AmeriCorps: Part I "Just corn and the sun."

A year and seven months later, I am finally writing a post about AmeriCorps. AmeriCorps NCCC FEMACorps Class XX to be specific. I'm not sure if that's actually the correct order in which to write that, but I do not care enough to verify. This entry is going to veer on the path of long-winded story that you may or may not have already heard bits and pieces of. Not saying it's not going to be good, just letting you know to grab a snack or perhaps an ice cold bevy.

So it all began in August of 2013. I was a fresh graduate of the venerable Johns Hopkins University with absolutely zero desire to be anywhere near a school like environment. Mad props to the people who just kept on going to grad school, if I had tried to do that I would have punched everything and anything. You can't graduate and be a bum, and I wanted to keep my brain active and still be a productive member of society. So I thought, why I don't I do something service related? I had participated in various community service efforts in college, but it was never my first priority - that was obviously school. I was proud to offer my time and services to purely help people as my first priority, not as an extra curricular. 

I initially applied for AmeriCorps NCCC (the traditional track) and applied to FEMACorps as a secondary maneuver. I was admitted into the FEMACorps program, and as was suggested by the organization, I accepted, as to not lose my place, and forfeited my application for AmeriCorps NCCC. This happened to a suspicious amount of my fellow Corps members. FEMACorps is now a three year old program, it seems they needed to boost their enrollment. Sneaky, sneaky.

There are five FEMACorps branches. I was accepted to the Vinton, Iowa campus. This was the first red flag. Iowa. I mean really, Iowa. No offense to the one native Iowan I know who is a wonderful human (Hi, Tanner.) But my trepidation was immediately validated. People from Iowa do not know where Vinton, Iowa is. That was the second red flag. If you are already placing me in a random state, how dare you place me in a small town that people don't know exists. 

FEMACorps paid for my plane ride from Baltimore to... hmm well it wasn't Vinton. I want to say the airport was in Cedar Rapids, but we had a layover in Texas. Who set that foolishness up? The very second I stepped out of the airport and the Iowan air hit my nostrils I began to sneeze. I was allergic to Iowa. 

We then got onto a coach bus (fanciest thing we would see for a long time) and made our way to... okay I want to say Iowa School for the Blind because that sounds more legitimate, but I know the shorthand was IBS because I remember being sad for them because that is an unfortunate comparison, but they wouldn't name the school: Iowa Blind School... okay I just looked it up. It's Iowa Braille and Sight Saving School. I could delete all of that, but I assume the whole stream of consciousness angle is the move for this tale. Anyway, I quickly became buds with this one chick who was also from Maryland, and we had a pleasant little chat through miles and miles of corn. Just so much corn. Do you know how horrifying it is to look out of a window and only see corn and the sun? Nothing else. Just corn and the sun. 

We finally pulled up to our destination. I was sneezing and sweating bullets. August Iowan sun was fiercer than I would have ever anticipated. I then was somehow transported into my lower school gymnasium. There were all these people in ill-fitting tan shorts and hunter green polos smiling at me like they had all just passed around a big ole' chalice of the kool-aid. Yeah the kool-aid, aka crazy juice. 

There was music playing. Too loudly. Too Taylor Swiftly. It may not have been Taylor, but it was something of that nature that caused  me to produce a stank face and give a quick glance to my neighbor begging the question: who will save us?

So it was camp. It was creepy, weird camp. Similar music continued for the rest of the day. We were separated into units and teams. I was Hickory 2. I was 22 year old woman, who had to identify herself as a member of something called Hickory 2. Just let that marinate for a moment. 

We got "catered food" for the first few days but then we had to buy groceries as a team. Catered food is in quotes because it was barely food and should not have been classified as catered. At the end of the second week, my team members and I became agitated, because we noticed that we were eating spoonfuls of peanut butter and ramen for dinner. We were out of food. We were not pleased. We brought this to the attention of our team leader, who basically told us we were shit out of luck. We had used 80% of our budget, as suggested by our AmeriCorps overlords, and the 20% remainder was for emergencies. Apparently me eating a nature valley bar for lunch was not an emergency. Here's the budget breakdown. Each team member was afforded $4/day while at a base location, $7 when we were on the road. So for our 11 person team we were expected to buy enough groceries to last for a full week with $246.40. I don't know if you've ever tried to feed a family of 11, but let me just warn you, this method does not cut it.

My team earned the adjective "bougie" initially because we wanted to eat well balanced meals. We wanted our groceries to consist of things like fruits, vegetables, and you know, things that were actually food and not processed. Sure you could feed 11 people with that meager budget if they're only eating sugary cereals and cup of noodles. But excuse us, we wanted to eat real food. When you eat real food, you have real energy. You have regular bowel movements - yeah I said it, because that's something you want in life. You are generally happier because your body is satisfied. I know there's science behind that, but we won't get into it, there is much to cover.

So anyway, this hoopla over starvation was when I believe my team was labeled as a bunch of bad apples. But even though we were "trouble makers," we were just so good at everything. We consistently won competitions, and though we sometimes could not manage to stay awake through training, we knew our shit.

Let me back track a little and tell you about the wee town of Vinton. There is a Dollar General (that sold wine, praise the heavens), a McDonald's (obviously, because where isn't there a McDonald's), a Subway, this place called Jolly Rogers (allegedly sold pizza... it was never open), some other pizza place, a Mexican restaurant run by the only Hispanic person I laid eyes on in that town, a Chinese restaurant, a froyo place (that had wifi!), a radio shack, and a couple of those creepy shops where the set up is just a yard sale but inside someone's home and it smells like animals because there are guinea pigs just running loose on the ground and the owner only has 4 teeth and isn't wearing a shirt and you knew you should have just stayed on front porch while your silly friends went inside to look at homemade candles made out of don't ask, don't tell.

My heart, Jesus, my heart.

So. As the group of 18 - 24-year-olds that we were, we needed to blow off steam. We frequented the local watering holes, as was our right (for the majority of us). There was one place called Golf. I don't remember much about it, except that I did not like it. I felt like I was in someone's basement. I think a lot of the ceiling was missing, or part of a wall? I don't know, when I think of Golf, I just think unfinished basement. But the true turn up spot was Ron-Da-Voo. Oh yes. That's how it's spelled. Also, please forgive the tense changes in this story, I usually try to be professional about that, but for real, for real, I can't even worry about that as I unleash all this foolishness. Ron-Da-Voo was equipped with a juke-box (like a modern day one, I know you probably assumed I meant the 50's kind because of the middle of nowhere Iowa factor, lol. But also not lol, because why was I in the middle of nowhere Iowa??) Every night that I went to Ron-Da-Voo I put on "Pop That" by French Montana. Please take a moment to imagine the townies as all these youths started to get their lives to some ratchet tunes. They were in shock. But they didn't do anything (most of the time). We out numbered them. We were also probably the main source of income for that whole town.

Walking in "downtown" Vinton literally felt like you were walking on a movie set. 75% of the time I thought that I was being unwillingly and unknowingly filmed for a horror flick, and some monster from the deep was going to burst out of a corn field and take my life. Sometimes when we walked into town I would count the number of people we saw that day. I know, I know, I'm from a relatively large city, but seriously I felt like I was on the set of House of Wax. If you have not seen that film, please watch it, it's hilarious but also kind of scary, and CMM (Chad Michael Murray, don't get cute and act like you don't remember him, jk no one called him that...) anyway, he was in his prime.

Okay so Act 1 summary: we did not have enough food, there were no activities, one of my friends almost got run off the road by an angry farmer and she had to hop into a ditch to save her life, some of my friends got called the n-word in the middle of the dark Iowan night by some angry Iowans, we were told this service opportunity would be like a job, but really it was camp. Camp for juvenile delinquents with stupid rules like "muster."

