Women should not "need" men.

I started off this blog to express the joy and peace obtained from living a solo life. 

I sometimes find that women of a certain age, or just women in general have a tendency to "need" men to complete them. Not that I never want for male companionship. I do. I'm not made of steel. I've often expressed that some of my vacations or spontaneous trips might be a bit different if I was accompanied by a male companion. But I don't need men to "complete" me. I am plenty enough for me. I can pay my own bills. I can take myself on vacation by myself and enjoy myself immensely (as you all have observed) and I can choose to cook or not cook, or just be, with me, all day long. 

Men often feel that when you need them for companionship and all its circumstances (ahem, sex) that you need them to pay your bills or to wine and dine you or to generally hold your hand. I know, they expect to be needed and they love women that need them. I want you there but I don't need you to do these things for me. I can do them for myself by myself. If you want to be that gentleman in my life to do them even better but I do not expect it from you and I would hate you more if I find out that you think that I do. I can enjoy my weekend by myself being myself. I do not need to spend the weekend with you dealing with you and all your circumstances (ahem, sex). I would like you to want to spend the weekend with me that would be great but since you want to do you, I want to celebrate me. It's my world and you are invited to be in it. I do not expect it from you and you shouldn't certainly expect it from me either.

One of the few celebrated Beyonce songs that I related to even before I became this single indomitable independent loving life force that I am was Independent Woman - from the Charlie's Angels Theme song. She said paraphrased, "The shoe I'm rocking, I bought it. The house I live in, I bought it. The car I'm driving, I bought it. I depend on me."

Exactly, I depend on me. Not you lover man, me. If I fuck up, I depend on me to fix this life of mine. Not you. That's the way it is, that's the way it should be until we find someone worthy to share this space with us. As I've often said, I am still. Please be still with me. 

This aptly means, I am here. You can be here with me if you choose to. 

Let's celebrate the woman that we are without needing someone to complete us. It's so much more fun this way, trust me. 

One Day This Will All Make Sense

It's been awhile since I've had an image heavy post. I usually update with images to illustrate phases or places that are too breathtaking for words, places where mere words escape their description, or places I am not averse enough with my descriptive analysis to adequately describe. Like they say: A picture is worth a thousand words. 

These images represent happy moments for me. That's why I take pictures. I think that's why a lot of people take pictures, if I am not mistaken. I take pictures to capture that pristine moment in time and just bottle it up in a photograph that I can replay when I am feeling down, empty, alone, or just cold.

You see life has a way of handing you sweet flavorful oranges just after you've had a bout of lemonades. Unfortunately, the ickiness of the lemonades lingers in your tongue a lot longer than the sweetness of the oranges. In fact, the lemonade's sourness is almost impossible to get rid of, and you wish you could get rid of it quick enough just so you can get back to the sweet succulence of the oranges. It's almost like only a lengthy passage of time would eventually yield what lies at the end of the copious helpings of bitterness brought on by the lemons. This passage of time that seems almost never ending at some point. But you have to power through it bearing the sourness, ickiness and over all suckiness of the lemons which at some point begin to turn sour. However, until that time comes when we can sniff the sweet smell of freshly plucked oranges, we just have to persevere through the bitterness, and hope to work out the passage of time by glancing at images from the days of old when we had sweet ripe succulent oranges. 

I hope this makes sense. 

 Still

I am still even though my heart speaks a trillion languages.

It beckons me to take heart at the solitude 

I have confined myself to. 

It asks me to make friends with myself 

To meet me in a form 

I never knew existed. 

It speaks as if I were someone else 

Who had no hand 

In the destiny 

That the voices 

Have convinced me to take. 

It begs me to be still 

That its’ guiding light, 

Is as one who has no stake 

In the confusing loss 

Which our rambling hearts forever undertake; 

It is a voice speaking in the dark saying: 

Do nothing. Be still. 

To which I respond:

I am still. 

