Punkchu8

I need some honest answers and I need them now.

Lately, a lot has been said about the single-ness of Black women. More specifically, young, educated, fairly successful Black women who, while it would seem they are the perfect catch, find themselves alone. Usually, I’m lucky and articles I read and things I see have little or nothing to do with me. Unfortunately, this time I wasn’t so lucky. The woman that was being described, that successful during the day and lonely at night woman, was me.

I talk sometimes about my resume: I’m degreed, I have a good job, a house, a car, I’m smart, I cook. I’m supportive and caring. Independent, unbiased sources have verified that I’m fairly attractive. Whatever. I can reel off about 20 other excellent reasons that I should be someone else’s significant other. I can even come up with some reasons that might disqualify me: I’m a little more round, if you will, than I used to be, living alone has made me a hermit, a lot of Texas guys can’t take natural hair seriously. I’m a realist; I’m not going to be everyone’s cup of tea.

But, damn, you’d think I’d be someone’s cup of tea.

Somewhere in the middle, there has to be an answer. And I’m kinda close to giving up on the game totally and accepting that some people are just meant to be alone and I’m just one of those people. But before I do, I promised myself I’d give it another chance in 2010. An honest, real, I’m really trying, chance.

(Let me preface this next part: I will never be against another sister. And I know times are hard. I want everyone to find that someone. But I’m sure I’ll be accused of hating anyway.)

Men do a lot of talking about what they want in a woman. And then they do a lot of contradicting themselves. You want Miss Independent, but you hook up with the most dependent woman you can find. You want someone who supports your dreams, but you stay with someone who stifles your creativity and makes you feel like a loser. You want someone with ambition, but you’ll take someone who’s real ambition is for you to make her situation better – the less she spends on rent, the more she can spend on clothes. I know those are gross generalizations, but when I look around, it just seems that women who aren’t trying to do a whole lot with themselves don’t have a problem getting a man. And women who are out there trying to do some things are spending their lives alone.

Now before you say “Maybe your standards are too high” you should know this: that might be the case if I were even meeting men. But I’m not. I’m not even meeting men to turn down anymore. So it’s not that. My standards aren’t a high hurdle, by the way. I have to be reasonable attracted to you and you have to live an honest life. Be able to take care of yourself and your responsibilities in an honest, lawful way. Don’t be a complete idiot. I would like a Black man. That’s about it, I’m flexible on the rest, within reason. No height or salary requirements. And as for me, like I said, I know there’s a little more of me to love lately, but I don’t think that’s it either. When I go to the mall or just out and about, I’m seeing lots of women with a whole, whole, whole lot more to love and they’re not alone.

So what I need to know is what men are really interested in. There are some things I’ll never be. I’ll never be a model. I’ll never be younger. I’ll never be more naïve. But, I imagine (ok, I hope), there are other things men are interested in. I’d like to know what they are, because I’d like to give myself a fighting chance. I want to know what I’m up against. I don’t need to hear about how I need to pray or be patient or anything like that. I need to know what men want. I need some ideas. I’m not promising I’ll be doing a complete rehaul, but I the fact is if I don’t change something, nothing is going to change.

What you got? I’m all ears.

I had a ticket to another show that night, so I called myself just passing through. But by then, I was lost (I didn’t see a block party of any sort) and about to leave. You’re never more than 20 minutes away from a mall, right? I figured I’d waste the rest of the day walking the recycled air of retailers. I’d almost called it an afternoon when I heard him call my name.

Seriously?

I figure this guy knows a billion people – that’s not an exaggeration – he can’t pick me out on the sidewalk. But he did. That tickled me, but I didn’t want to laugh too hard. I think laughing too hard makes me look like Mrs. Buttersworth, all jolly and shit. He was exactly as I expected him to be, including how we looked eye to eye. I liked that. Equal footing, I say. He was handsome with a bouncy walk and a friendly demeanor. He spoke to everyone. I liked that too. I’m not much of a talker sometimes, but I can appreciate it.

