full, I understand that it’s not always convenient to straighten it.  But could you AT LEAST put it in a pony tail.  Lion manes have a way of blocking the entire stage for the person behind you.
• Personal Space — A.K.A. elbow room.  At a sold out concert, you cannot reasonably expect a lot of room around you.  But I DO expect to be able to readjust my weight and not feel your heart beating or any other throbbing part of your body.  There is something called too close.  If I’m not dating you, I should not feel your breath on my neck.  
• Angling — Don’t assume that just because you got your elbow positioned in front of me that I’m going to back away to give you my entire spot.  Your elbow can just share my view. 
• Spastic Dancing to Slow Songs — I go to a lot of slow, mellow concerts.  There is absolutely no reason to dance seizure-style to a Robin Thicke song.  Hint: If the singer says “Break it Down”, he/she’s talking to the band 99.9% of the time.
• Talking During Opening Acts — They may not have been who you came to see but at least show them the respect of leaving the floor to get another drink.  Having a loud conversation during a quiet song is just plain rude and you probably have never performed on stage to a cold audience.  Plus, there are usually fans of the opening act who paid the big ticket price just to see them.  You can usually point them out.  They’re the ones who know all of the words and politely step back once the opening act has concluded their set.
• Acting More Drunk than You Are — This is usually a girl thing.  I don’t quite understand why.  If you’re truly that drunk, please just do us all a favor and pull out your ponytail holder and find the nearest toilet to position yourself above.  Otherwise, shut the hell up.  This may be your night with the girls but the rest of us actually came here to HEAR the band not hope to make out with them later.
• Making Babies on the Floor — Yes, it’s a very romantic concert.  The music and the vocals serenading, setting the mood…. IF you were home.  Hold your girlfriend, stroke your boyfriend but PLEASE refrain from rubbing and humping.  It creates a really awkward situation for everyone around you.  We’d probably give you more space if it weren’t a standing room only concert.
• Big purses — You knew you were coming to a concert.  There is absolutely no reason to bring your Mary Poppins carpet bag to the concert.  Plan, pair it down and keep it simple.  Your big purse ends up either taking up the space of a small person or hitting me with every beat.  I seriously doubt you’re going to need your agenda, finger nail clippers, iPod connector and 20 oz bottle of lotion at the concert.  If I’m wrong, I apologize to you, MacGyver.
• Judging People for Doing EXACTLY What You’re Doing — If you pushed to the front, don’t get mad when someone does it to you a song later.  If you screamed when they started playing your favorite song, don’t roll your eyes when someone else does two songs later.  If you tried to grab that t-shirt, don’t get pissy because someone else grabbed it first.  It’s just part of the experience.  Be prepared to be surrounded by people who think just the way you do.
• Assuming Age Seniority — This may sound ageist but I have come to loathe old(er) people at concerts.  There’s just something about a group of 50-somethings who know they’re probably the age of my parents.  You are not MY mother.  I’m not going to let you stand in front of me because you were born 25+ years before me.  All that means is that you’ve had 25+ more years of good concerts to attend.  I’m just playing catch up.  You’re 13 year-old daughter taking pictures with her phone with the full keyboard, maybe.  But not you.

There are several other things that suck but there’s little you can do about it.  I’d love to ask all people over 6′2 to not attend the same concerts as me but then my 5′1 roommate could say my 5′9 shadow is too much.  I get it.  You’re tall.  I just have to try to get beside, not behind you.  It sucks when you get stuck behind a pole.  Just plan better.  If the person behind you is tone deaf as they sing along to EVERY song, it sucks but unless they’re screaming, it just something you have to deal with.  Just hope no one hears you when you start really feeling the music.

Considering a spiked coat for her next concert,

Jo’van

The Right to Think for Myself: Why I Can BARELY Stand Beyonce

Beyonce Knowles – singer, songwriter, virgining actress, fashion icon and mogul, cosmetics spokeswoman, what else?  The former Destiny’s Child front-woman is everywhere…. And I can’t stand it or her.

Singer

Unlike most popular, modern “artists”, level of talent is not my issue with her.  I think Beyonce is a talented singer.  Although, I don’t always care for her over-use of vibrato and numerous runs, I’ve got to give it to her.  She knows how to manipulate her voice and image to sell you a song.  Unlike Jessica Simpson who has a good voice but has no idea how to effectively/properly use it.)  While I am a lover of ballads, Beyonce also knows how to make danceable radio hits.

Performer

The energy she puts into her music is delivered 10-fold in her performances.  Thankfully, Beyonce is know to actually sing live, heaven forbid.  She can shake it in high-briefed underwear and stilettos but still manages to sing most of her song live.  (Everyone’s back-up singers carry a live performance nowadays anyway.)  Even if you feel your ears will bleed if you have to hear her current hit on the radio or VH1 one more time, you still want to see her perform it on the upcoming award show because she’ll undoubtedly be there and put on a good show.  (Unlike Britney, there’s no prediction or hope of a train wreck.)

Image/Fashion

Beyonce was introduced to us all as the pretty, going blond, half-naked front-woman of Destiny’s Child.  While it made me sad that she was the only one that sang (look back at En Vogue, four beautiful and talented lead and backup singers), I was saddened more by their outfits.  The brightly colored oversexed images of the late 90s/early 2000s just get a little old for me.  I understand the purpose but Destiny’s Child was actually talented.  Breasts, abs and thighs don’t make a good song but they do seem to help sell records, if not sell them completely.  It was more strange to me that her mother was the one designing for and dressing this group of teenage girls like THAT.  Obviously her parents were more comfortable with her college-age sexuality than mine would’ve been.

Over the years, Beyonce has managed to stay sexy and exposed but somehow class it up just a bit every year.  I’m not saying that every outfit is classy but as a whole (even if I don’t care for the outfit). she looks good.  I’m no longer ashamed to look at her.  I’m more intrigued.

Blond

My only withstanding issue with her image is the blond.  She’s a beautiful brunette.  The blond is unnecessary.  Unless albino or contingent upon another natural genetic condition, black people are not supposed to be blond.  Embrace your natural tones.  Love them.  (For some reason, Queen Latifah is the ONLY black person I don’t get mad at for going blond.  I LOVE her.  She can do no wrong.  And I’ve just given up on Tyra altogether.) 

Acting

Honestly, I’ve only seen “eh” from her.  She hasn’t done that bad of a job but I haven’t seen a lot of depth in her characters.  It’s easy to act like a diva.  Vulnerability and layers are different.  She’s not quite a box office draw or distraction for me.

I respect Beyonce and wish her the best.  The girl works her ass off.  I just think she’s over-exposed which is more our fault than hers.  She seems like a cool person and manages to keep her private life private.  But I need her to disappear for a while.  Make us miss you.  I’m only contributing to my main complaint with a blog post dedicated to her. 

As talented as she is, I’m going to have to disagree with Kanye.  Beyonce is great but she’ll need another 20-30 years of longevity before we can compare her to Tina Turner.  We all thought Britney was the new Madonna and look at that tragic assumption. 

Searching my iPod for “No, No, No”,

Jo’van

Eye of the Beholder: D*mn Holiday Parties

I picked the WRONG time of year to go on a hiatus from the gym.  My 3-4 times weekly kick has passed and I’ve settled into a once a month (maybe) routine.  My third week of this slump ended up being the week of Thanksgiving and although I had dinner at a friend’s house (so no leftovers for days), I took that as a proverbial sign that I had hit the holidays and saw no reason to work out until January.  I’m not a gym New Year’s Resolution type of person and the crowd of resolution-ers in January and maybe the beginning of February will get on my nerves.  I just take breaks throughout the year.  This seemed like an appropriate time to take a break.  It didn’t sound appealing to work out just long enough to make it not hurt anymore only to stop a couple of weeks later and go through it all again.  Until of course I remembered it’s also holiday party season….

Eggnog, Jingle Bells, Mistletoe, Champagne, and Grown Up Holiday Parties.  Gone are the days of “holiday” parties in sweatshirts and tennis shoes.  December is now the time to pull out your closed-toe stilettos, cocktail dresses and clutches.  Cocktail dresses are not nearly as invasive as bathing suits but they still can flaunt the flaws (especially if you wear them as “fitted”as I do).  Satin is NOT forgiving.  The roundness that has become my abs is not well hidden.  What’s a girl to do?

1. Suck it in all night?  Simply not realistic.  I’d forget and look very different from certain picture angles.

2. Spanx? Not very comfotable.  And what if they start to roll? Or if I have to go to the bathroom?

3. Go up a size?  Sure but can’t really afford new cocktail dresses right now…

Ok, so I’m screwed.  I’ve just worn what I have and attempted to avoid pictures.  However, that didn’t last very long…

Strut like this...

Looking forward to her LAST holiday party,

Jo’van

Family Values: Skipping Christmas

I have a not small family.  I’d normally describe it as large but it’s not like I have 13 siblings and it’s only large because I’m combining two households.  All in all, I have four parents, six siblings, a brother-in-law and a new, fabulously plump niece.  Not to mention the hand-full of friends and co-workers, I’d love to give gifts to.  Unfortunately, something has happened this year.  I am just not feeling Christmas.  I haven’t been interested in shopping.  I don’t have any idea what to get anyone.  I’m just feeling blah about the whole thing.

Christmas is still a holy, happy, family-centric day.  I just don’t have the passion to shop to show my love this year.  I’m not against Christmas presents.  I normally love the picking, hiding, wrapping of it all but there’s something about 2008.  I’m just not in the mood.

Does that make me a Scrouge?  I hope not.  I’m just going to take a break this year.  Not knowing what to get is my fault.  I need to stay in touch with my family and friends a little more.  I have no excuse to have no idea.  While I couldn’t afford it, if I had great ideas, I’d happily be swiping my credit card.  But having no money, no time, no ideas and no energy just isn’t a good mix for inspired presents.  Everyone would end up with generic “pretty” things or gift cards.  A friend told me those would be better than nothing and while I see her point, I just don’t agree this year.  I want to be excited to give you something.  Even if I COMPLETELY missed the mark, I want to care if I did.

The people I love will be getting more calls from me in 2009.  I want to know what’s going on and giggle when I see something I think they might like.  I want to buy it in August and be excited for the next few months.  I don’t want to consider skipping Christmas again.  It’s embarrassing.

Stocking up on wrapping paper for 2009,

Jo’van

The World…As I See It: Layoffs

Layoffs are officially scary.  They’ve hit my second home(s) and it’s painful.

I’m pretty young and ignorant to things such as “financial downturns”, “recessions” and “depressions”.  For me, the worst a bursting bubble could do would be to get in your hair.  I don’t own stocks, bonds, a house, or my car (yet).  I haven’t started my 401K.  My debt is ridiculous.  My savings account is always closer to zero than not because I can’t afford to save.   But I never really worried.  As long as I was doing my job well, keeping my clients happy and not pissing off upper management (too much), I should be able to avoid getting fired.  And anyway, fired you (probably) see coming.  Fired you might be able to prepare for.  Fired you can start shopping around to beat them to the punch.  But a “downsizing” is an entirely different story.

When someone up above says shave some of your costs, a company can only cut back on happy hours, Friday breakfast tacos and the multitude of interns so much.  At some point, staff numbers have to come under the microscope.  Then what?  How do you decide who goes?  I thankfully have not been in that position so I can’t presume to really know but I can just imagine it’s difficult.  Not only are you possibly ending someones career but you’re admitting your company’s not doing as well as you’d like everyone to believe.

In this current economic climate, every company (it seems) is experiencing “staff restructuring” but that doesn’t make the people directly affected by it feel any better.  Just because you’re not the only one doesn’t mean you’re not still wondering but why me?  Or in my case, if it’s someone you respect and care for “why them?”

A friend of mine was very recently let go.   Rather than be bitter, angry, or depressed, he’s unbelievably positive.  While I’m sure it hurt him and shakes up any plans in the making, he seems to be treating this as just another bump in the road.  With the level of graciousness I don’t even think I could muster up after a fender bender, he managed to make three of us laugh and feel better about his situation.  Some people deserve way more respect than they’ll probably ever receive.  (I love you, Roberto.  And your man boobs. )

In the end, I guess the questions don’t really matter but too many unaswered may begin to outweigh any positive or even understandable answers.  This is a scary time.  Between my two jobs, I’ve survived three rounds of  “thank you buts” so far.  But if my name comes to the top of the list next time, I don’t really have a plan in mind.  There is no money set aside to survive.  Hmmm….I guess that’s a problem.

Looking for things she can sell for emergency rent,

Jo’van

The World…As I See It: My Car is Missing!!!

I had the biggest “blond moment” of my life today.  And considering my hair’s basically black with mahogany highlights, that’s quite a feat.  I am SO embarrassed.

I am a typically anal (or meticulous) person.  Everything has its own little place and exact path to get there.  I am the one who deals with the planning of whatever situation.  The one with the mom purse equip with nail clippers, oil sheets, floss, tweezers, eye drops, allergy medicine…basically Walgreens.  The one with a full change of clothes (including tennis shoes) in the trunk of her car, just in case I get stuck somewhere and really want clean underwear.  The one who manually updates every album in her (large) iTunes library because she didn’t like some of the formatting.  The one who cleans and separates the lettuce leafs so they’ll be easier to grab for a sandwich next week.  The one that can tell you down to the hour when she was out of the office and how to code that time.  For some reason, my brain is just wired that way.  Apparently, within a four day span, that wiring got disconnected.

Because of a great ticket price, I took a 4-day weekend trip home last weekend.  It was good to see the family and a couple of friends.  However, the best part had to be not having to really think about much.  I just kind of floated across Nashville for a few days in my mom’s green minivan.  (I love the van by the way.)  The paths to my grandmothers’ houses and Opry Mills mall are hardwired into my head.  My biggest concern is trying to find my old radio stations.  (Luckily, my mother doesn’t mess with her pre-set stations too much.)

My roommate picked me up from the airport last night and I unpacked my stuff, petted the puppies and went to bed.  This morning, I woke up, got ready for work and rushed out the door.  (I was going to be 5-10 minutes late to an 8:30 meeting.)  I walked down the parking lot, happy it wasn’t raining.  (Our parking lot is very crowded and it’s often difficult to find a spot close to your apartment and/or not under a tree.  We also have a pigeon-poo problem.)  As I approached the spot I remembered parking my car, I got a little concerned.  The spot was empty.  Hmmm, maybe it was in front of the next building.  No? Okay, maybe I’m just losing it.  Let’s press the lock button to hear my car.  NOTHING!  Seriously?  Now what?  I know I didn’t park this far but I’ll check. SHIT.  WHERE’S MY CAR?!

Back in the apartment, upset but surprisingly calm for some reason.  (That should have been my first hint.  My subconscious must’ve known something.  But I just assumed I was in shock.)  Wake up the roommate.  “I think they towed my car or someone stole it.”  She jumps up and I turn on my computer.  I don’t know my new boss’s work or cell phone number and I’m obviously going to miss the meeting.  As I’m sending the email, my roommate goes to the front office.

Nope, while they were rude, they didn’t tow it.  Okay, I guess it’s time to call the police.  What’s the number? 911 seems a bit hysterical.  My car wasn’t stolen with my baby in it or anything.  (Just a gym bag)  Yellow pages.  Speak with a dispatcher.  The police will be there soon.  15 minutes impressive (or scary.  I don’t really know what a speedy response time says for your area.)  Two police officers come to our door and we have to crate the dogs.  So protective and LOUD.

Officer H is young and nervous/unprepared.  While a few of his questions got on my nerves (No, my car was not impounded by the finance company.  No, I haven’t defaulted on any payments.  Yes, I’m sure.  Would you like to see my monthly statements.  — Remember, I am anal.), he was nice and I was patient and kind.  No need to get him in trouble.  Officer J was very cool.  Although he was a bit rough (understandably so) on Officer H, he chatted it up with my roommate and I about dogs, catching a bank robber while buying dog food and what-have-you.

My phone rings and I hand it off to my roommate.  She begins speaking Spanish and disappears into my room.  Ah, it must be Chivis.  Mary comes back around the corner and calls me into my room.  What?!  Really?! NOW,with them here?! Okay.  Umm, Tiffany, I think your car is in the garage…. Are you SERIOUS?  Are you sure?  Could you check?  Call me back! Thanks.  Mary’s laughing at me.  And the police are standing in our living room.

And then it all comes back to me….

The night before I left for home, I went out with friends and coworkers to celebrate J Lo’s birthday.  (Not that one but better.)  I had a few drinks but not THAT many.  Chivis was parked closer to the bar than I was and since she was taking me to the airport the next morning, we just decided to leave my car in the office garage.  Plus, it’s probably safer there than in my apartment complex parking lot….

Okay, it’s definitely a possibility but now what do I do?  If I tell them, they’ll leave.  Then what do I do if it’s not there?  Call them back?  No, continue until you’re sure.  That’s the best idea.  However, by the time Chivis calls me back, it’s too late.  Despite my best efforts to stall and rush, I’ve had to complete the entire process.  Poor Officer H is being chewed out and we’re laughing as soon as we close the door.  What the HELL do I do NOW?!

Mary takes me to the office.  Yep, I’ve seen it with my own eyes.  My car is happily, safely sitting in the office garage.  The parking I remembered doing in my complex lot was when I first made it home Friday night.  I didn’t remember the second time because it never happened.  Dear Lord, what was in my drinks?  Did I have 8 more than I remembered?

