Ou'est tu?

Still in the state of perpetual greenery I am adapting quite well! I am brushing my hair while reclined on his bed. He takes no notice of the stray hairs being propelled by the brush briefly into the air...then unceremoniously landing on his duvet. Stress neither brings out the best or worst in me, it merely leads to follicle fallout. I am too ashamed to visit Monica Ursula, my brilliant Brazilian stylist, she would scold me for approximately three hours or however long it would take to reverse the damage 'happiness' has brought to my life. The man I have given a Lord Byron poetry journal to is amazing to me! Not just because he has the most beautiful hazel eyes; can teach me more science than I have forgotten; nor because he has the most beautiful smile you can imagine...where was one going with this? Oh yes! But because I feel completely comfortable in my skin with him. that is why, against my family's wishes, I am shacking up with him! My friends across the pond lost there heads as if we were teens and I'd just run away: (Jefree whom we call Jefs): "Have you been cut off then?" (Me): "No" (Charlotte whom we call Charls): "Are they still paying for grad school?" (Me): "Yes" (Felicity whom we call Felix): "No repercussions at all?" (Me): "Not presently, no..." (William Leeds whom we simply call Leeds): "Well that means the worst is yet to come!" Being a quite grown up woman I have been working and contributing while living with my beau. He is claiming he is just as happy as I am and we never go to bed angry. He and I discuss him becoming my life long companion as if it is some sort of employment position he is applying for; it fashions imagery in my mind of two elderly persons walking side by side holding hands, while Minnie Ripperton's "Here We Go" plays softly. no one interferes because we decided on the onset that our world would shrink to Him, me and his two kitties. Yes dear readers, I have found earthy Nirvana! More to come- pinky swear!

The Politics of Being

Sometimes all you need is you and God... I have walked in- yet again- on a gossip coterie at my church. Since everyone involved kept their same posture (no stiff backs to belie their dishing on moi), I am assuming the topic was not me...for a change. My poor pastor has had to defend me at various times for being: a former Catholic; college-educated; well-dressed; a non-gossiper; attractive; friendly; and nice. This list may sound peculiar, however, I assure you the complaints were common, if not vulgar. I found myself at a Protestant, bible-based church again after returning to the bosom of the RCC (Roman Catholic Church) and feeling a bit out of sorts. I began reflecting on the rituals of the RCC, and how so many simply are not held within the pages of our holy bible. I returned to this "congregation of churches" because it was the spiritual home I felt best suited me. Little did I ponder, that just like any dwelling, their are different numens to places. Today I am wearing what I believe is casual attire; that which is welcomed by this church: a multicolored floral Tory Burch maxi dress, with a paisley print nehru-collared blazer and a pair of Ted Baker London floral stacked open-toed pumps. I have learned, after ignorantly carrying a Louis Vuitton Damier Westminster GM to bible study once, that my handbag should be...less expensive than the tithe I am offering that day. I have 'invested' in a Coach Poppy madras Glam tote; I keep telling myself that it is "fun". The truth is darker than that. I am a philanthropist, as are the members of my 'pull oneself up by the bootstraps' family. Do I begrudge the other members those things that make them happy? Do I scold them for buying things they feel are luxuries when they have the extra money to splurge? Then why, when my mother can afford to shower me with luxe items and attire, while still giving generously to muliple charities, should I feel wretched carrying Louis?! One Sunday a women whose husband was on the prayer list for employment, asked me why I did not go to the eastside church, where I would be around "people more like me". She, I believe, felt she was insulting me; but she was just giving me a better understanding of reverse snobbery. * * * I do not wish to name this "fellowship of churches" as I feel most are great places to learn about Bible-based worship.

Brady Sociology

Are you Jan or Marcia?

The observer of popular culture that stated "whomever you are in high school you will remain throughout life", did not realize that some of us LIKED who we were in high school; and were well-liked by others. I was popular for virtues that have made me a leader in times when one is called for; a true friend to women AND men; the ideal prototype of academia; a scion to be admired. One is not being haughty, simply truthful: I was 'a Marcia'. I am told I was pretty, but that was not my focus (my oldest sister was 'the pretty one' in the family), I wanted to be an intelligentsia and renaissance woman! Instead I was pigeonholed as the spokesperson for the student body most often because of my attractiveness, propriety and meticulousness.

