Watching TV is helping me get back to my roots a little bit. By that I mean that I’ve been thinking more and more about love- my practical head and mended heart are starting to make room for my romantic nature- again. I’m a little scared, but I think it’s good. Honestly though, as much as TV has been a help in this process, the dramatic times of TV couples has also contributed to my fear. Case in point…

I’ve been wondering a lot about infidelity. My TV couples make it so dramatic; the real life ones make it so casual. I wonder which ones are right. I want to start out by saying that I think cheating is wrong, for many reasons (and yes, I have done it- helped other people do it- and had it done to me). When you cheat, you lie- and when you lie to people, you limit their choices. You leave them on the outside of their own relationship- and you hurt them. But there seem to be different situations where people feel like cheating is acceptable. Let’s have an example….

TV couples are all about the romance, for the most part. So a lot of the time, cheating is portrayed as something the characters do because the way they feel for the other person is so strong that nothing else matters- not husbands, not wives, nothing. They are seen as people who simply get swept away. I have no idea if this happens in real life; it sounds scary to be honest. To be in a committed relationship, and have responsibilities and meet someone that makes you stop caring about everything you’ve built- that’s some really strong emotion. TV couples seem to handle it well though. Most of the time they get busted- but then they just switch partners- and they are portrayed as people who got carried away by love- and then somehow it’s not so bad. The person they cheated with becomes their REAL love- and the person they had built this entire life with is just the comfortable person that they settled for. If only it were that simple. In real life, this comfortable person that you settled for usually doesn’t know that that’s what they are to you. So swept away or not, cheating still seems like a pretty shitty thing to do. Moving on…

Real life couples give cheating a much more modern feel (and yes, I do know actual couples where one or both of them cheat). The underlying theme for a lot of real life couples who cheat is that it’s okay as long as they take care of their responsibilities at home. Apparently, as long as you do your part to keep the illusion of your happy household, it’s okay to get it (it being sex, emotional guidance, peace of mind, etc.) from someone else. I know people who have used this calmly and seriously, as a practical argument. It’s okay to distance yourself (physically, mentally, emotionally or any combo of the three) from someone that you’ve built a life with- as long as you pay the bills on time, or cook dinner every night, or give head on Thursdays, or whatever you do to keep your house running smooth. This is one of the most illogical arguments in the world to me. My home is my sanctuary- whomever I share it with, should share in my peace. The moment that’s not the case, I’ve got a major life decision to make. So we’ll continue…

Another theory for acceptable cheating that seems to be shared by TV and real life couples alike is that cheating is okay when your relationship is unhappy. When you can’t stand your partner but you’re staying for the kids, or because your parents will be disappointed if you divorce, or because you don’t want to go through the trouble of untangling your finances. Whatever reasons you give yourself, you stay- and you feel like this martyr move that you’ve pulled entitles you to some breaks from your “miserable” life- so you mess around with other people. I never could grasp the concept that cheating is a prize you’ve won, that somehow it’s owed to you. Maybe because that concept is stupid. And pretty childish…

Now I’m sure there are other reasons. In fact, I know there are. When I cheated, it was because I was immature. I was feeling ignored, and I wanted him to feel ignored. I was hoping he’d wake up, be jealous, pay attention to me. Of course I realize now that I should have been far more concerned about why I had to work so hard to get his attention in the first place. But I digress. I know there are other reasons. Cheaters are multifaceted. You’re with the wrong person and you cheat because you’re too much of a coward to change that, or you have other issues and you’re too cowardly to confront them- so cheating medicates you, eases your pain. Maybe you’re just greedy- or entitled. Maybe you just feel like you should have everyone you want. No matter what, most of the time it seems to be about something other than the other person. I don’t want to seem harsh, because I know sometimes it’s just about temptation as well. Sometimes you see something that you think is better than what you have- and you want it. I get that. But after you’ve reached a certain level of maturity, that’s all about impulse control, isn’t it? I mean, when you’re trying to lose weight and you walk past a Krispy Kreme, impulse control is what keeps you from going in, right? Maybe you’ll even take a side street so you don’t have to see that Krispy Kreme- remove yourself from the situation entirely. I know donuts aren’t people, and I know I’ve been guilty of not resisting either one… but at some point, you have to try- right?

