I Indulge...

…indeed I do!

Let me take a step back and preface this revelation by informing you, I’m what you call a creature of habit meaning I do certain things a certain way, all the time.  Care for some examples?  Why certainly:

1.        When I walk into my apartment, I reach to the right for the switch on the wall flush with the door, to turn on the light which illuminates only the doorway area.  I then take two steps forward and a ½ step to the left to get to the wall perpendicular to the wall the front door is on, to turn on the light that illuminates the kitchen.  Turning 180 degrees, I’ll take two steps forward and a ½ step to the left to turn off the light I originally turned on.  Another 180 degree turn and two steps forward, I’ll stand near the edge of the kitchen counter reading any mail I received.  Once finished, I’ll reach to my right and pick up a glass from the dish rack (or above my head if I actually put my dishes away that morning), walk to the fridge to pour myself a glass of juice/water.  Thirst now quenched, “Aaaah”, I’ll put the empty glass in the fridge so it remains cold for later in the evening when I’m thirsty yet again. Why?  Because…

2.       Walking through my bedroom’s walk-in closet, you enter my bathroom where there’s a light switch to the right of the doorway.  There’s another light switch about 45 degrees and a few feet to the left where a doorway allows you to exit into the hallway. Regardless which doorway I exit, the original switch I turned on is the one I’ll turn off because I don’t like light switches in the wrong position (Correct position --> up = on / down = off).  So basically, if I enter the bathroom through the closet and I want to exit into the hallway, I’ll use the switch near the closet to turn the light off (down) and walk the few steps in the dark to the other doorway instead of just using the switch near the hallway entrance/exit which would cause that switch to be in the wrong position.  No, no, no!!! That’s NOT obsessive compulsive or anal; it’s a habit because when I walk into the bathroom, without thinking, I always make a motion to flick the switch ‘up’, so when it’s already in the on position, I have to expend extra energy to turn it on by pushing down and then am forced to make a conscious effort to remember to go to the other light switch to switch it off (down) so that all switches are reset and in the off (down) position.  Wasted energy!  Why does that even matter? Because…

…actually, I didn’t realize how much it annoyed me (since I follow the protocol above) until a young lady spent a few nights.  Each morning, I noticed the switches were all switched around.  Knowing you can’t just accuse a woman of something without proof since she’ll argue you to hell and beyond when she knows FULL well she’s wrong, I decided to pay close attention. One morning I watched as she entered the bathroom (silhouette sliding seductively through the room and closet, similar to the sexy stroll women who know you’re watching them from behind do) exiting into the hallway.  I marched into the bathroom once I heard her in the hallway, looked at the switch and “AHA!!!”, lo’ and behold she was the culprit!!!  I jokingly (there’s 70% truth in most joke…or so they say although I’ve never met “they” to ask why 70%) muttered, so she could clearly hear, something along the lines of, “Aaargh, so you’re the one messing up the light switches!”  She looked at me, not with her typical beautiful bedroom eyes, but with a look of ‘Are you serious right now?’  You doggone right I’m serious!  I tried to explain why it annoyed me but she just shook her head. 

Do you know what this female friggin’ did to further frustrate the flying frog freulin out of me?!?  Just guess what she did!  She purposely did the EXACT same thing the next morning!  Aaargh!!!  I’ll have you know she’s no longer spending nights over and you want to know why?  “Look <in>to the liiiiiiiight…” (I’m joking...goodness, you folks take things too seriously…lighten up…pun intended).

3.       For the past 10 out of 13 working days, I’ve gone to the café at the client location for lunch, stood in line, ordered chicken stir fry (w/ spinach, carrots, broccoli, asparagus, red onions and bell peppers), sautéed in chili sauce with a touch of garlic and ginger added, on a bed of white rice to go^‡.  Why have I placed the exact same order? Because…

^‡ In the interest of full disclosure, the three days I didn’t place my regular order, I went out to lunch with a partner one day and my team ordered pizza the other two days (free food being the only circumstance I’ll partake in pizza).  If I don’t like pizza, why would I eat it?  It’s free and any dimwit knows free is cheaper than $6.11…duh?!?