This, to be sure, is quite better than being 'a Jan'.

I met a few Jans: by the time I met them, of course, they had been run insane by my evil counterparts 'the malicious Marcias'. Expecting the same treatment from me, they tried to be 'proactive' and get me before I got them...big mistake. I was a Marcia it is true, but I was a Marcia that was the daughter of a Marcia/Jan hybrid: my mother had been a Marcia outside of her family but was a Jan within her family. This important dynamic helped me to develop defensive skills before I needed them. I had a sixth-sense for sabotage and conspiracies that left less popular girls in awe. With a Super-Marcia as an older sister, one was not to be shorted on anything I desired!

This brings me to my ‘football to the nose’ incident. A faux pas that one should have known better than to commit. I still plead innocence (futilely), blaming the glass artist at Barneys. It started with a walk down Pine Street...

Holding hands with Ben, my tres beau Beau, I glanced at the merchandise display windows at Pacific Place and mumbled, "Hmm...I wonder why they have those fat people on the windows?" Mimi, a friend of Ben's who happened to be interfering with our Rom-Com by tagging along exclaimed harshly, "What the HELL did you just say?!" Yes, she is pouchy, but I normally don't even utilize the adjective 'fat'; I try to be PC 24-7 so my apology should have sufficed. Instead I had to deal with her trauma from (whenever she became overweight) until now. "I KNEW you were a shallow phony! I kept telling everyone 'she seems nice but who carries a Birkin to a backyard barbecue!'..." she went on and on with all the things she'd held inside; as she did I stared at Ben in awe. I wasn't looking for him to defend me, but to explain why he'd lied over and over again: I would spend time with his friends and as the evening ended and he took me home, I would inquire about my 'feeling' that Mimi simply did not care for me. The very feelings she was expressing- loudly- on a busy downtown street that he consistently negated. Maybe my remark was a subconscious attempt to clear the air…

"You think you're sooo perfect because you've been the same weight- since what, eighth grade?! Who do you think you are?! Some people have to struggle with their metabolisms-" At this point, one was quite done with her Primal Scream therapy, I interrupted by drolly pointing out that since these women work for Barney's and are in the fashion industry, one was sure my opinion didn't matter. I told Ben I wanted to go back to my apartment and asked Mimi NOT to accompany us. He and I have a long conversation that is quite personal and necessary...we don't need an audience.



Why do people lie when they know from experience the truth comes out anyway? To be sure, a question for the ages!

The Mirrored World

Why do I suddenly feel like every overly-friendly American of European descent is begging me to be there upwardly-mobile Black friend?

It could be paranoia; I am not immune to being "beside my own mind" (para, Grk. beside; noia/noid< noos, Grk. mind). Yet this nagging suspicion began during the Inaugural festivities I attended in 2009, and has gotten more unpleasant as this Presidency has progressed. I do not blame the president, or the variations of what has been coined "The Obama Effect"*, one is merely stating that the trendiest minds are reaching out to African-Americans...for the wrong reasons.

The feeling I get from these situations is similar to that of instances where A CERTAIN TYPE of guy trys to date my European-American sorority sisters/friends, because of the IMAGO they represent...not the person they are. Their 'desire' to be seen with White women is driven by a skewed view of themselves and an objectification of the group, not a desire to be with the woman my friend is to be. So too are a certain type of people using their keen eye for couture and academic grammar to 'spy' a friend for this season...the season of "My Black Friend"-ism. Yes, I said it! I have even heard rumors of 'competition' meals where Whites bring their Black friends to break bread so they can 'show them off' to other Whites. A Bizarro world racial version of the legendary Marine Dogfight parties**. One can not bother with playing the token on any playing field. And, as my Mommie incisively stated, "This is une déclaration incluse*** I can live without".

