Drank a Whole Jar a Holy Water, Still it Won’t Let Go

Cause of this whole fukin cutie pie iPod thang, and the kitty purring noise my laptop makes when I upload a disc into iTunes takes about seven hours, I’ve been able to listen to two artists only on the daily morning walk for coffee: Erykah Badu’s “Worldwide Underground,” which is a far better, more subtle work, as a whole, than I thought it was at first. This reinforces my notion that I’m only getting better. As in “more mature.” “Bump it” is a restrained song about losing it, the song that wafts in frozen moments underneath the floorboards, a voice behind the beats. What the party sounds like from outside. Oh, and Prince, a melange of him–sexy motherfucker, most beautiful girl in the world, seven (my fave prince era, heavy into the sexfunk mysticism), pop life, if i was yr girlfriend (w/really creeeeepy spoken interlude–even Prince trying to depants a lady in those terms comes stronger than Drakkar Noir at Cotillion), i cd never take the place of yr man. Solace in a weekend of bad dates and painful m-f interaction. Love connections were not made. I would rather have been at my desk, working on my curriculum vitae, than doing some of the things I did this weekend.
If you’re a man, and you intend to court a woman, here is a list of things you must never do:
* tell her she dances like she is in the ’90s, and expect her to believe you are not dissing her (unless you specify “’90s Fly Girl… you know, like Rosie Perez”)
* tell her you don’t understand why people like Justin Timberlake, or attribute it to irony
* embrace her as if you’ve been dating for 2 years, rather than having a first date–boundaries, people!
* dump yr probs—
wait.
So listen–I am very pro- emotional interchange. Measured spilling of guts as a slippery path to intimacy. Relationships die when secrets go untold. Or at least they turn concave, and pruney. BUT. Sharing is one thing; treating your date/girlfriend like a trash compactor for your personal angst is entirely another. What is it with certain grown men living in the 21st century–after such important and impactful developments as: couples therapy, Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, male support groups, bell hooks on relationships, “Miss Jackson”–and their persistence in turning the potential lovers in their lives to: be their mom OR be their therapist OR be their personal assistant/validation factory, while never having an inkling in the little specks of Peter Pan glint in their irises that PERHAPS they should RISE TO THE OCCASION and be all that they can be, get an edge on life and end this misery by TRYING to be as together/stable as they expect their women to be.
Unreciprocated saddling of your woman with your emo probs is the new “bitch get in the kitchen and make me a pot pie.”
Of course this has much to do with the hooks-ian interpretation of self-actualization, and how women are required to self-actualize and indeed required to, simply, EXERT more in their lives than is sometimes physically possible–maternity leave, what what–simply to reach a normative/operative state of success. And how societally, men are in fact DIScouraged to seek balance between their desire for career/capitalist acceptance, and emotional well-being.
God forbid a law of order be toppled and we find parity in this desert, where two parties can function together in a tandem dance.