Schoolyard Shenanigans

“Now it’s gone to deep/You wake me in my sleep/My dreams become nightmares/’Cause you’re ringing in my ears” – No Doubt, “Spiderwebs”

Jay-Z once said that 30 is the new 20 (maybe in not such proper English, but he said it!).  Lately, I’ve been feeling like 28 is the new 12.  Or 10. 

 

Childish behavior is suddenly all the rage.  And not that cute sh*t either.  Childish behavior as in full out temper tantrums.  Yes.  Grown men are throwing temper tantrums.  Side note: Diddy, please bring back the “No Bitchassness” t-shirts.  Some men seem to have forgotten there’s a ban.  And I’m not talking little temper tantrums.  I’m talking whining, yelling, screaming, pretty sure they’re stomping around temper tantrums.  Straight “terrible twos” style. 

I am unmoved.

I’ve never been moved by whining and the such.  In fact, a temper tantrum is a surefire way to get me to do exactly the opposite of whatever it is you want me to do so badly.  It may be because I’m the oldest child.  Or because my parents are unmoved by such shenanigans.  Irregardless (yeah, I said it) it doesn’t move me.  It doesn’t touch my soul or tug on my heart strings.  It just annoys me.  Point blank.  Period.  Dot.

Someone should give these men out here the memo. 

Now, we all know that I’m a sucker for certain characteristics in a man.  I’m a sucker for men of a certain fraternity.  Broad shoulders.  Cocky attitudes.  And, New York accents.  A particular New Yorker has been keeping my attention lately.  Another side note: No, not THAT New Yorker if anybody reading this knows who I’m talking about.  So anyway, this New Yorker (who doesn’t get a nickname because, well, he throws tantrums) has an attitude in the WORST way – which of course means I love it!  Really straight-forward, to the point, cocky and sexy all rolled into one.  I enjoy hanging out with him.  But, he doesn’t take it very well when I have other plans.  And, well, lately, I’ve had plans.  Lots of them.  I’m making a more conscious effort to do the things that I want to do.  And to NOT do the things that I don’t want to do.  And really, that’s the more important thing here. 

So, unfortunately for him – I have plans.  And when I didn’t have plans I didn’t want new ones.  So this past weekend when he asked if I wanted to get together on Sunday I said “no.”  He asked “why not?”  I said, “because I don’t feel like it.”  Which I didn’t.  I wanted to stay in and mind my own damn business.  There is no rule that says I have to be around people twenty-four hours a day seven days a week.  And if there were a rule that said that it’d be stupid.  Quite frankly, I enjoy my solitude. 

He, on the other hand, does not enjoy my solitude.  After hanging up on me (which, what 28 year old does that?  Really?).  He proceeded to text me.  I ignored them.  Then he called me . . . like five times in a row.  Um what?  The last time he left a voicemail with enough profanity to make the drunkest of sailors blush. 

How old are you again?  What year is it?  Has this approach been effective in the past?  Who exactly did you think you were talking to?  Is stoopid tattooed on my forehead? 

Do I look moved to you?  Oh right, you can’t see me.  Well, I’m unmoved by your temper tantrum.  And so I told him.  That is was ineffective, childish, and the ultimate turn off.  I then told him that, quite frankly, if this is the approach he takes when he doesn’t get his way then I am not interested in seeing him anymore.

Then I told him to lose my phone number.

Second guy this week.

So, what do you guys think?  Am I the only one who is encountering temper tantrums?  What’s up with that?  And why do grown ass men think they’ll work?  You know the drill . . .

Signed,
I’m Moved By A Lot of Things But Not That Barbie

Dark and Twisty

“Everyone thinks I’ll know what to say to her. I don’t know what to say to her. Dark and twisty Meredith. I’m not dark and twisty. And if I am, it’s because I live my life under a banner of avoidance. I avoid. I’m an avoider.” – Meredith Grey, “Grey’s Anatomy”

One thing (among the many) that I appreciate about my conversations with Mini Me is that it is always open, honest and direct communication between us.  Rarely (if ever, actually) have I ever felt like she was beating around the bush, hemming and hawing or not saying what it is she really wants to say.  I can’t speak to every aspect of her life, but in all my experiences I’ve found it to be this way.  Which is why I value her opinion so much.  I know I’m going to get the truth; not some version of it.  I do have friends who consistently deliver some version of the truth to me, and when I need that I go to them.  But when I want cold, hard facts (and I mean that in the nicest, most loving way possible) and honest feedback I’ve found myself, more than once, going to Mini Me first before anyone else. 

