Scrabble

I've wanted to write this piece for a long time. Now, even as the black letters dance across the white background of this word processor, I'm not so sure that I can explain this with the grace that it has when the thoughts bounce around in my head, but I'll try. Everyone is not meant to be friends with everyone else. There are different strokes for different folks, and the world is just not designed for everyone to get along. That's just how it works. When I first approached this subject, I thought of certain people as puzzle pieces, they fit into several puzzles, but didn't really have a puzzle that they fit into at all - everything was more like a mirage than reality.

Let me explain some more. The puzzle piece analogy works to get my point across, but it doesn't really express what I want to say. Some people, like me, are chameleons. We get along with a lot of people, people tend to know something about us, and we are basically, friendly, cordial type people. However, sometimes, when we go to sleep at night, we wake up with tear-stained pillows, and we turn the bathroom sink on full blast as we brush our teeth to drown out the sound of our tears. We don't want to hear those tears, we don't want to see them, we don't want to feel their warmth as they roll slowly down our cheeks, reminding us that we may not have a place in social society. It would be easy for me to say we don't have a place in this world, but we do. We are the busy ones, the calm, relaxed mediators, the problem solvers, or maybe some of us just don't do shit. But when we lay our heads down at night, until the time when are teeth are sparkling clean in the morning, we realize that we have countless associates, maybe even a few friends, but who really can we call our aces?

I thought again and I realized the analogy that fit better with this situation was Scrabble. Everyone in this world is a letter. And you can group letters together to form words, just like you can group people together to form friendships or other relationships. But in every scrabble game, there are blank tiles. Special tiles that can be anything you want them to be. And have you ever noticed how those tiles can be really important when you want to make a word, but they don't carry any point value on the board? Peculiar. They can fit with any word, which makes them unique, but they have no real identity of their own, which makes them...I don't know. I don't know what those blank tiles are, but sometimes I feel blank. I feel like no one really knows who I am, no one really cares what I am feeling, but everyone cares about me. About me. Everyone knows about me, no one knows me. And then again, maybe I'm just talking about nothing. Maybe this isn't even worth a post. But just in case there is someone out there who feels blank sometimes too, just know, you are not alone. You are special, unique, and you are just like me, so hey, maybe we can group together.

Wifey Material

"All married women are not wives."

Boy, did he mess up. I had already suspected the exact words that came out of his mouth in a druken slur. "See her? All that fly shit that you try on other girls won't work with her. Unh-unh. You either wife her, or leave her alone. But you wanna know what's fucked up? Niggas like us ain't ready for no wife!" Had truer words ever been spoken? Okay, most likely yes, but to hear them from such a clear (ok, druken but clear) perspective, the perspective of the male species was rare and exciting and depressing as fuck! So yes, I've been labeled wifey material. And you want to know what? I had this epiphany last Monday! Talk about a coincidence...or not. The problem with all of this is, and as my druken gentlemen friend more strongly put it, young men are not looking for wives. And I'm not looking for a husband, but I've been blackballed from the dating community because I'm too good?? Wait, I'm a little confused here.

I would appreciate an explanation if anyone happens to have one, becase why should girls who are wifey material be punished for being who they are? As I walked by somewhere, another man loudly suggested that 98% of women are no good. So, according to his calculations, what about the 2% of us who are doing our best? Are we doomed to live in solitude until a so-called, and I do mean so-called Prince Charming decides he's done sowing his royal oats and wants to grace us with a ring? I think not. But maybe what I think doesn't matter, because like Jasmine, I'm a princess who's supposed to mary a prince. Unlike her, I haven't had many suitors come to call. You can't accept what no one is offering, so I guess you have to accept the lonely but blessed, but crazy situation of being worthy of marriage.

Wifey material is something rare. I hope I am what I've been labeled, a good woman, but if I am, then where's my good man?