I figured it out!

I have finally figured out why chivalry is dead. This morning on my way to work, I jumped on the el like a bunch of other people. The train car I got on was full, but not quite crowded. I was the 2nd person on my side of the car, preceded by a young man. There was one seat left, and he took it. Actually, he looked at me, and then sat down. I proceeded through the car and started to lament the death of chivalry. That's when I realized that I think I've figured out the reason why it died.

So, back in the day when men were giving up seats for ladies, opening doors, and generally being gentlemanly, women were...well...expected to be quiet, for lack of a better word. Proper ladies were meant to dress nicely, take care of their man, cook dinner, mind the children, do the laundry, and basically be a domestic goddess. They were not off galavanting around, running board rooms, getting advanced degrees, or earning the big bucks. Unfortunately, they also weren't expected to really have much of an opinion or cause a whole lot of ruckus outside of the home. As a trade off, men were the great big providers, protecting women and giving them special treatment, just because they were ladies.

Around the time that feminism took hold, (I assume) women decided that the trade-off was totally not worth it. Women were capable of kickin' ass and takin' names outside of the home, and we wanted the right to prove it. And prove it we have! I think at this point, most men understand that women can do something other than cook and clean. But, it would seem to me that men started to feel cheated. Now, women are on equal footing and, near as I can tell, men aren't especially motivated to give them that extra-special treatment. It's like some sort of loophole that the feminists didn't contemplate. Who woulda thought that the price of entering the boardroom was being required to stand on the el? Or split the check on a date? Or be expected to put out right away?

This point was really driven home when I thought back to old relationships. The Titan was all for the modern woman. He wanted a woman who could do it all. But the boy didn't do anything to show that I was special. (As in, I'm pretty sure we split every check, and I saw nary a flower). On the other side, Astro treated me like a special lady. Actually, he gave me some pretty convincing evidence that chivalry isn't totally dead: During the first few months of our relationship, he bought flowers, paid for dinner, gave foot rubs. All in all, the perfect guy, right? The only thing I was required to do was be a well-refined and well-educated lady in the streets, and a freak in the bed. Easy peasy, right? Right. But* after our first argument, when I expressed an opinion that was contrary to his, chivalry kicked the bucket. Basically, he looked at me, and then took the last seat.

What I don't understand, my boys, is why is it that there's no such thing as a happy medium? Yes, I'd like to have my own opinions, and (continue) to kick ass and take names. But I'd also like the guy I'm dating to open doors, give foot rubs, and just be a gentlmanly kind of guy. I find this especially perplexing when women have been balancing for generations. Seriously, if we are able to complete the epic task of keeping or freak in the bed and off the street, and our lady in the street and off the bed, why can't you be a gentleman that doesn't feel emasculated when a chick knows that that was TOTALLY pass interference and Calvin Johnson and the Lions was absolutely robbed last season? For real boys. Your head won't explode, I promise.



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*There's always a a but, isn't there.

Decorating Time

I have an amazing friend who can turn any squalid studio into a chic urban loft. Jade is the type of chick who paints, faux finishes, and treats the walls of her rented space, just because she has to live there.* It's a trait that is nothing short of awesome. She has a million different service pieces, holiday gear, wall art, dishes, glasses, centerpieces, you name it! After a gathering at her space, I'm always inspired to go do something grand.

I, however, am not a decorating guru. I always find it difficult to muster up the excitement or motivation to turn my single gal's home into a festive space for holidays. When I go to department stores, the floor displays are always so well put together. The displays scream "Buy Me! Buy Me! If you do you will have fabulous dinner parties where people have a ripping good time and engage in all kinds of tomfoolery!!" They whisper to me about my hostess skills, the dinners I'll cook, the desserts I'll bake! Everything coming together and my guests being thoroughly wowed. There are displays for spring, summer, autumn, winter, and all the holidays that fall in those seasons. Visions of seasonally appropriate menus begin to dance in my head. But, I know full well that I have no such dinner parties. My cooking skills, while not sad, are not epic. There is no long guest list of people beating down my door to get invited to a shindig. And frankly, I don't have enough seating for a huge gathering. Where do these displays think I live? The 'burbs? HA! There is no good reason for me to run about buying autumn paraphernalia if I'm the only one who is going to be looking at it!

