Sex and the City BITCHEZZZZ!!!!

Near the end of 2006 I heard slash saw a rumor online that Sarah Jessica Parker and the producers of Sex and the City were conjuring up the idea of creating a movie. Well, the mere thought of such a production made me tingle in parts I'd rather not mention. Needless to say I've been counting down to this day for about two years.

I am ashamed to say, however, that I lagged on buying my tickets. I waited until Tuesday of this week to buy them, and of COURSE, ALL the Manhattan show times (within humanly-sound hours of the day and night) were completely sold out. ALL of them. So me and my room mate, Molly, (aka, the Carrie to my Samantha) are forced to see the movie tonight in Brooklyn. Boo hoo, but oh well. We're going to see the second to last showing, which may mean we can sit in the coveted last row (way at the top, it's the only way to watch movies on the big screen), and perhaps there won't be any annoying "talkers" in the theatre, because I'd hate to be arrested for throwing my mixed fruit Twizlers at the back of some chatter box's head like a ninja star. Which I would do by the way. Molls and I were committed to dressing up in honor of our favorite four, in dresses, heals and dare I saw....fur jackets. Oh yeah, we were going to go all out. But for shame, the forecast says "Few Showers" tonight and I'd hate to ruin rabbit fur for a flick (holy as this flick may be). So instead I'll be decked in a mildly short sweater dress, short jacket perhaps my calf-height boots (probably a pair of tights for good measure). I'm sure Molls will be dressed in something casually fabulous as well, and we'll both be topping that off with a just-in-case umbrella. All we need now are two personals each (whiskey for M-dog and WHa-Dka for yours truly), tickets in hand, and possibly some salty snack to munch on from the consetion stand.

Ladies and gentlemen....it's going down. Stay tuned for my esteemed review.

Nas Says N*gger

I say speak for yourself.

There's no denying that Nas is a talented lyricist. His words are captivating, his voice is clear. His position in hip hop, regardless of the nay-sayers, is firmly in place. But his soon-to-be released album which currently bares no title....? (Update: My bad, his album as of 5/19 is entitled "Nas".) Not so much. The original title, for those of you living under rocks this year, was supposed to be "Nigger". He proudly announced this fact last October. But the reality of it is record sales will surely suffer if Target and Best Buy can't put his CD on their squeaky clean shelves, so it was recently stated that the title will be changed to something more the-man-friendly.

Humph....whatever Nas.

Lets get this straight, shall we? Nas was quoted as saying he wants to "..take the power out of the word nigger..." by repeating it over and over in his new album and calling the entire LP "Nigger". Or perhaps the reality is, that Nas is low on funds and wants to exploit the nigger-happy generation of today by selling them his latest rhymes wrapped up with a big nigger-bow to make them feel as though they've made some kind of statement by buying (literally) into his bull shit. As if this is some kind of activist movement, some kind of social uprising. Give me a break.

Nigger is and always will refer to ignorance. The use of it only points the finger at you. Stamping the word across your face doesn't make it less offensive, it just elevates it's platform to cause damage. There's already enough negative connotation associated with the word "Black", why add fuel to the fire? The word "Nigger" is alive today because our own people continue to braid it into music, movies and literature. No one is pounding fists in our faces, spraying water hoses at our bodies or releasing dogs in the streets. There are no segregation laws, no provincial exploitations of our human rights. We have just as many rights and opportunities today (and for the last 40 years) as the next Jim, John or Suzie. So what "statement" could Nas possibly think he would be making with a CD entitled "Nigger"? Aside from the power of suggestion, the most commonly used form of advertisement today.

I'm puzzled.

Could it be, and I tentatively speculate, that Nas simply wants to get some attention. This is his black-boy version of a scandalous headline to be splashed across the tabloid pages so that by any means necessary Nas is dubbed a household name? Is this his screaming tantrum? Because if it is, I truly wish that he would kindly speak for himself. As a black woman who has lived on both sides of the tracks I most definitely am not where I came from. I am not who I came from and I'm FAR from being a nigger any day of the week. I don't hold the ghetto as a badge of honer, I hold it as an obstacle that was over come by my family. I don't think the stories of my grandparents and my friends grandparents about how they marched in the streets begging to be recognized as equal citizens are mere humorous antidotes. I'm proud enough to boycott an album I otherwise would have rushed out to buy (not burn). I'm proud enough to feel ashamed of yet another black man who has risen above the odds against him, and found a stage to voice his opinions. And with the spot light blazing on his face and the world as his audience; hushed quiet and waiting in anticipation for what this representation of Black society has to say....He clears his throat, steps before the waiting mic and clearly states:

"I know I'm a black man, but I prefer Nigger. Cop my joint."

Thanks, Nas...good lookin out.

Que the Other Shoe

I brushed the indecisiveness off of the page in my notebook and looked down at my twice re-written 3-Year Plan. By 27 I'll have my teaching degree and be ready to pop out some babies. I even made sure to include the possibility of having kids within the next two years. I fixed my budget to save a bunch of money so that I start off on the right foot. My mind is right, my money is right and I know exactly what I want to do.

Just one thing missing...

Kinda Like Peeing Your Pants

It's warm outside, but wet. Hence the title. Welcome to New York, the clouds above say as I step outside, fashionably confused in a light jacket and heavy umbrella. I didn't even need the jacket, but I didn't want to get my arms wet as I walked to the train this morning. I can't say that I mind. The worst thing about rain, besides the clouds is the cold wind that blows it under your umbrella and into your face. Without the cold, the rain is actually refreshing- unlike peeing your pants.

