I Am Not "The One"

Riddle Me This? Why is it that practically every man that I have invested more than five minutes of my time - as a friend, girlfriend, or the like - feels as though I am "the one"? I often wonder...

If I have been "the one" on more than one occasion, doesn't that make me another number at this point?

If most men want to make me their wife, does that make me a pseudo-polyandrist (female polygamist)?

Perhaps it's my stretch marks secretly emitting childbearing energy into my aura that only men sense causing them to want to impregnate me.

And finally, if you believe that I am the one for you, but I don't believe you are the one for me, that technically means 1 + -1 = 0, and you have NOTHING!"

There's no way any of this is possible, which leads me to believe that this whole concept of "the one" is as big a myth as monogamy itself.

Allow me to digress. Contrary to what we are taught to believe, it is not human nature to want to be with one person; that's an act we practice because society says its right. There is no undiscovered formula to the reason why the divorce rate is so high or why Cheaters is such a popular television show. Its very simple, we are greedy and our natural instinct leads us to pursue multiple partners.

While we're on the subject, being with multiple partners is not impressive; it's actually effortless because it coincides with the laws of nature. Convincing a woman you have never met to sleep with you is easy; but try convincing a woman to make love to you when she knows you consistently pee on the toilet seat, your morning breath has the ability to reshape eyebrows, and you have a malignant mole growing three quarters of the way between your navel and your left nipple.

So again I ask, if it's our human nature to be with more than one person, where the heck did this obnoxious concept of "the one" come from and why do so many men assign me the title of such? It can only be one of three things:

• Men have implicit qualifications for being “the one” that I have

unwillingly embodied
• There is a shortage of women who are smart, witty, understanding, adventurous

and challenging – which is not to be confused with combative

Or

• There is no such thing as “the one”

I'll let you decide

♥ J'aime Bianca

"The First Lady Looks Like Me!" (Circa November 4,2008)

Those who were around during the 50's and 60's can recall exactly where they were when Martin Luther King, Jr. gave his "I Have A Dream" speech or the glory years of the JFK era. Sadly, they might also recall when both of these iconic men were assassinated. As a product of the 80's, the only thing I can recall is reading about great leaders and momentous time periods in my History books. But five, ten, or twenty years from now, when someone asks me "Where were you the day Barak Obama was elected president?," I will proudly respond, "Harlem Baby!"

I woke up Election Day with a great sense of excitement...and paranoia. The idea that Obama could become the first Black President made me ecstatic; but the notion that racism was still prevalent and elections had and can be stolen made me nauseous. All day I prayed for my people and my future President. After reports that two skinheads had planned to assassinate Obama surfaced earlier during the week, I was positive the KKK had devised a plan to exterminate anyone who looked like they would vote Democratic or did not pass the paper bag test. However, when I heard that people in Harlem were waiting in line for more than four hours to use one working polling machine at a particular location, my paranoia subsided.

The lines at the local Harlem polling locations were reminiscent of those that formed on the election days that occurred after the Voting Rights Act passed in 1965. And at my particular polling location the machines looked like they were from 1965. "Excuse me Miss, I'm supposed to step behind this curtain, go through the board, switch the buttons for my selections, and pull the lever all the way across to the other side???" My voting experience was one unlike any other voting experience I had ever had. While in the ballot booth, I took a minute to think about how peaceful this day was going. Everyone there exuded an enormous amount of pride, class, and dignity; it truly reflected the entire Obama campaign. Disappointed that I was unable to attain a voter confirmation ticket or an "I Voted" sticker, I called my grandmother to see if she would be able to make it out to vote. She wasted no time telling me, "I'm going to go vote for Obama baby...that's my man. You know I saw him when he came to the church. There were more secret service men there than members."

As the night drew nearer, I prepared to go to my aunt's election party. I stopped by Make My Cake Bakery to pick up some treats. In less than a minute I had a dozen Obama cupcakes and information on the largest outdoor election viewing party in Harlem. I stopped by the viewing party on 125th street before going to my Aunt's and was amazed by three things: the size of the screen streaming live CNN coverage, the size of the crowd, and the number of Black people selling bootleg Obama paraphernalia. About an hour after I arrived at my aunt's party, they declared Obama the winner. I was the youngest person at the party, yet I cried like a runaway slave that finally made it to freedom.

After some time, I found myself being drawn back towards the 125th street viewing party. The minute I, and a couple of folks from the party, walked out the apartment, I heard the people of Harlem roaring. Harlemites walked down the street congratulating one another and singing newly fabricated Obama songs. Standing in the center of 125th street and Adam Clayton Powell Blvd., I noticed the swarms of people coming from every direction making their way to this prime celebratory location. Eventually, the police gave up directing traffic and buses had to find an alternate route as the people continued to trickle in. I had never seen soooooooo many different races and ages of people joined together to celebrate in the magnitude they did that night. And with the African drummers playing in the background igniting the crowd that surrounded me, I found myself at a stand still thinking about one simple statement a young woman made as I was walking towards the festivities..."Finally, the first lady looks like me!"

