This blog started as an experiment of sorts, without much planned direction or purpose. Considering how much I like to express myself through prose, I feel the need to write more frequently on this small piece of real estate in blogsphere. And, to be totally honest, I lurk so much on other people's blogs, that I should say something at some point on my own. :-) So, with new resolve, I will attempt to write at least weekly. On with the show!
Have you ever felt the need to just....... take a day off from life? Like you need a vacation from each of your responsibilities, including your job, family, friends, even your own thoughts? That is exactly what I'm going through as I type. There is so much on my to-do list right now (or so I feel), that I don't even know where to start.
I'm still struggling with my next career move. Only one thing is clear: I want to move to a different locale, a metropolitan area where there is a plethora of upwardly mobile young black professionals. Since I tested living in MD for two and a half months when I thought I wanted to attend law school there, and failed miserably (yeah, right, that was the "worst winter in years"), DC is out. That leaves the one and only obvious choice: Atlanta. I planned to take the Georgia bar exam anyway. (Sidenote: The best laid plans usually go awry. Four and a half years ago when I began law school, I never thought I would want to practice anywhere besides the Sunshine State. Now, I am uber-annoyed that I cannot just get up and move to a different state without taking an extremely difficult, oftentimes expensive exam. The nature of my profession certainly limits mobility, to my chagrin.) Since the jurisdictions are so geographically close, being licensed to practice in GA will make me marketable to firms here in FL, and therefore, I made plans to take the exam this July.
So, what is the problem, you ask? There is something telling me that ATL is not the place for me. The voice is tiny, almost a whisper, in the back of my mind. I'm still trying to decide if the voice is one of intuition or of fear and/or negativity.
My other choice is a city in central Florida, which was my first choice up until recently, when I honestly assessed what I want out of the city in which I choose to reside. Most of my current "issues" deal with the fact that I could probably very easily get a great job in this city. This makes timing difficult, as I do not want to pursue employment heavily in FL until I have considered my options in Atlanta (which, at this point, are none). Either way, come August, I plan to be starting an awesome new job.
I am also unconvinced that I'd like to live in city in central Florida. Speaking to a Soror one day over g-mail chat (the best thing EVER) about said city (in which she was born and raised), she told me: "The young black professional crowd is little to none. You'll be disappointed. But it seems like that is the case everywhere except Atlanta and DC." Ugh! I have and will continue to pray for guidance from above. It's so very frustrating to know that you can relocate to any location in the country, but to not know where you want to and, more importantly, need to be.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Through the (HUNDRED) years as we struggle....
Today is 1-9-08!!!!!!! ONE-NINE-OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-EIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!! Skeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, my Sorors!
Monday, November 19, 2007
"We don't Superman no mo'. We just Super-STALK that..."
You know the rest. (Thanks, Soror, for the quote!) You ever get a random call from someone you haven't spoken to in ages? How about this for a funny story:
I am at the office and have just finished my morning routine of checking four e-mail accounts (one for work; the other three personal) and my three favorite blogs (shouts out to Nineteen Sixty-Nine), when my phone rings. Checking the caller ID, I notice the caller is from a strange (as in, I don't know who this could be) area code. I thought about all the resumes I had sent to various firms in the past few weeks, so, I put on my best "work voice" and answered. As soon as I heard the other voice on the line, I thought to myself... W.T.F. It was a guy I used to date many moons (okay, really only 6-7 months) ago, with whom I deliberately stopped communicating for various reasons.
I told him that I was surprised to hear from him... especially on my work line (since I had never given him the number and we were never at the point where we called each other at the job). He explained that he had recently moved out of the city for a better job opportunity, that only a few of his friends knew he was moving beforehand, and that he had gotten a new cell phone and inadvertently lost all the numbers from his old one. And just how did he get my phone number at work? Let's just say he looked it up on a website that shares all my professional contact information.
Being the skeptical person I am, I don't know that I completely buy his story about losing the numbers from his old phone. Considering the fact that I stopped answering and returning his phone calls in early summer, I suspect he called me at work because he knew I would not answer some random number on my celli. Oh, well. I guess we really don't Superman no mo'. But, super-stalking is so not a good look.
I am at the office and have just finished my morning routine of checking four e-mail accounts (one for work; the other three personal) and my three favorite blogs (shouts out to Nineteen Sixty-Nine), when my phone rings. Checking the caller ID, I notice the caller is from a strange (as in, I don't know who this could be) area code. I thought about all the resumes I had sent to various firms in the past few weeks, so, I put on my best "work voice" and answered. As soon as I heard the other voice on the line, I thought to myself... W.T.F. It was a guy I used to date many moons (okay, really only 6-7 months) ago, with whom I deliberately stopped communicating for various reasons.