Please be still with me. 

The Solo Quest Continues…in style no less

I thought I'd do some writing since (i) I woke up in an unusual emotional state this morning (unusual because I'm in vacation heaven), and (ii) my vacation always conjures up thoughts, ramblings, and unfettered emotions. I still don't know why I was emotional this morning.

My hotel upgraded me to this baller suite. Baller, with its own jacuzzi and flat screens in the bedroom, bathroom and living room just built for you to relax and chill. Baller Haven!! I just keep thinking, but I'm by myself. Do they know that? I told them I was coming to Vegas to celebrate my birthday and they must have thought, "She's probably coming in here with a bunch of girlfriends, etc." That is (sadly, for them) not the case. It's just me. Taking in her birthday in this wonderful city by her self in this baller suite that you've gifted her.

I love the room. It's giving me multiple orgasms just looking at the incredible view of the Las Vegas strip from the 38th floor. They couldn't have arranged a better birthday present for this old gal. I thank them (Palms Place) and their owners immensely. And if you ever want to celebrate your birthday solo or with all the ballers in the world, I highly recommend this place, with the jacuzzi jet tub in the living room, cushy bathrobe and slippers and all. Staying here made me feel so privileged, something I haven't felt in a long time. I'm sipping Champagne in a plush white bathrobe and staring out the floor to ceiling windows at the breathtaking Las Vegas view. It is truly that exquisite and breathtaking. Check my Instagram account for all the squealish updates.  

Underneath all this awesomeness, I still appreciate how pathetic it may seem that I am by myself, and I cannot share the joy of this flamboyant space with anyone...just me, as is often the case. It is bittersweet. On the one hand, I am proud of myself for providing me, myself and I with these little (and big) joys, and on the other hand I feel like the sixth toe, somewhat not a part of the whole. I could be exaggerating, but you know what I mean. It is a thing of joy to provide yourself (without the aid of a man) with these simple joys. It's empowering, for me it is. I think if he eventually shows up and wants to wow with me these places, too late because I've already given them to myself. So dude, try harder. Empowering! Every woman should empower themselves with the vacation of their dreams. 

Still...it would still be nice to have someone nagging me about hurrying to get to the pool, or having yet another drink, or just about wanting to sleep in a little longer. Anything. It would be nice...or would it? I normally wouldn't care about things like these but as I said I woke up quite testy. Perhaps I am getting too old for this singleton thing. Or perhaps, my brief taste of coupledom has got me jaded.

But as I turned this great age, these thoughts went through my head. And I thought the other singletons should know. Do they think the same? Should I stop whining? As I trust in them, I ask that they keep the singleton hope alive! I know I will. 

Pretentious loving me

I wanna live in one of those cities, where people are so pretentious that they experience yoga at 2 in the afternoon on a Tuesday! And then, they have long lunches that are so not work related on a Thursday. Start my Saturdays with exploring an open air fresh food market, filled with vegetables and all kinds of organic shit. While sipping on my green smoothie with my hippie-esque outfit, with NO MAKEUP, I discuss how much healthier the green funky tasting smoothie that I'm drinking is because it totally "cleanses" me. Then, from there I go for some deep breathing asana yoga. In the same outfit, no less.

I just enjoy that type of pretentious life. Living with people that start their Sundays with brunch in some hole-in-the-wall chef-inspired restaurant, and finish it off at an even more obscure joint that serves Mimosas with a dose of disco - an underground Sunday Brunch party, that is invite only. These places do exist, in New York, I read about them in the good ole' New York Times. 

After all those frivolities I party, brunch style, with my new brunch friends, we all move our party over to someone's apartment, maybe even mine, where we have a nightcap at my communal table. It could be coffee, or their latest wine find, or anything else less "trippy" to finish off this already awesome day and cap off a perfectly transcendental weekend. We would finish the day by talking about our latest yoga find, or wine tasting, or art gallery find, or just our latest organic inspiration, artiste to artiste meshing minds. I would go to bed knowing that I've expanded my mind and body emotionally and organically, while preparing for the next equally pretentious week ahead.

