The Au-DAMN-dacity

HELLO! Lawd have mercy, let me tell y’all. What a week. I apologize I missed Wednesday but somethings came up. A little here and a little there. But the bottom line is I am home again, home again, jiggity jig. So, since I skipped Wednesday I guess I better have a story to tell, huh. Alright y’all. You’d never believe that little ole introverted me would be outside. I know, I know just hold your applause until the end. I kept in high spirits and went into the city. And let me tell you it is not easy to do. All I wanted was a nice evening, out with my friends, and a good time to laugh about later. Then, here come the men. UGH. Now, before y’all get scared, ain’t nobody bashing all men. There are some truly great ones and I have had examples of them all my life. And truth be told it’s the mark of a few that ruin it for the many. But Lawd when they go in to mess something up, they mess it up good. However, in those moments, I am reminded of just how beautifully I am settling into who I am as a woman and the power it holds. You know the deal, let me explain.

It was a nice, light summer night. The heat was bearable and downtown, although busy, was alright to navigate. After 20 minutes looking for a parking spot, we finally found one, took to the elevator, and made it across the street in short enough time to still feel good about being out on this injured leg. Once we got inside, I did have to go toe to toe with a couple flights of stairs but I made it and was greeted with shiveringly cold A/C. Now this, I can do. After a few minutes and absolutely excellent care from the best waitress I’d had in a long time, things started heading south. And I mean, hell. This random man, medium height, white, with a confederate flag tattooed on his arm (yeah you read that right) stumbles over to the only group of 4 Black women minding every ounce of our business. What I thought was a poor attempt to make his way to the bathroom turned into an even more poor attempt to rizz my sister for a friend of his. Pause, I don’t know why the Lord is leading me to say this but I believe in letting him use you. If you as a grown ass man, with bills and balls and all, cannot figure out how to stand your ass up and tell a girl you think she is pretty and would like to get her number, baby you don’t want it that damn bad. We are not middle schoolers with too much of an imbalance in our hormones to be able to make rational decisions and engage in conversation. Phew, now that this is off my chest, let me continue. He sits down, not in a chair but on the arm of one that my sister was currently occupying. He offers a half assed “are you ok,” as if he was not the one completely out of place. My homegirl got up and shifted to be closer to the rest of us as a safety measure. Upon doing so he settles into the previously held seat ignoring the obvious lean away from him the screams “UNINTERESTED” at the top of one's lungs. What follows is a poor exchange of consonance and vowels and half broken sentences from a man that looked like he still believed he could puke and rally on frat row with the good ole boys. After a moment or two, I felt something ignite. I cannot tell you if it was the mama bear protective instinct or the undoubtable Girl Rage women know all too well. It spurs from the unnecessary inconvenience of a man making his incompetence known and consequently your problem. Whatever the case, I look over to him and simply ask if he was trying to set his friend up. He attempts to ignore me a bit but I don’t budge. Not on the first night out I have had in months. Not after summoning all the energy I could wield and about 1400 mg of Ibuprofen to get up and down velvet stairs with a knee brace. Uh uh. Not tonight. I go back in and this time for the kill. “Are you trying to set up your friend?” I look back eyeing the 2 cowards sitting over in the corner knowing what a nuisance their friend was being but not doing anything to stop it. He nods and says “she gets it”. I look back at him and say firmly and with conviction “Okay, no. It’s a no”. It seems like he at least understands the concept of the word and moves to stage right for the overdue exit of a lifetime. But before he’s gone, he walks from his now defamed throne and toward me as if he has something else to get off his chest. Quickly, I surveyed the surroundings for weapons. I’ve got a lamp, a glass, some pepper spray, and as a last resort the kick move I taught myself when I was 10 years old from the Road House movie. Loved me some Swayze. Anyway, he leans in close and goes to shake my hand as if to say he’s been bested and respects it. But enough Facebook posts have taught me better than to touch a stranger, especially one with little concept of consent, because you never know what they may have on them. After a couple “No, thank you’s” and a firm glare, he took off back to his seat rejoining the land of the yellow bellies and leaving us relatively in peace. The waitress, having caught wind of what was going on, and already throwing one guy out tonight for bothering the early arrival friend, came back to check on us. She even helped us to move tables and get closer to some heat by this gorgeous fireplace. Safe to say she won the night since the rebel dude wasn’t coming close to scoring. Although the intrusion may have seemed harmless, let me tell you the truth. It wasn’t. Outside of how painful it was to watch him crash and burn so spectacularly, it was the entitlement of coming into a space and claiming it as if we were not enough for him to be respectful of. There were other occurrences throughout the night that reinforced the feeling but this just so happened to be the biggest and most noticeable. We had another run in with a man taking our reserved seats and there was a guy that chased down a server to demand an update on the drink order that was obviously one of a long list of drinks needing to get done. It seemed like everywhere we looked was one example after another. But what was also evident? The refusal of being condemned to bend over backward for these men. It felt like something terrifying and exciting all at once. Why? Because we’ve all heard the stories of girls rejecting guys and getting shot or beaten. We know the very real violence women face. But exciting to know that despite the constant looming danger that hangs over our head, we still find ways to raise our voices and speak up for each other.