Either way, having done what I’ve done, I’m certainly in no position to judge other people. And I don’t try to. I just would like us all to think about what we do, and how those things affect each other’s lives. And I’d like to stop being scared that my bad decisions are going to come back and haunt me… but I guess we’re all scared of that…

Back to the TV…

Okay so I watched the remake of Steel Magnolias… and I had so many thoughts it was impossible for me to social network my way through my opinion of the movie. So I decided to do it here, where I can add appropriate detail without running into a character limit or an otherwise unnecessarily long status update.

Let me start by saying that I have to be the original movie’s biggest fan. I know every word, every scene change, I’ve watched it so many times, I can replay the entire movie in my head without help. So when I heard there was going to be remake, I was only slightly curious- and mostly skeptical. When you remake on a classic, it’s always a sticky business. Sometimes you get it right (think Ocean’s Eleven, and The Karate Kid). And sometimes you are just looking for an excuse to take something perfect and turn into a disaster (think Arthur and Footloose). It’s also just a sad fact of life that when you remake a popular movie within the same generation as the original, you are opening yourself up to comparison, no matter how much you say you’re not competing with the original- it sucks, but it’s true. Add that to the fact that it was being remade with an all-black cast, and it was safe to say that I was skeptical. Aside from the fact that I don’t really know why we needed a remake of one of the greatest chick flicks of all time, an all-black cast gave me a little bit of pause. I don’t have a problem with the idea, per se; I just wondered why it was necessary. But all of that aside, I decided to watch and vowed that I would try and keep an open mind.

Now, I have to say that after watching, I’m at about 50/50 on this remake- meaning that there were just as many things I liked as things I hated about the movie. First, I hated the fact that this remake was a made-for-TV Lifetime movie. The original was a full-length, feature film, released in the theater. If you dared to try and remake this, and for TV no less, the least you could do was spend some more money and buy out the advertising so you could show it on the premiere night with limited or no commercial interruption. That, I believe was their first mistake. But it certainly wasn’t their last.

Casting was both a triumph and a failure, in my opinion. Shelby Eatenton is a central character- one might even argue that she’s the main character. So she should be strong, sassy, completely fearless. Condola Rashad wasn’t any of those things in this movie. She seemed unsure most of the time, hesitant in her role. She’s a young actress and previous to this had only done theater and minor TV roles- so I guess it’s to be expected. But I wanted her to be stronger- I wanted her role to break out more. She seemed so minor to me in this movie- and Shelby’s role was anything but minor. Another casting mistake was Annelle. Annelle Dupuy was played by another young actress, Adepero Oduye. Now, in the original movie Annelle didn’t have as pivotal a role as Shelby, but Annelle had so much personality you remembered her- even during the scenes she wasn’t in. She added her own comedic value to the movie, and you root for her and Sammy. This Annelle was dry and unmemorable. She was uninteresting and she wasn’t funny at all. Now I don’t if it was their intention to revamp Annelle’s character, but something tells me it wasn’t. Either way, she was poorly portrayed as well. Yet another casting mistake was Drum Eatenton. In the remake he was played by Afemo Omilami. Now, it wasn’t that his role wasn’t acted well- as a matter of fact, I think he was just fine on that front. The reason he was a mistake as Drum was because his wife M’Lynn was portrayed by Queen Latifah- and the obvious age difference was a little weird. He wasn’t a bad actor; he was just too old for the wife he was portrayed as having. Not only is Queen Latifah 20 years his junior, but she’s a Cover Girl; her job is to look younger. This brings me to Queen Latifah. I bring her up here because she was so-so in her role, which makes her a nice segue from the roles I hated to the ones I loved. She was… okay, for lack of a better word. I mean, she started off slow- really slow- but she kind of made me a believer at the end. At first, I was worried about her portraying the matriarch of the family; the mother of a bride, and then subsequently a grandmother- but she just eked out the role; she just pulled it off. I ended up liking her- which I wasn’t expecting. Another character that made me smile was Phylicia Rashad. She played Clairee Belcher, the widow of the former mayor. Now, you may feel like Phylicia Rashad didn’t have much of a significant impact on the movie, but in perspective, she is a talented actress who played the role she was given very well- and the original Clairee didn’t have too much impact on the movie either. So she was perfect in her portrayal of Clairee and I was glad they casted her. She had some comedic moments and her delivery was  perfect. Jill Scott was also great in this movie. She played Truvy Jones, owner of the beauty shop where the women gathered to share their lives. Jill Scott was very, very good in this role. She was fun, and sweet and lively- everything Dolly Parton was in the original. She also gave the role a little bit more, but I’ll get to that later. By far, the best casting decision was Alfre Woodard as Louisa “Ms. Weezer” Boudreaux. Alfre Woodard was perfect in this role; it’s like it was made for her. She was grumpy,  stubborn and totally hilarious. She made the other actresses better in this movie, and she and Phylicia Rashad were perfect best friends; yin and yang.

