Saturday, December 30, 2006


I used to be pretty impulsive. Well, that's probably putting it very nicely. Because not only was I impulsive, but I was irrationally impulsive. Which is probably worse. You'll either love and admire my spontaneous nature and wish you could think more like me or you'll hate and resent it because you can't live your life the same way. There is no gray area.

Once I hit college, I calmed down a bit. It was partially because I didn't have the same conditions in my life that caused me to be so impulsive in the first place. It was partially because my sister spent alot of time talking alot of sense into me when I wanted to do alot of craziness when we first got to Howard. And it was partially because I didn't wanna be "that girl" anymore. You know, the one that is reliably unstable? The nomad, the vagabond. I've been called a free spirit more times than I can count.

So maybe I think a lil outside the box. Maybe I live my life and govern myself a lil differently than others. But still...

Throughout my years at Howard, I grew to become much calmer, much more poised, far more thoughtful than impulsive. I took it as a sign that I was growing up, that I was becoming far less ghetto than I'd been in the past, lol.

But then, something happened.

During senior year I noticed I'd do little things that I hadn't done in years. My temper wasn't as in check as it had been. What little tact I did have had all but gone to shit. I'd say and do just about anything without thinking it all the way through because, dammit, I didn't want to. I was tired of thinking. I wanted to DO.

It felt great.

Even now, I find myself doing and things that this time last year I'd never even think of. Case and point, yesterday as the old white man decided he wanted to step off the curb as I was driving down the street and then HIT the window of my truck what do I do? I throw my shit in pakr and get outta my car cussin'. After I got back in the truck and drove away, I had to giggle at myself. And then I was full on hysterically laughing so hard I had to pull over because I couldn't stop saying to myself, "girl what were you THINKING?!?!"

But it felt sooo good.

Di I really not change or mature like I thought? Or did I just repress my nature only to have it fight it's way out again?

I'm not sure at this point. But sometimes I feel like I'm bursting at the seams. And sometimes I don't think I ever had seems to begin with, just hastily folded corners, reinforced with old scotch tape that aren't really holding up now.

And I'm kinda excited about that too.

It feels so good to be back.

The Mirror has Two Faces

My days feel thrown off. Everything is a little to the left. It's a strange feeling because I've just never felt it I don't guess. But I feel unplugged. Kinda... off. My days just don't seem to flow together right.

And it's all because Psuedo is outta town.

Usually when he leaves DC and travels to destinations hereto referred to as "Away", it's always difficult to keep in touch because he's doing the family thing and I'm convinced everyone he knows lives in a swamp because his cell signal gets pretty nonexistent. It drives me crazy when he's away because until then I never really realize how much of an effort we make to include each other in our day to day lives even though he's in DC and I'm in Godforsaken Redneckland. (Lol!) To not get a message from him when I wake up in the morning feels strange. To not get a text in the middle of the day just because makes the day plod along so awkwardly. I just feel so... off.

The funny thing is I hate being clocked. I hate it. Hate checking in. HATE. Maybe I'm just too independant, too stubborn, too whatever but I can't stand to feel like I'm being controlled or clocked. But he's got me doing it. And it's crazy, because I never have before. And NOT being able to do it now while he's away is like... it's got me feeling fuzzy around the edges.

But at the same time I have to fight with myself. Part of me goes, "do you really wanna feel this way forever? Do you really like being this wrapped up in someone? Why don't you have a back up plan?" But then another part of me goes, "girl you'd be the dumbest broad alive to mess this up. Get it together." I guess the good news is, I'm fighting. The bad news is that I even have to.

Monday, December 25, 2006

Oh, Fuck This

I realized at work today that it was almost Christmas and I hadn't written my annual "Booooo Hissssss Christmas" post. I tried as long as I could to keep my irritation with this tacky, gaudy holiday in check but everyday my irritation has grown. It started with the house on the corner. Everytime I come home from working retail during the worst possible time of the year, there are new lights SOMEWHERE on this house. First it was the multicolored candy cane lights lining the driveway. Then, the string of white lights that look like they were just thrown at the one bare, sad ass tree in the yard. Then came the snowman. Then santa. As the days went on, more tackiness seemed to just appear from nowhere. Now, it just looks like the whole damn house is on fire. And then there's the customers at my job. Somehow I've gotten to be the person at work who everyone defers the evil customers to. So I've been cussed out AT LEAST 1,385 times. Isn't this goddamn season supposed to be what brings out the best in people?


Maybe if I wasn't in Texas isolated from the majority of my family it wouldn't suck so much. Probably not true though.

Sitting in waffle house tonight, I was struck by how much my life has changed in the last year. I'll get into the specifics in a later post, but it's just funny. So much so that I burst out laughing in the middle of eating. Everyone looked at me like I was nuts. It happens.

I know Christmas won't suck forever. Maybe I've never really had a good Christmas but it won't always be this way. I know it'll be up to me to make Christmas a happy and joyous time of year for my own family when I start one.

But I don't have a family.

So until then, excuse me while I try to figure out how to assasinate a mechanical reindeer without getting caught.

Sunday, December 17, 2006

Daddy's Girl

Today was one of those days that it seemed like winter was in remission. It felt like fall out. And while I was driving and enjoying the sun with the sunroof in Marley open, I remembered that I needed to call my daddy back.

From 3 days ago.

"Hey," he says jovially as his phone flips, calling me by my first and middle names as though it is a hybrid. He is the only person who can call me that without it feeling like scolding.

Most of our conversation consists of laughter and the sounds I make to answer his questions kinda like:

Daddy: So how you liking Texas?
Me: Meh.
Daddy: It can't be that bad. I know work is driving you nuts and you're probably needing your own space but it's not so bad. You have to learn to not be alone so much.

He got all that from, "meh."

We talk for the better part of an hour and finally get around to the enevitable conversation of me living in Atlanta. He tells me my brother was looking forward to me moving back after graduation. I think back to how much fun he and I had when I was home for his birthday and the guilt makes my stomach fall to the floor.

Me: Well Daddy that was my plan, to be in Atlanta. I dunno if it's where I'll stay but it's where I wanna be right now. I was looking forward to it.
Daddy: I know you were baby. Me too.

The backs of my eyeballs sting with tears I won't let fall because I'm driving. He's got That Voice. You know the one big tough daddies use when they're trying to tell someone something emotional. I smile on the inside. And then I laugh to myself. I may look and sound like my mama, but I've got my daddy's temperment. It's hilarious to me.

We talk some more and I realize that somehow he manages to talk to me like I'm an adult, not his only daughter, and that, for some reason makes me feel like I'm about 8 years old, still poking him in his sides to make him wake up and cook me breakfast. I say very little as I'm accustomed to doing, but he gets it. He knows what I'm feeling or thinking even when I fail to articulate it. I don't think he realizes how comforted it makes me feel. I know that it must be strange for him to watch his little girl grow up, I know it must be hard for me to be so independent when all he wants to do is be my daddy. He manages it gracefully though.

I think forward to the day I'll introduce him to Psuedo, and I giggle because I can already see them getting along. I think backward to all the mornings I went to work with him, riding shotgun in his old Celica, eating donuts and talking to my daddy about anything that came to mind. I can see him walking me down the aisle and holding his grandchildren in his big calloused hands. Hearing his voice on the phone makes me imagine I can almost feel one of his big bear hugs whenever I get home. He lets me be me. And somehow he still manages to be my daddy too.

When I was a little girl, I'd follow him around the house, we'd wrestle and laugh, I'd jump on his head while he was in bed, sit on the floor of the kitchen while he cooked. But my favorite thing to do was climb up on his lap, and curl up in a tight little ball, my head resting in the crook of his arm. I remember crawling up there many times when I was sick or sad or just wanting to. Hell if I was in Atlanta, I'd probably do it now.

But since I'm not, I just talk to my daddy and hope that if he's somehow found peace with the woman I've become, then I can too.

And I hate it for whoever I end up with because they're gonna have it rough trying to fill my daddy's shoes.

Sunday, December 10, 2006



So... Psuedo sent me this in response to what I wrote down there and um... told me to post it. So... that's what I'm doing. And... well... um, I... I'm blushing far too hard to continue typing.

*she runs away hiding her face"

From the first time I laid eyes on her I knew this woman would change my life. In what way I didn't know at the time, but I knew something was in store.

She has these little feet that always strike right to the hood in me when she wears air forces. I can honestly say I wanted to massage her feet the first time I saw her. I don't do feet, but she gets numerous massages, and all kinds of attention paid to hers. Her lips are soft and sweet. Some would call 'em luscious but I call her Ducky cause they always look like they're ready to be kissed, and because they make her look like Ducky from Land Before Time (and because of her squeaky ass voice when she's blushing or just excited). Her legs and thighs are what a country boy like myself calls yams. Ya know, good enough to eat. Wait, she got ass, put that in there. I'm usually pretty cool with mine, but I've crossed my eyes many day watching her walk away. Left, right, left, right. Good lawd. She could ask me to go to the moon and get her a sack of Krystal burgers and chances are if she's asking while wearing those damn shorts I like then I'll call NASA and tell them niggas I gotta dub on the gas shawty. Never have I been a breast man, but I have been converted and now I head up the fan club (Eyes up niggas!) Let's just say her in wife beaters, I need that. Umm damn, yea, I'm back. Her hair, even though she changes it more then her draws is so soft, and I love playing in it. Her hands, which I think she finds weird, are so small and sexy, I always find myself holding her hands, and I'm really no hand holder, but I like 'em. And last her beautiful brown eyes. She damn near had me the first time I looked in them.

