What Love Means To Me

I know the title sounds like the beginning to a 4th grader's speech, but it isn't. The reason I took so long with this blog is because I really had to think about what love means to me. And to be honest I still don't know. This isn't me being coy or shrewd, I honestly have no friggin clue. If I had to try and sum it up for you guys, I guess I would say love means...not having to apologize for being who you are. It means that you accept me for me and I accept you for you. To some that may sound like a compromise and that might be what it is, but I really have no idea. For a long time I really didn't convey that emotion, because I couldn't understand it. For me I like to know what I'm getting into before I get into it. I need facts (blame the journalist in me) before I can make that kind of leap. I know in order to commit to the whole love thing you've got to just go out there on faith and hope for the best. I can't do that. I start playing the "What If?" game. "What if I tell her I love her and she doesn't love me back?...What if I tell her I love her too late?" I've been on that side of the coin flip and I lose almost everytime. So if it takes me to be guarded with my emotions then so be it.

Pick A Topic

I want to blog about something. But the way my mind works, I have dozens of topics running through my head. They range from the serious to the silly. I need help sorting this out. So I turn to you, my faithful readers. I'm giving you a choice to pick what you want me to write about. I warn you, however, with this great power comes a greater responsibility. If you want me to write about some foolishness, don't be surprised when I turn it up a notch. And please believe I will attribute my sources, so YOU will be blamed for what I type. If you choose something sappy, don't get surprised if I make you turn on the water works. Now that I've issued the disclaimer, here's how it's gonna work. First person to respond will get the first topic, second person gets the second topic and so on and so forth. I'm going to do five so that should give you a week's worth of entertainment. I reluctantly hand over my blog life to the people...

"You Never Cooked For Me"

Those are the words I heard through my cell phone as I made dinner for myself last night. What was on the menu? Salmon cakes (think crab cakes but replace the crab with salmon) and linguini with mushroom alfredo sauce. What can I say, I've been watching The Food Network. So I'm telling all this to my "friend" (keep reading for the explanation), who is going through a fast. Naturally she hates on me for eating. So during the cooking process she says the title of this blog. Before answering, I scroll through my mental Rolodex thinking of all the times I've cooked. And I can honestly remember cooking for her one time. It was far from anything Emeril, Rachel Ray, Paula Deen have whipped up. I made her a burger (in my defense it was a turkey burger so I was concerned for her health). But I'm getting off task. So she said I never cooked for her, I told her about the burger and she agreed. But later that night, I wondered why I never did cook for her. I think I have a reason why. I never considered her as someone I could call a girlfriend, at least not during that period in time. That's through no fault of her own. I had, and partially still do have to this day, preconceived notions of what a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship is and what a strictly platonic relationship is. In my mind you cook for your girlfriend, you go places with her you wouldn't normally be caught dead in, you get her flowers just because, you leave cute notes in the drawer her unmentionables stay in. When you're friends, you don't cross into that region. And for the longest time I thought she and I had been just "friends". All that changed a few days ago when I had an epiphany. I started thinking about the year and some change we'd been "friends". I realized that everything we did together both physical and non-physical was beyond friendship. I realized she and I had a relationship (I've finally gotten over my phobia with that word and all it entails). Long story short I realized she was my girlfriend. Does it suck that I figured out all this after the fact? Yeah a little. Because if I would've carried things like we were a couple and not just "friends", some of the disagreements and misunderstandings we had could have been avoided. But Mom always says, "no test, no testimony". Now that I've finished testifying, I'm going to sit down and let the rest of the service continue. I gotta get out my singles for the offering.

Pizza For Pesos

I'm not making this up, I promise. We ran this story this morning. A pizza chain called Pizza Patron in the Dallas area says it will now accept pesos and U.S. dollars. Ain't that a bitch? When I first heard this I was laughing, because I love ignorant stuff and this is right up my alley. But then I got to thinking, "this might not be a bad idea." I know some people aren't going to agree with me, but hear me out before you pass judgement. Various European nations accept their own country's currency, U.S. currency and even a universal European form of currency called the euro. So why can't our country do the same? I'm not saying we should make this a nationwide policy. But I do think that states that are near borders like Arizona, New Mexico and Texas should implement this. I know some will raise the arguement that if you're America you should do all things American, like learn the language. I can totally understand that arguement, but I think the country needs to change according to its citizens. Years ago, a McDonalds commercial with an all Black cast didn't exist. Now damn near everyone you see takes place in some fictional urban setting complete with people that look like me. It's not that Mickey D's sold out, they cashed in. They knew that the minority population of America was made up mostly of Black people. So they threw in a couple of fresh beats, added some Timbs and made them some commercials. Now they're focus is shifting to our Latino hermanos y hermanas. Just recently MTV added another channel to its umbrella, MTV Tres. Everyone is preparing for the "Latin Explosion". All I'm saying is, maybe it's time for a change.

Home For The Holidays

Unlike or like many of you I was sober going into 2007. Instead of being surrounded by drunken, celebrating people I was sound asleep at my parent's house. I had a plane to catch the next day and I was in a town dominated by cornfields, so the best bet was to pack and sleep. Going home has always been therapy for me. More so than writing. It's easier to heed the advice of someone else instead of the voice in your head. It's also considered sane, but that's up for debate some days. It was great to wake up and not have to stumble into the shower as I'm accustomed to doing everday (or is it night) before I go to work. It was great to see a fridge full of more than a carton of eggs, expired milk, various condiments, DRINK, bottled water, some apples, a package of chicken breasts, whole grain wheat bread, ground chicken and ground turkey. It was great eating red velvet cake and Godiva chocolate for breakfast. Long story short, it was great to be home. For awhile, I didn't consider my parent's new place as that. To me home was back in Jersey. Home was a few blocks away from the high school I graduated from. Less than a half an hour from my grandparent's and aunt's houses. I guess I still had that idea that home was a building. This weekend I found out home was a feeling. Guess Luther was right. What I also found out was to not expect sympathy from my mom anymore. Don't get me wrong, she loves me to death and please believe the feeling is mutual. But when it comes to dishing out sympathy she ain't having it. And you know what? I really thank her for it. If she and my dad still coddled me, I wouldn't make any type of forward progress in life. I forget how the conversation started, but I know mom was cooking while we talked. I was telling her how frustrated I was with my job and I was with not being I felt I should be. She stood there and heard me bitch and moan for a good 10-15 minutes. Then she looked me square in the face and said,"Well are you doing everything possible to get to where you want to be?" DAMMIT!!! She always does this! Naturally I said this to myself, because I'm not grown enough to let that slip up happen. Not in front of her at least. I looked her right back in the face, then looked down and to the side and mumbled. "No." And that's when the light came on. I know because I finally started being honest with myself. I haven't done enough to get out of this situation. I don't demand enough from the powers that be. I'm slowly becoming the main character of Ralph Ellison's book at my job. After we finished talking, I reluctantly told my mom she was right. She started grinning and told me she new she was and how she knew I hated how she was right all the time. I used to, but not anymore.