In fact, I was right there earlier today when I felt myself becoming increasingly frustrated with the dark and twisty nature of a friend.  I’m not frustrated with the dark and twistiness of it all (hey, I get that) – mostly I’m frustrated because I’m feeling the exact opposite of dark and twisty (light and straight?).  And the fact that I feel neither dark nor twisty makes me feel like my friend is not interested in being my friend when I’m not commiserating in the dark and twistiness of it all.  Follow me?

Of course, Mini Me got a long soliloquy about it all – but here’s the main point.  I’m not feeling dark and twisty and my friend is.  And I’m feeling like a bad friend for not feeling dark and twisty.  And, I’m probably feeling bad because the last time I wasn’t dark and twisty I was told I was a bad friend.  But, as Mini Me pointed out in her response to me, “Sometimes we’re left alone with our thoughts/feelings/difficulties so that we can figure ourselves out . . . [and] it’s ok for [people] to voice when [they’re] feeling crappy but it’s really not ok to put it on anyone else to lift [them] up.”

And that’s so true, isn’t it?  At a certain point it’s not fair for us to depend on our friends to pick us up out of our dark and twisty places.  It’s fair to ask them to be there for us and to reach out to them if we need help.  But at the end of the day, only we can change how we feel about a situation.  At the end of the day it falls on us to either “fall apart or rise to the challenge of pulling [ourselves] out of this sh*t storm.”  After all, my friends didn’t get me over Voldy.  I got me over Voldy.  They helped and they were there in moments of pain or weakness or especially trying days.  But, it was my conscious effort to get over it, move past it and learn from the experience that got me to where I am.  It was my choice to wake up each morning and put one foot in front of the other.  My choice to stop crying and start living.  To get better and not bitter.  They were there, but it was me that did it. 

I guess that’s what I wish for my dark twisty friend.  That this bout of dark and twistiness will bring about a change that has not come in all the other bouts of dark and twistiness.  That there will be some sort of realization that is reached that wasn’t there six weeks, six months or six years ago.  I just want them to know that they’re better than this.

And, while I won’t indulge the dark and twistiness, I will be there whenever they’re ready to emerge on a path to something better.

Signed,
I’m Just Not There Barbie

Say Ahhhh

“Let me hear you say ahhh” – Trey Songz, “Say Ahhh”

Just finished a 24/7 project that has been the bane of my existence for the past two weeks . . .

This is me exhaling.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I know it’s been a long time . . .

. . . I shouldn’t have left you . . .

But Barbie’s back – and she’s coming with a vengence!!!!!!

The Upside of Anger

“Yeah, it does.  It heals.  It just heals kind of funny.  You know, you more or less walk . . . with a limp.” – “The Upside of Anger” [on a broken heart]

Side note: Sorry I haven’t been blogging.  I don’t like not blogging.  But, life has just gotten a tad bit crucial lately.  And, I think I caught SARS from one of my piano students.  But Barbie is back (until I’m gone again).

So, the other night D-Magic reprimanded me for ranting a lot on my blog lately.  Well, it wasn’t quite a reprimand; just an observation that still feels like a reprimand because the person is right. I haven’t been meaning to rant a lot.  They’ve just kind of been coming out, like word vomit.  And, I was all prepared to go on another rant about how I want a boyfriend (because, well the weather is cold and I’m sick and I want someone to snuggle me and bring me soup and sh*t). And it was going to be a good rant.  Because I’m wonderful and fabulous and all these things, but I still keep finding losers or crazies.  And, I’m too scared to say anything to the guys who could be really good for me.

