I intentionally missed posting on the anniversary of my mother's passing. I didn't do anything on the 15th of this month, except hang out with a good friend, drink and watch This is the End (cause she hadn't seen it and I thought it was the funniest movie EVER. MADE.)
But that doesn't mean I wasn't thinking about her or that I would let this month pass without commenting on how, after all these years, I'm still deeply affected by her absence in my life. I haven't written about that in the past couple years because since I was working at The Institution that shall not be named (Hillman), I didn't want any of my students to stumble upon this site and know all my business. But she's never been far from my mind. Ever.
I'm always extra emotional during the 31 days of October. At first it's kinda good stuff cause my grandparents' anniversary is the 5th, and this past year they celebrated their 67th Wedding Anniversary, so that's always cause for celebration. But just underneath that, I always have this sense of anxiety. Cause everyday is one day closer to that day. And I hate that day.
While I was enjoying myself, my brother text me to check on me, and I immediately felt shamed that I hadn't thought to reach out to him. He wasn't doing too well. He said he had a headache and was in a foul mood. Of course I knew he would be. October 15th and December 8th are hard days for him. The latter being our mother's birthday. My brother is a man of deep sensitivity. In our family, that word was always used as a curse. To be called sensitive was pitiful. And him being an athlete, I'm sure he tried, as did I, to never be so described. It wasn't until I became an adult, an actor actually, that I realized there's nothing wrong with being sensitive. It's a good thing, really, because it shows how connected you are to your feelings. As an actor, that's an invaluable trait to have. And as a woman it's kinda expected. But for a man, because of our society's notion of masculine and feminine gender roles, it can be a black mark on your personality. I'm sure he's been told countless times and in various situations to man up. And I believe he's taken that to heart.
But more than that, my brother is also a de facto care taker. He knows as the oldest, people look to him to know what to do. To handle the situation. And he does so, as is expected. I know that's a message he got loud and clear when were kids. My parents were always telling him to look out for me, and to take care of me. As the big brother, I was his responsibility. Mommy even went so far as to tell him to take care of a boy who was bullying me at school. I remember that, kinda. I didn't know until years later that she told him that, but I remember the kid picking on me in middle school, and me doing my best to handle my own situation, but really just wanting to disappear. I mean, I got a mouth on me and I unloaded it on him, but the kid was relentless. And I was tired. I wasn't gonna last much longer. My mother noticed something was wrong and her instincts were confirmed when I told her that I hated school. That surprised her cause she was under the quite erroneous impression that I loved school. Not sure how she came to that conclusion, but ok. Years later, in high school, both she and my brother told me their versions of this conversation, and they mirrored each other, so I'm guessing it was basically true.
Mommy goes up to him one night, and with a bit of edge to her tone, asked him what he was gonna do about the fact that I was coming home from school crying every day. He looked at her in silence. She said to him, quite sternly, You're her big brother. You're supposed to take care of her. What am I supposed to do? he implored. Take care of it. She's your sister and some boy's makin' it so she doesn't wanna go to school. She paused for dramatic effect and stared with razor sharp accuracy deep into his eyes before continuing. I don't want her coming home crying anymore. He got her meaning clearer than ever before. I was his responsibility. We're family. We can fight and annoy each other, but I'm his little sister. He has to look out for me and protect me. I'll take care of it, he said. Mommy, satisfied, left the room.
The next day, we went to school in silence. His mind must have been heavy with that responsibility. And maybe a bit of good ol' fashioned big brother-ness was there too. I don't know what he said or did to that kid...he never told me, not even to this day, but after that, that boy was my best friend! I was surprised at the turn around but always kept that boy at arm's length. He wanted to carry my books to my classes for me...really weird shit. L must have threatened his life or something.
When she told me the story, I was amused at first, but then I asked her why she did that. She said that having a big brother was the best relationship she'd ever had. They were so close and she loved him a lot. And when she had L she was so excited that he came first, cause she knew whatever gender the next baby she had was, it would always have a big brother. And her dream was that me and L would be as close as she and her brother had been.
She loved us. And we loved her. He was her little boy, and I was her baby girl. And she knew that one day we'd be all the other had. Sure, the hope back then was we'd become adults, get married and have families of our own, but that we'd still only have each other in a way. And that it'd be important for us to love each other, protect each other, draw on each other for support, so that when she and Daddy were gone and times got tough...say, one of us winds up going through a divorce or something, we'd have the other to lean on and get each other through it. Since neither one of us has met that special someone and remain single and childless, that truth seems more salient now. Daddy's not well. And she's gone. And we are all we have. One day, that'll be the truest thing. And he's been protecting me since day one, at her direction. He knows his role and he's really good at doing it. But where he falls down, is in taking care of himself. He's the rock for everyone, but he doesn't seem to have one himself. I think she was his, as she was mine.
What I know about my brother is that he feels things so deeply, that on the surface it can seem like he's not really feeling anything at all. But that's a lie. And because he doesn't let it out as often as I do, he holds onto it longer and that, in turn, means he doesn't always cope well. I worry about him with that. Because eventually, rocks crumble.
Till next time, lovers!
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Friday, October 18, 2013
"12 Years A Slave"...A Meditation
I've been eagerly awaiting this film since I first saw its trailer this past summer. I remembered the book vaguely, as I'd come across it in passing while in undergrad. I'd taken a class, Early African-American Literature, wherein the reading and discussion of slave narratives and autobiographies were the topic. But more than my passing interest in seeing a book I'd kinda heard about years ago up on the big screen, was my desire to see a film that would try its best to authentically capture the tortures and dehumanizing aspects of slavery, that peculiar institution. Hollywood doesn't seem to ever do it right. Maybe that's because it knows America, post slavery, only ever wants to forget it. Films depicting this topic in any kind of realistic way don't tend to fare well at the box office, and so, not many are produced. And when the great Celluloid City on the hill does decide to tackle race relations between black and white, it's usually some watered down version designed to leave everyone feeling comfortable and satisfied that horrible things and people are punished, and all is now right with the world, thanks to that Great Emancipator...and JFK.