I don't tell anybody anything for the most part. My life is mine and very few are allowed into it. The first day we met I told her more about me in one hour than people who have known me years. Her combination of class and her ability to relate to me almost confused me. We debate for hours about anything from white people* to religion. She's soooo smart, I feel like if nobody knows the answer, she does. She's the kind of girl people either love or hate for the same reason; cause she's really just that fly. She's stubborn as hell though. You have to talk (or yell) her into taking medicine, or not self medicating illness with margaritas. She always has a bullshit excuse, a very well spoken excuse for her stubborness, but still bullshit all the same. I think it's cute. She doesn't like to be alone, and I guess that's how we connected from jump; we're both used to being abondoned. We even get mad if one of us falls asleep on the phone... No, like the guilty one is really in trouble, lol. She's tough as nails, but sensitive at the same time. Kinda like a tootsie pop, you just gotta get to the middle (that wasn't nasty, you'll know when it is, lol). Did I tell you how funny she is, and how she laughs at her own jokes? So no matter how funny it is you have to laugh too. She actually likes sports. The first time she came over we watched the NBA finals and she knew what was going on, like for real. Most importantly she's honest, so honest that I've been hurt a few times, but she keeps it trill and I repspect her more then anyone I know because of it. A smart, sensitive, stubborn, caring, loyal, funny, talented, shit talking dimepeice. Yeah that's her.

What I like
I like the way she lookes in my t-shirts. It's almost like her walking around the house wearing a 'me billboard' with her legs showing which starts this thing some people call drooling. I like the way she shivers when I suck her bottom lip. I like how she goes to sleep on my chest and how good her hair smells. I like how she has managed to put me in check and make me like it. Still trying to figure that shit out. I like how she always washes my back in the shower because I can't reach it, and she's a lot more gentle then I am, lol. I love how she gets excited about any new tattoo I get. I like her frisky messages from work that put me on 10 for an entire day and how she manages to make me seem like the freak (its about 50/50, depending on the day). I like how she makes me think of things I've never thought of. I like how she makes me wanna do things I've never done. Then do it again cause it was poppin' the first time, lol. I like how she apologizes, even for small things; sometimes I just like apologies. I like how she makes up my bed all the time. I can never do it like her so it hasn't been made it months. Fuck it. I like when she rolls her eyes at me when I say I don't have groupies cause leave it to her I'm the sexiest dude walking the earth. I've never had a honeymoon, but if the sex we have is like that everybody should do it 4-5 times a day; we do. I like how she catches everything I do, even me sneaking to smell my damn towels to make sure they're bounty fresh for her**. Nothing gets past her. She's like a hood columbo with ass and blond hair (depending on the day, it could be black, red, orange looking etc.) I like her style, and even on her clubs nights, I like how she tones it down to make me feel better and stroke my male ego. I like how she manages to talk to me all day while working, showering, shopping, eating, etc. I like how I know in the morning she'll hit me when she wakes her sleepy ass up. I like how she slips and talks about us having kids. I can feel her face getting hot when she does, lol. Actually, I'm wrong, I don't like all that, I love it.
And I love her.

*he called them honkies. I chose to edit, lol

** refers to a time I spent the night which I refered to in "Part One"

Sunday, December 3, 2006

For You

"I have never met someone so dedicated to bullshit. I've never SEEN someone so committed to being unhappy." Psuedo says this to me midway through what will be the third real fight we've ever had in our otherwise happy time of knowing each other. It stops me cold. Is this how he sees me? Is that really what he thinks? He's still talking...
"You catch yourself doing bullshit and you know it. You KNOW IT. Its like you keep waiting for something to go wrong all the time." Is he serious? This is how I am?

Wait. This is how I am? Seriously? Wow.

I'd never heard it put that way before. I was literally speechless. Like, literally. Speechless. And ladies and gents it takes alot to render La speechless. Even now, thinking back on the conversation, I find myself rapidly losing the words I planned to type. I... well, damn. I didn't know it was this bad.

I let Psuedo know he was right in hopes that maybe he'll let up because, truthfully, hearing this man that I've wanted to be with happy with for so long say that to me really hurt my feelings.

He didn't stop of course. Didn't back down a bit.

And that's why he's great, lol. He's always exactly what I need even when I don't wanna hear it.

So this is for you Pseudo. I hope that for once I can say all the things I've never been able to say to you, even when you ask, even when we fight. I hope you can see that despite what I'm used to, I really do wanna be happy with you...


When I drive, or when he drives, he holds my pinkie finger with his while our hands rest on the gear shift. (Why we both drive with our hands there is beyond me seeing as how we both drive automatics, lol.) He says my name differently than he says everything else and he came up with hands down the cutest nickname I've ever had. I told him that I didn't know he did it but I love when he watches me sleep. When I'm half awake and I feel him watching me, it makes me feel cherished. He lets me watch what I wanna watch on tv. When we're in his car and I absentmindedly touch his buttons on his radio, he doesn't slap my hand away, although I know it's a cardinal Man Sin to let any woman who touches your radio go unpunished, lol. He asks me about my day. Not everyday, just enough for me to know that he really wants to know, not because it's routine. I'm the first person he talks to when he wakes up and the last one he talks to before he goes to sleep. He lets me know when he's thinking about me. He asks me how Joy is doing because he loves her. He gets upset when I tell him he can't meet my daddy. He offered to teach me how to fish just because I said I wanted to try it. He makes me slow down and act my age. He reminds me not to think so damn much. He started a list of all the things we need to do together so he wouldn't forget. (Football games, fixing me BBQ with his grandaddy's secret recipe.) He held me while I cried over another man. When I tell him about things he does that bother me, he makes an effort to ammend them. He plays in my hair when I can't sleep. He makes me feel valuable. He does other things to me to put me to sleep when I can't get to sleep after playing in my hair doesn't work, lol. He makes an effort to talk to me and tell me what he's thinking, even though he's not all that good at it. If any person on this earth caused me any kind of harm, I know God himself would have to part the clouds and come down just to keep him from doing something that would cause us to be fugitives for forever. He makes me feel safe and protected. When I'm sick, he feels bad when he's not around to take care of me. When I'm happy, his whole face lights up at just seeing me content. When I shut down on him, he knows when to call me on it and when to let it ride.

He tells racist jokes. Which are, like, the best kind. He loves children and one day I hope I'm lucky enough to watch him while he teaches his kids the finer points of football. (Both genders. Our kids would have no choice but to be sports fanatics.) He remembers tiny little things I mention off hand. He admits when he's wrong. He plays the Favorites Game with me when I've had a bad day. He tells me I'm cute when I complain. He doesn't judge me. He doesn't try to change me but he doesn't flinch at telling my my faults either. He thinks I'm pretty first thing in the morning even when I'm hungover or sick, lol. He's honest. Even when it's gonna hurt, he's honest with me. And that's all I ever wanted anyway.

He's talented. So talented that sometimes I have to step back and remind myself that he's a tangible person sitting in front of me. He's loyal. He's kind, though he'd never admit it. He's so intelligent that he even startles me with his insights sometimes. He tells me I'm full of shit. He offers to help me even though he knows I probably won't accept. And he doesn't get mad at me for it. (All the time.)

He tells me I'm beautiful. He gives me strange compliments. Not strange in an uncomfotable way, but moreso in a no-one-ever-bothered-to-notice-that kinda way. He gets angry with me but we never fight just to be mean. We always argue to a resolution. And then it's done. He rubs my feet when we're sitting on the couch. He wakes up with me when I have to go to work early in the morning even though I won't do it for him. (He understand I'm not a morning person, lol) He sends me cute messages for no reason. Not typical sweet stuff, but things that are very us. We have our own way of talking. He showers me with attention. He sends me pictures of himself for no reason. He tells me he misses me and wishes I was a part of whatever he's doing at that particular moment. He makes me feel important. When he tells me he loves me, he's lethally serious and wouldn't never tell me he didn't even jokingly. When we shower together, he never makes me stand out of the water in the cold. He gave me my own side of the bed. He thinks it's cute when I get jealous of the groupies that are drawn to him. Somehow he makes me check in without making me feel like I'm being clocked. When I get a little neurotic, he lets me be crazy for a second. And then he helps me not to be. He's blunt and to the point. No bullshit, no sugar coating. We have random conversations about nothing that can last easily til 5am. We still have honeymoon sex. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. On the rare occassions that I do get brave enough to mention the future I envision for us, he never turns away. He handles me with care. When I do something I shouldn't, he gives me the chance to explain myself rather than jumping to conclusions which I can admit I don't always do for him. He makes me a priority. And he makes us a priority.

He gets jealous of other men and threatens to shake me like a yoohoo even though I know deep down he knows he's got me. Crazy is kinda cute on him. He compliments my hair. He works hard to make sure I'm included in his future. He tells me when he smells someone who wears my perfume and it drives him crazy. He calls me for no reason, but usually not without asking if it's ok first which is ceaselessly cute to me. He keeps my ass in line (which is no small feat.) He never gives me advice unless I ask for it, and even then he lets me know that he's behind me no matter what. He won't let me push him away. He encourages me to be me. He sends me freaky text messages while I'm at work that make me squirm. He says I love you first. He offered to hang out with my little brother so he could have someone to talk to and look up to.