Um... sorry I'm not summarizing, I thought I was going to, but I didn't. Sue me. But don't because I'm going to law school in a couple months (surprise! - will post about that later) and I will eventually be Ekaette Obot, Esq. and I will counter-sue the pants off you. BOOM. Okay so "muster." For some reason, probably because this program was intended for juvenile delinquents, each team on campus had to gather at 5 in the morning just to say hey, I'm here and alive. We typically had training starting at 8 am. Roll call could have happened there. But I assume AmeriCorps leaders just needed to know they could control every aspect of our lives so they made us get out of our beds to meet in a location that wasn't even in the same building where we slept just so they could take attendance. No one will ever be able to convince me that there was a logical reason behind muster. And I hate that word, and the word mustard because it reminds me of it.

About this training. There was 5 weeks of it. All taking place in Iowa before we would go to our first assignment. We were typically in training from 8 in the morning until 4 ish 5 ish. The training consisted of the following: how to be professional, how to deal with diversity, the history of NCCC, basically things that could have been covered in 1 - 2 weeks but was drawn out for some unknown reason. One time, they added in an extra hour into our schedules, an afternoon slot, to make us all sit in an auditorium and watch a very long youtube clip of military jets flying. And then an old man (high up on the AmeriCorps chain of command) talked to us about team work or something. Then people got written up for falling asleep. It's just like, did you never go to school? You don't show a dumb movie after lunch. People will go to sleep, and that is your fault not theirs.

Sometimes while in training, if we didn't seem interested enough, they would make us do this shakedown thing. Where we all had to stand up, and shake our bodies on a specified count. This might have been entertaining or acceptable if we were seven years old. But to make a group of grown ass adults stand up and shake their bodies because YOU are boring them to death doesn't scream logic to me. The person that made us do this the most was someone whom I can only describe as a mixture of Paula Deen and Professor Umbridge. She had those terrifying drown in the icy blue death of my eyes that Paula Deen has. And she had this horrible facade of sweetness while she was she spewing all the rudeness she could a la Professor Umbridge.

I think one of the most insulting trainings we had was the nutrition training. We had to listen to a woman tell us that we shouldn't eat any grain and that we should stick to coconut and almond oils. AmeriCorps didn't even bother to once-over the contents of this woman's presentation, or maybe they did, and they thought it would be funny to prepare us to adhere to nutritional values we could not afford. If you can tell me why they thought it was helpful to train the Corps Members on how to maintain an organic diet, but they didn't feel the need to coach our team leaders on how to budget and grocery shop for eleven people with basically no money, you get a silver star. Not gold, because even if you come up with an answer, it's still going to be dumb. But yeah I'm gonna keep coming back to the food. Because it's insane. My team leader was the same age as me. She had just graduated from college, just like me. She had never been in the program before. They sent me something the summer before I joined, offering me an opportunity to be a team leader in this program, but I declined because I thought it might be pretty stupid to be a team leader in a program of this nature that I had never been a part of. But nope, here she was, dazed and confused, preventing us from using our 20% of emergency funds so that we could eat.

You know when you go through terrible things with someone, and that brings you closer? I guess that was the one benefit of no food and people smiling at me with crazy eyes all day. Our team was pretty tight. Half of our team were young ladies in college or recently graduated, from the east coast. We were used to things like carrots and hummus, being treated like adults, and the expectation of not being afraid of what may happen to us when we go to sleep at night (I'll delve more into that last point later, don't you worry.) Most of the Corps Members were friendly enough, some were cool, some were not. It's okay, I can say that, that's just part of life. But you see, after our five week training we would be spending the next 3 months, anywhere in America with our team, not with the rest of the people in our program. So it made sense for us to hang out with our team, get to know them, get to like them. But for some reason, the team leaders thought it was strange that we hung out so much. I think they were just looking for another reason not to like us. But it was for the best, if not for the relationships I fostered with the people on my team, I would not have survived the 4 months that I did. Another big bonding point with certain people on team was the belief that if something didn't make sense, we had the right to question it. There are some people on this earth that believe the rules are just the rules. I weep for those people. I weep for them, but we cannot be friends.

As I stated before, even though the team leaders and our unit leader (Thomas - he's gonna get his own section later) thought we were bad kids, at the end of training, our group was designated as DSA (Disaster Survivor Assistance) and we were sent to Colorado to assist FEMA with the flood damage that occurred there. We were so excited to go to state that began with a consonant. We loaded up our 12 passenger van (I think that was the number) with our little red backpacks and pillows. While on the road we had a $7 budget for lunch (we got spoiled!) This usually meant that we pulled up to a fast food joint, because what can you buy for $7 in America? Sometimes we got subway though, so that was a treat. But sometimes, we got to go to Wal-Mart! Which meant we pooled our money so we could buy some fruit, some cheese, some nice bread, maybe some prosciutto~. We had to push it when we could. We stayed in little motels along the way. It took a lot of will power to fall asleep in those sheets.

When we finally got to Denver, where the FEMA headquarters was located, we clapped when we saw the city skyline. We hadn't seen a skyscraper in so long. It was beautiful. It was a city. It was life. We drove past a theme park, we tricked ourselves into thinking we might go there. It's the little things that get you through. Our first week or so in Colorado, we stayed a hotel. A real hotel with clean white sheets and fluffy pillows. We ordered some Vietnamese food. The FEMA training was a little slow at first (half of it was teaching our Reservists ((older people who volunteered and made BANK)) how to use an iPad. But we were getting to our purpose, the reason why we wanted to be AmeriCorps. We were learning how we were actually going to be helping people. Our FEMA instructors didn't speak to us as if we were in 5th grade, and that was truly exhilarating.

But as with all things of this nature,  we did get a little bored. Things were being repeated, old people kept forgetting how to exit programs on their iPads. So instead of zoning out and staring out of the window, sometimes we would do things like research upcoming concerts. Ye was coming to Denver. KANYE WAS COMING TO DENVER. This was a blessing from Jesus himself. Yeezus, if you will. So despite everything that was happening, two girls from my team and I scrounged up our funds to make this dream come true. And it was lovely having that to look forward to. Until it got cancelled because one of Kanye's LED machine thingies was hit in a car accident so he canceled all his shows in that area. When I tell you that my heart broke that day, I really mean it. Like 808's and heartbreak heartbroken. Sigh.

Okay, I literally just now decided I'm going to write this in installments because it's actually going to be impossible for me to get this all out right now. I have a lot of stuff to do. I'm moving to Chicago soon weeeeeeeeee, because.... law school... hehehehehehe!!! Yeah so that wasn't really the greatest ending point, but that's what I'm giving you, stay tuned. The next post will not take 3 months I promise. I'm thinking like later this week. I hope this drama has entertained you at least a little bit.

XOXO,
Gossip Girl

Ha. Just kidding, bye. 

Happy Black History Month!

I have a distinct memory from sixth grade on a school bus, we were on a field trip. The girls around me were talking about the movie Finding Forrester. Only a couple of us had seen the movie, so one girl started to explain the main points. She started by saying, "So there was a man and a little Black boy..." and I remember that striking me as so odd. I was curious as to why it was important that the boy was Black but no racial description was given for the man.

Ever since then I've always paid attention to things like that. From my unofficial research, it seems that people often omit race as a descriptor if the person or people they're describing matches theirs. For example, once a friend was telling me a story about how these girls were being mean and making fun of her. She felt the need to mention that they were Black. She also felt the need to tell this story specifically to me even though our other (non-Black) friends were all in the room. I'm not sure if these mean girls would have been less intimidating if they were not Black... but we all know that stereotype that Black people are scary. I would like to think she was only telling me that story because I am the brazen friend that doesn't put up with bunk, especially from strangers. And I'm sure that was part of it. But part of it was also "listen to what your people did to me," at least that's how it came off.