The plot lines were another triumph and failure. Now, I’ll start this one off positive and talk about the subtle differences I liked. The remake gave a little more focus on Truvy and Spud as a couple; I liked this because it gave us the opportunity to really see how much they struggled as a couple because he was unemployed. The first movie kind of skimmed over that; I’m glad that the remake looked at it more closely. I’m also glad that they showed M’Lynn and Drum as slightly more affectionate; they weren’t in the original movie and I have to say that always bothered me. I loved that the wedding reception scene was an accurate portrayal of a black reception, complete with the Wobble and a Soul Train line. Now, as far as what I didn’t like, there were a few things there as well. I didn’t like that they cut out almost all reference to the small subplot that Annelle and Sammy had; and even the small scenes where Clairee had a bit of her own subplot. I suspect they did this for time (it was a TV movie with commercials, after all)- but the movie is about the lives of all six of these women; there was only scene referencing Annelle and Sammy (the scene where they met) and no scenes exclusively about Clairee at all, or any scenes referencing her relationship with Ms. Weezer, both of which (although they were small scenes) were in the original movie. I didn’t like that they moved the dramatic M’Lynn breakdown scene to Truvy’s beauty shop; it didn’t seem quite as authentic, coming later like that. Shelby’s insulin shock scene was too short and mediocre at best- but I think that had a little to do with the actress and a little to do with the scene itself.

I am positive that there are more things to both hate and love (feel free to comment on your best and worst for the movie). But all in all, like I said, it was a 50/50 for me. I didn’t hate it, but I certainly didn’t love it. Mostly it seems that my first instinct was correct; the remake was a nice idea, but it seemed unnecessary. Oh, well. I have the original on DVD; I’ll just watch it again…

As I’m on this journey of falling in love with TV again, I’ve been watching a lot of things that have inspired me; I feel like I have stories again. Stories are exactly what you want to have when you’re someone like me- so Netflix, HBO Go, Hulu, and OnDemand have been my very best friends lately (outside of the real ones, of course). Anyway, watching romantic comedies, relationship struggles, and the ever-popular epic love story has given me some new thoughts about love that I’d like to share, one issue at a time…

I’ve found that the thing that usually gives couples the most trouble (on TV, at least) is the secret past. It got me to thinking about my own past- and how much of it I should be keeping a secret. I wonder what to do when I’m in love again- or even when I’m in like again. Is full disclosure the best way? Should I be keeping it all to myself, or only the parts that I think will invite judgement? Do I tell everything? Do I want to know everything? And if I keep it to myself, does it mean I’m not really in love? Does it show a lack of trust? The characters on TV are always full of anger when they find out something they think they should have been told. But I often wonder, if they had been told, would they have been full of anger anyway? Full of disgust?

In my last relationship, I wanted to be an open book. I’m a storyteller- it’s what I do. I create characters- and I let people into their inner thoughts. I let people into their pasts. I write what they’re thinking, and feeling. What they’re ashamed of, what they’re afraid of. And since I’m often writing about love, I thought that being in love gave me a great opportunity to let someone into my inner thoughts, into my past. I resolved to do it, even when I struggled, even when I was uncomfortable. I thought I had to- for it to be real. I thought I had to- for it to be honest. But the more layers I peeled away, the more I felt like I was losing something- and not gaining anything. I didn’t feel safe anymore- comfortable in my own skin. I felt like a zoo animal on display. And the worst part was, I felt like he was taking what I did, and turning it into who I was. I felt his judgement in everything he said, and in everything he didn’t say.

