D.O.E.(Death of Excess)(Read if you make, like, or want money)
July 29, 2009
“D.O.E. (Death of Excess)”- (Read if you make, like, or want money)
It’s 2009, and the summer of the “stay-cation” is very much in effect.
If you’re not staying home to conserve your dwindling funds, you might be venturing
within a few hours from your city to experience the fun of a economically friendly
day or road trip. Personally, I had dreams of of going back east to visit family
(I’m in Cali), but instead the responsible side of me has reoriented myself to the
fact that I have priorities that need to be handled first and before any vacationing
can commence. *sigh*
So I go to work, have a little fun around town, go home and prepare to repeat the
routine the next day. I lay out my clothes, get introspective in the shower, and tie
up my hair in my favorite place- my bathroom. And just when I’m getting comfortable
enough with accepting the fact that spending wisely is a sign that I’m maturing, and
begin to take solace in the fact that I can keep my phone and car another month, I
turn on the radio and hear things like,
“It ain’t tricking if you got it..”
“Just throw it in the bag..”
“You’re a mom-and-pop, I’m a corporation”
“I got the hottest cars, I rock the flyest clothes”
“Tell them other broke jokers be quiet..”
After I stopped dancing (hey, I’m a sucker for a good beat), it dawned on me that I
was shaking my booty to songs that celebrated trivializing and downing people with
less financial security than what they- obviously overpaid entertainers- have.
Within their lyrics lies a message that the everyday man/woman isn’t anything in
comparison to them because they have it to spend at will, and we don’t. Wait,
wouldn’t that include me, too? Or am I excluded because I’m a woman and they claim
to want to spend this money on me, often in exchange for a modern day concubinage
where I’m expected to call my provider “daddy” (thanks, Twista)? What about my dad,
my homeboy or my co-worker who are all working tirelessly to provide for themselves
and/or their families? Are they the proverbial crap on the bottom of these
entertainers’ shoes just because they can’t ‘make it rain’ without caring or buy
their loved ones “whatever they liiiiike”?
*scratches head*
I can barely pay my bills without cringing, yet you’re telling me- no, you’re
bragging to me- about how insignificant money is.
Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s no one’s fault but mine that I’m in a position where
I’m struggling. I love my job, it just doesn’t pay as well as I’d like. I join
millions of people across our country and still many, many more around the world,
who are having financial difficulties because of choices they made or things that
they couldn’t prevent.
But what I don’t need and can prevent is willingly listening to some
rapper/singer/self-perceived “artist” cramming their lack of money troubles down my
throat paired with a hot track, and allowing their distorted mindsets to infiltrate
and influence my own. Nor do I need to hear kids in the school I work at repeating
the hooks to these songs that glorify narcissism and frivolity.
Do we enjoy these songs because they’re an escape from our frustrating realities? Do
we women (and some men, don’t front) secretly long to be lavished upon? I believe
that, sadly, many of those people who allow themselves to be bought greatly
compromise their integrity for money, and once your integrity has been compromised,
it can’t be bought back.
As well, those entertainers who popularize what it means to be shallow and
irresponsible, compromise their integrity by spreading this ignorance to the
masses, camouflaging their foolishness with a thin veil in the way of a nice vocal
arrangement or a catchy chorus.
It pisses me off.
Open your ears, people. And help shield the ears of those who have trouble
distinguishing between reality and grossly misplaced fantasy.
Those with the power to influence through music have been given a blessing by a
higher power which allows them to do what they love, publicly, and for lots of
money. With that comes a responsibility to not purposely infect the people with the
avoidable auditorally and visually transmitted disease of materialism. Our
contraceptive comes in the form of our free will. We don’t have to be accepting of
things that lessen our life’s quality, even if we don’t immediately acknowledge the
damage being done. We have the choice to recognize if only we’d get comfortable with
opening ourselves up to what’s truly significant and important in this life, and
understanding that it may just be trickin’ IF you got it.
Don’t forget reality! And don’t feel bad just because you can’t do with your money
what an overpaid entertainer can do with his/hers.
“Whoever trusts in his riches will fall, but the righteous will flourish like a
green leaf.”
– Proverbs 11:28
I Used to Love H.I.M… by T. Hobbs
January 14, 2009
If your home is where your heart is, then L.A. has been my boo for 22 years. We’ve had a difficult relationship, L.A. And I. The sort of relationship where you know it’s probably bad for you but for some reason you can’t make yourself leave. L.A. has been a cocoon, making me feel comfortable and secure, but it also has scorned me, and left me feeling used and unimportant. I’ve left L.A. only to return because I missed it and how good it has made me feel. And, like in an abusive relationship, the pain begins again, and I find myself wanting to grab my things and go without looking back.