But then D-Magic goes all “gee, all of your posts have been rants lately” on me and so now, I can’t rant. Because, then I’ll be seen as the girl who rants and probably is fabulous and deserves a fabulous man except she rants a lot.  Which leads me to where I am today.  The upside of anger.  Except, I’m not really angry.  And, in our case, anger means single (I really just like the movie and wanted to use the title).  And really, there is an upside to being single (and sometimes anger too).

So anyway, that was a really roundabout way of getting to the upside of being single. Because, as I think about all my cuddleless nights (which, really, thanks to Mr. Sunday aren’t quite so cuddleless) and my sick days (seriously, bring me some soup!) and how I want someone to go see Christmas lights with and have Thanksgiving with and make babies with in the far, far, far future (because my brother is making enough babies for all of us these days!) I realize that there really is an upside to being single.

If I really wanted to be taken that  badly I could.  After all, anybody can be married if they lower their standards enough.  But you know me, I’m a high standards kind of girl, so I’ve got to find the upside of being single.  So, in the spirit of not ranting and working on being content in my singleness (cuddles or no cuddles) I present the “Upside of Being Single!”

• Nobody cares if I watch “Project Runway” marathons instead of Sunday Football.  Also, nobody gets mad because I root for the team with the cutest players.
• When (and please pray it’s a when) I get a bonus I can make a guilt-free trip to the Coach store to buy myself a little treat for being such a hard worker.
• One less birthday I have to remember.
• I can flirt notoriously with whomever I want and NEVER feel guilty about it.
• If I want to wear my head scarf to the store, nobody looks at me funny.
• It doesn’t matter if I haven’t had a pedicure since June – who’s looking at my feet?
• There’s nobody around to be offended by morning breath.
• I know how to change a light bulb, reset the TV, power wash my windows and change the air filter in my house.  However, my brother still takes my trash out.
• I can take as long I want to get ready – this usually involves changing 4 times and doing my hair twice.
• There is a self-assurance and a self-confidence that I’ve grown in myself that no man can add to or take away.  That can only be learned through single-dom.

So – what are the upsides of being single in your opinion?  And, don’t come here with the upside of being coupled up. When I’m coupled up, I’ll post about it.  But right now, we don’t want none!

Signed,
All Positive and Sh*t Barbie

In My Skin: Another Necessary Rant (upgrade!)

“B*&ch I’m me, I’m me, I’m me, I’m me. Baby I’m me, so who you? You’re not me, you’re not me. And I know that ain’t fair, but I don’t care.” – Weezy F. Baby, “I’m Me”

So, I wasn’t planning on posting today.  Calling my life hectic these days is the understatement of the century. And, there are other things that I should be doing right now.  But, I have to take a minute.

Lately, I’ve been surrounded by people who are cuh-razy body conscious. Now – I’m body conscious – there are things I need to work on.  And I go to the gym because it makes me feel good, I actually enjoy working out (usually) and it helps me lose and/or maintain my weight loss.  But, make no mistake about it, I know I’m thick.  And I’m OK with that.  Like actually, really OK with it [Insert inside joke here D-Magic].

In fact, flaws and all, I think pretty highly of myself.  I am well aware of the fabulosity that makes me who I am. And, I’m pretty sure at least somebody out there things I’m fabulous because I have been told that I’m pretty, beautiful and have great legs (just last Thursday!).  Side note: I work my legs out really hard at the gym.  I’m proud of the fact that I can leg press more than a lot of guys. OK, we’re back.  Anyway, the fact of the matter is that I think I’m pretty darn cute.

But lately, I feel like I’ve been surrounded by people who don’t think quite so much of themselves.  And, it’s annoying. Not because I am conceited or anything (at least, I try really, really hard not to be).  But, it’s still annoying.  First, you are cute/adorable/smart/slim or whatever other compliment you are fishing for.  I’m only going to tell you once.  It’s not my job to convince you that you are fabulous. I have to remind myself everyday how wonderful I am.  It’s like in Christianity – at a certain point you have to learn how to encourage yourself/pray for yourself/speak things into your life.  You have to mature.  You can’t always rely on everyone else’s prayer/encouragement to get you through a trial/tribulation/tough time.  The same principle applies.  At a certain point you have to accept that you are what you are and tell yourself how great all of that is.

