Ditch That...

Okay, so this one is about a month old, but it was just sitting here on my computer, and I decided to finish it and publish it anyways

Ever known a guy who could LITERALLY talk his way out of anything? My freshman year in college I met an NYC boy in an early morning international relations class that I swore was the epitome of swag. After attending a couple class sessions, he decided his time at 8:25a.m. would be better spent in bed. He skipped the class, but met me at the door every morning to walk me to my next class and keep me company (We almost got the same grade by the way. I earned an A, but felt gypped). Every conversation we’ve ever had has tickled me in one way or another.

A week ago we’re talking and he brings up relationships. Since I was assigned to work in the relationships section at ESSENCE, I’ve jumped head first into a world of human interaction I never thought could be so deep. I love picking peoples brains to see what they really think. My convo with Young Swag went a little something like this:

Young Swag: So what are you looking for these days anyway?

Me: I’m still looking for a good time, but I want something more permanent.

Young Swag: Well you’re in the wrong city then.

Me: Huh?

Young Swag: This is New York. Chicks get put on hold in the summa time.

Me: What? I know too many happy couple in the city to believe that.

Young Swag: Naw, I’m serious. Girls do it to. People who were booed ain’t tryna
be tied down in the summa. That’s how it is here. If you don’t like it, get out now.

Me: Hmmm, well thanks for the advice, I guess.

Did he actually know what he was talking about? Do most young NYC couples call it quits once the heat turns up? But summer time can be so romantic in NYC, hello, Central Park. And is any relationship that requires a 90-day break worth being in for the other months of the year anyways? Is this whole summer break thing something that happens in places besides New York?

Somebody tell me what’s going on…

The summer of the unemployed college grad

(In addition to everything else that's great about interning this summer, I get to meet gorgeous celebs like Kelly Rowland).

A couple weeks ago I read a depressing article in the New York Times by Alex Williams: Say Hello to Underachieving. The article, basically said the millennial generation (i.e. me, most of the people I love and probably you) is screwed. The upside to the dreadful mire of debt and unemployment: we’ll get to spend more time on mom and dad’s couch. After all, there’s nothing like a relaxing six months without your dream job (or even a crappy job for that matter) after you’ve spent the past four years of your life working you’re a** off to prepare for it. Your parents enjoyed you so much during those (gradually shorter and less frequent) trips home on school breaks, they can’t wait to have you home full time so you can chat and bond with your siblings. Who cares that you’ll slowly begin forgetting the stuff they just spent $150,000 for you to learn (this number only seems crazy if you went to a public university or had serious grant/scholarship money)?

 Williams missed the mark on two BIG points:

 1) The brightest, best, and blessed…are still just that

All millenials aren’t doomed. My fellow Essence interns and I are testaments to the fact that not all 20-25 year olds are working at amusement parks. Although my friends in the finance industry (all of whom are employed this summer) would cry if they got my check on payday, finding an internship that doesn’t require making Starbucks runs (although I’d do it in a heartbeat, with a smile), that you really like, and that pays you, is like finding gold in the media industry. I have unemployed friends that I'm not worried about. Truth be told, showing up for work the day after you walked across the stage wasn’t typical even before the recession (excluding IT, medical, and education folks). Even if it the job comes six months after graduation day, I know my peeps will be just fine in the end.

 2) No, your family does NOT miss you that much

There are a lot of things my parents miss about me, but if it came down to me working 300 miles away or sitting at home so they could see my shining face, they’d never choose the latter. If you’re blessed enough to have parents who are cool with you living at home while you make the transition from college, that’s great. But the transition must include MEANINGFUL WORK. Believe or not, there’s a lot of that stuff to go around—from volunteering to interning, to coming up with projects that will boost your resume. Last summer I studied in Paris for six weeks, but I knew I needed something to do before and after my trip. I e-mailed a local magazine editor on a whim. She hired me. It was unpaid, but I’m pretty sure that experience helped me stand out when I applied at Essence, and my parents didn’t mind being my sponsors for the summer once they saw my name in print.

 Let it be known that working smarter and praying harder, ALWAYS pays off in the end.

What are you doing to make the most of this summer?

Does he say your name

As the daughter of a pastor I'm constantly making it into my dad's sermons--for better or for worse. While it's not always fun for the entire congregation to know about the first time I thought I was too grown to obey a curfew, or the bank statements that have given my dad small panic attacks, it makes me blush to know that his princess is on his mind enough to make it into the message he feeds his flock every week. Even though he usually shares more than I wish he would, it makes me feel special (kind of like how he insisted on holding my hand as we walked halfway through Times Square when he dropped me off in NYC for the summer).