To those who have experienced some sort of social epiphany, do proceed as your social evolution encourages. To those whom are merely finding an innnovative way to social climb, please, by all means, keep me as close in mind as the earth to the sun.


*A perceived socio-racial-political influence of President Obama on the perceptions/actions/occurences in the social/political/racial situations occuring after his election.
*Mean-spirited competition in which boys bring unsuspecting women to a get-togehter in order to ascertain by their shallow scurtinies which woman is the least attractive 'date'.
**In english, the equivalent of a sweeping generalization; not to be confused with a cliché en Francais which was French for a 'stereotype'. These words were printing terms used to describe duplicate impressions, until the 1920s when Walter Lippman used stereotype as a metaphor in his work "Public Opinion" (1922). And THAT'S one to grow on...

Since one began with a question here's another question to properly brace this entry...Why does it seem as if more people call President Obama "Mr. Obama" than President Obama? I heard the word president used for EVERY president since President Carter- is there some sort of subconscious denial going on?

Something From My Neck of The Woods

Here's something from May that is still bothering my brain everytime I volunteer at the shelters downtown. M.~


HeraldNet
Everett, Washington

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Published: Sunday, May 4, 2008

No easy fix to homeless sex offender problem, state corrections chief says
By Jerry Cornfield, Herald Writer
OLYMPIA -- Washington is not unique in its struggle with where to put sex offenders who have no place to sleep when they get out of prison.

Nor did the state set a precedent with the decision to order convicted rapist David Torrence to wear a GPS tracking device and live under a Snohomish bridge.

But when Torrence hacked off the equipment and went on the lam, forcing his victim to live again in fear, it spotlighted how the Department of Corrections arrived at this situation.

And why it could happen again.

"We're not fond of this 'under the bridge' plan. It emerges as the best of what you've got to work with when dealing with these offenders," Washington Secretary of Corrections Eldon Vail said Friday.

Corrections officials across the country confront daily the challenge of sex offenders without an apartment, shelter or motel room to bed down at night.

In Florida, when authorities ran out of places in ­Miami-Dade County in 2007, they set up an encampment for sex offenders under a bridge linking Miami to Miami Beach.

It's not that bad in Washington. Yet in the past 18 months, 74 convicted sex offenders released from prison have registered as homeless. Vail said some surely did get placed under bridges, just like Torrence.

The state spent months trying without success to find Torrence a home. Finally, on his release April 20, the decision was made to designate a bridge over U.S. 2 his residential base.

Three days later, he was gone, and the search continues today.

Vail spoke with The Herald on Friday about the case, the difficulty of finding housing for homeless offenders and whether letting them live in trailers on prison grounds could be an option.

Q: Why must sex offenders (sometimes) be put under a bridge?
A: This is a last resort. We only release sex offenders homeless when there is no other alternative for us under the laws of the state of Washington. When the person committed the crime makes a big difference in what kind of authority the department has over an individual offender.

Q: I'm not sure if living under the Snohomish bridge is legal. So, if Torrence got arrested for illegal camping, he might have landed back behind bars and might have made the state liable for something.
A: I had not thought about that. I wasn't aware that it was illegal. If he got violated he would be back in custody. That would be an interesting situation. It is my understanding we chose that site in coordination with local law enforcement. It is not atypical of what we've done in other parts of the state.

Q: Was he the first to ever be assigned to live under a bridge?
A: No. And I am not sure we actually "assign" them to live under a bridge. They have nowhere to go, yet they have to be in one place during curfew hours. Sites get determined so we can check on them.

Q: Since Torrence's escape, have you made any changes in supervising other homeless sex offenders?
A: No.

Q: Requiring victims to be notified when their attacker escapes supervision by removing their tracking devices seemed like a no-brainer. Why wasn't it happening already?
A: We didn't think of it. Currently our notification requirements follow the state law. We didn't think of the impact of this new technology and neither did the Legislature in all of our conversations with them about GPS. We simply missed it. I would put it in the category of no-brainer. We should have thought of it and we didn't. We have apologized to the victim for our oversight.