Ironically, I have oodles of willpower when it comes to home fashion trends, despite their inherent practicality. I have no such strength when it comes to the changing fashions. Could it be true that I am only motivated to participate in important trends if I think other people are looking? I should hope not! I am of the belief that you should (and your home!!) look good even if no one is looking!

Ok people, let's get it together. *Clap Clap!* Hence forth, all areas of our lives shall exude fabulous -- not just when the potential for seeing someone is high. Let's do it. Ready.....Break!

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*I like to think she does to her home what Stacy London does to casual outfits. Just because it's cas' doesn't mean it shouldn't be fabulous!

This is why I'm hot

Today, I got another memo about just how hot I am. Let me set the stage for you.

I was walking down the street, headed to meet some uber important people for lunch. I had on my red ombre stilettos. I also had on a trench coat and a scarf. Frankly, it wasn't my most fabulous outfit. Don't tell my fashionista friends, but my shoes were scuffed, I've lost a button on that coat* And, my hair got wet when I jumped off the building yesterday, so I was rocking a 'do that can really only be described as a shock of black hair.

Anyway, I was about a block outside of my building (aka, before my feet were on fire and so I was still walking normally). I was stopped at the corner, waiting for the light to change. I saw a guy on the opposite corner in a black windbreaker, a hat, and he had a backpack hanging on the lamp post on the corner. He's got a big smile on his face, and appears to be talking to everyone walking by. ... Wait a minute. Is that a styrofoam cup in his hand? Oh geez. It's a homeless guy asking everyone for change. ... That's so sad. ... I don't have any cash though. Oh! The light is changing.

So, I walk across the street, and I hear "Good afternoon!! You look great today. Man, when I get a job, you better run!!!!!"

Zwerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Hold the phone. Did I just get hit on by a homeless guy? Dude! Don't you have other things you should be concerned with?!

And see? This is why I'm hot. I got hit on by a homeless guy today. Who catcalled you?!!?


*On a related note? I hate that trench. The buttons are awesome because they're heavy, but they suck for the same reason. The heavy buttons are constantly popping off. Curses.

Adventures on the eL

Lately, all of my adventures have been happening on the el. And, my adventures have mostly (ok totally) been adventures of a boy-crazy teenaged girl. *shrug*

First, on my way home yesterday, I noticed a very well dressed young brotha get on the train just ahead of me. He had on an athletic cut pinstriped suit. (Navy blue with gray stripes for those keeping track). He was well accessorized with a tie, great shoes, and a pocket square. He had a rather unfortunate scar on his bald head...you know probably as a result of being probed by aliens or getting into a fist fight with a weed wacker (he won); but I was totally willing to overlook it because he was so very well put together -- and because he carried himself so well. I took it upon myself to sit right next to him, in hopes of getting a rise out of him. He wasn't looking at me when I sat, so I didn't bother with the flirty half-smile. Instead, I made small production of sitting down and pulling out my copy of the RedEye. When he STILL didn't do anything, I giggled at an article. I don't remember what the article was about, but it probably wasn't nearly as funny as I made it seem. And? Still nothing from Mr. Pinstripe Man. So, I continued reading, dejected at the lack of forthcoming pickup line. But, we had been on the train together for a mere 5 minutes; so I didn't mourn our relationship for too long.

I proceeded to the sports section of the RedEye, where I legitimately did laugh at an article about Cutler. (Football's greatest actor). And this is when Mr. Pinstripe decided to say something. He opened with "how are you today?" Or something equally banal. I responded, and followed my fine with "just laughing at this article on Cutler...[blah blah blah] I heart football." And he said something about the Bears, and I made a snide comment about the Packers being far superior. And then, our newly budding relationship was over. He made a comment about the Bears being the city team and awesome, and I pointed out that we'd won more Super Bowls. (The sitcom voice-over that I sometimes have in my head said something like -- "and that's how he knew it would never work. He bled blue and orange, and she was a cheesehead. They were doomed from the very beginning..." What? I'm the only person with a sitcom voiceover in my head?) For the next two stops, there was a cold silence between us. When I got off the train, I looked back at him, and he totally avoided eye contact. Whatevs. I was over it.