In that moment I could have asked why this story was specifically being told to me and why sympathy was especially anticipated from me, but as I have expressed before, I'm not one to make an awkward situation more awkward. But it wasn't awkward for her, I guess it was just awkward for me. The brave and sensible option in that scenario would have been for me to address it. As this girl's friend, I think I owed her that, I owed myself that, and I owed it to our friendship. If you can't be honest with those closest to you, then where's the hope?

So despite this, we do live in the age of colorblindness. People do not want to talk about race. I can count for you on hand, maybe both if I'm generous, the amount of times I have explicitly discussed race in depth with a good friend of mine who was not the same race as me. When I say discussed race, I don't mean talking about the gorgeous specimen we deemed "Beautiful Black Man." Okay, see there, the race label was completely necessary. There weren't that many Black men on campus at ye ole Hop. The chances of there being a beautiful White man were higher simply because there were more White men. But this Adonis was easily spotted when he would grace the world by playing corn hole shirtless on the quad at letting the pure rays of Baltimore sunshine beam onto his caramel skin, muscles just a-glistenin'. But I digress, happily, because I haven't thought about BBM in a minute. On the real though, BBM, if you're out there... there are honestly enough clues for you to identify yourself in my glowing review... so hollaaaaa.... My friends and I are notorious for giving people bizarre nick names, like Jubilation and Santa. Most of them are not racially motivated save for BBM and AWM (Average White Man, but that's mostly because his name is so... well... White, like the name Hunter Johnson. His name is not Hunter Johnson, but I just want you to understand).

You could easily imagine that this man's name is Hunter Johnson right? His picture is the first that came up when I searched "average white man." Also, lol, it doesn't even look real; it looks like somebody compiled every White male face on one of those apps, and this was the resulting, all inclusive, average White male face.....

Now I personally don't think that stating someone has a "White sounding" name is that offensive. Friends and foes please feel to correct me if I'm wrong. The only negativity I could even begin to connect is maybe that you come from middle class White America and most likely live a comfortable life, and maybe you say a lot of things that only a square would say. So... shrug, I don't really feel too bad about that. A "White sounding" name means that when you submit your resume 1) Your name is typically easily pronounced on the first attempt and 2) Nobody is trying to guess what you are and so they simply proceed to look at the rest of your resume. 3) You may get the upper hand even if you have an identical resume to someone else's, but your name isn't DeShawn so there's less of a chance that you are... as they say... ghetto. *I'm not saying this happens all the time, I'm just saying it happens*

Okay okay okay. I got super sidetracked. So my point was when my friends and I talk about race it usually isn't in the social or economic or political sense. I'm not sure if we intentionally try to avoid it. I wish that it was something that I could bring up more frequently because it is truly something that interests me. And since I have such an advantageous situation of being friends with people from a plethora of various ethnic and racial backgrounds, I'm sure we could all learn so much from each other if we permeated the barrier of discomfort.

Would it be awkward if I asked my friends if they did anything to observe Black History Month? Sorry I don't know if that's supposed to be all caps, but the answer is yes. Mostly because I didn't "do" anything. I took a few minutes out of this month to read a couple articles on Marian Anderson and Shirley Chisolm. If you don't who they are, feel free to stop reading my blog and have your own little Black history moment. I'm also reading the New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander, lent to me by a dear friend with whom I'll definitely discuss our reactions and new found knowledge, but I do wish this is something all my friends felt comfortable doing.

When Robert McCulloh announced that grand jury decided not to indict Darren Wilson for fatally shooting Michael Brown, I couldn't hold back my tears. I found myself crying on and off for the next week. And if you know me, you know I'm not one for waterworks. But in that moment, as I heard the news, I wanted to talk to someone. It was pretty late, so my parents were asleep. I texted one friend, but she's bad at that form of communication. I texted her because I knew she would feel the same way I felt. I just wanted some solidarity in my sadness. I thought about calling other friends, but then I thought too much about them saying the wrong thing and having that lead to me being more upset than I already was.

That brings up of the main issues that contribute to why I believe race is not something often discussed in my social circles. The first being that I think people assemble what their friends' and families' viewpoints are on certain things based on little indicators they have pieced together over the years. You make a profile in your head of the people you get to know. You can determine what things they might like and dislike because you are familiar with their tendencies and patterns. Similarly, you may assume that they'll feel a specific way about a situation. You may not like this feeling they might have, and therefore make to attempt to discover what their true feelings are. You brush it aside and ensure that topic is never really brought up, because you're afraid of what the truth might be.

On the other side of that, people don't want to say the wrong thing and offend people they care about. People deliberately keep their feelings about controversial topics to themselves so no one gets hurt. The few times that race has been brought up among my friends, at some point I usually just tell myself to shut up, because I can feel the room changing. That tension and discomfort, it's tangible. I don't usually say things for the sake of someone just being mad at me, 9 times out of 10 it's because I'd like to have an invigorating discussion.

These topics are inevitably personal so we have to careful to be respectful but I think it's important that we bring them to the table. How else do you learn? There are some people that don't have the luxury of being exposed to people of different religions, cultures, political beliefs, races, etc. So for those of us that do have that privilege, we should take advantage of it and educate ourselves. I'm sure that's how we can all learn to be better friends and better people.

So that being said, I vow not to punk out on opportunities to educate or be educated. I'm not going to ask my friends if they did anything to honor Black History Month, but I will continue to ensure that I keep learning about trials and successes of my culture, past and present, and be sure to impart any knowledge when the occasion calls for it. I also hope to impress that I am open and eager to hearing the thoughts of my friends and family. You can't always say what I want to hear, and I can promise the same from my end, but it's so important for us to at least start a dialogue. Race isn't biological, it is a social construct, and whether we want to acknowledge it or not, it is an undeniably pervasive and powerful aspect of our society.

To my friends that have ignored or perhaps simply embraced the uneasiness in an effort to have a enlightening conversation, I applaud you. It's hard not have conversations on this topic without being defensive or guarded. Being socially mature in this arena is not an easy task, but it is one we should all think about taking on. I'm not saying to do this today, these things are not automatic. Let's just all consider easing ourselves into it.

Alright cool. Next post I'll try to write about something that's funny? This one was heavy and the last one... well I can't think of a good word for it, but you know what I mean. More variety to come for future posts, I promise! I don't say this nearly enough, but thanks for reading! Seriously, I still can't believe people read this haha. Additionally, my sincerest apologies for any typos. If this were real life, I would print it and read it on real paper. But this is a blog, ain't nobody got time for that.

Self-image and Selfies and Such

Hello again friends. I hope all is well.

I've started writing a new blog post approximately eleven times this year.......

Recently, I've been thinking a lot about self image and how we want other people to see us. Respect is the major theme in all of this. Respect for ourselves and the respect we think we deserve or do not deserve from those around us. I've been thinking about it mostly in terms of physical image as well as... I guess the most accurate term would be status? I'm not sure about that, I might come up with something better and replace it, but for right now that's all I got.

I can't decide if social media and smartphones have unearthed immeasurable amounts of vanity or low-esteem. The "selfie" mode on my phone is actually called "beauty face," which I find hilarious, but I guess it's a nice pick me up. I really just can't believe we are living at a time where people take pictures of their own faces and upload them expecting other people to tell them how attractive they look. They put some dumb caption like "just me" to feign an air of casualness. Alert: you are not being casual. At. All.

I hesitated briefly writing about this because I thought men wouldn't want to read about it. But then I thought, there probably aren't that many men reading my blog. And if they are, then I guess they are okay with my "girlish" topics. But is this really a girlish topic? Because there are a way too many men in this world taking pictures of themselves at the gym, standing in front of weights they're not actually going to pick up... because they can't...

