'Out of Spite'

'When we see men of a contrary character, we should turn inwards and examine ourselves.'

-Confucious

Let's face it: we can't like everybody. I'm sure there's at least one person that you can't stand . They get under your skin and you want to slit their throat; or hit them with a big-yellow-bus; or smack them with a sack of nickels. You don’t wish death upon them (I hope) but you just want to do mean things to them sometimes. They are annoying, spiteful and you don’t like them. There is always tension when in their presence. I’m sure you remember the movie ‘Aladdin’-it happens to be my favorite Disney movie. It's the tale of the young, vagabond Arabian boy who has a reverse in fortune, stumbles upon a 'magic lamp,' gets three-wishes and falls in love with a Princess, but not without a struggle, of course. Jafar, the evil 'royal advisor' to the King, did everything in his power to try to kill Aladdin. Jafar was a deceptive, sly and crafty hater and Aladdin the hero-just trying to survive and do the right thing. Like the naive, good-hearted hero We all have, or will encounter a 'Jafar,' or 'enemy' at some point in time.

The building I work in contains a few prominent company's offices. The lobby is beautiful: it has marble floors, Romanesque pillars and towering ceilings-like a New York version of Aladdin's palace. Upon entering this ‘palace of work,’ the guards (doormen) check the servant’s (employees) ID’s. Many ‘Kings’ (CEO’s, CFO’s) are housed under the palace, so naturally, it is their duty to ensure that only loyal servants and welcomed visitors are entering (gotta protect the Kingdom from ‘intruders’).

This is understandable-but what I do not understand is why they feel the need to re-check every freaking time the same people who have been working here for the past 20- years, comes in and out. Gotta smoke a cigarette? ‘ID please.’ Going to grab a turkey sandwich? ‘ID please.’ Going out to breathe air? ‘ID please.’ Your computer caught on fire? ‘ID please.’ Do people just change identities every time they step through the revolving door or what? What is the big deal? I mean, they don’t even really ‘check’ the ID. It could be stolen and they wouldn’t even know. It’s a half-a-second interaction when an employee walks in and flashes it to the doorman. So, why am I making such a big deal out of it? Because-it’s annoying. I have to slow-down, search through that jungle of a purse of mine and recover the little ‘ID holder’ from the deep crevasses, messing up my manicure. I would like to just walk straight to the elevators. Commuting to work in the morning is already a grueling journey-so why add more complication?


There happens to be one doorman, in particular who irks my nerves. He actually looks like a fat-Puerto-Rican version of Jafar, minus the Arab-garb. His grim nature, his abuse of fake-ass authority and even his dark eyebrows all scream vindictive. If I had a magic lamp, I would probably ask the genie to turn him into a little bug so I could step on him. He epitomizes the word ‘jerk.’ I don’t know his name but in my mind, he will always be Jafar-the spiteful doorman who hates on the FreshPrincess.

I often venture out for lunch with my co-buddies (very cool co-workers-actually they’re more like friends now) and I tend to leave my ID in the office. Not always on purpose, but sometimes it is. I just don’t feel like carrying a damn ID with me all the time. It’s stupid.

One day, we happened to be coming back from taking a 30-minute walk around Tribeca and I didn’t have it on me. This has happened several times, and he always says, ‘you need to always have your ID on you’ as if he would execute me the next time I didn't. If he wasn’t such a dick and didn’t take walking around with an ID so damn seriously, I wouldn’t even be telling this story. If he was a little more polite and showed more humility, I would have no problem bringing my ID with me. But he’s not nice, so, I always ignore him, or make a cutting comment and fill out the ‘visitor pass thing’ which takes longer than just flashing the ID. But I don’t care. Who is he to tell me that I HAVE to walk around with a picture of myself with the company’s name below it? He’s not the boss of ME. Not even my mother is the boss of me. So, after filling out the pass he had the nerve to say ‘if you don’t have it one more time, I’m going to tell your supervisor.’

EXCUSE ME???