After Chivis and Mary have made fun of me, I called to report my idiocy.  Of course, I can’t just cancel a police report.  Another officer has to talk to me.  Officer B arrives shortly.  He essentially laughs at me and tells me it happens all of the time downtown.  Basically labeling me a drunk.  Great!  He’ll take care of it.  All is well.  Whew.

Not quite, Officer J calls me to double-check he’d heard right.  After apologizing profusely for wasting his time and our Austin police resources, I get a mini lecture but feel better about the situation.

Then Officer J calls me back.  I don’t quite remember asking what the point was but when I asked if there was anything else I needed to do, papers to sign, fee to pay, he told me that Officer H was considering charging me for reporting a false police report, a class b misdemeanor.  WHAT?!  He felt I had made the report to make fun of him, as if I knew him.  Basically, his feelings were hurt for getting in trouble for being unprepared.  And while I understand that, none of that was my fault.  I did not make fun of him.  I did not ask him the question Officer J wanted me to ask to test him. I was sympathetic and did not make a big deal of him not knowing what he was doing.  Yes, I did laugh after they left at MYSELF.  Yes, I did file a false report because I am an idiot.  There was no malicious intent.  Officer J says he’ll talk to Officer H but he can’t TELL him what to do, only advise.  I thank Officer J and hang up.  I should still be embarrassed or scared but now I’m just annoyed.

On to the google search for Class B Misdemeanor charges in Austin. (It’s amazing that blogs dominate the first pages in the gooogle search.  I want REAL information, not a blog.  This IS a legal matter after all.)  From what I can gather (in a quick search), a charge of this kind can result in up to a $2,000 fine, up to 180 days in jail, or better yet both.  This is the same charge you’d get for your first DWI.  It looks like I should have just driven home that night.  (I’m not condoning drunk driving. And while I don’t believe I was drunk that evening, I’m just making a point.  Even if alchol had been a factor, I’d been sober for 4 days.  No Corona is THAT strong.)

That’s it.  I’ve heard nothing else from Officer J.  I’m going to believe it’s over.  I’ll update if I end up getting pulled over driving the car I mistakenly reported stolen.

I think the worst part of it all is that this is simply something I would not have done.  Several friends have said this just isn’t me.  Or at least it wasn’t.  What’s next?

Still a bright red (only you can’t see it because I’m actually a milk chocolate brown),

Jo’van

No Patience for You: Eve, No Apple is that D*mn Good.

Note: The evening after I wrote this post was the most painful in probably 5 years.  I’m not blaming you, God.  I’m blaming Eve.  You warned her.  I would’ve listened.

———————————————————————————————————————-

(Possibly graphic, beware)

Okay, so I won’t be the first or the last person to complain about that beautiful time of the month that reminds you you are in fact a woman (not just a man with different parts) and have emerged from puberty.  Thank you, God, for this wonderful reminder.  But I am not a fan.  This discomfort and pain every 20-30 days is unnecessary in my opinion.  Refraining from discussing the disgusting, cramps, bloating and irritability are not things I need to add to my life.  As it stands, I’m bitchy and unhappy enough already.  Why can’t this time feel nice, like a warm bath or a good massage?  Why must I feel like my insides are fighting with each other and I’m the only person losing?  My special women parts are beating each other up with what feels like spiked brass knuckles and steel-toe cowboy boots.  Pain that can only be eased by potent pain killers doesn’t sound like an appropriate reminder of the magic and wonder of pregnancy.

I’m very sorry if I’m not the most pleasant for the four days while my body is reminding me I’m not pregnant and this pain is nothing in comparison to what I can look forward to in the beauty of child birth but I don’t have much sympathy for you.  Just leave me alone.  I will do my best to remain pleasant as long as I’m given my space.  I need to sleep, eat chocolate, sleep, roll into a ball, eat chocolate, sleep, work and sleep.  If anything you have to say to me doesn’t fit into one of those categories, check in with me next week.

Eve (as I call my monthly visit,  Aunt Flow, menustration or period) does not make me bitchy.  It just lowers my tolerance to annoyances.  As I told boys in high school, just because a girl is annoyed with you doesn’t mean her insides are killing her.  Maybe you’re just annoying.  If I was on my period as often as people around me thought I was, I would have bled to death years ago.

I’ve often heard that we as women should almost be happy or proud to experience this.  Men would not be able to handle it.  Somehow thinking that men have supposedly lower thresholds of pain does not make me smile or feel better.  I don’t really care if they “couldn’t handle” it.  If I had the option, I’d chose not the be able to handle it either, rather than stocking up on Aleve, chocolate, comfortable pillows and a heating pad.  Adam had to “work the land” and Eve had to suffer.  Well, we’re both working right now.  I think it’s about time we both suffer.  (Or neither, I’d be up for that also.)

Rolling into a ball surrounded by a bag of Hershey’s kisses,

Jo’van

-

Ode to Eve

Dear Mother of humanity, Christian goddess, whose appetite killed eternal happiness. No apple is that damn good.

I appreciate your sacrifices, am thankful for your existence, but I really wish you would have listened. No apple is that damn good.

You gave up heaven on earth, an unparallel paradise, utopia beyond human site. No apple is that damn good.

I don’t always listen to my parents either, but then again my father isn’t God, did you think he’d spare you the rod? No apple is that damn good.

A metaphor for the evil’s of sex, a serpent controled your action, I’m ashamed of your curiousity of attraction. No apple is that damn good.

It makes me wonder if any food, could sound good enough to make me risk, being struck down for knowledge I’m not equip. No apple is that damn good.

Perfectly seasoned steak, or the most melt in your mouth chocolate. Is any food worth the ultimate threat? No apple is that damn good.

If it had to be a fruit of the earth, why was it an apple? The cheapest ingredient in a bottle of Snapple. No apple is that damn good.

A mango, a watermelon, a peach or an orange, grapes, cantelope, honeydew and pears. What made an apple worth my monthly tears? No apple is that damn good.

Here’s a suggestion, can we just switch places? I’ll do as I’m told and stay in God’s good graces. No apple is that damn good.

I’ll trade you Eden and Adam, for cramps, bloating, pain. Paradise or bleeding, you must be insane. No apple is that damn good.

Friendly Drama: Breaking Up with a Group

How do you break up with a group?

Have you ever found yourself with a certain group of people for a particular purpose?  The purpose isn’t that important.  It could be a prayer group, a French group, an ex-employee group, a band, an exercise group, whatever.  The important thing is they’re not family and you don’t rely on them for a paycheck.

Everything is wonderful when it begins.  You got together for a good reason and was excited to do so.  Whoo hoo, fun! Until it starts to fall apart.  Level of communication disintegrates.  People start to wear on your nerves.  When do you know if enough is enough?  When do you say goodbye?

Without a NEED for these people, what binds you together?  When you’ve done everything you can to salvage the relationship, how do you get out without being a complete jerk?  It’s difficult to remain rational when you’re the only one who has a problem the way things have fallen apart.  Everyone else just thinks that the way things should go.  I (I mean) YOU wonder if you’re being ridiculous.  Are you the one with the problem?

It’s okay.  It’s only natural to think such things if you’re the ONLY one thinking that way.  But then again, people tend to find other people that think the way they do.  Maybe YOU’RE the only one in the group that’s different.  Different is fine, actually sometimes it can be good.  Except when being different makes you feel alienated or (almost) worse, annoyed beyond belief.  When do you give up?

As soon as you dedicate a blog post to the topic.

Planning her exit, stage left,

Jo’van

Office Appropriate: Work-Life Social Media Balance

I am an old school person.  And by old school, I mean someone who grew up in the 90s.  I expect to work on a computer and still enjoy reading a physical magazine.  A movie version will never replace a good book (except for when it was for a senior english paper you procrastinated to write).  My iTunes library is large but I still like to purchase the CD.  A true ballader is Brian McKnight, not Usher.  Destiny’s Child never lived up to En Vogue’s precedent (who probably never lived up to the Supremes).  But I digress.  The point is I grew up learning to live digitally, not expecting it.  With only a 6 year difference, it’s amazing to me just how much more connected my younger siblings are (and I’m only 24!).

I was the first generation of Facebook.  While MySpace and Black Planet (haha) were already around, Facebook was unique because it was connected to your university/college.  You could only create a profile with a school email address.  It seemed safer, more exclusive.  And purely for fun.  You found your friends (not colleagues), posted photos of drunken nights (not corporate mixers although they can be the same), and wrote the most ridiculous things you could think of on their walls (not browsed for new marketing ideas).

I work in an industry that is embracing social media on a corporate level.  I get it.  New ways to connect with the customer.  Get in their face ANYWAY you can.  I agree it can be an effective business model.  However, I’m not THAT kind of customer.  I want my social media to remain social.  I want to browse my friends’ profiles, not those of companies trying to get my money.  It somewhat ruins the experience for me when I spend hours of billable time browsing these sites.  Why would I want to get on Facebook after work?

Bosses, colleagues, interns and college students I never interviewed are requesting to be my friend.  What do I do?  Is it rude not to accept?  What about relegating them to a “limited” profile?  Does that send a bad sign?  There’s nothing in my profiles that would embarrass me if any of these people saw it.  But at the same time, I don’t really want them to see my photos on the beach in college or last year’s Foxy Brown Halloween costume.  We’re not close enough for me to want to share.

(I know potential full-time employees, interns AND collegiate athletes whose profiles have gotten them into trouble.  It’s not worth it.  If you must post, please realize WHAT you’re posting and WHO can see it. )

Facebook is for connecting with friends.

MySpace is for discovering new bands.

Twitter is for sharing your random thoughts when you’re too lazy to update your MySpace and Facebook statuses.

Blogs are for sharing your opinion.

Yes, companies should be able to reach their customers anywhere their customers can be found.  But MY social media is destined to remain social.  Unless you know my middle name, have been invited to my apartment, had a conversation about more than your resume or have talked to me about more than next week’s assignment, don’t expect to be considered an unfiltered friend.  If it hurts your feelings, I’m sorry for you.  I may help companies become more social, I have no intention of towing the work-life social media line any more than I have to.

Updating her limited profile list,

Jo’van

The World…As I See It: 8 of Top 10 Most Influential Celebrities are African-American

An interesting study was announced this week.  According to the Davie Brown Index, 8 of the top 10 “marketable” celebrities are African-American. Surprisingly, only numbers 2 and 6 are Caucasian.  President Obama usurped Tom Hanks this year.  In descending order:

1. Barack Obama
2. Tom Hanks
3. Will Smith
4. Michael Jordan
5. Morgan Freeman (I LOVE him! )
6. George Clooney
7. Denzel Washington
8. Michelle Obama
9. Oprah Winfrey
10. Tiger Woods

In this case, marketable doesn’t mean the best product-hawking endorsement but “a celebrity’s ability to influence brand affinity and consumer intent.”  Basically, the study is about celebrities people trust.  Who do you want to listen to?  Whose shampoo would you use? Whose blood pressure medication would you talk to your doctor about?

The DBI is a tool for agencies and companies to know which celebrities would best fit their product communication goals. “The DBI includes more than 1,500 celebrities that are each evaluated by 1,000 consumers. These evaluations are the results of a panel made up of 4.5 million consumers.”  Respondents who are aware of a certain celebrity are then asked a standard set of questions about that celebrity. Using a six-point scale, eight key attributes are evaluated, including appeal, notice, trendsetter, influence, trust, endorsement, breakthough and aspiration.

President Obama ranked 1st in four categories (trust, influence, trendsetter, breakthrough) and 2nd to Bill Gates in one category (aspirational).  He finsihed 5th in [product] endorsement.

I think it’s interesting that African-Americans rank so highly in this “celebrity respect” study.  While I completely understand the selection of these individuals, the percentage just seems odd.  White, black, brown or the other, who do you think is missing from this list?

Strangely proud,

Jo’van

The World…As I See It: Double-Standards for Chris Brown

Let me start by saying that I do not condone any form of assault, men on women, women on men, same sex, black on black, adults on children, whatever.  With that said, I must also say that I think it’s interesting how quickly and severely “the world” has turned against Chris Brown.

While I believe he deserves whatever he gets IF the allegations are true, I must wonder (out loud) what makes Chris Brown’s case any different than the handful of celebrity assault cases brought to media attention every year.  (Since the majority are men against women, I’ll continue discussing it that way.  However, I do realize women can be just as abusive.)

Did Rihanna suffer any more than the spouses of Stone Cold Steve Austin or Jason Kidd or Scott Weiland or even James Brown? No. Hmmm, I wonder.  While these celebrities may have had some bad press, this case – less than a week old – hasn’t even been completely worked out but Chris Brown is already being punished more than any of these guys. Again, IF he did it, he deserves it.  But why didn’t any of the other celebrities in the past?

It must be because their wives/girlfriends were not ALSO celebrities.  Chris Brown is in special trouble because people know and love Rihanna.  No one should ever raise their hand to a woman but to even raise your voice at Princess Ri Ri is obviously a much larger offense.

I don’t want to sound unsympathetic.  I hope she is able to heal, never questions her self-worth, never believes she deserved it and moves on to a more deserving man. But I still keep going back to Chris.  I’m not sorry for anything he’s going through.  I just wish everyone else, especially celebrities, would be held to the same standards.  Get dropped immediately from your endorsements, appearances and the radio.

I hope everyone concerned can tend to their needs and move on.  Let us all just remember this the next time an NBA player beats his playboy model girlfriend.  I feel bad for Rihanna but this case makes me feel worse for the ignored beaten wives and girlfriends of other celebrities and regular people.  Chris should be held accountable and Rihanna should be able to heal.  But we must remember she’s no more important than the women scared for their lives in your local shelter.  They deserve our same level of support and their assailants deserve our same level of outrage.

Shaking her head,

Jo’van

Friendly Drama: Married to Another Woman but Straight?

Do you have that person that knows everything about you but drives you absolutely crazy?  Who understands exactly how you work and what makes you tick but seems to make no efforts not to set you off?  And you’re NOT romantically involved?  That would be my roommate, Mary.

I love her.  She’s the Puerto Rican sister I never had (or wanted). Aside from our bitchy-ness and complete avoidance of relationships, we are complete opposites.  I am tall, she is short.  I am permanently tan, she is perpetually pale.  I am a proverbial stick (or log as my mother says), she is a s bootylicious, kid-size coke bottle.  I am analytical and literal, she is creative and artsy.  I am loud and abrasive, she’s quiet and secretive.  When we travel, I book the travel and hotels.  She manages the activities.  As evident by the painting in our living room, she’s the yin to my yang.  (Or is it the yang to my yin? I don’t remember what they both mean.)

Opposister - "Extremes create a balance, not power. Abstract meaning nothing without the concrete. You are as much my opposite as my sister." We worked on a project together in college titled "Opposister". She made the visuals and I wrote poetry about the nature of our relationship. Recorded with music, the poems played from a speaker built into the back of the frame. There was also a book that chronicled the process.

It’s interesting to have a friend who feels so much like family.  While I consider her my sister, sometimes it seems more fitting to refer to her as my wife.  We’re like roommates for life (but not really.  I hope one day both of us can be married to other people…).  All of the bills are split down the middle.  We’re “raising” our children (the dogs) together.  When I’m running late in the morning, she’ll make my coffee and put it in a mug.  If I know she’s drank a little more than normal, I’ll try to make sure we have Powerade in the morning.  Leftovers are automatically separated into tupperware for our lunches the next day.  She does most of the cooking and cleaning.  I get to carry the heavy items upstairs.  (To be fair, she’ll do this also.  It’s just easier for me to do it most of the time.)  When I’m going out or doing something, I’ll often say “we”, just assuming she’s coming along.  My friends are her friends and it only seems natural that they should be.  When we fight, we often try to end it and pout for a few hours or days then just get over it.  In short, we’re a married couple who’s not intimate.  (As much as I love her, that would just be gross and wrong. Ewwww.)

She’s the only person I’ve lived with since leaving home. (That is if you don’t count my semester in Florence with 8 roommates.  I had my own room and was the only person that showered at night.  Plus, most people seemed to just stay out of my way.  I haven’t the slightest idea why…)  She was my randomly placed freshman roommate at Iowa State.  My greatest fears about my roommate were that she’d be a whore or disgusting.  Lucky for me, she was neither.  Just a pretty little girl who seemed cool and had an accent I needed to get used to.  (I still translate for people that haven’t been around her that much.  It makes perfect sense to me now….Well most of the time ) We were lucky enough to be roommates that became friends and not friends that decided to live together.  We understood how the other person lives and operates before really getting to know the person.  The funny thing is that we only lived together for one year in college.  I became an RA my sophomore year and we weren’t allowed to have roommates.  She graduated a year later than I did and decided to move to Austin.  Four years later, we were living together again.  But this time we had our own bedrooms and didn’t share a bathroom with 40 other girls, a major upgrade.  We just signed our lease for another year.  We’re going two years strong but way past the newlywed period.

Our weird dynamic seems to work.  As often as she wears on my nerves (and vice versa), we both know this is a good situation.  I don’t know if I’ll find a better roommate.  And I’m not hoping to have to look for one anytime soon.  She’s one of a handful of people who’ve seen me cry and I’m okay with that.  We’ve gone through things that will never be forgotten but need never be brought up again.  We’ve backpacked across Western Europe together for a month and although we got close near the end, we didn’t kill each other.  She’s my outlet after work.  I’m her “I have dumb question” person.  If something happens in public, we need not exchange words, just a glance.  We’re convinced we’re going to hell but find (some) comfort in the fact that we’d probably be going together.  It’s cool.  It works.  And I hope it continues to work.