And while I was sitting in that darkened auditorium, surrounded by strangers (many, many strangers), I prepared myself for some really intense images. Something told me from jump, that this wasn't gonna be The Help, or Remember the Titans, or The Blind Side, or some cartoonish piece of film fakery ala Django Unchained (though as I type this, I fully admit that I quite enjoyed the revenge tragedy that was Django, if only to see a slave exact some cruelty and retribution of his own).
I'd never heard of the director Steve McQueen prior to this film, despite having seen his second film Shame, which I thoroughly enjoyed. The only other encounter I'd had with that name was the old school actor of the movie Bullit fame, his son Chad (of the original The Karate Kid--he played Dutch, the other blond psycho of the film and one of Johnny's Cobra Kai brothers. Damn I love that movie. And Ralph Macchio! Daniel-son forever!), and his son Steven R. McQueen of The Vampire Diaries tv show (I no longer watch that mess, but yes...I did). Clearly I'm very acquainted with this particular family name and their projects. So, while I didn't think there was another "famed" McQueen member named Steve who was also a director, I kinda thought there was a relation. Which is to say, I assumed this director was also white. And that troubled me. The thought of a white man taking on the subject of slavery...it felt like it was gonna be The Help all over again. And since I knew the director, like many actors in the film, was British or at least European, I was very worried.
Imagine my surprise to learn that Mr. McQueen was indeed...black! I can't call him an African-American, as he's not American...so I guess, an African-Britain? Just black then. Well that certainly made it a horse of a different color! And thank God for that!
Rightly or wrongly, according to some, I totally disagree with white people's ability to tell black stories effectively. I just don't believe that a white filmmaker or screenwriter can accurately capture what our struggle, our story in this nation is and has been. Through the lens of white guilt or entitlement, our most noble features and attributes come across as laughable and cliched. So the silent strength of a black woman enduring the indignities of constant rape and physical abuse, become eye roll inducing and expectant. Of course the black woman will endure. She's strong as an ox. That's what she does. We continue to be dehumanized in our own stories and the white masses can't recognize that, because to them, they're seeing a story or telling one of great depth and pride. They don't notice their own condescending tones that permeate throughout.
It was also curious to me that a significant number of actors in very pivotal roles, including the lead, were not Americans. Including the director himself. And so, I wanted to see how a group of folks would perceive the legacy of racial discord that exists within a country not of their own. How they would depict our ugliness; and would it be possible for outsiders looking in to do so. Kinda like watching the older, yet somewhat physically diminished sibling trying on the ill-fitting clothes of the seemingly more attractive and bratty younger one. Watching these actors take on our history--a history not their own; and wear it comfortably as though they grew up with it in their bones, as we have--is something I find both intoxicating and fascinating. I should also say, that I feel the Brits are the best actors on the planet. That's just my personal bias. They come from a country that has a storied history of celebrating the arts and its artists for generations. Us...not so much here across the pond.
What I found compelling about this film, is how much it made me feel. The brutal scenes of violence were unrelenting. When you wanted the director to cut to another scene or another angle to alleviate the horror befalling your eyes, he refused to do so. He put it in your face and forced you to acknowledge the dirty, little secret that still festers in the core of this nation. A white woman was sitting beside me in the comfy recliners of the AMC theater. And not fifteen minutes into the film, shortly after Solomon Northup's abduction, she bolted. Nothing cataclysmic had even occurred yet. He was tricked, passed out, and woke up in chains. She made a lot of "umm's" and "oh my's" just at seeing that. I knew she wasn't long for this film, and that if she stayed, things were gonna get increasingly more difficult for her.
And listening to her annoyed me slightly. Not just because I'm a movie Nazi, which I am, but because I felt that since she knew she was sitting next to a non white woman, that maybe she needed to really demonstrate how appalling she felt everything related to slavery truly was. As if her audible recriminations would absolve her in some way of being white, and therefore, being associated with this monstrous circumstance. I, of course, rolled my eyes (internally) and watched her put her shoes on (she'd taken them off during the trailers, why I have no idea), un-recline herself, get up, and briskly exit the theater. I took a sip of my soda. None of the black folks at my side stirred at that moment. That wasn't the treatment that got us. Unfair and duplicitous as his captors were, it's not unlike the life we still live here in many ways. We're used to a certain degree of unfairness in America. So watching a man be duped into slavery and waking confused and chained to the floor, and then beaten for his questioning insolence, was par for the course as far as we're concerned.
This film gives me much to ponder about the current state of race relations between black and white in America. It goes without saying that this country deals with it, by not dealing with it. Not in any truthful way. That we had an opportunity way back then, and threw it away. That in many significant ways, life for blacks here is not that different from the lives we led back then. Sure, it's unlawful for us to be owned and beaten openly, but as Trayvon Martin, Oscar Grant, Yusef Hawkins, Michael Griffin, Emmet Till, and countless others attest, we're far from being seen as equal and legitimate citizens of this country. The election of a black president, while monumental and something that certainly couldn't have happened back in Solomon's time, hasn't changed a thing. He has been met with open vitriol and disrespect in a way no other president ever has been.
But the thing I find the most unchanged, is the depiction of black life in film as it specifically pertains to this issue. Movies, in particular, that deal with slavery are usually muted. And movies that deal with black and white in non-slavery films, but that still touch on the inequalities existing between the two, are equally watery. I think it's because since the nation hasn't dealt with the problem in a real sense, films are usually hesitant to tackle the issue head on. Rarely have I seen any race movie give it to us full on. There's usually some type of can't we all just get along kinda thing goin' on. That whites and blacks can eventually work it out. And audiences find comfort in that, yet, that's not true. We haven't really been doing that. I get that it's a hope. A dream. But like Herm Edwards says a dream without a plan is just a wish.
