The Work of the Devil

Trail mix: 99 percent of people eating trail mix are not even standing up or outside. They do not need the calories or energy trail mix is formulated to provide. Take it from someone who is 2/3 of their way through a bag.

Health/Energy/Sports drinks: Again, most people drinking this are sitting at computers or watching someone else play a sport.

Makeup counter makeovers: Never have I left this counter without sporting what I like to call 'day looks for women of the night.' If it takes more than 5-8 minutes to finish, it's far too much.

Un-reciprocated, unrequited, or spurned love: I have nothing original to offer here. Just as I watch my friend in pain, I think of how much like drug addiction these things can be.

Bachelor/Bachelorette parties: You're engaged. Your single girlfriends and dude friends, they are bachelors/bachelorettes. That whole life you lived before you met your betrothed, that's when it was appropriate to put money in a someone's underwear with your teeth. Not here to judge but it doesn't make any sense to me. You're already getting married, throw a true bachelorette party for all the single ladies coming to celebrate your marriage. It's like a consolation prize; I get to spend the rest of my life with my love, you single ladies can get some extra attention from Mr. Chippendale.

The Polish guy who sent me a message on a dating website who had 60+ pictures; several of him shirtless holding a black bat/club. No baseballs or other evidence of sport intentions for the bat. Just a fun-loving Polish guy and his bat. Also had a picture of him with 2 rifles. I had no desire to engage him with any advice for his profile. The man had a bat.

Humidity + wind: So not cool. I hate trying to look nice, walking along the city streets with my strut on and catching a glimpse of myself in a window or arriving home to discover I look stark raving mad because my hair is completely out of control.

Sports bras: I hate you. I hate you when you are so tight I can barely breathe. I hate you when you allow my boobs to become one centrally located boob bubble. I hate spillage, I hate your compression without actual support. There is almost nothing useful about you, yet you cost just as much as something that actually makes me look good.

In other news, I did not meet up with that guy last week. I called it off early that afternoon. He sounded pissed and may have called me again since then but I haven't talked to him. I feel terrible for calling it off. Work had been terrible that day and I wasn't going to get out of there in time to get ready to meet him and I really wasn't looking forward to meeting him anyway. It's an amalgam of stuff that might be enough for a separate post more about me than him so perhaps I will dissect that another time.

There is a 25 year old who has been sweating me for about 3 weeks now trying to get me to meet him after work near midnight-I keep refusing to meet with him, he keeps asking. Guys, a woman CAN be worn down. I told him if we actually made plans instead of him trying to hit me up at 11pm for that night, I would meet him. He called my bluff and asked me out for last night. He doesn't get off work until 11 so our date would have started after midnight and I was dreading it and wondering why in the world I had agreed to it. But he ended up canceling. I was SO relieved and told him so. He said it had been a really rough night at work and he just wanted to stay home--I don't even care if he was meeting someone else, I was just glad to be able to stay in.

Confession

Sometimes I poo-poo around here hoping to find a comment or write something that will connect with someone so they will connect with me.

In spite of myself, I think I like my personal trainer. Or at least I like the interpersonal dynamic. I do, however, need to invest in better workout gear. It kind of semi crushes me to work my ass off and walk by the mirror and think, ewww, I like like a sweaty homeless person.

I'm thinking of leaving my job without pay and going to teach English in a foreign country.

I'm glad Sandra Bullock adopted a baby from the United States.

I really, really, really don't feel like meeting this guy tomorrow. Especially if 30 Rock is new this week.

My boss was understanding and I'm extremely suspicious.

I'm wondering if it's time to take a shot at the next impossible thing but I'm feeling very much like hunkering in and not leaving the house if I can help it.

Meanwhile

I took several chair naps at work today and wondered what it was going to take to pursue a dream, any dream so I won't have to scroll through my phone at the end of the day looking for someone to keep me company on the walk home.

I have a date/meeting Thursday with an internet guy I am not interested in. I'm mostly going because he was so obnoxious about my lack of full body shot pictures and asked me to describe my body by comparing it to one of the women on the cast of Living Single. I just want him to see what he's never going to get. This guy also told me he thought he might be sterile (even after a preamble of wondering aloud why he was telling me this), and has a cat (I'm allergic). We disagree on almost everything and I'm dreading this with most of the fibers of my being. But I am making myself go because there is a tiny, tiny chance that I'm wrong and I'm averaging about 1 date per year. A part of me feels guilty because I assume since he keeps calling that he's interested and I'm not telling him that I'm pretty sure I'm not interested in him. Still it's nice to have male attention that I'm indifferent about. I'm not hoping he wrote or called, or getting my gut twisted over every little thing.