Admittedly there was a time in my life when I took selfies in a serious nature. This was before it was the phenomenon it is now. And, I was a 14 year old girl. So of course I was taking pictures of my face alone in my room when I got new sunglasses, or when I put on new lip gloss, or when I thought my boobies were worthy of three sassy finger snaps. Because I was a 14 year old girl. Full of insecurities, accessories as one of my biggest concerns, and nothing better to do because I already finished my homework before volleyball practice.

Why are people so anxious to have people they're not even close with confirm their beauty by clicking "like". Cool you got 98 likes on your selfie. You only talk to 4 of those people. What about affirmation from mere acquaintances gets people so excited?

Now don't get it twisted, anyone who knows me knows I am oh so accepting of a compliment. When you see my locs all wavy instead of just straight, it's because I spent extra hour doing my hair that week, so.... throw a sista some praise, and I will accept it graciously, knowing that my arduous labor has been appreciated and admired. But also, I do that because I like the way it looks when it's wavy. It's not just so someone can tell me it's pretty, it's so that when I look at it, I can say "Damngurllll" to myself. Yes, I really do say that to myself.

When a person posts a selfie that's not funny or at least serving as a record as something momentous like new bangs or 11 months growing out her locs then I just do not understand.. (if it wasn't obvious, those are the two non-funny selfies I myself have posted after my teen narcissism years.)  Don't even try to say you're just posting it to post it. You know you would be hella upset if you didn't get your desired amount of "likes." But why though? Who decided that this is the ultimate form of validation?

But I guess validation is better than the alternative. We can just be so hard on ourselves and sometimes, unknowingly, on each other. Everyone has something that they think they can work on, even if they have all the self confidence in the world. Once a friend told me she was surprised that I felt comfortable with my profile picture choice because the other girl in the picture was so gorgeous, and that she wouldn't be brave enough to do the same thing. She caught herself immediately, and told me that obviously I was pretty too. But it was already said. I knew she wasn't intentionally trying to offend me, but it still stung. I felt like I got suckered into an insecurity that wasn't mine.

Similarly, once a friend stated that "we" weren't as pretty as another one of our friends. And I almost said something, I didn't though. I think I just made one of those neutral sounds. Because it's one thing to put another woman on a pedestal and decide that your own looks don't measure up to hers, but to also rope someone else into that defeated mind frame, I don't think that's fair. I guess it's easier to be gloomy with company, but yuck. I just wasn't raised to declare that people are prettier than me. I know there are standards of beauty in this country that people often try to emulate (if possible) and when along comes a peer who seems to embody that standard it is easy to glorify him or her. But check yourself.

These little remarks often go undetected but when they are heard and actually processed, there is serious damage potential. I'm sure reading those little anecdotes may have triggered a memory of a similar incident that you've had, and seriously, my sincerest apologies if I was the culprit. I think it's just something we should be a little more conscious of. Because these interaction are happening with people we actually like. I'm not even going to delve into those classless, unkempt fools we can't stand. Not sure I'm mature enough to approach that at the current moment haha.

I mentioned status before, as another part of self image that we want to be viewed in the most agreeable light. I guess I'm looking at it from a socio-economic standpoint. For example, I've never been to public school, and at times when observing the Baltimore City Public School system, one can understand why my parents didn't let that happen. As an undergrad at Hopkins, when people found out I was a Baltimore native, they'd ask if I went to Poly or Western (public magnet schools). Offended, I'd respond that I went to Bryn Mawr, a private school. Most of my offense did not stem from the fact that they thought I went to public school, but a lot of people assumed that the only reason that Black kids from Baltimore got into Hopkins was because they went to public school so Hopkins just let them in. I'm stating that because multiple informed that that is what they believed, I'm not making this stuff up. I wanted to erase that thought from the jump. I worked as hard as anyone else to get into that school, and nothing was handed to me. Not that anything was handed to the students enrolled through the Baltimore Scholars program, but I just didn't appreciate the assumption.

I actually feel like that whole topic could be another post on its own to be really real. So now I have a jumping off point for my next ditty, or maybe not because my mind can be spastic so I'll probably want to write about something else. I guess this is actually a shorter post, but I have things to do. Like study for the GRE (shoot me in the face). Studying again?? I know crazy right. Too many ambitions over here. Ha. Also, disclaimer, I only proofread this like 1.5 times....

Peace out, girl scouts.

This Is about Money and Friend$

Hello there friends and foes. It's been a lil minute, hasn't it?

There are roughly 8 topics floating through my brain's atmosphere that I'd like to discuss at some point, but I know it's most effective to do things one at a time. I hope you can excuse my 2 month hiatus. I was studying for the LSAT -__-

So anyway, I visited a few friends in Boston a few weeks ago and this phrase came up: "Money is awkward between friends." 

To be more specific, the phrase was said by this friend. Hi Pat. =)

Sometimes I marvel at how influential these pieces of paper can be. Money can make you feel powerful, inferior, comfortable, nervous, limitless, or stuck. I guess it all depends on how much you have and how much you think you need.

Before I had my first real job, before I had my first joke job, before I had a bank account, before I received an allowance, I could see simple differences between people who had more money and those who had less. More specifically I was sensitive to people who had more money than me. The appropriate term here would technically be "wealth" but I didn't know what that was when I was little. Or perhaps I was using visual cues to discern socioeconomic levels, but again, I didn't know what that was as a kid. I just knew money was involved.

I remember my first play date with a new friend at my new school. I was seven. I remember wondering if we'd get lost in her house. I remember thinking her house would come to an end, but she just kept taking me into new rooms to play with something else. I knew that her parents had impressive jobs, and impressive jobs dole out impressive money, and impressive money means you get yourself a big, big house.

Sadly, one of the most potent memories I have from that day is the shame that set in when my friend and her mom dropped me back at my house. We had just moved into that house maybe a few months before, and on any other day, I was in love with it. But on that day, I was nervous that my friend and her mom would think less of me and my parents because our house wasn't as big as theirs. I'm not sure where I got this notion, because kids aren't supposed to think about stuff like that. They're supposed to be carefree and innocent, but there I was thinking this girl would judge me because we weren't in the same socioeconomic class.

Thoughts like that continued throughout my time at my small private all girls' school. My parents worked extremely hard to get me there. Clearly now I have a better idea of the sacrifices they made, but even then I knew that it was something to be grateful for. From my observation, that often seemed to be a difference between the kids that received financial aid and those that didn't. Receiving financial aid and having my parents work so hard for me to have such an exemplary education, I was grateful to be there, for some students, this was just the norm, they were just going to school. There were times when I slipped into that mind frame. You get used to certain things when you're exposed to them at age 6.

Even though I could make connections about my family's financial situation. I was a still a child, and wanted everything my friends had. Let's be real, as a teenager I wanted everything my friends had, and even still as adult, that hasn't really changed.

One of the biggest money related concepts that I had (and still have) a hard time wrapping my head around was having access to a parent's credit card. That is access that I have never had and never will have. Although, I have often been a beneficiary of said cards, through my friends, getting a free meal here and there. The first couple of times in high school when I first heard my friends say "Oh, it's on Bruce tonight" (I intentionally picked a random name, I hope,) I was just so baffled. To my understanding, these cards are typically intended for "emergency use only." I guess sometimes buffalo chicken wings are an emergency. That wasn't even sarcasm. I mean, okay, technically it was, but real talk, we've all been there.

Please don't think I'm playing some pity card here. My family lives a comfortable middle class American life, but I've just always been hyper-aware of my economic status in relation to my peers. I worked every semester of college, so I could afford (most of the time) to participate in the activities of my social group. For some of my friends, working was more of a choice, not a necessity. Unfortunately, food and alcohol are not free. That's what college students spend their money on. That hasn't really changed, except now add student loans to the mix (kill me).