I saw the white characters in this film walking around cloaked in the skin and privilege of white entitlement. The security that their white skin affords them. And how that security emboldened them to walk wherever they felt like, and do whatever they wanted to whoever they wanted. And seeing them know and understand that their white skin protected them from any number of atrocities the world could heap on them. Something they never thought should be extended to others bereft of that same skin. Seeing the complete disregard for the men, women, and children around them that I share an ancestry with, fueled the annoyance I felt at the white lady who couldn't even stomach the moderate discomfort of an intolerable cruelty in the first damn act.
I left this movie feeling that while I'm physically free, and would in no way want to compare the cerebral acts of racism and intolerance we deal with today, to the actual brutality of slavery that my ancestors endured (so that I could in fact, one day BE), I do fear that I may never live to see the death of white entitlement. Not in America.
Till next time, lovers!
And while I was sitting in that darkened auditorium, surrounded by strangers (many, many strangers), I prepared myself for some really intense images. Something told me from jump, that this wasn't gonna be The Help, or Remember the Titans, or The Blind Side, or some cartoonish piece of film fakery ala Django Unchained (though as I type this, I fully admit that I quite enjoyed the revenge tragedy that was Django, if only to see a slave exact some cruelty and retribution of his own).
I'd never heard of the director Steve McQueen prior to this film, despite having seen his second film Shame, which I thoroughly enjoyed. The only other encounter I'd had with that name was the old school actor of the movie Bullit fame, his son Chad (of the original The Karate Kid--he played Dutch, the other blond psycho of the film and one of Johnny's Cobra Kai brothers. Damn I love that movie. And Ralph Macchio! Daniel-son forever!), and his son Steven R. McQueen of The Vampire Diaries tv show (I no longer watch that mess, but yes...I did). Clearly I'm very acquainted with this particular family name and their projects. So, while I didn't think there was another "famed" McQueen member named Steve who was also a director, I kinda thought there was a relation. Which is to say, I assumed this director was also white. And that troubled me. The thought of a white man taking on the subject of slavery...it felt like it was gonna be The Help all over again. And since I knew the director, like many actors in the film, was British or at least European, I was very worried.
Imagine my surprise to learn that Mr. McQueen was indeed...black! I can't call him an African-American, as he's not American...so I guess, an African-Britain? Just black then. Well that certainly made it a horse of a different color! And thank God for that!
Rightly or wrongly, according to some, I totally disagree with white people's ability to tell black stories effectively. I just don't believe that a white filmmaker or screenwriter can accurately capture what our struggle, our story in this nation is and has been. Through the lens of white guilt or entitlement, our most noble features and attributes come across as laughable and cliched. So the silent strength of a black woman enduring the indignities of constant rape and physical abuse, become eye roll inducing and expectant. Of course the black woman will endure. She's strong as an ox. That's what she does. We continue to be dehumanized in our own stories and the white masses can't recognize that, because to them, they're seeing a story or telling one of great depth and pride. They don't notice their own condescending tones that permeate throughout.
It was also curious to me that a significant number of actors in very pivotal roles, including the lead, were not Americans. Including the director himself. And so, I wanted to see how a group of folks would perceive the legacy of racial discord that exists within a country not of their own. How they would depict our ugliness; and would it be possible for outsiders looking in to do so. Kinda like watching the older, yet somewhat physically diminished sibling trying on the ill-fitting clothes of the seemingly more attractive and bratty younger one. Watching these actors take on our history--a history not their own; and wear it comfortably as though they grew up with it in their bones, as we have--is something I find both intoxicating and fascinating. I should also say, that I feel the Brits are the best actors on the planet. That's just my personal bias. They come from a country that has a storied history of celebrating the arts and its artists for generations. Us...not so much here across the pond.
What I found compelling about this film, is how much it made me feel. The brutal scenes of violence were unrelenting. When you wanted the director to cut to another scene or another angle to alleviate the horror befalling your eyes, he refused to do so. He put it in your face and forced you to acknowledge the dirty, little secret that still festers in the core of this nation. A white woman was sitting beside me in the comfy recliners of the AMC theater. And not fifteen minutes into the film, shortly after Solomon Northup's abduction, she bolted. Nothing cataclysmic had even occurred yet. He was tricked, passed out, and woke up in chains. She made a lot of "umm's" and "oh my's" just at seeing that. I knew she wasn't long for this film, and that if she stayed, things were gonna get increasingly more difficult for her.
And listening to her annoyed me slightly. Not just because I'm a movie Nazi, which I am, but because I felt that since she knew she was sitting next to a non white woman, that maybe she needed to really demonstrate how appalling she felt everything related to slavery truly was. As if her audible recriminations would absolve her in some way of being white, and therefore, being associated with this monstrous circumstance. I, of course, rolled my eyes (internally) and watched her put her shoes on (she'd taken them off during the trailers, why I have no idea), un-recline herself, get up, and briskly exit the theater. I took a sip of my soda. None of the black folks at my side stirred at that moment. That wasn't the treatment that got us. Unfair and duplicitous as his captors were, it's not unlike the life we still live here in many ways. We're used to a certain degree of unfairness in America. So watching a man be duped into slavery and waking confused and chained to the floor, and then beaten for his questioning insolence, was par for the course as far as we're concerned.
This film gives me much to ponder about the current state of race relations between black and white in America. It goes without saying that this country deals with it, by not dealing with it. Not in any truthful way. That we had an opportunity way back then, and threw it away. That in many significant ways, life for blacks here is not that different from the lives we led back then. Sure, it's unlawful for us to be owned and beaten openly, but as Trayvon Martin, Oscar Grant, Yusef Hawkins, Michael Griffin, Emmet Till, and countless others attest, we're far from being seen as equal and legitimate citizens of this country. The election of a black president, while monumental and something that certainly couldn't have happened back in Solomon's time, hasn't changed a thing. He has been met with open vitriol and disrespect in a way no other president ever has been.
But the thing I find the most unchanged, is the depiction of black life in film as it specifically pertains to this issue. Movies, in particular, that deal with slavery are usually muted. And movies that deal with black and white in non-slavery films, but that still touch on the inequalities existing between the two, are equally watery. I think it's because since the nation hasn't dealt with the problem in a real sense, films are usually hesitant to tackle the issue head on. Rarely have I seen any race movie give it to us full on. There's usually some type of can't we all just get along kinda thing goin' on. That whites and blacks can eventually work it out. And audiences find comfort in that, yet, that's not true. We haven't really been doing that. I get that it's a hope. A dream. But like Herm Edwards says a dream without a plan is just a wish.