I told him that I was surprised to hear from him... especially on my work line (since I had never given him the number and we were never at the point where we called each other at the job). He explained that he had recently moved out of the city for a better job opportunity, that only a few of his friends knew he was moving beforehand, and that he had gotten a new cell phone and inadvertently lost all the numbers from his old one. And just how did he get my phone number at work? Let's just say he looked it up on a website that shares all my professional contact information.
Being the skeptical person I am, I don't know that I completely buy his story about losing the numbers from his old phone. Considering the fact that I stopped answering and returning his phone calls in early summer, I suspect he called me at work because he knew I would not answer some random number on my celli. Oh, well. I guess we really don't Superman no mo'. But, super-stalking is so not a good look.
Under Construction
Today is one of those days that I feel like I have my entire life ahead of me and I can do anything I dream! Right now, I'm at the point where I am starting my career and cementing what I want out of life and who I really am. Some days I feel truly lost. I find myself asking what step am I supposed to take next? What if I make a wrong turn? What does the future hold? I plan to make a big move, both location- and career-wise, in the next year. It fills me with excitement to finally get a change of scenery (I don't call this place "Tallawacky" for nothing) and to pursue other avenues of my profession. However, it is also easy to get discouraged from making such moves when one thinks of how comfortable one's current situation is. I know, though, that I want more out of life and that I have outgrown my surroundings. I only hope that things work out in the end, like they always have.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Just Call Me Bill
Recently, I was on the phone with a (never-married, childless, thirty-something) guy friend and, as it is wont to do, the conversation turned toward romantic relationships. Particularly, we were theorizing about ever-changing dating rituals and the mentality modern women and men have toward marriage. Then, this clown said the unthinkable. It went like this:
Guy: I'm not sure I want to get married. I mean, I just don't know if it's worth it.
Pretty: ~silence~
Guy: You want to know the reason I would get married? It's like eating dinner when you're not really hungry. You know if you don't eat, you're going to wake up in the middle of the night starving. That's how I feel about marriage. I don't really want to jump the broom, but I feel like I should, lest I wake up ten years from now wanting a big plate of fried chicken and macaroni and cheese.
Pretty: That's oh so romantic. I'm sure your future wife would just love that proposal. ~smirk~
Mind you, this is coming from a man who grew up in a nuclear family, fully equipped with a Dad, Mom, kid sister and the proverbial white picket fence.
Kids sure say the darnedest things.
Guy: I'm not sure I want to get married. I mean, I just don't know if it's worth it.
Pretty: ~silence~
Guy: You want to know the reason I would get married? It's like eating dinner when you're not really hungry. You know if you don't eat, you're going to wake up in the middle of the night starving. That's how I feel about marriage. I don't really want to jump the broom, but I feel like I should, lest I wake up ten years from now wanting a big plate of fried chicken and macaroni and cheese.
Pretty: That's oh so romantic. I'm sure your future wife would just love that proposal. ~smirk~
Mind you, this is coming from a man who grew up in a nuclear family, fully equipped with a Dad, Mom, kid sister and the proverbial white picket fence.
Kids sure say the darnedest things.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
"But, doesn't that just defeat the purpose?"
As a woman who loves to learn, I enjoy television shows such as 60 minutes.
[As an aside, the result of this love of learning is that I know various random facts... remember Rosie Perez's character on "White Men Can't Jump"... foods that begin with the letter 'Q'... yeah, that's Pretty.]
This episode about an online registry of children created (formed? made?) when their mothers went to their local sperm banks and subsequently got artificially inseminated with the "specimens" proved to be most interesting.
The identities of donors are not disclosed in order for them (and the banks, I presume) to avoid liability. A donor number, however, is provided for general record keeping purposes. This website, created by a woman who bore a child formed with sperm from a bank, allows people to list their "fathers" by donor number and to provide contact information for their siblings to reach them. The result is a network of children born by way of donors identified only by a series of numbers and letters, where true-life long-lost brothers and sisters find each other, often later speaking, and sometimes even meeting and forming lasting relationships!
The owner of the site tracks when matches are made. I was shocked, and a little disgusted, when she revealed that the record-holding donor had TWENTY kids who had registered with the site. I was creeped out because I just cannot imagine a man going half on a baby... twenty times... and getting paid for it! The show also highlighted a man, now a doctor, who had provided over 200 specimens at $50 each, and who recently volunteered his contact information on the site. Not only is he currently married and expecting his first child, but he continues to make donations at the bank. When asked whether he could conceivably have "fathered" over 100 children in the world, he replied, "conceivably." :-
My very good friend, with whom I shared the gist of this episode, focusing on the part about the website, asked... "But, doesn't that just defeat the purpose?" I tend to think it does and will attempt to explain...
