Working Class

There are aspects of being back in an office everyday that I had forgotten. Like the strange habits of women in these types of settings.

The office where I have been working for the past six weeks is all female. It takes up an entire floor, and the bathrooms are inside the office suite. At one point, there were men there, but they have since moved on, so the men's room is generally useless. Despite the fact that no men are there, only one woman actually goes in there. I went in, but just couldn't bring myself to use it.

The women's restroom is on the opposite side from where all of the offices are. It has two stalls, which makes things very awkward when any one of the six of us are in there. You do not want anyone else to come in. If someone else is already in there, one of us immediately leaves or finds a way to keep busy in order to avoid eye contact. It is unspoken, but generally understood that only one person should be in there at a time. If two people are there, the overlap is very temporary.

I don't think there are any consequences for violating this unspoken rule. But who wants to risk finding out if there are?

Another weird thing is that no one really eats together. The office is so small, and everyone is seemingly on her own work schedule, so lunch is a very individual thing. I have tried to get a feel for the lunch patterns, but I have concluded that it is a solitary thing.

And since no one eats together, the office tends to be very quiet. All of the time. Really quiet.

And women in offices tend to be very weird. In larger offices, there are alliances and cliques, but in a small office, there can only be duets or trios. So far, I am part of a duet. And since the office is so very quiet, she is probably the only person I talk to about anything other than work. She said that she was pretty lonely before I arrived, so that makes me feel pretty good.

I've made a friend. We visit about once every two hours in each others' offices. I look forward to those visits.

I have a dot-org email address again, although I found out about it by accident. Apparently I've had it since my second day. And I have DSL, which means that I can surf the Internet, answer emails, draft documents, and talk on the phone all at the same time. I have a direct phone line, and I probably have voicemail, but I haven't figured out how to use that yet.

Today, I found out that the building where the office is located shuts down at 5:00 and that you need a special key card to simply ride the elevator after that point. Of course, the office does not shut down at 5:00. In an office full of women lawyers, the office never technically shuts down.

I have yet to find the cheapest place for lunch, although I have found one of the best. It is a cafe a block and a half down, but they run out of food by 1:30. The coffee at the sushi place is decent, although there is a Starbucks right across the street. There is a Subway next door, along with a greasy spoon where I can satisfy my cravings for fried food as necessary. There is an open park where I might eat lunch outside one day.

I'm signing off now. I've got to get up early tomorrow...and it is past my bedtime.

Back in the Saddle Again

I have co-workers again, and it feels wonderful. Even though it is a temporary thing, it has brought me back to life in a way. I'm happy!

And in the midst of my usual January blues, that is a BIG DEAL!!!

This warm fuzzy glow got started when I received a Christmas gift from one of the women in the office. I was touched, because she had just met me three days earlier. I almost cried! I was so moved that I got up early the next morning (by 6am, which is totally out of character for me) and I baked cookies. I haven't baked in years.

Then for the first time in three years, I actually attended an office Christmas party. I enjoyed every minute of that as well. I don't even remember what I ordered, but whatever it was, it was delish.

I have conversations with people nowadays. And these conversations are about important stuff. And other people actually share my outrage about varying topics.

I am no longer an island.

Money means more when you start earning it again. I ate out for lunch the first few days because I had my own money to spend, and it felt good (now I am back to being frugal so I bring my lunch). I actually had enough money this Christmas to buy presents, and that feeling was better than any present I could have received.

I started back to wearing perfume. I've had unused bottles on my dresser, so now I spritz a little on every morning. I've been wearing makeup again. I did that anyway when I was teaching, but now I make an effort to put on a face every day now. On the clothes, well, I am working on that. I don't want to dress up everyday, but I have been pulling some outfits out from the back of the closet.

I don't really miss the routine I had developed while working from home. I do miss my show, "As Time Goes By," but now that I have seen every episode three times, it was probably time that I moved onto something else. I had already gone through other TV phases--court shows, talk shows, makeover shows, soaps, and then the Brit-coms. Cable added a little more variety, but I would have tired of "Law and Order" reruns.

I can't explain it. This feeling is overwhelming. I am just as busy and over-scheduled as ever, but I am enjoying it. Maybe I just needed the right combination of activities in my life.

This is Just Sad

I did not write 100 posts this year. Well, I have in other places, but just not here on my blog.

I just wanted to post a quick howdy. I've been busy again--grading, working, shopping, visiting, and so I am just taking a quick breather before I fall into bed.