My weekend went well, as long weekends go. Relaxing, stretched out and full of sleeping in. Sunday, Molly and I went into the city with empty pockets. We treated ourselves to vendor food (me a chicken sandwich on flat bread and Molls, the vegetarian, got a severely overpriced salad). Then skipped down Broadway where I got eye-fucked by fully uniformed Navy sailor boys and kept wondering out lout if it was my favorite holiday- Fleet Week. Somehow I ended up shaking hands with a tall, dark and handsome sailor and realized just how in love with D I actually am, because being single (and being me) and not finding out how long this statuesque man would be in town is practically taboo. Eventually we headed up to 42nd street by the New York Main Library where we were entertained momentarily by a trio of brothers (or maybe a Dad and his two sons) that were break dancing before a huge crowd. We moved on to BCBG, where we fantasized about having enough money (or nerve) to by $450 slacks, and left plotting how to come up with a hustle. The only thing we came up with (as we walked down to Union Square Park) was to sit on people and tell them we won't fart for $1. Needless to say we opted to keep our day jobs. Molly told me I haven't lived until I've had a shake from the Shake Shack located near the end of the park, but after seeing the line practically down the block and noting that the medium sized shake was $5, we decided to cross the street to Duane Reade and buy a Chunky Monkey to share. We sat eating ice cream on the bench and people (and dog) watching until the breeze turned cold and our arms became freckled with goose bumps.

Off to the cookout at Marshall's.

Yes, I know. But it was actually fun (after a heartfelt apology, followed by another; which I'm guessing was fueled by his five or so cups of Jungle Juice). I myself had about three cups on a-by then- empty stomach. Molly and me got into a deep conversation with Chris and Carlos' girlfriends about how cool our Women's Lit class teacher, Miss Plunkett, was back in California and then we bitched about boys for a little bit (I think). And eventually everyone ended up walking, wearily back down Fulton towards home at about 1AM.

Monday was a nothing kind of day, at least for me. There was a (nother...) cookout that I was invited to, but decided at the last minute not to go. Ralphy and Molly went to Atlantic City around 8pm, so I pleasantly had the place to myself. I stretched out on the couch and took a nap, did a little writing and a little TV watching. Talked to some friends on the phone for a few hours then made some tea and hopped in the bed. In my opinion, a good weekend. Full of warmth and sunshine...until the pissy-pant rain this morning...

Uhhhgggghhh

Oh God, please save me from these impossibly horrible cramps....

Also, please keep me from being so pathetically obsessive about one particular subject. I won't name names, but it starts with a D. Like, every blog post has been about him....I'm not really this sad and disgusting.

Really I'm not.

Please give me the strength to go out with my friend tonight for drinks like I promised, because flaking for the third time is far beneath me.

Also a little sunshine would be great....

Reservations for (the) One

"You ARE??" My mother said to me on the phone last night. I could imagine the expression on her face; mouth loose, eyes widened by surprise. I cracked a smile as I gazed into the mirror at my own reflection.

"Yes." I confirmed, pleased with my own certainty.

I had just told my mother, quite casually that I had figured out in a mere two and a half months exactly what I wanted to do with my life. "I really just want to teach kids, and have some babies. I know for sure that I'm ready to settle down." Was what I told her that sent her into a state of disbelief.

"I noticed it about myself a while ago," I continued. "When I was looking for a job, I was usually in such a good mood. I liked being able to have dinner ready for D when he got home." A grin spread across my face as I recalled the sound of D's keys at the door, him entering with a bottle of wine in his arms and trekking across the living room to give me a kiss. It made me content to be there in a state of domestic bliss.

My mother was probably faking most of her shock. I had a habit of making drastic changes and announcements to my family. I was that girl. The one who couldn't decide what she wanted to do or be, but was very determined to make it something incredible. Deciding to be a teacher and a mother wasn't grandiose. It won't make me famous, or important out side of my own walls. But I had realized that it was all I really wanted to do, and nothing in life (I've learned) is more important than being pleased with what your doing with your time.



Sure I was still fairly young. 24 isn't "right out of high school" and it's not "damn near 30" either. But my years on this earth have been long and tiring. I'm not naive and I've lived through my share of drama. I knew all along all I needed was a few minutes in time-out. A little bit of a shock to wake me up. When I used to run sprints my strategy was always the same. Start out strong and slow, and then let my speed shoot out like a bullet before I hit the finish line. When the pressure is right there in my face and it's do or die. Now with no one to really lean on, or turn to I'm leaning on myself. Like I used to. It feels good to know that I'm ok because I made me ok, not because someone else did. True, there is a hole in my heart that can't be filled by me. But I like to think of it more as a table that's reserved, not empty.

Morning Rush

I was grateful that I'd showered last night as the Brooklyn sun trickled into my room and my alarm clock blared flashing 6:30 AM. I reached up towards my window sill, where my clock sat, and hit the snooze button. Sliding my arms back underneath the warmth of my delicious covers, I closed my eyes and reverted back into a state of weightlessness. It would be impossible to sleep now. My orange-brown irises had already crept open breaking from their dream, and reality was ruffling me awake. My reality was that the room was silent, void of the noises that used to greet me in the morning. The sound of my cat, Tiny squeaking soft meows at me, begging me up to feed her. The sounds of D laying beside me, snoring through is gaping throat. A sound that used to keep me awake, but somehow comforted me like a meditation CD. His symphony of snorts would break with the interruption of my alarm clock and he'd say, "Good morning, Boogie." through closed eyes and muffled lips. It was always harder to get out of bed with him beside me. It felt unnatural to leave his side. I always felt compelled to call off work, get up and cook him a big breakfast before he himself headed off to San Ramon, where he worked. I knew as soon as I pushed myself out of bed, I'd be on the hunt. To find something to wear, to search for my bag and keys, to grab something for lunch and hurry off to my hour-long commute. He'd always ask for a kiss before I left, and by then I was flurried and late. Most of the time I'd roll my eyes, rush back and give him a quick peck careful not to smear my lip gloss. 9 times out of 10 I'd end up strutting back down our hallway, and swinging open the door to our apartment, huffing into our bedroom and grabbing what I'd forgotten (usually my cell phone). He'd sit there in our bed like a king, relaxed and watching the sports highlights with the remote in his hand, since he didn't have to be to work for another few hours. It always made me feel like a failure for some reason. I should be in his position. Happy with myself, content with my job, degreed-up as they say, and deciding when I come into the office. Instead I was rushing off to a job that under-paid and never stopped to say 'thank you'. D never knew, but before I'd throw myself into my morning rush, before my feet touched the floor, I'd always lean over and slowly kiss his forehead, smelling the morning on his skin and closing my eyes to his warmth.