What's your pretentious escape? Find it this summer. 

When you hit a rut?!

I woke up today feeling like one of those days when I need to wake up in a hotel room. Not my own home or my own bed. Somewhere else. To wake up in a hotel room, tired and hung over, and buzzing from the events of the night before. Then, I take a long protracted shower in the nice hotel room bathroom not giving a care about the water bill, and then, I towel off and admire the scars from the previous night. Then, I flip through the massive TV with no agenda for the day, and possibly, quite possibly, order room service as I prepare myself to meet the day.

Sometimes in every single girls life, there comes a moment when you are faced with a rut. A rut that seems endless. A rut that appears both personally and professionally. A rut that means nothing else seems to delight you anymore, except the distinct possibility of waking up in a strange hotel room. This rut is made even worse because it's my birthday in a few months so I'm secretly hoping that God has a birthday present for me, one that specifically involves getting out of this rut, and being in a rutless state for at least 5 years.

If you're an avid reader of this blog you perhaps have noticed the sparseness of updates. I just thought it was a lack of inspiration. I feel inspired about things to write but they are not upbeat and no one wants a Debbie Downer. Then, I thought about the month. Does it have to do with this time of year? The endless dreary winter months, the Lenten period of fasting and abstinence, the lack of things to do while Spring teases us ever so slightly with a sprinkling of a couple of warm days while we just sit waiting with baited breath for Spring and then, of course over the horizon, Summer. It's not so much the time of year, it's more of a combination of things for me. The imminent birthday, the recent departure of (yet another) lover, the uncertainty (and dare I say, the stupidity) of the Atlanta dating scene, and the void space that needs to be filled by...someone. Sometimes you can take a look at your life and think, I've come this far, yet there's still this space that I need to fill.

I am just so out of it. I drove 18 miles on Saturday just to try a restaurant with subpar food which I occasionally like. I went all that way just so I can feel something, anything.

Does this have anything to do with my rut? Perhaps. I just want something to feel excited about, to make me want to see the next day, to make me want to get dressed in the morning. Something that gives you hope that over the horizon, there's something better. I just can't seem to grapple with this nothingness, perhaps that's why I wanted the loneliness of a lavish hotel room.

Until that happens, I shall live in hope. And longing. And with all the pent-up courage I've built up over the course of my singleton days. Hope, longing and courage that there shall be a sprinkling of excitement in this single gal's life. And that this too shall pass (sorry to sound so cliche!). But in the meantime, it's time to break out the tight dresses and mini-skirts, because this gal's going to have to score herself a date! --

> side note --> If you live in Atlanta, you know how difficult this is. Brothas do not know how to date.  

In which I attend 3 plays...by myself

Myriad of billboard displays of available shows in NYC

A friend once asked if I attend plays, shows, musicals, what have you, by myself.

The answer is most definitely Yes. Certainly yes. It goes without saying. The preceding entry was a solo quest. It was me attending a bunch of plays and musicals by myself sitting in an audience filled with a bunch of couples, old and young (demographic depends on the play itself) nestled in between them with my (very strong) drink in hand, solo. It's a pathetic look from an outsider's point of view but for me it's sheer joy. Sometimes when I allow myself to consider it, I feel pathetic. I feel like the girl who couldn't get anyone to ask her to the prom. That pathetic! 

I only remember this now because a former paramour of mine took in one of my favored plays with his girlfriend. When I mentioned I was going to see The Producers, he instantly thought I was going with my own paramour. I can only assume based on his question that plays are best taken in with that lucky fella. As I thought of him sitting in that play with his girlfriend, I could only imagine how much fun it must be if accompanied against my solo (oft-termed "pathetic") effort and that just saddened me even more. Thank goodness we didn't attend the same play at the same time! 