I saw the white characters in this film walking around cloaked in the skin and privilege of white entitlement. The security that their white skin affords them. And how that security emboldened them to walk wherever they felt like, and do whatever they wanted to whoever they wanted. And seeing them know and understand that their white skin protected them from any number of atrocities the world could heap on them. Something they never thought should be extended to others bereft of that same skin. Seeing the complete disregard for the men, women, and children around them that I share an ancestry with, fueled the annoyance I felt at the white lady who couldn't even stomach the moderate discomfort of an intolerable cruelty in the first damn act.
I left this movie feeling that while I'm physically free, and would in no way want to compare the cerebral acts of racism and intolerance we deal with today, to the actual brutality of slavery that my ancestors endured (so that I could in fact, one day BE), I do fear that I may never live to see the death of white entitlement. Not in America.
Till next time, lovers!
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Discouragement, Thy Name is UNEMPLOYED
So...I'm a bit down in the dumps at the moment. I feel like I keep making fool hearty mistakes, and really, that's been my pattern all my life. I always manage to plunge straight ahead with naive abandon, only to find out that I've done myself a huge disservice. Why should relationships and employment be any different?
I've been trying to land a work from home job as lucrative and bountiful as the one that my friend, KD received with Apple. Now, while I was ecstatic for her (cause she'd been through hell the past several years and really deserved this!), I really, really wanted a job like hers too. Something that I could do from the comfort of my own home, which would allow me to save on gas, and pay all my bills.
Ever since I can remember, I've always been intoxicated by the thought of being able take care of myself. Having my own place, and my own extensive cable channel package (complete with all the things I find essential in comfy living), a bulky Netflix account, and some cheese left over to save in my Roth IRA account, was like mother's milk to me! Ah, the American Dream coming true. Eventually, I'd be able to own my own home. Having never grown up in one, that's my gold standard. How I measure my own success. I think growing up in apartments and two family homes all my life, owning a home means something more to me than probably most.
But now I'm facing the end of that dream. At 36 yrs. old, I find myself spinning in place. I'd only come to realize my true calling and fall in love with a job that could lead to a career once I started working at Hillman. Teaching was no longer something to fall back on, but it was a great passion I'd never even known was there. My true raison d'être. But, a lack of teaching and real world acting experience, cost me that job. And since I met the Man through that job, I guess it stands to reason that that relationship would fall apart as well. No job, no guy, no prospects for either...and no means of providing for myself. And I'm pushing 40. Needless to say, I'm scared shitless.
Everyone keeps telling me to have faith, and that I'll be alright, and every other platitude they can think of to quell my fear. But, that doesn't make me feel better. I'm gonna have to pack up all my shit and move...somewhere. Jersey's always the default option, and while I'm grateful to have it, it tastes and feels like failure to me. Going home with my tail between my legs can't feel like anything else.
I have no space at my grandparents' place, literally. They have 60+ years of things in that house. There's no room for me and my stuff. And they don't have all the channels I do, and I don't wanna force them to pay for shit they can't really afford just so I can keep up with Shameless and Homeland (they have HBO, so thankfully Game of Thrones is safe).
Atlanta gave me a lot, but it took away just as much. But at least here, I'm an adult. My own woman. There, I'm still 16. Alone and single, while my friends there have mortgages, and spouses, and children. They want me to come home, but it doesn't feel like that anymore to me. It's the place that I come from and carry with me, but it's not home. Not without Mommy.
So, in advance of keeping my life here and with great naivety, I bought some things with the hope of getting one of those work from home customer service jobs. But it doesn't look like either one is gonna come to fruition. I've been applying for other jobs like gang busters but to no avail. And so now, I'm stuck. No job. No money. Every time I leave Atlanta, it's never a joyful choice. Last time I left, I felt intrinsically, that I would return. I was 10 yrs. younger. I'm not as hopeful this time around. I'm gonna miss the life I built here. This time, it truly does feel like the end.
Till next time, lovers!
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Same Ol' Song, Same Damn Dance!
Hey peoples! Long time it's been. Being absent for the better part of two years has me talking like Yoda for some reason. At another juncture, investigate that, I will.
I took the 24 month hiatus because of my job. Now that I'm riding the unemployment express lane to hell, I figured it was time to fire up this old engine. I found myself re-reading previous posts, and laughing out loud. Turns out I'm pretty damn funny! And now I feel immense pressure to be that hysterical again. This probably won't be the post to do that, but here's hoping. And again, ain't nobody reading this but me, myself, and...oh yeah, I had a falling out with me and the others, so she's not reading this. But two outta three ain't bad.
I'M BACK BITCHES!!!! SUCK ON DEEZ NUTS, YA HEARD??!!
Had to get that out. So, I'm feeling some type of way about a situation and naturally, I feel the need to anonymously share with all and none of you at the same time.
Last year, this month actually, I was re-acquainted with a guy I knew from college. He was a director in the department with me. He was a senior and I was a lowly, scared, freshman. Usually I disguise people's names but I won't extend any such courtesy to him. Not just cause I wanna be a bit vindictive, cause naturally that plays heavily into it, but also, we've established that don't no damn body read this blog. So he's safe from detection.
Anywho, Stephen G. Dye-Morehouse man class of '96, hit me up cause he needed some vocal talent for an audio project he was working and thought to try his Alma mater and use some students. A quick perusal of the faculty webpage found my name listed. Surely since I'm the only one on the planet with my name spelled the way it is, he knew it was me, the one and the same as the girl he cast in his class projects.