Now, as the clock changed from 6:59 to 7:00 I had no motivation to stay in bed any longer than I should. Nothing to kiss before my feet touched the ground. Just the idea of what today might bring or take away from me. And the endless and distant possibilities that might come. Sometimes it's easier to look at what might be rather than what is. And the idea of doing things different this time can take over our fears of failing. In the morning, we seem to have no choice but to get up and greet the day. But don't rush. The minutes won't pass quicker just because we've hurried out the door. Leaving behind the warmth of a sun lit room and whatever we might have forgotten there.

Confirmation of Perplexity

Well Houston was something else. In more ways than one. The sunshine released it's heat on us and I lapped it up, my skin left thirsty by New York's fickle Spring. The people all smiled and nodded when I walked by. No one smirked, although they might have thought I was under dressed when I accompanied D to the local BBQ spot dressed in a one piece jumper with extremely short shorts. But maybe that's just my mind playing tricks.

Which seemed to have been the theme, emotionally at least, for the entire trip. I wish I could pretend that I left Houston with a renewed sense of confirmation, a clearer perception of reality. But instead, although deeply satisfied, I am yet and still mildly confused. D has a way, oh does he, of being so kind it makes my teeth hurt then so deeply mean I feel like I'm bleeding internally. The difference between him and any other man I've ever known is that as far as I've been able to tell in almost three years, he does both unintentionally. He's honest, though in a different way, as brutally as I am. His honesty, is silent.

On Saturday, we went to Houston's Black Expo, which included a book fair. We walked hand in hand through the isles of vendors, skimming the table tops aimlessly. We had the pleasure of bumping into friends of D's (or friends of a friend of), two young ladies probably a few years my senior. D neglected to introduce me, which I've noticed he's only done when he's thrown off by the run in (once we ran into a girl he sort of dated at the Soul Festival...he referred to me as his "friend"...never forget that one). One of the girls stuck her hand out and introduced herself, name forgotten, and the other one mimicked, name forgotten. All I paid attention to was the fact that the slightly taller and thinner one glared at the side of D's head as we began to part ways, she gave him a look that could be (at least in my over-active mind) interpreted as "Wow, D, didn't know you had a lady friend." or "Wow, D, why didn't you tell me you had a lady friend." These two interpretations, as ladies know, mean two very different and significant things. Neither of which are officially my business. But then again, if you hit it....then you have some explaining to do, especially if you do so with loving eyes of devotion and whisper "I love you". So I asked about it...and in his "D" sort of way, he managed to confirm absolutely nothing. I let it go quickly without even trying and we continued on our way. I met Mary B. Morrison, the erotica author, who I've admired for some time now. She signed my book and write "Happy Birthday" at Desman's request (adorable).

We left the convention center and walked across the street to the Discovery Green Park, a gorgeous park in the middle of downtown that is entirely economically friendly. We sat by the lake and sipped on Chardonnay. I felt like it was alright to let my guard down and speak with unbridled honesty. I told D that I still wanted this life, that I never stopped wanting it. That I was only afraid of my own weaknesses and knew I needed to sort them out. What I didn't tell him, was that I was disappointed that he might give up so very quickly on me and without much of a fight. That as soon as I turned in another direction other than his, as soon as I tried to build myself up rather than depend on him to always do so, which I'd imagined had been wearing him down...he gave up on me altogether. I wanted to tell him how much that hurt me. How deeply it wounded me. But instead I just told him that I'd be willing to move to Houston to give us another try, that I'd be willing to do anything. That I wanted to make him happy, and that now I was confident I could do so. He let my words come out uninterrupted, taking them in like a side dish to the scenery. He only said that he felt like he pushed me too hard before, pushed the idea of marriage and family, and that now maybe he just wanted it to come naturally. I couldn't imagine what could be more naturally than letting someone you love make the necessary changes, give them space and support and then for them to come back to you on their own and tell you they are ready. It has only been two months, but D held an expression on his face that made me feel like it was two months too long. Then why did he let me leave? I was filled with sadness, and a little anger. But I kissed him, and squeezed his hand and prayed for a second that he could forgive. Love is forgiveness. Didn't we at least have that? Did he mean he wanted to let it come naturally...with someone else?

That was pretty much the last time I brought the subject up. We spent the rest of the weekend being the same us we'd been for two and a half years. Ate dinner, watched TV, visited museums, took pictures, rode rides in Kemah, made love, drank and slept beside each other. I loved it. Every second. Then came goodbye....again.

Again, we held each other with the security check point in sight. Again, he said I love you over and over, kissing me then looking at me, then kissing me, then looking; as if my lips were concentrated morsels he couldn't bare to take all at once. Again, I felt strange inside and just wanted to get "goodbye" over with. Again, it felt too soon; where the hell did the time go? We agreed it came quickly. Again we finally parted, and I snaked up the line, plopped down my baggage, looking over my shoulder continuously and saw Desman there in his gray tee and basketball shorts looking like his feet were glued to the floor. I passed security and looked back again, he was still there, hadn't turned away. I kept walking, on auto pilot, and turned back one last time. I knew he was there even though I couldn't see anymore. I felt them coming before my eyes even watered up. I slipped on my sunglasses and sniffled as the moisture rushed my eyes and nose. My heart stuttered, this was something I knew I couldn't keep doing for long.