My mom always says, ” Everybody needs something for themselves.” Now, I don’t know if my mom was talking specifically about past experiences, but I’d like to think that saying has merit in this situation. Everyone needs something, some part of them, that they don’t have to share with anyone else- unless of course, someone else was there at the time. But you get my meaning. You should have the right not to rehash it- not if you don’t want to. I know that people think you should share everything- you should trust your partner- you should open yourself up. But that can backfire (as my last relationship and TV have also shown me, lol). Inevitably, you get the answer to a question you never would have asked, inevitably you get information you never should have known. So sometimes its hard to decide if you would tell, because it’s hard to decide if you would want to know- if the shoe was on the other foot.

Now, I know everyone thinks I’m only talking about the sexual past. Yes, this is an important one- because it seems to be the one that gets people in the most trouble. Sexual pasts are graphic, and loud, and the hardest to get away from. They carry over, because most things in your sexual past are being shared by you AND someone else (or multiple people, depending on what you’re into). So you have to think about protecting their privacy too. It’s tricky, to say the least. But that’s why it’s important to think hard beforehand about the situations you put yourself into- and use protection. But in case you don’t, I don’t think you should feel obligated to share everything you’ve ever done. Or everyone you’ve ever done, for that matter. It doesn’t help anyone to know the exact number of people you’ve been with, or the things you did to spice things up, or the things you did because the one you loved wanted to try something new so badly. I think that if you feel comfortable enough, you can share- and if you don’t- don’t. What you do does contribute to you- but what you do (or what you did) is NOT who you are. But sexual pasts aren’t the only kind there are. Some people have traumatic, emotionally damaging events in their pasts. Now, I know I said that what you do isn’t who you are- but sometimes what other people do to you- can become who you are. It shapes the way you think, the decisions you make- it can effect how you feel about yourself. Those parts of your past should be shared- either with your partner or a professional- and I say that because those things shape the kinds of partners you even choose. Those things impact whether you live a truly happy life. And those become issues that need to be worked through, not just events to be recounted. Let’s have an example…

I have two dads- the biological one wasn’t there as much as I needed him to be- even though he loves me and I know this. But I did have a father- an honorable man, who took on the noble and amazing task of raising someone else’s child. I never forget what both of them have given me, but I also never forget what the biological one did to me- by not being there. He gave me issues that I had to confront- because I would never have a healthy relationship if I didn’t. So, I fully intend that when I fall in love, that will come up- and it should. It shaped me, it contributed to every love I’ve had thus far. It needs to be talked about (not agonized over, but talked about) – so that I know I’m a different person.

I think that your comfort level with the other person is the most important thing. Conversation is second on the list. I don’t mean you talk, they listen- or vice versa. I mean real conversation, back-and-forth verbal discourse. Because if the other person is simply a fantastic listener, chances are you’ll be doing all the sharing. And at the end of it, they’ll know everything about you- but what will you know about them? I also believe that sharing past relationships and experiences should be like a paper with an outline- you hit the important points, and THEN fill in the blanks. I don’t think you should start with a full-blown dissertation. I think sometimes we overstep the boundaries of knowing people. You don’t have rights to every single facet of someone, even if you love them; that’s not owed to you, and I think because it’s given, we often forget that it’s not our right- it’s a privilege. I would suggest being reasonable. Subterfuge and secrecy isn’t necessary- but it’s okay to be private. It’s okay to be shy; it’s okay to give yourself time to get comfortable. Because whatever your past is or isn’t, first and foremost it’s YOURS. And because it can’t be changed anyway (unless I’m watching Quantum Leap, lol),  sharing it should be on your terms.  Just be careful not to ask for information that you aren’t willing to give…

Okay, so I’ve recently rejoined Netflix and it’s been great, making me fall in love with TV all over again. My newest addiction is a canceled A & E show called “Breakout Kings,” about two U.S. Marshals who put together a special task force using criminals to catch criminals on the run. It’s my kind of show, kind of fast-paced- but makes you think. Anyway, one of the convicts on the task force is a convicted “gangbanger” named Shea Daniels (played by Malcolm Goodwin). Shea is the head of an entire outfit called the Syndicate- he’s your typical hustler, confident, arrogant, street smart. Even though he’s locked up- he’s the boss- and he knows it. He thinks outside the box, knows the criminal mind, knows how to get in your head and make you respect him- whether you like him or not. He’s both a boyfriend and a businessman- and seems to manage both with the same intensity. And as you can probably already tell- he’s my favorite character.