A co-worker noticed the latter situation and jokingly (Mmm hmm…I know the truth behind jokes) made the statement, “You’re really indulging in that stir fry aren’t you?”  I chuckled and responded, “Indeed I am.”

And why shouldn’t I?  I’m a lover of great food and when I come across a meal that tantalizes my taste buds, trying it today, tomorrow, Tuesdays or ten out of thirteen days till I want no more, this is what I do!  You can think I’m crazy if you want but I have what I call a refined palate only pleasured by particular entrees, hence the habitual tendency which I’m not ashamed of in the least.

This tendency, however, poses a quandary in that not only will I order the same meal at certain restaurants; I can only attend specific restaurants with one (two at a maximum) individual(s).  I’ll show you what I mean:

1              +             A             =             1A

2              +             B             =             2B

3              +             C             =             3C

1, 2, and 3 represent specific restaurants while A, B, and C represent dining companions.  The ideal pairing is then 1A, 2B, and 3C.  Therefore, mixing up the mealtime marriage (i.e. 3A or 1B) yields a less than optimal, often times disastrous, experience.  I realize the quality of the food doesn’t change based on who joins me, however, the dining dynamic is dramatically different.  And yes, as is the case in <holy> matrimony, I believe in monogamy meaning no moonlighting with mistresses. 

But seeing as the divorce rate hovers around 50% in ‘merica because the women decide to offer one of these responses:  1) “I’m too busy…”, 2) “Sorry, I’m not in the mood for that…right now”, or “Maybe next week…”, don’t judge me for stepping out momentarily for a meaningless meal with mistresses man!   

I indulge…indeed I do.  But I embrace my quark…as should you.

--

Goodbye Gang

At this point, most people know I’ve left good ol’ KPMG to move on to bigger and better things.  On my last day with the firm (12/10/10), having planned my exit for months and having discussed it with a few colleagues weeks prior, the overall consensus was that I walk into each partner’s office on the 14^th floor, kick down the door and go Howard Dean on they a—es yelling, “BYAAAAAAAH!!!!”, gauge the expression on each face, and march right on out as if nothing happened. 

Although a hilarious way to exit, my better business acumen kicked in and I opted for a slightly more diplomatic departure resulting in the email below.  I sent this to a fair number of colleagues in the Audit practice and a few others I interacted with outside the practice. 

I bumped into an individual from the latter group early last week who mentioned enjoying a good laugh while reading the email.  I’m not sure why he, or others for that matter, found it funny as I was being serious, but you be the judge.

--

Ladies & Gentlemen,

‪As you may or may not know, today is my last day with KPMG.  I will pause for a moment of silence while you catch your breath or locate a Kleenex.

‪Let me take this opportunity to regale you with tales of my transcendent rise from a little Canadian chap to the astute accountant/auditor I am today.

‪Fourscore (days) + five years ago, while attending Oakwood University in the breathtaking city of Huntsville, AL, I decided I was going to work for a public accounting firm called Klynveld, Peat, Marwick, Goerdeler after a college friend’s older sister returned from a NABA Central Region conference where she interviewed with all the firms and ranked KPMG as the premier place to work in her opinion.   Having a great deal of respect for her and having heard similar accounts from various students who met other KPMG personnel at the NABA conference, I was intrigued by the firm and decided the following year, I too would attend the NABA conference and land a position with KPMG.

‪Fast forward one year, equipped with my gentle eyes, warm smile, and debonair Denzel good looks, I journeyed to Columbus, OH with one goal in mind: to impress the recruiters representing KPMG and obtain a full-time offer.  Needless to say (I won’t bore you with the details of the conference or how KPMG played coy and took three days to extend an offer after leaving the second round interview process), I accomplished my goal and was offered a position with the firm.