Sitting...

...Next to D....as he takes a nap. His apartment is quiet, except for the TV (old episodes of Malcolm and Eddie) and his ceiling fan whipping around blowing soft whisks of air on us. We're on his living room floor (void of sofa) with the light of dusk settling over us. We've eaten, drank and sipped rum and coke and it's not even 8 pm yet. It feels like us.

There are so many things I want to say. So many things I was supposed to say the second he picked me up from Hobby. I held my tongue and instead chose to read the signs. We went to lunch, a few museums and then saw a house he's interested in. A three bedroom near downtown. I watched him look around, ask the realtor questions, inspect every room carefully and imagine it furnished.

I'm happy right now. Because I know I'll wake up beside him, and the day after and the day after. It's whats beyond that makes me feel uncertain. Does he, will he, can he love me the same? Does he know how much he hurt me? Does he know what I'm willing to do to make things work? I know I should have said this already to him. I should have demanded his audience and spoke my mind. But I'm too at ease to force his ears. I know he loves me. And for this moment, that's enough.

I'm In Loving Arms

Weeeeeeeeeeeeee!! Right now I'm flying high above you all headed to Houston to see my bookie bookie boo!! Good thoughts!

I'm So Pretty

Lately I've been feeling so upbeat and wonderful, even in the face of tribulations and drama. I've managed to keep a pretty steady emotional keel. Nothing in my life is significantly different, I haven't run into lottery money or even gotten a raise in my credit limit. I don't have a new man in my life, I'm still spending most of my time a-l-o-n-e. I lost some poundage, which always makes a girl brighten up, but I've lost weight before and never noticed this much of an attitude change. Even my closest friends have said they notice me changing. "Dude, you've been in an awfully good mood lately. Is someone hittin that?" my friend said to me on the phone the other day. HA!! I wish!! Nope, it's not that. And it's not even the fact that I'm seeing D this weekend (tonight to be precise), because usually taking trips, especially ones that involve long flights just plain make me nervous and irritated.

It is, like most of the discoveries of adulthood, something VERY simple. I made the choice to change. Yep, that's it. Of course being isolated and having tons of time to myself helped with this endeavour, but it all started with my choice. It was hard at first to take a calm breath, count to ten and let things ride. And I have to admit, people that do that have always gotten on my nerves. Not expressive enough, no passion or heart! But the reality of it is, I haven't lost a single ounce of my heart. My passion is very much in tact. And after a few tough weeks of consciously putting effort into balancing my chi, it became habit. Just like that. Now I don't really have to think about it. I don't consider apologizing back-tracking. I don't feel the need to curse as much. I pause before answering. I think before speaking and sometimes choose to say nothing at all. I smile more often and respond more clearly. I've started to unintentionally call everyone "sweetie". I am, in fact, very much in love with myself these days.

Which makes me feel like no matter what happens in my love life (or lack thereof these days) that I will most definitely end up with the right person, and I'll be (and finally feel) well deserving of such a love.

Grounded For Life

I was whisking through my closet this morning trying to find my cream sweater when a word caught my attention on the radio. "The Man". It was Hot97's Miss Jones ranting about the most recent "black injustice", the conviction of Remy Smith, aka, Remy Ma, who received 8 years at Rikers out of a maximum of 25 for shooting a woman twice in the stomach outside of a club in Manhattan. Miss Jones and her crew were divided in half. Some of them, like Miss Jones herself, were livid over the fact that her sentence was so harsh. The other half felt that she got exactly what she deserved. Calls flooded in, tempers flared and a popular debate began to play out (once again). My own anger started to rise, and by the time I had finished getting dressed and started searching for my other red flat, I wished I had the nerve to call in and make my own comments about the situation. But I was late for my train.

It's not that Remy Ma isn't a deserving a good human being. She gives back to her community (a Bronx native), she's a contributor to the hip hop community and she has even been nominated for a Grammy (for the song 'Lean Back' with the Terror Squad). But the fact still and indefinitely remains that she had a choice that night, and made the wrong one. The situation was that the victim (Makeda Barnes-Joseph, an acquaintance of Remy's) had taken $3000 out of Remy's purse at the club and the two scrapped over Remy's purse which housed a loaded gun. The gun "accidentally" went off (somehow twice) and pierced Joseph's stomach.

Remy's excuse...I mean explanation, is that it was an accident, and that she grew up "surrounded by poverty and drugs and violence and failure". Her fiance, rapper Papoose, who was in attendance during her sentencing, became outraged when she was casually handed 8 years hard time. He stood up and started cursing at the judge and had to be escorted out.

My opinion, if it's hasn't been made clear yet is that the whole situation is typical American bull shit. No one, under any circumstance should be given a pass for shooting anyone twice in the stomach. Yes, accidents happen, which is why carrying a loaded gun with the safety off is NEVER a good idea. Because you may be tempted to grab it in certain situations like when a hood rat "friend" takes money out of your purse. It's also why, you shouldn't be carrying $3000 in your damn purse to begin with. As for Remy's excuse, her tattered, ghetto childhood.... that's the most played out and tired excuse of all time. Thousands, MILLIONS of people grow up in the ghetto. Void of support, without any example of substance or good morals. Witnessing the cruel street justice that no one talks about but everyone sees. Growing up in the ghetto does not make you stupid. Being STUPID makes you stupid. Remy Ma, regardless of her reasons, and her remorse, is just plain stupid. She might have had a rough childhood, but she was also handed a one in a million chance of a lifetime, a chance at fame and fortune, which she chose to squander and exploit by making poor decisions. A multi-million dollar selling platinum single is more than most people in the ghetto could ever hope for. She had it, and this is what she did with it. 8 years is cake compared to what she should have gotten. And she'll probably walk in 3.