It cracks me up the e-mails I get from this dating site. They are from The Black People Network. It's so official sounding, like there is only one and now I'm a part of it. Reminds me a little of how my Mormon friends date, all networked and registered when they move to a new city. Still cracks me up. It's like I'm getting a message from the mothership.

Ava should probably take a break from trying to date

So I have a pet peeve about dating profiles or self-descriptions of any sort. I HATE it when someone describes themselves as God-fearing. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Hate it. Ugh. Seriously hate it. I don't even know what it means. I hate it even more when they insist on a God-fearing woman. WTF is that? Does that mean she doesn't curse or she isn't going to have sex with you? Something tells me you don't want her fearing God THAT much.

Anyway, I came across a profile of a guy with 23 pictures. It was insane. Shirtless, barely covering his junk, flexing his bicep, mugging at the club, in the car, in front of a window, on the street. It. was. insane. And then he wrote in his profile about looking for a God-fearing woman and wondered aloud why women thought he was a player when honestly, all he had was "swagger." So reader, I couldn't help myself. I wrote him. Here's what I wrote verbatim:

Seriously Rob?

I apologize upfront for not being able to resist writing you to say essentially, WTF? You are a beautiful man, pretty doesn't cut it, but 23 pictures isn't swagger, it's a full on love affair with yourself. Which I can hardly blame you for. So as someone who wants to see a pretty man find his God-fearing wife and make pretty babies, may I suggest a few edits to your profile?

-10 less pictures; no intimate pictures with your shirt off. Shouldn't your God fearing wife-to-be get dibs on seeing you like that? If you want people to believe you aren't a player, would suggest also removing the picture of you in the club.

-Tell women what you want, not what you don't want. None of us want drama or games--okay MOST of us don't want drama and games. What do you like? Help the internet figure out if we have anything in common.

-Keep your swagger and your sense of humor and good luck out there. :-)

And wouldn't you know, he wrote back? He said my note was 'cool to read.' Holy craps. Cool to read? Is he just picking up reading? Just thought you would enjoy seeing how my open letters have actually started being directed to individuals.

A-ha

So if I want to feel the love, I should join a BLACK dating site. Predominantly black men (lots of white women though) but some other parts of the rainbow too. The very first guy to write me (twice even) was an Italian guy. Could do without the sleeve (tatoo) on his left side but an otherwise good looking guy. So Ava is getting a bit of her swagger back. So nice to feel desirable.

In other news, ran into an older guy this morning who literally carried dog treats in his work cooler. He opened a fresh bag and fed my dog without ever making eye contact or speaking to me. I don't get it. Either Baloo has killer Jedi mind control or people have lost their damn mind. Who feeds someone's animal without asking permission?


Photo Caption: Hi, I'm a pimp.

Open letter to 99.9 percent of all men under 25 on dating sites

Hey Kiddo,

Respect my age preferences, stop sending me explicit e-mails, and for craps sake consider spell check and a refresher course on when to use 'your' and 'you're'. Example: You're fucking killing me. NOT Your fucking killing me. It is NOT okay that you don't have a car or your own place and have 'taken a break' from school to figure out what you want to do next. WTF is wrong with you? I'm not looking for someone to make up for in exuberance what he lacks in experience and skill. I am not a sex tutor.

Ms. Ava (that's right, MS. Ava. You are too young to call me by my first name)

---

In other news the Indian man trend continues and I got a message from my first man in his 30's today. We had a grownup conversation. It was fantastic. The conversation was just okay but man was it nice to talk to a person with a job and someone who wasn't working his way up to a question about my chest size or trying to booty call me and then explaining when he asked to meet me at 11pm on a week night, it wasn't a booty call. Trying my best to avoid being the subject of a Dateline Mystery readers. Not going to meet strangers at 11pm just because he said it wasn't a booty call.

Cracks me up

God has a Facebook Page. Location is listed as everywhere all the time. He has over 3 million fans. Not too shabby. His wall notes that he has no recent posts. Probably needs someone to help him figure out how to update his status.