So for anyone that’s heard me talk about “My Wife” and wondered, there you go, the full explanation.  Yes, I have a platonic wife but I’m technically single and into men.

Watching “the kids” play,

Jo’van

The World…As I See It: Lent (In the Spirit of the Recession)

I have a problem.  It’s official.  Well, it’s actually been official for quite some time.  I don’t know how to not buy things.  8 summer skirts. What’s another?  But I don’t have that EXACT shade of eye shadow. I really don’t like the other 4 black dresses I already have.  I won’t spend X amount on 1 thing but on 3 or 4 isn’t so bad (even though I don’t need 2 of them). My name is Jo’van and I have a shopping problem.

Today is the beginning of Lent.  While I am not an overly religious person, I grew up in the church and certain things stick with me.  If I didn’t work every day of the week, I would have tried to find a church home here.  But alas, bills are constantly calling and Sunday is a well paying day.  In addition to praying before eating, thanking God for the life I get to enjoy every day and saying bless you when someone sneezes, I work to observe Lent. (Yes, there are other much more important things that I could be doing but I’m just being honest.)

Lent is a limited New Year’s resolution for Christians.  You only have to give up something for a month and half and you get to pick.  Now, it should be something you abuse, a vice of sorts but you can pick whatever you want. Know you should stop drinking 4 Diet Cokes a day?  Okay, wait until Lent, try it, cheat, and pray for forgiveness.  Need to exercise more often?  Try if for 40 days and give up.  Have a shopping problem like me?  Hide that credit card for a little more than a billing period.  In the spirit of the recession, I’m giving up creating more unecessary debt (or limiting paying off my existing debt).

Last year, I gave up buying music.  It was very difficult.  (I kind of cheated but it’s not my fault.  Ok, it was.  I went to a concert and loved this opening band I’d never heard of, Mute Math.  I simply suggested that my roommate, who agreed they were good, buy their CD.  If she decided she no longer wanted it – after uploading it to iTunes -, I would buy it from her after Lent ).  This year, I’ve decided to give up shopping altogether.  Aside from groceries and toiletries, I don’t NEED anything else.  I’d LOVE new shoes, pants, socks, lipgloss whatever.  But I can survive without them.  In fact, I can more than survive.  I can look good without them.

It’s time to reevaluate my closest.  What haven’t I worn in a while?  What have I NEVER worn? It’s really sad how much I have and don’t need.  Every few months I take bags to Buffalo Exchange and Goodwill.  But it never amazes me how the bags seem to refill.  Where do these shoes, purses, dresses, pants and anything else come from? Oh yes, Ross, Penney’s, Kohls, Theory, New York and Co.  Again, I have a problem.

Giving up shopping for Lent is not going to fix anything but it should help.  But maybe I can make it a habit.

Shopping in her closet,

Jo’van

Office Appropriate: Discovering What You Want to Be When You Grow Up

Economic times are hard.  Unemployment rates are rising.  Salaries are being cut.  Benefits limited.  Everyone with a job is grateful and scared.  What if I’m next?  This may not seem like the best time to re-evaluate your career choices.  But it may in fact be just that.

1.) Staffs are shrinking but demands are not necessarily following suit.  As you say your teary-eyed goodbyes to pink-slipped colleagues, the stacks of paper on your desk or emails in your inbox are undoubtedly growing.  There is unfortuantely no mourning period in corporate america.  Are you skilled enough to meet these new responsibilities?

2.) Are you motivated enough to fulfill your new duties?  Skill does not always make a person feel fulfilled.  It may be nice to have your capabilities recognized and trusted but are you happy to be doing whatever it is you’re now doing.  Do you take this increased level of required work as a sign of upper management’s faith in your abilities or just the easiest way to pass the work along?  While it’s important to note how this promotion of sorts could be viewed as a good thing it’s also important to note how you feel about this new situation.  If you’re unhappy, it’ll show, no matter how good your work is.

3.) If heaven-forbid, you’re unhappy with your new situation, what can you do?  Is this the time to make demands or push back on upper management?  Is this the time to look for another position?  These are very personal questions.  The only suggestion I can make is do the best you can until you decide.  This is not the time to half-ass anything.  Not only will you increase the possibility of you being the next teary-eyed, surprised, pink-slipped colleague but you also piss on any of the recommendation letters you may need in your future job search.  Everyone’s depressed right now but an employee that intentionally makes the situation worse cannot expect assistance.  Regardless of whether you care, continue to serve your clients and company at 150%.

Discovering what you want to be when you grow up is something we all struggle with.  I personally don’t know what I want to be but I’m getting glimpses of what I may want to avoid.  Who knows where I may be in 5 years.  But in 2009, I have every intention of working my ass off for my current employer.  I need to make them feel they need me as badly as I need them (and their paycheck) right now.

Thankfully employed,

Jo’van

Romantic Cynic: Up to Your Physical Standard

Everyone wants to be with someone they’re attracted to.  Thankfully, we all have different “types” making it easier for us all not to fight over the Brad Pitts and Halle Berrys.  Some people like the Carson Dalys and Roseannes.  Regardless of what your type is, you want to think the person you’re attracted to is cute, up to your physical standard.  But then you wonder just how cute you are.  Are you a movie star (after the airbrushing), an average person or a hobbit?  Are you up to your own physical standard?

When it comes to attraction, we’re all faced with three situations.  Which one would you prefer?

1.) You’re cuter than your partner.  What do you do if you know you’re more attractive than your significant other? Does it boost your confidence or make you worry they’re only with you for your looks?  Is the connection strong enough for you not to desire a cuter boy/girlfriend?

2.) You’re partner’s cuter than you are.  Everyone wants to be with someone gorgeous (by their terms) but how does that make you feel when you look at photos of you two?  Are you proud of what you’ve been able to snag? Or are you wondering when they’ll stop playing around with you and move on to an equally beautiful person?

3.) You’re equally attractive.  This is a difficult balance to reach.  We see this most often at the extremes.  Either you are a Ken and Barbie couple or you both look like someone beat you with the couple’s ugly stick.  With “average” looking couples, there’s bound to be one person that’s more attractive than the other.  It just depends on whether you’re considering faces or body types.

So where do you typically fall?  Are you just a beautiful person who can’t seem to find anyone as attractive as them?  Or an ugly person vainly striving to catch that one beautiful person to give your children hope?

I’d like to believe that I am pleasantly average.  There’s nothing too offensive about my appearance.  While there are things that could be better (small bosom and magically disappearing top lip) but there are also things that could be far worse (suffering from noassatall or having fat feet).

I’ve recently considered how I would feel about dating someone I knew was much more attractive than I was.  While I’d like to believe I’d embrace this as an opportunity to bask in beauty’s glow at every possible chance, I don’t know if my ego could really take that.  Would I be able to overcome my insecurities and accept that person could think I’m also beautiful and like me for me?  Probably not right now in my self-evolution.  I’m not that comfortable with myself yet.  Instead, I think I would assume they were just passing time with me until a barbie walked by.  If their face is mesmerizing, shouldn’t their partners be?  If they have the sculpted body, shouldn’t their partner?  Wouldn’t you want to believe you contributed to the cuteness of a couple’s picture?

If the person I’m dating is more than attractive than I am, I think we ‘ll both need to be closer to average than either extreme.

In search of her above-average beau,

Jo’van

Family Values: Want a Kid? Test Drive My Puppy First

Oh, babies!  When we see one, our initial reaction is to want to think it’s cute and precious and perfect.  Yes, babies are a blessing and a miracle and all that fun stuff. But they are also A LOT OF WORK.  Picking out their outfits and kissing their freshly cleaned chubby cheeks is all great and wonderful but waking up at all hours of the night, chasing them around the house as they learn to crawl, walk, run, making sure all sharp objects and edges are covered, all liquids out of reach, feeding intellectual stimulation and cleaning everything all the time can be a bit exhaustive.

If you believe you’re ready for a child, may I suggest first getting a puppy?  (Kittens are great also but a little less involved.)  Puppies are children you can crate during the day.  You still have to feed and bathe them, play with and soothe them, and a pacifer is a new rawhide.  They’re just a little easier to manage first.  Consider it practice for the real thing.  If you’re unsure, please let me offer to rent you my puppy Rodman.  A short while with him might make you want to put away those American Baby magazines for a while.

Rodman is my year-old black cock-a-poo (cocker spaniel/ toy poodle mix) puppy love.  He’s honestly adorable.  Being completely black, he pretty much has no face.  Most of the time, you can only see a black curly blob with shiny eyes.  While I love him with all my heart, I just want to kill him sometimes.

Cocker spaniels are known to have weak bladders, sprinkling a little when they get excited.  While it’s gross, I could handle the occasional piddle on the floor.  Rodman takes it to a whole different level.  While housebroken in the sense that he knows it’s wrong to pee inside, Rodman (I believe) has some psychological issues.  If you move too quickly, bend down too suddenly, reach for him without calling his name, or try to put his leash on, there’s a 50/50 chance that Rodman will pee.  And I don’t mean a scared squirt.  I’m talking a full-out squat.  (I got him neutered early so he never learned to lift his leg.)

I don’t know what happened to him before he came to live with us.  At four months, it’s completely possible that he experienced some not nice things that stuck with him  But my roommate and I are loving pet owners.  I’ll admit that I’m the harsher disciplinarian and both dogs cower when I get pissed.  But Rodman doesn’t have a reason to really fear me.  Instead, he just infuriates me and then looks up at me sheepishly.  I don’t care how cute something is.  Three puddles on the floor (in the carpet!) are going to piss me off. (Pun not intended.)

I’ll give him credit, Rodman is getting better.  Instead of letting us know he needs to go out, Rodman has just learned to hold it for HOURS.  Occasionally, he’ll really screw up like last night and then I just want to kill him.  I almost think it’s worse.  Dogs have such short memories that a 15-second old accident may be too far back for them to remember it but that doesn’t stop me from holding a grudge against my pee-dispensing black mop.

I recognize that Rodman is in no way a baby but just dealing with him reminds me how unready I am for kids.  I can’t leave my kid in it’s crate for hours, rush home, let it out, feed it, and leave again, or get mad at it for messing up in the house.  For now, Rodman is plenty work for me (and my roommate).  Between the two dogs and our jobs, my roommate and I are good.  Maybe babies down the line for me but for now, I’ll deal with my bladder-control-issued dog.

Re-stocking pet carpet cleaner,

Jo’van

Eye of the Beholder: Embracing the -ER

I’ve always prided myself on being -er.  I’m not the thin, pint-size ideal woman.  I’m tall-er and don’t need a ladder to reach things on the top cabinet.  I’ve never been petite and feminine.  I’m bigg-er and can carry the heavy groceries.  I hope to never feel the need to play dumb for a man (or authority figure for that matter).  I’m okay – and rather enjoy – being smart-er.  Bigg-er, tall-er, smart-er, whatever.  I’ve embraced the -ers in my life.  Good or bad, they’re there and show no signs of changing anytime soon.  In that teenage period of “discovering myself”, all I really saw were the -ers.  They seemed to be all there was to me.  I had to define them or let them define me.

As I grow old-er, wis-er, the -ers become less of comparisons to others and more of titles.  Instead of -er than someone else, I am simply an -er.  Sing-er, writ-er, listen-er, lectur-er, runn-er, fight-er, learn-er, teach-er, lead-er, follow-er, and increasingly happi-er.

Not every -er is positive and that’s okay.  For the rest of my life, I expect to change and grow.  Things that were once sources of pride will eventually embarrass me.  Things that meant nothing will later mean everything.  That’s all fine.  I’m just beginning to accept all of my -ers and what they say about the person I am today.  Don’t like the way an -er sounds?  I guess it’s time to work on it.  Realizing a problem -er has to be my first step.  I think I’ll have to start with something easy like being a shopp-er.  (Oh wait, that’ just because of lent….)

What’s your problem -er?

Labeling herself before anyone else can,

Jo’van

The World…As I See It: Jeans and a T-Shirt… The End of Traditional Femininity?

I read an interesting post on Brazeen Careerist today.  Tyler Hurst asks “What Happened to Femininity?“  Tyler apparently has a problem (slight or extreme is up to your interpretation and current mood) with women assuming traditional male roles.  While he discusses several examples, women in pants seemed to be his main sticking point.  Tyler feels wearing pants is a physical embodiment of the gender roles switching. While I don’t agree with every (or really any) thing he said, it did make me laugh.

My favorite parts:

• Every damn time I see you girls in pants–usually jeans–and a t-shirt, a little part of me dies inside.
• For years you’ve asked us to get in touch with our feelings, but when it comes down to it, you want manliness.
• We get nothing. We get a generation of women raised by their parents with no idea how to cook, how to dress and how to keep up your half of the arrangement.
• I have no problem with men learning more about women and women becoming more like men, but both sexes are inheriting the WORST qualities of the other. Men have learned to be overly sensitive, women have learned to be sloppy and be waited on.

Ok, ok.  Yes, the sexes have begun to assume each other’s traditional roles.  But I think “traditional” is exactly what we get hung up on.  Since when did “traditional” mean “right”?  Traditionally, the women would cook but if the man is a better cook, he should cook.  Traditionally, the men would make and manage the money but if I’m better at managing the bills, why shouldn’t I?  If he is neat and picky, why shouldn’t he clean?  If I like to landscape, can’t I work on the yard?

A lot of things have changed in the last few generations.  I’m happy to live in the present and can only imagine how much closer to “equals” we’ll get in the future.  For now, though, I must accept that there are going to be people that cling to aspects of the “traditional.”  If Tyler wants a woman who enjoys skirts, sundresses and ponytails, I hope he finds one.  There are plenty of women that enjoy being his definition of feminine.  With the option of pants and t-shirts, I’d never be the one.

Now, I wear my fair share of skirts, dresses, halter tops, tank tops, etc.  But first, these pieces require “special” undergarments.  Strapless bras, thongs or (god-forbid) nothing are not comfortable options for me.  I much prefer the security of “traditional” undergarments.  Boxers, briefs or boxer-briefs don’t really compare, guys.  Think wearing a cup all day.

Second, these pieces require special preparation — shaving.  While I try not to be a bear, shaving my legs every day is simply not going to happen.  (I’m only 5′9 but when looking down on my legs in the shower, I could swear I’m 6′9.)  Shaving is time consuming and a hassle I don’t care to deal with on a daily basis.  Pants allow me to skip a few days.  My puppy and roommate would be the only people who know the difference (and I don’t really care what they think).

Third,  and this may only apply to a “thick” portion of the population, but being a not overly thin person, skirts and dresses allow for friction of the thighs.  If you’re not familiar with this sensation, just take my word for it, friction and hot weather are not a good mix.  Pants allow me to avoid uncomfortable long walks.

Femininity is more than the outfit you have on.  It’s about the way you carry yourself.  The most feminine women, in my opinion, are those that can be graceful in any situation.  Changing their oil, shopping for groceries, dancing, waiting for the bus, lifting weights, walking a dog. Floating through it all.  In my dirtiest, most pissed-off, or uncomfortable situations, I hope to carry an air of confidence and poise.  (I hope my) Femininity is the refined embodiment of masculine strength.

Aside from the post itself, the best thing about “What Happened to Femininity?” was the responses.  Some people, presumably the guys, agreed.  While more people (at least those responding) took it personally.  Whether he was serious or not, Tyler didn’t do anything more than state his preference in a mate.  While I don’t agree that jeans and t-shirt are on par with a woman scratching her imaginary balls, I can see what he’s seeing.  I just see it from the other side.

I don’t think of a tight pair of jeans and a babydoll t-shirt as being masculine but then again I don’t expect to be dating Tyler anytime soon.  So it doesn’t really matter what either one of us considers feminine.  As long as his comments remain focused on the personal and out of the workplace, I have no personal issue with his opinion.  He’s not setting us back.  He’s just stating his preference.

Looking for a vest and tie to rock with her a-line skirt for tomorrow,

Jo’van

The World…As I See It: Unwed Mothers – A Problem or a Reality Simply Brought to Light?

Preliminary data from a birthrate study conducted by the National Center for Health Statistics titled “Births: Preliminary Data for 2007” was released last week.  For most media, the 23-page report can be summed up in one or both of two key points:

1.) The historic 1950’s Baby Boom is over.  More babies were born in the 2007 than any other year in US history, beating the long-standing record set in 1957.

2.) Wedding rings are having less and less bearing on childbirth in the US.  Around 40% of mothers to newborns in 2007 were unmarried, up 26% since 2002.

While the first point marked an interesting historical development.  The baby boomers are no longer the largest but in roughly ten articles I read about the study, only one of them mentioned this stat.  Instead, everyone else focused on the unwed mothers.

Knowing several and understanding how easily this can become the case, I have nothing but respect for single, presumably unwed mothers.  Raising children is not a task to be taken lightly.  You are responsible for caring for and teaching another human being, whether they be the next Barack Obama, Britney Spears or Ted Bundy.  I had so many people involved in my upbringing (parents, step-parents, grandparents) that I can’t imagine being the person I am without all of those people’s influences.  A single, unwed mother is under immense pressure to provide for and protect her child(ren) while being ALL of those people.

With that said, I hope to never be a part of that statistic.  Having grown up in a “mildly” religious family (my stepfather was just a minister, whatever), I get the whole “child born out of wedlock” thing but for the most part, people press that issue to encourage you not to have premarital sex.  If you’ve already burst that bubble (or popped that cherry), there has to be more of a meaning.  Unwed mothers get a lot of crap from religious people and often feel pressured to marry by their families (think Bristol Palin) but marriage, especially to the actual father, may not be the best option, if it’s an option at all.