Now, this was a big deal--my being cast in a senior director's midterm and final projects. They were supposed to use senior actors first and then branch out. I was so scared...of everybody and everything back then. But I went to the audition and was really surprised to be cast. I didn't think I'd done that good to tell you the truth. But this was my first acting gig in the department, and as a lowly freshman, I felt really proud of myself. Me and Stixx (that's his own nickname by the way) were the only freshman cast in these senior showcases. And the class was taught by the much feared Chair of the dept., PROFESSOR. Woman's been gone for a year, and she still scares the shit outta me. Anyway, he liked me so much, that he cast me in his final project too. I felt pretty damned pleased with myself. So the year goes on, I saw him a few times after that in the hall but didn't think too much about him. He was a kinda quiet guy, seemed to keep to himself, and we only dealt professionally with each other. The year ends and he graduates, and I continue with my life.
Fast forward seventeen years, and here he is on my phone. Sounding the same. Probably looking the same too. Brown skinned dude with glasses and dooky dreads. Ok, whatever. Catch up and see what's goin' on and how I can help. And pray that the kids don't embarrass us again by showing their unprofessional asses at a real audition.
We Skype to get further details. No video for some reason (on his side, not mine), but cool. Nice conversations. Just catching up. Find out he's been living in Japan for the past several years and just moved back around the same time I moved here. He's a native ATLien. So months go by with this kind of communication. I couldn't hook him up with students initially cause I was directing a play for the department and my father was sick in the hospital, so I told him next semester would be better. He was fine with that.
So several more months go by and we stay in touch but to me, it's just some dude I used to know and some kids I'm trying to find outside work. Nothing more than that. He's not even on my damn radar. But we finally meet up again for the audition and we talk and chill in my office. He got rid of his dreads. Everything else is still the same. But he looks older. Kinda handsome, but, not quite setting the loins aflame. Anyway, this is not about that. He's just some dude I used to know.
June comes. And that's when everything changes. By now, I've been released from my contract with Hillman and I'm trying to get my unemployment shit together down here. An arduous task that makes me miss the days of blue state livin'. So we're shooting the shit. He's returned from his comic con (wherever it was) and asks how things are with me (he knew my Dad was ill and I wasn't working and whatnot). I apologize for flaking on him (I was supposed to help with some voices for his project but shit was too real for me, being as I wasn't working and stuff), and he was like, no worries and blah blah blah. The thread reads as follows (all mistakes & typos are those of the author, not mine. I'm smarter than that):
SD:...just don't want you to think I think u flaked or anything. U helped me pass PROFESSOR's class way back and pimped my project, so I owe u. Lol
Me: Oh...lol. well cool, then consider the debt paid. And yeah, just wanted to apologize 4 flaking. I do feel a bit guilty cuz I gave my word I'd help u out. But as long as u dnt give me the side eye, I'm cool :)
SD: Well I must admit that I did give you the side eye, but it was a good thing and about something entirely different ;)
Me: Oh, really? Lol.
So, at this point I'm all surprised. WTF? Not sure how I feel about a dude I hadn't thought twice about in that way, hitting on me. But I went with it cause I just kept hearing Mommy and assorted friends telling me to just see what happens. What's the worst that can happen? I've been following that advice for far too long now, cause obviously, it doesn't seem to work for me. I should stick to my damn instincts and give dudes a wide berth when I feel like I'd never date them to begin with.
So it goes on and on. I ask when he first noticed me and he said back in school when he cast me. I told him I was flattered and he said:
SD: I'm glad u r flattered and didn't simply tell me to fuck off lol
Me: I'd nvr tell a man 2 fuck off who's complimenting me...unless he was being an asshole about it ;)
SD: Well I should have done it more. Seeing you again took me back...The only difference being you weren't a kid anymore under my direction. I felt a little bit better checking you out then...people would have had other ideas of why I cast u twice. Maybe not just because you were talented. I left out bits of conversation when confronted with casting you in those roles. I told PROFESSOR I thought I were very cute and attractive, but talented enough to transform into any role. Emphasis on cute/attractive
Hook baited. And my simple ass starts nibbling on it.
Me: Ooohhh...& lemme guess, she took issue w/that...
SD: No. She just said ok mr. Dye and just stared at me smirking...I have no idea what she was thinking. Probably her thoughts went from i was type casting to that I was sleeping with you and that. that's the real reason a freshman was cast twice to perform in front of her...Who knows...But yes, I did notice you. And it wasn't just for your acting.
Feeling emboldened now and a bit attractive, I pressed on, even though I wasn't quite sure I wanted to.
Me: So I get why u didn't ask me out back then, but what about now?
SD: I've been thinking about it a lot, but never knew how you would take it. I've been dropping hints...We should hang out, lets chat if you have time, etc. you never really bit so I figured there was no interest on your part.
I'll spare you the rest of the conversation, this was just the interesting part to me. I should have turned him down. Should have followed my gut and said, thanks but no thanks. Let's just keep this platonic. Gotta learn not to fuck with these men I knew in college. Not a damn one of them is good for me it seems. Cause none of them want my fat ass in the least.
So we go out. We see Man of Steel, which we both hated. Had a chill night, came back to my place and talked for a few hours. Something had happened to me during the course of the night, however. I went from actively dreading the date the days, and hours before, to sitting beside him in his Jeep Liberty, and feeling suddenly smitten. I don't know what it was or when it changed exactly. Maybe it was when he came to pick me up at my place...something I NEVER allow. I usually meet the guy at the restaurant or movie or whatever. But hell, I knew this guy from back in the day, so it'll be ok. He won't stalk me or anything. Maybe it was the five + hours we talked the night before where there was a bit of flirting going on. Maybe it was that the package didn't necessarily match the contents inside. He's still kinda quiet, but not timid. He's a bit dangerous it turns out. A scrapper. He doesn't have to raise his voice or argue, but you can tell he means business when he talks. Maybe it was his scent. Egyptian musk oil. Maybe it was the way he looked directly in my eyes when he spoke to me. Or that he paid for my meal and movie ticket (even though that made me wanna peel my skin off). Or that he ushered me into the theater before him by putting his hand on the small of my back. Maybe it was that he was nice to me and attentive. I think it was all of those things. And that he, at the time anyway, made me feel like he legitimately wanted to be next to me, with me. He made me feel desired, and that made me feel sexy.