As I watch the show, I’ve been trying to figure out why I like Shea so much. At first I thought it was just that he was so attractive (he is, you know). Anyway, the more I watch, the more I realize that it’s his character I love. I love that he’s confident, that he’s the man, that he doesn’t take shit from anyone, convicted felon or not. I love that he’s a hustler… as strange as that sounds… he’s powerful (in his own way)- and I like that too. Now I don’t want anyone to think that I have a fetish for drug dealers, or convicted felons- because I don’t (at least I hope not). But I have to be really honest- I swoon a little for a hustler’s confidence, for his swag (for lack of a better word) – I LOVE  it. I can’t help it.

Most people would say that it’s the typical good girl/ bad boy complex, but I think it’s more than that (for me, anyway). Now, for sure- that’s where it starts. Danger is a bit more attractive to me- I call it my inner Kelly Kapowski reaching for Zack Morris- but that’s just where it starts. I love the fact that guys like that have a goal- and they stop at nothing to reach it. They fight hard, for themselves, for their lives. They’re strong, and sure- and even though the daily lives they live may be dangerous, for some reason you can’t help but feel safer when they’re around. Guys like that are protective- they’ll take on the world for you. And you know it. It’s like Michael Ealy said in Barbershop, “She gotta know that at a moments’ notice, you will put the pimp hand to Jesus himself- if he ever made the mistake of disrespecting her.” I don’t know if I got the quote exactly right, but that’s the general idea.

They’re problem-solvers- and they’re doers. They don’t waste a lot of time talking. Another thing I love about them is that above all else, they value respect- and loyalty. Maybe it’s my Leo coming out, but loyalty is everything to me. If I feel like I’m down for you in a way that you’re not down for me, it’s a betrayal of the worst kind- and I don’t forgive betrayals. I don’t hold grudges, but when you’re not loyal- you get kicked out of my circle- and you don’t get invited back. For guys like that, the unloyal are eliminated- I respect that.

I’ve often wondered if it’s my super-independent, self-sufficient, stubborn nature that reaches out to this man. Maybe subconsciously, I feel like that kind of man is the only one with a personality strong enough to handle mine. Maybe I think that man is the only one who will be able to stand up to me. Whatever the reason, I think that this swag I love so much is also what prompts my fascination with mob and gangster movies. Those movies have the basic themes that I connect with: Family is everything, Wrongs are righted, Loyalty is valued- and Betrayal is punished.

I don’t want anyone to think that I’m pining after actors, living in a fantasy movie set world- I’m well aware that Shea Daniels is just a character on a show, like Michael Corleone, Frank Lucas, and Sam Rothstein. But they all represent something that I love, something that I want, something I identify with. My dad is this guy (with a legal job, of course). He’s been around a while- so most people in his corner of the world respect him. If they don’t, then they fear him. He always speaks calmly- but seriously. He won’t take your shit- ever. And I feel safest… when I’m with him. I have cousins who have had their run-ins with the law, and kind of live that street life, but when I’m with them, I feel like I don’t have to be afraid of anything. It’s that confidence, that arrogance. It’s their assurance that nothing’s going to happen that I don’t want to happen. It’s a kind of power that on a non-related guy, I’m extremely attracted to. 

Now I know someone’s going to point out that the attitude I love so much usually gets the hustler killed or jailed in the end (like Shea Daniels), but that’s why I don’t want the actual guy- just the personality. But can I get that personality on normal, law-abiding, citizen? Lol. That’s a ten million dollar question I don’t have the answer to today. Until I get it, I guess it’s back to “Breakout Kings” and fantasies about Shea Daniels. Maybe I’ll switch to mobsters for a little bit… I haven’t watched “Once Upon A Time In America” in a while…