There were a lot of ways things could’ve played out. Based on my weaponry list, we could’ve had an all out brawl. Or thrown a drink in the face of Sir Slurs Alot. Or hell, gotten up and left before making a tab. And before you think this seems a bit over the top, just google “girl rejects guy” see what pops up. Hint: it ain’t sunshine and rainbows. But the point is, far too often we are conditioned to make space for men that don’t bat an eyelash for the women they inconvenience. It’s disgusting and deplorable and entirely changeable when we call out the behavior where it lies. Now, I doubt that the rejection of the night will seriously impact his life moving forward. No job lost or life shook but at least someone spoke up. When his friends were too scared to speak up and the room wasn’t offering much help and the waitress wasn’t able to make it over fast enough: someone said something. How many stories or experiences have women had where all they wanted was that? Someone to speak up. Someone to step in. A friend they know will have their back no matter what. I’ll say, just from my own experience, the answer is too many. The beauty of being that girl is knowing I am her not only for myself but others, and that someone watching may pay it forward. You never know who is watching you, learning from you. Taking in all that you are and exuding it back out to the world. Settling into my love of womanhood has its ups and downs but through it I am becoming a woman I am proud to share with the world. No matter who is watching or who may intrude. My presence isn’t one to be locked into a box. It is not one to be forgotten or overlooked. It is the very essence of my existence in this life and it is beautiful. This settling feels like falling in love with the old scratches in the floorboards of your house that tell stories you can remember like yesterday. It feels like long conversations in the passenger seat of your best friends car to talk and be. It feels like watching sunsets in the summertime while riding around with ice cream cones and napkins, just trying not to be a sticky mess. It feels holy and sacred and beautiful and worth protecting. Because womanhood should not only exist in a condition of constant fear of manhood. So maybe for the moment I am the asshole or the bitch or uptight or angry. Because in that moment I am also firm and decisive and brave and honest and kick ass. And that is powerful. It is warm and energizing and deliberate. And I wasn’t alone. Having my girls and the waitresses there made me feel seen and heard. Made me believe and hope that every girl or woman would be able to feel as steadfast in their life as I did in that moment. I hope and pray that each and every woman gets the chance to stand tall for themselves especially in a world that would have them bow down to patriarchy. And that when a man has the audacity to enter your space and stake claim, that she makes her presence heard and that it be formidable.

Little memories like these will be the lights I use to guide my way home in the times where I am feeling much smaller and unworthy. They will remind me that perfection is not the goal nor truly attainable but authenticity is. That stepping into myself in so many different ways is far better than pretending to be someone I am not. The courage and determination that makes up my womanhood will also be what carries me through life. That feeling of settling in is peaceful and encouraging and always expanding. This time it’s a night out but tomorrow it could be a C-suite. You never know but that comes with the territory. The simple truth is being a woman is hard. The ebbs and flows are in near constant flux and that doesn’t change. What does, however, is how well we get at navigating them. So, I leave you with this: tell a man “no” today, call your best friend and tell them about how proud you are of the woman they are becoming, take a long drive around sunset after a ColdStone run, and live. You have every right to. And if someone has the au-damn-dacity to try and push you out of the way, plant yourself like a mighty oak, settle into the strength of yourself and tell them, “Bitch, please! I was here first.” Nah gone head stink, you got it.