At A Loss For Words

Guess Who Loves You More......mmmm.

It's rare that I'm at a loss for words. But this song does something to me. I can't quite describe how it makes me feel. But there is something about this song that makes my insides happy. Have you ever felt that way? Has there been a song, a piece of art or poetry that reaches out to you, and touches you in a way that leaves you... speechless?

I don't know what it is about this song. But as soon as I hear the music I start moving my head. I close my eyes and I begin to envision my own mental music video. I have always loved Earth Wind and Fire's Can't Hide Love, so the fact that that music is used in this song (a perfect choice), just adds to it's intensity for me.

The music is so smooth and sensual.

His words are powerful and his voice seduces me.

I feel him on so many levels.

"I love you more", is his declaration. Can you imagine after a bad break up another man breaking it down like this? "It's me who loves you more." Go'head on Raheem DeVaughn! I applaud the boldness of his lyrics. The very act of approaching a woman with those words without the fear of consequences or possible rejection is impressive alone. Not to mention his soulful vocal stylings can have a woman melting from the inside out.

Mmmmph,mmmph,mmmmph. I must say I'm impressed. This man has impressed me and has left an impression on me. Guess who loves you more (shaking my head. I'm having one of my Gurl puhleeze moments).....what more can I say?

Guess Who Loves You More

Out Of My Element

I hate bars. I'm not a big drinker and drinking till I'm drunk and talking over loud music and over other folks who are trying to talk over music too has never been my idea of a good time. So why on earth would I suggest to my boyfriend that we pick up some wings at a bar when he got home from work?

Okay, in my defense, I actually intended to order my wings and a cobb salad and take my food home. But little did I know that He had other ideas. The next thing I know, we are sitting on these tall bar stools screaming across the table at each other.

him: "What did you say?"

me: "I said----."

him: "What did you say?"

me: "Just forget it."

I was irritated but I was tolerant. I try to be flexible. I know that this is a winding down time for him and he accomodates me so I try to reciprocate.

Anyway as I'm sitting there nibbling on a dissappointing batch of wings (they were cooked way to hard and the only flavor on them is the honey mustard sauce they were dipped in), someone yells out,"F**k that b***h!" The group that's with the man that blurted that out laughs and continues talking loudly. I flinch but it turns out they weren't talking about me or anyone else at the bar, but some how that was just part of their lively conversation. Anyway things could have stopped right there, but another man who was sitting across the room started screaming, "Yea f**k that b***h in her a**, hard!" He proceeded to add that this b***h could suck a hard d**k and some other expletives that I'd rather not repeat. And this caused an uproar. Other people joined in saying "Yea!" And I looked over at my date with my "What the hell?" expression on my face. As he smiled at me and nonchalantly ate his wings and sipped his beer.

Needless to say I was ready to go home. My boyfriend tried to assure me that it's not like this all the time and that the person screaming out obscenities was slow and he didn't mean any harm, but still I wanted out of there.

I was out of my element. He knew. I knew it. I knew it when I'd suggested it and it was apparent as soon as I walked in the place. But it had been my suggestion and I put myself there. And even though I was free to leave any time I wanted I had to ask myself, why do people constantly put themselves in positions that they know will make them uncomfortable? Why do we insist on doing things that we know we don't like or don't want to do as if trying the same thing will yield a different result?

We do it in jobs, our lives, our loves and our relationships. We knowingly put ourselves in places and in situations where we know we don't belong, that we won't fare well and we won't be happy.

Why?

I don't know the answer to that and I can't say that this realization will keep me out of stupid situations and that from this day forward all of my decisions will be of sound judgement. But what I will say is that I will try to stay in my element and if for what ever reason I decide to step out of it I won't complain about "the loud music, the obscenities, or the bad food," I'll just keep in mind that, "I'm free to leave anytime that I want."

Gitchy, Gitchy, Ya Ya Ya Ya

When I was a little girl the name of the song was Gitchy, gitchy, ya ya ya ya. No they didn't change the title once I became an adult, but that was the name of the song as far as me and my cousin Sandy was concerned. And though we never knew the words to the song we would sing it just as loudly and with just as much confidence, twisting our little hips and belting out every little made up word as if we'd wrote the song ourselves. And even though at that age I was Chaka Khan and she was Natalie Cole, we were more than happy to take a break from our borrowed personas and "become" Patti Labelle. And I must say my cousin Sandy and I could really give Ms. Labelle a run for her money.

I remember that growing up we were allowed to sing and dance to that song. My mother didn't forbid me from singing to it or dancing to it. My granmother didn't stop us and neither did my Aunt Sarah. Which is a shocker the more I think about it, because she almost gave me a whoopin' for using the words "To Hot To Trot". And I wasn't even calling anybody that I was just repeating what someone else had said.