On the other hand, the reality is that just a month ago those bastard cops walked away free men after spraying 50 aimless shots at Sean Bell and his friends outside of a club. They weren't even slapped on the wrist for taking an innocent life and injuring several others. Yes, some of them were black, but we all know who they work for. Miss Jones was loudly expressing that the injustice is clearly in the favor of white-America and the victims are always black. I can see how easy it is to see that. It sure does appear that way. But when you look for injustice, you most definitely will find it. OJ Simpson got away with cold blooded double murder. R.Kelly has had his trial for kiddy-porn and child molestation postponed for 6 years while he tours around the world a free man. And every other day you hear about someone else in the black community fuckin up, and giving society yet another reason to think we're uncontrollable idiots (Wesley Snipes: tax evasion, Snoop Dogg, TI: weapons and drug possession, even Brandy's ass is killing people with her Range Rover). I don't think we should be unfairly targeted as a people and given harsher punishments than our white counterparts. But I also don't think should walk around doing dumb shit and then get Al Sharptin's ass to march for us when we are actually expected to face consequences. We are the proverbial 13 year old who has been grounded for misbehaving, and is now expected to do better. Held to separate standards as compared to our siblings, feeling victimized and misunderstood, caught in a cycle of retaliation and further unfair punishment. The cycle most definitely will not end on "The Man's" turn. It has to end with us.

Those in the entertainment industry should think about the messages they put out with their music. Remy Ma had the nerve to say, "Remy Ma is not even close to who I really am. I'm not a thug". Really? Well why don't you include that little sentiment with your overpriced music when you whore it out to little children in the ghetto who like you have also grown up with poor social examples. I think it's sick that people in the rap industry use the ghetto as their scape goat when they get in trouble but don't mind taking full advantage of it's residents when it comes time to dish out another pointless, poorly written single that is actually contributing to the state of the very community they claim they are victims of.

We cannot continue to cry every time the world treats us the way we have been indirectly asking to be treated. We can't point fingers and complain when we are forced to face the music. True, this is an unjust society, and Black people are seen as 2nd class citizens. But this is not new. NONE of us have ever grown up in an America that saw us as equals. So we can either choose to fight "The Man" by handing him reason after reason to continue to think we have no respect for ourselves. Or we can live our lives responsibly and in preparation for the injustice we know we will each surely face eventually. The choice is not pleasant, but it IS ours to make.

American Fuckery...

Maybe it's because I was watching VH1 Soul with my friends the other day or maybe I just have a sudden sense of black pride swelling in my heart, but shit like this:

...is what is wrong with America today. My friend pointed this out to me in an email, and I have to agree with her, Vogue, of all the venues should know better than to acknowledge the most stereotypical example of a white girl as the American standard of beauty. It's bad enough that 95% of the time, main stream magazines pimp out volume after volume of issues sporting covers graced by the blond, blue eyed "Americans", but to state clearly on the cover that it's "All American Beauty"...is just beyond comprehension. Especially since her last name is Panettiere...what is that, French?? What about this person makes her All American??

AMERICAN, is the 168 countries that are represented by the students in the New York City public schools alone. American is every color of the rainbow. It's half breed babies and adopted children, gay and straight people, hippies, health nuts, leather-clad wanderers and uptown socialites. American is not blond and it's definitely not blue eyed. It's a messy, chaotic abstract painting of everything imaginable. And we should be damn proud of that.

But apparently we aren't supposed to be. This is why little black girls who grow up in white neighborhoods pull and straighten their beautiful kinky hair so they resemble their pale counterparts. It's why the same little girls feel ugly because she doesn't look like the girls around her, or the girls on the cover of the mainstream magazines. In order to be comfortable with being black you have to be ok with being the exception to the rule, instead of the rule itself.

Just ONCE I would like to see Selma Hayek or Gabrielle Union on the cover of one of these magazines with the same caption. Just once I would like to NOT notice how many same-format white girls are representing designer labels that originate from countries whose majority population is FAR from the American "standard". A boxy-shaped blue eyed blond is FAR from America's beauty. Just like BASEBALL is far from the American past time, and HAMBURGERS and FRENCH FRIES are far from America's favorite meal.

Sick sick sick

Why?!

Ok so, someone apparently knocked out Suge Knight at the club over the weekend. He was heard yelling, "Where's my money!" and then after Suge and his body guards roughed the dude up, he got up off the floor and threw a punch so hard it knocked Suge cold out for three minutes. Then after Suge was taken to the hospital, he refused to press charges. That's probably because he doesn't want any "official"evidence that he was upset about the whole thing so that when the dude ends up DEAD, DISMEMBERED, and BURIED in some random location, there is no real evidence against him. Why would you punch Suge Knight.... why???

The full story: http://www.tmz.com/2008/05/11/bloody-saturday-for-suge/

The (empire) State of Self Satisfaction

My weekend went pretty swimmingly so honestly I can't complain. Saturday I didn't really do anything. I pretty much just laid around and as lazy the whole day. I watched a movie, I cleaned up, I hand-washed all my panties....and because my room has no heat right now they are still to this very moment hanging up around my room damp and droopy. Sunday I got more done; cleaned up a little more around our apartment, did two loads of laundry at the wash house. I caught up with quite a few people too. My Grandmother, my sister, my should-be step father (he and my mother are no more, but he remains a steady male figure in my life), two of my cousins, an old friend that I've known since I was 18 and haven't talked to in almost a year (who got married!!), and an old neighbor from California. Just all around strange to hear from everyone on the same day, but a pleasant surprise no doubt.