Sitting next to him in my living room, talking about everything and nothing, I was stalling. Trying to figure out if I wanted to kiss him. If I wanted to sleep with him. No. No sex. That's clear. But...do I wanna kiss him? I don't know. What's he doing? He's really close right now. He says he wants to hold my hand? At 4am? Yeah right. So, I extend my hand to him and he takes it. Then he's kneeling before me, hand still clutching mine. He puts his other hand behind my ear and pulls me toward him, planting one helluva kiss on my unsuspecting, yet dripping with anticipatory excitement laced lips. Oh shit. He's a good kisser. I'm fucked.
And it was a wrap. That night, three + years of neglect ended the desert drought that had overtaken my loins. And I was in trouble.
The next morning I told him I didn't just want this to be about sex and asked if that was ok. He said yes. That he didn't just see me as that and that he'd never disrespect me that way. So now, I'm all drunk with the idea that I finally, after all these years, have a SOMEONE to talk about! I have a SOMEONE! And it felt nice. I was seeing someone. We talked for HOURS...from 9pm to 5am most nights...days at a time this was our schedule. We didn't see each other much, but he'd reach out to me. Instigate conversations. Usually it was me who'd have to almost chase a guy down to talk to him. But not Stephen. He wanted to talk to me. He wanted to get to know me. He wanted me. And I've never been wanted like that. Commitment phobe that I am, I was freaked out by it at first. Many a frantic phone call was made to several of my girls and there was lots of talking-down-from-ledges goin' on. Most of that really had to do with me trying to recognize what was truly normal between a man and a woman, and what was my normal. And was I freaking out cause I had a real reason to do so, or was it because my relationship compass was skewed due to my fucked up experiences and what doesn't feel normal to me, actually is just that and I should relax. So I'd relax. He never saw the crazy though. I kept the cap firmly on that bitch in his presence. But we talked about so many things. I learned a great many things about him, or so I thought. And I was open with him in a way that I'd never dare to do with any other man. Suddenly, the idea of sleeping with someone else, dating someone else even, was of no interest to me. I only wanted him. I only wanted to be with him. And it felt like he felt the same. And that was new. And it was soooo nice. A long time coming.
And we went on like that for two months. Most of the summer. It sustained my three week absence as I traveled home to check on my Dad and friends. We talked almost as often while I was away as we did while I was here. We saw each other one more time when I came back. He took me karaoking. It was the most fun I'd had with him or anyone in awhile. We come back to my place and have sex. It wasn't our best, but I figured it was cause of the time we'd spent apart. I wasn't worried though. He left, text me when he got home, and that was virtually the last time I heard from him. And definitely the last time I saw him.
I've spent the past two months trying to get a response from him. He offers none. He just disappeared. Cut me off. I've gone through the I hope he's ok thing and realize, of course he is. He's just not that into you. And that hurts. I've replayed all our conversations, and the events of the very last time we were together. What did I do? What did I say? Is it my fault? Could I have done something different? Put myself through the wringer. Cried and cried and CRIED my eyes out. Some tears fell for him and what I thought we were building, but most fell because he clearly fits into a larger pattern of mine. One that points to me being unlovable and undesirable...one that has me living the rest of my life alone. And that scares the hell outta me, cause that's my biggest fear.
I'm trying to obtain closure for myself cause I know I won't get what I want from him. I can accept our dalliance is over. I can accept that I let him in when I shouldn't have. I can accept that despite only knowing him for a few months, this hurts like hell. I can accept that I'll move on cause I have to. I can even accept that I'll never get the answers I want. And I can accept that I'll never stop wanting them.
We're pushing forty...why is this a thing that guys still do? We're not kids anymore, and I didn't think we were dating like kids. I'll close this very long post with the actual email I sent him a few hours ago.
Stephen,
I took the 24 month hiatus because of my job. Now that I'm riding the unemployment express lane to hell, I figured it was time to fire up this old engine. I found myself re-reading previous posts, and laughing out loud. Turns out I'm pretty damn funny! And now I feel immense pressure to be that hysterical again. This probably won't be the post to do that, but here's hoping. And again, ain't nobody reading this but me, myself, and...oh yeah, I had a falling out with me and the others, so she's not reading this. But two outta three ain't bad.
I'M BACK BITCHES!!!! SUCK ON DEEZ NUTS, YA HEARD??!!
Had to get that out. So, I'm feeling some type of way about a situation and naturally, I feel the need to anonymously share with all and none of you at the same time.
Last year, this month actually, I was re-acquainted with a guy I knew from college. He was a director in the department with me. He was a senior and I was a lowly, scared, freshman. Usually I disguise people's names but I won't extend any such courtesy to him. Not just cause I wanna be a bit vindictive, cause naturally that plays heavily into it, but also, we've established that don't no damn body read this blog. So he's safe from detection.
Anywho, Stephen G. Dye-Morehouse man class of '96, hit me up cause he needed some vocal talent for an audio project he was working and thought to try his Alma mater and use some students. A quick perusal of the faculty webpage found my name listed. Surely since I'm the only one on the planet with my name spelled the way it is, he knew it was me, the one and the same as the girl he cast in his class projects.
Now, this was a big deal--my being cast in a senior director's midterm and final projects. They were supposed to use senior actors first and then branch out. I was so scared...of everybody and everything back then. But I went to the audition and was really surprised to be cast. I didn't think I'd done that good to tell you the truth. But this was my first acting gig in the department, and as a lowly freshman, I felt really proud of myself. Me and Stixx (that's his own nickname by the way) were the only freshman cast in these senior showcases. And the class was taught by the much feared Chair of the dept., PROFESSOR. Woman's been gone for a year, and she still scares the shit outta me. Anyway, he liked me so much, that he cast me in his final project too. I felt pretty damned pleased with myself. So the year goes on, I saw him a few times after that in the hall but didn't think too much about him. He was a kinda quiet guy, seemed to keep to himself, and we only dealt professionally with each other. The year ends and he graduates, and I continue with my life.