Now, things get a little tricky when money is exchanged. What I was talking about before, that's all personal, and how you decided to feel about your socioeconomic status effecting how you feel in relation to your friends, that's mostly your choice. But sometimes these little scenarios pop up and it just so damn uncomfortable.

DISCLAIMER: THE FOLLOWING SCENARIOS ARE VARIOUS ENCOUNTERS THAT HAVE OCCURRED MORE TIMES THAN I CAN COUNT, MERGED INTO 3 LITTLE DITTIES (REFERENCES STARTING WAY BACK IN MIDDLE SCHOOL WHEN WE WERE FIRST ALLOWED TO GO TO THE MALL BY OURSELVES AND SPEND THE MONEY OUR PARENTS GAVE US.) I'M WRITING THIS IN ALL CAPS BECAUSE I DON'T WANT ANYONE TO READ THIS AND SAY "OH SNAP, I TOTALLY OWE EKAETTE $6, DOES SHE HATE ME?" NO I DON'T HATE YOU.

Moving on to the ditties....

When you buy something for your friend that costs $7 and he gives you $5, is it petty to tell him that he still owes you $2? What if you can see that there is more cash in his wallet, but oh maybe he doesn't have any smaller bills? In that moment, if you're like me (poor, trying to save money to buy a car/trying to save up money for law school) all those $2 deficits start to add up. But it's just $2 so you tell yourself to get over it. But clearly since I'm writing about it... looks like I'm not over it? Oops. It's just like I feel like I'm being challenged. I don't hang around anyone who can't read numbers (no slow pokes on my team) so when someone gives me the wrong dollar amount, it's just like are you guessing how much you owe me... because if you didn't know, I assume you would ask. So the alternative is, you think this smaller amount is "good enough." It is only "good enough" if the person who you're giving the money to says "oh five is good." Don't assume. Also, if you only have five bucks... tell your friend you only have five bucks instead of making this awkward scenario happen. Sorry I'm a Taurus, I'm pretty sure being protective over finances is one of our traits. Or maybe I just made that up, but I feel like I've read that...

What about when you order food, but your friend doesn't, and then food comes to the table looking and smelling so gloriously delicious. And then your friend looks so, so sad, so you give her a piece. And in your head you say, "you know what, that's on me." And even though you say it in your head, it's understood by your friend. She's not going to give you $3 for eating a quarter of your entree that you probably shouldn't eat all of anyway because portion size in this country is out of control, so technically she's helping you evade obesity. But then your friend is like "damnnnn, this is wonderful," and she doesn't make eye contact with you while she's telling you her new creepy co-worker who sports a foot long man-ponytail because she's staring at your food. So then your friend eats half of your plate. Literally. The check comes. She only pays for her diet coke. That's awkward right? Now you have a choice to make. If you happen to be spending more time with her doing things that will cost money, perhaps your move at this later venture is to say, "Oh you got me, since you ate half of my calzone, right?" And then your friend can't really say no... because she's your friend and she ate half of your calzone. But if you were just meeting a friend you don't see very often, and she claimed she wasn't hungry, but then she smashed on your calzone, you gotta buck up, face the awkwardness and tell her she's gotta throw down some more dollars.

Then we have the moochers. The friend that never has cash when you take a cab and says he'll buy you a drink later but never does. The friend that asks if you can have a slice of your pizza but before you know it 4 slices are gone. If you are a moocher, your friends will figure that out about you, and they will treat you as such. I'm kind of treating this paragraph like a PSA, because I genuinely believe most moochers feel that they are existing undetected. Just know that if you cause your friend to pay $10 for a cab when they only owed $3, he's probably going to hate you for a little bit. Not forever, unless you're friends with horrible people, but definitely for a little bit. Do you want people to hate you for a little bit? Probably not. Go to the ATM before you venture out with your friends, that is part of adulthood. And if you forgot, apologize, and make a point to pay for the first round, it's only right.

This post started out a bit more seriously and then I digressed, I think I actually do that a lot... sorry, hope you're still following. So here's my perspective about being on the other side of the dollar. By other side of the dollar, I mean to say being the person who owes, not sure if that was clear. Sometimes, your friends cover you, because they know you're poor, maybe poorer than them at the moment, and they're being nice. I think we find things like this so "touching" because you feel loved when someone is willing to part with a certain amount of money just for you. I know... It's the thought that counts, the reasoning behind it, the end goal blah blah. But I think a part of you is thinking, "Wow they were willing to let that precious currency go, just for little old me? I must be special!" But then what if you can't afford to pay them back. They say it's okay, and they sincerely mean that, but you don't want to the pity case. So then you have that whole dilemma.

So the awkwardness is seemingly inescapable. Some people subscribe to "it's only awkward if you make it awkward." That would be true if you were alone on the earth and there was no other living creature. Someone else can make it awkward, quite easily. I don't understand why that phrase exists. I also despise people that say "I never feel awkward." That's just a lie and you trying to make people think you're cool. If you have to try to make people think you're cool, then you're most likely the worst, so just shut it. And if you are reading this thinking that I'm a hypocrite because you've heard me say "I'm not an awkward person," I still stand by that statement. There is a difference between those assertions, I promise.

I was recently talking to someone about what my goal is with this blog. Simply stated, sometimes I have some thoughts in the ole noggin, and I wonder if people have thought about it too, but if not maybe they will after reading. This is also such a gratifying outlet because sometimes people actually read and appreciate what I write and then they want to talk to me about it! I can't even describe how ridiculously happy that makes me. Also, I haven't forgotten that I have yet to write about AmeriCorps. The anniversary of the day I escaped Iowa and returned to my precious Baltimore soil is fast approaching (December 10th) so I think that's when I'll write that little expose (I can't remember how to type in accents on a PC so just read that the way you know it should be read.) Remember when "ttfn" was a way we would say good bye on AIM? If you don't, the translation is: ta ta for now. Jokes on jokes. Bye.

Etiquette

I've been wanting to talk about etiquette. Don't worry, I am aware that it's very broad topic, but as always, I will attempt to create a narrow enough focus to make you not hate reading this. It started plaguing my mind recently because a friend, who I know has her iPhone religiously stapled to her palm, did not return my text in a timely manner. That annoyingly common small incident made me think about other things that I expect people to do. Since I've started my new job, I've also been thinking about work place etiquette; that subject is simply endless. I also ruminated on etiquette involved with just talking to your friends and family (this I mean in terms of content, not necessarily use of media... hopefully that will become clearer momentarily.) I could probably make these 3 different posts, but I'm thinking about it all now, so it here it all goes.

I'm starting with....

WORK PLACE. I know that does not follow the order I so carefully revealed in my opening paragraph, but whatever, I do what I want. I feel like phone etiquette will transition well into friend etiquette so I stand by my new decision. So the workplace. I'm going to be careful about what I write here. I can't afford to lose that steady paycheck now, student loans are not a joke. (Side note: I meant to write a post with a title something like "I Am Ryan, The Temp," but apparently that never happened. Anyway, I am a temp right now, and *fingers crossed* soon to be permanent hire. WOO. Actually that's pretty real, I'll write a more legitimate post about that later.) There are three items on my list of office etiquette qualms. Well three items I feel that I can safely and respectfully delve into publicly. I apologize in advance, or perhaps already too late, for the extensive use of the word etiquette.

Item #1: Greetings.

I have a very real issue with people who are unfamiliar with how to greet other human beings. In my eyes, it should be a very simple process. You see someone for the first time that day in the office, you say: hi, hello, hey, good morning, how are you, etc. If you're not up for that, you can employ the smile and nod. My point is, you need to acknowledge that you see the human being you are walking by.  I was going to say "as the new girl" in the office, but as mentioned a post or two ago,  I'm trying to move towards calling 'em like I see 'em. When I answer the phone I say "this is Ms. Obot speaking," not "This is Ekaette (or Kae.)" Sometimes people on the phone call me Mrs. Obot and that really tickles me, because yayyyy someone thinks I sound like an adult. That contrasts sharply with the immediate offense I feel in person when people ask me if I have children, because I know I look like I'm 19. But I digress. Wow I digressed quite a bit... whoops. So what I was saying was, as the new person in the office, I assumed everyone would be greeting me left and right.  Not the case.