Theoretically, you should only sleep with your husband/wife.  But if that’s not the case, what do you do when the line’s blue? (While there are countless methods of birth control, sometimes they don’t work as well as thy should.  If you’re not using any, I have little sympathy for any whining but still respect your choice, one way or the other.)  There are countless scenarios we could play out but in the end, marrying the father is not an option.  And that’s exactly what it should be, an OPTION.

Unwed/single mothers are not a problem.  They’re just an overwhelming reality.  Instead of judging them, we should be doing what we can to help them, build them up for doing it alone, not tearing them down for not rushing to the altar.  Where’s the article about unwed fathers?

Personally, the reasons I hope to never be an unwed mother are a mixture of religious/family, financial and emotional issues.

1.) While I don’t think God would damn me for premarital sex that resulted in a life, my family would have a hard time dealing with it.  I’d never be disowned but I’d rather avoid any “serious” conversations about future birth control methods with my father.

2.) I hope to be able to support a family on my eventual paycheck but I don’t want to HAVE to.  Children and mortgages are expensive.  A dual-income household would be preferred.  Dual-income can happen without marriage but if we’re already there, I’d like to wear my white dress and make my friends look ridiculous in sea green bridesmaid dresses.

3.) As I’ve caused, raising a child is stressful.  I’d prefer to have someone to share the burden/joy with.  A partnership.  If God blesses me with a child, I know that I’ll be able to care for it.  I’d just like to be able to share that joy with someone else – and to have someone help me maintain my adult sanity.

4.) Children need balance.  Single mothers and fathers have raised amazing children.  But having grown up with men AND women very involved in the process, I’d hope my child(ren) would be able to experience that same reality.

I just hope if/when I see that little blue line, I can also see a wedding band on the hand holding it up.

Thankful to be currently unwed and childless,

Jo’van

Office Appropriate: Wet Hair is NOT Business Attire

As another addition to my prior “Office Appropriate: Where is Your Casual Considered Business?” post, I have to add wet hair.  I understand that some people work out or just shower in the morning.  Washing your hair in the A.M. may be necessary.  But coming into the office wet is not. Certain styles, colors, textures may look ridiculous but wet hair just looks like you didn’t care.

The oilier your natural hair, the more often you need to wash it.  My old officemate has to wash her blond hair daily.  My roommate washes her hair a few times a week.  I on the other hand only have to wash mine once a week. If that sounds gross to you, we probably have very different textures.  Because my hair is evidence of my African roots (pun intended), it’s thick, dry and retains water like none other.  The more often I wash it and put heat on it, the more brittle and dry it gets.  No good.

So maybe I’m just bitter that I can’t wash my hair and come into the office in the morning.  Not only would my hair progressively look like a dry jheri curl throughout the day (think Don King), it would also be wet well into the evening.  My hair needs heat and straightening to look presentable.  It sucks but it’s the truth.

Some people’s hair doesn’t look as bad wet, less apparent and non-discolored.  The straighter/curlier and darker your natural hair, the better it probably looks damp.  Waves and frizz don’t respond well to a lack of control and product.  But even if your hair dries lovely and only take a few hours, I don’t think wet hair is office appropriate.  It looks like you were running late and didn’t care.  If you hair is wet but your makeup is plastered, I have an issue with you.  I understand not “doing” you hair at the office but coming in dry shouldn’t be too much to ask.  If it takes a long time (like my two hour process), plan accordingly.  There’s really no reason to come in wet, wrinkled, or smelly.  Sorry.

My current officemate disagreed with me about this topic (possibly because she can get away with wet hair).  My opinion is not the gospel truth but I stand by it.  Her points were limited time and damaging heat.  My response to both is plan ahead.  If you’re going to the gym or showering in the morning and don’t want to damage your hair with heat, rethink when you’re showering.  I could say the same thing about when I choose to shave my legs or iron my clothes.

She also made the point that while she agreed it wasn’t “professional”, it wasn’t “unprofessional.”  I don’t see things in that way.  Rather than considering things shades of gray, it’s white (or black, depending on your preference) and everything else.  There are levels of professionalism in appearance but I don’t see a middle ground of either/neither.  You’re either professional or not.  The level of not is debatable and where the shades of gray become an issue.

To be fair, I’ll occasionally rock a headscarf, typically around the time I need a retouch (a relaxer perm that’s applied to my roots every two months).  Do I think the headscarf is business appropriate? Not at all.  But occasionally I don’t care.  If I didn’t have time to conduct my two-hour washing-conditioning- drying-straightening process the night before, I make due with covering it all up.  No supervisor has ever said anything negative about it.  In fact, my manager at the mall, thinks it’s chic and loves it.  Would I meet a new boss or client with it on? No.  But sometimes you just succumb to the laziness.

When you enter the office, you should always look your best and be prepared to meet a boss or client that might stop by.  If you think wet/damp hair is appropriate, do what you do.  Just be aware that people like me will be judging or secretly bitter (at least until it’s dry).

Mid-way in her two-hour hair drying process,

Jo’van

The World…As I See It: JT Objectifying Black Women, Really?

I read an interesting article on SoulBounce.com a few weeks ago that has stuck with me.  In “How Can Justin Timberlake Still Objectify Black Women and Get Away with It?, the author is frustrated with what he/she sees as a trend, Justin Timberlake continually objectifying black women.  The title threw me off guard and I had to read it.  I get that Justin Timberlake has embraced and capitalized on aspects of black culture but to single him out as objectifying black women just seems odd.  In my opinion, Justin Timberlake hasn’t done anything a number of African-American artists haven’t done a hundred times.  And yes, I realize there are certain things that are not socially acceptable for people of different races to copy but surrounding himself with sexy, scantily clad ebony beauties is not comparable to uttering the N word.

A passage from the post:

“From behind a wry smile and with his hair faded he actually tarnished a reigning, Black Pop star’s image arguably beyond repair by exposing her breast on national television and then built his street cred further by bringing sexy back, Middle Passage style. He’s transitioned from the post-racialist’s pop culture dream of somewhat harmlessly lusting after beautiful Black love interest in the video for “Like I Love You” into something more sinister. He uses the scapegoat of S&M edginess in which he is the aggressor, the dominant force, to subordinate his object of desire when she is Black.

He distanced himself from those undertones in using shackles (why not a different two syllable kinky word like handcuffs, Justin? Or latex, like the piece you tore off of Miss Jackson?) and whipping in the song by making himself the slave, and in the video by making lusty faces with a White woman. But all of the soft edginess and ambiguous sexism and racism has become the central M.O. for him in the video for “Love Sex Magic.”

Maybe it’s just me but I don’t get it.  Janet Jackson and Ciara are grown women.  The infamous wardrobe malfunction, if planned, has to be as much Janet’s fault as it was Justin’s.  While he could have taken more of the blame, it was her breast and therefore her final decision.  And if it was in fact an accident, what more could he say than “I’m  sorry.”

“Love Sex Magic” is a very typical music video.  Justin and Ciara slink around and imitate sex while dressed.  Yes, the opening scene features the silhouette of Justin pulling on a chained Ciara.  But for some reason, I didn’t immediately jump to slavery. It might have been the fact that I saw a preview for the video a week earlier that featured just Ciara dancing around in a tiger print full body leotard performing stripper like acrobatics on multiple poles.  The chain, while in bad taste, does make sense as the video progresses.  She’s a sex kitten that wants to be tamed by someone equally sexy, not a mulatto house slave in search of a modern day master.

“Love Sex Magic” is Ciara’s video.  While Justin is the bigger star, she had to have had a bigger say in how the video would appear.  She’s the one that’s half-naked and giving the Pussycat Dolls a run for their money on the pole.  If she agreed to the chain, why aren’t we questioning her judgement as well as his?

Another passage:

“Yes, Ciara is grown and autonomous. So is Janet. But that just makes his ability to exploit their collaborations to the point that they are subjugated to his dominance, wittingly or not, more protestable.”

Does he really have that power?  Is he that convincing, sly, manipulative?  Or are we just looking for another scapegoat?  What makes Justin so special?  His bank account or his skin tone?

This blog post garnered so much interest that the author and editors of the site hosted a roundtable to ” dig deeper and officially claim ownership of our position.”  That discussion can be found HERE.

There are definitely issues we have with the image of black women in entertainment but I don’t think Justin Timberlake should be our target.  He’s simply bought into the hype and found a way to make it work for him.

Shaking her head,

Jo’van

You be the judge.

Eye of the Beholder: Curse of the Pretty Friends

Note: This post is not an open invitation or a vain attempt to get people I know to argue with me about how cute or not cute I may be.  It’s simply a place to vent.  Beautiful people suck sometimes.  And the sad part, it usually has nothing to do with them.  It’s all about the attention they receive.  Positive attention is nice and if you’re not receiving it, you either wonder if it’s because of you or “them”.  It’s always easier to blame them. 

What do you do when you know your friend is cuter than you?  And I don’t mean “oh, they have beautiful hair but you have clear skin.”  I mean when you know you’re the ugly friend (in comparison).  What’s supposed to go through your mind when you go out and you’ve accepted you’ll only get the attention after your friend passes on that guy’s advances?  When every group picture makes you want to seek out an uglier friend to go out with?

Ok, so maybe it’s not that extreme but I’ve always had beautiful friends.  Now I’ve had and currently have some ladies friends that may be on the other side of the spectrum but for the most part, the ladies I spend most of my time with are quite attractive.  As I’ve said before, I consider myself to be pleasantly average with the occasional hot moment.  How do you compete with naturally gorgeous?  I need my hair in its place, my makeup on point and the right outfit to pull it off.  Should I even be worried about competing?

Considering male attraction, should it even be an issue?  The guys that look at my friends are obviously not interested in me.  Should I be jealous?  Or should I just accept that I don’t fit their physical type?  Would it even matter if it happened to be one of my hot nights?  Shouldn’t I be worried about guys I can talk to, laugh with?

Well of course.  But who thinks that when they’re out at night and not being approached the same way a friend is?  Or when it’s obvious you’ve been set up with the short, fat decoy so the two attractive people can flirt?  Yes, it’s frustrating but it happens.  What can you do?  I actually like the people my beautiful friends are.  I’ll just have to accept their physical assets and bask in their glory whenever possible.  Maybe some of it will rub off.  But if it doesn’t, I’ve accepted my role as the smart ass friend.  I don’t imagine that quality fading with time or being affected by gravity.

Flipping through girls’ night photos,

Jo’van

Romantic Cynic: Not the Type to Take to Prom

I’ve been recently thinking about my perpetual (largely self-induced) singledom and remembered something a friend told me in high school that makes me wonder if the guys I meet think the same way today and whether that would be such a bad thing.

In high school, I remember approaching a male friend to ask about something (who knows what).  For some reason, he thought I was going to ask him to prom.  (To this day, I have no idea how he came to that conclusion.  Going to prom with him still sounds like a horrible idea 7 years later.)  Anyway, he stopped me and kind of stepped back.  “You’re cool but you’re not the kind of girl I’d take to prom.”  What?! First, I was confused why he would think I would ask him and second, I was offended.  (Oh, high school drama).  After being stunned, I laughed and then got angry.  Realizing he’d completely misread my intentions, he kind of stammered and tried to talk his way out of it. (Typically a bad idea with me.  Stop, collect your thoughts, and proceed.  I pay too much attention and will tear apart every stupid comment you make in explanation.)  He proceeded to tell me that we’re good friends and all, but he doesn’t see me like that, blah, blah, blah.  Well, good.  I didn’t seem him that way either.  But since he’d brought it up, why didn’t he see me like that?  What type of girl was I?  Was it because of my race/ethnicity?  Height? Weight? Personality? Religion? What?  After realizing he’d have no choice but to be honest, he told me, “You’re not the type of girl to take to prom.  You’re the type to marry.”

Well, okay then.  What do you do with that?  Knowing him and his interests, I had no choice but to translate that to mean I’m not the type to take out in hopes of immediate sex.  I’m the type to actually date.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.  It’s actually a good thing.  But where does that leave someone like me 7 years later?  I’d like to believe that statement still holds true for me but are there new dimensions to add as I approach 25, not 18?  At what point do girls/ladies/women like me start to become the goal and not the concern?  And is there a middle ground for us?  Does this type of statement mean you respect us but realize you’re not ready for us yet?  Or that we’re more effort than you’re willing to expend in general?  Or does it just sound like something a girl you’re not interested in should like to hear?

Never hoping to be a whore, does the idea of dating someone worth marrying scare men my age the same way the statement scares me?  Yes, I do believe I’m the type to marry but please don’t discuss marriage with me within the first few months of knowing each other.  I believe in the institution but don’t see it anywhere in my near future.  Telling me you’re looking for a “mate” on our third date (yes, it has happened) is a sure fire way to guarantee there will not be a fourth.  Have I switched places with my friend from high school?  Does my fear of someone looking for a wife in the short term mimic my friend’s fear of a girl looking to actually date before giving it up?  While I’m not looking for a one-night stand, I would like to date for fun and get to know you, no future agenda immediately in mind.  Do I still want to be the type to marry as the men I encounter are in search of wives and the future mothers of their children?

While it creates awkward situations, I think yes.  I’m afraid of what the alternate descriptions might be.  Plus, in addition to the “ready to get married yesterday” guys, there are plenty of the “after I’ve seen everything, I hope to never see you again” as well as the “let’s see where this goes” guys.  I just have to make sure I’m not judging them all by my insecurities and assumptions.  However, for the record, can I request that I be seen as the type of woman to marry (after an appropriate, comfortable length of time dating)?

Admiring a ring-less left hand,

Jo’van

Romantic Cynic: Sexy Equals “Reading in Bed”

I recently wrote a post wondering if a partner up to your physical standard was important.  I haven’t exactly figured that one out for myself but had a recent epiphany (as painful as it might have been).  The physical is very important being the first thing you (and your friends) notice and sometimes being strong enough to temporarily  blind you to everything else.  But sometimes it’s just not enough (no matter how badly you may want it to be).  There has to be something else to keep you intrigued when you’re not looking at each other.  What makes you smile when he sends you a sweet message?  Or when she calls just to hear your voice?  Probably not her ass or his abs.

Sure, the physical image and moments are important and can have lasting effects but what keeps you happy may not be that shallow.  For me personally, I need another ( and by another I mean additional) form of stimulation.  Talk to me.  Tell me something I didn’t know.  Make me think.  Make me smile about more than just your body/face/arms/etc. (Oh, in case you didn’t know, I’m an arms woman.)

I met a guy last year that was/is absolutely beautiful; handsome face, perfect body, good times.  I won’t even pretend or try to find another way to say it.  Being pleasantly average, I was intimidated by his good looks.  Yeah, I know that I’m an amazing person, worth the world, and all that jazz, but that wouldn’t stop me from being the ugly one in the couple’s photos.  My sparkling personality would not stop strangers from wondering “How’d she manage that/him?”  But I figured since he didn’t seem to notice he could find a better physical match, I wouldn’t bring it up.  What’s the point in planting unnecessary questions? 

As we talked and chatted online, I started to pick up on some not so attractive qualities, at least to me.  Not every woman is as picky as I am, especially when the physical is so impressive, but I kinda like signs of a deeper person, and by deeper person, I pretty much mean inner nerd.  What motivates you?  Pisses you off?  What books do you read?  Music do you listen to?  I need conversations, challenges, not just words thrown out there for entertainment.  Regardless, after a little more time together, I realized I couldn’t deal with just the physical for any real amount of time.  Sure, in those desperate/lonely moments, he’ll sound amazing but that’s just because he’s familiar (and gorgeous).  Maybe if he just never spoke, wrote, tried to communicate with words…

Sadly, I know I can’t function like that.  As much fun as it may sound, I’m just not the trophy type.  Physical just can’t do enough for me.  I am entirely too complicated to be so easily satisfied.  I need that “mental standard”.  In comparison to the physical, I’m less willing to compromise.  We BOTH need to be at least slightly above average on the “smart scale”.  (And yes, I do consider myself to have above average intelligence.  Feel free to disagree.  And becuase I’m said that, I’m sure these post will be riddled with ty-pos and grammartical errors. Feel free to point them out.  I’ll adjust accordingly.)  If the proverbial “he” was significantly less intelligent (or just less eloquent) than I am, I believe I’d get frustrated.  I fear the thought of him being stupid would cross my mind and I might treat him accordingly in difficult situations.  That’s very shallow and mean of me but I just don’t think I’m that big of a person yet.  On the other hand, if I knew his intelligence was leaps and bounds beyond mine, I fear I’d be permanently intimidated.  Unlike looks, there’s little I can do to match intelligence.  A gym membership, regular hair appointments and plastic surgery’s not going to help me.  You can’t pay to be smarter.   I don’t like feeling less.  I need a balance.  We need to be close enough to provide good conversations and do so without feelings of superiority or inferiority.  It sucks but I’m just being honest.  I don’t need a rocket scientist or a doctor and could be very happy with a truck driver or a maintenance man. Your occupation (and paycheck for that matter) doesn’t define your intelligence.  Not everyone has bankable “book smarts”.  I just want/need someone who likes to learn and who’ll continually challenge me to do the same.