Fast forward seventeen years, and here he is on my phone. Sounding the same. Probably looking the same too. Brown skinned dude with glasses and dooky dreads. Ok, whatever. Catch up and see what's goin' on and how I can help. And pray that the kids don't embarrass us again by showing their unprofessional asses at a real audition.
We Skype to get further details. No video for some reason (on his side, not mine), but cool. Nice conversations. Just catching up. Find out he's been living in Japan for the past several years and just moved back around the same time I moved here. He's a native ATLien. So months go by with this kind of communication. I couldn't hook him up with students initially cause I was directing a play for the department and my father was sick in the hospital, so I told him next semester would be better. He was fine with that.
So several more months go by and we stay in touch but to me, it's just some dude I used to know and some kids I'm trying to find outside work. Nothing more than that. He's not even on my damn radar. But we finally meet up again for the audition and we talk and chill in my office. He got rid of his dreads. Everything else is still the same. But he looks older. Kinda handsome, but, not quite setting the loins aflame. Anyway, this is not about that. He's just some dude I used to know.
June comes. And that's when everything changes. By now, I've been released from my contract with Hillman and I'm trying to get my unemployment shit together down here. An arduous task that makes me miss the days of blue state livin'. So we're shooting the shit. He's returned from his comic con (wherever it was) and asks how things are with me (he knew my Dad was ill and I wasn't working and whatnot). I apologize for flaking on him (I was supposed to help with some voices for his project but shit was too real for me, being as I wasn't working and stuff), and he was like, no worries and blah blah blah. The thread reads as follows (all mistakes & typos are those of the author, not mine. I'm smarter than that):
SD:...just don't want you to think I think u flaked or anything. U helped me pass PROFESSOR's class way back and pimped my project, so I owe u. Lol
Me: Oh...lol. well cool, then consider the debt paid. And yeah, just wanted to apologize 4 flaking. I do feel a bit guilty cuz I gave my word I'd help u out. But as long as u dnt give me the side eye, I'm cool :)
SD: Well I must admit that I did give you the side eye, but it was a good thing and about something entirely different ;)
Me: Oh, really? Lol.
So, at this point I'm all surprised. WTF? Not sure how I feel about a dude I hadn't thought twice about in that way, hitting on me. But I went with it cause I just kept hearing Mommy and assorted friends telling me to just see what happens. What's the worst that can happen? I've been following that advice for far too long now, cause obviously, it doesn't seem to work for me. I should stick to my damn instincts and give dudes a wide berth when I feel like I'd never date them to begin with.
So it goes on and on. I ask when he first noticed me and he said back in school when he cast me. I told him I was flattered and he said:
SD: I'm glad u r flattered and didn't simply tell me to fuck off lol
Me: I'd nvr tell a man 2 fuck off who's complimenting me...unless he was being an asshole about it ;)
SD: Well I should have done it more. Seeing you again took me back...The only difference being you weren't a kid anymore under my direction. I felt a little bit better checking you out then...people would have had other ideas of why I cast u twice. Maybe not just because you were talented. I left out bits of conversation when confronted with casting you in those roles. I told PROFESSOR I thought I were very cute and attractive, but talented enough to transform into any role. Emphasis on cute/attractive
Hook baited. And my simple ass starts nibbling on it.
Me: Ooohhh...& lemme guess, she took issue w/that...
SD: No. She just said ok mr. Dye and just stared at me smirking...I have no idea what she was thinking. Probably her thoughts went from i was type casting to that I was sleeping with you and that. that's the real reason a freshman was cast twice to perform in front of her...Who knows...But yes, I did notice you. And it wasn't just for your acting.
Feeling emboldened now and a bit attractive, I pressed on, even though I wasn't quite sure I wanted to.
Me: So I get why u didn't ask me out back then, but what about now?
SD: I've been thinking about it a lot, but never knew how you would take it. I've been dropping hints...We should hang out, lets chat if you have time, etc. you never really bit so I figured there was no interest on your part.
I'll spare you the rest of the conversation, this was just the interesting part to me. I should have turned him down. Should have followed my gut and said, thanks but no thanks. Let's just keep this platonic. Gotta learn not to fuck with these men I knew in college. Not a damn one of them is good for me it seems. Cause none of them want my fat ass in the least.
So we go out. We see Man of Steel, which we both hated. Had a chill night, came back to my place and talked for a few hours. Something had happened to me during the course of the night, however. I went from actively dreading the date the days, and hours before, to sitting beside him in his Jeep Liberty, and feeling suddenly smitten. I don't know what it was or when it changed exactly. Maybe it was when he came to pick me up at my place...something I NEVER allow. I usually meet the guy at the restaurant or movie or whatever. But hell, I knew this guy from back in the day, so it'll be ok. He won't stalk me or anything. Maybe it was the five + hours we talked the night before where there was a bit of flirting going on. Maybe it was that the package didn't necessarily match the contents inside. He's still kinda quiet, but not timid. He's a bit dangerous it turns out. A scrapper. He doesn't have to raise his voice or argue, but you can tell he means business when he talks. Maybe it was his scent. Egyptian musk oil. Maybe it was the way he looked directly in my eyes when he spoke to me. Or that he paid for my meal and movie ticket (even though that made me wanna peel my skin off). Or that he ushered me into the theater before him by putting his hand on the small of my back. Maybe it was that he was nice to me and attentive. I think it was all of those things. And that he, at the time anyway, made me feel like he legitimately wanted to be next to me, with me. He made me feel desired, and that made me feel sexy.
Sitting next to him in my living room, talking about everything and nothing, I was stalling. Trying to figure out if I wanted to kiss him. If I wanted to sleep with him. No. No sex. That's clear. But...do I wanna kiss him? I don't know. What's he doing? He's really close right now. He says he wants to hold my hand? At 4am? Yeah right. So, I extend my hand to him and he takes it. Then he's kneeling before me, hand still clutching mine. He puts his other hand behind my ear and pulls me toward him, planting one helluva kiss on my unsuspecting, yet dripping with anticipatory excitement laced lips. Oh shit. He's a good kisser. I'm fucked.