My “home” has become land of the “I wanna look like you”’s, and while im at it, I’ll adopt your personality, too. That pic explains a lot of why my disdain for L.A. has grown leaps and bounds lately. I feel like im losing myself amongst what this city wants me to be versus who I really am. I’ve bought the too-hip scarves, the too-hip shades, the too-hip crayola colored jeans, but now I fear that im being looked at like those who I consider as trying-too-hard to please this un-pleasable city.
It hit me the other night. A friend who hadn’t seen me in years gave me the kiss of death. “Tiffany,” he said with a grin, “you’re so…TRENDY.
So.. L.A… So…Hollywood!”.
That hurt.
Now, please don’t get me wrong.. I’ve always been into fashion. But now, at 26, to be called “trendy” hurt as much as seeing men in gladiator 
sandals, lip gloss, and you already know how I feel about skinny jeans.
Trendy is a very dirty word in my book. And while my friend meant no harm, it made me realize that this man who has known me for half of my life possibly considers me a victim of Hollywood-itis, and that, my friends, terrifies me. I don’t want to be a “spoiled little L.A. girl..
JUST an L.A. girl”, as Kanye so poignantly put it, because now, being an “L.A. ANYTHING” has become synonymous with being fake, vapid, unoriginal, and manipulated. Ask someone from another state (or even northern California) their opinion on “L.A. people” and see what you get…
So, now I’ve diagnosed myself with cabin fever. I want to get OUT. It’s the kind’ve environmental fatigue brought on by stagnancy and an extreme desire for a change of scenery, and STAT. I’m wanting to flee to another city or state or an island. I need some “The Blue Lagoon” in my life.
Basically, my relationship with L.A. is coming to an end and I think I’m ready to move on, but it’s so hard to let go.
I used to love H.I.M. but never as deeply as I should for someone who’s been with him this long. He’s lost his luster. The novelty has worn off.
What used to be cute in the beginning isn’t so much anymore. And he doesn’t care about me like I’ve cared about him. I enjoyed driving through his streets during the summer, watching people hang out on Crenshaw between Rodeo and Slauson. In-N-Out double-doubles. The beaches. The low-lows and the always entertaining Fox Hills and Slauson SWAPMEET (I refuse to call it a “super mall”. Please). My best years have been spent here. My loved ones are here. But I’m becoming more and more disconnected and it’s a feeling that only a few people probably understand. It just doesn’t feel.. right…anymore. It’s not only because I was called… *deep breath*… trendy. L.A. creates an ideal that influences the minds of those within it’s border. L.A. wants people to be less focused on others and more focused on themselves. L.A. wants us to parade around as if we’re unaffected by those who have undeserved fame and fortune who basically run this city and dictate what’s what to the impressionable masses. What happened to L.A.? Where did he go wrong? Our gift of individuality is being lost. Carbon copies have taken over this town and have tried to convince us that running around here looking like extras off of some MTV show is what’s hot in the streets. L.A. has created a code of conduct, and it shows through the trends that are adopted, and the attitude of those doing the adopting.
Being from L.A. has become a description that has negative connotations.
But being OF L.A. has become an insult.
I gotta find me a new boo.
Hugs and Kisses,
T. Hobbs
I’m A Grown A** Woman (I think)
September 23, 2008
I became a grown up at the age of 23. I grew up as an only child with a single mother who was/is the perfect mix of positive enabler and disciplinarian. I had regular chores, numerous creature comforts, freedom, and (in my teen years) the respect for a parent that forms after skipping curfew one too many times. I was very comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that when college came and my friends hurried to move away from home, I opted to keep residence where I had been all of my life- my mother’s house.
Graduation commenced, and I still stayed. Why leave when things were perfectly fine the way they were? I had a job, a healthy personal life, privacy, and no bills. This was THE LIFE! My mom wasn’t complaining and neither was I. Then, strangely, something changed. I started to FEEL like a kid again, and I didn’t like it. Here I was, 23 years old, technically an adult, yet not GROWN. I was carrying on a grown-up relationship, working at a grown-up job, yet still relying on my mother to take care of her grown-up daughter. It wasn’t right, and I could feel it. So, to accept and somewhat prove (to myself) my adulthood and maturity, I saved and got my very first apartment.