So, the inner-rebel reared its ugly head just because he thought he had dominion. ‘Oh PLEASE,’ I said while storming off and ripping up the visitor pass and tossing it on the lobby floor- similar to the scene in 'Aladdin' when Princess Jasmine refused to marry Jafar. I guess it’s the ‘I’ll show you’ subconscious way of striking back. ‘Who does that bum think he is?’ I asked my co-buddies. A Princess shouldn’t have to carry around ID-for what? I couldn’t believe the nerve of that guy.

So now, when I walk in the doors, and Mr. Jerk-in-a-box happens to be there, I don’t look at him, or if I do, I make sure I look at him like he is the scum of this Earth and cut my eyes extra-hard with my nose in the air. I also make sure I conveniently drop pieces of paper as I’m walking past him as well. Is that petty? Yes-it is. But, again, I don’t care. Ever since he made that idol threat, he has become my unofficial enemy.

And I think I will continue to battle with this.

Confucious, the great Chinese philosopher challenged me today. Seeing the flaws of 'Jafar,' and evaluating the way I respond made me realize something. Don't be like Jafar the doorman. My 'mini-retaliations,' no matter how small and short lived they are, are not who I am. Actions speak volumes about who we are as individuals-and I'm better than that. I actually feel a little embarassed for letting him get to me-but it's ok. I accept my imperfections and I forgive myself. In the same token, I also recognize it's the inner-strength, and the recognition of his 'Jafar-esque traits' which put me on the defense. I was taught to be a respectful, humble, and socially responsible woman. But war-mode is when my formidablly cunning, zealous and arrogant alter-ego surfaces.

But, let's be realistic.

There are only about two people in this world who I 'don't like.' (Ok, maybe about four) Nevertheless, I pray for them at night too. I'll even pray for Jafar and ask God to bless him with better people skills. Wishing bad on people is something I never do: spite is never rewarded.

However, I'm only human-fully equipped with mood swings, bad mornings, monthly cramps, and other little issues. So I probably will continue to leave my ID whenever I fucking feel like it, and continue to roll my eyes here and there, and drop trash in front of him on occassion. But I will make a concious, Confucian effort to not let him effect my being; and carry myself like the Princess that I am.

Lord, help me...

'Cut-Friends'

'Who you lovin' who you wanna be huggin?'

-Lil' Kim

Friends. How many of us have them? No no no..not ‘Nikki, Lil’Reg, Lisa, or Kim and them..’ Nor your poker buddies or your club-crew. I mean the ‘other’ type of friend. The friend that pops-up after the club and disappears before 8am. The friend that remains nameless; the friend that you keep to yourself..and you may only tell Lisa about because Kim talks too damn much. Yea. That friend. The call them when it’s 3:35am, you had several Tequila shots and you realized you have no one waiting for you between the sheets. The fun friend. The jump-off. The slide. The mistress. The mister-ess. The mystery. The side-piece. The d*ck-in-a-glass. The piece of ass. The ‘lil thang.’ Or, dare I say it? The ‘bust-it-baby?’ (Lord, help us).

'When the starting line-up ain't playin right, I come off the bench wit' her.'

-Fabolous

They may be special; they may be worthless; but they equally serve their purpose: and it isn’t your man and it’s not your lady. It seems like a universally accepted notion in the modern adult-world. When I was a little younger, and naive to the harsh realities of modern sexuality, I used to think sex without being emotionally and romantically tied was crazy. No ring? No-thing. ‘Friends with benefits? Huh?’ Yea. People do it: (literally) all of the time. I never knew a woman with any type of self-respect would accept a man under those terms. Just get it on and chit-chat and that’s that? Yup. That’s it. As I got older and more exposed to the ways of the world, I realized that people DO engage in those type of arrangements. Having friends and hearing their stories, hearing rumors, and even seeing my Uncle 'creep' with his mistress behind his wife's back. Side-pieces and sexual friends are as common as regular old bf's and gf's.

‘I’m not tryna’ give you love and affection..I’m tryna give you sixty-seconds of affection.’