I like how he holds the sides of my face when he kisses me. I like how he reaches out for me in the middle of the night if some part of me, no matter how small, isn't touching him. I like the way he teases Joy. I love the way he walks, that southern swagger obvious to everyone in a 10 mile radius. I like the sound of his laughter. I like his long island ice teas. I like the kinda man he is. I like the plans he has for his life, even when they're still abstract. I like the little voice that he does when he's telling me something sappy and sweet. I like the way he does the things that we do when we're doing the do. I like the way he does the things we do when we're not doing the do. (Lol) I like the tattoo on his shoulder and when he wears red. I like when he gets extra excited about something and gets so damn country I have no idea what he's talking about. I like how he laughs at me when I trip over things. I like catching him looking at my ass when we walk. I like the way he dances. I know that even though he has a bad temper, he'd never raise a hand to me. I like the way his lips move when he talks. I like how he looks in a suit. I like how he talks to me and not at me. I like that he won't allow anyone to disrespect me. I like that when I tell him I need him to be a little more gentle with me when I'm hurting, he is. I love the sound of his voice. I like wearing his shirts to sleep. I like that he still holds me, even when his boys are around. I like that he's patient with me even when I can barely stand myself. I like the fact that even when he doesn't understand, he always tries. And when he can't, he can at the very least respect the way I feel.

I've always wanted to be happy with you. I don't always know how, but that's always what I want. Don't ever doubt that. I think you're right, I think we've matured together. I look at the things we said and did a year ago and I can't believe it's us because we wouldn't even dream of doing half of it now. We've grown up together, in just this short time, and I think we've proven that we can grow together, still compliment each other through changes. I feel like we're building something solid. I know I'm not the easiest person to get to know, to get to love. But it's a journey. And I'm willing to take it if you are.

So, you wanna take this walk with me?

Friday, December 1, 2006

Just a Question

So if I jump, can I bungee or is this like a free fall kinda thing?

Lies, Lies, Lies

The funny thing about lies is it creates a false sense of power, a false sense of comfort. The only truly powerful one, is the one who has the most knowledge the one that, with just a few place words, could destroy it all.

I read something tonight, and it made me shake my head because I knew it was false. I wanted to laugh, I wanted to cry. Mostly because I knew it was half truths mixed with lies that needed so badly to be accepted and believed. I wanted to speak my truth. I know I have the most powerful weapon because I have more knowledge. The player that knows the game the best is usually the one that wins. But sometimes it's not about playing your cards right. Sometimes, it's not about playing at all. Sometimes the best player is the player that holds the hand that they know could wipe out the whole table, but folds anyway. It's not always about winning. Sometimes it's about folding gracefully and walking away from the table.

I am that woman.

I could tell you what I know. The girl I used to be probably would. But the woman I'm turning into just won't let me do that.

So I fold.

Play well Babe.

July 06

I think it might have been raining. Was it? I'm not sure, but I remember catching a cab to your place. (You still owe me $5 by the way, lol) I was nervous. I remember that much. So nervous I closed my hand in the cab door. Kept pulling the hair at the nape of my neck and tapping my foot. I made the cab driver turn on the game so I wouldn't miss anything. And because I knew basketball was really all that was gonna calm me at that point. I got there and you opened the door. You smiled at me. The look on your face. Some sort of mixture of shock and excitement. I couldn't believe I was there either.

I think you took my stuff from me. It's kinda fuzzy. You lingered longer at the door than you probably should have and I knew you were debating if you should hug me, kiss me, or what exactly the situation called for. I was unsure too. I think you gave me a one armed brother hug. I remember feeling a little dejected, thinking maybe you were just playing it cool because your roomate was there. But then you slapped me on my ass. And I don't think you've been able to keep your hands from back there since, lol.

We watched the rest of the game, the three of us, and I remembered you being surprised I was so into it, knew so much. In my mind I was hoping you didn't think I'd just learned some random facts on the way over to impress you. But I do remember wanting to impress you. I remembering being so nervous, just like the first day we met. You kept making me blush. I remember that. I kept raking my hair in my face so you wouldn't see my face turn red.

I remembering the game going off, and then it was just me and you. As you closed the door and hit the lights, the room seemed to shrink. It felt like we were confined to an orbit on which on we existed. I remember fighting not to lose my breath and hoping like hell I looked alot cooler on the outside than I felt on the inside.

You sat on the bed, behind me I think, and I remember where you first touched me. You grabbed my left arm to pull me closer and I remember heat shooting all the way up my limbs, through my neck and to my face. My skin was so hot. You kissed me, your hands tangled in my hair like I've grown acustomed to them being, but back then I could barely contain myself. I remembering holding on to your arms tightly, maybe too tight, trying to fight the feeling of falling inside. You kissed me and my heartbeat fell into my stomach. You kissed me again and it fell a little further south. I remember breaking away because I couldn't breathe. The air around us seemed tight and I couldn't get my bearings. I looked at you and I'd never seen a man look at a woman the way you were looking at me. It felt like we were in trouble. You pushed me backwards and I let myself fall. I remember closing my eyes under the first of many kisses and just letting go.

Afterwards I said to you, "Don't go crazy and get all attatched to me." I don't think I ever told you, but I was talking to myself. I knew what was happening.
"I'm good nigga," you said laughing, and I laughed with you but I turned away so you wouldn't see my eyes. You've always watched me so damn closely. I didn't want you to see what I already knew.

It was the beginninng of the end for you. I was gonna make sure of that.

June 05

"Its like this," I say, my mouth all poised to run down some quick game I haven't used in awhile.
"Oh shut up," he says, laughing at me. "You're about to say some bullshit." I smile. And then I giggle. Before I know it I am holding the phone all out rolling laughing on the floor. This guy...
"No really," I try to start again.
"No really La. You're full of shit."
I laugh again. I'm stuck. I don't know what to say.
"You done?" he asks.
"Yeah, actually. I think I am." We talk for hours, the requisite 1 or 2 hour conversations getting stretched into 6, 7, 8 hour conversations without a pause. The sun starts creeping through my windows and I imagine it's doing the same where he is. My phone battery is screaming at me in protest from over use. He cuts in.

"It's like this..." We both pause. Then we both fall out laughing. After we compose ourselves, he tries again.
"I think I like you," he says. "Well if I'm honest about it, I always liked you. And with all the bullshit that went down I was afraid I'd never get to talk to you like this. So I'm glad I got the chance to. So, yeah. That's all." I smile at the words. He's awkward. And for the first time in a long time, I've got butterflies. Serious butterflies.
"Look," I say and he cuts me off.
"Sounds like bullshit." I laugh because he's right.

"I think I like you too," I say in the tiny voice that means I'm nervous, skeptical of treading this path. He says nothing for a moment and just when I think I'll suffocate under the weight of the silence he says, "That damn near killed you didn't it?" We burst out laughing again. He's so cute. So damn charming. I'm picturing his face in my head. Can't believe I'm even having this conversation.

At the end of our laughter he says to me, "I can't wait to see you." I smile because he sounds sincere, excited, like a little boy who knows Christmas is right around the corner.
"Me too."
"Alright," he says, recovering nicely from that sappy moment. "You done with the bullshit?"
"Yeah," I reply, smiling despite myself, "I really think I am."

Sunday, November 26, 2006

8 Months Ago

"Hey mami."
He kisses my lips. He tastes like his mint mouthwash. I think it's so cute how he "cleans himself up" before I get here.
"What's wrong?" he asks me, his light brown eyes on mine. I'm trapped between him and the door. Seems proverbial. I could run. But he'd catch me.
"Nothing," I reply, averting my gaze to the floor. I can't seem to lie to him. He knows that.
"Liar," he tosses over his shoulder as he grabs my overnight bag and takes it to his room. I look at the door. I could still make a break for it. I close my eyes and follow him. Once I enter the room he closes the door behind me. Before I can blink my face is in his hands. He kisses me again, deeper. He missed me. He brushes my hair out of my face. I've worn it curly on purpose because he mentioned months ago that he liked it.
"You wanna tell me what's up?" He looks me square in my eyes. I shiver and look away. He shakes me. Part of me is thrilled, exhilerated to be so moved, so outta control. Another part of me, a stronger part of me, is terrified to be so exposed. Sometimes I don't want him to see how he affects me.
"I'm good," I murmur. "Is the game on?" I ask, diverting the conversation. He hates when I do this. I can see it in the hard lines that appear in his jaw. He takes pause for a minute. He's debating whether or not to fight with me. I know it. He conceeds.
"Not yet. Change your clothes," he says and leaves the room.
Victory for the time being.

My hands are shaking. I let out all the air I've been holding in a heavy sigh. I'm so stupid sometimes. I want to not be stupid forever.

I change and join him on the couch, my makeup washed off, sweats on, hair pulled up. He touches my face.
"Come here crazy," he says and tucks me under his arm as the whistle for the tip off sounds. He's murmuring in my hair. Stroking the top of my head, running his fingers through the length of my mane, rubbing the back of my neck. The tension starts to leave me slowly. I feel my back loosen, my shoulders, my neck, my temples. He's working on me. I know it. I wanna talk, but I'm just not that kinda girl.

We watch the game like that, me tucked into him, the smell of his cologne getting in my skin, laughing and smiling, talking too much shit. Between plays he showers me with kisses. My cheeks, the top of my head, my lips, my nose, my forehead, my neck, my collar bone. Oh God I love when he kisses my collar bone. I feel his eye lashes flutter against my neck. I'm disarmed. His whispers in my hair some more. I giggle, soft and sweet and feminine and it occurs to me that I haven't heard me this way in a long time.

Hours later he's asleep and I'm watching him. From time to time he puts his fists up to his face, rubs them into his smooth skin before he settles back into sleep. He looks like a little boy. It's like getting a glimpse of what his sons will look like while they sleep. For a second I allow myself to wonder if I'll be around to watch them sleep too.
He wants to name his son after him. Call him Duece. I know that.

I want to wake him up. I want to tell him about my parents, about my family, about my friends. I want to tell him my life story, the joys, the trivial memories important to only me. I want to tell him about me, give him details I've never told a soul. I want to show him my pain, paint him a complete picture of who I am. I want to let him in my head, get him to understand me better. I need him to understand me. Needing him to want me as I am, honestly, makes so much sense. I want to lay out my life for him and invite him to walk the rest of it with me, if he wants.