At last! I lived on my own- no mom, no roommate, no dependency on anyone other than myself. It was exhilarating and terrifying, but I’d deemed it necessary. Finally, I felt like a true adult. I was grown and you couldn’t tell me nothin’! However, like it often does, the fantasy quickly died, the bills started coming, and *gasp*, was that a roach???
The responsibilities of adulthood began consuming my life and at times I longed for my old, comfortable, free, roach-less, quiet bedroom in my mother’s house. But I’d made this choice and I was sticking to it. I was grown, and that’s what grown-ups did!
Still, despite the pitfalls that came with my transition into adulthood, I appreciated my independence. I’ve learned how to survive on my own and how to take care of myself. I have been on my own for almost 3 years now and have grown in the way that only living on your own can facilitate. I still miss living with my mom, especially when I visit and she’s made one of her signature meals (thanks for dinner, by the way!). I go by her fly-diva bachelorette pad often and smile as I see manifestations of her personality paired with pictures of me loving placed about. And after I visit, I go home, to MY house, to resume MY grown-up life. It’s not exactly what I’d envisioned three years ago, but it’s done for me what I wanted- grow me up. And I’m proud of myself for taking that step- roaches, nosy neighbors, bills and all- because it’s what I needed for ME. Oh, and I learned how to cook….kind’ve. Stop laughing.
My experience with moving out and on my own signified the time in my life when I tasted the sweet and sometimes bitter taste of grown-up life for the first time. So as I reflect on my first time, I ask you lovely
readers- when was the 1st time you really felt like a grown-up?
Hugs and Kisses,
T. Hobbs
No Money, No Money, No Money
September 8, 2008
Sorry for the unexpected delay. Life got in the way and I had to take care of some things. And I think that the following will make up for my absence. So, here we go!
Nearly one month ago I was asked to become a contributor for TheConcreteJournal.Com. At the time, my 1st article, “Can A Sista Get A Check Around Here”, reflected a socio-economically craptastic situation that I was facing with trying to secure unemployment this summer. I invited you lovely readers into my world as I attempted to solicite financial assistance due to my usually full-time position being reduced to less than part-time during August. I admitted that I was aware of the pit-falls of my job as a behavior therapist for special needs kids, and that being off during the summer was one such aspect. Still, my previous summers with the company weren’t nearly as disasterous as this one turned out to be. So I, like MILLIONS of other Californians went to our government to claim the aid that we were always told we were certain to receive in times of need.
What a *bleeping* LIE.
I applied for partial and then full unemployment almost two-TWO- months ago, and guess what- NOTHING. Well, actually I received one letter telling me I didn’t qualify, which I appealed probably in record time for their offices. And, then a phone call telling me that my appeal was received and that ANOTHER call would be placed to let me know if and when my case would be recognized. Another waiting game was in effect.
From mid-July through September 2nd, I worked a TOTAL of 68 hours.
That’s very different from the nearly 40 hours per week I’m accustomed to working. Clearly, I had more idle time than I knew what to do with, but nothing to do about it. During those two months, I called the unemployment offices repeatedly, but to no avail. During those two months our California legislature was unable to create and balance a budget, resulting in more horrific budget cuts and lay-offs. During those two months, I lived on 1/4th of what I usually make. During those two months my bills didn’t stop coming- go figure. During those two months my relationship(s) suffered. During those two months, I was a prisoner in my own house. Gas was too high, so my just-for-fun driving was cut out. Eating out was drastically scaled back, but I did lose 2 pounds, so I guess there were some advantages. During those two months I randomly researched and subsequently found out that many impoverished tribes in the most destitute areas of Africa survive on less than 500 calories per day, compared to the nearly 3,000 that Americans consume daily. And during those two months, I was a captive audience for the endless streams of political speeches, debates, commercials, and cable news commentary shows. During those two months I learned some things about how concerned we can be about other people’s money, and how money has come to dictate contentment in our own lives. And not receiving the unemployment benefits that I so desperately needed was merely a reminder of this.
While it’s no secret that I am in complete support of Barack Obama (see “Barack Is Still Black”) I am not so ignorant as to ignore what he plans to do if elected. I recognize that there will be some areas of his hypothetical presidency that I won’t agree with, and others that I will.