But the reverse is not acceptable to me - that is, foregoing the play because I can't get a fella to take me. I'd rather experience life (in this case a play) with myself than not at all. I'd rather it be "Yes, I saw the play," than me wondering what might have been: what was the show like, was it good, was it just as the critics described, etc? I don't know what that makes me. Hopefully a feminist, an positively single, and not that pathetic solo chic who just sits off by herself (sipping her very strong drink) laughing at all the jokes. 

There are weak moments in being single. A singleton's task is not for the weak of heart. There are enriching moments - like that spontaneous trip (to Vegas, Thailand, Brazil) that your coupled up friends wish they could take. But the weak moments resonate with me - and having to take in a play non-solo is one moment I eagerly partake.

But until that time comes, this blog tells my story. The story of how I attended 3 plays and a dozen of other events, and social activities in my life by myself. Feminist or (Pathetic) Soloist, you be the judge. Just say hi if you happen to bump into this soloist. I don't bite. 

In which I attend 3 plays in 10 days

I started the year on an artistic high.

Living just a few blocks from the Fox Theatre I decided it was a good time to capitalize on being so close to art. So in the month of February, my art evolution began. 

January 30th - The Producers

I was very excited to see this. Yes, it's old. But it's a Broadway classic thus making it a must-see.

I scored half-price tickets courtesy of AJC and very good seats as well. The stage was set for a great night.

However, that was not to be. First of all, it rained torrents. It would momentarily stop and then start all over again, heavier than it was before. Like it was competing with the previous torrent. So much for walking to the theater, having a drink before the show and then taking in a nice stroll back. 

As to the play itself, well it left a lot for me to be desired. The characters were so stereotypically funny. They said (and did) what a nerdy accountant would do and the same goes for every other character in the darned play. They never broke from stereotype. I just got so sick of it that I started transacting online to pass the time in between cued song after cued song. People kept laughing at the cued acts that were done to instill their laughter. Every choreographed pratfall, faint or wiggle of the hips brought on more raucous laughter and people just fell for it. It was like watching one of those comedies with laugh tracks: predictable. 

The only ray of hope for me was the one act that went against stereotype - Hitler being played by a "gay-as-a-fruit" man and being funny as ever doing it. That musical number - Springtime for Hitler - was just to die for hilarious. Can you imagine how many wars could have been averted if Hitler was in fact gay, or simply just a jolly man? It was such a humorous number that I couldn't stop laughing. Now, if only the entire play was filled with such cut-above-the-rest numbers?

February 6th - Flashdance the Musical

The following week was a 5 day preview of Flashdance. This one was hardly fought. First, there were no half-price tickets. Just mid-day tickets at a cheaper price but still quite expensive. I debated on my need to see a play that hasn't made it onto Broadway based on a beloved 80's movie until I read the reviews. They were spot on nostalgia-inducing, I just had to see it no matter the cost. 

I made it with good seats and perfect weather to spare, a tad cold but that's to be expected, it's February.  I took a brisk walk to the theater and enjoyed a nice cocktail as I waited for the show to start. 

The play was good. Not great. It lacked the firepower and flamboyance that is needed for a Broadway musical. There was no flash to the Flashdance! Then, the choreography for a dance musical was a little lacking. I know it's supposed to be a story about an aspiring dancer lacking in experience but the lead character, Alex, was lacking in personality, spunk, and her off the cuff dance routines, hip-hop or street were out of sync. Then, they added all these boring stare-at-the-crowd, claim-my-right musical numbers building on characters that were forgettable in the movies. Alex's friends (or co-stars) at the dance club were also rather a bit gone in years. They were good, very talented ladies, but they were a bit long in the tooth. I just kept wondering how much of a retool this would need if it were to hit Broadway. 