I said that to say, that back then we had boundaries. There were things we couldn't say, things we couldn't repeat and songs that we couldn't sing to or dance to. There was a place for children when grown folks were talking (and that place wasn't up in grown folk's faces looking into their mouths). There were rules, some spoken and some unspoken, but rules nonetheless. And somehow I didn't feel deprived. I felt protected.

Sure I use to pout. I remember when my Aunt Florence bought me and my cousin Sandy our first pair of high heeled shoes and I wasn't allowed to wear mine and by the time my mother said I could they didn't fit anymore (that pissed me off). But I understand why my mother did what she did.

Would it have mattered if she let me wear the shoes when I first got them while they still fit? Probably not. They were ugly navy blue shoes with thick wooden heels. And it was highly unlikely that my cousin and I would have been mistaken for a couple of child prostitutes in them. But I knew that it was her rule and I had to abide by it. No biggy.

But I have to say it's funny how Sandy and I were allowed to sing and dance to Lady Marmalade (A.K.A Gitchy, Gitchy Ya Ya Ya Ya). I have to believe it was because we had no idea what we were singing about and it had to help us out that we made up our own words. I bet it was real entertaining watching two little girls with baby blankets wrapped around our heads (that was our long fake hair), singing our little hearts out. Or perhaps it was easier to allow us to sing and dance and have our fun without having to stop us and explain why such a fun song was bad for two nice little 5 year old girls to sing. Regardless to why that song wasn't forbidden to us I'm thankful because it gave me one of the best memories of growing up with my cousin Sandy.

Lady Marmalade

Birth

Okay. So I'm off today and I decided to stop by the library and pick up a few movies. And to my surprise The Warrensville Heights library just happens to have a wide variety of movies today. Anyway, after reading the back of this movie that has Nicole Kidman on the cover with a rather unattractive short hair cut, I decided to give it a try.

OH my gosh! This movie is surprisingly good. A bit disturbing, but good. It's about this woman whose husband drops dead while going for a jog in the snow, (snow jogging,who does that?). Anywho the wife played by Nicole Kidman is understandably devastated and even though she has a new man in her life who really seems to love her she's having a hard time moving on. Well, ten years later this kid shows up saying that he is this woman's deceased husband.

Okay, while I'm waiting for this kid to be the demon seed of Satan it turns out that he knows all about this woman, personal details that only her husband would know. Anyway, nobody believes him at first. But then he becomes increasingly convincing even to me. But that's not the disturbing part. What's disturbing is how convinced Nicole Kidman is and what she's willing to do to be with this 10 year old boy.

Usually by now I would be on Wikipedia looking this movie up because I'm in no mood for surprises, I don't want to see any sexual innuendos with this child and I am not a horror fan (except for the Saw movies. I love those),but I don't because I'm really curious about how this movie plays out.

Is he her husband reincarnated or is he a fraud?

I won't tell. I definitely would have rewritten the ending though. But I think it's worth checking this movie out. Oh, I almost forgot, the name of the movie is Birth. There is no heartstopping action and it is not a moving drama. But it begs the question: How far would you go to reclaim a lost love?

Make Me A Believer

It's dark and quiet except for the sound of the rain and the faint flicker of candlelight off in the distance. And there I am, sitting on the plushest faux velvet pit group with the finest man in the universe. We're making out. And as we're contemplating the many ways that we're going to make each others toes curl, the stereo clicks on. And in perfect pitch he croons along with Luther Vandross with sweet whispers in my ear, lips close enough to my neck to make me tingle, "I wanna love wanna have wanna hold you girl, so make me a believer." Mmmph, mmmph, mmmph. Is there any better way to spend a rainy evening?
Of course none of this ever happened. There was never a rainy evening that found me making out to Luther Vandross's Make Me A believer. There was a faux velvet pit group, but it wasn't mine and I wasn't on it making out with the finest man in the universe. And for those who don't recall what a pit group is, it is a large 3 piece couch. The one that I'm referring to belonged to my uncle. My cousin and I use to spend the weekends sitting there listening to good old music, mostly love songs and fantasizing what it would be like to be grown and having the man of our dreams sing those words to us.
We imagined dressing up and going out on dates and having boyfriends that would make us feel like we felt when we heard the lyrics to those really great old songs.
And though I was only in Junior high school and I wasn't sexually active, I was almost positive that when the time came that I would be able to blow a man's mind. After all, I had read enough of my mother's Essence and Cosmopolitan magazine articles.
I have to shake my head when I think back on my old, idealistic views on sex, love and relationships and how the men in my past have chipped away at it over the years. And even though I have had my share of disappointments I treasure all of the memories and I am thankful for all of that good old music that kept my imagination going, fed my curiosity and contributes to my writing today.