Lord, I know you know I'm not making fun of you or implying you aren't smart enough to figure out Facebook. Right?

More Open Letters

Dear Dominoes,

I'm glad to see you taking on your critics so directly and so honestly and working to improve your product. I understand from your new ad campaign that you have been revisiting your critics to give them an opportunity to change their mind about your pizza. Recent commercials suggest though that you've upped the ante considerably. If an ex-boyfriend rented an airplane to fly a banner asking me to try him again or ambushed me at my home with cameras present, I would have no problem getting a restraining order.

Just how honest do you expect people to be when you confront them at their front door and make them eat a pizza in front of a camera? Why not just send them a box of pizza with a hidden camera in it to get an honest reaction? It's probably illegal but I suspect you're teeter-tottering on the edges of the law as is with your airplane banners and ambushes. Just wanted to let you know your ad campaign has actually discouraged me from trying the new Dominoes. My feeling is that if I try it and don't like it, I'm never going to be able to shake you and you will then have my address. I can't have that.

Dear Anyone who conveys devastating news via text message,

Seriously? I know when you get bad news, you usually don't want to talk to a bunch of people but learning that my grandmother was dying via text message kind of knocked the wind out of me. Text messages don't have subject lines like 'bad news' or 'update on grandma' so when I open them, it's like getting socked in the face when you choose it as a medium to convey terrible news. Phone tree, e-mail--anything but a text message.

To the makers of Fiber One,

It's not just you, a lot of commercials are doing this lately but you've been getting a lot of air time lately so this one's for you.

Stop fucking interrupting people when they are talking. It's really, really irritating. Really. It's bad enough you are lurking in the cereal aisle. It's bad enough the poor sap needs to buy Fiber One. They have probably been having some tough mornings. The least you can do is let them be incredulous and finish a sentence without your assistance.

Dear Movie Trailer Makers,

Thank you for ruining almost every movie I had any plans to see. If I haven't heard all the best lines or figured out how it ends before I see it, you get your punch in when I'm actually watching the movie and I recognize all the clues you've left me in the trailer long before I should.

Escape velocity

Must. leave. house. I've spent the morning Facebook stalking my high school classmates and letting a tiny bead on envy creep into my head for even the unwed mothers (I know, who calls them unwed mothers anymore? Apparently, just me.) Single parenting is not an easy life, hell, parenting isn't easy but they have some beautiful kids and it's just neat.

My sister's cell phone has been turned off because she hasn't paid her bill. This in spite of my father's continued monetary assistance. I just want to shake her sometimes. Such a miserable fucking waste. I was talking to my hair dresser yesterday and he mentioned a girl he knew who was addicted to heroin at 14 and was selling her body to support her and her boyfriend's habit. She's 32 now and seriously and permanently fucked in the head. Life is not likely to get better for her in any discernable way. My sister has had opportunity hand over fist...I swear she is what I think about when I consider that it might be better not to have any children. She is such an emotional drain.

Not being able to reach her the other day, I daydreamed about interviewing with Dateline mystery and trying to explain why it was weeks before we thought something might be wrong because she is impossible to reach. I had the awful thought of thinking it might be for the best and then lamented losing her because I love her. We have fun together. We make eachother laugh. Many people say we sound alike--it's like we're twins born 12 years apart. Is that bad when you think it might be better for someone you love to have their lives cut tragically short than to continue to unfold badly?

In other news I'm bemused and bewildered by the men of this world. I continue to draw young men which continues to entertain me. They are really persistent. It's cute but strange. I really entertain some really stupid conversations. Eventually I'm going to learn to trust my gut and bail early.

Honestly unrelated, I walked by my hair dresser this morning with the dog. We were talking the door when he noticed a woman walking by with what appeared to be two asses. She had on unflattering sweats and underwear that divided her ass horizontally, creating a stacked ass. What does Frank say? He says, "That's a yeast infection there." I came apart. He is completely touched in the head. You really never know what he's going to say.

I seriously need to get out of this place.