My grandfather died two weeks ago, and as I think of him, mourn him, I can only think of mortality in general. My logical, practical, sensible self knows that no one lives forever- we all have to die. But I realized that even though I’m 32 years old, something deep inside me, something irrational and completely emotional has never accepted that. Something in my soul pushes that away, so much so that when I am confronted by death, I have extended periods of abject denial, followed by a series of anxiety attacks. These little episodes make me silently hysterical, make the tears flow- make me absolutely positive that I can’t lose anyone else. The other day, the thought of having to mourn my grandmother made me burst into tears. The thought of losing my mother gave me visions of rocking back and forth in a padded room- that’s how scared I was. And don’t even get me started on my last moment. The idea that I won’t be with the people I love, that I won’t get to see them, and talk to them makes my hands shake on this keyboard. But I have to get this out.

The other layer to this is that I am not an avid churchgoer. I believe in God, I try to be a good person, I pray as much as I can. But I’m not what you would call a typical Christian (whatever that means). The reason I bring that up is that people who identify themselves that way, go to church, and bring God into all their FB status updates- don’t seem to have any fear of death at all. Their faith is so strong that all they think of is the afterlife- the part where they live with God in heaven. Even Jehovah Witnesses have a calm about them- they don’t believe that you go to heaven- but they look forward to the resurrection. This leads me to question my faith, such as it is. Is my faith lacking because I have this fear? Is my lack of faith the reason that my fear is so strong? People have told me that my fear doesn’t signal a lack of faith on my part, but it seems logical that if my faith were stronger, I would be less afraid because I would be more sure of what happens after death. Right? And uncertainty is definitely a part of the fear

I’m honestly at a loss. I’ve never known anyone as afraid as I am. People talk all the time about their death- whether they want burial or cremation, what color casket they like, where they want their ashes spread- I don’t know any of that because I won’t even confront that. I can’t even begin to imagine being nonchalant about it. Maybe other people are able to keep the fear at bay because they think death is so far off; maybe they don’t worry because they know they can’t control it anyway. Maybe my fear comes from the fact that I won’t be able to control that moment. All I know is that right now, when death was just too weeks away, I can’t stop thinking about it. So along with being sad that I lost my grandpa, every morning I’m afraid of losing someone else… and every night I’m afraid when I lay down. It doesn’t help that my overly-analytical self tends to turn things over in my mind constantly until I make sense of it. This fear is crippling, and someone as self-sufficient as I am doesn’t like the idea of being crippled by anything. And to think, I thought that pesky fear of thunderstorms was bad.

I know what you’re going to say. Concentrate on living. Tell my family I love them. Make my dreams come true. Life is not about worrying over death. Make the most of every moment. Believe me, I’ll try. Meanwhile, I’ll have a prayer and couple glasses of wine. Good night.

A few days ago I tweeted that helpless girls made me sick. Then I tweeted that what makes me even sicker are girls who pretend to be helpless because they have insecure men who need the ego stroke. As I board this train of thought, I find myself asking the same question I’ve been asking for years… Am I destined to be alone longer because I’m not one of those helpless girls?

Now, the short answer is no. I know quite a few independent women who have a man in their lives, women who think, and feel and definitely do for themselves. But I know just as many who seem like independent women… Right until their men come along. Then they become simpering, baby talking, weirdos who ask him every question like he’s Google and stare at him adoringly no matter what comes out of his mouth. Or they pretend that they can’t do something just so they can ask him to do it and make him feel good. It’s a little disgusting to tell you the truth. The worst part is, I don’t know if they’re doing it because they want to keep him and that’s what he likes- or because they THINK this is what he wants.

I always hear that men need to feel needed- that you have to figure out how to make him feel like a man. That we as women forget to need our men. I will be the first to admit that This sentiment gives me a little struggle- as I am not comfortable feeling “needy.” I had a very close friend tell me once that I act like I don’t need anyone- and that this is why I don’t attract very many guys.  Whoo! Thanks friend! Now I know what my problem is. What a fucking relief… I was beginning to think it was my weight. (insert sarcasm here). Anyway, after she told me that, I started to wonder more and more if it was true. I thought about how I’ve always viewed myself as an independent woman- and how I’ve always thought of it as a good thing. It’s how my parents raised me to be- and I do mean BOTH parents. My dad always taught me to go get what I want- “don’t wait on nobody to do nothing for you in this world.” He said this with a complete seriousness- there was no punchline at the end of that sentence. My daddy was a huge fan of having your ducks in a row- because as he always said, “you never know what can happen.” He never wanted me to be dependent on anyone- and I’ve tried not to be because of that. But does that make me less attractive? It’s been a well known observation of mine that a lot of men like women who let them swoop in for the rescue all the time. Guys brag about not being Captain Save-A-Hoe but they secretly like it when you need to be saved. This furthers my nausea because this makes women believe that “wanting” you in their lives is not enough. And it is. Isn’t it?