I realize that these donors provide a tremendous resource and therefore, I am not in any way negating their importance. However, when I think of going to a sperm bank to get specimen which I would use to be artificially inseminated, I do not suppose I would affiliate a face, let alone a body, to the donor. I think I would view the donor as a mere "tool" that assisted me in creating the baby that I wanted to make. Consequently, I also do not suppose I would envision that other babies, helped along the way by the same donor, would be my baby's brothers and sisters. In fact, (and perhaps this is a tad childish), I think I would view my child as a sole creation of my own; sort of like divine creation, but with science (forgive me, Father). Currently, though, there are a multitude of women who feel differently, as evidenced by the website's popularity.
According to statistics cited on the show, the majority of persons going to sperm banks in the past were married heterosexual couples who, for whatever reason, could not produce a child on their own. In those cases, I surmise, it was easy for the biological father's role to be wiped away, as these families included both a mother and a father, and therefore, (I am not condoning this behavior), the visit to the sperm bank did not have to be advertised to those outside the marriage. The couple could simply find a donor with similar characteristics to the husband and proceed as normal. (Oh, Sean, she looks just.like.you.)
However, as times have changed, the trend has become one where mostly single women or lesbian couples are lining up to choose the traits they want in a child and trekking to the sperm bank to try to find the perfect fit. (I want her to have curly hair and full lips!) In these situations, it is more difficult to explain away the origin of one's little bundle of joy. And, because a father, as well as his extended family, are lacking in these cases, mothers are deciding that they want their children to have something connecting them to the other half of their DNA. Therefore, these mothers of sperm bank siblings are insuring that their offspring at least know each other.
This is the lifeline of the aforementioned website, which, at the time of taping, had 7,000 people registered. I can only wonder how many matches will be made in the future. But, does the site just defeat the purpose?
[As an aside, the result of this love of learning is that I know various random facts... remember Rosie Perez's character on "White Men Can't Jump"... foods that begin with the letter 'Q'... yeah, that's Pretty.]
This episode about an online registry of children created (formed? made?) when their mothers went to their local sperm banks and subsequently got artificially inseminated with the "specimens" proved to be most interesting.
The identities of donors are not disclosed in order for them (and the banks, I presume) to avoid liability. A donor number, however, is provided for general record keeping purposes. This website, created by a woman who bore a child formed with sperm from a bank, allows people to list their "fathers" by donor number and to provide contact information for their siblings to reach them. The result is a network of children born by way of donors identified only by a series of numbers and letters, where true-life long-lost brothers and sisters find each other, often later speaking, and sometimes even meeting and forming lasting relationships!
The owner of the site tracks when matches are made. I was shocked, and a little disgusted, when she revealed that the record-holding donor had TWENTY kids who had registered with the site. I was creeped out because I just cannot imagine a man going half on a baby... twenty times... and getting paid for it! The show also highlighted a man, now a doctor, who had provided over 200 specimens at $50 each, and who recently volunteered his contact information on the site. Not only is he currently married and expecting his first child, but he continues to make donations at the bank. When asked whether he could conceivably have "fathered" over 100 children in the world, he replied, "conceivably." :-
My very good friend, with whom I shared the gist of this episode, focusing on the part about the website, asked... "But, doesn't that just defeat the purpose?" I tend to think it does and will attempt to explain...
I realize that these donors provide a tremendous resource and therefore, I am not in any way negating their importance. However, when I think of going to a sperm bank to get specimen which I would use to be artificially inseminated, I do not suppose I would affiliate a face, let alone a body, to the donor. I think I would view the donor as a mere "tool" that assisted me in creating the baby that I wanted to make. Consequently, I also do not suppose I would envision that other babies, helped along the way by the same donor, would be my baby's brothers and sisters. In fact, (and perhaps this is a tad childish), I think I would view my child as a sole creation of my own; sort of like divine creation, but with science (forgive me, Father). Currently, though, there are a multitude of women who feel differently, as evidenced by the website's popularity.
According to statistics cited on the show, the majority of persons going to sperm banks in the past were married heterosexual couples who, for whatever reason, could not produce a child on their own. In those cases, I surmise, it was easy for the biological father's role to be wiped away, as these families included both a mother and a father, and therefore, (I am not condoning this behavior), the visit to the sperm bank did not have to be advertised to those outside the marriage. The couple could simply find a donor with similar characteristics to the husband and proceed as normal. (Oh, Sean, she looks just.like.you.)