Blacking out

Being black is so many things to me. I've been reflecting on this over the last week as I've been bombarded with messages about how statistically undesirable black women seem to be. The cover of Essence asks, "Why don't we get married?" My best friend sent me an article from Time magazine "My race-based Valentine." Anywhere they are discussing black women, whether it is increasing rates of college graduation, or an alarming rise in new AIDS cases, somewhere in most articles a statistic is cited about being left out in the cold by everyone. Some articles encourage women to 'consider the white man' as if black women were rejecting the line of white guys trying to court them. I hate these articles. They almost always fall back on a tired stereotypical anecdote; black women won't consider non-black men, black women are perceived as bossy because of portrayals in popular media, black women with college educations are threatening to all men and especially to black men. Where is this shit being generated? Is is research based on the random man on the street phenomenon, that person a news crew can always find when they are looking for someone to comment on something they know nothing about? And what does this information do for anyone? Does it help? No. It reinforces undesirability. If you hear about how no one ever goes to Branson anymore, does that make you want to jump on Expedia and book your next trip?

Ladies, sisters if I may, we're going about this all wrong. Letting people write about how few people want to date us is bad juju all the way around. Seriously. Let's agree to stop doing it or at least stop making it a black thing. Let's commiserate with all the other single ladies of all creeds. There are a lot of us out there. It's a freaking candy store for guys. Why buy any cows at all? I know women who are excited when a guy buys her a meal. That is the level of commitment to even getting to know each other that gets a girl excited these days. Things are tough all over and the LAST thing any group of women needs is to be singled out as the also-rans of the herd. I'll admit, I was initially vindicated with the research on on-line dating as that had long been my experience; reading through a brilliant profile only to discover that he had selected every possible race EXCEPT black. Pissed me off, frustrated me, validated my miserably excellent skills at seeking the least available men and honestly eroded my confidence. I thought many men, and especially white men simply were not attracted to black women. But my birthday twin had some experiences that suggest it might be a little more than that.

My birthday twin's father is black and her mother is Korean. She looks Asian. If I didn't know she was black, I would never guess and neither would most people. Though she doesn't live that experience the same way I do as an obviously black woman, it is still a part of her identity. She is getting married to a white guy who teaches African-American Studies--he's blacker than both of us easily and the entire thing is just steeped in irony. She's been in countless embarrassing situations where racial epithets were thrown around or racially charged comments were made by people who did not realize she was black. One guy she was dating upon learning of her heritage said he believed that partners should be the same race though he had no problem dating her when he thought she was only Asian. Whatever their reasons, some white men just don't want anything to do with a black woman or with kids with a mixed heritage that includes black. That makes me a whole different kind of sad but for my pride, it softens the blow of rejection as it concerns attraction. However, no matter what rap I don't know, or what antithetical hobbies or perspectives I hold, I'm black. No one has to figure that out. I have black parents and very black relatives who have been known to stab cheating boyfriends. It's awesome and I would not trade it for the world. I wish more people would consider checking out the fun over here (minus the stabbing). I'm not as black as my birthday twin apparently but at least I don't have to bother with guys deciding to date me because they think I'm something else and dumping me once they learn I'm black. Mainstream internet dating may not be as fruitful a pursuit for black women but I'd like to continue to consider the possibilities.

Hell yea

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Marianne Williamson

God is blocking all my shots

He really is, reader. I don't know if he's trying to tell me I'm not cut out for basketball or setting me up for one of those amazing instant viral video impossible shots to win it all. But I'm getting shut out in every direction. I'm getting shut out with a ladder under the net and time to climb it. He's blocking my sure things. The things I should be a shoo-in for, I'm getting shut out of without any plausible explanation. I don't know what's going on.

When I was in college, we had a dream sheet that was turned in before graduation to let the military know what job you would like, what place you would like to go, and when you would like to start. It was called a dream sheet for a reason. Some people even joked the only way to have a chance at what you wanted was to ask for the opposite. Want to be a maintenance officer? Ask to be a pilot. Certain jobs were favorites among cadets cross country but the odds of anyone getting them were really slim. Really slim. And there were certain things everyone thought you needed to have on your resume to even be competitive for consideration and I didn't have them. I hadn't held the "right" positions within the cadet corps and most importantly didn't have the elusive endorsement of our Commandant for the job. So the dream sheets were handed in, I challenged the Commandant for insight into how he made his decision on who should get his recommendation, cried a little, and then made my peace with having some other random job. My hope was to at least get a job that wouldn't interfere with my plans to go back to school and plot my post-military career. I was disappointed and disillusioned. I actually asked the Commandant if he based his decision on who went jogging with him. I swear I don't know where I get the gumption sometimes.