‪What I do want to spend time discussing, as cliché as it may sound, is how impressed I was with the individuals I met at the conference, during the subsequent Inside Look program, and after starting full-time with the firm.  KPMG is, and I say this without reservation, a great place to build your career because of the people.  If you don’t agree, where else could you work and:

§  look at “umpteen” thousand confirmations that you had to perform alternative procedures on;

§  travel to Knoxville, TN where they literally had one road where you had a limited selection of fine fast food (Kingston Pike);

§  be required to stay in a LaQuinta Inn for a “special project” (I mean come on…LaQuinta Inn?!?);

§  live in Louisville, KY where a weekly happy hour resulted in stories unmatched by even Vegas visitors; and

§  sojourn in Springfield, IL enjoying sumptuous steaks at the premier Southern Illinois steakhouse, Texas Roadhouse, regularly 

‪…and build long lasting relationships and have some of the funniest and fondest memories of your adult life?  Only at KPMG where this is all part of the ‘quality professional experience’!

‪I leave the firm to enter a new phase in my career with absolutely no regrets that I started my career with KPMG.  I have enjoyed meeting many of you, working with some of you, and sharing a laugh with a few of you.  But to all of you, I sincerely thank you for making my tenure at KPMG a great experience.

‪Take care,

‪--

“Now that’s how you <go out>…from now on, THAT’s how you <go out>!”

Open Sesame

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, please hold your applause,

‘fore I just apply logic, keys, keys, open doors…” – S. Carter

--

Premature as it may be, feedback on this blog has been, overall, very positive and I thank those that have sent kind words. 

Being the genuinely gracious guy I am, I’m humbled by the high praise my posts have elicited.  However (yes, here I go!!!), due to the duality of my personality, and since some seem to subscribe to the notion that I’m this arrogant a—hole, I’ll play the role and ask “What in the H-E-double hockey sticks do you folks really think about me?” (Do people still say H-E-double hockey sticks?  Who cares…I just did!)

The comments I’ve received all have a central element of sheer surprise suggesting some are blown away by what is said to be my eloquence or ability to articulate a point.  So my “Thank you, thank you, thank you…you’re far too kind…” is followed quickly by, “Wait…what did you expect?”

I may very well be analyzing the comments too deeply, but I equate the common compliments with (dark skinned ladies, you’ll understand this analogy; AKA’s, just try to follow the logic):

§  “You’s attractive for a dark skin-ded girl.”

Yes, I know the grammar in that sentence was terrible and I left it uncorrected to prove a point: an educated person with any common sense wouldn’t:

1.       combine you + is,  

2.       pronounce skinned as if it had two syllables and an added ‘d’ in the damn word, or

3.       give such a backhanded compliment.

I’ve heard this compliment given countless times by mainly moronic males that think this pickup line will actually work.  And what makes it worse is these fools compound the crime by giving the pseudo-compliment to a woman who was born in the late 70’s or early 80’s.  Not only will said lady cuss (not curse) a Brutha-man out because she already has a complex, seeing as she grew up during a time when light skin-ded folks were the flavor of the decade and Sista-girl couldn’t get any love, but dude added insult to injury by even approaching Sista-girl using that ignorant and idiotic game thinking she would fall for the line. 

“Dude, is you dumb?!?”

In essence, I take certain compliments as backhanded insults because it begs the question, “Did you think I was a babbling bloke?” (Yes, I speak a li’il Bri’ish too…excuse me while I have a spo’ o’ tea.)

I digress…I guess it is what it is…whatever the heck “it is”, is.

There have been, however, a few comments that rendered me speechless, only momentarily of course.  I’ve included them below, word for word, with a touch of emphasis added:

§  “Jeremy...I’m loving the blog…loving it!  I just pray I don’t see a story that sounds too familiar up there.” – Person X

§  “I haven’t read all of them yet and I see you're not using names but still, it's like, a privacy thing…” – Person Y

§  “Shiiiiitt I don't need my lil’ feelings hurt…” – Person Z

Within each of these statements is a fear, almost, that I’m using (or might potentially use) this blog as a forum to put someone’s personal business out in the open for all eyes to read, which gives me pause.  This blog, above all else, is my attempt to open up and share a piece of myself with anyone interested in understanding my view on various subjects or bored enough to be entertained by my expressions.  It is in no way a blog meant to bash anyone.