A sensitive girl I am- but a helpless girl I am not- and I don’t want to pretend to be. I’m not saying that I don’t “need” a man; I’m saying that if the disgusting displays I’ve been seeing are the ways to make men feel needed, then I’ll never get one because I’ll never need one that way. When did the male ego become so fragile that only weak women will do? Instead of sending the subliminal message that women need to dumb it down, why cant we ask men to step it up?

Now I know I’m speaking in generalizations and I probably shouldn’t, but I’m seeing this more and more and it bothers me a lot. I know that society’s gotten all out of wack and as a result gender and relationship roles have too, but I still intensely dislike the idea that my man can only feel strong when I’m pretending to be weak; it just doesn’t sit well- and it doesn’t give me any warm fuzzy feelings about relationships either.

I may wax philosophical about my Superwoman complex but deep inside, in the core of me, there IS something basically feminine that wouldn’t mind curling up in some big strong arms and letting him shoulder the world for me every once in a while- but I’m not hardwired to be like that all the time. Usually when it happens I blame PMS and wave it off and go on about my business. But even if it happened more, I’d be screwed because I’ve yet to find a viable option for the job. I don’t know if guys like that just don’t exist anymore – or if I’m scaring them off with my independent attitude (as my friend suggests). Either way, there are definitely times when I wonder if I’m standing in my own self sufficient way… if there is a man strong enough to handle the independence my parents gave me- and whether he’ll be too busy rescuing hoes to find me…

I’ve always been a romantic girl. The emotional, mushy, in-love-with-love romantic. The queen of romance novels and happily ever after; I’ve read more Harlequins than you can count. This attitude served me well in previous times. I never let love, or failed love, get the best of me. I was the eternal optimist when it came to relationships. The good always outweighed the bad, and all was eventually right in the world. Now I’m not saying that I’d never been hurt; I certainly had. But I’d never been hurt enough to give up on love- never… until him.

My ex is controlling, emotionally unavailable West Indian (no offense to West Indians). Our relationship was as red hot sexually as it was freezing cold emotionally. And because of some latent biological daddy issues, I fell for him- even knowing that he’d never fall for me. I spent three years begging him to love me. That optimism I talked about earlier is the reason I hung in there so long. I always hoped he’d realize that we were soul mates. Of course, that was a delusion on my part; there’s no way in hell you should have to work that hard to be with someone you “belong” with. Anyway… that was us. After a while, not even my optimism could hide that we were completely unhealthy as a couple and that I was completely unhappy as a person. So… it was over.

I bring him up to give a sense of how far gone I was, and how much I changed after that. I went through the crying, the depression, the bitterness, everything. It took me a long time to stop feeling sad, and to stop feeling like a failure. It took me a long time to feel like myself again. But recently I’ve found that although I feel like myself, I don’t act like myself anymore- at least, not the self I knew myself to be (does that make sense?)

Now I find that when I think about relationships, I’m filled with something along the lines of anxiety- with a hint of fear. Even though I haven’t admitted it before, I’m more afraid that people are out to take advantage of me somehow. I look for the underlying reasons, the ulterior motives- something my formerly mushy, in-love-with-love self would never have done. And when I look at other people’s relationships, most of them just seem like a giant inconvenience that I would NEVER put up with.  I’m a little amazed. Now it seems like my guard is up- when I didn’t even have a guard before. I even stopped reading romance novels. I have zero interest in fake independent women who get swept away with their emotions with one kiss from some arrogant ass man. I don’t know if I’ve shunned those women because they’re not reality, or because I’m ashamed that I used to be one of them. Either way, I’m different. And if there’s one thing that makes me uncomfortable, it’s change. To confront that I’ve changed is hard- maybe too hard.