It was/still is a very interesting dynamic. Some people made a direct point to introduce themselves to me. Others did not. I know all of the managers and the CFO and CEO. They are all quite friendly. They feel comfortable making jokes with me in passing, they say good morning to me, they ask me if I have anything good for lunch that day. 

The way my desk is set up, pretty much everyone in the office has to walk by me at some point in their work day. My computer is facing this walkway and there is no wall. The point is, you can see me, so you have to actively decide not to say hello to me. When people walk to their offices they pass a conference room, my boss's boss's office, and then me. There's no getting around it. Certain people would greet my boss's boss as they made their way down the hall, fall silent when they passed my desk, and tnen continue to say good morning once they arrived at the next desk. Obviously these people were among those who never introduced themselves to me in the first place. These people earned a big red "R" on their foreheads. The "R" stands for rude.

After a week, I started pointedly greeting these rude folks. And when they'd look at me, apparently so startled that I spoke to them, I'd have a very well crafted look on my face. Anyone who knows me, knows I can give a look. I used to be unaware that my face was even capable looks (it caused me quite a bit of trouble growing up), so now I try to use it to my advantage.

The look says this:

Oh. You weren't gonna say good morning? What? Do you think you're too cute to say good morning? Am I not good enough for a good morning from you? I guarantee you that I am, because I'm pleasant, dammit! But I can't be fully pleasant when you're being rude. So now that I've accosted you with this greeting, I hope you take some time to reflect on your rudeness. Don't you feel weird being rude to a person who is smiling at you so warmly, but her eyes say "get your shit together".. because you should.

All that in a brief look, you ask.

Yes.

Item #2: Bathroom Manners

This one won't be as long but I still feel very passionate about it. We have 4 bathrooms in our office. Two are co-ed, one is women only, one is men only. Since I started working there in late May and up until yesterday, some of these adults do not know how to approach a bathroom. It's single stall, so you think it would be obvious to knock and wait for a response before aggressively trying to break down the door. But nope. Apparently some people's parents did not teach them that. Once while I was loudly screaming "OCCUPIED" someone almost broke the lock trying to get in. I guess he or she couldn't hear me screaming over the sound of his or her beast like force. That scary episode has darkened my day 3 times since.

Then we have the opposite, which might be arguably worse. There are people who do not lock the door and elect to say absolutely diddly squat when someone knocks and opens the door. Have you no decency?? I didn't want to expose you.. that's why I knocked. I can only conclude that you wanted to me to expose you, because I know you're not a mute. That also leads me to my second conclusion that you are in fact, the worst. I just want to emphasize that these people struggling are adults, not toddlers just learning to potty train. This struggle is astonishing in the worst way.

Item #3: The Name Game

Alright, so we all know I have a "complicated" name. Even some of my best friends are under the impression that my name is really long. But it's only 7 letters, 15 if you include middle and last. So seriously how hard could it be? My first couple of days at work when I told people my name, most people would ask "Okay, what's your nickname?" No attempt whatsoever to pronounce what was just said to them. For people like the CEO and CFO I didn't mind as much. I was told jokingly that it was impressive for them to remember names in the first place. I would just like to point out that learning how to say my 4 syllable, 7 letter first name would make you more likely to remember my name since you actually have to put in effort to learn what it is. I can't tell you how many people named John or Sarah I've met in my life, I'm really supposed to remember Sarah number 27? No offense to any John or Sarah that is reading this, I'm just trying to make a point. When I meet someone with a new name, I don't forget it because it's interesting and unique. My friend Meena for example, given her name isn't complicated, but I don't know anyone else with that name.

This is Meena. Isn't she pretty?

I just find it pretty offsetting when people tell me that they don't care enough to put aside a few extra seconds to learn my name or even attempt to pronounce it once. Some people did show me the slight courtesy of asking what my nick name was and then asking which I prefer. I think it's pretty obvious that I prefer being called the name that I said initially. One woman asked me how to say my name after had been working there after about a month and half, because she was forced to interact with me directly. -_- I picked up most people's names just from hearing people talk and putting some pieces together. I guess that's what I was expected to do. It was intriguing to me that some people who had never introduced themselves, expected me to know who they were when they needed something from me. I would take those opportunities to say "I'm sorry, what's your name? I don't think we've ever been introduced," always using another one of my looks to communicate, YOU have never introduced yourself to me, Rudeness. I capitalized the "R" there because I'm using Rudeness as a proper noun.

Now now, don't go around thinking I'm being a big baby. I realize people are rude and that's the way of the world, but I figured that would happen in professional settings on a larger scale. This is office is not big enough for that kind of nonsense. In terms of literal space and number of people. But I guess I can't have it all, which is a valuable lesson that I need to learn. I started to learn that in AmeriCorps (still need to write about that, sorry) and I'm continuing to learn that working in the real world. The lesson being: Not everyone is polite, and not everyone will like you. I think of myself as a pretty likable person, and I honestly think of that as a marketable skill. Because let me tell you, not everyone is likable. And if you are one of those people that thinks everyone is likable... everyone probably dislikes that about you. Haha too much? 

Then I had to remind myself that this specific office community existed before I entered it. It makes sense with any position, anywhere, that once you're on board you could very well be walking into some drama that you have no idea bout. Sometimes you can't enter a situation with a clean slate, because the circumstances just don't allow it. But I've decided to be okay with this. I can't be more specific than that about this drama that I'm alluding to, because I don't think it would be appropriate. But perhaps I could be crafty about it at a later time. 

Okay, okay, enough of that. Now let's talk about... 

PHONES. I mostly want to address certain people not responding to things in an appropriate time frame and people (typically the same people) who cannot hold a decent conversation in person because they cannot refrain from texting. If I talked about all my cell phone issues, we'd be all night. (I was initially going to write "we be all night," ode to Bey~, but I didn't know if it would have been immediately recognized and appreciated, so I'm just doing it here.) I would like to start a movement. I know it won't be worldwide, nationwide, region wide, state wide, or city wide, I'm just gonna look out for me right now, and perhaps people in my circle would take heed and we can a get lil' ripple effect to pop off. When I am talking to you face to face, I should take 1000% precedent over someone who is sending you a text which is probably not life threatening. Sometimes I'll say something to you that requires an immediate response. I don't know maybe because we were having a conversation. 

And then there is this pause. Because you are texting someone. Sometimes I had just said something funny, and a laugh was expected and required. Sometimes I had just said something that made me feel a little vulnerable and I needed you to verify if what I said was okay. The laugh doesn't count 6 seconds later. The comfort is no longer comforting after you say "hold on let me send this text." Then I have to sit there, dismissed, while you communicate with someone who apparently is more important. I would like to point out something that I used to believe was obvious, but enough annoying encounters have proven to me that it is not apparent to everyone. Unless you are texting some weird, needy sucker, he will not notice if your text is delivered 10 seconds later because you took a moment to not be rude to the person sitting right next to you. 

Now on the flip side of this, when you demonstrate that texting gives you *life*, and you would rather make an in person conversation awkward or annoying just so that your texting life flows smoothly, that creates certain expectations for when I text you. I'm sure everyone knows which of their friends don't put their phones down. We know this about our friends because when we are in their presence, they don't put their phones down (easy detective work.) And, we would like to assume that we are just as entertaining as the next person, so this must be the norm for every person that ole phone-hand comes into contact with. I would say that these phone-hand people know who they are, but maybe they don't. Maybe it's become too much of the norm. 