I realized a few year ago just how big of nerd I was and the fact that I was looking for one.  One night, I decided it was best to crash on a male friend’s couch rather than going home.  It was a little late/early.  Now, to be honest, I was a little more than “interested” in this friend but nothing was happening (at that point, at least).  Anyway, I walked into his room to ask him a question.  Keep in mind we’d known each other for a few months and I’d seen him in a bathing suit.  He was cute and I was attracted but what I saw when I walked into his room that night pretty much melted my heart.  Imagine.  Imagine.  (I’m sure the title of this post probably gives it away but) NERD ALERT: I saw him sitting in bed with his glasses on reading a book.  Having a class with him, I’ve seen him read before but there was something different about seeing him do it for pleasure.  The glasses bit didn’t exactly hurt, especially since I was coming in to see if he had an extra contact lens case.  Who knew reading could be so sexy?  Then he proceeded to tell me about the book.  To be honest, I couldn’t tell you what it was about now but I do remember how earnest he was about whatever he was saying.  He’d read the book before and thought it was great because…..

Look, yes, I really appreciate the hard work guys put in in the gym.  And yes, I love the way a man looks when he’s well put together.  Massages are amazing.  The random “just thinking about you”s can stop me in my tracks.  And don’t even get me started on the effects certain colognes have on me.  But if you really want me to get excited about sharing a significant amount of time and a small (possibly rectangular) space with you, read for me, baby.  It’s not all I need but it certainly can’t hurt.  (Wow, I’m such a nerd. Haha)

Dreaming of her reading buddy,

Jo’van

Shades of Understanding: Being “Just Black”

“The African-American experience” has been a hot topic in the media for the last year.  With Barack Obama running for president (and incidentally being elected), black hope, deliverance, equality has been all over the print, TV, radio and online media.  Some feel a black President signals the day African-Americans have become fully equal.  Others consider it to be a stepping stone but not the finale.  Either way, being Black has been discussed but not really examined.

What does it mean to be black/African-American?  It’s really a personal definition.  There are some common traits/histories that the group shares but YOUR experiences are the most important definers.  Rather than speak for a rather large group, I’ll just try to explain my feelings about it.

For most people that I know (that aren’t black), being “something”, whatever it is, is defined by a history, what your particular group has “gone through.”  While you may be American, you’re also Greek, Spanish, German, Italian, Panamanian, Indian, Canadian, Nigerian, Irish, Brazilian, etc.  Just being able to claim a country and culture outside of the U.S. seems to empower people to be something extra, justifying failed attempts to learn a second language, perfecting one “authentic” dish or a trip you can’t afford to the land of your forefathers.  I’ve realized that over the years, I’ve grown almost bitter about this lack of extended identity.  Yes, African-American culture is rich and thick.  But it’s short.  What’s 300 years in the grand scheme of things?

Let’s say a generation is 25 years long.  300 years is roughly 12 generations.  Growing up, I was blessed to spend time with great-grandmothers, grandmothers and my parents.  We represented 4 generations, a third of African-American history.  That kind of realization helps put the reasons I feel the way I do into perspective.

The roots of “my people” were ripped up and displaced.  Sure, I could “go back to Africa” to visit the land of my forefathers but the continent’s just a little big and somewhat diverse.  True, most slaves brought to the Americas were from West Africa but that only narrows it down to a minimum of 5 currently sovereign nations.  That’s like saying I could be German, Swedish, Turkish, Italian or Austrian.  Just a little different, right?

Like my family, the vast majority of African-Americans have family members of different, usually European, connections.  The only part of my family that I can trace back more than 5 generations is Irish.  There’s nothing wrong with that.  It’s kind of cool.  But for some reason, I don’t feel a strong connection to Dublin, U2 or redheads.  I giggle when I say it out loud, especially around St. Patrick’s Day.  I’m African-American.  Our family also has Cherokee roots.  Unfortunately, I know very little about Cherokee history or culture.  It feels almost wrong to claim it.  Everyone from the South, seems to have a Cherokee great-grandmother somewhere in their family tree.  So I go back to being just black.  What is that?

In college, I had several conversations with African immigrant students about identification while in the US.  Their ethnicities covered every major region of the continent, different languages, religions, cultures, histories.  But one thing most of the students I spoke with agreed on was the fact that they didn’t want to be considered black or African-American while in the States.  At first, I thought it was because they’d like to be identified with/by their home country.  And while that’s true, several people explained to me that it was equally important for them not to be tied to the sordid, unfavorable image of African-Americans here.  How could people who ARE the African part of my African-American identity be SO against being what I am?  What’s wrong with it?  Unfortunately, many of the stereotypes we peddle here are bought around the world.  But there’s enough to say about that for a separate post.  Suffice it to say, I was surprised, hurt and later educated about how we’re seen by our theoretical brothers and sisters and fully get where they may be coming from.

There’s nothing I can do about having a limited history.  And I’m not ashamed of any aspect of the history I can claim now.  It’s just that I sometimes wish I had more I could claim, hope to embrace, love enough to teach.  African-American history is completely American history.  While parts are often (intentionally or not) left out of our traditional K-12 history books, African-American history is nothing but American history.  There is no and never was an Africa-America.  Our history is just red (blood, sweat and tears), white (captors to coworkers) and blue(s).  Every now and again, I kinda wish “we” could share the same kind of specialness other cultures do, being able to claim (if only partially) somewhere/something else.  Not complaints, just thoughts.

Singing “Follow the Drinking Gourd”,

Jo’van

The World…As I See It: Respecting Your Guards

Growing up in Nashville, TN, you were either black or white.  While there is diversity in the city, my family, schools, church, etc were pretty much one, the other and a little gray in the middle  (at least not in the ’90s).  The city’s changing but I no longer live there so I can only speak to my past.  Although Nashville is a mid-size city and the capitol, there is still an underground Deep South mentality.  In addition to hospitality, sweet tea, and greeting strangers, racism and prejudice run deep in the veins of our culture, on both sides.  Black and white may be equal but they’re still not the same.

I don’t mean to make the South sound like the worst place for minorities to live, you just have to be aware of your surroundings.  There are places I will never go by myself or pull over.  It’s just that simple.  I grew up in the New South, progressives slowly outgrowing grandpa’s law.  While things are not comfortable, I can’t imagine living in any time period other than now.  I am SO thankful not to have to deal with the things my grandmothers did.  That type of fear and simple determination are humbling.  But with my appropriate guards up, I felt comfortable in Nashville.  I knew my boundaries and what it meant to be Black there.  It just meant not being White.  Slavery, hip-hop, jazz, civil rights, baggy clothes, turnip greens, sweet potatoes, cornrows, rims, weave, etc were just parts of it.

Attending Iowa State University in Ames, IA was a bit of a culture shock.  All of the sudden, I was in a (nearly) all-white community of people who’d never grown up around “others.”  While there are endless numbers of “others”, I feel African-Americans have to be the best understood minority group in the U.S.  If not understood, at least exposed.  Not everyone at Iowa State was naive or uncultured.  There were endless numbers of people that I met that had either been exposed to or proactively sought out diversity and even more people who were at least open to learning. But some of the things I heard and saw from the people who hadn’t/weren’t  just broke my heart.  A seemingly intelligent 18-year-old boy telling me that he knew black people have an extra muscle in their legs.  That’s why they always ran past him at state track meets.  A 19-year-old girl who had no idea who Malcom X was.  A 22-year-old woman who thought black people must not believe in personal hygiene because we don’t all have to wash our hair everyday.  Rather than get worked-up, I realized I could take these opportunities to educate these people.  I’d want to be corrected, educated, talked to, not yelled at.  I could only imagine they hadn’t been exposed to the truth, or at least alternative truths.  I could play “pissed off black woman” or “patient mother.”  I chose the second.  It seemed to work out.  Ames, in many ways to me, was naive but innocent until I was attacked on campus.  Well, attacked seems somewhat extreme.  Let’s replace that with scared.

One night, I was walking across campus around 11 pm.  Yes, I know walking just about anywhere by yourself late at night is not a good idea but I was getting off of work and needed to get home.  What were my options?  Anyway, about halfway there, I heard someone behind me.  I turned around to see who or what it was.  I saw an average looking white guy, medium build, blond hair, probably 6′1.  He didn’t seem to appreciate me looking at him.  “What are you looking at, black bitch?”  From his slurred speech and not quite straight gate, I could tell he’d probably been drinking.  Quick, what should I do?  Keep walking normally, speed up, run, say something, stay quiet, try to find my cell phone in my backpack?  Shit.  So I just stayed quiet and sped up a little.  He picked up on that and sped up behind me.  By this point, I’m officially scared and pretty much going blank.  He kept coming and trying to get a rise out of me, yelling obscenities.  At one point, he grabbed my shoulder and tried to turn me around. Being November in Iowa, I had on a pretty thick coat.  But he didn’t seem to be playing around.  I could feel each finger through the leather and down of my coat.  As soon as he touched me, it all became real.  I was alone and he was bigger than me.  We were in the middle of campus with absolutely no one around.  He could beat me, rape me, just about anything and there was probably nothing I could do unless he was more drunk than I thought.  But for whatever reason, after he’d grabbed me, turned me around, yelled some more ridiculousness about being a worthless black nigger bitch, and pushed me around a little, he lost interest and walked off, like a kid who’s thought of a better idea.

I was uncharacteristically speechless.  All I wanted to do was get home and be around someone I trusted.  I didn’t even want to talk to someone, just be around them.  Vulnerability is not my strong suit.  After the initial shock wore off, I went from vulnerable to disappointed…in myself.  How could I let this happen to me?  Why wasn’t my guard up?  Why did I not see this coming?  Why weren’t my keys with the pepper spray key-chain not in my pocket for easy access?  Shit.  I would have never let this happen so easily in Nashville.  I would’ve never made myself that vulnerable.  Black, white, whatever.  How did I let this happen?

I saw him on campus a couple of times over the next two years.  I’ll admit the first time I saw him I freaked.  It didn’t matter that we were in central campus surrounded by 500 other students, my heart jumped into my throat.  While I’ll probably never forget his face, he seemed to have no recollection of mine.  I thought about trying to find out his name, telling some authority figure, something proactive but it all seemed lame.  I just wanted to forget about it.  He hadn’t really done more than what people do at the bars on a Saturday night.  He was by himself and felt bigger, tougher, cooler, whatever.  If he’d actually injured anything more than my pride and comfort zone, I would’ve done everything I could to press charges.  But in this case, I just wanted to forget his idiocy but never forget it exists, even in Iowa.

Guards are important.  We have them for reasons.  Are most of our reactions due to stereotypes?  Yes, and that’s sad.  But there’s nothing wrong with being prepared.  Awareness of your surroundings is always very important.  Did that incident happen because I was black?  No, probably not.  That was just a factor that probably emboldened the drunk ass.  But being alone, female and black are all things I would have kept in mind at home where racism can be blatant and therefore expected, somehow making me feel safer because I was always prepared.  Go figure.  Because of culturally recognized racism, my guard’s already up to other -isms.

Thankful for her Tennessee Titans letterman style jacket and sturdy legs,

Jo’van

The World…As I See It: Why I Should Really Celebrate Cinco de Mayo

Cinco de Mayo!!!  For many people, May 5th has something to do with a Mexican battle and is a perfect excuse to gorge on chips and salsa, inhale soft shell tacos and drink a lot of (if not too many) Corona’s and Mexican Martinis.  Traditionally for me, Cinco de Mayo celebrations are about finding the most colorful dress you have and preparing to drink to oblivion (or most often in my case watching other people drink to oblivion).  There’s been very little history or real knowledge associated with the date.  But today I learned something new about the holiday.  Who knew Cinco de Mayo had a (near) direct relationship to the emancipation of slavery?

I learned this through a post titled “Market Research: Cinco de Mayo Isn’t Indepence Day” on Advertising Age’s The Big Tent blog.  According to the Fayetville Observer (North Carolina):

“During this time, Confederate General Robert E. Lee was enjoying success, and had the French defeated México at Puebla, France would have aided the South in the American Civil War in order to free Southern ports of the Union Blockade. The Mexicans had won a great victory that kept Napoleon III from supplying the confederate rebels for another year, allowing the United States to build the greatest army the world had ever seen.”

While there’s a lot more to it, the success of the Mexicans over the French aided in the Yankees over the Confederates.  Viva la Mexico!

Toasting her Corona,

Jo’van

Eye of the Beholder: LGN Diet

About a year ago, I was talking to a male friend.  We were just chit chatting, waiting for other people to finish or show up, I don’t remember exactly.  Anyway, we started talking about working out.  He has been known to be somewhat of a gym rat if the mood arises.  As I’ve said before, I know that I need to work out to look the way I want but I don’t love it.  And because of that lack of love, my gym kicks go in waves.  At that time, I was on a new one, only a few weeks old.  After talking for a little while about what we do and don’t do, blah blah blah, he threw me a curve ball.  As calmy as ever, he looked me up and down and said, “You’re working out.  You must be having sex.”

Now, sex is natural and beautiful and all that loveliness but it’s still something I consider to be private, for me and everyone else.  I had no idea how to react.  At that time, I wasn’t even talking to, hoping to flirt, or anything else with anyone, let alone concerned about anyone seeing any part of my body not already visible in work clothes.  The comment just blew my mind.  Is this why men or everyone thinks everyone else works out?  Is there anything wrong if that is the reason?  What are your real reasons for working out?

I’ve already admitted that my main reason is vanity, not naked vanity, just the normal kind.  I want to be a size 8 (occasionally a 6 or 10 depending on the cut).  I think this size looks good on me.  I’m still relatively young and have the available time and resources to exercise.  I really have no excuses not to.  I’ve never been the type to really complain about my current size/body but sometimes those glances in front of the full length mirror cause an unpleasant double-take.  What’s a girl to do? Complain or sweat?  I complain enough about other things.  I’ve decided to spare the people around me from another unnecessary topic.

Possible Reasons for Quality Time on the Elliptical Machine:

1.) Health: Okay.  That’s an easy one.  Who doesn’t want to be healthier?  The problem is that most of us aren’t willing to sacrifice to be healthy.  We’re just waiting for the big pharmacy companies to come up with a pill, or better yet a one time shot.

2.) Vanity: Yes, I’ll claim that one.  We all want to look better than we currently do, even the people who already look amazing.  But not everyone’s got Giselle’s genetics or LL Cool J’s personal trainer.  For most of us, our appearance is extra, not a part of our job description.  Famous people are famous for a reason.  We’ve got to stop comparing.  I’ll never look like Beyonce.  I’m just trying to look as good as I can, regardless of those around me.

3.) Muscles: Yes, this is tied to vanity but there are some people who work out for a particular goal, competing and such.  No real comment on this one.  But all of those sinewy muscles and veins popping out kind of grosses me out.

4.) LGN Diet “Looking Good Naked”: I’ve got to admit the name is a new one for me but needs no further explanation.  Although, it seems that people are fueled by this motivation until the couple gets really comfortable and starts to gain together…

5.) Special Occasions and Summer: Closely tied to the LGN Diet, often times people work out to fit and/or look better in certain outfits for certain occasions; weddings, reunions, bathing suits, vacations, etc.  This motivation is generally temporary.

6.) Fun: Heaven knows why but some people actually enjoy exercising.  I wasn’t blessed with that gene.  But if you’ve got it, rock it, I guess.  I was blessed/cursed with the “eat good and sleep well” gene. (Note: Eating good does not necessarily mean healthily, just tastily…)

I didn’t really have a purpose for this post.  I just really wanted to write about the new term I learned, the “Looking Good Naked” Diet.

Wondering why everyone else at the gym is working out,

Jo’van

Romantic Cynic: Reconnecting

I keep daydreaming.  But not the kind of fanciful, wistful dreaming.  It’s the potential conversation kind.  You know preparing the answers for the questions you’ll never be asked.  How would I respond to statement 1 vs 2?  Does that warrant regal and stoic or just straightforward and unedited?  Shit. Not again.

I recently reconnected with an “ex” via Facebook.  (The term “ex” is relative to someone who does her best to avoid relationships but I feel it’s the best fit right now so I’m sticking with it.  Plus, “a little more than a friend” is just too long.)  The wonders of social media bring people you forgot, tried to forget, never really knew or have never met into clear view and easy access.  It’d been almost 3 years since we’d seen each other, 4 since we’d really talked.  So seeing his name in my inbox was a bit surprising, unnerving, intriguing.  He’d recently moved to the city my father lives in and wanted to connect the next time I go out to visit.  Unbeknownst to him, I had a trip planned out there the following month.  We didn’t exactly end on bad terms so I said “what the hell?”  Let’s find out what he’s been up to.

Of course at this point, you start to reevaluate your current situation.  What if he looks amazing, is married to a former supermodel-turned-broker, has a child destined for Mensa,  and an unbelievable job?  What am I going to be able to say/show for myself?  Sure, I am gainfully employed and enjoy my job but for how long? The economy’s still really shaky.  I think I look pretty good right now but I only had so much to work with in the beginning.  I’ve done pretty much all I can for myself for free.  I’m in debt up to my eyeballs but have still managed to maintain a healthy shopping problem.  My “music” is not moving in any direction.  I can’t really speak to any amazing relationships I have/had.  In fact, I haven’t really done anything that interesting since he knew me, just followed my short term plan and ended up in Austin, TX with a platonic wife (he knows), our dog children and two jobs.

I must say that I know that my life does not suck.  I am blessed to have the people and things I do around me.  It’s just that people from the past really make me question my current.  What have I done since they knew me?  Have I grown up? Regressed? Sold out? Bought in? Conformed? Reformed? Calmed down? Gotten feistier? Completely done a 180?  Depending on who you talk to and how long ago they knew me, it could be any of these things.  Of course at this time, I was only concerned with the different person I might have been with/to him.