But I don't. I put my back to the cold wall and pull at the hair at the back of my neck. Like I have for so many nights, I watch him sleep and I smile because I realize I'm so into him that I even wanna know how he sleeps. I laugh at myself. Sometimes I can be so stupid.

Maybe one day I'll wake him up. Maybe one day I'll stop being a coward, living behind the fear that if I let someone see me as I am, completely, honestly, no glitter or gold, that I'll lose them. But not tonight. Tonight, I tuck myself underneath his arm and he curls his body around mine. He wakes up just long enought to kiss the back of my neck and then drift back off. His skin is warm and I'm hoping that maybe, just maybe, he's patient enough with my coldness to thaw me.

Wednesday, November 8, 2006

Ah HA!!!!

So right after this asshole pulled my dress down in the club, I was standing downstairs at the bar and I realized...

There's nothing out here for me.

I couldn't for the life of me, figure out why I was there. I knew I didn't really wanna come. I'm barely even a club person. I knew where I wanted to be, but instead of following my heart, I decided to do the safe thing.


I realized that maybe I was a little deeper in than what I thought. And it simultaneous scared and thrilled me. I finally got what everyone had been telling me, what he'd been trying to show me, what I'd been trying to tell myself.

There is nothing out here for me that I don't already have waiting for me at home.

I get it now. Thanks universe.

Man vs. Man

Disrespect drives me crazy. To absolutely no end. I recognize that many of the things I find utterly disrespectful, other people simply shrug off. And that's fine.

But let me tell you what isn't...

Disrespecting someone you claim to love, no matter how minor.

I'm one of those people that if I'm with you, I'm WITH you. At the risk of this post coming at you in high definition ghetto, I am the quintessiental ride or die chick. You'll never find anyone more loyal than me. Point blank period. Maybe this is why so many have described me as "wifey material" so often that when I meet friends of friends they go, "oh YOU'RE the one."

Yes. More often than not, I am THE ONE.

I recognize that the things people find disrespectful will vary. Case and point, I'm kinda involved with someone now. Lets call him Psuedo. (By the way Psuedo is short for PsuedoBoyfriendTypeIndividual and was the subject of Parts 1-7.) Me and Psuedo hardly ever fight, but when we do its crazy. He's crazy, I'm crazy, he threatens to shake me like a yoohoo, I say mean and hurtful things. However, one thing that even sporadic fighting with Psuedo has taught me is to respect other peoples boundaries. When I fight, I can be mean, downright cruel actually. However, some of the things he finds infinitely disrespectful, I'd never think twice about. But I've learned (the hard way) that it generally doesn't matter whether or not I agree. It's about respect for him and how he feels about a situation, how he feels about me.

So anyway, I digress.

There are things, as a woman, I'd never do to anyone, let alone my man. There are things that, if a man did them to me, I'd beat his ass in the streets and leave him lying there for his boys to see. (See the high definition ghetto?) Because I will not be disrespected. Under any circumstances.

This weekend, I witnessed some shit that was SO FUCKIN DISRESPECTFUL it made my skin crawl. And it wasn't even directed at me. Didn't even really affect me. As a matter of fact, if I was a differnt kinda woman, I woulda been kinda proud. But I wasn't. I found it kinda sickening. All from a man I've grown to admire and respect. I saw behavior that, if it were done to me... well see above description of beating him down.

But on to the real topic of this post. And the real reason I've finally mentioned Psuedo after so much time. Have you ever had one man in your life do something so mean and dirty that it completely changed your views of another man in your life? I try never to compare people, but there are times when the similarities, and in this case, the vast differences, are glaringly obvious and you must comment. I was talking to Yoj about this situation this weekend, and the more I talked to her the more I realized some things I never realized. (More of that to come in the post about my ah ha moment back during homecoming.) I've never had a man so effortlessly drive me into someone else's arms.

And without even knowing it.

Monday, November 6, 2006

The Return

I can tell I'm getting closer because the trees are turning. In Texas, the trees are still bright green and healthy, even in these early days of November. But the closer I get the more the trees change. First, slight hints of yellow creep into the folliage at the top. Then bright bursts of orange are scattered further down, until eventually there are whole trees, brilliant crimson, majestically standing guard by the side of the highway. I smile. I've always loved fall because of the trees.

I'm getting anxious. I know I'm getting close. With every mile that is tread under the wheels of the Chevy, I am simultaneously excited and calmed. I can't believe I stayed away so long.

I hit the state line and blow the horn two times as we pass the 'Welcome to Georgia' sign. It's a looming blue sign with a peach on it, "Georgia on my mind" scrawled in cursive across the bottom. The interchangeable part at the bottom says Sony Purdue is the mayor. I remember when it said Andrew Jackson. "I need some Atl music," I announce to the car and slip T.I. in the CD player. My foot pushes the pedal to the floor.

Driving up 85 I come upon my favorite view of the city. Leaving the south side of the city and passing Turner Field you can see the skyline perfectly. It's lit up, the lights bouncing off the buildings, the headlights from the cars moving swiftly past and blending into the lumination of the city. Tears start to sting behind my eyes as I struggle rapidly to blink them back. I love this city. I can't believe I've been gone so long.

Atlanta is very different than all the other cities I've ever lived in. It has a soul all its own, a distinct rhythm that you probably misinterpret if you're not from here.
But I am from here. So I feel it very deeply.

I remember, of course, the reasons why I left, the things I was running from. I remember saying to myself that once I left I'd never come back, that there was nothing left in this city for me. I can't believe how wrong I was. Now that the majority of the issues and people I was trying to get away from have fallen by the wayside, my vision is no longer clouded by pain. I love this city. And I love everything about the person I've become due to its influence. I love the street that my grandmother has lived on all my life that's right down the street from the stadium where her beloved Braves play. I love the south side of the city, on the streets of East Point, College Park, the S.W.A.T.S. where I did most of my growing up. I love passing by my high school and remembering cheering at football games, the entire sky lit up for miles from the Friday night lights. I love sliding through the back streets of Decatur that I know like a lover I've had forever, tiny roads that wind through all so many different neighborhoods you'd think it was a different city all together. Now that I am farther removed from the things I suffered before I left, I can see unbiasedly places I've been, the streets I've driven, the places I love to eat that you'd never know about unless you lived here, the landmarks I love, the corners I've stood on, the secret places that are dear to me, each holding their own special memory. As I drive, the memories wash over me and coat me like a second skin. Atlanta is who I am.

I turn on the radio just because I want to hear music that does something to me, hear people who talk like me. Each time I answer my phone to friends demanding to know if I've arrived yet, my old accent creeps back in and I realize how much I've missed it while I was making an effort to cut down the amount of times someone asked me "Huh?!?!" in a conversation. I roll the windows down and let the air roll over me. Its cold. It smells like maple syrup and pine. It's fall. It's home.

I still know why I left, why I vowed I'd never come back. And I won't negate those reasons. But I just can't believe I've been gone so long. I can't believe I ever thought I could stay away. I miss being here so much my heart hurts, even my skin crawls with the need to get out and reconnect with the streets I know, relearn my shortcuts through alleys and backstreets. The Chevy hugs the curves of 285 now as I look up at the clear night sky. I. Missed. This.

The one thing you never learn until the day you finally learn it is that you can always come home. It may look different, it may change in some superficial ways, but it will always feel the same. No matter what made you leave, good, bad or indifferent, you always belong somewhere if you still love it. You can always rebuild a life there if you desire it. No matter what happens and where life carries you, you can always come home.

I'm driving but I'm watching the trees. The moonlight streams through the branches, illuminating the vibrant fall colors. The wind rustles the leaves and knocks a few free. I watch them as they flutter to the ground. Four years ago when I left, I remember being melancholy when the fall hit, feeling sad for the leaves that died and fell from the trees. Now that I'm older, wiser, and far more settled in my skin, I look at the leaves and feel at peace with their earthly tumble. I know that even though they fall, they are part of a process. They'll be recycled, turned back into the earth that they are apart of. Renewed and replenished in another form. Still a part of the process, still a part of the city from which they came. I, like the leaves, get thrown and scattered, but I know now, unlike I did then, that I am still part of the scenery. No matter where I fall, I can always return home.

Monday, October 30, 2006

Just Kidding!!!

All that shit I said...

I take it back.

Excuse me while I go kick myself. This might take a minute. Please enjoy the following old posts I've been meaning to post from my sidekick.

I'll be gone awhile.

I Blame Madam and you Should Too

Three Names You Go By: La, Ducky, Wife

Three Parts of Your Heritage: Only 3? Um... black... Cherokee... maybe a lil Hispanic

Three Things That Scare You: bridges over water, failure, being abandoned

Three of Your Everyday Essentials: Sidekick3, my planner, a big bag to carry it all in

Three Things You Are Wearing Right Now: gray sweats, gray Miami tshirt, red and black striped panties

Three of Your Favorite Bands or Musical Artists: Stevie Wonder, Christina Aguilerra, Maroon 5

Three of Your Favorite Songs: "As" Stevie Wonder, "Learned from the Best" Whitney Houston, "Hurt" Christina Aguilerra

Three Things You Want in a Relationship: humor, loyalty, honesty

Three Physical Things about the Opposite Sex You Like: smile, tattoos, really nice arms

Three of Your Favorite Hobbies: singing, writing, IMing

Three Things You want really badly right now: a Reese's that has been in the freezer, not to be sleeping alone, to not live in Houston

Three people you would like to see do this: Jam, Wife, V

Three Non-Physical Things about the Opposite Sex: swagger, acute intelligence, talent

Three Favorite T.V. shows: Grey's Anatomy, Sex and the City, Brothers and Sisters

Three Songs that you have listened to while completing this meme: none.