But the good came quick and just as soon as I had time to soak it in, it was over. The best dance numbers - Maniac and Flashdance...What a Feeling. Maniac reminded me of dancing in front of the mirror as a kid. Flashdance...What a Feeling, that famous Irene Cara tune echoed feelings of my youth as an aspiring writer - that feeling that made me feel like I could do anything I set my mind to if only I believed (that the world was not a horrid, judgmental place). 

In summary - feelings of nostalgia good but they were so brief that I didn't have enough time to relish in them. 

February 10th - Good People

Then, on Sunday I wrapped up my 10 days of art evolution by going to see a sad, sad play. 

I read the review of this play earlier in the week and was quick to jump to see it before it closed. The review made it seem like a bigger production, with lavish sets and lots of story lines, no musical numbers which I was fine with, but I wanted high power drama with solid acting. Instead it was the opposite. There were about 5 scenes in total for a 2 hour plus play, so it made every scene last longer than 30 minutes. I'd forgotten how extended scenes in plays could be. In movies, scenes are short and precise and serve their purpose to move the story along or develop the character. In plays, it's not really the same. A scene could serve as the entire play. The entire play could happen in just 2 scenes, 2 sets - living room and dining room - people could get engaged, get married and then, get divorced in just those 2 scenes.

There was an intermission even though I don't know why because we came back and went through only 2 scenes. The resolution left you with a lot of questions, a lot of thought to take with you. Those are the elements of a good play, except this one was also sad, ever so sad, filled with characters that spent a good amount of time feeling so sorry for themselves (as opposed to helping themselves). 

Summary - Not very Good People.

So is art good? Yes. It makes you feel, be it nostalgia or sadness or just jolly. It makes you feel and every now and then, single people need to remember how to feel even if it's just a little. 

Happy New Year 2013!

It's been a simple day. Celebrated the New Year with family and just sort of eased into into it. Nothing crazy. Then, today in between the craziness at the mall, I decided to ease into it at Maggiano's and guess what, bumped into their happy hour which was great for me, and a perfect cap to my not so happy shopping day.

I am of the firm belief that the way you start the year kinda determines what you go through that year. That being the case, I always take a little time for me, to think, to commiserate, and just be, on the first day. I don't know if going to happy hour is the best place to do this but it was a start. 

Hello 2013! 2012 in Pictures

Whenever a year ends, we always exclaim, "Oh, it went by too quickly, where has the time gone?" We forget it had 12 entire months to reel us into it, and in that time, we did do some awesome stuff, even though it may now seem forgotten. It was a year filled with events and things, heartaches we would prefer to forget, places we wish we could revisit, and dinners filled with fine wine and food in which we laughed our heads off. 

To that end, I've tried to use some of my best pictures from the past year to highlight my 2012, in readiness for 2013. This is so hard as some months were just me dealing with me, not really taking in much of life - which I shouldn't do because it goes by so quickly. But this serves as a reminder that I should strive to do better, to do me in a bigger better way, in all caps, all love, and great technicolor.

Welcome 2013!

January.

We toasted to the New Year, 2012!

February.

I tried to sell these red Weitzman pumps on Craigslist.

March.

The sun was finally out and so were my toes. Spring!

April.

Vegas!

I spent every day of my 6 day trip in here. 

The squeal of excitement on Day 3!

It won't be Vegas without some good ole' showgals.

May.

New York, Columbus Circle. Someone made a sculpture of my ass.

New York lazy Sunday Afternoon

June.

Happy Birthday to ME!

Laguna Beach said Hi. 

July.

I discovered photo booths were fun!

I thought these shoes and the hair was a good idea.

August.

I wondered why my waist wasn't that small.

September.

A burger and a glass of red wine = September.

Communal dining table brings out fascinating conversations!

October.

Austin!

More Austin at the Domain.

November.

Much to her dismay, I actually do love her breasts!

December.

Ended the awesome 2012 by realizing that Girls Do Rule! Never forget it.