I don’t mean that you shouldn’t change or improve.  Not at all.  I try really hard to do that.  But it has to be for the right reason.  And let’s face it, to find a boyfriend, make your man happy, pick up chicks, or buy designer clothes ain’t it. Now I don’t know what the right reason for you is.  But, I’m pretty sure that if you’re doing it to find somebody else, keep somebody else or fit into some really expensive clothing that you’ll still be unhappy once you’ve done those things.

At what point to we grow up and accept ourselves, flaws and all? Nobody is perfect – so when do we start accepting that we aren’t perfect and love ourselves just the way we are?  So what that my tooth is a little crooked?  It doesn’t stop every guy I’ve ever dated from telling me that my smile is one of my best (and usually their favorite) feature.  So why spend the time harping on my crooked tooth?  That is energy that can be directed elsewhere in a much more positive manner. What is it that you’re wasting your time harping on?

I don’t mean to rant but I’m just sayin . . . I spend a lot of time working on me, making sure I’m happy and content and comfortable in my own skin.  And frankly, I’m a little tired of listening to others gripe because they aren’t comfortable in their own skin. I’m not ranting, just sayin . . . (OK, I am ranting).

So do us all a favor and stop focusing on the flaws. Stop complaining because you hate your curly hair.  Focus on how great your eyes are, how wide and welcoming your smile is and how cute your butt is.  If you worked and worked and worked and can’t get rid of that little tummy pooch, figure out how to hide it (try a wide belt cinched at your natural waist). And, if you don’t like the way you look – get up and do something about it.  I’m looking for a jogging partner.  And, if you are doing something about it then STOP WHINING! The change will come eventually.  If you’re doing what you’re supposed to do, it’ll come.

I’m comfortable in my own skin so please stop making me uncomfortable around yours.

Signed,
There are Bigger Fish to Fry Barbie

It’s Called a Break-Up . . .

. . . Because It’s Broken

“Sometimes love comes around / It knocks you down / Just get back up when it knocks you down.” – Keri Hilson, “Knocks You Down”

Per usual, I was engaged in a gabfest with one of my girlfriends.  The conversation always, inevitably, turns to men.  It always does.  We can’t help it.  Hmph.

Anyway, this particular conversation was about how long it takes to get over someone after you’ve broken up. I have a friend who has been broken up with one particular ex for years.  We’re talking five plus here.  Long enough – in my opinion – to be over someone.  Except, she seems to be the exact opposite of over him.  I never hear anything nice about the time they spent together.  I never hear her refer to their courtship in a positive way.  In fact, I’m pretty sure she wishes he were dead. I know the guy.  He was nice then.  He’s nice now.  In fact, he reads my blog.  So, if you’re reading this – yeah, I’m talking about you.  And you’re fine by me.

Now, my issue is not with being upset over a break-up.  Hell.  I started an entire blog from my break-up with Voldy. I get it.  We all break-up.  But that’s just it.  We all break-up.

I’ll say it again.  We.  All.  Break.  Up.

Even the homie over on Honey Blog agrees. And, since we all break-up at a certain point you have got to get over it. I don’t agree with everything the homie at Honey Blog says.  But, I do agree that most of our relationships end in failure.  It’s not any fault of ours.  We didn’t (for the most part) do anything wrong.  It’s just the way the cards fall.  The odds are stacked against us.  The house always wins.  That’s the way love goes.

Think about it.  Your relationships end until you meet the person you are going to spend the rest of your life with.  I won’t say that you’re a failure – because you’re not.  None of us are.  But, in the game of love, none of us will bat 1000. Our free throw percentage will never be 90%.  We’ll always have a losing record (unless you marry the first person you were ever in a relationship with – but really, how many of us will that happen to?).

I assert that if you can accept that and move on from the break-up it’ll make you much more resilient in the game of love. I’m not saying (like the Honey Blog homie) that you should go into a relationship expecting failure.  But, what I am saying is that you shouldn’t keep beating yourself (or the breaker-upper) up over a break-up. And you shouldn’t continue to hate your ex two, three, four or five years later.  Aside from the fact that it’s not healthy, it just hinders you in love.