That's all his way of proclaiming to the world (specifically the male portion) that I'm covered. There's already someone who loves me, protects me, provides for me, and sets the standard for any potential suitors who want to take a stab at being "the man" in my life. Steve Harvey (yes I actually bought his relationship book and liked it) says men profess, provide, and protect a woman they really love, all of which Dr. Williams handles pretty well for my mom, setting an awesome example for my brothers.

So, I started thinking, for 20-something women in a 21st century world, does professing include facebook? Harvey mentioned that a man who's in it for the long haul gives you a title, and shares it with the world. Since everyone I know in the world is on facebook, is my man required to profess his love to me by clicking the right tab on his profile? Do you care if your boo has a relationship status at all? Does your significant other have to list your name under the relationship status? Is it okay to put that you're "in a relationship" or should it upgrade to "engaged" or "married" after a certain amount of time? Do you really need that whole couples photo album thing, or is that just cheesy? And what the hell does it mean if your honey opts to put, "it's complicated"?

Does your boo claim you on facebook? Fill me in...please.

Touched by a king

I watched The Jackson Five movie so much when I was younger, my mother eventually took the tape and banned me from touching it. Fastforward about five years and the King of Pop re-emgerged on the world stage with his Invincible album, and that's when it happened. That's when I fell for him. My aunt had given me his album as only a stocking stuffer, but it was the best Christmas gift I'd gotten that winter.

He's the man who made us all believe in Never Neverland. He's the guy who convinced us all that being bad was a good thing. We've loved . RIP Michael Jackson. You've made a lasting impact on this PYT.

When did you first invite the king into your world? What were you listening to when you realized that his songs could very well provide the party soundtrack to your life?

Tell me your favorite Michael moment.

Is there life after the beat down?

We all know Chris Brown hasn't exactly been making his mama proud lately (openly chilling at Diddy's summer home hours after beating an international pop princess like she stole something...he's made better decisions). Brown is the perpetrator in the most talked about domestic violence scandal since we found out Bishop Thomas Weeks was abusing our favorite female evangelist, Juanita Bynum. What's different about this case? Chris Brown and Rihanna are young American pop royalty with good looks, style, and talent for days, and they're both barely old enough to drink legally.

So he faced the music and now he's stuck cleaning the streets, and oh yeah, he'll live the rest of his life with an ugly criminal record. But what this brotha has over the other convicted felons out there is that he's such a cutie pie. Honestly, we all know Chris Brown may have lost some banging endorsement deals, but he'll probably have an album out within a year, and it'll probably go platinum. But what about his relationship fate? Is there hope for his love life after the worst beat down of his young life? Will we shake our heads at the next PYT on Mr. Brown's arm, but secretly envy her?

I've heard most young women my age dis Chris for his ways, but they were the same young women talking about how fine he was a few months ago. And don't most women secretly take pride in getting the guy who they think they can change into the man he's supposed to be? Beating Rihanna was grimy, but, if Chris Brown walked up to you and spit game tomorrow, would you send him walking (with his super star status, southern boy charm, and serious bank)?

As much as my mother would hate for me to admit it, I'd think twice before telling the brother that all I could offer him was prayer. Shoot, the last time I went on a date...wait, does that intern mixer a random hottie invited me to even count as a date? Probably not. Should the ladies look past Chris Brown's ruined rep to see the great catch he used to be--or at least the guy we all thought he was?

Tell me what you think.

Straight, no chaser

Baby Boy has got to be one of the most irritating movies…ever. Aside from the fact that it seems to be the only film BET thinks the world should watch, the main character’s nickname is Jody. Really, how many brothas do you know named Jody?

He didn’t illustrate it in the most appealing way—I’m pretty sure we all got tired of seeing Tyrese’s big behind on a bike—but John Singleton was actually on to something. His film illustrates the harsh thrust from the wonderful world of childhood when someone older is always blamed for our actions to the bill-paying, difficult decision-making, hard-working world of adulthood.

Just when I thought the hardest decision I had to make was selecting the right dress to wear to prom and which boy I’d take, my parents sent to me to this really cold, usually depressing place where the meals are few and fatal, and the sleep is even worse. They called it college—and tried to convince me that during some severe lapse of sanity I’d actually chosen to be here and that I would somehow be better off after I left—but sometimes I thought I’d be better off at boot camp, at least it’d be cheaper. Deciding which classes to take, which people to trust, which boys to run away from, which dish not to eat at the dining hall was all hard. Negotiating with tuition collector’s who thought I could pull $45,000 out of my butt, speaking over the bold bastards in class who thought I’d checked some magical affirmative action box on my application to get into college, and holding onto my faith when it felt like every demon in hell was working against me, was even harder. It was all part of this weird adulthood I’d somehow earned simply by being alive for eighteen years.