Tomorrow (technically today) is the end of the year. I can't say that this has been a terrible year for me. For others, it has been the pits. For me, it has been alright.

I had planned to post one of those end of the year round-ups, but the draft that I started is on a another computer. This might be one of those signs that I need a laptop or maybe a Blackberry like the rest of the modern world. My stationary home computer seems so 2003 (I think that's when I bought this). It was so revolutionary to get one of the first flat screens for the home office...now it seems like I have the equivalent of charcoal and cave walls for communicating. Maybe next year I'll join the 21st century with a Blackberry.

I had a good Christmas. In NYC, we celebrate on Christmas Eve, so I spent most of Christmas day in my pajamas. I love days like that. I can forget the fact that I am an overstressed adult most days of the year and just pretend to be a kid. It helps that my mother-in-law likes to cater to us when we visit.

Well, I should sign off now because it is past my bedtime. Ciao!

How Do I Know if I’m Really Black?

I could do a top ten list. I could stand next to someone and compare my skin tone and hair texture. I could look at my parents, the neighborhood where I grew up, and where I went to school. Or I could look in the mirror.

According to certain people, none of those actions matter if I don’t "keep it real", so depending who you ask, I am a suspicious case.

My people have a lot of issues regarding our collective self-image. We recognize that for the most part, black people are complex, just like white people. We are contradictory–we sometimes say one thing and mean something else entirely. We have strange relationships. We embrace our heritage, but then we sometimes run from it. We constantly strive to be more than how we are defined by the mainstream culture, yet we sometimes prefer those definitions in determining our comfort levels with each other. We abhor racism and discrimination, yet we also practice it.

So, just like white folks (and everybody else on the planet), we are human.

I initially planned to write about the drama taking place in Philly over the Eagles, but then I decided that the real conflict is not concentrated there, but it is anywhere black people live, work, play, worship, etc. This is a universal concern–who are we?

I’ve been upset by the forgiveness Terrell Owens has received from certain black leaders. I am offended by the criticism Donovan McNabb has received from some of the same folks. In our zeal to display "unity", we are quick to forgive some of our brethren for major transgressions, yet we are reluctant to understand others whose only sin is difference. This is the Colin Powell/Condoleeza Rice problem–these are the most powerful black people in the world, but we miss that because we are too busy hating on them for their political affiliation.

I harped on this same issue the other day when I railed against Christian intolerance. Black intolerance is equally troubling. As I read some of the blogs and message boards about the Philadelphia Story, they all reflect the internal conflicts we have concerning how blackness is defined. Must black always be the polar opposite of white? Are we so threatened by shades of gray that we must suppress it as soon as it appears?

Personally, I choose not to deal with such abstract concepts. I just want to be a good person. And many times, it is a lot harder to be good than to be black. Being black just is, while being good requires effort. How I express or represent myself is far more important to me. That's how I keep it real.

The War on Being Different

It sucks to be a person of color in some countries because the white majority might try to kill you for merely being accused of doing something wrong. Sound extreme? Well, it’s happening in Australia right now.

It sucks to be a woman because if something happens to piss you off, then someone (a man, perhaps) might accuse you of being too emotional. If you get angrier, then you are accused of not being tough. If you decide to change tactics, then you are accused of being spiteful and vindictive.

It sucks to be anything but an evangelical Christian this time of year, because only evangelicals can lay claim to the good tidings of the season. If you are not evangelical, or are Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, etc., then you might as well have a scarlet “H” on your chest for heathen.

I am not white, male, nor am I an evangelical Christian, yet to be everything that I am—black, female, and a non-denominational progressive Christian is somehow offensive because I defy the “norm”.

I had no control over what I was born to be. My parents are black and the chromosome thing worked in favor of the girls’ team. But I can control my faith. Although I was born and baptized a Christian, I decided that after years of being told what to believe and how to practice those beliefs, I would finally think for myself. Then I rejected certain aspects of the ole time ‘ligion that was good enough for everybody else, so now I find myself out of the fold.

Oh well.

When did changing one’s mind become a crime? Isn’t this supposed to be a country that prides itself on religious freedom? Yet, if you say or do anything that is perceived to be contrary to “traditional values” then you might be hauled to the tribunal of public opinion and flogged for your transgressions.

It appears that the only way to be a good Christian these days is to agree wholeheartedly with George W. Bush. Or that the South was right all along. Or that people really need Hummers to carry all their stuff. Or that a city should erect a manger scene next to an inflatable Frosty the Snowman. Or that God should only bless America.

Cause if you don’t, then you’re headed straight to hell…in a hybrid car.

