Are You There God? It's Me, Dawn

A good friend of mine is going through a tough breakup right now…and again I’m reminded of why relationships scare me.

I mean, we’re not young things just out of college anymore.  When I was in my early twenties, I didn’t think anything of wasting a year or so on someone who was clearly no good for me.  Now…it’s a different story.

So as my friend blubbers, sobs, and sniffles her way through this, I continue to date unmarriageable men.  I suppose I’d rather not have to deal with the heartbreak that is seemingly inevitable.

Are you recently divorced with emotional issues and a high level of selfishness?  Perfect!  Give me a call later.

Are you in your thirties and still living with mom and pops?  Awesome…pull out your cell phone so I can give you the digits.

Do you have a great job, own a home, never been married, no kids…and really want to get to know me?  Ummm…keep it moving buddy, nothing to see here.

I guess I’ll need to stop being afraid that the real thing may actually be out there.  That there really is someone out there who will appreciate the fabulousness (read: oddness) that is Dawn.

I was finally able to work out this morning after a couple of days off.

Was I sick?  Nope.  Injured?  Nope.

I’ve been tired…unbearably tired actually.  Justin can keep his sexy…I’m bringing sleepy back.

Insomnia’s been kicking my tail these last few days.

I wash my face, brush my teeth, set my alarm, and climb into bed just like normal and I fall right asleep.  Only to wake up at like one or two or three in the morning…and precede to stare at the alarm clock and get increasingly worried that I may never ever for the remainder of my life get a full night of sleep.

As Charlie Brown would say, “aaarrrrgh!”.

*sigh*

So I’m one tired puppy.

So there’s this new guy hanging around…and to be honest he’s digging me like greens and cornbread.  But I’m not there yet.

I was telling some friends about him last night and one of my girlfriends said something awesome…maybe he’ll give you a chance to catch up.

I love that.

And of course that got me to thinking about God and His love.

Not that we can ever catch up to His kind of love and caring, but He’s just so patient with us.

When I screw up the same thing that I’ve screwed up in the past, He gives me a chance to make it right…to catch up.

When I refrain from telling someone off that I told off last month…I’m catching up just a little bit.

I love God for giving me a chance to catch up.  And when I screw up that chance, He’s gives me another.

So I keep running my race...trying to catch up. 

I've heard it said that:

The right person at the wrong time is the wrong person...

&

The wrong person at the right time is the wrong person...

What do you think? 

A transcript from a convo I had earlier in the day…names have been changed to protect the innocent (which would be me, by the way).

*phone rings*

Me: Hello?

Susie: Uggg…

Me: Susie, are you alright?

Susie: *nasally*  I don’t feel so good.

Me: Oh, what’s up?

Susie: I got the pukies and the poopies.

Me: Ewww, you should probably stay at home huh?

Susie: I’m okay, really!  *cough, cough*  I haven’t puked in a couple hours.

Me: *physically recoiling*  Um, you’re not coming in to work.

Susie: No really, I’m…

Me: No seriously, stay your tail at home so you don’t get the rest of us sick!

There was more to the chat, but that’s the general idea.  Why won’t sick people stay at home?  More specifically, why won’t they stay at home with their nasty germs?  Work will get accomplished if you’re not there, people will still send countless emails, and life will go on.  I promise!

Stay your germ-infested, drippy-nosed, crusty-eyed tail at home!

Thank you.

I think part of the problem is that it was a Starbucks and not my neighborhood quirky coffee shop.

But I went to get coffee this morning and felt so isolated…so different…such a sense of not belonging.

There were men in crisp, white button-down shirts yapping away on their Blackberry’s…much too important to stop their conversation to actually looking the barista in the eye to order…shoving their credit cards in the air to pay, without so much as a thank you.

There were young moms there with their toddlers.

College students tapping away on their laptops, hunched over, bleary-eyed, with books spread out all over their table.

“Ladies Who Lunch” were there with their insanely large wedding rings, obscenely small waists, and inappropriately tight clothing (they’re somebody’s mom for God sakes!), and perfectly made up faces.

Seemed like everyone had a place to be…except me.  I don’t fit into any of those molds.