♥ J'aime Bianca

Back to Blogging

When my three biggest blog fans - my mother and my co-workers Alex and Mr. Mitchell - started asking me why I haven't blogged, it made me wonder, "What have I been doing with my time?" To be honest, I'm not really sure. I know I have a digital camera full of pictures and a notebook full of rough blogs, but I haven't birthed a blog since October - and a distinctively creative blog since the first few. I'm not sure if I am having a muted internal battle or if waking up at 4:30am every weekday has completely drained me creatively. Who knows, but now that I am conscious of others desire to read my work, I have committed myself to blogging again...Lord knows I hate commitments.

P.S. - Despite my absolute hatred of back-blogs, I will be sprinkling in a few blogs that I wrote during my writing sabbatical between November and March (you'll be able to distinguish them by the "Circa" written next to the title).

♥ J'aime Bianca

Merry Christmas from NYC

Central Park

Frosty

♥ J’aime Bianca

Harlem for Obama

♥ J’aime Bianca

Myspace

Langston Hughes once said, "Life ain't no crystal stairs." He was obviously talking about living in New York when he wrote that. I can't complain though, things have gotten much better within the past three months. You can definitely say life in New York ain't been no crystal stairs...but I think my life might qualify me for the cubic zirconium stairs. I've got new friends who are crazy and sweet, old friends who keep me sane and laughing, and after much praying and fasting I finally got a new job. I love my job because it allows me to do three very important things - put money back in my savings, work styling gigs (because I get off at 2:30pm), and BUY FURNITURE! The first item on the furniture shopping list, a bed of course. I can finally get my luxury mattress off the floor.


I feel it is very important to have a room that is a sanctuary. Sanctuaries take time to develop, and my room is no exception. I started with just a blow up bed and a canvas, so at best, my bedroom was a low budget homeless shelter. After two weeks of my butt sinking to the floor from a deflating air mattress, I upgraded to a Kingsdown luxury mattress. Retail value: $1,091.55; the price I got it for with God's favor: $317. The next step was to paint over the horrible wall color - prison grey that was slapped on top of an odd shade of pink. Two coats of primer, two gallons of Behr Enchanted Amber, and a gallon of Swiss Coffee rescued my walls from its former state. Painting took a while, but when I finally finished I was able to unpack my fiberbed. That's right, MORE SOFTNESS! My mattress is a eurotop, which translates to "sleeping on a cloud" in mattress terminology. But when you match the luxury mattress up with the fiberbed it's like sleeping on the wings of an angel. All I needed was a bed to get it off the floor.

Well, my bed arrived yesterday. And as I was assembling it on my own, I thought about how much easier the process would have been if I had done it with a friend or maybe even a mate. I started comparing the "cute couple's way" to a "single woman's way"...


Step One - Connect the base board and the head board to the side rails

The Cute Couple's Way:
"One of us can hold the side rail while the other one screws it to the headboard and the baseboard"

The Single Woman's Way:
"If I place the headboard face down on the floor and screw in the side rails while they are balanced upward towards the ceiling, that will give me enough leverage to connect the base board after I've connected all the other major pieces."


Step Two - Connect the slates to the support bar and the 4 support legs

The Cute Couple's Way:
"Honey, I'll hold the slates while you screw in the support bar and legs."

The Single Woman's Way:
"How in the heck am I going to do this...Okay, if I brace all the slates against the wall, I can put the screws in from behind, attach the support bar and hope that it stays in place long enough for me to screw the legs in. Then I can tighten the screws once I angle it on the floor."


Step 3 - Place the supported slates inside the bed frame

The Cute Couple's Way:
"That's sounds easy. You grab one end and I'll grab the other and we can place it inside the frame."

The Single Woman's Way:
"What?! These instructions apparently do not apply in New York apartments. No one has that much space to have a bed frame next to slates that are connected. This isn't going to work. Okay think...If I brace one of the support legs on my lamp I can put the frame down on the ground. Nope, that didn't work. Okay...if I brace one of the support legs on my lamp which is then supported by my bedroom door (see image, I really did that), I can put the bed frame down and then maneuver the slates inside the frame. Ooooh Jesus, it's hot."


Step Four - Screw all the slates down to the side rail

The Cute Couple's Way:
"Baby we're almost done! You grab the screws and I'll grab the drill."

The Single Woman's Way:
"You must be crazy if you think I'm going to screw in 28 screws when I just put 8 into the side rail, 4 into the support legs, and 2 into the support bar. There's no way"

28 screws later...

"I should have just given the delivery man $45 to put this bed together himself."


I didn't opt not to pay the assembly fee because I had a deep desire to prove my independence as a woman, I was simply being cheap. And although building the bed alone gave me a great since of pride and achievement, I finished with an even deeper appreciation for community and help from others.

Needless to say, my sanctuary is still a work in progress. I still need window treatments for my gold accent wall, a dresser, and some other things. But until then, I'll be enjoying my space as it is.


♥ J’aime Bianca

Jas & James - Back Together Again

Then

Now