I’m not saying that break-ups don’t completely suck. I’m not saying they don’t hurt.  And I’m not saying that it doesn’t take time to get over them. Trust me – I KNOW.  But, what I am saying is that the next time you go on a date, meet an incredible guy on the metro (before you realize he’s a psycho stalker) or find yourself fantasizing that your co-worker could be the one (I’m talking to you CCB, er me), cut yourself a little slack.  Let things fall as they may.

As Denny used to say, “just fall back.”  It’s a much less stressful approach to dating and love.

Let’s face it, break-ups suck. But they’re not the end all, be all.  If break-ups felt good they’d be called something fun – like sex! And, despite how bad a break-up feels, we are not designed to dwell on that pain forever.  We just aren’t.  I don’t think what ever higher power you choose to believe in would want it that way.  So, buck up my friends.  Acknowledge the pain and the hurt.  And then move on from it.  Grow from it.  And open yourself up to someone new.  And, hey, he (or she) just might be your home run.

But, if they aren’t . . . don’t beat yourself up about it.  Break-ups happen.

So, what do you guys think?  Am I’m being too hard on my friend?  Am I too nonchalant in my theory on break-ups? Is this just a way for me to mask the deeply rooted pain from my break-up with Voldy?  Or do you agree that we should accept relationships and break-ups for what they are and keep it moving?

Weigh in below.

Signed,
It Might be Broken but I’m Not Barbie

New Obsession

Yes, it’s Chris Brown. Yes, we know what he did. Yes, his bow tie was kunty.

None of that matters.

It’s hot.

Had to share . . .

“True love is giving someone the power to destroy you, but trusting them not to.”

Wow . . . . . . .

Four Good Years

“I love kids, especially the kind I can return to their rightful owner.” – Country Club Barbie

Sistergirlfriend welcomed her little bundle of joy into the world on Monday September 14.  My godson is so precious. He’s got the bushiest eyebrows you’ve ever seen on a baby.  And a head full of hair.  And I’m completely obsessed and in love with his tiny little hands and tiny little feet.  And amazed at his survival instinct.  And he only rivals my nephew, Trey, in the cuteness factor.  Trey Day has indeed come.

In the midst of the joyous occasion, a relative-in-law to sistergirlfriend said something that just really rubbed me the wrong way.  We’ll get to that in a second.  But let’s just back up for a minute.

Anybody who knows even a smidge about me knows that I do not want kids right now. It’s not that I never want kids.  But right now, I don’t want them.  I love children. I love every minute I spend with my nephew, little cousins, godchildren and piano students.  But right now, I don’t want them.  I want two or three when I’m ready.  But I ain’t ready.  And the best thing I could do for any of my future offspring, is not to offsprung until I’m ready (yeah, I said it).

And I don’t mean ready in the sense that I can’t take care of a kid.  I’m perfectly capable of caring for a child. I could love them and nurture them and support them. But, right now, I’m in a selfish place in my life.  I enjoy the fact that I can travel and spend my money on me.  And do the things I want to do.  And go the places I want to go.  It suits me at this time. And, I would never bring another human being into the world without being past that stage.  At least, that’s my plan.

Plus, I’d like a husband first.  A boyfriend.  Hell, at this point, I’d take someone I want to date for more than five minutes.

Which brings us to the hospital when Sistergirlfriend’s relative-in-law declared in front of a waiting room full of people that I only have “four good years left” to have a baby. When did 30 become doomsday for reproduction?  My own mother didn’t have me until she was 30 – and I’m the oldest!  I know plenty of women who didn’t have kids until they were in their thirties.  I even know some who had them in their forties – without any help from the doctor.  It happens.  A lot.

So, I bring this question to you.  Is there some kind of ticking clock that I didn’t know about? Did I do things completely wrong by focusing on my career and establishing myself?

My gut says no, but, hey, I’ve been wrong before.

Are there really only four good years left?

Signed,
I’ve still got time (I think) Barbie