A friend has made the statement that I have a skill, or rather the ability to answer a question without ever actually addressing the question.   To the untrained, I’ve given all the information asked, when in actuality I’ve given absolutely nothing at all.  I agree, to a degree (I’m sure I’ll regret this admission at some point in the future), with this assessment.  I utilize this skill to write about something, or rather someone, without really saying much about the person at all.  How do I do this?  I focus on the subject (i.e. I miss her) instead of the subject (i.e. I miss her) and make an artful attempt to protect the privacy of any person mentioned, even while it appears I’ve disregarded the individual’s privacy by mentioning them in the first place. 

**Was that confusing?  Good.  It made perfect sense in my mind! **

Of course, there are instances where a perceptive party may possibly trace the subject of a story to a specific somebody (i.e. a young lady I dated for 3 years), but never will anything malicious be said or written to outright embarrass. 

Speaking directly to Persons X, Y, Z and all other unnamed persons, oft times the only individuals that will know your identity, if/when I do speak about you, are you and I, unless of course you decide to expose yourself.

With that disclaimer out there, understand that this is my blog (/my introspection forum) where I shed all inhibitions or reservations regarding what I should or can say.  Doing so in a way that is scholarly (dare I push you to think or learn something new), suggestive (as in evocative), sarcastic (you don’t say?), or silly (what’s wrong with poking fun at life?), I depict for others, or myself if no one else reads, intimate illustrations of my life’s journey. 

Now if you’re looking for discussions on inanimate objects or for me to paint life as might be viewed through rose colored glasses, I apologize, not for anything I’ve said, but because that’s not life through my lenses.

Cheers.

--

Miss Maturity...

“Girls mature faster than boys” – Unknown

I haven’t the slightest clue who originally made that claim, nor am I going to waste my time on Google or Bing trying to figure it out.  However, what I do know with certainty is, that statement was first perpetuated by a feminist named Fran trying to brainwash her unsuspecting daughter. 

This is exactly how it happened --> Little Susie adored young Michael.  Young Michael, however, was not very fond of little Susie and thought her glasses and barrettes made her look like a nerd. One day, while young Michael and his friends were playing by the sandbox during recess, little Susie marched boldly up to young Michael (because her friends double dared her to) and planted a big kiss on young Michael’s cheek.  Young Michael was fuming as his friends were laughing and chanting, “Eiwww, you have coooooties!!!”  So, young Michael pushed little Susie into the sandbox and started kicking sand on her.  Little Susie got up crying and ran home.  In an attempt to console her, little Susie’s feminist mother Fran says, “Don’t cry sweetie.  Michael’s just acting that way because he likes you. Boys do that because they’re immature.  Give him a few years since ‘girls mature faster than boys’.  He’ll come around soon enough.”  Little Susie was beyond confused but implicitly trusted feminist Fran and lived the rest of her adolescent days repeating the mantra thereby perpetrating the propaganda.

That’s ALL it is…PROPAGANDA! 

I mean, what is that statement based on?   What evidence supports that hypothesis; a few scientific studies purporting girls start puberty earlier than boys?  Whooptee do da day!  Science also teaches humans evolved from apes.  Now I’ve been called many things from the son of Sam to a son of a **– go wash your mouth out with soap for swearing – but a descendent of an ape?!? No ma’am!  No sir! THAT, I will NOT accept!  You can take your scientific studies and…

Serenity Now!

Even if I take that whole ‘girls hitting puberty before boys’ concept seriously, all that proves is girls start puberty before boys.  And?!?  I knew a girl during college who started before I did, sophomore three years ain’t picked a career, she said f--- it I’ll just stay down here. 

Okay, fine…maybe I didn’t know a girl like that but Kanye sure did and right now My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy is the TRUTH!!!

 Let me stay on track and get to my point while you’re over there shaking your head at me like I can’t see you…I see you!