It would be simple to blame it on my ex. To say that his mental and emotional torture  jaded me, and that there’s no way back. But that’s just not true. The truth is that I’m hardwired to fix things, to make them better- to try and improve them. And after that relationship, I was broken. So while my heart was recuperating, my mind went into fix-it mode. I convinced myself that the way I handled things with my ex was completely wrong… so I fixed myself. I trained myself to think that my romantic nature was at fault- it made me fall for someone totally wrong, it made me ignore the fact that we were incompatible. And the biggest sin of all- it made me hold on, when I should have been letting go. My mushy happily-ever-after disposition had gotten me into so much trouble- so I put it away. I told myself it was for the best. And then my heart healed… and I thought I was fine. It took me a while to realize that my mind, in trying to protect me, had caused me to change. So now, even though I’m the fun-loving girl I once was, I don’t trust anyone- and I don’t have as much tolerance either. The real dilemma? Trying to decide if this is a good or bad thing.

I want to relax, but I don’t want to be taken advantage of. I want to be patient, but I don’t want to put up with bullshit. I want to be understanding, but I don’t want to be played for a fool. I guess I need some practice finding the middle ground. But I do believe I can do it- that’s it’s possible. I believe I can find what I’m looking for, out there… and inside too. Maybe my optimism’s coming back…

I was talking to a friend, and we were discussing late-night dinner options. She was thinking chicken, while I had my eye on the familiar Golden Arches. Now, I know these are not the best choices, but as you’re getting closer to bedtime, your options thin to things of the fast food variety; it’s just the way it is. Anyway, as I’m getting my mind set on a fish filet sandwich, she asks me, not so casually, “How many times have you been there this week? I’ve just noticed that you’re going there a lot lately.”

HOLD UP. WAIT A MINUTE.

There are so many things running through my mind right now. I’m shocked, offended, defensive, mad, and a little less hungry- none of which is good, by the way. Now, I know I’m a big girl- nobody has to tell me, I look in the mirror everyday- even the days I don’t want to. I’m well aware. I’m also very well aware of the fact that this weight is not the best thing for me, and that I will need to lose some of it. Last, but certainly not least I am aware that this is coming from a friend, and so it has undertones of love and concern, and not undertones of mean and malicious.

All of that having been said, I can’t help but feel a little angry. I mean, fast food isn’t really healthy for anyone- but it seems like only big people get the lectures about the risks (or in this case, a lecture disguised as a question). I feel… picked on, for lack of a better phrase. I have plenty of friends who want to lose weight, and I encourage when I can, but I don’t go around passing judgement every time they lift a fork to their faces and I expect the same treatment. It’s a sad double standard. I know I’m not a skinny girl, nor do I have the greatest eating habits- but it seems like my weight comes with a clause that allows everyone smaller than me to “weigh” in on what I’m eating. This makes me self-conscious in ways that no one even imagines. And no matter how well meaning you are, you come across as self-righteous and judgmental- maybe those feelings are coming from somewhere inside me, but I reserve the right to project them onto you- the same way you reserved the right to comment on my eating like you walk around in my body all day.

So let this be a lesson to you people who want to shame your fat friends by reminding them of the junk they eat- keep your weighty opinion to yourself. You don’t know how it’s affecting people. I can tell you that it’s not helping- which I will assume was the desired effect.

Well… I’ve done it. I started writing a blog. I don’t know why I’m doing it now, anymore than I know why I never did it before. I only know that now the words are coming, and I have to write them down- because I’m so amazed that they’re returning to me… amazed and totally, completely, grateful. I was almost beginning to think I wasn’t a writer anymore. My thoughts have been jumbled, to say the least- thick and fibrous, tangled and confused- impossible to separate. They’ve been like a tumbleweed running back and forth through my head- and dry as the desert too. I am hoping this is a good place to pull my thoughts out again, make them straight lines again, get them out again. Holding them in was starting to make me sick, quite frankly.

I want this blog to be a safe place, a place that’s mine, a place that’s free- because I think that I’ve been a little trapped in my life lately- which is the direct cause of the words being trapped in my head. So we’ll see, won’t we? Here we go… welcome to My Plus Size Life…