I hung out with BB and his room mates Sunday night. And I basically did what I would do at my own house (watch TV, eat, listen to music) only at his. It's always more interesting there though because his room mates are a lot more entertaining than me and my room mate are (I think outside of our own imagination we're pretty boring people when we're at home). My only problem was that I didn't want to take a cab home (and it was reaching around 11:30 pm when I realized I have to be up for work the next morning). I didn't want to spend the night because then I'd have to rush home early in the morning. On the other hand, I didn't want to take the train alone because, well... I live in Bed Stuy Brooklyn... So yay...!, I was happy when BB told me his cousin Jasmine (who was there hanging out as well) said she was taking the train home, and since she lives like 3 blocks from me neither of us would have to venture through the streets of Bed Stuy alone (although I'm sure she's more used to doing it than I am...Oakland I can do...Bed Stuy...not quite there). So all around a good weekend in my opinion. No drama, no issues and aside from a VERY rude text message which I promptly ignored.... I went to sleep very satisfied with my self.

Why?!

I remember being in high school when the Ruff Ryders got hot. Every boy in my class wanted to be like DMX and every girl was a big Eve fan. But this is the second time dude has been arrested in like a week. And this time apparently he barricaded himself in his bedroom when the police came to get him. Ehmmm...let us pray.

Coffee Gives Me Gas

And so do matters of the heart. I think the only time love is genuinely pleasant is when it's starting to grow and develop*. When you get an inbox full of random notes; "I was thinking about you"...."Dinner this weekend?"...little insignificant messages that one could probably just say over the phone or in person but can't wait because the need to feel connected to that one special person is just too strong. Love developing is the desire for instant gratification. Even if you take it slow, it's not really your first instinct. Your first instinct is to jump out in the middle of the street and tell all your neighbors that you've finally met someone who makes your heart stop. Finally met your match.

Then love starts to get to that point of routine. Which is a comfortable, but less exciting phase. You get into a groove with someone. This is usually the point where most people figure they might as well be exclusive if they hadn't already. Love starts to take on a more logic appeal. Your no longer jumping for joy but you do keep a steady grin on your face.

Then love gets ugly. I mean super ugly. And everything feels so wrong. You start to realize that being in love with someone and really having an actual adult relationship with them is more like a full time job. And the arguments.....feel like a pap smear, or a really big crap. Painful, but important. You outsource your issues to your friends, but none of them really even know what a mature adult relationship looks like yet so their advice has to be taken with a grain of salt. You try to communicate, but that's as hopeless as banging your head against the wall to relive a head ache. You feel lost. The only thing that keeps you sane is the fact that this person, this reason for all confusion and frustration, keeps your blood pumping. They have become so much a part of your life that they've melted into your existence and become who you are. Your faced with the burning question, stay or let love go. And if you let it go, is it for the best or just out of your own lack of courage?

Then, from what I've been told, love gets sweet again. The problems you faced are now behind you and the two of you feel like seasoned vets. You faced loosing each other in very real ways, you know not to even tread down that path. You compromise now not because you know you have to, but because it's what comes naturally to you. Now things are calm, and even though your inbox isn't flooded with various sentiments, it's not exactly empty either. I'm told this is a stage people get to after they've faced huge trials with the one they love. Things they never thought they would over come. And now they look back and they can laugh together remembering when they used to be that lost.

I've learned not to be afraid of the unthinkable. Never to say never, or assume a certain path is not meant for you. I think that if things are supposed to be a certain way you kind of have to lay back a little, point your toes and drift with the current. Even if it takes you somewhere dark, or far away. I think that we always come home in the end.

*Love is also genuinely pleasant on Sundays....for some reason.

I ♥ Hump Day

Yesterday turned out to be a pretty fun day. Aside from the the boredom of being at work, the day had a strange lull to it, it was uneventfully pleasant. I came home and got a text from my friend who just got back in town on vacation...."Yerrroooo" it said, "Whats good for tonight??"


After I bribed him to use his room mate's car to pick me up (opting out of the the THREE trains it takes to get between our apartments) I changed out of my work cloths, showered and dressed in jeans, tank and my favorite dark purple sweater.


First we hit up this AMAZING burger joint called Five Guys. It's set up kind of like In and Out being that the menu is so basic (hamburger, cheeseburger, bacon burger). Their claim to fame is their world famous french fries, so we got two cheeseburgers and a larger order of fries to share. Well, first of all...WOW. The burger was so delicious I didn't even care that sauce and pickle juice was dripping down the side of my mouth. BB laughed at me, but was guilty of the same crime. The fries were crispy and perfect and when we were done we both jotted down our reactions on the provided index cards and posted them up on the crowded billboard. The things other people had written were hilarious, I was too full to be clever. So I grabbed my burgundy ball point (since BB was using the blue pen they had clipped up, and wrote...

OMG.....ready for a nap

Ready to head back to either apartment for a drink we slowly headed back to the car. I passed a chartreuse sandwich board sign and nudged BB's arm. "How come we didn't see that sign before??" To which he replied, "Ehh?" I stopped in my tracks and pointed behind us. We trekked back and stood before the glorious exclamation:

BUY 2 GET 1 FREE

wine, beer, sake

We both looked at each other and immediately headed into the obviously genius Japanese restaurant called New Nanatori. We grabbed a table in the back and quickly ordered two vessels of sake (which was an over sight because they were enormous) and two bottles of Japanese beer. Oh yea....it was goin down. Between BB explaining to me the many uses of the hot wet nap cradle that was placed at our table (he was convinced he should steal it and use it for a cell phone rest), I dabbed my chest claiming that I had my very first case of true heartburn. "Drink more sake." was the only answer he could provide and I willingly gave it a shot (literally).