I've kept many secrets in my life. Many. Almost lived two lives in one.

But I've never liked it.

There were times, though, when it felt necessary.

Like now.

There are things I wanna say, subjects I wanna touch, ghosts that linger in the corners of my bedroom at night that I should have long since exorcised.

But I haven't. I can't. I probably should.

But I won't.

Sometimes, it is cruel to speak the truth. Sometimes, it hurts more than it helps. Sometimes there are things that you should say, you want to say, you need to say, but it isn't for the best. And maybe the better person is the one that chooses to do the least amount of damage as necessary.

Or that's what I tell myself.

There are things I should say. Truths I should speak. But I can't. Or maybe I won't. I know there's a difference. I wanna talk but I think it's best I stay quiet, hold on to it.

Maybe that's why I can't write.

But I can't.


I thought I knew who you were
I see now you were a lesson to learn
And all I am to you now
Is a bridge that's been burned

I look back over things in my life, people I've known, and the 50/50 is priceless. I can't believe I didn't see some things that I can see now. I can't believe there were people I didn't see for who they are. I can't believe there are people I allowed to tell me who I am in their eyes. People I allowed close to me when in the back of my mind I knew I shouldn't. Can't believe I let things get so outta control just so it wouldn't seem like I couldn't have faith, couldn't believe.

I'm just rambling of course. But I'm still surprised. At myself. At the sheer audacity of people and the way they've treated me. At myself and the people I've allowed in my life, at how I've allowed myself to be perceived.

I should've let go sooner.

Hindsight is a muthafucka.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Howard, Howard UUUUUUUU... THE REAL HU!!!!

I am thoroughly depressed. Why? Because I just left home to come home. And by the 1st 'home' I mean Howard, the 2nd of course being the wretched flooding wasteland called Houston. I went to DC for Howard's Homecoming, which will always, ALWAYS be the highlight to my year for all the years I live and breathe and can still do shots of tequilla and jack daniels, lol. I was talking to a friend of mine from Atl and when I told him about my big ballin' plans for homecoming he was mystified. The convo went something like this:

Him: You're flying all the way back to DC just for homecoming?
Me: Uh, yeah.
Him: For what though?
Me: Um... I went to Howard. You DO know that
Him: Yeah...
Me: You have CLEARLY never been to a HU homecoming

I realize if you never went to Howard, never been to the HU Homecoming festivities, you just can't feel me on this. And that's fine. But please respect the fact that my homecoming is like no other. Don't believe me? Anytime an event causes more celebrities to flock to town than the BET awards and Diddy, he of the benevolent White Party, throws an all weekend party in honor of the school who's colors I wear? Then as the AKAs put it at the step show, "This is SERIOUS business."

So just to recap a la wife...

Thursday: My flight is delayed by two and a half hours. TWO AND A HALF HOURS. As if I wasn't already dead tired from working that morning, and then rushing from said work straight to the airport in rush hour traffic only to find that I needent rush at all. (Hahaha 'needent') So I finally get to DC (well B-more actually), and Thursday I spend getting some QT in where it really needed to be gotten in.... no, no. That's all you get, lol.

Friday: I make it to yardfest which has to be the wackest thing ever in life with the exception of the fact that the weather is BEAUTIFUL for the first time in 4 years and Monica overwhelms me so with her hometown ghetto that I tell chicks all weekend that they're "sideline hoes", also known as the greatest song ever written. The Wife, me, & Arion make a quick run to Pentagon City where I purchase my very first freakum dress (in candy apple red for those of you wondering) for the evenings festivities at Love/Dream/Dandelion (whatever its called this week). After Wackfest is over, we head to the car, a silver Jeep Liberty rented just for the occasion. (Having a full time job really allows you to ball on a whole 'nother level.) We do dinner at Lauriol Plaza, I get slightly throwed on mojitos and get to drunk texting. Can't be too bad, I guess. Nothing exploded. We stay so long that I sober up. We rush home, I throw on my freakum dress (lol!) and we hit the door. After a slight bit of drama we hit Love/Dream/Dandelion, get inside and trying to find breathing room. It is RIDICULOUS how packed it is on ALL FOUR LEVELS. I feel like a celebrity cuz every few feet I bump into someone I know, someone who wants to see me later, wants to take a picture. (Yall know I'm on my superstar shit EARLY, lol) After awhile, I break for the bathroom. Trying to push my way through the crowd, I encounter a guy who drunkenly thinks it'll be a good idea to not only fondle my breasts but to pull my dress down. Did I mention I wasn't wearing a bra? So he exposed to me to the club. So... I punched him in his face. I think I mighta cut him with my ring cuz I got a lil blood when I came back. Yes, I punched him. All 5 foot 3 of me. The crowd starts to push so they carry me away from him as I'm determined to make my way back to him because at this point I've decided that I'm gonna fight him. And not just fight him, but I'm gonna beat his ass so bad that they're going to throw me out and ban me from even turning down Okie Street again. Because, yes ladies and gentleman, as much as she hates to admit it, sometimes La CAN be THAT ghetto. Eventually I give up and wind up downstairs with the wife, shoes off, and angrily staring at the floor contemplating the AUDACITY OF THIS HOE NIGGA. A cutie from New York buys me a bottle of water and I'd like to at least be cordial but between my anger and my ah ha! moment (I'll get into that in another post) I just couldn't fit it. So I played the kinda shy role so he wouldn't be put off and feel offended, thanked him for the Voss, sent a text message and turned to play in my wife's hair. Later we left and I dropped off the folks that had ridden with us, then headed back to the apartment, showered the DC nigga filth off me and spent a lil while talking to J, who never fails to make me smile when I need it. I figure I'll sleep and hopefully with all we have planned tomorrow, it'll be better cuz tonight has been officially ruined for me...

(to be continued...)

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Ode to Joy

"She said you was a hoe."
"She WHAT?!?!" I shriek, the end of my sentence jumping up an octave sounding like the crash of plates on a marble floor.
"Yeah," the girl repeats. "She said you was a hoe."
My mouth feels like sandpaper and butterflies start to dance in my stomach. My butterscotch skin flushes deep crimson with embarassment and shame.
"That bitch don't know me to be talkin' about me like that," I say, a lil bit of the ghetto I try so hard to keep hold of seeping out.

On the inside though, my bravado is nonexistant. She didn't know me, the frigid Catholic school girl who was afraid to kiss a boy, let alone screw with the magnificant numbers I was being accused of. Who was she to call me a hoe?

She hadn't called me a hoe of course. But I wouldn't know that 'til later.

But that's how I first met Joy, the first and most important love of my life. After actually taking the time to talk to her, I realized that she hadn't, and never would, call me a whore and that I liked her. So she became my friend. And we haven't had an argument since.

In those early years, we'd sit in her room and be silly, throwing stuffed animals at one another while we ducked behind well placed furniture. We'd harmonize to lofty melodies in music genres that "real black people" didn't listen to. We'd read magazines and talk about what we wanted to be when we grew up. We'd share our poetry with each other, self important verbose stanzas that soon drifted into beautifully simplistic arrangements that more reflected the women we would become. We'd share our past pains, way too deep and too various for children, but present nonetheless. And sometimes, we'd just sit. Maybe one of us would sleep (usually me as I never really slept at home) or maybe we'd both be awake and off in our own little worlds. But it was comfortable. It was a silence you could walk into and feel at ease. Even when we were quiet our worlds were intertwined.

What's most important to know is that Joy and I have been friends for at least 10,000 years.

No. Really.

I feel like I've known her forever. I know that I'll know her for eternity. She is my better half, the part of me that makes me complete unto myself. She is the one that saved me, and has brought me closer than ever to the woman I've always wanted to be.

When we were younger, we went through our own growing pains, seperate but still intertwined, filling each other in at the moments we could find. I remember being in high school and her having a boyfriend that monopolized alot of her time. I felt that acute loss, as though the colors in my life were less vibrant. The harmonies were less haunting. I realized then, however, no matter what I'd never lose her, as she'd become too vital to my everyday life.

Joy has been there for everything. She bears witness to my life, taking on the responsibilities of remembering details that even I have long forgotten. More often than not, many of our conversations about the days of yore will go something like...
Her: That's not what happened.
Me: Really?
Her: No honey remember....
Me: Ohhhh yeeeeeaaaaah

And then it's better.

I love her. And she loves me which, perhaps might be the greatest feat any human has ever attempted and accomplished. I'm harder than landing on the moon. But she does. For some reason I've yet to put my finger on. She is the one person in this world I can talk to about everything with and never fear being judged. The only person I can disagree with without arguing. In 10,000 years of friendship, we've never had a fight. Not one. We've never gone long stretches without speaking in some form, with the exception of once when I was going through more than I thought I could bear. And even then when I finally realized how selfish I'd been to abandon her attempts at helping me just to drown myself in my own misery and take on my issues all alone, and I came back ready to grovel and beg at her feet for forgiveness, all she asked me was, "So how was your day?"

Joy made me learn to be responsible for others besides myself. Loving her forced me to realize that although I'd never known selfless love, love where it was possible for one to be more concerned with another than themselves, that it existed and that I was responsible for making it last. She made me learn to care for people, to allow them to care for me. If I ever married someone, I'd have to love him the same way I do Joy. Because once you've been exposed to what real love feels like, you can never go back.

She has a boyfriend whom I adore, for whom I thank God everyday for sending to her. I keep telling her to hurry up and marry him, and not just because I wanna see her in a pretty dress. But because he is the only person I trust with her outside myself and he takes such wonderful care of her. Because her marriage would be cemented proof that love like ours flowers and flourishes, and can be forever, if we work at it. It would be evidence that love is out there for me, and that, if something should ever happen to me, she'd be taken care of in the manner I'd like.