-Jay-Z

This is nothing new. For centuries, concubines, mistresses and sexual 'flings' have been around. Now, it's just openly accepted and gives people a little more comfort in participating. Even musicians have been crooning about jump-off’s for a while now. ‘Secret Lovers; As We Lay; I Need You Tonight; Me and Mrs. Jones’-any of those ring a bell? While we have those traditional love songs about monogamy, matrimony, break-ups, and make-ups, it isn’t always so ‘picturesque’ in the world of romance..or should I say: sexin.’ We all are guilty of it-having that animalistic attraction to someone, while in that commitment to another, and having to fight temptation. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. Some people deviate outside of their 'commitments' to get whatever they are not getting at home-be it affection, attention, or just conversation. Any need can be easily be taken care of by another. Those of us who don’t have that special someone, yet have those ‘gaps’ to fill, will venture out in search of the ‘quick fix.’ But, not TOO quick-because there are also songs about the disappointingly short ‘rendezvous.’ (Minute-man?)

‘If he knew the things I did, he couldn’t handle it.’

- TLC

There are ways of categorizing each and every person we have in our social circles. The 'cut-friend’ category was created for those somewhat significant people who we have some type of attraction to and take some liking for-but, both parties know that going past anything physical, just won’t work. One or both 'cutters' may already have a stable relationship; or, a cut-friend can literally be a good friend but there’s no desire for deeper commitment; you just have sex on occasion-and go about your business, living a single lifestyle-maybe even confiding in this person about other romantic interests. It's amazing. Mind body and spirit are separated in these arangements. There is the primary component of the physical and it may vary from case to case if the ‘mind’ and ‘spirit’ are intertwined in the mix. The other factors may complicate things-especially if one participant experiences the mind or the spirit more strongly than the other. Better known as ‘catching feelings’ -which can ruin the entire arrangement.

'Keep it on the down-low, nobody has to know'

-R. Kelly

So who does it? Who actually has ‘cut-friends?’ I sent questions out to a few of my close friends to get their take on the ‘cut-friend.’ Here is what they had to say:

What is a ‘cut-friend’?
‘In most cases "cut-friends" are 2 people who are afraid of having the boyfriend/girlfriend title. In turn, that relationship (cut-friends) becomes exclusive'

What’s the difference between a ‘prospect’ and a ‘jump-off?’
'Well a jump is someone u jus wanna mess wit but wouldn’t consider them ever to be a girl..whereas a prospect is just that'

‘Ummm well a jump situation is usually both ways..people who wanna fuck wit no strings..'

What is a mistress?

'A mistress is Delilah. She provide’s what Delilah gave Sampson-when a nigga want to just talk- she just listens. A main chick trying to build with you..like..let’s buy this house.. A mistress make it uncomplicated-it's more just sensual..let' talk. or let's suck... It's very to the point'

'They only the same as a mistress if u have a girl at the time...and they cool..u would mess wit them but never wife them up..'

Damn, is fidelity just non-existant? These responses made me wonder: what happened to honesty and true love? Commitment? I know the concept of creeping has been around since Biblical times, but I don't think it was this bad. Things have definately changed.

People just do whatever the hell they want to, and it's generally OK. From sexually exploring other guy's girlfriends to getting pregnant by married men: what a wicked place the romantic world can be! Just think about potential consequences. AIDS is a killer, Karma is a bitch and even R. Kelly got his ass whooped and stranded in the desert for 'jumping-off' with Mr. Bigg's girl.

Is it worth it...?

'Know Your Role.'

'Do you want some fish and grits? I'll hurry and go get it'- Jill Scott

Sunday is the day of rest. We recline and relax while reading or doing family activities. Some go to church and give thanks and praise to the Creator, while others go to ask for forgiveness for all of the sins committed the night before. While walking down Ashford Street, the wind blew and gently flounced my black ballerina skirt around my knees. The gusts threw the leaves like calm tornadoes. Brown, auburn and faded greens formed mini-wind-tunnels, like the ones from the movie 'Pocahontas.' A group of five little girls were playing near the curb and waiting for their mom and dad to cross the street. They had pretty little pig-tails and innocent chuckles which blew in the breeze. I soaked in the sun, the breeze, the trees and the people of East New York-and everything seemed so blissful. I continued my stroll and a group of adolescent boys in soiled football gear made their way towards me. It was a perfect Sunday for pop-warner football in one of the local fields. While walking, I smiled at the sight of two-Black families, unloading their cars and making their way into the housing-projects. Seeing a traditional family doing regular 'family-things' was a beautiful sight-even if the kids were getting yelled at. Everyone fulfills their role within the home.