Starting something earlier or first has no correlation to maturity.  Maturity (<-- click on the link to go to dictionary.com since you’re going to act like I’m making this up) is defined as full development; perfected condition: maturity of judgment.  Therefore, just because a little girl can point to mother nature starting her monthly visits well before her counterpart’s voice gets a little added bass, that doesn’t mean she’s mature, or of full development.

But that’s neither here nor there…so where is it?  Who knows!  But, in my humble opinion, I would actually argue that females don’t mature quite as fast as feminist Fran would have them believe.  When you peel away the layers of propaganda, I think men and women are generally on par.  That’s about as politically correct as I’m going to be…ever! 

In truth, and based on my experiences, I actually think some women mature like they “got molasses in they a—es” (that means slow people…step up your country grammar). 

You already know I’m going to tell you about my experiences so here we go.

Last week I was chillin’ with my boy Tyrone on the West side of Chicago politicking about females and how the game ain’t the same no more.  Tyrone talked about his boy Marcus who dated this funkadelic singer chick who lived in the burbs. The chick kicked Marcus out her house and wouldn’t let him use her phone to call Tyrone for a ride.  This is exactly why you do NOT date chicks named Erykah! I’m just saying…

Okay, I’m lying.  You already know ‘you ain’t finna catch me on the West or South side of Chicago unless absolutely necessary!’  Call me a punk if you want to…oh well!  I spent most of my life in Canada and went to college in Huntsville, AL (that’s where I picked up my country grammar); I’m not hard nor do I pretend to be.  “I ain’t a thug, how much Tupac in you, you got?”

Where was I?  Ah, yes!  Females and their apparent maturity…

There are a handful of females I keep in touch with, whom at some point, many moons ago, we entertained the possibility of a relationship and dated for a short while.  For one reason or another, we grew apart and abandoned course.  Yet we maintained some level of communication, speaking infrequently and often times joking about why we didn’t last.  Three reasons I’ve been told are:

1.       “I want someone I can go to the club with, let loose, and just have fun with”;

2.       “You’re too serious and are always working”;

3.       “You’re too mature and it intimidates me. I don’t know how to explain it.”

<<push pause>> Honestly (as if I’m going to be anything but honest), those are the stupidest excuses I’ve ever heard!  

Okay, <<push play>>.

Although we kept in touch, most of our conversations were short and sweet (i.e. “How are you? How’s life?  What’s new?”), until very recently.  I’m not sure if there was a lining up of the cosmos or a secret underground meeting of maidens where a directive instructed one and all to beguile me into a relationship, but I kid you not, within one week of each other, multiple females made reference to reuniting.  It was ridiculous!  Three stand out simply because if this were six years ago, I would seriously entertain a relationship with any one of them.  Better late than never right?  Wrong!  The young ladies, guilty of one of the ridiculous reasons above, went on their way, found the fun frat fellow to frolic with, loved the laid back lad, and idolized the immature idiot.  Years later, with emotional baggage in one hand and child(ren) in the other, one by one each is trying to declare their undying desire. No bueno!!! (You didn’t know I speaka Spanish did you? Si!)

Even taking into consideration the differences in age (~2 – 5 years), the expectation is, at the very least, our maturity levels be on par, correct? Not even close.

Granted, my experience very well might be different from yours but seeing as this is my blog and you’re still reading, I think it’s safe to say we’re not really concerned about your experience.  Right? Right! 

I’m chuckling now, but I laughed a few weeks ago when one young lady sent a message proposing we get married because she undoubtedly knew we loved each other.  I laughed to myself and thought, “What makes her think I want that lad’s leftovers?”  But no worries, I bit my tongue and didn’t actually say that.  Instead, I playfully poked fun at her empty promises and changed the subject.

Nonetheless, its similar situations that cause me to scoff at the silly statement that girls mature faster than boys. 

It’s a conspiracy I tell you… C-O-N-spiracy!

--

My Music Moves Me...

“One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain.” –Bob Marley

Indeed you don’t Bob…indeed you don’t. 