Anyway, I kind of stressed about it but gave up on that after a while.  I didn’t have it in me to buy into my own questions.  If I’ve changed, I’ve changed.  I can only hope it’s for the better.  I could, on the other hand, now concern myself with how he might’ve changed.  So what if he’s not the successful, beautiful husband and father?  What if he’s just normal?  Then what?  If he’s changed for the better or worse, I can pretty much handle that.  It’s a new person, a new situation.  But what if nothing much has changed?  What if I look at him and still see the person who caught my attention at a conference in Miami in 2004?   Then I could be in trouble.  I don’t know if/how I can prepare for that.

There are few people I loathe.  (I’d say hate but loathe seems more refined…) Those people have done something to hurt me.  Everyone else, exes, old friends, etc, has pretty much just faded into the past.  You miss the memories of being with them but don’t regret any of it or make any real efforts to recreate them.  But what about when they come back into your life?  How do you handle introducing the new you to someone who knew the old one?  I don’t have any answers or resolutions for this.  I’m just wondering.

Now, this “ex”, I don’t know what that was/is.  We saw each other and it was good, completely comfortable, almost too comfortable.  We’re talking again but I’m not looking for this to move beyond talking.   I’ve learned expectations are a waste of time.  Just to be talking again is odd.  I never thought I’d see him again so this is just an interesting situation as it stands.  We’ve both changed but not so extremely that we didn’t recognize each other or our connection.  It was more of a revelation that I hadn’t changed as much as I like to think I had.  He still knew me.  I wonder how many other people still know me despite the growing pains I’ve experienced and possibly blown out of proportion?

Reminiscing,

Jo’van

Quarterlife Crisis: Quarterlife Crisis or Just Boredom?

I’m going to try to add songs to the next few posts.  Please enjoy Mariah Carey’s “Honey” for this post.  This video and sound marked the beginning of her “Quarterlife Crisis/Transition/Freedom”.  We’re still just waiting for her to recover…

I’ve officially been a 25 year old for a week now.  25 – It just sounds so grown up.  Not old.  I hope to have many, many decades to go but something about 25 just sounds like I should have my shit together by now.  I’ve been asked how I feel about being 25.  As with most birthdays, the hardest part that I can imagine will be remembering the new number when asked how old I am.  All I can say is that I feel just about the same.  Let me clarify: the actual birthday meant little.  I will have to admit though that this “time in my life” has had its impact.

Some would call what I’m experiencing a “quarterlife crisis”.  Considering the term is so new and popular right now, I won’t argue the point.  (I am, however, reading the original book published on the term in 2001.  I may change my opinion upon completion.)  Either way, instead of a crisis, I’d like to think I’m going through a “transition period”.  I’m transitioning from the 42 year old in a 24 year old’s body to a probably around 35 year old in a 25 year old’s body.  (I hope to break even around 27.)  I love my life but am bored by most of it at the same time.  It’s safe and comfortable but often uninspired and generally blase.  I’m the faithful employee, loyal friend and independent daughter.  But where’s the fun in that?  I need a little drama (preferably not self-created), some excitement, positive stress, butterflies.

My mother and grandmother came into town for my birthday last week.  It was wonderful.  My mother joked about me never really being a “child”.  Even at 8, I was a tiny adult, equip with strong opinions and the ability to intelligibly argue.  It’s funny to think about that until you realize it’s probably true.  Now, of course, I was a child and did childish things.  But I’ve always acted as if I “knew better”.  My mother even said that I wasn’t going through a quarterlife crisis.  We were both just going through our midlife crises at the same time.  (That math could make things very confusing.)  I’ve always been called an “old soul”.  I didn’t really do most of the dumb, excusable teenage/early twenties things.  There was always a plan, a goal and an ability to see past the temporary intrigue.  And while there’s nothing overly wrong with that, there is something  a little sad about it.  If I’m living like I’m 40 now, what’ll be interesting about actually being 40?  I’ve joked (but was secretly terrified) that I’d regress about that time and look and/or act like a Ricki Lake guest.  I need to act like I’m in my twenties while I’m still technically in my twenties.  And I’m already half way done with that.

I’m not quite sure what “acting my age” looks like but I’m taking baby steps.  Things like going out more than once  a month (I don’t have anyone waiting on me and as long as I can make it to work the next day, what’s the harm?), embracing shorts again (I’ve been avoiding them for years but my thighs are only going to grow exponentially from this point), giving into impulses (probably a full post on that later), taking care of my body (I’m still not excited about organic foods but there’s nothing wrong with paying a little more attention to what I’m putting into my body or working out consistently enough to actually see a difference), or being social simply for the sake of being social (fighting looks of boredom or indifference in public settings).

Maybe all of this is just a phase and I’ll revert to being 40 again soon.  If so, I hope I can cram 15 years worth of “being young” into whatever time I have left to enjoy this phase.

Consider this part one of my quarterlife crisis series.

Jo’van

Romantic Cynic: Being Called Temptation

Although her sound is jazzier and more sultry than I could ever write to compliment, I’d suggest listening to Diana Krall’s live version of “Temptation” while reading this post. It gives you a grown up sound to go with my refreshingly juvenile thoughts.

In line with “Reconnecting”, I had dinner with another old friend this summer.  Now, this one was definitely closer to just being a friend than not.  Our thing was (mostly) mental.  We never were a “we”, just around each other.  Everything with him was like a game.  Incessant flirting, bordering inappropriate but never crossing the line because we refused to draw it.  We were in a fashion show together and by the end of it, all of the models had to change in one big room, male and female.  Depending on your outfit, you could be changing in front of essentially everyone, wearing nothing but a thong in between outfits.  Now, I know that I was one of probably 40 female models so I don’t expect that too many of the male models were concerned with looking at me but I know we’d both looked around….

Anyway, another Facebook connection led to dinner while he was randomly in town.  It was good.  Nice dinner, fun to catch up.  You know those people that are just entertaining?  The ones that make every single conversation intriguing, if not worthwhile.  That’s kind of how this friend is.  It’d been years but it was easy.  Not because we had a “connection” but because our personalities just click, in a way with no expectations.  As soon as I picked him up, we were off.  Along with the clicking came the flirting.  Flirting’s innocent enough…unless of course one of you isn’t exactly single.  So that may have just been the case with us but what’s a girl to do?  I really miss flirting for the sake of flirting, thought provoking, fun flirting.  We don’t live in the same state so it’s not like actions could really be an issue. Just innocent words at dinner….and maybe a few more after dinner but whatever.

As a part of our later conversations, one thing in particular stuck out to me, probably because I was flattered although I don’t know if I should have been.  He told me it’s a good thing that we wouldn’t get another chance to see each other because I would be temptation.  Temptation, really?  Me?  That just sounded so odd.  Flattering but odd?  I could come up with an endless number of descriptions for myself but I can guarantee you “temptation” wouldn’t make the list.  Not wanting to make matters any worse than they already seemed to be, I didn’t press the issue. Why discuss that which can’t really be dealt with or acted on?  But I still wonder what, if anything, about me says “temptation”?  Would it just be the fact that we were comfortable together thus making me a seemingly easy mark? Or did it have something to do with something physical about me like maybe he just has a thing for tall, smart ass, black women?  Then again maybe it was just because it couldn’t, therefore it sounded perfect.  Whatever the case, I was temptation.  And I’m not gonna lie, I kinda liked it.

Since temptation is usually a bad thing, something you fight, I’m knew I shouldn’t have been excited about wanting to claim the description.  And I doubt there’s another person that would say the same thing about me but I’m going to hold onto it, just for a little while longer.  Growing up, I looked and felt like Steve Urkel from the show Family Matters; skinny, awkward and nerdy.  I’ve since outgrown that look but the insecurities associated with it linger in the back of my mind.  If a really attractive person even hints that they’re thinking the same thing about me, I immediately assume they’re full of shit and remove myself from the situation.  I don’t need the embarrassment.  That tactic has worked pretty well for me so far.  But what do you do when you’re caught off guard and actually want to believe what they’re saying?  An attractive person that you enjoy talking to, have a good time with tells you you’re gorgeous, hell yeah, you’re going to want to believe it.  But that belief means a little less when the timing’s all wrong.  That was my dilemma.  And of course, this was presented in such a way that I couldn’t even enjoy it.

I have no resolution for this “issue”.  I just think it’s interesting that anyone could consider me temptation.  Also, I feel it’s important to say that regardless of my “tempting powers” or his, the fact that he was in a relationship was all I needed to know.  Sure, I could’ve played ignorant or worse, just not cared.  I mean I didn’t know her.  I would probably never have to meet her or feel all that guilty.  But who in the world needs that karma?  I’m being kicked around enough for other things.  Why embrace that level of bad shit with open arms?  Just flirting probably crossed a line I’ll recognize and pay for later.  I don’t have to know her to respect them.  But if I didn’t feel that way…..

Diana’s singing my sentiments exactly,

Jo’van

Romantic Cynic: What’s on Your Men-U/Fine List?

Back in high school, my friends and I would create these obnoxious but innocent enough lists, Men-U’s if you will, of the qualities we were looking for in a boyfriend.  They would say things like “nice arms, over 6′1, gets along with my friends, smart enough to help me with Calculus homework, etc.”  Whatever the case might be, these lists made us feel we had the right to strive for something idealistic.  Obviously, none of us would fulfill the ideal lists, Fine Lists, any of our male classmates might come up with but oh well.  While the lists were very limiting, they were all in good fun and we knew no such “perfect” person existed but we could at least hope.  Maybe they just helped us prioritize.  I always said they weren’t in ranking order but maybe they should’ve been…

Anyway, it’s been years since I created one of these lists and hope that I’ve outgrown them but a comment a friend made recently made me think about these lists and what a revised 2009, 25-year-old version would look like.  While Chivis has known me for three years, she’s never seen me “with” someone.  The random “he’s cute” here and there was all she had to determine “my type”.  So after old and new “friends” started to emerge and she’d seen their pictures, I was told that I would need to lower my (physical) standards for Austin.  The personalities of these friends are all very different and there is something endearing (at least to me) about them but that particular conversation came down to the physical.

No offense to the men in Austin.  I’m sure there are plenty of handsome, single, straight (very important distinction for Austin I’ve learned) men here but I’m just not being as lucky at drawing their attention as I might have been other places.  There are plenty of reasons for this that we’ll not need to go into.  It’s just interesting to me that from seeing the photos of three male “friends”, Chivis decided my problem was not my personality, where I am or am not meeting people, the people I’m meeting, or anything else like that.  It was my standards and my physical standards at that.

Granted, I will have to admit that the three “friends” she did see were very attractive but at least for two of them, that’s not the first thing I noticed about them or what drew me in.  For (almost) every guy I’ve ever been interested in, their personality was much more important than their physical.  Yes, attraction must be there and I’ve learned the hard way that trying to “create” the physical attraction is just not a good idea. But I’ve also learned the hard way that just attraction equals near immediate boredom.  I can’t afford more boredom in my life.  I need excitement, challenge, intrigue.  If looking at a picture can give me just about everything being with you can, I’ve got to move on (as sad as it may be to watch you go).

I’m not sure if the items on my Men-U have grown or shrank but I am sure they’ve evolved at least a little.  Nice arms and over 6′1 would still be great but I’d be more than happy to give up a little firmness and a few inches for a similar sense of humor and the ability to just sit in silence together.  Little things, really.  In high school having  a boyfriend/girlfriend was almost a status symbol.  Now it seems like it means you’re lucky or skilled enough to draw someone else willingly into your craziness.

What’s on your Men-U/Fine List?  Are all of the things that were SO important to you when you were 16 still important?  If you’re in a relationship or just out of a (for the most part) really good one, what did you give up or settle on?  What things did you get that you never knew you wanted?  The perpetually single one would like to know.

Wishing she could find just one of those lists from junior year,

Jo’van

Office Appropriate: Strong Personality in a Weak Economy

Donna Summer’s “She Works Hard for the Money” for a little inspiration. (Gotta love the ’80s lip-synching)

I have a relatively strong personality.  Shocking I’m sure to anyone who knows me or has read more than a few of these posts.  This strength of personality has always been a source of pride and heartache for me.  Some people just don’t understand how to handle a person, child, woman, employee, daughter, student, etc like me.  And I’m sure that I haven’t really made it all that easy for most people…

Regardless, my strong personality has never really been a problem, more of a mild annoyance to remain aware of.  That is until everyone began to fear for their jobs.  The economy, for lack of a better word, sucks right now.  Things are beginning to get better but nothing’s comfortable yet.  We all need to be very careful in and around the workplace.  To be gainfully employed is something to covet and be thankful for at this time.  So what does that mean for the office smart-ass, cynic and/or bitch?

I playfully termed myself the “office cynic” about a year ago.  Our president at that time (for some reason) trusted my opinion.  It’s not that I am/was of a high enough level to make a real difference.  It’s just that he seemed to appreciate my sarcasm and honesty.  Since that time, the office has changed quite a bit.  People have left and/or been laid off.  New people have joined. Clients have cut their budgets or contracts all together with us.  All and all, money is tight and we’re all really watching our jobs.  Is there room for sarcasm in this type of economy?

Of course everyone is trying to do their jobs to the best of their abilities.  And with shrinking staffs, most people are in fact doing multiple jobs for the same, if not less, pay.  It’s just that doing your job isn’t always enough.  How do you control the personal part of you?  My entire personality has never been “released” upon the office but I need to learn to control it even more now.  Not everyone finds my sarcasm endearing and I can no longer afford to ignore that fact.  My strong personality and low place on the totem pole are not a good mix when you’re relieved you haven’t been called into HR’s office each day.

What do you do when a defining trait becomes a potential liability?  It’s not that I believe my strong personality would ever be a reason to let me go.  BUT when the higher ups say cut someone and you’re comparing my resume with that of an equally qualified employee, does that prized personality help or hurt my chances?  I’d, unfortunately, venture to bet the latter.

I’m doing my best to remain positive and (more) quiet when necessary while in the office.  It’s a trial and error process but I think I’m slowly getting better at it.  One day I might be able to compartmentalize the way my mother does.  She just works.  While I hope my office life never requires that type of coldness, if it does, I at least know the ability runs in the family.

Fingers crossed she’ll be able to make it another day/week/month/year without a meeting with HR,

Jo’van

Friendly Drama: My Wife is Cheating on Me (and I’m Almost Okay with It)

Eamon’s “F*ck It”. It doesn’t exactly fit but a friend recently reminded me of this song and I thought I’d share in the laughter. WARNING: This song contains language not suitable for children.

It’s official.  My wife is cheating on me and he’s more than just a fling.  How dare she find someone of the opposite sex to care about and spend her time with!  Didn’t she know that we were supposed to be perpetually single together? And how dare the person actually be cool and good to/for her!  Or nice to me and my dog!  Now what am I going to do?  I enjoyed avoiding relationships with my little comrade.

Okay, so it may not be that extreme but sometimes it could feel that way if I let it.  There is something about getting comfortable with your current situation.  It doesn’t mean you love every part of your life but that you at least know how to deal with it all.  What do you do when something suddenly changes without your consent?

As with most things, this is all about me. (Haha)  I can’t write about what she feels or thinks although I know that she’s adjusting to this as well.  But her adjustment is at least more fun than mine.  I am losing my wife, my comrade, my little buddy.  And I can’t be happier for her or sadder for me. 

You see it’s not completely that I’m jealous of him taking her away from me (although that’s a big part of it).  I’m also jealous of her.  Months ago, we discussed our perpetual singledom.  I thought I was done with it.  I might actually be ready to end the streak.  She on the other hand had absolutely no intention of abandoning her current state.  Fast forward a couple of months and she’s with a really good guy and I’m forced to watch them hold hands at dinner and cuddle on our couch.  Because I’m bitter and have the selective maturity of a 12-year-old, it all makes me a little uncomfortable.  I’m not ready for her to move on because that forces me to accept she won’t always be around when I want her to be and to consider why I haven’t, especially since I’m the one that thought they wanted to.  I know you can’t force things and everything good comes in time but still…

After relaying my current childish frustration, a non-single friend of mine told me that of course these things happen and that I shouldn’t feel bad about feeling whatever I’m feeling.  Since she’s in a long-distance relationship, she relies on her single friends during the week.  She’d prefer for them to stay single if only for her sake.  Now, while that may sound a little selfish, I can only appreciate it that much more because she’s being honest.  A close friend entering a new romantic relationship can be a difficult thing to deal with/accept/be happy about regardless of your relationship status.  Your life changes and you don’t get to enjoy any of the benefits of this change.  All I can do is be happy for her.  But no one said how quickly or gracefully I had to make this adjustment.

There’s no resolution for this post .  I’m just sharing my situation, frustration and childish reactions.  I’m happy my wife is cheating on me but I’ll still be bitter for a little while longer.

Depressed with the dogs because she’s not home,

Jo’van

Office Appropriate: Laid Off…Now What?

So it looks like yesterday’s post  “Strong Personality in a Weak Economy” was a bit premature or entirely too late.  Either way, I no longer have to worry about whether my strong personality will be a benefit or a liability in the office.  I no longer have an office to worry about at all.  Today, I was officially laid off.  Nice.

I signed yesterday’s post “Fingers crossed she’ll be able to make it another day/week/month/year without a meeting with HR”.  Well, that didn’t exactly work all that well in my favor this morning.  Sparing the non-entertaining details, I was laid off due to “the numbers.”  Being analytical and structural, I can’t argue with the numbers. There might be a particular interpretation of those numbers that I take issue with….but whatever.  I was given the requisite speeches and released to figure out this new chapter of my work life: packing up my office.