I've been guilty of phone-hand situation as well. I know exactly when it happens. 1) When I'm texting a new boy.. 2) When I'm doing it to someone who had been doing it to me a lot that day, or right in the middle of them doing it. 

Sorry about scenario 1. But at least I can admit it, and at least it's specific and not chronic. As for scenario 2, I'm not sure if it's actually effective. Maybe when I join my comrades in phone-hand, they are having a silent sigh of relief, praising the heavens that I no longer would like to engage in face to face communication with them and have finally found someone else, somewhere else, to talk to instead. But let me not put words in their thought bubbles. I don't know what they're thinking. I cannot really decipher the minds of the phone-hand clan. But if you are my friend, and you read this, I hope you don't do it to me anymore, because I hate it, and I don't want to hate you.

I know what you're thinking. Don't be a punk. Why wouldn't you just tell your friends that in person?

And that brings me seamlessly to etiquette issue three...

Shall we call this... FRIENDIQUETTE? One of the nice things about friends is that you don't have to be as nice to them as you are to strangers. Isn't that weird? I learned in a recent customer service training at work that at Disney World, the most common question that people ask the workers is: What time is the 3 o'clock parade? 

Now as a professional, they have to answer the question, with a smile on their face. If my friend asked me that question, I would laugh and make fun of her immediately. I'm pretty sure that's not just me, I think that's part of being close with a people. You don't have to put up a front of politeness, you can be real with them. If they ask a dumb question, you can laugh. If they're about to do something stupid, you can tell them why it's stupid. If you're worried about a decision they've made or haven't made, you can tell them, because you are there to support them, it's not just a judgmental outsider perspective. 

There are many factors that go into this. Delivery is a big one. There's a fine line between being honest and being the worst. How honest can you be with a person before it becomes too much? Is it kosher to tell someone that he or she is irritating you? Is that allowed? Or are we just supposed to be passive aggressive until we eventually get over whatever the situation is? I guess the answer goes to back to delivery, it's all in the details. The way you say things are sometimes more important than the thing that's actually said. You have to think about how that person is going to react to what you say, and determine whether or not that reaction is something you're prepared to deal with. Sometimes I don't think people think about the reaction part. For example, anytime my mother says anything to upset me, I simply ask her how she thought I was going to react. She always knows the answer, but it becomes apparent that she either didn't think about it or was hoping that I had magically become a little less like myself. 

That's usually the case with me. On the rare occasion that I actually am brutally honest with someone about a tough or uncomfortable topic, I hope that he or she will react in the understanding, elevated way. But this usually isn't the case. We're dealing with humans here. We have egos. We have emotions. The truth is not always something that we want to hear, or will even accept as fact. And I know my delivery isn't the best. Though I will say this, I will initially make a concerted effort to deliver my thoughts in the most digestible way possible, when I'm dealing with a tender topic. If we're talking about something that doesn't necessarily deal with emotions or possible hurt feelings that could linger past that one isolated moment, then you know me, that sass is off the chain. 

I'm not 100% honest with everyone all the time. I don't believe that anyone is, that might be exhausting. But as I'm getting older, I'm seeing that I owe it to myself, my friends, and family to be real with them. My coping mechanism with unpleasantness is typically to hold it in, pull back from whomever and whatever the unpleasantness stemmed from, and eventually drift back, if possible, once my anger or whatever emotion I'm feeling passes. I'm realizing this is not healthy. Some things just have to be addressed. So bear with me, as I try to figure out what the proper etiquette is there. This doesn't mean I'm going around tearing people apart every time I have an undesirable interaction with them, I'm classier than that. I wouldn't want someone freaking out at me every time I did something she didn't like. But I know I definitely need to reach a better balance. I'll be sure to advertise if I come across any enlightenment on this topic. 

I know there should be some kind of sum-it-all-up paragraph, or at least short statement here. But, this is blog, do I have to do that? Would you have accepted my ending if I had stopped at the last paragraph? I just want to make this enjoyable. If anyone wants to answer these questions I have posed in this paragraph or any of the previous paragraphs. Please don't be shy, these aren't really rhetorical questions. 

Drug Deal

So this is kind of random and I'm not sure if it fits in the context of my blog, but I tried to make my blog broad enough that I could essentially write about anything I desired. About a month ago I witnessed a drug deal. It all went down on the bus in the seats right next to and across from me. The players involved: older man who was not accurately exemplifying that Black don't crack, and two young students (a couple) who looked like they couldn't have been any older than 14 or 15.

I first noticed the young couple because they were holding hands in a way that is too much before 8 am. Out of the corner of my eye I saw their entangled hands get closer to the boy's crotch and just as I was about to look one of them in the eyes and roll mine, I noticed how absolutely striking they were. They were just two beautiful human specimens. I then had a quick day dream where I imagined their future beautiful lives together. I have quick day dreams a lot, they last about 5 seconds. Don't worry it's not creepy. So anyway, they calmed their gross hands down and I went back to listening to my music and pretending that I was on a spaceship (that's what I do in the bus so I don't have to accept the reality that I'm a prisoner on a hell wagon.)

Then a scraggly man plopped down next to me. Growing up in the city, you learn to spot the druggies, the winos, the generally unstable. One can usually differentiate the scary ones from the harmless ones. Too much sweeping generalization? Well it's true, mama always told me to be aware of my surroundings and evaluating the people around me is part of that assessment. So the scraggly man sat down next to me, he didn't smell that delightful, and he was kind of rambling loudly, did not have the appearance of your average upstanding citizen, but he seemed relatively harmless. I hope these are my actual first impressions of this man, but I'm sure they're tainted by what I saw him do, so bear with me.

The boy of the beautiful couple across from me, seemed to make a quick judgment of the scraggly man as well - he assumed he was someone who buy drugs from a teenager before 8 am on a public bus on a school day. The boy asked the man if he "fucked with" something with one eyebrow cocked. I couldn't hear what the something was and the man responded incoherently. Well I guess just incoherently to me. I turned my music down to volume 1. I couldn't decide if I actually wanted to hear what was happening. The boy asked the man if he wanted whatever the indecipherable sketchy thing was right now.  Then the man asked the boy if he had change. The boy didn't, so he asked his girlfriend. She had a really pained look in her eyes but no shock, so this wasn't a first time thing. Apparently this was a casual part of their relationship. I can't even imagine what I would do at age 14 if my boyfriend asked me to give him money to help him facilitate a drug deal. I can't imagine what I would do at age 14 if I found out my boyfriend was dealing drugs. On a bus. In front of dozens of people. I was straight up staring at this girl through my sun glasses. I wanted to help her or something? I wanted to help the boy too. It always pains me when I see Black youth doing something stupid because we all know how easy it is for young black people to become just another statistic. My parents really like the phrase "don't give anyone a reason." Essentially it means don't give anyone a reason to treat you less than you're worth because you're already starting at a social disadvantage being Black and being a woman. I wonder if these kids parents had ever told them that. Obviously I'm not perfect, I've given people reasons, but I at least have tried to steer clear of the illegal ones.

I peeped over and saw that the drug was some kind of pill but it was wrapped in a pink baggy so I didn't get a good look. But that doesn't really matter I guess. A big part of me wanted to ask these kids why they were being so stupid. But you can't do that in Baltimore. You try and nurture the wrong kid and you'll end up cursed out or cut up. So I kept my mouth shut. I wish I had been an old lady, so I could have said "Lawwwwd Jesus, what is this world coming to??" Because old ladies can say whatever they want.

I find that happening to me a lot, the desire to nurture the youth. When I see a girl on the bus whose dress is about to expose her baby maker, I want to say "honey, you can't dress like that in public" because clearly no one has told her or hasn't told her enough or maybe she needs to hear it from more people.