What I find I appreciate about music is its ability to allow you to time travel, reminisce by reliving certain moments in the past, or subtly sooth the spirit.  I’m amazed that in a few moments and all at once, music does this. 

Earlier, it felt like I caught a cold and was lethargic for most of the day not wanting to do anything but sleep.  Of course that meant I tossed and turned and wasn’t able to get any restful sleep.  So I opened up iTunes and listened to some music, searched YouTube and watched a few videos, and then turned to Pandora to listen to a few stations.  I sat back and let the music wash over me; it was both refreshing and relaxing.

I sat through a few Sam Cooke, Al Green, Otis Redding, Lenny Williams, and Marvin Gaye tracks enjoying some good ol’ soul music. I then decided to switch gears and listen to some R&B.  I mean some real rhythm & blues music, the kind you can relate to and swear the singer somehow sat in front of you while you described a situation in your life and they penned it into a song. 

A few more recent R&B songs played in my shuffle of ‘Top 25 most played’ songs and most I would skip.  Then the song below started to play and I literally closed my eyes shutting out all visual stimuli to focus solely on the words.  Take a listen…you might enjoy it…you might not.  This song, for some reason, hit me; I felt it.

Raheem needs to send me a royalty cheque because I swear I was feeling like this not too long ago! Although the situation that came to mind is in the past, the emotions rushed to the surfaced all over again bringing these words to mind:

--

I’ve thought of you every day,

Since that day,

And even on my birthday,

I wanted nothing more than to hear you say,

Something, anything…even just “hey”.

I begged for you to stay,

Still you walked away,

Yet I sit here today,

Trying to find a way,

Wondering if it’s okay,

To call you to say,

“Lonely here I lay,

Wishing you were still my lady”.

Words cannot convey,

Nor properly portray,

So I’ll end wishing God’s blessing as I pray,

For you through your day.

--

My mind meanders melodiously. Why? My music moves me.

Serenity Now!!!

Me: “I need you to do me a favor.”

Friend: “What’s up?”

Me: “I need you to deposit $350 into my Bank of America account.  There isn’t a BoA in Louisville…”

Friend: “I’m at work so give me about an hour.”‡

Me: “…and to transfer the money from my ING account it will take 2 days for it to go through.”

Me: “Okay. Do you still have my information?”

Friend: “No, go ahead and re-send it.”

Me: “Cool.  Thanks.  You’ll get it back by Friday.  I’ll give you a call later to discuss further.”

--

The exchange above was a text message conversation that took place in early October 2008 between a good friend and I. 

I found myself living in Louisville, KY for a few months during the latter part of 2008 and apparently “Lu-vo” (Louisville residents will vehemently argue attempting to convince you they are correct in their pronunciation of their beloved city – so of course it was my duty to stress it was “Loo-wee-ville” or to really annoy them, “Lewis-ville”) doesn’t have a Bank of America.  **Americans need to get it together and have only a handful of banks with branches in every city (notice I didn’t say largest city in the state) instead of this mom & pop banking system currently in place.**

I made the request because earlier that day a different friend asked for the exact same sum of money. My hands were somewhat tied as I was stuck in Louisville without a Bank of America and a two day delay hindering my ability to access the funds in another account.  I knew, however, if I was in a situation and needed someone to come through, there was at least one person I could count on.  Isn’t that what friends are for?  Correctomundo!

While many use the term ‘friend’ very loosely to describe anything from colleague to coitus companion, for me it boils down to one question: Can I depend on you? I don’t need you to financially front me $400 to prove you’re a friend, but I do need to know I can depend on you.  The same rules apply to me; no double standard here.  Maybe I’m a little idealistic, or some might even suggest I’m possibly naïve, but I would like to believe all friendships should be so modeled; with the confidence that regardless of the circumstance, you can consistently count on that person.  Whether to ramble on about nothing, talk about something personal you’re going through, accompany you to the newest restaurant or movie, come through in the clutch, and so on and so forth, all of which transcend the bare minimum of common courtesy and consideration, that’s what friends are for!