The man in the table next to us apologized for the screaming infant that his wife just escorted to the restroom. I could care less at that point because I was full of scrumptious hamburger and sake-bombs so I waved his concerns away with my limp hand, "Don't worry about it, she's adorable." I said and smiled at him as Craig chimed in, "Yea, no problem man." We were beyond satisfied with ourselves.




After we finished off the sake and BB finished telling me about his trip, we headed back to the car trying not to wobble. Eventually, I got back home, but along the way I saw the tackiest church in the world. No offense to Washington Temple, but a neon, Vegas-style, flashing sign on the front of such a sacred place of worship was too much for me to pass up, so I snapped a shot and laughed my ass off.







Come on, seriously....that's pretty funny. This cross was literally flashing as if advertising for lap dances and complimentary hot wings...






Also, apparently when I got home I gave Molly gangster braids.....

Cast Away

According to my implant-friends (others who, like me, have moved to the East Coast from the West), my current feelings are typical of someone who has placed themselves in a new environment far from everything they know. Basically I spaz out every so often. Not as much anymore, but spazation none the less.



Right now I'm feeling pretty lonely. As if Brooklyn were a deserted island far away in some uncharted part of the ocean. I send emails to people to say "Hi", but honestly most people have actually stressful jobs where they don't have time to eat lunch let alone catch up with me online. So I keep it brief and just say hello, without expecting a response. This makes me feel even more alone. I guess it feels worse than it really is simply because I haven't started anything yet. I found out a few weeks ago that I can't start school this summer because of the waiting period for non-resident students. So basically I have this job everyday which takes up my time TECHNICALLY, even though it's really just an hour and a half of making copies, creating reports, filing and answering phones; spread out into 8 hours. After work I usually just go home, or maybe I'll take a little walk before I get on the train. I'm usually home by 6, at which point I come home change into whatever I pull out of my overstuffed drawers and rummage through the fridge for something to eat. A lot of times I just grab whatever is easiest, which explains why my pants won't stay up anymore. Then I chat with my room mate(s) for a little bit and catch up on our days and many accomplishments (term used loosely).



Weekends are much better of course. Especially when I have money to really do something. I'll hit up BB (aka Buttermilk Brown, aka Craig) and find out where the best place to party is. Meet at his place, take some shots with everyone, head out and return at the wee hours of the next morning shit-faced and sleepy.



It's all a blur.



So aside from the sporadically placed weekend party, I feel like an old ass lady. This is usually the time I start searching for a boyfriend, or at least a good booty-buddy, but unfortunately my vagina is now connected to my heart (comes with adulthood), and my heart is in Houston, somewhere in one of D's unpacked boxes. On the upside, I've written some additional pages to the great American novel I came out here to write. I've ripped through a few new books and best of all managed to get to know myself and even mature a little bit. Just imagine literally staring at a pot of water, waiting for it to boil and suddenly you see those tiny bubbles gather at the bottom. I know it's coming....I just feel so damn compelled to walk away and find something else to do while I wait.

She Came, She Conquered

I want to write pages and pages about why today is so special. About all the things my Aunt Sharron did for me, and for the rest of my family. How she touched everyone so deeply. How she was the very heart of our family. And how when she passed last November we all felt a mixture of being cheated, blessed and relieved. Instead I'll simply say that she was a beautiful woman who never shut a door to anyone in need, and always saw an opportunity where most would see a dead end. There are VERY few people in this world with such a heart. VERY few people who are willing to live their life for the Lord the way she did. She's left her imprint on this world and on myself personally forever.

Happy Birthday Sharron

Miss you, Love you, See you again.

Why?!

This idiot, attempted to cash a check for $360,000,000,000! Thats 360 BILLION dollars for those of you who (like me) have never seen that many zeros. Why does this blunt object of a man have to be a NEGRO?? I gotta say he had to be smokin some herb when that idea occurd to him. Because when your high these are the kinds of ideas that you come up with. Man, all I gotta do is find me a blank check....write out an amount for ALL THE MONEY IN THE WORLD...and then I can finally get my Chev fixed.

At this point, I'm just ashamed we share the same ancestors.

See the full story at: http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/dn/latestnews/stories/050108dnmetbillion.b623795f.html

Under the Weather

It's been raining in New York now for about a week. The heavens parted and released it's brew of warm and irritatingly tiny rain drops after a streak of bright, sunny Spring days. Alas it is (was) April, so I supposed the showers make sense. But I was just getting used to going outside without a jacket on. My room mate and I had even ventured out to Soho baring it all in sun dresses and sandals. But since then, the sun withdrew and has been replaced with a fog that sits over Manhattan. I noticed this fog as I came out of the 34th street subway station this morning. Everyone keeping their heads down as they walked up the stairs to the street surface, tilting their heads upward at the first sign of light as if somehow compelled to feel the morning on their face. Everyone, I realized, was tilting their heads up at the same exact point as if their necks were all collectively held by puppet wire. But there was really nothing to look at. The tips of the buildings that lined 8th were disappearing into a cloud of mist. Even the glorious Madison Square Garden swelling with Rangers fans looked saddened by the onset of rain. Poo, I skipped grabbing breakfast and headed straight up to the 6th floor.



Aside from just being ugly, the weather has induced me into a cold. I've been sniffling since Monday and trying desperately to remedy it, but it looks like my weekend is going to be filled with nasal congestion and lemon tea. Also my huge brown and cream knit scarf that I wear to bed when it's cold (or when I have one...a cold that is).