It wasn't until I was about halfway down the stairs when it hit me. That dude only said something to me because he thought I was making all kinds of noise to get him to notice and/or talk to me! So what if it's partially (ok, mostly) true?! Dude, you're not supposed to make it so obvious that you realized what I was doing!! Also? I'm not that desperate. I don't tend to find my dates on public transpo, ok? My dates? Are men I meet in retail stores, thank you.* I don't need you, Mr. Pinstripe. Ok? I can find a date. I just wanted to have a little fun. Geez!


Anyhoo. This morning, I was sitting on the train, reading whatever silly book Amazon had on Kindle for free.** (Incidentally, the free books are generally colossally stupid, and I tend to lose a few brain cells whenever I read them.) So, I'm reading, and we come up to the next stop. I didn't see the man get on, but I sensed him sit next to me. When I looked at him out of the side of my eye, I noticed he was a tall brother in good shape. I didn't see his face from the front, but his profile was nice, a good strong jaw. And then, I got a good whiff -- ewwwww. He was a smoker! Unacceptable. Moving on.

So, on the way back from work, I was headed to the train, and on the way, I pass a Fannie May. I've managed to resist the urge to go in and buy several chocolatey delights, but today it was a struggle! As I was passing the big picture window, I noticed a young Latino gentleman. He was cleaning the counters or packaging candies or...hell I don't know (or care) what he was doing. But the boy was fiiiiiiiiiiine. He had a close-cropped haircut, just this side of a buzz cut. He had on black pants (maybe jeans? Which I hear are back in for men); and a black tank. The tank showed off his lovely muscles, smooth skin, and inverted triangle shape. And then, he had a nice tat on his right forearm. It was pretty big...and just enough badass to make any girl smile. I am pretty sure he caught me lookin' ...but I don't care. Clearly, I didn't learn ANYTHING yesterday. HA!

Hey, at least my commute is never dull!

*See: 'bux boyfriend (Starbucks); Astro (at the See Eyewear); Spritely Asian Guy (Sunglasses Hut)

**Side note? Why the eff are books so expensive on the Kindle? I thought the whole point is that it was cheaper and quicker. What's the point of owning a Kindle if the e-book is just as expensive as the hardcover -- and more expensive than the paperback?! AND I can't get awesome books from the library? Please oh please explain the point. Seriously, Amazon. You built your empire on cheap books. Let's return to our roots, shall we?

9.11.11

Today has been a day of remembrance for many Americans. Many people have posted or spoken about what 9.11 means to them. I have generally avoided doing this, because even 10 years later, I remain confused by my memories and my reactions.

10 years ago today, I was in college. I didn't have class that morning, for whatever reason. I woke up, brushed my teeth, started getting ready, and turned on the TV. I remember thinking that I hadn't been watching CNN the night before, but maybe I'd turned for some reason -- since what I was seeing was very obviously news. I saw two buildings I didn't recognize with big billows of smoke on the screen. I don't remember reading the tag at the bottom. Frankly, I doubt I paid it much attention as I was getting dressed to go to my work-study job at the library. When I got to the library, my supervisor expressed all kinds of surprise that I showed up to work. It was THEN that I found out that the big buildings with the billows of smoke had been hit by a plane, and were two high rises in New York. My first thought? I wondered what went wrong with the plane.

As days passed, I remember the outpouring of support and the reaction of the nation. I remember feeling like it was an overreaction. Not because the victims and their families didn't deserve every bit of financial and emotional support...But because I was in the middle of Iowa, and I thought it odd that the shops and malls were closing. While I believe that crime happens anywhere and everywhere, I was still finding it difficult to believe that "attacks" or "terrorism"* could ever happen in Iowa.