Up the street. Down the street. Back where we started. Short street, but it took awhile. We looked at stuff, talked to people. But there seemed to be no party. When we got inside, we talked. I remember telling a friend later, that I’d never had a man look me in the eye so intently as I spoke. It made me uncomfortable, but only because it never happened before. He was really paying attention. Or he was really faking it. I don’t know, but I was quite impressed. He was animated and warm. Genuinely friendly. Slightly goofy. Good sense of humor. Very nice. And because I was having such a good time, a few hours into the night, I almost hated to excuse myself to the restroom.

I stared in to the mirror. I wanted to get away and I did. It was a good trip too. Lots of time to think and do whatever I wanted. I’d have to call it a success. I dug in my purse and pulled out the ticket. The show was at 9. It was 8. I had a choice to make. Do I ask him for directions to the other spot? I knew he’d know, this was his town. I mean, I hadn’t actually planned to say more than “Hi”. And there we were, listening to bands and joking around. I hadn’t actually planned to stay. But, as the poem goes, “The best laid plans of mice and men, oft go awry.” I stared at the ticket. I’d seen Van several times. It was always a good show. So why was I hesitating?

I probably won’t ever know the answer to that, because I didn’t let myself get that far. I tore the ticket in two. I threw it away. When I got back to the table, he was there smiling. (Okay, maybe he was wincing in pain. That’s another story for another day.) Sometimes, better plans fall into your lap.

He’s a nice guy.

Last night, my homegirls and I were at our old High School’s football game. It was fun and I don’t even like football like that. While we were enjoying the game, we noticed a young sister, maybe 17 with a terrible foul mouth. And not foul like “I’m cursing in conversation with my friends”. She’s standing up, cursing at the wind in commentary about everything from how bad our team was (but she seemed to be for our side and we won by a whole lot) to how bad the cheerleaders and drill team were. Now everyone’s entitled to their own opinion, but there’s a time and place for everything. A crowded stadium full of families isn’t that time or that place. My friend checked her on it, which made her none too happy. We left soon after. I’m sure she thought she ran us off, but we were ready to go.

Once upon a time, I was a teenage girl. It’s a difficult period, whether we grown women want to admit it or not. You’re on the threshold of being a woman or at least you want to believe you are, but you’re not quite there. You’re jockeying for attention from the boys that you claim you’re not into, (Because you like older guys. That’s what’s cool.) You’re trying to define yourself in any way you can.

What do we do to help them figure it out? The girl from last night definitely defined herself. It was obvious to me that she needed some attention. If she was getting positive attention elsewhere, I doubt she’d have been verbally assaulting every extracurricular activity at the school. There’s also a little correction involved. Sometimes I can’t stand my job. Sorry, it’s true. I feel like I’m bogged down with paperwork and data and meetings – all things that I could care less about. But one gift is the chance to pull a young lady to the side and tell her “Look, mama, ladies don’t act like that,” and then help her figure some things out. I feel like that’s more important than any English lesson I’ll teach, because whether they’re fighting or cussing or being the schoolwide joke, it has to do with self worth. I don’t say that to pat myself on the back; I don’t need that at this point in my life. What I’m saying is that kids respond to interaction. Sometimes they’re just looking for someone to pay attention.

At the circus, people pay attention to the lady on the tightrope just like they do the clown. The only difference is that one garners respect and the other gets laughed at. We have to teach girls not to be the clowns. We have to teach boys that too, but in their teenage years, they boys follow the girls lead -to a certain degree. In my classroom experience, if the girls are about business, the boys are too. Why? They want the girls to take them seriously! It’s a cheap trickle down effect, but whatever works. More importantly, they way our children behave and how they feel like they ‘have’ to act is in direct correlation to how they perceive themselves. And perception is directly linked to how others perceive them.

I decided to relaunch my blog…because there’s lots to say.

About what? Some of it’s about education. Some of it’s about life. Some of it’s about culture. Some of it’s pure foolishness. At least I’m honest…