However, as times have changed, the trend has become one where mostly single women or lesbian couples are lining up to choose the traits they want in a child and trekking to the sperm bank to try to find the perfect fit. (I want her to have curly hair and full lips!) In these situations, it is more difficult to explain away the origin of one's little bundle of joy. And, because a father, as well as his extended family, are lacking in these cases, mothers are deciding that they want their children to have something connecting them to the other half of their DNA. Therefore, these mothers of sperm bank siblings are insuring that their offspring at least know each other.
This is the lifeline of the aforementioned website, which, at the time of taping, had 7,000 people registered. I can only wonder how many matches will be made in the future. But, does the site just defeat the purpose?
Thursday, June 14, 2007
So, Jasmine, when's lunch?
I thought I would share an amusing story (which some of you might understand) to lighten the mood after my last post. This is a long one, so try to keep up. And note, all names have been changed to protect the innocent and guilty alike. ;-)
During a huge weekend here in town for African Americans, a young woman, let's call her Yasmin (pronounced Yaz-MEEN), went to her favorite spot to see and be seen (ladies, you KNOW how we do!) She daintily sat at the bar, sipping Riesling and viewing the sights. Eventually, Yasmin and her friend, Amaya, were accosted by a well-known professional male. He wedged himself into the area next to Amaya and introduced himself as PLG, after which he leaned over Amaya and extended his hand to meet Yasmin. It went a little something like this:
"I'm PLG, nice to meet you."
"Likewise. I'm Yasmin (pronounced Yaz-MEEN)."
"I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name."
"Yasmin (pronounced Yaz-MEEN)."
PLG, confused, looked to Amaya, who said, "It's Yasmin (pronounced Yaz-MEEN)."
"Oh, okay, Yasmin (Yaz-men)."
Yasmin, slightly agitated, said in a louder tone, "No, YasMIN (pronounced Yaz-MEEN, dude)!"
"Oh, I got it. Jaslene."
At this point, Yasmin had grown tired of screaming out her name. She realized that it was loud at the bar and that PLG might just have been inebriated. She did not think that Mr. PLG would be able to get it together. Furthermore, all her life, people had mispronounced her name, often times calling her Jasmine. So, she decided that it would be easier to tell PLG her name was just that.
"It's JASMINE."
"Oh, Jasmine. Well, it's so very nice to meet you, Jasmine."
Jasmine smiled sweetly and continued to sip her wine.
The next night, PLG was again in the mix, this time at an invite-only dressy affair. When he and Jasmine crossed paths, she mouthed hello and was just about to give him her sexy smirk, when, SCREEEEEEEEECH.... PLG said:
"Nick (Yasmin's biggest mistake) told me that your name is not Jasmine and that you must have lied to me."
Yasmin laughed softly and explained the situation. PLG thought it was funny, too. Before he walked away, Yasmin inquired as to what other things Nick had told PLG...
During a huge weekend here in town for African Americans, a young woman, let's call her Yasmin (pronounced Yaz-MEEN), went to her favorite spot to see and be seen (ladies, you KNOW how we do!) She daintily sat at the bar, sipping Riesling and viewing the sights. Eventually, Yasmin and her friend, Amaya, were accosted by a well-known professional male. He wedged himself into the area next to Amaya and introduced himself as PLG, after which he leaned over Amaya and extended his hand to meet Yasmin. It went a little something like this:
"I'm PLG, nice to meet you."
"Likewise. I'm Yasmin (pronounced Yaz-MEEN)."
"I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name."
"Yasmin (pronounced Yaz-MEEN)."
PLG, confused, looked to Amaya, who said, "It's Yasmin (pronounced Yaz-MEEN)."
"Oh, okay, Yasmin (Yaz-men)."
Yasmin, slightly agitated, said in a louder tone, "No, YasMIN (pronounced Yaz-MEEN, dude)!"
"Oh, I got it. Jaslene."
At this point, Yasmin had grown tired of screaming out her name. She realized that it was loud at the bar and that PLG might just have been inebriated. She did not think that Mr. PLG would be able to get it together. Furthermore, all her life, people had mispronounced her name, often times calling her Jasmine. So, she decided that it would be easier to tell PLG her name was just that.
"It's JASMINE."
"Oh, Jasmine. Well, it's so very nice to meet you, Jasmine."
Jasmine smiled sweetly and continued to sip her wine.
The next night, PLG was again in the mix, this time at an invite-only dressy affair. When he and Jasmine crossed paths, she mouthed hello and was just about to give him her sexy smirk, when, SCREEEEEEEEECH.... PLG said:
"Nick (Yasmin's biggest mistake) told me that your name is not Jasmine and that you must have lied to me."
Yasmin laughed softly and explained the situation. PLG thought it was funny, too. Before he walked away, Yasmin inquired as to what other things Nick had told PLG...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)