So, I listen closely to what he and John McCain say to expand my understanding of their plans to move our country into the next four years if victorious in the election. Still, what I am sick with concern about are how the greatest problems in our country will be dealt with, and how impoverished many of us are in this country is close to the top of that list.
During those two months, I watched as the California legislature took a lot of heat for irresponsible spending habits of political and public officials. Hundreds of thousands of dollars were found to have been spent on lavish dinners, chartered jets, and vacations, yet I couldn’t fill up my gas tank without a prayer. More time was spent giving press to individuals who were eating and spending on the public’s dime than to resolving the issues that have plagued many, including myself. Media outlets scrutinized over details about both presidential candidate’s finances and ideas, thoughts, and values about money in their personal and private lives. Two such instances stood out more prominantly amongst the many attacks and questions about both candidates and their families.
First, the dress that Michelle Obama wore on her appearance on “The View” was discussed amongst the ladies, and all delighted in the fact that it cost less than $180 and was bought at a very popular retail chain store. Then, John McCain infamously was unable to recall HOW MANY homes he and his wife own (7) when asked by a political news outlet.
More recently, documents were discussed about Senator Obama’s earnings last year (approx. 4 million dollars), and John McCain made and quickly retracted a statement suggesting that a person is not rich until he EXCEEDS earning 5 million dollars. Both parties dissected and challenged the other’s claim as to who would be more in touch with the people of this country, and I watched and listened intently, wondering who would be better able to pull us out of this impending recession.
I later shared with a friend of mind something I’d read about what Sen.
John McCain’s wife, Cindy, wore to the Republican National Convention the night that McCain accepted his party’s nomination. A political blog brought in an “expert” who speculated that the cost of Cindy McCain’s clothes, jewelry and styling exceeded $300,000.00. One friggin aesthetic representation that cost the price of a below-average home in Los Angeles county, or could help still-struggling New Orleans citizens get back on their feet. It’s so frustrating.
I brought these comparisons to your attention to inform you and to introduce you to the hypocrisy of the fact that we’re the richest country in the world, but with a growing rate of poverty and unemployment that could rival any third-world country. I’m around people daily who are struggling just to stay above water. They’re not spending frivously or being irresponsible. They’re just trying to live. They shouldn’t have to decide between putting gas in their car to make it to work, or to buy dinner for their family. And there’s a reason that money issues are among the leading causes of divorces and separations.
Not to sound elitist, but I am a very proud graduate of the University of Southern California. I went to my institution expecting to graduate and have a six-figure job practically handed to me. That didn’t happen, so I worked my way through a diverse array of jobs to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. And today, September 7, 2008, my full-time schedule has resumed, and I am wondering how I’m going to pay my rent. I find it absolutely disgusting that the unemployment offices have still not called me back to this day, and yet I’m still not one of those who are more negatively affected. I have a mother who helps me when she can and a boyfriend who I live with, yet I still can’t comfortably pay my monthly bills without hyperventilating. My $160,000 USC education didn’t prepare me for this, nor was it an environment I was raised in, so it’s a bit foreign to me. I miss being able to shop often, eat out, vacation, and be more carefree, but I love my job, and it’s a fulfilling and fun one at that, and I thought that was what I was supposed to strive for in a career. More lies. It’s not my fault that the government who funds my line of work doesn’t consider it significant enough to improve our financial compensation. But lest we forget, John McCain and Sarah Palin want us to believe that they’ll be advocates for the special needs community, all because she has an infant with Down’s Syndrome who was passed around their convention for convenient photo ops. Please.
Companies like the one I work for who have made it their missions to help special needs children and adults are being closed everyday due to lack of funding. But I have a job, and for that I’m greatful, yet saddended that I’ll have to seek another career sooner than later to help support myself and live a life that affords me some normal “luxuries” that I should have. It scares me to think about those who have children, unforseen illnesses, are losing their homes, or are located where there are simply no jobs. What are they supposed to do?
According to the government- your loyal and loving government- just wait.
Hugs and Kisses,
T. Hobbs
The Other Woman
August 28, 2008
*This is Part 2 to “All Men Cheat, Or At Least That’s What We’re
Told…”*
“Tiffany, you just hate women”, he said to me after I’d accused the chick of flirting with him. Well, damn. I wouldn’t say I “hate” all women. That’s a bit harsh. I just don’t like the majority of the women I come into contact with. Furthermore, I have a problem with a CERTAIN type of woman and I don’t know if that woman over there is going to fall into that category.