Why do/did I have so much stuff?  If I’d thought about it, I would’ve taken a picture to share.  I understand that I’ve been there for just over three years and that I’m a pack rat but really?  Packing up took entirely too long, especially considering the people coming in an out to cry and say goodbye.  I was given the option to pack up that day or later in the week if I didn’t want to “be around everyone.”  Being the difficult, strong person I like to (pretend to) be, I decided against the “punk” route and packed up in plain view of everyone, well with my door closed…

The mixture of stifled, indignant tears, released, shameless tears, two margaritas at lunch and 104 degree weather has caused this obnoxious headache.  The crying headache is one of the worst feelings I can experience.  Aside from the pain itself, it reminds me of my weakness.  I personally HATE crying, especially in public.  No one needs to see that level of vulnerability.  I’d rather (and have) cry in the middle of a large airport terminal surrounded by hundreds of strangers than in front of a good friend.  Well, I had a little less control of my emotions today than I would’ve liked and I quickly bypassed my quota of zero people seeing my cry.  I’m not ashamed or anything, I’m just a little disappointed in that lose of control.  Oh well, what can I do about it now?

The outpouring of support from (most) people has been heartwarming and appreciated.  But being laid off just sucks and there’s nothing that I can say about it that hasn’t already been said or anything that they can tell me that’s going to make me feel better about losing my job, my position, my source of income, my stability, my career.  Plus, I’m still dealing with this.  It’s less than 12 hours old.  I’m sure I’ll be elated, depressed, excited, scared, relieved, and anxious all at some point.  At this point, however, I’m just numb.  I’m going through the motions, or at least what I imagine the motions to be.  Who to tell, how to tell them, how to console them, how to be strong, how to be okay with being weak.  It’s all a process I wasn’t planning on but have to fully accept now.  And I have a pretty awe inspiring example to live up to.  I don’t know if I can do it as gracefully as Robertoe but I’ll do my best….next week.

Thankful for severance pay,

Jo’van

Eye of the Beholder: Brown Sugar, Can I Love You?

In my current unemployed daze, I started cleaning my room and came across a photo of myself and 7 of my 8 roommates from my semester in Florence (Firenze), Italy 4 years ago.  Yes, I had 8 roommates in one not-large apartment with 5 bedrooms.  Luckily (or not surprisingly), I was the only person that had their own room.  I got there first, it was the only one ready, I offered to switch but no one took me up on it…

Of course, I took this photo as a perfect reason to stop whatever I was doing and reminisce.  I’m unemployed.  I should just live the middle-class, uninspired, quarterlife-crisis happening American’s dream and backpack around Europe (again).  But being pragmatic and a month and a half away from absolutely broke, I didn’t linger on this fantasy very long.  However, I did try to remember what it was like to live in Florence, the sounds, the smells, the foods, the people, the school, the market, the mosquito nets…

Aside from the expected culture shock and complete lack of disposable income, I had a great time.  In the most cliche way, that semester made me feel like I could be a grown up and I started to toy with the idea of being able to really do this, really living abroad.  Pack up and become more concerned with a passport than a state driver’s licence.  I liked just being classified as an American, not as black, or middle class, or a Southerner, or the product of a broken marriage, or a preacher’s kid, or whatever social constructions I use to identify myself at any given time.  Of course those things would still matter, but I now how had this larger title AMERICAN to identify and/or argue with.

However, I had another title that I wasn’t prepared for.  So growing up in the US, Tennessee and going to school in Iowa, I’ve never been the ideal of beauty.  Real beauty is petite, buxom and blonde.  Real beauty has blue or green eyes, gets curly perms and pays to tan.  Real beauty looked like Britney, not Beyonce.  Not to go too extreme, the US is a melting pot and values melting pot beauty but if we were to identify one true ideal for the nation as a whole it would not have an excess of melanin.  It’s just the truth.

I happened to room with 4 wonderful, very different looking and acting white women from Iowa State.  I respect these women and hate to reduce them to physical descriptions but it’s necessary to make my point.  We had a short, cutsy sorority girl, an athletic, artsy blond, a shorter, fuller diva and a commanding, self-assured amazon.  And then there was me, I guess I’d describe myself as a tall, sassy black girl.  We were nearly as different as possible.

In Iowa (or just about anywhere else in US), I would not have been the 1st, 2nd or even 3rd person someone would look at in our group.  However, in Florence, to my surprise (and that of some of my roommates…), I was often the object of attention.  How odd it was to be walking to class through the market and hear “Brown Sugar, Can I love you?” in a thick Italian accent.  Well of course you can’t but thanks. Cat calls were strange to me.  At home, it only seemed to be dirty old men I could easily dismiss.  Here, not so much.  It seems that brown was exotic in Florence.  Blondes were typical.  Every American, British and Australian exchange student looked like my roommates.  Italy gave me a little ego boost.    And to make things even better, I didn’t look my best.  Here I was getting more attention than ever before and I didn’t have access to a hairdresser or my entire wardrobe.  Who knew?

And I have to give it the Italian men.  They were not shy but they were also not all that annoying.  Yes, I definitely heard some things that would make a less brown person blush and some of the guys would follow you around.  But unlike at home, once they got the message that it wasn’t going to go anywhere, rather than get pissed or hurt, they simply turned in one direction or another in search of the next female.  You don’t want me? Ok.  She might.  And I’m off…

I also have to note that there were quite a few male African immigrants out during the day.  At any tourist spot, you’d find men selling random knock offs on sheets for easy pick up.  I later found out that there were quite a few African immigrant women as well.  It just so happens that they are the popular choice for prostitution.  I can’t say for sure if this is true but my sources led me to believe that Italian men had no problem paying for a little brown sugar and in fact, preferred it.  Supporting that remark, I was visiting a friend, my wife actually, in Rome and as I was walking back to the hostel, four cars pulled over to ask how much.  It’s important to understand that I was in a hoody, jeans and tennis shoes.  Rather than be offended, all I could do was think how our “girls” are being played in the states.  Of course, I didn’t but I could’ve gotten some business in comfortable clothes while they’re suffering in spandex, stilettos and fishnets…

Anyway, the whole point of this story was the fact that I had to get out of the country to recognize my melting pot attraction, whether I was the one leading myself to believe it didn’t exist or not.  I’m not saying that I’m horrendous and doomed to live with 14 cats because my looks are so offensive.  It’s just that growing up I was brown, lanky, only developed the one curve I have in college and always had cute(r) friends.  A semester in Florence gave me a little more confidence and the ability to possibly see myself as being a little more, if not one of the “cute friends”, at least not “the ugly one.”

Italy – an expensive ego boost,

Jo’van

Romantic Cynic: Rebounding from Single?

Beautiful song.  The live performance is even better than the album.  But I’m just not here yet.  Do I have to be?

India.Aire “Ready for Love”

So I’ve written a lot about being single/alone/lonely lately.  And while I have no new stories to tell to change any of that, I started thinking about something and would love to hear what you think.  Is it possible to rebound from being single?

Context:  A number of friends of mine are newly single.  (The term newly is relative to the person and how long they were in a relationship.)  A group of us are in fact celebrating “Single Ladies Night” or something like that this weekend.  Each one of these newly singled people have experienced a rebound period.  Now, I understand that technically everyone is a rebound after your first [fill in the blank] but for the purpose of this post, let’s consider a rebound to be the traditional possible-mistake-fun-temporary-distraction-from-your-loneliness-attractive person.

We often tell ourselves that rebounds are acceptable as long as you recognize them as being just that, something to make yourself feel better and to eventually move past.  Okay, okay.  You get out of a relationship.  You get to “play around” for a while.  That’s simple enough.  But what’s it called when you’re reintroducing yourself to the possibility of the opposite sex (or same, whatever works for you) after a not-so-brief hiatus?  Are you allowed to rebound from a long-term relationship with yourself?

That question may sound odd but stick with me.  Of course, as with everything on this blog, this question is intensely personal, but I think it’s a valid question for discussion.  Let’s say you have someone who’s avoided any type of more than platonic relationship for, say, 2 years or more.  And let’s also add that that person’s no longer of college age or mentality.  Does this person have to jump into something, date with a higher purpose, or put any other such limitations on themselves?  Can they just treat this time as a rebound period to eventually move past?

Leaving perpetual singledom, a place with total control of your actions, emotions and circumstances, can be scary if not handled delicately.  Is there room for working your way back in, the kiddie pool of dating?  Yeah, that sounds about right; shallow, instantly warmer than the big pool and no need for the assistance of a ladder out.

Of course, no one should enter a relationship prematurely, just because it sounds like the “adult” thing to do.  But if you’re not emotionally scarred, do you have an excuse to be selfish, blinded by temporary intrigue, or even, heaven forbid, opportunistic?  I’m not saying I’ve done any of this….  But I’m also not saying I’m not capable.  IF (yes, big if) a long-term single were to partake in some temporary intrigue, can you call it a rebound?  Or are there other choice terms they’d be labeled with?

Hypothecially asking of course….

Jo’van

Friendly Drama: When I Didn’t Know Any Better

I couldn’t help myself. 

Okay, okay.  Something a little more serious.  Oh, classic Mariah, brunette, seemingly sane, fully equip with choir and everything.  “Anytime You Need a Friend”

Earlier this summer, I had the opportunity to hang out with two friends from Nashville in Chicago (confused yet?).  I’ve known one of the ladies since 7th grade and the other since 9th, 13 and 11 years consecutively. Those numbers seem like an eternity to a 25 year old.  Just knowing someone for 3 years sounds like a significant amount of time.  Over 2 years?  Okay, you’re verified as a friend.  What does more than a decade mean?

If you were lucky/unlucky enough to live in one area and attend area schools your entire elementary education, you may have people you’ve realistically known since kindergarten.  I don’t mean to take anything away from those people but since I didn’t, 7th grade would have to be my longest maintained relationship and it sounds pretty significant to me.

These ladies have known me for (nearly) half of my life.  They’ve seen me fight, cry, yell, stare, run, and smile.  We’ve seen each other through puberty, AP tests, custody battles, puppy love, first loves, college applications, driver’s licenses, parties, prom, and leaving all of that behind for college.  We fell apart during those college years, casually seeing each other when we were all back home but it was never the same.  And as sad as that realization may have been, there was still something that made us come back together (hoping).  I always wondered what that was exactly.  Obviously, we’d all changed and no longer had the classroom to force us together.  What was it that made me still call her “my friend”?  And actually mean it?

Spending that evening together made me realize what it might be.  Intoxicated by wine, nostalgia, good food and ridiculous conversations, we quickly moved past the awkward “so how have you been over the last X years?”  Within the time of a rerun of Family Matters, we were back in the place of giddy adolescents.  Sure, we’ve all changed, grown up, gotten master’s degrees or “real jobs”, physically filled out, moved past pimples and onto real relationships, taken on new responsibilities and the like.  BUT we also all loved not having to worry about that in each other’s company.  We reverted to gossiping, giggling, smart-ass 15-year-olds, fueled by slumber party antics.  Just trying to take a group picture at the end of the night was a monumental feat.  We simply could not stop laughing.  And it felt SO good.    Laughing at nothing but ourselves.

Anyway, that evening made me realize why we  should, or at least why I still do, hold onto these types of friendships for so long.  It’s not because these people really play a big role in your life now.  I’m not saying they’re not important or that they couldn’t reclaim their roles of indispensable friends.  It’s just that your life operates just fine without their daily/weekly/monthly interaction.  But when you are with them you can become a person you haven’t been for a long time, since you really knew each other.  You get to not be a “real” grown up.  You get to talk about gossip, not just politics, outfits, not just bills, crushes, not just relationships, life, not just drama.  These are the people that knew you when you didn’t know any better AND still liked you.  These are the friends who knew you pre-filter, pre-adult judgment, pre-responsibilities, pre-grown up.

All other friends I’ve made since these ladies and our core/clique have known me in some part of my transition from child to adult.  Sure, these types of “pure” friendships are possible with people you meet past the age of , say, 16.  But they require a type of trust we learn to not give so freely as we get older.  For that reason, there may never be anything like the relationships you have/had with the people who knew the child who knew everything, rather than the adult who realizes they know very little.

Thankful people still liked me when I didn’t know any better,

Jo’van

Office Appropriate: Loyal or Lazy?

All-American Rejects “Move Along”

As of about 10:30 am tomorrow morning, I will have been unemployed for two weeks.  I know that that is not monumental in the grand scheme of things and that countless people have been unemployed much longer and with worse prospects, but nevertheless, it’ll be two weeks closer to truly running out of money.

I’ve been told to enjoy this time, to really look for something that makes me happy, to see this as a blessing in disguise, etc.  Yes, this COULD be a good thing but no words you can throw at me are going to fix my current situation.  The only thing that can is a new job.  So I’m looking.  And as frustrating as this looking can be/has been, I can’t help but wonder why I hadn’t heeded the advice of others to begin looking months ago.

As I’ve said, this lay off was disappointing but not an overall surprise.  I believe know that I am a quality employee but if the work’s not there, the money’s not there.  My situation is proof that being assigned solely to one team in an agency setting can be a blessing in busy times and nothing short of a curse in slow times.  The saddest part is that I can’t even say that I’ve learned a lesson.  I saw this coming months ago and was terrified  but all I could do was ask for more work.  If it’s not sent my way from above, there’s nothing I can do about it.  Oh well, their lose, whether they know it or not.  At this point, it does me no good to concern myself with such details.

But the question still remains, if I saw this coming, why didn’t I prepare for it?  Why didn’t I get out?  Or at least start looking?  Honestly, I don’t really know.  Starting to look made it feel like I was giving up, giving up on that job, that company, the three years I’d put in.  I wasn’t ready to admit defeat or ,worse, becoming stagnant.

I love(d) the company that hired me.  My first year our office was positively glowing.  Sure, clients were crazy, executives were “interesting”, people left, interns changed, and the like, but we were 40+ strong, young, talented, and driven.  Working 9-10 hour days didn’t seem like a problem.  Chivis and I were excited if we could make the 6:15 pm Body Pump class at Gold’s Gym.  Sometimes the 6:45 class was still a stretch but we were busy and, more importantly, learning.

I’ll never speak ill of my company because I still love it for taking a chance on my, hiring me from a phone interview, embracing me with open arms, throwing me in with guidance when needed, and obviously paying me to learn.  But I will say that the magic started to slowly fade.  As our ranks shrank, so did our obnoxious morale.  Between the near 65% staff decrease, clients leaving, an awkward merger, my entire team leaving at once, my next boss leaving 6 months later, two rounds of lay offs and my obviously questionable billability, I knew it was only a matter of time and I was afraid I didn’t have the heart to really fight to convince myself anymore.

So what kept me from moving on on my own terms, the best way?  I believe I started to confuse (or mask) loyalty with laziness.  It’s very true that I wasn’t ready to “give up” on this company.  But that didn’t mean I believed it felt the same way about me.  Do I believe it was an easy choice to let me go?  I hope not but I can’t really say.  And honestly, it doesn’t matter if it was.  It happened just the same.  I just don’t know if I stayed despite the paranoia, the numbers and the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach becuase I believed it would get better or because I hoped it just wouldn’t get worse (for me).  I think I was just hoping I could close my eyes and it would all go away.  Well, it did all go away, just not the way I was hoping.  My eyes are WIDE OPEN now.

Reminding herself that busy and useful aren’t always the same thing,

Jo’van

The World…As I See It: Praying? No, Just Checking My Phone

Madonna’s “Like a Prayer”

A few months ago, I went to lunch with a few co-workers.  (I still had them at that time. )  I believe it was somebody’s birthday lunch of something.  Normal chit-chat, ordering, blah, blah, blah.  As the food arrived, I noticed something.  As I bowed my head to pray before eating, I noticed the other 4-5 people around the table also had their heads bowed.  Only they weren’t praying, they were all checking their phones.

Now, I don’t always pray before eating, sleeping, traveling or any of the other established times to pray.  Nor do I expect everyone to pray before their meals.  So it’s not that I’m judging those not praying at that particular time.  I just thought it was interesting that text messages, voicemails, email, Facebook and/or Twitter updates have replaced thanking God for the food we’re about to receive in a social setting.

Maybe everyone around that table falls guilty to my forgetful prayers.  Or it’s not important to them.  It’s not my place to say or determine what is important to others.  I’m still trying to figure out what is for myself.  I have to admit that most of the time my text messages and tweets take precedence over bowing my head in prayer.  It’s just interesting that bowed heads around a table can mean such different things.  Thanking a higher power or the absolute drive to stay connected.  New social norms.  Praying in public can make other people feel uncomfortable or guilty.  But incessantly checking your phone is just fine.  Present company be damned.  It’s obviously not engaging enough.

Dear Lord, I would like to thank you for the text message I’m about to receive…

Jo’van

The Right to Think for Myself: Don’t Call Me Tiff

The Tings Tings “That’s Not My Name”

For whatever reason, I am not a fan of nicknames, especially for myself.  They’re actually a big pet peeve of mine.  Granted, some full names are ugly, awkward or just weird sounding but I’d still generally prefer to use them.  If you like your nickname, that’s great.  Let me know what to call you and I’ll do my best to remember.  But don’t assume I care for mine.