Q: On May 1, there were 20,015 sex offenders registered in this state. At least 500 are listed as homeless in Washington State Patrol databases. How much danger are we living with?
A: Look at this over a period of 15 to 20 years. Twenty years ago we didn't know where any sex offenders were. I believe we are all better off knowing where the sex offenders live rather than homeless. So, yes, we're probably safer when people have an approved address with four walls and a roof over their head.

It's also produced this group we can't find homes because of the notification process. People don't want sex offenders in their back yards. We have a different problem than we had 20 years ago.

Under more recent sentencing laws known as determinate-plus, the number of people meeting the criteria and getting out homeless is getting less and less. Determinate-plus means the Indeterminate Sentencing Review Board has the authority to allow us to keep them locked up when they have no residence to release to. We don't put people under a bridge because we want to.

Q: Many states face a similar problem of homeless sex offenders. In Washington, can we find them all homes?
A: Can we house all the homeless offenders? We haven't figured out how to yet. There were some noble efforts by legislators to try and get their arms around this in the last couple of legislative sessions. Do you remember the molester motels? That was the same problem with a different solution. We want to find them a place to stay where it is safer for all of us.

Q: Why can't they be housed in trailers on the grounds of the prisons?
A: I had thought of that, but it doesn't solve the problem. They are free citizens, although with the restrictions of community supervision. We have some control over where they can go, but they have rights to move around freely and go to work, to the store, to town, to church, etc. Think about what would happen if we housed sex offenders in trailers on the prison grounds at Monroe or Walla Walla. I suspect the communities would be concerned with this as a solution to the problem and rightly so. It doesn't necessarily solve the problem, but I can't say I haven't thought about it.

Q: Some lawmakers talk of building halfway houses. Do you support that?
A: Yes, I absolutely do, but it gets to the issue of how do you site them. I would argue it is better for the homeless sex offenders to be somewhere and not under a bridge. I don't know if our communities are ready for it.

Q: Do you think any new laws are needed as a result of this case?
A: Not for me, but that doesn't mean there aren't policymakers out there who see a way to try and fix the situation. I don't know what law would be passed that would fix the problem.

Q: Has the governor asked you for anything?
A: No, we have not had that conversation.

Q: Rep. Al O'Brien, D-Mountlake Terrace, wants the maximum penalty for disabling or removing a GPS device to be life in prison. Do you agree?
A: I don't know. We'll need to talk about how to enhance the penalty. There should be significant penalties for this.

Q: The big question is this: Can you prevent another escape like David Torrence?
A: No. Next time, if there is a victim enrolled, we will make sure they are notified. But there is nothing fail-safe about the GPS. The good news is that with GPS we will know the offender has decided he is not going to play by the rules and we can get the warrant out for his arrest.

© 2010 The Daily Herald Co., Everett, WA

How Good You Have It

One wonders if the un-surgically altered children of movie stars have this much trouble.