Loose Ends

My birthday was on Monday. I am now 32, so I can stop anticipating the worse. My life is not over, and God willing, I'll get to see 33.

There I said it. "God willing..."

That is one of those statements that scream "I've gotten old." My grandmothers said it. I'm sure that my grandfather said it, and I know that my late uncle said it too. One day, I'll torture my children by saying it all the time.

I spent my birthday at work. I have a temp gig downtown, and I can set my own schedule. I had initially intended to spend this week preparing for trial, but I thought better of that and decided to spend the time earning money. You see, at the beginning of the week, I was scheduled to be in trial today. As of yesterday, I was technically fired from the case. So, it appears that I made a good call.

The other thing I did on my birthday was to buy a cup of coffee and actually put money in the tip jar. I think that whole concept of a tip jar at what is essentially a fast food place is silly. All the coffee people do is fill a paper cup (esp. in my case, since I rarely order the designer joe). Why should I tip them for that? But it was my birthday, and I wanted to do something nice for someone else. The guy got a dollar. Now he can afford a cup of coffee too.

The other thing I did was get my nails done. That was a waste, because clearly, it takes very little skill to paint one's nails. But because it was my birthday, and I never get manicures, I thought it would be a nice change of pace. Well, she spent about 20 minutes on me and then she abandoned me for some busy chick who was getting a pedicure. I tipped four dollars, so now she can buy herself a nice cup of designer coffee.

And that was that. The hub and I had lunch together, and then later he cooked dinner for me. It was a pretty cool day.

I don't think that birthdays make that much sense. Why should people make a fuss about their birthdays when the day should really be all about our mothers, the ones whose hard work made the day possible? All I did was show up, cry and poop. My mother deserves a medal just for cleaning that sh** up. The only thing I manage to accomplish every 5th is to stay alive (and cry and poop).

That sounds very cynical. I've been in that kind of mood lately. And God willing, I'll be just as cynical about my 33rd birthday.

Ok, so now I've got something to say

Gosh, why didn't I just get a beer in the first place? Liquor loosens the tongue, but it also makes the fingers nimbler and it enables the mind to function slightly above normal levels of coherence. See, I'm not drunk, but just tipsy enough to be witty and creative.

I hereby declare that everyone in my family will receive either a tee shirt, a book or an Aerobed for Christmas this year.

Tee shirts are great because they are comfortable and guaranteed to be used at some point. Who can resist a retro tee, especially when everything that was cool in the 70s, bumpin' in the 80s and awesome in the 90s is hot again! Someone is getting the vintage Captain Kirk and someone else is getting a Wonder Woman shirt. If I find some School House Rock prints, its on!

Every year the hub and I spend hours at Target with a list of sizes for these ever-growing kids in the family. We usually do the right thing, but when we pause to remember the disappointment from our childhoods when aunts and uncles only gave us clothes, we cave into the pressure of remaining "cool" and dash over the the toy department to make additional selections. That era is over because they're all getting books and will be much smarter because of it. Dammit, I'm tired of low test scores attributed to brown children, and despite the fact that several of these kids are near-geniuses, I want to lay the groundwork for the bragging I plan to do at 50. Chapter books for kids older than 8 and pictural guides for everyone else. Hell, even the baby girls will get books!

Aerobeds are practical for people who have relatives who come to visit. The hub and I go to NYC about five times a year and someone has to host us (cause we are colored, and colored folks do not stay in hotels in cities where they have relatives). My kind mother-in-law gives up her bed for a few days, but the bed is so uncomfortable that if given the choice, I would rather sleep on the floor. So why not just get her an Aerobed so that I can do just that? And if one of the siblings wants us to spend time with the nieces and nephews, then the Aerobed solution still works well. Everyone over 40 gets one of those!

As for those obligatory gifts for people who aren't related to me by either blood or marriage, they'll get baked goods, ornaments or a bottle of wine.

See, all of my shopping is done!

Hey, I like Christmas and I love to shop, but I abhor the combination of the two. My tolerance for people and malls is at an all-time low this time of year (even as I contemplate a seasonal retail position for more cash...)

Listen and repeat after me: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS THE PERFECT GIFT, so save yourself some aggravation. Donate the money you would have spent on Chia pets and singing fish to the poor. That is the real meaning of Christmas. The rest of us don't care one wit what we get as long as it isn't a Chia pet or a singing fish.

Ok, if there is nothing more, I have to go because my beer is all gone now, and I suspect that my buzz will follow. Ciao!