I have always hated being called Tiff.  As a child, the name just sounded dumb.  I felt I should twist my hair around my finger and pop some gum.  Now, I don’t think every Tiff is stupid, silly, whatever.  I just personally preferred to be called by my full name.  My parents named me Tiffany and I like it.  In elementary school, it bothered me so much that the boys would call me Tiff, wait for me to get mad and yell Fanny.  Okay, okay.  It was pretty clever.  Moving on…

Nicknames are innocent enough but I always found it interesting that people naturally assume you’d prefer to be called by a nickname of their choosing.  The most common nicknames are short for whatever your “real” name is.  Others are based on your personality or some shared event.  Okay, okay.  They can be terms of endearment BUT I still don’t feel anyone who meets me can/should feel comfortable enough to assume anything about me, like what I’d like to be called.  This might all have something to do with the unattractive nicknames I’ve been given in the past like Urkelina on the junior high volleyball team but still.  Anyway, I can’t help that one.  I was tall, skinny, awkward with glasses and no one could remember that Steve Urkel’s cousin was actually named Mrytle…

The nickname assumption bothers me more in the workplace.  Maybe it’s because I’m more concerned with being taken seriously or because I’m not always feeling automatically friendly in the office. Either way, I always notice it there.  I generally don’t say anything because it’s not worth the drama but I notice.  I generally like to call people whatever name they use to introduce themselves.  Another good rule to follow in the office is to call people whatever name they use to sign their emails.  If you’re nickname is just a respectable shortening of your real name and not some character assessment like “Smiley”, you should be fine.  If you’re Fredrick and say Fred, Fred it is.  But if you’re Angelica and don’t sign Angel or Angie, Angelica it is.  I just ask that people follow that same rule with me.  But I realize that might be asking too much (especially since I have a tendency to over-think these types of things) so I’ll just continue getting used to Tiff.  If I don’t correct you or slightly grimace, you’re probably safe.

That’s not my name,

Jo’van

Eye of the Beholder: Characteristics of Personal Self-Worth

Rob Thomas “Somthing to Be” Live

“Personal Self-Worth”.  Yes, I know it’s redundant but I think there’s usually a significant difference between how one defines oneself to others and how one defines oneself to themself.  (So many “selfs”)  Your public persona is often very different from the one you face in the mirror alone in your bathroom in the morning or evening (depending on when you’re most self-reflective).

—Warning: This post sounds quite melodramatic.  I know.  And while I mean evertything I’ve written, they’re not the only things I believe about myself (or anyone else for that matter).  I just have too much time on my hands to explore the extremes right now.  I’m sure a “I’m F-ing Awesome” post will follow shortly.  Just you wait.  But with people constantly asking “How are you doing”, sometimes I just want to actually say what’s going on in my head.  For now, I’ll just write parts of it.—

When you’re given those personality tests with endless lists of qualities to check off or rank for yourself, what do you always say?  I’m always things like strong, opinionated, detail-oriented, cautious, rational.  I’m structural and analytical.  Anal and organized, cold and serious.  My personality tests read like a resume.  I sound like the ideal employee to sit in a corner with stacks of papers, a computer, her iPod and the occasional phone call.  When in “real life”, I’m nothing if not emotional and desiring to be around other people.  Sure, I still come off cold and calculated but that’s because I’ve found people don’t react to fiercely emotional very well.  At least with the alternative, I only give up sensitive information when I feel like volunteering it.  I’m very rarely asked out right.  I imagine that’s because people don’t think I really think (or feel) about those types of things, whatever they may be.

So if I was going to make a list of my “real” characteristics, I’m not sure I’d be able to be that honest with myself.  My entire life (as short and uneventful as it’s been) has been built around being in control.  I had goals and found ways to easily achieve them.  I’ve always been an above average student, a capable employee and a loyal friend.  Give me something to do and I’ll simply do it.  Need something from me and I’ll simply give it.  Now I’m not saying I am always the best but I am nothing if not dependable.  Friends get to see the bitchier side but I think they all know if it ever came down to it, my personal opinions and sharp words really wouldn’t mean a thing.  But I digress…

My recent job loss was a jolt to my ego, personal self-worth, life-gauge.  I did well in high school to get a scholarship for college.  I was a high-performing and well-rounded student in college to get a good job upon graduation.  I got that good job and moved to a new city to pursue my “future.”  I maintained two jobs for nearly three years to be “responsible” and pay off more of my debt.  I avoided all things that could get me in trouble, derail me from my goals, negatively affect my future.  I didn’t get into relationships because I told myself I needed to “focus”.  I didn’t really “enjoy” the time in my life to be acceptably “stupid” or “naive.”  And what do I have to show for it now? An apartment full of novelty items that don’t really mean much or provide any comfort, suffocating bills, a desk covered with papers about unemployment, COBRA, contacting creditors, canceled plane tickets, revised resumes and job applications.  My life could be 100 times worse but I’m not in the mood to worry about others right now.  One of my developing characteristics is relentless selfishness and self-pity.  It’s really not attractive.

I was never the pretty one or the athletic one.  Never the nice one or the bubbly one.  The super smart one or the smooth talker.  I was always just the one with the plan and usually the means to accomplish it.  Smart enough to get by and pleasant enough to not be completely anti-social.  My skills and planning, research and execution made me seem lucky or at least hard-working.  Now what?  Now what am I?  Will getting another job right my world or will this feeling of inadequacy stick with me for a while?  I don’t really know but since I don’t want to talk about it, it’ll probably manifest itself in another character flaw, my bitchy desire to push people away when that’s the last thing I need to be doing.  But recognizing the problem is the first step, right?

And what makes me inadequate?  In this time of stress and drama, I’m not comparing myself to someone or everyone else with some measurable goal in mind.  I’m comparing myself to what I think I should be doing and that’s the truly unattainable goal.  How can I have a goal if I don’t have a plan?  And at this point, my only plan is to get another job that will allow me to use the skills I’ve spent a few years developing and to pay off the debt I’ve spent the same few years collecting.

Of course, no job should define a person and mine never defined me.  I am not and never will be software PR.  But when having a job that justifies most of your life choices is no longer an option, then what?  I have to really like the “personal” parts of myself?  That means I have to deal with the not so great parts also.  No fun.  This job search is another test of my ability to like myself.  I’m having to learn to sell myself all over again.  It’s been three wonderful years of just doing something, not having to really think about it and why I’m the perfect one to be doing it (or not).

If only my self-worth could be in something tangible and easily adjusted like my looks.  Haha.  Just kidding.  That would probably suck more…

My personal self-worth lies in the ability to stress about all of these things and still just do my thing, whatever it may be.  In this case it’s market my marketing abilities.  A true test, I guess.

Jo’van

Romantic Cynic: My Ideal Woman

Now, picking a song about this topic could’ve been easy and relatively current but I just didn’t have the stomach for Kate Perry.  So instead, I’ve included a really good song by an artist who just so happens to prefer women.  Melissa Etheridge “I Want to Come Over”

My Female Type?  Hmmm, that’s an interesting question.  And as with most things that interest me, I had to spend way too much time exploring it.  I apologize if I offend anyone with my questions or scenarios bust just as I make broad assumptions about straight guys, I make generalizations of women, straight and otherwise.

Let me first say that I am a heterosexual.  Not a proud one or an apologetic one, just born that way.    My physical type of man varies but would probably be tall(er than me), slender to athletic w/ dark features.  I’d like to feel he’d be able to physically “protect” me from whatever.  (Although, I imagine it would be difficult for me to let anyone take care of me.)  Personalities aside, there’s something about attraction of security.

With these attributes in mind, I wonder if I’d uphold the same standards for a woman.  Would I be interested in someone who was essentially “a big, strong man” with different parts?  Would I want to assume the typical “male/dominant” role in the relationship?  Yes, I know these “roles” are strongly based on some archaic heterosexual culture constructions and may not always apply in same-gender relationships.  But there still seems to be a dominant personality in any relationships, regardless of the gender, size, occupation, or the like.

Moving on the the physical, I have enough insecurities and issues related to comparing my body to other women.  Would it be better or worse with a girlfriend?  Would I want to be with someone traditionally prettier than me with bigger breasts and smaller thighs?  Or would a less feminine woman catch my attention? Could I be jealous of the way my girlfriend looks?  Sure, I could feel self-conscious around a really physical fit or Adonis-like man but I couldn’t exactly strive to look like him so it wouldn’t be as bad, I imagine.  I know, as with straight couples, the initial attraction is fleeting because it’s all about the chemistry. Blah, blah, blah.  But I’m more intrigued by what would attract me in the first place.

I have no answers for these questions.  I was just asked and thought I’d explore here.  I think the fact that I’m not in the least bit attracted to women and so easily distracted by fine male specimens makes it difficult to dive any deeper.  Women are beautiful and deserve to be cherished.  I’m just not the one to do it.

Angelina or Brad? Angelina’s gorgeous but it’ll have to be Brad all the way….

Jo’van

Friendly Drama: In Search of Platonic Male Friends

I couldn’t find a song to address the topic of my post so I settled on some high-energy, neon-colored, baggy, condom-as-accessories wearing TLC circa 1993. “What About Your Friends”

I’ve spent the past few days with my family in Phoenix.  My younger sisters are still technically teenagers and have high school friends in and out of the house all the time.  While school shopping, my youngest sister continued to run into friends.  Oh, youth.  I was told that at 25 I’m old by a 17-year-old.  While I personally disagree, I wanted to quickly leave the situation.  I have no desire to go back to high school but still… Aside from feeling a little old and nostalgic as one sister starts her senior year of high school and the other gears up to move to California for college, I miss having friends that you were tied to by nothing more than sharing a class.

Junior high, high school, even college, aside from flirting and fighting, you were surrounded by people your own age with nothing else to do but figure out something together.  A friend recently made the point that that’s why so many people find their mates in college.  Four years in a small area with thousands of people within three years of your age.  The odds have to be in your favor.  Graduating and entering the real world, you lose that easy access to potential friends with more things in common than working in the same office, living in the same apartment complex or going to the same gym.  Sure, a campus atmosphere may help to foster romantic relationships but it also allows for easy access to platonic relationships.

As an adult in the real world (granted my real world is limited), I find it much more difficult to foster relationships that are genuine.  I’ve been lucky to make friends with the people I’ve worked with.  However, as I move onto the next professional endeavour (whatever it is), I wonder if my next office/store will have people of similar age, interest and personality.  Will I become the “young, unmarried” one in the office?  What then?

Another thing I’ve realized about being an “adult” is the minimal purely platonic interaction with the opposite sex.  Any single, straight man that I am cordial with now is tied to some aspect of work or is someone else’s friend (usually from high school or college).  Gone seem to be the days of just hanging out with friends who happen to be male.  Without the platonic common ground to start the conversation, most of my interactions with the opposite sex are under the guise of flirting.  Sure, that can be fun but once one of you realizes there’s no spark, it’s often difficult to establish a friendship when there hadn’t been one to begin with.

I miss guy friends, the male perspectives, the big brothers, the ridiculous little brothers.  I miss laughing at the stupid comments, complete inability to dress, or snap judgements of the opposite sex.  I miss watching football, or grilling, or sitting around in whatever was the closest and cleanest.  I like men.  I mean I love them and are attracted to them and all.  But I also just really love being around men.  Because I’m pretty high-maintenance and catty, I don’t particularly care to be around women all of the time.  Sometimes I need a break from talking about weight, hair, relationships (real and completely in our heads), clothes, shoes.  I’m not saying that women as a whole or my friends are shallow (or my male friends for that matter are all that deep).  We discuss whatever comes to mind with few filters.  It’s just that what comes to my mind around women and men is usually different.  I miss being able to explore that other side every now and again.  Sometimes I’d just rather be in the company of people who are not going to over-analyze more than I have.  Rather than offer alternative suggestions, I get straight answers.

At my age, it seems I should be (and am) concerned with finding my next romantic relationship.  However, sometimes/most times I wouldn’t mind just hanging out with a male friend without the quotation marks or hope of something different.

In search of her new platonic beau,

Jo’van

Quarterlife Crisis: Reminiscing: A Double-Edged Sword

Oh, golden Michael.  This is probably my favorite music video of all time.  Michael Jackson’s “Remember the Time”

I wasn’t exactly sure how to classify this post.  Should it go under Romantic Cynic, Friendly Drama, Family Values, or something entirely different?  We can reminisce about just about anything, any type of circumstance or relationship.  Sure, romantic may have a physical aspect to remember but friendly could have equally strong inside jokes and family dominating scents or visuals.  All in all, I couldn’t decide and decided it’s actually a catchall issue, a part of my current quarterlife crisis.

The last few months have been eventful.  Good, bad and ugly.  There are parts about the summer to 2009 that I’d care to forget and others I hope I never do.  So much of this summer centered around the past; people I knew, places I’d gone, decisions I’d made (or avoided), things I’d said and done.  It’s always nice when karma comes back to visit.  I’ve done so many good and bad things in my life that I’m never quite sure if I care for the visits.  “Oh Jo’van, I’m back.  Because you [fill in the blank] three years ago, [fill in the blank] is going to happen to you now.”  Thanks, karma.  Thanks a lot.

Anyway, with karma making itself entirely too comfortable on my couch, I’ve spent unnecessary hours reminiscing; when things were good, when my life sucked more than it does now (or at least it felt that way at the time), when someone made me feel loved, when someone (or the same person) made me feel pathetic, when I had friends forever and new enemies everyday, when I liked the way I looked, when I couldn’t stand to look in the mirror, when I was smart, when I felt stupid.  It always amazes me how much I remember and how much of it I wish I didn’t.

There is nothing wrong with reminiscing.  It’s always good to remember where the person that you are today came from.  Who made you think that would be okay, or this was wrong?  When did you decide to do this and swore to never do that again?  Who made you feel happiest and who made you feel less than?  When did you first taste this or last like to do that?  However, the issue I’ve begun to raise with reminiscing is how much is stings regardless.

Instead of finding lasting joy in remembering the “good” things/times, I find myself almost bitter I’m not experiencing them now.  And instead of being happy I’m not in the midst of the “bad” things/time now, I just find myself reliving the pain of those times again.  Things have a wonderful opportunity to continue to get worse from here.  Inviting those memories into a already [fill in the blank] mind can actually not be healing.  For right now, it’s just further frustrating.

This is not to say that I find no joy in my memories.  I have so many wonderful things to be happy about, proud of, etc,  I just think that for the time being I need to focus on my uncertain, shaky future rather than my defined, unchanging past.  I can only imagine what I’ll feel about this time in my life 3, 6, 14 years from now.  Everyone is of course defined by their past but who’s to say you can’t custom-design the next revised definition?  I can only spend so much time remembering who I was.  I need to know who I am right now, the good, the bad and the ugly.  Everything else is just a good story to tell, if and when you’re up to it.

Reminiscing can be a double-edged sword and I’m not the biggest fan of bleeding,

Jo’van

The World…As I See It: Auditioning for Life

Whitney Houston’s “Saving All My Love for You”

So I auditioned for a singing contest last weekend.  So far I’ve made it through the auditioning process and am on to the 12 week contest.  Whoo hoo!!!  We’ll have to see what happens.  How knows?  I could win and be discovered.  Haha.  Sure, R&B/Pop would be the obvious choice but I’d really love to be the first successful black female country singer.  What?  I’m from Nashville and I could make a career on ballads rather than abs.  Plus, Hootie made it work.  (a.k.a. Darius Rucker).  Anyway…

I’ve been singing nearly my entire life.  Seeing as saying my entire life would be impossible.  Thanks to my grandmother being my normal babysitter, I was 5 years old sitting next to her in the adult (a.k.a. old lady) choir singing “Amazing Grace” with the full vibrato of a 60-year-old woman.  At age 7, I left the rest of the little kids playing barn animals in the Christmas play at church to sing a duet with the 14-year-old angel.  (No, seriously, I got up in my pink footy pajamas for which my mother had made matching ears and a tail to sing with the “Oh so cool” teenager.  The things you remember from childhood.  And the funny part was that I had a better voice than her.  Haha.)  Singing Whitney Houston’s “Saving All My Love For You” in a 6th grade talent show.  The mother of a classmate who’d rapped Coolio’s “Gangsta’s Paradise” told me I had a pretty voice but that my song was completely inappropriate.  Funny, right?  Going from 1st soprano to tenor in the high school gospel choir because we didn’t have any guys.  Being the 1st and 4th Cyclone Idol.  Haha, a freshman journalism major beat senior vocal majors.  Etc.  You get the point.  I love to sing and seem to be pretty good at it.

This “natural talent/gift” has always been a source of pride for me.  Sure, there are always going to be people who are better than me but they’re not always that easy to find, not like those who are smarter or prettier.  Singing was always the one thing that made me special.  Not in a way that justified my existence but just enough to make me smile a little.

The weird thing about me performing live is that I don’t really get nervous…until after.  I’m confident, almost indifferent.  It’s just singing.  I probably seem pretty bitchy about the whole thing.  That is until I’ve finished the song.  As soon as I finish that last note, the awkward pause of silence before applause is nauseating.  It’s not even that I’m waiting on the applause.  It’s just knowing that I’m finished, that I can’t make it any better, that whatever I just did would have to represent my best.  But I’ll be honest, I don’t mind the applause….

This contest could prove to be interesting.  While it’s my ego talking, I know that I’ll be better than some of the contestants.  Sorry, if that’s offensive but it’s true.  But boo on the people that are obviously better than me.  It’s a 12 week process so I might make it halfway through.  I’m just not looking forward to another disappointment.

Let’s just hope I get a job offer before I’m voted off,

Jo’van