Now, I’m idealistic, not an idiot, so please don’t embarrass yourself by sending me a text message asking for money.  I also recognize it’s unfortunately a cold, cold world with rare instances of the type of friendship described above.  These days, individuals barely exercise enough common sense or common courtesy to maintain that kind of friendship.  You don’t believe me or think I’m exaggerating?  Well, 1) that sounds like a personal problem, and 2) I’ll give you a clear example.  Allons-y!

I have a particular female friend who peaks my pet peeve list, frustrates the flying frog fruelen (who cares if that’s not a real word; I was on a role) out of me, and honestly pisses me off to high hell habitually!  The prime problem is she’s completely clueless to, what I feel are, common courtesies required for any type of civilized social interaction.  Forget phoning <her as> a friend if I wanted to be a millionaire, or sending a text message asking for a favour (yes, it’s spelled with an -our ending people; I speak English, not American and the English ending is -our!), because I’d be “SOL” depending on her.  She’s something special I tell you…and yes, I use the word special very loosely to describe someone not altogether…

Our typical conversations are via BBM/Google Chat/text message therefore are limited to short messages making plans to get together, exchanging a quick joke or comment about something, or asking a question.  Outside of the first example (making plans), responses to any other message are far and few between, if received at all. 

“Well maybe she’s busy.” --> Oh, you know, I never thought of that Sherlock.  Of course I recognize she very well might be busy...go sit in the corner for that seemingly smart, although silly, thought! 

“Well, maybe she just doesn’t want to be bothered by you.”  --> Really?!? Wouldn’t be the first female that felt that way (I have what you call a love/hate relationship with certain females…either they love me, or they don’t feel me, you feel me?)  That’s not the issue here and you’ll see that in a second.

“Well, maybe it just slips her mind because she gets caught up doing something and forgets to respond.”  --> Now, that might be the case BUT…

You would then expect a follow up or a response at a later time, correct?  (Rhetorical…the answer is yes)  So would I…and yet it doesn’t happen.  Not only do I not get a response to my initial message, she’ll compound the crime by sending a random message hours or days later, using the same mode of communication, saying something like, “Hey…Are you free for a movie tonight?” or “Lunch this afternoon?”  completely disregarding any message(s) previously sent with not so much as an attempt to at least segue into the new conversation first addressing (or apologizing for) the delayed response, provide a response, and then proceed to the new topic at hand. 

I’m ashamed to say, I would generally accept either invite (yeah, I’m shaking my head at myself too), disregard the infraction and keep it moving.  Then I started to take note of the aggressiveness by which some of her random messages came eventually seeing a pattern.  When she wanted to converse or do something, please believe my BBM/Google Chat would be blown up, sometimes even followed up with a call (or calls) AND a voicemail in the span of an hour.  Don’t let me take a few minutes to respond either.   That just causes a “You there?” or “Hello?” as if she’s annoyed I’m not sitting by the phone waiting to respond to her message.  The nerve of her right?!?  Same thing I thought!

So of course I step out of myself and say, “Self…are you being a little harsh?” to which self responds, “Maybe”.  I then say, “Self, that’s just her so don’t hold it against her” to which self responds, “True”, and I let it go.  Recently though, I’ve grown frustrated and refuse to accept that as an excuse.  Why?  Because “Excuses are monuments to nothingness”!  The last follow-up random message I received, I deleted and didn’t bother responding.  I thought about waiting a few days, doing something in similar fashion and sending a random message, but I couldn’t be bothered with that foolishness.

Common sense and common courtesies need to get back to simply being commonplace.  Yes, it’s a particular pet peeve of mine so I may very well be slightly anal as compared to others.  However, not recognizing it, or my needing to dumb it down gives me pause and makes me question if I even need you in my circle at all.  It’s that exact type of inconsistent or inconsiderate person that will fail you, so thanks but no thanks.  I should have listened to Mike, Ronnie, and Ricky a long time ago when they said, “Never trust a big butt and a smile…that girl is poison.”