And it was a wrap. That night, three + years of neglect ended the desert drought that had overtaken my loins. And I was in trouble.
The next morning I told him I didn't just want this to be about sex and asked if that was ok. He said yes. That he didn't just see me as that and that he'd never disrespect me that way. So now, I'm all drunk with the idea that I finally, after all these years, have a SOMEONE to talk about! I have a SOMEONE! And it felt nice. I was seeing someone. We talked for HOURS...from 9pm to 5am most nights...days at a time this was our schedule. We didn't see each other much, but he'd reach out to me. Instigate conversations. Usually it was me who'd have to almost chase a guy down to talk to him. But not Stephen. He wanted to talk to me. He wanted to get to know me. He wanted me. And I've never been wanted like that. Commitment phobe that I am, I was freaked out by it at first. Many a frantic phone call was made to several of my girls and there was lots of talking-down-from-ledges goin' on. Most of that really had to do with me trying to recognize what was truly normal between a man and a woman, and what was my normal. And was I freaking out cause I had a real reason to do so, or was it because my relationship compass was skewed due to my fucked up experiences and what doesn't feel normal to me, actually is just that and I should relax. So I'd relax. He never saw the crazy though. I kept the cap firmly on that bitch in his presence. But we talked about so many things. I learned a great many things about him, or so I thought. And I was open with him in a way that I'd never dare to do with any other man. Suddenly, the idea of sleeping with someone else, dating someone else even, was of no interest to me. I only wanted him. I only wanted to be with him. And it felt like he felt the same. And that was new. And it was soooo nice. A long time coming.
And we went on like that for two months. Most of the summer. It sustained my three week absence as I traveled home to check on my Dad and friends. We talked almost as often while I was away as we did while I was here. We saw each other one more time when I came back. He took me karaoking. It was the most fun I'd had with him or anyone in awhile. We come back to my place and have sex. It wasn't our best, but I figured it was cause of the time we'd spent apart. I wasn't worried though. He left, text me when he got home, and that was virtually the last time I heard from him. And definitely the last time I saw him.
I've spent the past two months trying to get a response from him. He offers none. He just disappeared. Cut me off. I've gone through the I hope he's ok thing and realize, of course he is. He's just not that into you. And that hurts. I've replayed all our conversations, and the events of the very last time we were together. What did I do? What did I say? Is it my fault? Could I have done something different? Put myself through the wringer. Cried and cried and CRIED my eyes out. Some tears fell for him and what I thought we were building, but most fell because he clearly fits into a larger pattern of mine. One that points to me being unlovable and undesirable...one that has me living the rest of my life alone. And that scares the hell outta me, cause that's my biggest fear.
I'm trying to obtain closure for myself cause I know I won't get what I want from him. I can accept our dalliance is over. I can accept that I let him in when I shouldn't have. I can accept that despite only knowing him for a few months, this hurts like hell. I can accept that I'll move on cause I have to. I can even accept that I'll never get the answers I want. And I can accept that I'll never stop wanting them.
We're pushing forty...why is this a thing that guys still do? We're not kids anymore, and I didn't think we were dating like kids. I'll close this very long post with the actual email I sent him a few hours ago.
Stephen,
I'm not sure what's happened, or why, and I guess at this point it doesn't much matter. But I liked you. I really, really did. I didn't know how much until I stopped hearing from you. To talk as often as we did, for as long as we did, made me think whatever we were doing had some potential. I see now that it didn't. And I really feel like the biggest fool on the planet. I allowed myself to believe you when you told me that you'd been attracted to me even way back in school. And to feel like you liked me too. Clearly you didn't like me as much I did you, and that's ok. That happens sometimes. But why the silent treatment? You never gave me the sense that you were "that" guy. You always seemed so upfront and honest and I came to rely on that and find comfort in it. That everything you said you meant. So when you told me that you've told women that you no longer wanted to see them, I thought, "well, if he ever reaches that point with me, he'll tell me. I won't have to wonder". And then you do the exact opposite. And it's been confusing and painful, actually. Devoid of any real information, I'm forced to fill in the gaps myself. And I've worried about your welfare…are you ok? Is your family ok? And hoping that nothing serious has happened to any of you. And then I realize, naturally nothing's wrong. Your phone isn't malfunctioning. You just don't wanna see me anymore and it's easier for you to ignore me than to tell me the truth. I remember telling you once that I'm not one to chase after a man who doesn't want her. The only reason why I continue to contact you is because I'm trying to get some closure, so answers to my questions. The quickest way to get me to leave you alone was for you to be upfront with me. I would have asked some questions, say what I needed to say, wished you well and moved on. I don't know if you were afraid of me crying and making a scene, but I think I've let you know I'm not that type of woman. I just feel given our shared past, and that I wasn't some chick you met on the street, and because we're older and not a couple of stupid twenty year olds, that I deserved more than this. A simple conversation about how your life is too hectic and you don't have time for dating right now, or that you don't find me attractive, or that we're not sexually compatible, or whatever the issue is, and that we shouldn't see each other anymore would have sufficed. And it still would have been disappointing and sad, but at least I wouldn't be twisting in the wind. Just for future reference, don't pull a disappearing act on another woman again. It's really hurtful. I have no idea whether you'll read this or not, or respond if you do. Honestly, I fully expect you to delete this once you see it's from me. I'm writing this more for myself, so I can say all the things I've wanted to these past several weeks. A purge before closing this door. And if you get this, acknowledge it or not, it's all incidental to me. If you think I'm angry, please know that I'm not. I'm just a little hurt, that's all. I did enjoy the time we spent together and I'd be lying if I said otherwise. I just wish it hadn't ended so soon; and that it hadn't ended this way. I really do wish you all the best and that your family's well; and that you have great success with all the projects you're working on. I'd hoped that at some point down the road we could remain friendly and keep up with what the other's doing from time to time, but it's clear that's not what you want. I won't bother you anymore. So, take care of yourself Stephen and I hope you make it back to Japan one day.
Till next time, lovers!
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