I've never been one for making myself readily emotionally available to others, but she knows me inside and out. The only person that doesn't make me feel weak for crying, that listens when I bitch about things, that can tell me I'm wrong without hurting my feelings. She is my better half, the representation of all the things I that I am and want to be, all wrapped up in a beautiful package that can make me literally laugh outloud on days when I can barely manage a smile. The sound of her ring on my phone, or seeing her name pop up next to a text message she's sent still never fails to get a smile from me. She gets my jokes. She likes my shoes. She encourages my enchantment with shiny things and believes in my talent. She loves my friends, and screens my boyfriends, because meeting her is more important than meeting my parents. She finds me pretty makeup she thinks I'll like, and sends me random pictures of things she knows I'll wanna see. It makes me feel like I'm more a part of her everyday life. And I miss that. If she were dying, I'd give my life to save hers. If she couldn't have children, I'd carry them for her because I know she'd be an amazing mom. And only a lil because it would be a really cool story to tell to my niece or nephew. If I got married, she'd be the only person that the wedding couldn't go on without if she couldn't be there. If I died, I'd want her to take care of my husband and children. And to get all my shoes. She's the sole beneficiary on my life insurance policy, and her opinion is the only one that really matters when I'm picking out cars or potential suitors. If she doesn't like them, they have to go. As long as I have money she is never poor. As long as I have food she is always fed. As long as I have a house, she has a home. Come hell or high water, she is the person I'm gonna spend the rest of my life with.

So this week (next week? I know, I'm the worst with the dates) is our frienaversary, a celebration of our friendship that we do yearly that I came up with last year. I realized, I've celebrated an anniversary with every boyfriend I've had (when I remembered) and she's far more important than any of them. So this is a celebration of us. In 11 years I've only written a handful of things about her because even I can never seem to do us any justice. I hope everyone knows love like ours at least once in their lives. If I were to die tomorrow, she'd be the one thing I know I got right.

So I celebrate us, the life we've shared, the worlds we've intertwined, the little ladies we'll one day be, sitting in a room quietly, you knitting and me reading a book, not speaking because we've shared a volume of words over our lifetime and our friendship has transcended mere companionship. I thank you too, because without you, I can't imagine who'd I'd be or even, if I'd be. So I owe you my everything. And yet, you ask me for nothing.
And that's what real love is like.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Psychosensory Insecurity Interlude

I'm sick. Like, physically, literally sick. I can't shake this feeling in the pit of my stomach. I feel nervous, all the time. And not butterflies-in-my-stomach-oh-god-there-goes my-crush-he's-so-cute nervous. Like absolutely-sick-something-awful-is-happening-and-I-can't-do-anything-about-it-but-get-an ulcer nervous. I've been throwing up all day to the point that now it's just liquid coming and my stomach feels like I've been stabbed with heated metal. I'm distracted, distant, trying not to dissolve into tears at work.

Lying on the tile in the bathroom I can't help but wonder what's wrong with me, where along the line I lost control so terribly so. I can't possibly continue to feel this way. I can't survive like this. It isn't supposed to be like this.

I'm anxious. I'm contemplating my next step forward but I can't get off the floor. I'm so tired. Last nite I tossed and turned all night, running things over in my head, trying to tie up the loose ends so they fit nicely over a box I'd like to put up on the shelf now and forget. I'd get hot. I'd toss my covers away. Chills would attack my body. I'd huddle under the covers. Back and forth. Hot and cold.

In and out.

I can't believe I've let myself feel this way. Over what? For what? I pull myself halfway off the floor. My heart isn't in it. I lean heavily against the wall. My heart and my head are somewhere down south, my head forming images my heart can't take. I'm seeing it, hearing it, smelling it, tasting it. I start to take in short rapid breaths. I feel like I'm suffocating, like someone is wrapping a warm blanket around my head. I close my eyes. I can still see it. I gasp for breath as the edges of my vision blur to black. I can't be the girl who died on the bathroom floor at work.

I launch myself at the toilet again and barely make it. I can't live like this. My stomach is in knots. My legs are trembling. My body is so tense I can't open my hands. Sweat drips down my spine. It feels like kisses. Its almost erotic the feel of the cold trail down my skin. I see it again. I hear their words, feel their touches, and the knife goes through my stomach. Back to the toilet.

I sink down on the floor, my back against the cool tile. They starts silently, the tears, and I let them slip easily into my hair. I lay perfectly still. I open my eyes so wide they hurt and make myself watch the movie playing in my mind projected across the ceiling. I watch it. I study it. I don't even blink.

After it's over I peel myself in layers off the floor and put myself together. My skin feels hot but I'm cold from inside. So cold I can't even shiver. I can't open my hands. I can't feel my heart. I open the door and walk out as though nothing has happened. I feel the rhythm of it in each of my footsteps. I know it so well, felt it so many times. I smile but my heart isn't in it. My heart is somewhere down south, breaking, because my mind can see what my heart doesn't want to hear.

This is the danger of having an open heart.

Saturday, October 7, 2006


Joy and I have deep convos via text. Here; partake.

Joy: Why do girls hang around a guy causally and then say they're dating? Even when he's said he doesn't wanna be in a relationship?
La: Are you talking about me and Psuedo or do you want an unbiased answer?
Joy: Huh? But that was soo different. I know your situation. And you would never say you were dating. Both. Just an opinion.
La: I think a woman's sight sometimes is so beyond that of a man that we can see when things could be really good which makes it harder for us to let go. Because no matter how cynical we are, we're still hopeful. Like with Babe.. I always knew we could be great together but the theory isn't quite as mathmatically sound as the actual equation. But because women posess the ability to look past the moment, unlike many men, they're more likely to get attatched to the theory than the hard numbers of the equation. Get it?

Math is a funny thing. It never changes. It is universally the same. Which is probably why my creative mind can't stand it, has never really been able to fully comprehend it. But you really have no choice to wrap your head aroung it. Because it doesn't change or shift. It is simply fact.

Think back to That Guy. Everybody has one. You know That Guy. The one you couldn't have built any better if you had the opportunity to design him just to tailor fit you. The one that things shoulda been, coulda been so RIGHT with. And yet for some inexplicable reason it didn't work out. You can't figure out why. It drives you crazy. He was everything you wanted and needed. But the math just wasn't right.

I don't guess I have to ever like math. But it still won't change. Still won't make us right together if we were meant to be left.

Friday, October 6, 2006


I wrote this like 5 years ago. I was having a roundtable preparing for a role in a play I was doing and we were talking about love. After telling someone that I didn't want to get married, the question was posed to me as to what it would take for me to fall completely in love, what it would take for me to want to spend the rest of my life with someone. And this is what I wrote:

I want someone I can be bare with. I want someone who puts my soul at ease & my mind at rest. I want someone who excites my spirit and stirs my intellect. I want someone who knows me, inside out, completely and totally and never uses my flaws against me. I want someone who loves me for me. Someone who can make me laugh, and make me cry, someone with whom the very attempt at trying to articulate what I feel for them reduces me to tears. I want someone who loves me completely, not fractionally or marginally, just as much as I love them. No more, no less. I want someone who is intelligent, with whom every conversation is just as free flowing, just as inspiring and as the one before. Even when it is about nothing. I want to still be able to talk to him when we are 80, to have conversations even better than the ones we had in the late nights of the adolescence of our relationship. I want someone who isn't just funny, but is hilarious, who makes me laugh in my darkest hours, and who knows when I don't need to laugh. Someone who knows when I need to be alone in those dark places and doesn't judge or feel misplaced in my life due to my need to care for myself. I want someone who inspires me to poetry, someone who I cannot capture with words on a page, for whom I have to tear up a million pieces of paper because the words I've written do his elegance no justice. I want someone who moves me to sing and makes me finally understand the words to every love song I've ever heard. I want someone with whom every kiss still feels like the first time, still makes my heart speed and my barriers melt. I want someone who is patient of me when my head conflicts with my heart and I can't find the medium between the two forces. I want someone who encourages me to be deeper, stronger, better. I want someone who needs me, who understands if I don't always quite know how to need him. I want someone adventurous, someone who wants to go with me wherever my heart may take us and isn't afraid to let me lead. I want someone who is honest with me, is laid open to me in an intimate way that can only be achieved by carefully built trust. I want someone who will strip me down, but will love me just as much, if not more, when the decorations are few, the distractions are fleeting, and all that's left is who I am and who I hope loving him will make me be.

Still true.

Sunday, October 1, 2006


"Lil mama learn game. And learn it young. Get it down so good that niggas can't even shake you wit it. Learn game like you learned to breathe; make it a habit. And never pull your cards. Aces only win when they played right."

This is something a girl I used to run with used to tell me all the time. She was older than me, a big sister of sorts, that took it upon herself to teach me the things I missed out on from not having an older sister. She used to repeat it all the time like scripture, her inflection never changing, the same intent glare always trapping my eyes to hers.

"Learn it like you learned to breathe; make it habit."

I was fairly manipulative in high school. I never outright lied, I was just a master at redirection. She taught me that too. Well, her and some other well placed influences in my life.
"Mystery is like a rope," she used to say. "You give 'em enough and they'll hang themselves. All you gotta do is cut em down when you're through."

I was young and in need of guidance so I listened, mastered her ways and crafted them into techniques that could suit my own needs. I controlled my boyfriend. I ran my mouth and never got into fights over it. I kept a second string of niggas on the roster just in case my man messed up. They went over and above for me even though they knew I had a man. Because I had them like that.

But I didn't like me much.