Ultimately, I never did find a way to truly wrap my head around what happened. I didn't have a specific patriotic pull, because I felt so far removed from the situation. Despite being a short plane ride away, NYC was SO far...like another planet. I was so blessed not to have any family, friends, cousins, distant relatives, random acquaintances...no one I knew was in either of the places where there was an errant plane. I felt for the victims and their families in the way you feel for anyone who suffered from a tragedy -- man-made or otherwise. But it was (is) so hard to believe that it happened here.

Like any other American, I won't forget what happened that day. I pray for peace for those whose private memories are made public because of the tragically large community of people who share your pain.

But I will also let 9.11 serve as a reminder of just how blessed I have been. By the grace of God, my friends and family were spared from this particular tragedy. I praise Him for building a hedge, and I thank Him for all of them (y'all).

And by the way? I pray for those whose culture, race, and faith have forced you to become intimately familiar with the ignorance of some Americans. Those who fall into a minority category (of any kind) feel your pain. I can only hope that someday the great American spirit to whom much credit is given for being welcoming and open and diverse, will truly become welcoming, open, and diverse. Until then, stand strong, and continue to take opportunities to educate those who just don't get it.


*words which, at the time, felt odd in my mouth in connection with the US. They were things that happened elsewhere.

I am a girl, right?

Sometimes, I question whether I was born the proper gender. What usually sparks these gender-bending thoughts are my reactions to typically boy things and typically girl things.

For example, I spent the greater portion of my morning discussing fantasy football teams. We were discussing Knowshon Moreno -- and not just that crazy first name either. We talked about whether he was better to start over Anquan Bolden in the flex position, how his stats compared to Adrian Peterson (Mr. Fumble, if you ask me), and so on. We also talked about Pitt's defense versus the Packer defense, and whether Jay Cutler was as garbage of a pick as I thought. Now, the people at my office are generally used to my football base of knowledge. But, more than once, I've left a few guys with their mouths hanging open when I make some reference to yards after catch (YAC) or Matt Forte's success in the backfield. Frankly, I think most guys expect women to be confused by the difference between the O-line and the D-line. I don't think they realize that real women can identify when the defense is about to blitz or the offense is standing in an I formation.*

Today was really a gender bending day, apparently. Because my other guy-like habit is my complete and unabashed objectifying of men and I was doing some serious objectifying on my way home. I was sitting on the train when a group of guys got on. All of them were pretty cute, but there was one guy who definitely caught my eye. Actually, his taller friend caught my eye -- but I was kind of turned off when I noticed he was wearing a Tiger Woods' inspired outfit along with a figaro chain...Do they still make those?! Anyway, I spent the better part of my ride toggling between reading whatever free dribble I downloaded on my Kindle, texting JP and eyeing this guy up and down. More than once he caught me staring at him. And, more than once I didn't let that stop me. Sadly, my stop arrived before his did -- but he totally called me out on my less than ladylike staring. No matter. My only reaction was to tell him that he should've asked for my phone number before I got off the train.**

Don't even get me started on my tv watching choices. I am SUPER pumped for football season to start...but I also spend a fair amount of time watching various shows on Bravo TV. Oh well, I guess that means that whatever guy manages to trap me is going to be the luckiest guy ever -- a girly girl that loves looking pretty and also loves football?! Is there anything better? And now that I think of it, his friends are going to really be lucky too...the kind of ladies I hang out with are usually just as well rounded. HA. Lucky ducks. ;)


*Side note? Why is Fashion's Night Out the same day as the NFL opening game? LAME.
**Yes, I really said that. And you know this.

Silver Lining and all that

Given that I am ever the optimist, I try to find the bright side of things. (No seriously! Ok, not really.) Recently, I rediscovered one of my favorite silver linings, and I thought I'd share.