On Sundays, I renounce my title as the 'Brooklyngypsy'-instead, I'm the ‘domestic diva.’ Stopping at a local grocery store to pick up a few items, I decided to cook dinner, do my laundry and tidy up my place. I actually felt an internal need to do the cooking and cleaning yesterday-even if it was only for myself. Growing up, this was a daily routine which I did not particularly care for-but now being a single-woman, I see the value in it. In casual conversation with male-friends, when I bring up the fact that I’m cooking myself dinner, I get gasps. 'You can COOK??' They ask in deisbelief. 'Of course I can cook. Ain't I a woman?' They respond as if I'm speaking Mandarin. I've even been accused of ‘lieing’ about it. I can’t tell you how many of my guy friends tell me that just about every woman that they meet nowadays, have no home-training. Not home-training as in ‘etiquette’ but literally, they don’t know anything about domestication. 'Really?’ I ask them, in bewilderment. As I‘ve spoken to more and more guys about it, I’ve noticed this pattern. From dirty apartments, to binging on fast-food because homegirl can’t even crack an egg. Hearing their horror stories actually made me feel sorry for them. ‘What is wrong with these chicks?’ I thought. But, slowly and surely, in 2008, women are breaking dishes, buying McDonald’s and living like bachelors. And men don’t like it.

From picking multiple-man brains, they feel the same about us women. Knowing how to cook-up a meal and how to keep a clean home is actually pretty important to men-not ALL, but MOST. Being a traditionalist at heart, I view it as a trade-off: if a guy can’t pay for my meal and hold the door for me, than he’s not going to be a good provider-and he's not worthy of my love. If a woman can't play her 'role' and do the things his mother can, than what type of wife would she be? Simple things are crucial. For instance, the minor actions such as pulling out my chair and paying for a nice dinner speak volumes about his character. Even if he isn't making a ton of paper, it shows that he can take-on manly roles, such as:

1) The PROVIDER-(making sure I eat and he has the means to pay for it)

&

2) A GENTLEMAN-(treating me with respect and making sure I’m safe is classy)

The simplistic gestures in the courtship process make up the bigger picture. A MAN will naturally do those things. It is standard protocol if you ask me. If you’re any type of ‘lady’ than you should have the same expectations. However- to you over-zealous, over-independent, controlling women out there, let’s not get it twisted. Having those expectations does not make you a ‘gold-digger.’ We all know that women (especially Black women) are making more money than many of our suitors, so if you think that it’s about spending another man’s money, you’re missing the point.We know we can pay for our own shit AND his if we had to-but, if men demonstrate their feelings/desires through actions (taking your independent ass out to eat) than we need to let them do that. The principle of sacrifice is important here. Real men also hate to feel emasculated. So if he offers to 'take you out' don't be a prick, pull out your debit card and over-insist on paying for the damn dinner. Don't fight with him to satisfy your ego-if he insists, kick back, and keep that fifty-dollars in your account girl! Let that MAN feel like a MAN; it's actually important to him. As women, we have so many roles to fulfill this day in age-hell, it’s the least they can do.

Given that, it is only fair that a man seeks out similar things in a woman. If a female can’t feed herself, make her bed and cross-her legs in public, than how is she supposed to be able to nurture a family, take care of the home-duties when that time does come? The courtship process is ephemeral. A man is showing you his worthiness-and once you get together and he locks you down…well, we all know how that goes. Things naturally change (sometimes for the worse). Nonetheless, a good MAN will always treat you well and value you, however, there aren’t as many ‘courtship activities’ like Red-Lobster four times a week. The woman begins to take on more relationship responsibility. And even if you're not ready to cook or wash dishes for the guy you are dating, having the skills are still essential: at least for yourself.