"Aces lil mama. Pull your aces," she used to tell me and I perfected it. Reading people, watching them, saying the right thing at the right time, watching their confidence waiver. Aces. I always pulled the right card at the right time. They'd be in awe of me. Wondering how I'd read them so well so easily. Who was I to "get them"? Mystery is like rope...

My timing was impeccable.

But I didn't like me very much back then. I wanted someone to do things for me, not because I'd manipulated them into it but because they wanted to. So I stopped. And just started to be me. No subtle manipulations, no subconscious persuasions. I just let me be me and dealt with whoever came on that honest level.

But sometimes I think honesty can only get you so far. Because many times when you're honest, about who you are, about your faults, about your fears, some will hold it against you like a knife at your throat. They'll exploit your fears, blame situations on you that have no bearings on the truth you've presented them. Many times, they'll use this truth against you, convince you that your feelings are void because of your fears, blame their failures on your faults.

Not all, but some.

At least when I had control over things, I wasn't getting hurt. No, not hurt. Devastated. Well timed aces cut cards, never get cut.

"Learn game like you learned to breathe; make it habit."

I'm thinking on it. I'm learning the ways of people.

And I'm getting better everyday.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

I'm Not Dead

Stace sent me a myspace SOS so I felt the need to reach out. I'm not dead. I just find myself lacking motivation. I know, I know, I suck. But working 40 plus hours and coming home only to lather rinse repeat leaves one pretty lacking. I'll come up with something one day I hope. Sorry if you guys miss me. I'll still be around, stalking your blogs. Oh!! And everyone go and support X while she goes thru her master cleanse. I'm super proud of her and that system, while it works, is friggin' HARD! So go leave her pretty notes.

That is all.

And someone get Stace's panties off the ceiling.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

Just a Lil Message of Love for my People Who've Been Institutionalized

Shouts out to Queen for this well written and eloquent piece she wrote for the student newspaper at the only HBCU that matters.

Countdown to HU Homecoming...

29 days...

Tuesday, September 12, 2006


Here's the thing...

There's alot going on in my life right now. ALOT. Way more than I wish there was. And I can't take further complication. And I would think that the people that knew me best, understood me, knew my circumstance would be understanding of the horrible job I'm doing of balancing everything in my life and would be careful to not make it even harder on me.

Only, notsomuch.

That's not what I get. I get added stress.

I don't need complications. Especially not ones outside myself. Especially not ones that I have control over, that I don't have to add to. I need no drama. I'm too old, spiritually, to still be doing the same things I did as a child.

So I won't.

So let me tell you all this, if you can't bring me positivity, solutions, understanding, insane amounts of patience, simplicity, I don't need you. I have no use for you.

Call me callous, call me cold, cruel and distant. That's fine.

But bring no more bullshit to my door.

Friday, September 8, 2006

Dear Beyawnce...

I have some things I need to say to Beyonce about the content of her new album. This convo between me and Keyz aka Hollywood aka Tha Kid, the author or "You Heard That New...".

KeYz0382: Did u check my shiiitt?
Lalafrmatl: oh u mean u FINALLY updated nig?
Lalafrmatl: lol
KeYz0382: Lol
Lalafrmatl: I'm reading now. and biggie was SO not better than Pac, in your mind or anywhere else
KeYz0382: That's why it says....IN MY MIND
Lalafrmatl: and that's fine. I'm just commenting
Lalafrmatl: and you know what I'm not hating on beyonce b/c of her songs. most of the songs I've heard so far i like... but she's trying to pass off songs like "Freekum Dress" and singing to her pussy in "Kitty Kat" as "female empowerment", a record that "women need to hear".
Telling a girl to put on a short ass, tight ass dress and stick her ass out cuz her man ain't giving her no dick is NOT female empowerment. Don't try to make it deep. Say it's a party record w/only 1 ballad on it. Don't bullshit the fans into thinking this is a return to "Independent Woman" Beyonce b/c she got so much flack for "Cater 2 U" and songs like that
Lalafrmatl: the songs on B'Day are hot as hell. Her production is the shit and "Resentment" is the best song she's ever written
KeYz0382: I love resentment
Lalafrmatl: I'm glad she didn't do Dangerously in Love pt 2. But do NOT try to pass it off as female empowerment
KeYz0382 : Did she say that??
Lalafrmatl: YES SHE DID SAY THAT. Those are direct quotes
KeYz0382:People are never satisfied
Lalafrmatl : "B'Day is a album about female empowerment. It's a record women NEED to hear. So I'm really proud of it"
KeYz0382: Shit it was lol
Lalafrmatl: her daddy needs always be in charge of her PR
KeYz0382: Damn people are reallllly tough on her. Like she's their artist
Lalafrmatl: personally, I'm gonna buy her album on the day it comes out. but I don't think the comments she has made about it are responsible or even smart. People are hard on her. She is the ONLY real black female artist out there doing her thing so until the standards in the industry change she's gonna take the brunt of it. It's not fair but she has a real responsibility
KeYz0382: You gotta let artist be ARTIST
Lalafrmatl: but is she an artist? or is she an entertainer? because there is a diference. I LOVE Beyonce. I have just about everything she's ever touched. But I'd never call her an artist. To say she's an artist would be to say that her songs will still be classics 30 yrs from now that people of all ages know and can sing by heart. And if "Freakum Dress" becomes a song my kids sing that changes their life I'm gonna to cry. You can say that about Stevie Wonder's body of work as a whole. I don't think u can say that about Beyonce. So i wouldn't consider her an artist in as much as I would a really great entertainer
KeYz0382: She's an artist. Period. Cassie is an entertainer
KeYz0382: Cheri Dennis is an entertainer, Danity Kane, Young Joc; entertainer
Lalafrmatl: and so is Beyonce. She might be better at it than all of them, but artistry is implying a certain quality, a consistency in your work. a certain calibur of your entire body of work and a responsibility for what it will say to the world and represent. She doesn't have that
KeYz0382: Can Cassie or any other bitch get up there an blow like her?
Lalafrmatl: It's not just about her voice. There's o CONSISTENCY. "Resentment" stands alongside "Kitty Kat". See, everyone thinks that just b/c you're labeled an entertainer you can't sing. I never said that and I don't believe that. Beyonce can blow and her verbratto is so beautiful. I don't think we'll hear anything like it for many years. If you can't sing you just SUCK. That doesnt mean u fall into entertainer catagory by default lol
KeYz0382: Its a song..........its not what she represents as a person......shit females feel like why not express it. It don't mean people have to sing it 30 years from now, and it don't mean she's not consistant.It just means she's thinking about how a female would really think about it. Like I don't think its her best work but I damn sure think its good work......
Lalafrmatl: b/c artistry is a complete representation of not only yourself but of the people you represent. She hasn't put that much of herself into her music. Yes she's polite and a good person. But who is she? What does she think? Why is she incapable of not giving the same rote answers in an interview? She's a star. But she's not an artist who is making music that will be affect her fans and actually SAY something. "Get Me Bodied" is not a statement. It doesnt say anything. B'Day is GREAT work. Vocally she sounds better than she ever has, her production is perfect. But is it art? Is it art just b/c she sounds good, has written her own songs, and her music is good? NO. That should be the standard. not the exception. We shouldn't applaud people when they do it. That should be the VERY LEAST we expect from people
KeYz0382: Well if that's the case.........NO ONE out right now is an artist
Lalafrmatl: You're exactly right. Our generation has AWESOME entertainers. Beyonce is AMAZING in concert. I've seen her twice and even have them all on dvd. But I wouldn't call too much of anyone out right now an artist
KeYz0382: I mean seriously, I don't think that if Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles were blind they woulda made the same music
Lalafrmatl: You might be right about that. But we can't judge their careers based on conjecture. We have to take their body of work as is. I think Beyonce is fully capable of making an album that is artistically socially relevant and capable of stretching over generations. Will she ever do it? HELL NO. So I have to judge not what she COULD do, but what she HAS done
KeYz0382: U think pharrell is an artist?
Lalafrmatl: Actually I do
KeYz0382: tell me this would u want ur son singing "shake ur money maker"..........drop it like its hot........give it to me...... or some of his lyrics? What makes him different?
Lalafrmatl: nope I wouldn't. But i am taking his artistry in relation to his genre. Hip hop made socially conscious songs but it also made party songs. It's a part of of the foundation. So not everyone is responsible for making life altering Hip Hop. But you'll never catch him saying "Light Your Ass on Fire" is an empowerment record for women. If u take Beyonce is relation to her genre, R&B, you mean to tell me you think "Kitty Kat" will stand up against "Through the Fire"? "Fairy Tales"? "Is it a Crime"? That it will be as beloved, as widely known and incorporated into the historic moments in people's lives as "Ribbon in the Sky"?
KeYz0382: The times are completly..........DIFFERENT. Are they not?
Lalafrmatl: yes the times are different but we've taken this bullshit that we've been given and b/c its packaged nicely and marketed well we accept it. Nevermind that half our "artists" don't sing live, can't write music, don't play an instrument, don't even have anything musically going for themselves other than being marketable. We don't hold our artists accountable anymore. Does everyone have to be all of those things? No. But shouldn't you at least be somewhat musical, something other than pretty if you're gonna be in the MUSIC business
KeYz0382: We tolerate this garbage. But I accept Beyonce as an artist during this time. Of all time? She's not there yet. But she's doing the best by far in our time
Lalafrmatl: ok i can see that. But should our standards of what an artist is be a sliding scale according to what year they come out?
KeYz0382: Will she equate to aretha......patti.....janet? I mean yes and no. Hell B'Day is a damn good album
Lalafrmatl: But don't bullshit me and tell me it's female empowerment. Tell me you made a party CD that you're really proud of, that you sound really good on. Be HONEST. I'm so sick of people getting in interviews and giving these bullshit, rehearsed answers that don't make sense. Now resentment? That's female empowerment. Singing to your pussy? Notsomuch lol. So say you've got this great track on your album called resentment that you think every woman needs to hear. Don't tell me that "Freakum Dress" is the song thats gonna empower me to be a better woman
KeYz0382: Well u have ur points and opinions and ur actually very accurate with them. It's the best argument by far
KeYz0382: But I just think an "artist" of this time has a lot more to bring to the table
Lalafrmatl: No one can compare with Beyonce right now. I'd rather listen to her than Cassie ANY DAY
KeYz0382: Which why she is the best "artist" out right now. Cause there aren't any artist out right now
Lalafrmatl: And I agree. I just think we've changed our standards of what artistry is to fit the talent out rather than changed the talent to fit the standard
KeYz0382: I think with the times we were forced 2. Yo can't sing about civil rights or boycotting or historical shit like that
Lalafrmatl: I don't think so. I think we accepted alot of crap from people who got into the business b/c it was lucrative and not b/c they LOVED it. And it bastardized it. No we can't sing about that stuff. But you mean to tell me there are no social issues someone could sing about? Or hell, even personal issues someone could sing about?
KeYz0382: Personally the only one who can really get away with stuff like that still is Alicia Keys
KeYz0382: Nah ur right
Lalafrmatl: I love beyonce. But I feel like I dont get to see her on an album. Her issues, her thoughts, her insecurities, just her as a human. People give Christina Aguilerra alot of shit but I feel like she's honest
KeYz0382: She is
Lalafrmatl: I feel like i have a good idea of who she is, what she's been thru, what she stands for
KeYz0382: But at the same time exposing everything is a dangerous move
Lalafrmatl: I personally, am just tired of being lied to. Think abut it, Christina is honest, but do you really know anything personal about her marriage ? No. Alicia is honest but do you know anything about her relationship? No. There's doing a reality show and opening yourself up to criticism, and then there's just being plain honest. Considering how much responsibility Beyonce has as an artist b/c there is no one else representing young black women well right now to the degree that she does, I would think she would be more honest and not say that "Get me Bodied" or "Ring the Alarm" is womens' empowerment