Most times I’m okay with not fitting in, because I’m a different duck…I’m Black, Christian, love rock/hip hop/alternative music, love reading, love the Lord but realize that I don’t have all the answers, I feel like I’m pretty conservative but in a different way…think J. Crew meets thrift shop, I’m quite possibly addicted to working out, and speaking of addictions…this computer and my iPod have quite the hold on me as well, I love my job…but it’s just a job.

Where were the people like me at the ‘bucks this morning?

When things don’t make sense to me, I pray.  I just sit and talk to God and let him know how I’m feeling.

I did that today when I heard about the shootings at Virginia Tech.  Over thirty folks dead.

That didn’t make sense to me…so I prayed.

I prayed that those who were still alive would make it through.  I prayed that those who were dead had good relationships with their friends and with God.  I prayed that worried and frantic parents would get good news about their child.

I also prayed for peace of mind for those folks who did make it…who saw all the carnage, but were somehow spared. 

I thanked God that the shooter didn’t kill more people.  I thanked God that the police showed up when they did.

I pray now that this doesn’t spawn copycat killings…life is so precious and there’s nothing so bad that warrants what happened today.  I pray that those people who are depressed and at the end of their ropes seek help so that this doesn’t happen again.

In all my years, I’ve finally figured out something:  a man who can’t kiss is like a quarterback without a football…a pitcher without a glove…a violinist without a bow…a latte without expresso…a little kid without toys…a flower without smell…an iPod without music…a holiday without family…a church without a preacher…mail without junk…my closet without shoes…a book without words…a song without a melody…a laptop without the internet…a frame without a picture…a bird without its chirp…a cat without its meow…a mirror without a reflection…an orange without a peel…a restaurant without food…a workout without sweat…a watch without the time.

I like all kinds of kisses:  pecks on the cheek…pecks on the lips…long ones…short ones…fun ones…intense ones…just-to-say-hello kisses…I’m-on-my-way-out kisses…forehead kisses…whoops-we-missed kisses…first ones…second ones…end-of-the-first-date ones…I-think-I-like-you kisses…I-think-I-love-you kisses…but the best kisses are special kisses from that special man.

Good man + good kissin’ = happy Dawn.

I love pets.  It’s just that they have to be other people’s pets.

It’s not that I haven’t thought seriously about having my own cute doggie and snuggly cat…it’s just that I don’t wanna become the crazy cat lady.  Or one of those insane people that end up on the news because they’ve got a house full of animals.

I sometimes look at my single friends with animals and wonder if they’re substituting the pet for a man…I’m not quite there yet.

I’m not ready to walk in my house and start having convos with my cat.

Me:  Hey Boots!

B:  Meow!

Me:  Oh my God, can you believe that Sheila thought that outfit was cute?  *shakes head*

B:  Meow.

Me:  I know…crazy huh?  And that hair cut is so not for her.

B:  Meow.  *getting bored with me*

Me:  Oh Boots, I’m so happy you’re here!

B:  Meow.  *walking out of room*

Me:  And then Bill was like…Boots?  Boots?

Me:  *sigh* 

I’m sure if you just Google “Don Imus” and “nappy headed ho’s” you’ll be able to read about it yourself.

A quick synopsis, Imus called the Rutgers (mostly Black) womens basketball team nappy headed ho’s after their loss in the national championship game…said they were rough looking.

Now everyone’s all up in arms…especially Black leaders.

My question is, “why?”

Is it because he’s an old White guy?  Is it because he didn’t put it to a tight beat?

I only ask because modern hip hop artists say this stuff all the time…and get people to pay them to say it and shake their collective booties to it!

I am actually amazed that this has caused such an uproar…why wouldn’t Imus think he could say that?  If he ever listens to his local hip hop station, he hears various versions of his statement about ten times an hour.  If he ever watches the latest rap video, then he sees women smiling and dancing…while being called ho’s.  Perhaps he didn’t think it was a big deal.

Anyway, I don’t think folks have a leg to stand on in this situation.  I think the fact that he’s got to face a punishment shows that we’re being hypocrites.  What?  Now only Black men can call Black women “nappy headed ho’s”?

How about nobody call me a ho and let’s call it even?