It hasn’t always been this way. I used to have no problems with women.
But experiences change things, and now, I don’t trust women for what many have become, which is a threat to my relationship.There are increased numbers of women who have anxiously settled into the position of being the “other woman”, and it makes it difficult for us self-respecting ladies to co-exist with them on a daily basis. When did the prospect of being the “other woman” become more important than striving to have healthy relationships of their own? How can women be so destructive but unapolegetic about the damage they are causing to the sanctity of relationships?
Before you may label me, I’m not a “hater”. I despise the word as I feel that it’s used in a very immature and juvenile context, which is not how I want you, my readers, to consider me. Instead, I have come to the realization that the “other woman” has become a glamorized depiction of betrayal and conquest (Angelina ring a bell?). Yes, it has a lot to do with the movies, magazines, videos, blah blah blah. We know that already. We all see mistresses becoming famous, writing tell-all books, and being given air-time to seemingly brag about what they’ve done to another person’s life. It’s not a secret. My issue is with those women who don’t have the wherewithall to differentiate between fantasy and the cold, hard truth. The women other women are around at work and in their daily activities. The women who want YOUR man.
Through wanting to please men and beat the competition, women have become each other’s own worst enemy as they strive to get a man, even YOUR man, by any means possible.
I see young women, older women, walking down streets, shopping in grocery stores, hanging out in groups, at my bowling night, after school picking up their children- all semi-clothed in outfits that barely cover their butts, boobs, and booming desperation. They’re covered by a fabric of self-pity that does nothing to mask their desire for attention and validation. And they’d just as soon smile in your face yet flirt with your man as soon as you turn your back. And the girlfriends and wives never know, which only adds fuel to that fire.
I see women who have male friends or co-workers and unabashedly put down the mens’ girlfriends or wives to make themselves look like the better
woman- “your girl doesn’t like to (feel in the blank)? What is she thinking? She must not know what she’s got….”. If you haven’t been the perpetrator, you’ve definitely been the victim.
I see women, so starved for male admiration, that they’ll do just about anything to get it. They’ll come around men who are “taken” and act inappropriately in hopes that maybe, just maybe, one of those men will turn their glance her way and she will have taken someone’s man and increased her struggling self-confidence. Trust me, it happens often.
Again, if you haven’t been the perpetrator, please believe you’ve been the victim.
And I see women who are very comfortable being the “h_e”, and will do anything and everything to let it be known to the men nearby, regardless of those mens’ relationship status. Groupies, anyone?
Many women are so focused on getting a man or his attention that they’ll backstab other women just to meet their goals, affecting relationships in the process. Due to this desperation, women don’t want to, and can not, comfortably relax with their men when they’re around other women.
Still, because we’re not psychic, women can’t often accurately differentiate between a woman with ill-intentions and a woman who respects herself enough not to compromise her integrity. So, to prevent any accidents from happening, we guard ourselves and closely monitor women to make sure they don’t prove our suspicions right. That paranoia is causing many women, including myself, to feel uncomfortable in the presence of women when I’m with my man. Maybe he’s too handsome. Or maybe he’s just a man with a pulse and that makes him fair game. I don’t know. But I do know that women never know when a woman who would be happy to be the “other woman” is lurking in the shadows. The allure of being the ”other woman” has the power to blind those women to how pathetic they are, and we realize that and often point it out to our men, who become annoyed, and with reason. What our men don’t understand is how hard we hope, wish and pray that they are strong enough to combat such a frivolous proposition if offered.
It’s not always due to a woman’s insecurity. No matter how secure a woman may be in herself or her relationship, she never fully knows if her man will be able to withstand the power of a woman who wants to be the chick-on-the-side. And with these types of women increasing in quantity everyday, respectable women are being outnumbered, and some men fall victim to their no-strings-attached idealogies. As a result, once normal, trusting women have become distrustful and cautious, which often comes off as bitchy and insecure. Thus, a cycle is created.
It shouldn’t be like this.
A woman should not be concerned with questioning if another woman is attempting to steal her man. We should be able to go out with our dates, boyfriends or husbands without feeling like we’ve entered a competiton to secure an endangered species. Until women stop lusting after taken men and subjecting themselves to the demeaning “other woman” status, relationships will continue to be threatened, and women will be pitted against each other. And I will always give a mean side-eye to the chick across the way who’s staring a bit too hard in my man’s
direction. She better recognize.
Hugs and Kisses,
T. Hobbs
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