In all seriousness, atop my list of pet peeves (I’m not suggesting the young lady above fits all of the following), are inconsistent, inconsiderate, incompetent, and ignorant individuals.  They get under my skin causing me to yell…

…SERENITY NOW!!!

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‡: Notice the response prior to providing any detail or even a timeline for payment.

Excuse me Miss...

Every so often, I enjoy stepping out of my egocentrism and request an external evaluation to examine, or rather compare and contrast, through candid conversation with close compadres, others’ view of me.  Typically, I’ll initiate a discussion by asking a question along the lines of, “Do you think I’m …”?  The other party and I will launch into a drawn-out debate on the merits of their response which, most times, is the converse/inverse/reverse, or any other variation of direct opposite with a –verse ending you can come up with, of my perception.  Some of the rather interesting dialogues have taken place when arrogant or bourgeoisie replaced “…”.  I’ll table that discussion for the moment.

Recently, the topic of shyness came up.  I reluctantly (I use reluctantly as I always hesitate to expose any vulnerability to others) admitted to the person I was conversing^** with that I was, and still am to this day, very shy. 

^**Sidebar: I like how I used converse in the opening and then used it in a completely different form above…don’t know why I stopped to point that out but whatever…oh, I remember…It pisses me off to high hell when people use it in this form – conversate – that is NOT a damned word!!!

Moving on… The person laughed (first off, why would you laugh when someone is opening up to you?) and of course we went back and forth about why I thought I was shy and why they didn’t agree.  My basic argument is this: if you put me in a room filled with strangers, I’ll retreat to a corner until someone initiates a conversation, or if I see an aesthetically appealing young lady who I really want to approach, 9 times out of 10, I will let the opportunity pass me by because I can’t muster enough courage to confidently make a move.  That to me suggests I’m shy.  Cased closed!

Now, I’ll grant there are circumstances where I may appear extremely confident but without exception, if you analyze the situation, those moments always come when I’m in a position of advantage thereby allowing me to merely mask my shyness.  An example you ask?  Sure!  Years ago, I worked in an American Express call center and every few weeks a new training class would start.  I knew the products well and was sometimes asked to answer questions other (new) agents had.  So, a new attractive young lady would start, ask a question, I’d approach, answer the question, say “a little joke…Voila!  Praises due to the most high…”

I was merely doing my job and welcoming the new agents to the team yet certain persons, to this day, point to that situation (or carbon copy examples) and attempt to argue that I’m not shy.  Believe what you will, just know you’re wrong.  That example, in my humble opinion, does not support the argument that I’m not shy; it merely shows that I know how to capitalize on an opportunity when placed in a position of power.  Stop judging me…I was just carpe diem-ing!

Now the scenario below shows you exactly how shy I was.

There was an exquisite young lady I was enamored with during my sophomore year in college.  I wanted to approach her but always clamped up when the time came.  For weeks I tried to devise a game plan for our paths to cross and when I finally came up with a plan, I realized I had no idea whatsoever what I would say.  I considered, “Hi, my name is Jeremy and I’ve noticed you for weeks…”, but then thought, since the Ladies Love Cool J, maybe I should just lick my lips and wink at her from around the way.  I didn’t do either as I later found out she was dating a rather burly brother-man from Birmingham.  But during the process of trying to figure out what to say, I wrote the piece below (consider this a blast from my past).

Feel me… (Excuse me Miss)

I would like to get to know you,

Not referring to know you in the biblical sense,

But to know you more intimately,

Beyond just looking objectively,

At your delicate features externally… 

I yearn to know you internally,

As you know yourself introspectively,

To ignite a love eternally,

To last us now into eternity…

So while I approach respectfully,

Not knowing how to subjectively,

See what you want physically,

Intellectually, emotionally,

And spiritually,

Of me,

I will nervously,

Hope coincidentally,

You really feel me.

You feel me?

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I re-read poems such as this (circa Spring 2003) and chuckle at how much of a hopeless romantic a younger me was.

 “When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” – 1 Corinthians 13:11

…Jusqu'à ce que vous lire à nouveau.

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