Riding the bus around Baltimore has forced me to look at problems I knew were there but maybe hadn't specifically witnessed first hand. One of the stops along my route to work is right in front of a methadone clinic. I wonder if the clinic is really making a difference. I see a lot of young mothers with multiple children and even more bags and have no idea how they do it. There's usually a few people on the bus every couple days or so who makes me wonder if they are receiving the mental health treatment they need and deserve. This is not meant to be demeaning. Mental health issues typically stir up negative connotations because of the stigma associated. Coming from a public health perspective, I know that people in Baltimore are not getting adequate mental health and that just doesn't make sense to me.

As shady as ole Balty can be sometimes, it's my heart. As soon as I'm out of this selfish rut (read: I'm studying for the LSAT, I literally cannot be bothered by anything else besides work, food, sleep, and the occasional dose of fun), then I am going to work on trying to come up with a solution for the problems I see. I think Baltimore needs a fresh pair of eyes to guide it back to its former glory. Let's not forget Baltimore is one of the oldest cities in America. It's a port city, so back in the day it used to be poppin, if you will.

So even though I absolutely detest riding the bus every day, mostly because of the time, it has its benefits because it gives me time to observe and reflect on life. I've discovered that if 23 is about anything it's definitely about reflection and finding time to do it, since your whole life is ahead of you. It's a pretty big deal, so as scary as it is, you've gotta think about it and assess what things are really important to you.

The drug deal boy was actually on the bus this morning. He was sitting at the back of the bus looking like an adorable lamb who wanted to be something more formidable. I looked at him as if to say,  "Hey buddy,  I hope you're not still dealing drugs and I hope you're on your way to your summer job, or math camp, or your friends house for a wholesome day of basketball and video games." I hope he got all that.

Operation Chocolate Destiny

Operation Chocolate Destiny was a little something I coined during my desolate times in AmeriCorps while I was stationed in Colorado. Essentially, the premise was to find myself a beautiful chocolate skinned man who was dating material. Why I thought this was an appropriate time, I am not sure. This was also when I began my illustrious Pinterest activity. So it was a time of big dreams and pretty things I had no access to. 

I had and have been deprived of this particular brand of man for quite some time. First I went to all girls' school for 12 years (general male deprivation), then I went to the Johns Hopkins University (general chocolate scarcity). I would also like to point out that from now on, I am actively deciding to refer to my male counterparts as men and not boys, sometimes I'll say "guys" if the context is right. I don't know, I don't know, I'm trying to mature or something. A 23 year old male is a man right? And a 23 year old female is a woman not a girl. Or maybe this is the I'm-not-a-girl-not-yet-a-women part of life Britney was complaining about. 

But back to the important stuff. Let me give you some visual examples of Chocolate Destiny. We'll stick to the famous variety as to not embarrass any of my friends, well probably more like associates that I should probably unfriend on Facebook because we're not actually friends, but I haven't yet because they are beautiful. Curse you, Halo Effect. (Sup social psych.)

IDRIS ELBALook at how he's looking you. 

MORRIS CHESTNUTAdmittedly this is not the best picture of him, but this is from The Best Man (1999). If you have not seen this movie, upon viewing it, your life will be changed by how beautiful Morris Chestnut is. Just like, look at his facial hair, look at his skin, his mouth. Look at what I think is a solitary tear as he watches his bride come down the isle. I really, really could go on and on. Woo Lawd.

TYSON BECKFORD:
I wasn't going to post any topless photos to keep this blog at some kind of level. But that's stupid, because look at him. Look. At. Him. With those tat sleeves too, though? I'm definitely having a time as I write this.

ADRIAN PETERSON
I was initially trying to find a picture of him in a suit, but then I thought, nah... 

TORREY SMITH
I can't even think of an adequate caption.

Also, let the record state, I respect these men for their talents as well as their Chocolate Destiny qualities.

I'm not sure what sparked this particular "craving" back in October. All I know is, it hit me hard. The other thing I know is that it couldn't have come at a worse time, you know, being in the middle of Colorado. Chocolate Cowboys are few and far between. Some of you may be thinking that it's pretty obvious why I would be on the look out for a chocolate destiny at any point in time, since I am in fact someone's Chocolate Destiny. (Disclaimer: that wasn't me being full of myself, that was me believing that I am the one person that someone in this world is looking for, a.k.a. his destiny and I am proudly chocolate.) But based on my dating history, chocolate destiny, has not been my pattern. Attractive is attractive no matter the skin color. I really do believe that. And that's just surface level. We all know what counts is what's inside, blah, blah, blah, but that's not what I'm talking about right now.

For the most part, my friends seem to think I'm only interested in dating or even flirting with Black men. Given the social circles I have allowed myself to be comfortable in, you would think that it would be pretty clear that that is not the case. I don't think I've made any bold statements exclaiming any narrow interest in one type of man (not including the unveiling of Operation Chocolate Destiny). Perhaps this is just based on the men I have dated in past, who haven't all been chocolate, but different shades of the brown continuum. In any case, if a friend and I are talking to two guys and one is white chocolate and one is milk chocolate, I am expected to go brown. This is quite unfair for a few reasons. What if the White man is cuter? What if the White man wants to see if he can handle my sass? What if my personality clashes horribly with the Black man and we hate each other? Why are we automatically supposed to get along or even be attracted to each other because of our skin color? Also, my friends know my life story pretty well. They know that I have spent the majority of my life socializing around the creature that is the infamous white male. I'm not sure if there is a discrete way to say, "Hey if the White man is cute, I would like to talk to him." If he's not cute, I will not make a fuss. That's just biology. Don't start thinking I'm shallow. Nobody wants the peacock with one feather, and that is a scientific fact.

On the other hand, some of my aunts and cousins are completely convinced that I'm going to marry a white man a la Sanaa Lathan and Simon Baker in Something New. I'm still very confused about how people can so confidently make such assumptions. Is there some determining factor that I'm blissfully unaware of? Then we have my father who almost had a heart attack when I went to prom with a White boy. I think he thought prom meant dating was involved. We don't specifically discuss it, but I'm pretty sure he would be happiest if I settled down with one someone from my tribe. Not kidding at all. But whatever, I'm not marrying anyone any time soon. So we'll cross that awkward bridge when it's in eyesight. 

So as I'm keeping this operation alive,  there are folks who carry out something to the effect of Operation No Chocolate Destiny. I couldn't tell you the amount of times different friends have told me that they aren't attracted to Black women or men or that they would simply never marry a Black person. Because I'm sure some of you that have made these statements are reading this blog, my questions are: what did you expect my response to be? And did you genuinely expect me not to take any offense? And if you didn't expect me to be offended... why not? It reminds me of how people get a kick out of telling me that their grandparents are racist. Still not sure how I'm expected to respond to that... 

These off color comments (pun intended) come up in discussions with my friends more often then I ever expect. I handle it differently depending on the person amd my mood that day. On more occasions than not, those friends have had to eat their words because one day they found that they could in fact be attracted to a Black person. Sigh.

I know there's some science behind being attracted to the people who look the most like you. We won't be delving into that science here. This is not that kind of blog, or at least not right now as I write this on my bus ride home from work on my tablet phone (which I've just decided to name "Big Berttha.") I don't want to subscribe to that whole look alike notion because it creeps me out. I'm uncertain as to why it doesn't creep out everybody. 

I don't think I said this explicitly, but if you are a Chocolate Destiny reading this right now, please feel free to contact me. I mean the Chocolate Destiny variety with ambitions and such, no scrubs please. I wish I could eloquently express the extent of my seriousness. Actually, if you are a Destiny of any kind that is reading this and feel so moved by my words to the point where you must talk to me because I seem so interesting and fabulous, you can contact me too. Stay tuned for hopefully next week, where I'll be writing my opinions about dating whilst not in school. Because how does one do that?