“Good morning Goddess!”, I giggled at the greeting then answered, “Good morning my goddess!”
This greeting is from the young woman who used to aggressively display her bare breast under sheer tops in order to instigate an EEOC lawsuit. In vain to be sure, yet, it is AMAZING how the threat of a lawsuit from a conservative-leaning, Liberal Catholic, of a slightly privileged background; with barely any piercings (my ears and navel- that’s all!); only one tattoo; and the polish not to use curse words, nor raise her voice can do. That’s right, I threatened to sue every last one of their ‘How can I trust someone who has never ENTERTAINED the idea of communism?!’/‘Her lack of body expression proves she’s the enemy!’/‘I don’t believe she has no problem with lesbianism- she’s so aggressively feminine by patriarchal standards!’ –asses out of this state. After they regained their ability to exhale (the shocked inhalation caused them to pause for a few days), they realized my case would send individualized expression in that office back to the fifties. It took all of a month for them to begin to respect my professional results, as well as realize what others sometimes fail to realize about them…just because I am different does not mean something is wrong with me. Their 'forgiveness' of the threat of litigation was understood from the cautious professional friendships that have developed afterward.
Fairly recently, I bonded with “almost-shirtless” (her name is too unique to reveal here) by exposing (no pun intended) the source of her hostility. I have gained a sister for life! Having solved this ‘problem’ on one’s own, and needing to fully validate my ‘Mary Tyler Moore-esque’ independence to my mother, I invited her for a visit. She insisted on coming early enough to excuse a visit to my workplace. “M?” “Yes~…” (the receptionist’s voice lowered to a barely audible whisper) “There’s this woman asking for you- she is gorgeous!- she looks like a friggin’ model!” “I’ll be up in a moment”. I knew it was Mommie so I stood up and checked my outfit in the reflection of the glass-doored bookcase across from my desk. I smoothed out my La Petite Robe di Chiara Boni beige jersey dress, which was gaining a tinge of color from my vintage Chanel pastel colored tweed jacket and my colorful Louboutin Straratata 140s. My coworkers were not impressed with what I called fashion, but my mother would have DIED had I lost my sense of style simply because of those around me not caring. It would be like losing my Self! I am wearing the rose gold BZERO1 Bulgari set she sent ahead, as I knew that she would want to see me in it. It is strange how these rituals remain, even though one struggles to re-define myself. I sashayed down the hall to retrieve the “friggin’ model”-like maternal.
By the time I arrived in the lobby, men and women alike were gawking at the woman I had spent so many years looking up at and smiling, wishing-upon-stars to be her clone. A tinge of guilt colored my face for mere milliseconds as I thought about how different I had become while becoming more like the woman I was born to be. “Hello Mommie” (air kisses as the small crowd dispersed). “WOW! I always wondered what kind of woman has the BALLS to name her daughter after a goddess- now I know!” Without a pause, the guy from accounting had to remind Mina that “Women don’t have balls”. I led my mother to my office while she movie star-waved goodbye to the crowd. As we seated ourselves in my office my supervisor rushed in like there was a fire. “Um- uh-hi HI!” “Hell-looo” my mother answered, holding out her lovely hand. He kissed it- multiple times! These displays were getting a bit embarrassing; was my mother STILL that beautiful? He regained some composure and let his admiration be known; "Well Mother-of-a-goddess! Aren't you beautiful!" I scanned under my desk to see if there was enough room to slide underneath it. "Mike...this is my mother Mrs. ----; Mommie...this is Mike- one of my supervisors" "A pleasure to be sure", my mother purred, scanning him quickly as if another poorly worded compliment might be visibly hanging from his suit jacket. Still shaking (and caressing) my mother's hand, Mike said through a slightly lascivious grin, "We don't have any women as pretty as you in town that often", then turning toward me, "No wonder you look that way!- your mother is FINE!" My mother had finally wrestled her hand from his grasp as he stood there staring at her, making us both quite uncomfortable. "Thanks! Listen Mike, I only have an half hour or so, then my mother and I will be leaving for the day-" "Maybe I can join you two!" I KNOW I pulled a face! "Uhmmmm..." I was at a loss for words, Mike was a little odd but never THIS odd. Mommie stepped in as only a mother would and could, "It is REALLY sweet of you to offer, but my boyfriend Quinn is quite the jealous type...", she looked over at me and nodded slightly, "maybe we should go now M.~?". This was more of a plea than a suggestion. I grabbed my pink Birkin from my side of the desk and hopped out of my chair, "Yes Mommie that is a proper idea!" I came around the desk and hooked my mother's arm as we quickly walked away from Mike. He'd probably gained his sense of Self and was a bit embarassed by our speedy retreat, because he just mumbled a "Well...goodbye then". I could not feel too guilty, he had been made a fool of by a pretty face; many men who have gazed upon my mother would say, "Join the club!".


Yes, it could all be worse: my mother could be seen as genuinely unattractive by the majority of the population and I could have inherited her looks in this superficially-driven society of ours...but she isn't and I believe I have still inherited her looks. I NEVER said I was modest- dammit I'm a goddess! LMAO More from her trip next time. Kisses, M.~

Familial Circumstance DOES Breed...Something

Be careful being wistful...there may be dragon behind that prince.