Personally, I won't do domestic things for a man unless he is MY MAN, a very-close friend or family. A home-cooked meal is an expression of love- I swear, when you cook with joy, the meal comes out tasting the way you felt when you made it. Yes, we are ALL 'busy' these days with work, school, partying and bullshitting. But come on now-even Beyonce makes time to cook for Jigga! And I don't think anyone has more shit to-do than her. Cleanliness should remain a priority-especially if you're inviting a man to your house. 'I don't have time to clean..' yea, whatever. Don't make excuses. We all make time for what we feel is important, and if you think a clean toilet and fresh panties are not- than you need to do some re-prioritizing. For real.

Why would any MAN want a woman who can’t put on her apron and fulfill that traditional role? Or a woman who can't work some pumps, with her head-high and feminine grace? It’s about reciprocity. The same way we want men to be have a job and provide, we have to be fabulous, too-(even moreso because MEN are biologically more visual creatures). I’m not knocking you sisters who don’t have cooking skills, or don't own a pair of high-heels. If you don't have at least one pair, I would strongly suggest that you go to Zappos.com. If you can't cook, you need to learn. Seriously. Go cop a Jill Scott CD, Youtube the 'Crazy in Love' video, and go watch your mother fry some chicken for a little modern-woman-inspiration. Just watch, listen and learn.

Guys...of course not ALL of you are 'up-to-par.' Many men that I have met don't know how to do a lot of 'manly' things, either. I remember I had to teach one of my fraternity-brothers how to PUMP GAS! The cheapness, the disrespect, the entitlement, the bitchassness, the laziness and the egos many of you throw at good women, are sad. If a man can't fix my flat-tire, or at least go get it fixed, he looks like less of a man in my eyes. At least take some initiative! I can understand why women wouldn't want to do anything domestic for your bum-asses. Some of you are just fucking losers. No, it's not your fault in entirety. Like women who don't know about 'catering to their man', guys who act like they can't respect a woman or hang a picture frame, were probably just never taught. How can you know your role, if you never learned it? So, I'm not judging you.

BUT, I will show you how.

Send me an anonymous e-mail, and I will personally respond to you with 'tips for a FreshPrince &/or FreshPrincess.' Free of charge. Anything you want to know about the opposite sex that you are romantically pursuing; from approaches, to dating advice, or if you just want to learn how to make fish-n-grits. I'm resourceful and will definitely give you a legit and true answer. I don't have a degree in this shit, but I'm here to help.

'Type-Itis'

‘Ooh you’re just my type-everything so right’- Lloyd

What’s your ‘type?’ Are you attracted to the intellectuals with a degree and professional clout? Or does the shy and sincere kind of guy tickle your fancy? Are you a leg man? Or are you drawn to dangerous curves on a splendid body? Perhaps, you prefer the domestic diva with a heart as warm as her fresh apple pies. Whether it’s a big butt and a smile, or an outgoing trendsetter who looks like they walked off of the pages of Vogue, there is something you like-your ‘ type.’ My rough definition of a ‘type’ is a set of characteristics that a person possesses that normally sparks our romantic curiosity. Most of us have a general idea of what we normally go for in man or woman. Some like them short, some prefer tall, some are infatuated with big-boobs while others are suckers for a beautiful face or a glorious mane of hair. Whether you consciously realize it or not, there are a pattern of traits which all people that you take or have taken interest in, possess. Take me for instance. I’m attracted to short-stature guys. YES, I’m serious. I’m about 5’6 and I prefer my men to be less than 6’0. Why, you ask? I don’t know. It’s just what I like. There’s something undeniably attractive about short, stocky well-dressed, chocolate complexioned men with dark features. I find myself breaking my neck to look every time I see a guy who fits this profile.

When you’re intrigued by your ‘type’ you just can’t help yourself. Your ‘type’ will stop you in your tracks, and tug on an inner-curiosity. The world seems to slow-down while you scope your ‘type’ in wonder. I’ve seen guys who have looked so good, that I found myself at a loss for words. It’s like being slapped in the face with honey and cotton-candy-that sweet and sudden shock triggers something in you that can't be explained. Guys tend to trip on sidewalks and embarrass themselves when a fine woman unexpectedly catches their attention. I even remember a guy getting into a fender-bender from looking my way a nano-second too long. But when you see your 'type,' you gotta look. You may be in a cocktail party, walking into McDonalds or driving to the corner store-they spring up at any random time, in a variety of places. You blink and all of a sudden all you can see is the sexy body, the school-boy grin, or the ‘je no se qua:’ you have been momentarily plagued by 'type-itis.'