Anyway, so I've avoided touching anyone at work. Shelley (the lady I work with) realized I was sneezing on Tuesday and immediately dispersed her advice in that matter-of-fact way, "Ga down-a Duane Reade and get cha some vitamin C and some-a that Air-Born...I'm tellinya it'll clear right up by next week..." She barely looked up from her computer as I plopped down in the chair by her desk breathing a sigh of pure agony. I was waiting for her to tell me what she needed since she'd called me over via Instant Message. But instead she just held up her finger the way my Mom does when she's concentrating and doesn't want her thoughts interrupted. Shelley's mouth hung open while she typed an email, without resting her tapping fingers she looked up and smiled at me as if impressed by her own typing abilities. Then she returned to face the monitor and began a symphony of mumbles to herself. I waited. The typing stopped. "Also," she continued, "Drink lots of water, go grab ya a bottle. And make sure and wash ya hands, doll. We don't want to get the rest of the awffice sick. Ya know everyone was sick just-a month ago? Gwad it was terrible, the whole department, can you imagine?"



That day at lunch I went to Duane to get the suggested supplies. Also a slice of broccoli pizza.



Today though, is better. I had a good rest, but contemplated on calling in. My eventual rise from bed was inspired by the fact that I need only $350 more dollars to buy myself a laptop for my birthday this month. Since my room mate's lap top literally exploded, I've been forced to check my email on my cell phone or at work. Which is fine, I guess but having a lap top to use would sure help with the whole 'aspiring writer' thing I do.



I'm hoping I feel better by tomorrow morning, since I have a hair appointment with a lady named Neila, whose West African accent was so thick that she had to repeat my appointment time over and over. "Tin Thuty.." She said. Which means I have to be up at 9:30 to take the train to Lafayette and walk the few blocks down to South Portland. I'm just happy that I can finally get my hair done, even if it means spending all my money. Hopefully I would have a little left to go to that Guerrilla shop that's open this month. It's supposed to be a bunch of independent labels from Hong Kong selling cloths and nick knacks at 50% off. I think crap from Hong Kong is always a little juicer than American crap.

Check out Made in HK this weekend:
www.multiplechoiceonline.com

K'ing. In. T.

Before I left for New York I had a few sob-sessions with my best friend Theresa. She and I have been super close for 10 years. She has always been the one who would laugh at me when I need to be laughed at, which I feel is a pretty important aspect of true friendship. Somehow knowing when to make fun of someone keeps them humble without making them want to smack the shit out of you. Anyway, she's the one for that. Plus we have so much in common and she's practically the only friend I have who hasn't sorely disappointed me with bad life decisions. I mean she had a baby out of wedlock, but she was like 21 when that happened and perfectly capable of taking care of herself by then.

Anyway, so we cried before I left. Outside of Burger King no less. She started getting really quiet, and suddenly all I could hear was the sound of Tashawn (her son, my God son) kicking the back of my chair. I turned around, "Hey little munchkin, stop kickin my chair."

I teased him, grabbing his foot and pretending to gobble it up. He let out a loud giggle and I turned back to fact the front. Theresa was wiping her cheeks. I didn't want to, but I knew I had to ask. "What?"

"Your leaving." This time when she said it there was bass in her voice. She didn't say it half joking or taunting. This time when she said it, my flight was exactly a week away. Immediately I started crying.

"I know, Rese." I let out a long sigh, I didn't want to sound cliche but it was all I could think to say, "But your always going to be my best friend. And Shawnie will always be my God baby. Plus now we have somewhere REALLY cool to hang out this summer." I knew these things wouldn't possibly compensate. Our friendship consisted of talking every morning on the way to work. I baby sat Tashawn every Thursday night when Theresa went to Emeryville for her Child Development workshop. She'd drop him off and hang with my before class started. We'd go over to the Safeway across the street and buy a sandwich to split, two little bags of chips and a thing of mixed fruit. We even knew the sandwich guy at the deli by name. Jack. We'd go to Kai's in Alameda on weekends and get Katsu chicken and green tea, promising never to bring a date there. We practically looked like sisters and kept so secrets.

I knew things would be different.

We promised that we would call each other ever day. I knew when I said it that it would be hard to actually do. Between her schedule with the daycare, and the three hour time difference; talking every week became closer to the reality. Now, as I glance at the calendar I realize I haven't talked to her in almost three weeks. I haven't heard Tashawn's voice or his heavy breath against the phone. I haven't gotten to update Theresa on how much I've been flipping out lately and missing D so much. I don't know how things are with her and Tashawn's dad, or if she's done with class yet, or how the new place is. I feel like I have something of a hole in my heart.

It's not like I haven't called and she hasn't called, it's just that we both have such crazy schedules.... Or maybe it's just harder to talk to someone you miss so much. I can't hop in my Scion and drive down the 580 to Seminary. And make that right, and then that other right and pull up to her little yellow house on Walnut. She doesn't even live on Walnut anymore.

Weirdness.

Tryptophan Talk

I just want to say that waiting for someone to call you is probably the worst thing in the entire world to go through. I mean aside from the fact that it's outright boring; it's also humiliating. I mean they don't know your waiting for their call, but you do. And who wants to feel unwanted? Nobody that's who.

It's not like I couldn't have just picked up the phone and called D myself. I could have. It's just that I would rather he called me. It's his time to adjust and figure things out, and I don't want to interrupt. Although he'd say I wasn't interrupting but is it alright if he calls me later. Then he'll call me when he's done doing whatever, only at that point he'd probably rather just go to sleep, but he already said he'd call me and since D is never one to disappoint he'd call and we'd talk briefly. Then he'd say, "Well I gotta get up early Boogie..." and we'd get off the phone. No, it's much funner when he calls me on his own. When he's been thinking about me long enough to give him a little tick. And he purposely sets aside some time to sit down after he's eaten and watched the game and talked to his mother. He'd call me then, ready to talk. He'd already have something on his mind he wanted to ask, or something he'd seen that day that reminded him of me. Then we'd probably have a nice long talk. Like and hour. And I'd get off the phone feeling like I just ate a Thanksgiving meal. How you feel ready for sleep when your done.

But he didn't call.