After two weeks of my brother-in-law and his latest nickname for me ('No Sex In THIS City Too?!'), and his off-kilter jokes ("Shoreline?! Where's the water?"; and post-viewing of 'The Karate Kid' [2010] "Someone needs to call C.P.S. [child protective services] because kids got beaten ALL THROUGH that movie!"), I was so not missing him, nor my sister Fatimah anymore. She loves him to no limit; however, I have always found him and his family somewhat brash and hard to tolerant for long periods of time (which is why I dodged them throughout my two residencies in NYC). My boyfriend and I were ready to be still in each others' calm, when his mother decided it was time to meet me.

Normally I am at a point where, even if this meeting seems sudden, it does not bring any anxiety whatsoever. I am a good person; intelligent; well-groomed...my vanity or arrogance leads me to believe any mother would be happy to at least see me dating her son, even if I am not what she would consider marriage material for him. Ben lost all his calm after he got off the phone; I feared he would hyperventilate. While I rubbed his back and followed him through the room, as pacing to-and-fro, I began thumbing through my mental file on his mother...I could not recall anything mentioned that would bring about this sort of reaction. As he sat down on the sofa and pulled me toward him with both hands holding mine quite firmly, he looked into my eyes with a grim expression and said, "I do NOT want you to meet my mother". How does one react to that?

He would not tell me why, only explaining away any insecurities I expressed by claiming he would have no problem introducing me to his father and stepmother. It took four days, but I was able to convince him that all our family's carry baggage (to which a few times he ominously said, "Some more than others"). "You may need to put on your clinical face when it comes to my mother and sisters", was the last thing he said to me on the subject before relenting and setting a date for our dinner. My first peek inside the house of his shared-custody weekends came in the form of transportation issues. "Mom- mom! NO- I am driving us there and back- I said no!" I was taken aback...he has never gotten emotionally excited (negatively) in front of me ever. "What is wrong?" He glanced at me but did not continue the gaze, instead rubbing his face downward in a troubled manner, "My mother is saying she wants to pick us up and drop us off- I don't want her to know where you live." I wasn't particularly pleased with my condo rental either but..."Why?", I asked almost as though I did not want to hear the answer I was soliciting. "Baby, have a seat..."

After two hours of information I was both stunned and relieved; every perfect boyfriend has a flaw...his was that he felt the need to hide his mother and sisters' dysfunction from women he dated (there really weren't that many of us- lucky him!). I truly understood the 'why' behind his wanting to keep me as far away from his mother as possible-

I'm sorry! Did I offend you anti-Freudian types that assume it is NEVER the mother's fault?! Who blame Narcissistic & Histrionic Personality Orders on the Patriarchal dominance of our society and desire to trace all dysfunctional behaviors exhibited by 'bad mommies' to THEIR fathers?! Your bias has no place here...

Some people are their own people very early; they desire to break and destroy to build all things in their lives to their specifications, even attempting to mold children into whatever 'right now' dictates in their heads to be 'right, now'. If he had not seen the documentation I would not be sitting here attempting to label the problem (it has already been diagnosed). She has banned her children since birth from speaking or interacting with her parents; she rebelled they grew tired of the chase, so she labeled them neglectful parents. Ben, my boyfriend, said she tells anyone who will listen that she snuck out of the house every night as a teen because her parents didn't care and she wanted to show their small community that her parents were bad parents. "Anyone who has come in contact with her and not bent to her will is blamed for her not being able to pursue her dreams/goals; has kept her from being successful; and has virtually ruined her life". "Really~" I have met these sorts before. While we were talking she called three more times and left two voicemail messages, "Sweetie, with these types we must be proactive...how long does it take her to get to your condo from her house?" "About fifteen minutes, why?" "What time is dinner?" "She said she wants to start eating by five PM". "Well, we will arrive at her house at four PM!"

Thus began the strange, disgusting journey through my boyfriend's attic of childhood horror...


I will give more details next entry. Kisses, M.~