TEATIME TUESDAYS

I'm sure you've heard phrases like, "You just like ya pa (father)!" "You're the spitting image of your mother." Or, "I wanna be like you when I grow up." Shoot, back in the 90's everyone was singing, "I wanna be like Mike!"  

On the other hand, there are well-known brands, and then there are generic brands. There is a clear and distinct contrast between designer pieces and their knockoff. And there are palatable differences between authentic Italian pizza and pizza bought from the frozen food section. 

Either way, deep in the recesses of who we are, we want to be set apart; we desire to be 'the first.' We want to be that standard by which all bars are set. Humans, at their core, want to be the chef's kiss to anything they put their hands to.  

This oxymoron, is one of those things we say without much thought on how weird it sounds. How can something simulated (replicated) also be deemed real? Is it because of all this visual stimulation that we've lost sight of what's real? How can we enjoy what's implied but stay dialled in to what is real?

You'll know Petty? Well, let me tell you'll 'bout her. She was me, and I was she! My petty was like the Lebron James of relationships. I could go from ultimate beast mode to milking a flop like someone just bulldozed me with their 7'ft. 1'in. 325lbs body! Like many, I embraced the petty; I became one with the petty. I put 'she on like a warm winter coat as the chill of a Swiss Alps winter softly kissed my sun-deprived cheeks. I was giving childish. I was giving shady. I was giving spiteful. I mean, I was serving passive-aggressive like I was Cash Money taking over for the 99's & 2000's. ”Hi there, welcome to Pettyville—where the odds are always against you!”

What in the ee-i-ee i-o!!?? Did someone really just take the thing you created, slapped a different label on it and tried to pass it off as their own? Wow—this happens more often than you might think.  At first, I use to be upset about it, until I remembered the famous saying: "Imitation is the highest form of flattery (Oscar Wilde). Then it dawned on me, if you're being duplicated, emulated, or fabricated in any shape or form, then you must be doing something right. But then again, can it be that most people are merely existing rather than functioning? Content in their pineapple under the sea?

Back in my 20's, I used to be a shoe fanatic. I could go weeks strutting like a foot model without a repeat. Unfortunately, while my extensive collection was fashionable, most of them weren't comfortable. Yes, they were nice to look at but let me tell you, many days, these puppies were crying. Now that I'm older, I think the idiom "Beauty is pain" makes absolutely no sense. 

My initial approach to the shoe game was similar to that of most women, who feel that having a 'corn' on every toe and two on the pinky is a small price to pay to be a show stopper. There’s no better remedy than to have other ladies ogling over you to numb the feeling of your throbbing feet. 

I was among the women who would sooner opt out of an event before choosing comfort over style. But, seriously, having said that out loud, does that make any sense to you? Likewise, when life starts to squeeze us, we'll look for any loophole to tap out. Meanwhile, some women will wrap up every bunion, blister and sprained ankle while hobbling on crutches before they retire the coveted stilettos. It all makes me wonder: "Why then are we peeved when life comes chomping at our Achilles heel?"

Ahhhh, drama—it's been the focal point of life since before I was a twinkle in my father's eyes. Well, more like, since Adam threw Eve under the bus, really. When I was younger, nothing could compare to the Young and the Restless episodes featuring Victor & Nikki Newman, who, by the way, has been doing drama literally since I was born. Who could get enough of Brooke (I don't even know her last name), sis, done married every Forester man, in some cases twice (Bold and the Beautiful)? What is more enthralling than screaming "You idiot!" at a television screen living vicariously through the characters you think are real? Well, let's just say NOTHING beats reality. 

Quit rolling your eyes, calm down and don't get your knickers in a bunch. Today is not me pontificating or expounding on the word like I'm a member of the clergy. Nah, that's what your pastor is for. I'm just a girl who sits in the pews like you, and I'm ready to tell my story. Well, at least another one of my stories. 

I'm gonna tell you about my journey. The one on how a personal relationship with God has a lot less to do with the rhetoric we do on Sundays and more about what's done in those spaces when you think no one can see you. Or behind closed doors when you feel no one is watching.

Let's cut to the chase; taking responsibility can be embarrassing, humbling, painful, and downright costly. Therefore, owning your actions requires two crucial factors; eliminating blame and getting rid of excuses.

Lately, it's become common practice to say that adulting is ghetto. That's now comical to me because, as teens, we couldn't wait to be rid of the people who dictated our every move. For reasons I have yet to grasp, we could not then appreciate the level of responsibility it took to parent us. I'd give at least one kidney to go back to a time when my most significant decisions were what to buy from the lunch lady and what whacky style I would fix my hair in next.  But no, like so many of you, I didn't appreciate what it meant to be free of worry or stress. Nope, I wished myself right into bills that come faster than people when they hear the government giving out free things.

Seeing the words: 'Access denied' has to be one of the most infuriating encounters. I mean, right up there with discovering you have a flat tire while dashing out the door on your way to work. Funnily enough, this tends to happen when you're in a mad rush or trying to meet a tight deadline. Being unable to obtain what virtually belongs to you seems a bit unfair. Even if it's because of something as trivial as forgetting your passcode, having an expired key card or perhaps not having the key at all. Yet isn't it amazing how many people think being available means they should be accessible too?

Picture it, you see a woman, she's dressed to the gawds. Hair done, nails done,  everything did (in my Drake's voice)! I mean, this chick is snatched from head to toe. You give her the once over, and since she looks so nice, you owe it to her to look twice. But that's where you stopped, at her toes. Although her shoes are designer, I'm talking; they are kuttee (cute); something distracts you and catches your attention at the same time. And there it was, winking at you, the pinky toe that won't quit. I mean, it's working like it was hammer time. Well, that's me. I'm the pinky toe. No matter how much I wanted to blend into the in-crowd, I always stuck out. Forget the sore thumb; I stuck out like a little phalange of a wide-width foot trying to fit in a narrow shoe.