I fell victim to the 'itis' this morning as the 3-train approached Utica Avenue. He was waiting for the 4-train on the platform, standing near the garbage can. Like a chocolate teddy graham in a bag of flour, he stood out. I knew immediately I was smitten with ‘type-it is’ when I began eyeing him like a sirloin steak. I exited the 3 train and stood diagonally across from him. The train was still not there. His skin was like Hershey’s milk-chocolate; his eyebrows were full and his lips thick like a milkshake. His hair was jet black and lay perfectly to his head with a clean-edge up. This attractive young man had every element in place to perfection; the mini-checkered hunter-green and white dress shirt covered by a brown wool argyle three-button cardigan vest and topped off with a crimson colored tie. His dark denim pants were fitted with the perfect amount of spacing that a hetero-sexual man should have, and he had a one-inch cuff at the bottom. He completed his look with brown leather shoes and an espresso colored shoulder bag. His style was reminiscent of Ralph Lauren with an Andre 3000 twist- very dapper and well-put together. After closely noting all of the detail, I made my ruling: MY TYPE. Not only was this man physically fine but he was also very stylish-and didn't come across as gay. He retained an aura of sophisticated masculinity, that most men just don’t have these days.

The one-morning that I happened to see Mr. Debonair, I was looking like a dried-up piece of crumb cake. I had my hair in a tight, little bun, with a blue puff-sleeved shirt, some gold-dangling earrings and a black and white checkered scarf. I actually felt self-conscious while I was noting the magnificent details of this fine man. ‘I could have at least put on my eye-liner!’ I thought to myself. ‘He probably thinks I’m some average chick.’ I quickly erased the insecure thoughts and maintained my swagger. What you wear, no matter how superficial this may seem, does speak a lot about who you are as a person-in the same light, self-assurance, confidence, and elegance will always outshine any get-up. I concluded that the guy was ‘polished, stylish, and sophisticated’ all from his attire and his demure. Could I be wrong? Of course. However, the detail and color-combinations of his rig showed that he had an eye for styling, even if he was a jerk.

The 4-train finally approached Utica Avenue, and I glanced at him. Not catching eyes with me, he looked briefly and continued to look straight ahead. We boarded and he was standing by the doors, in perfect eyesight. Despite my disdain for my Wednesday ‘get-up’ I decided to look continue to try to make eye-contact with him. ‘I don’t look THAT bad’ I thought while checking my face in my little pink mirror. I noticed he was holding a book at his right side- which made him that much more alluring. A handsome, short, sharp brother with good skin who reads books?! I had to get his attention; for ego’s sake.

And then, it happened, at Franklin Avenue. The train stopped, the angels started singing, the bells started ringing and the train doors were dinging.

We caught eyes.

He looked at me and I was already looking dead in his face. I don’t know if the moment was suspended in time or if it really was as long as it felt. But, the way my ‘type’ gazed at me, while licking his succulent lips made me think that maybe, I was his ‘type’ as well. I felt butterflies going full speed in the pit of my stomach for a good five seconds when we caught eyes. I got the chills and finally looked down like a school-girl, while he was still looking at me. ‘YES!’ I thought as I felt my heart skip a beat and my pulse rise. I kept looking up at the train map and glanced consistently in his direction. Passengers who got on at the stop were obstructing my view. I watched even more intently. ‘Is he still looking this way?’ I wondered. ‘Damn, I wish they would move,’ I thought as everyone seemed to cover him from eye-view. His neck was turned back towards me and I saw his neatly tapered hairline facing me. Fighting back a girly grin, I was blushing with that nostalgic feeling that my second grade crush had given me 15 years ago. He was definitely looking my way.

Atlantic Avenue was where this fantasy ride ended. I was hoping that he was getting off to let people behind him off but he had reached his final destination. Damn. New York is a very large place- but I'm sure I'll experience 'type-itis' once again.