Regardless of when we burst onto the grown-up stage, and no matter how well we have been prepared, there is still some shock and pain involved. There is a lot to be afraid of in the world that we meet in our adulthood. There’s the credit crisis, the war in Iraq, the seriously ill auto industry, job freezes, layoffs left and right, tuition hikes and grant/scholarship decreases, racism, classism, sexism, HIV/AIDS, cancer, unexpected pregnancies, abuse and assault. These monsters of maturity make for the perfect storm. The issues of the world we live in make for the perfect excuse to retreat back to the safety of childish things. Sometimes the shock is so great, we can be tempted to retreat from life altogether; three students at my school proved this when they committed suicide this past semester. No matter how often your “mama said there’d be days like this,” there is a big difference between expecting the trials and triumphs of adulthood and experiencing them. But we have to remember that it is in this same adult world that we have elected the first Black president of America. With privilege comes great responsibility.

What we can all use our brilliant adult minds to conclude is: life is not going to get any easier, but we can be as joyful or despairing as we decide we want to be. I like to look at adulthood in the context of a popular adult pastime (um…not that I know anything about this personally). Adulthood is like drinking. You spend every moment longing for it once you first learn about it, and how much fun it’s supposed to be. At first, you try to keep up with your friends, but eventually you realize you have to get your own pace. You see some people get really messed up by it, but you know as long as you’re responsible, you’ll be fine. And when you get really bold, you take it straight, no chaser. You know going in that there will be some pain and burning when it goes down, but you know the buzz you get in the end is all worth it.

Cheers baby! Here’s to leaving that baby boy/baby girl mentality behind.

Disclaimer: This blog does not advocate the consumption of alcoholic beverages. If you must drink, drink responsibly (translation: only do it if you’re at least 21, not on medication, not driving, and not holding your phone).

Beyond the average

Are you an 80 or a 20? You know, Mr. Perry’s concept of the neat boxes that every person with a romantic companion fits into. Either you’re the conniving heifer who spends all the money, doesn’t cook, doesn’t clean, but whose utter irresistibility renders her the mistress-turned-main chick – that makes you a 20. Or you’re the bend over backwards for my man, brings home the bacon and fries it up in a pan without trampling too hard on his innate need to feel important and needed, with some unforgiveable flaw, in Jill’s case about 100 extra pounds (Why Did I Get Married?)– congratulations, you’re an 80. Which means you’re 80% good enough for your man, 8 times out of 10 he’ll actually be active in the relationship and will only sleep around with every 2 out of 10 twenty percenters that come along.
Right?
Ummm…no.
I enjoy six figures just as much as the next hopeful college student, but enough is enough with the numbers. They are not the end all. They provide us with a way of thinking about things, like if the discount on the BCBG booties at the Nordstrom’s Anniversary sale is a higher percentage than the reduction on the MAXX New York clutch. At the end of the day, you make the choice.
Numbers shouldn’t depress us or give us the final forecast for our futures. The CNN Black in America Report brings to light the potentially fatal obsession Americans have with numbers--stats. I recognize CNN for its attempt to show the world what it’s like to walk in the shoes of over 40 million people in what will end up being less than 8 hours of film (I mean really, it just isn’t possible). But, the damage that these numbers can do is incredible. If I am a young, successful, black female college student, what am I supposed to think about my prospects on getting married in this lifetime? If I buy into the numbers, I either have to throw out my Modern Bride magazines, or, start figuring out how I’ll explain to my kids that mommy’s black, but daddy’s white because all the black men were in prison, or dead, or just dead broke. What if I was planning on moving to D.C.? Do I scrap my dream and move to Atlanta because CNN’s stats say the odds of me finding a HIV-negative mate are slim to none?
When we are constantly confronted with a bleak picture, we tend to accept it as reality. But numbers do a poor job of capturing the reality behind them – the lives, the people, the souls. They didn’t wake up one day and become statistics, decisions were made. No matter how bleak or bright the picture the numbers paint, we ultimately choose. Even in times when personal situations reflect someone else’s decision made without our consultation, we choose how we respond. We choose before they have a chance to put us into someone’s reported percentages. God just doesn’t leave us hanging like that.
I’m 100% black. 100% woman. 100% God’s child. But, in essence, 100% Timeka. And I’ll be damned if my man calls me an 80. Regardless of whether they appear on a bank statement, in a CNN report, or on the (ever-changing) scale, numbers do little to sum me up.
How about you?