Then I got a call. Before my detachment had a chance to notify anyone of their assignments, the folks from the job I thought I never had a shot called to start up my pre-employment investigation. I was selected. One of 14 cadets from the thousands. Me. I couldn't believe it. One of the guys in my detachment asked if I was picked because I was a black female. I heard rumors the Commandant I had confronted earlier had been upset when he found out I got the job and tried to do something to intervene or block my assignment. For a time my best friend was kind of upset with me, I think because she was annoyed that I had not even heard of the job before I heard about it through her. Between the two of us at least from where I stood, she had more going for her than I did. It was hard to have her mad at me for something like that and to know at least one person questioned whether I 'deserved' the appointment or was I simply filling a quota. Only a minority can understand how hurtful something like that is. But my mom, she said something that I come back to often; "God wanted you to know this had nothing to do with man's favor. This is where he wants you to be." How else could the darkest horse in the cadet corps attain this elusive job?

So it turned out I had written my future on my dream sheet. I had asked for an impossible job, and to begin active duty on July 1st in Arizona. That is exactly what I got. Exactly. It was a divine appointment. In coming to this fair urine stained city, I had applied for an immediate opening in February that they waited until September for me to actually fill. Unheard of. This spring I applied for two things that I'm actually qualified for and had an inside track with and I was totally shot down. Completely. Shot blocked and groin kicked for good measure. I'm not sure if I'm detecting a pattern that's not there but it does appear that I only fit through narrow sets of extraordinary circumstances. One's that seem to require engineering beyond man's assistance or favor and often in spite of it.

Guess I need to start trying to figure out what impossible thing to shoot for next.

Conversation at the gym

Her: So why don't we get started. We're just going to get your BMI (taps foot on scale to turn it on).

Ava: Before we get started, just wanted to get something out there. This is the third time I've had an appointment with you and you haven't been here or you have been late. I expect when I make an appointment with you, that you will be there and I feel you have not been respectful of my time.

Her: Excuse about someone scheduling her appointments for her, irrrevalent note about how she was ready literally a minute after I left (pissed) this evening. Apologized that I felt it was inconvenient.

Ava: It was not inconvenient, it was inconsiderate. I understand life happens, but when it does, I expect the courtesy of a call.

Her: Well I feel really bad that you were so upset.

Ava: Don't feel bad, it's not like we're best friends and you hurt my feelings. This is a business and I am a client and it's just disrespectful of my time to make appointments and not be there. I just felt we needed to discuss this before we move on.

Her:

It was all over so quickly but that might be in my top 5 most honest conversations. It was awesome and I was super pleased that I think we got the script effectively flipped in terms of who is in charge of this trainer/client relationship. I pay you, you work for me. You won't be late for our appointments. We exercise on my terms and with my goals, not yours. You did not invent cardio or target heart rates. I was using exercise equipment with heart rate monitors while you were still in grade school. Just show me some freaking exercises and shut the hell up. I loved the startled look she had when I first lit into her. It wasn't emotional or dramatic; no waving arms or rolling necks, no raised voices. I was looking her dead in the face and telling her the truth. And to her credit, after I refused to even acknowledge her excuses, she abandoned them. In short, I was difficult and I enjoyed it. She gets to be 24 and blond. I get to be intimidating and old. I went into the conversation expecting to bid her farewell but having said my piece, I was satisfied and ready to see what she had to offer.

Cliff's notes

I had an epiphany tonight while flipping through my phone looking for company for the walk between work and home. Well maybe not an epiphany but an interesting observation. I don't have the words for it so I'm not sure why I rushed to this space to explain that I had nothing to say. Part of the narrative in my head revolved around boredom and how depressing boredom is. A space was reserved for considering how much less boring it might be to have someone else to consider; how the walk could be a peaceful break between between work company and home company but is instead a march towards additional alone time and maybe some good TV.

Today was the first day of earnestly hot weather. The kind of weather where you know nothing will be recycled. The dress is definitely going in the wash and you are definitely taking a shower BEFORE bed because you are a little gamey. During the winter, I chased the light, trying to get out for our walk before the sun dipped low, desperate for that tenth of a degree warmer the sun made things. Now we're back to the season of waiting for nightfall.

I want to write more but I have to go suffer the tiny blond for my fitness assessment...should be nothing short of awesome.