Ending a relationship is always a tough thing. There is a period of sadness and mourning that inevitably follows. And I don't know about you, but it seems to me that the shorter the relationship, the longer my mourning period.*

But, after you mourn and contemplate and do whatever it is you do to get over a man,** a bright side will emerge. Yesterday, I came across one of the best break-up benefits EVER! I found a pair of pajama pants that the young blood left at my house. I was just lounging about the house, maxing and chillaxin', enjoying the holiday off. They were soooooo comfortable. I can't say that I looked great in them; but I've learned something over the years***. Men find women sexiest when they are au naturel. No make-up, loose sweats, and a tank top. The relaxed and comfy look will do just as much as the dominatrix, lacy, Vicki's not-so-secret Secrets look. (Of course, maybe it's just easier to take off and that's why men like it).

Over the years, I've collected quite a few ex-boyfriend clothing items. T-shirts, pajama pants, an AWESOME flannel shirt from the Ninja. It's been great! I am still searching for the holy grail of ex-clothing...I gotta get myself an awesome sweatshirt from one of the basketball player guys. I think men are on to us now though...the sweatshirt is soooooo hard to come by.


*It took me a couple weeks to get over the young blood from the southside. We dated for 6 months. Astro? I'm pretty sure it took a good year -- and we dated for 3-4 months. WTH?!

**Including getting under a new one. :)

***Bonus bright side!

That's a [insert expletive] Shame!

I try to remember, when I'm at the club, that people are cutting loose and hanging out. I know that for the most part, folks are wearing clothing that reflects a caricature of themselves and that they probably don't have on something they might wear when the sun comes up. (At least, this is what I hope.) Therefore, the fashion police radar is usually relaxed. However, I've found that despite the relaxed rules, when you're looking at what people wear in the club, the fashion violations are likely to be extra egregious.

Well, last night was no exception. I found myself staring at an outfit that was the definition of, the very incarnation of, a HOT DAMN MESS. The first and most noticeable piece of the outfit was the brown fishnet top. It was long-sleeved, cropped, and fitted. Ok, I guess. If you're bringing the 80s back with a scoopneck, off-the-shoulder, Madonna-esque fishnet situation, cool. Combine it with those crazy ripped jeans (in white) (and skinny cut) then hey. Do you, girlfriend! Throw on a colorful tank and you'll have your own groove goin' on. Except...your girl did NOT throw on a colorful tank. No, she had on a leopard print bra. A LEOPARD PRINT BRA?! Are you sure you meant to come outside like that?

Of course, after seeing the fit-out*, I couldn't stop staring. Which I acknowledge is so wrong. Like, who do I think I am? Stacy London? We weren't filming an episode of What Not to Wear. Anyway, in an effort to be less judgmental (or at least, keep my judgment to myself), I didn't even mention the fit-out to anyone! I kept all my bitchy comments to myself.** Of course, given that I was out with my cousins, and we all inherited a certain snarkiness, my attempts at keeping quiet were thwarted when Cuzo said "Psst. Did you see what your girl has on?!!?" And we commenced with the obligatory eye-rolling. At that point, I whipped out the camera phone, because frankly, no one would believe me without photographic evidence. Behold...what we were looking at:

It wasn't until I got up to (covertly) snap the pic that I discovered the last two straws that broke the camel's back, leg, and toe (pun intended). Let's start with the least obvious thing in the picture -- and a backhanded compliment. Girl is wearing some badass shoes. They are tan and brown zebra print and from behind they look like suede booties. But wait a second. Zwwwrrrrr. Rewind!! I said zebra print. Remember when the bra was leopard print? Aren't those two different animals?!

And now, the pièce de résistance....The little bejeweled heart in the general vicinity of where a tramp stamp belongs. Notice the trifecta of white strings? Now...do what I did. Take a few moments to put 2 and 2 together. BINGO! That's her thong! So basically, she was "fully" clothed, and yet I could see each and every foundational garment that she had on. Wow dude. Wow. I mean, for real. Wow.

By the way -- this was not taken in Vegas. Just in case you were hoping for a logical explanation.

*As opposed to an outfit, of course.

**This is progress, people.