It's a funny thing about poison, you only need very little of it to kill you. Once you ingest it, once it's in you, in your blood stream, it's very hard to rid yourself of it's affects. Sometimes you have to let it run it's course.

The only thing is, you don't know if it'll make you sick or if it'll kill you.

I feel like I'm being poisoned here. All the hard work I've done on myself the last four years seems like it's being erased in favor of the tools of survival I adopted a long time ago. And...

yep. I just lost it.

So much for posting.

Thursday, September 7, 2006

More Stuff Because I Can't Come up With an Original Post

HAHAHA my friends are silly, a lil racist... and oddly insightful. Reminds me of why I'm happy to be off-white. LOL

pizo2205: Dangling is what I'm doing
lalafrmatl: lol what's wrong?
pizo2205: At the UPS line or whatever, they waiting for the truck with my package to come in. Fuck the fact that they was supposed to be here at 8, and that I live a short field goal away from the fucking store. Niggas. We're not even in a store, we're standing in line outside a fucking warehouse like welfare babies waiting on free cheese and peanut butter
lalafrmatl: u cant get right LMAO!
pizo2205: Not jiffy, but the hard ass peanut butter that breaks plastic knives
lalafrmatl: oooh the kind with the lumps in it?
pizo2205: And not velveeta, but the hard ass cheese you gotta hold down like you cutting thru a fire log. This is bullshit
lalafrmatl: if it makes you feel better, u are entertaining the hell outta me right now
pizo2205: Niggas can't do shit right. Nothing
lalafrmatl: when is the truck supposed to get there?
pizo2205: He said 8
pizo2205: He said 8:15
pizo2205: Now he checking again
pizo2205: Tell a nigga sneeze, he cough. Tell a nigga jump, he fall. Tell a nigga get money, he quit his job to work on the block slanging rocks for less money, longer hours, no insurance, and more math
lalafrmatl: but if he's lucky, he's got a chick that loves him enough to cook his shit for him (this comes from a earlier conversation about the lack of romance in rap music. It is directly related to a Rick Ross song where he says he cooks his chick lobster tails and she cook his crack. You know, old fashioned romance)
pizo2205: If he's lucky. And chances are the lazy hoe can't cook shit else
lalafrmatl: ay if you can cook crack what else do you need to be able to cook? Niggas is greedy
pizo2205: You get a package, you deliver package. If I go home, you give it back to ups store closest to my house you fucking idiot. How hard is that? It's a very simple ass concept but niggas will find a way
pizo2205: Only niggas build a country under forced labor, get free, get rights and then say fuck it. Fucking lazy ass no work doing complaining all the damn time living at home with my grandma while pushing a Range Rover on 26's to Magic City every night talking bout I'm balling but I don't pay rent and hoes on your broke ass dick cause of your rims ass fucking people. Fucking waste I tell you. Waste. Let these crackers take our music, our culture and put out whatever the fuck they like. Fucking Chingy, fucking 36 Mafia winnin' Oscars. Did annnnnnybody see Malcom X!?! Aaaaanybody see Glory?!?
lalafrmatl: I LOVE glory... I sense that this is not the point
pizo2205: Hard out here for a pimp was the funniest song ever, I thought the movie was a comedy, crackers on the other hand wait for ignorant shit to come out so they can pigeonhole us as the ignant ass niggas in the movie. That nigga couldn't rap, pimp, or sell drugs that good, now he's successful, and that's the Oscar winning shit we get. Ya think Idlewild gonna win anything ya fucking crazy. Ain't enough pimpin' and hoeing or all around cooning for that shit. They actually resemble black people. I need a blog, I'd write this shit. And smack anybody that wants to disagree. I've never seen a people that know we're at a disadvantage and still do less work then other mufuckas. The Mexicans will suck shit out your ass with a straw for $3 per hour. Niggas will quit a temp job the first day cause they don't get smoke breaks and blame the boss

Ahh gotta love it.

Wednesday, September 6, 2006

Blah, Blah, Blah

I find myself at a loss for original posts lately. I was gonna write some stuff about my trip home to Atl this weekend but about a paragraph in I lost my inspiration. I got nothing. So until then, enjoy more mindless surveys.

1. 4th grade teacher's name: I had 2; Ms. Sarullo who became Mrs. Naples and Mrs. Wood

2. Last words you said to your dad: ok bye

3. Last song you sang: "Ride for You" by Danity Kane

4. Last person you hugged: Joy maybe

5. Last thing you laughed at: an old episode of Friends

6. Last time you said I love you and meant it: yesterday

7. Last time you cried: when I went to see World Trade Center

8. What color socks are you wearing: none. I'm living in flip flops

9. What's under your bed: the box to my Sidekick3, a plastic container with some random stuff in it

10. What time did you wake up today: 9. I can't seem to sleep til 2 like usual anymore

11. Current Taste: do you mean like food? I just had a sourdough sandwhich from Jack in the Box

12. Current hair: down, growing out straight bob-ish looking

13. Current annoyance: the fact that Grey's Anatomy doesn't start TODAY

14. Current bad habit: chewing the inside of my mouth, pullng out strands of hair

15. Current longing: a job, a boyfriend

16. Current desktop background: Trenton in the bathtub

17. Met/Talked to any hot girls/guys lately: Um not really. I've been hanging around my family alot lately. I don't really find any of them hot

18. If you could play any instrument: the piano

19. Favorite color(s): red, chocolate

20. How tall are you: 5'3" ish

21. Current favorite word/saying: anything that involves 'the fuck' on it to amplify it i.e. "He slapped THE FUCK outta that bitch."

22. Favorite book: too many to name

23. favorite season: fall

24. favorite article of clothing: my Miami shirt

25. favorite age: probably around 14 or so

26. What is your career going to be like: busy but fulfilling

27. How many kids do you want: 2 or 4. depends on the day


28. Said "I love you": yep. more often recently than before

29. Gotten in a fight with your dog/cat/bird/fish: nah. my animals are generally mild mannered

30. Been to New York: yep. lived there

31. Been to the Bahamas: not YET!

32. Been to California: no not yet

33. Been to Hawaii: it's also on the list

34. Been to Bermuda: nope, don't desire to get lost there

35. Been to China: nope but I'm dying to go to Bejing

36: Been to Ireland?: nope

37. Dreamed something really crazy and then it happened the next day: yeah. but I won't tell you what but this is a PG-13 blog

38. Fallen in love with a friend? I'm still deciding

39. Gotten into a fight? yeah. Had to make my point

40. Stolen anything? a couple hearts maybe ;-)

41. Gotten married? almost, but not quite

42. Do you have a crush on someone: if by crush you mean I have feelings for someone that I am not in a relationship with, then yes

43. What book are you reading now?: none

44. What is the first thing you think when you wake up in the morning? *sigh*

45. How many rings before you answer: usually like 2

46. Future daughter's names: I'm not sure, I figure their father might wanna have some input. But I like the idea of typical boys names for girls like Evan, Ryan, etc. And I like Lola too

47. Future son's names: I was always partial to King but I know a couple babies with that name. John got me to liking Sean. I'd like to have a junior maybe

48. What do you sleep with: My Winnie the Pooh John bought me

49. What do you do before you go to sleep? Wrap up my hair and write in my journal

50. What do you wear to sleep in: usually just a big tshirt. I have the largest collection Howard gear and exboyfriend wear that anyone will ever need

51. Where are you: on the floor in the loft

52. Where do you wish you were: in DC on the couch watching the NFL kick off special

53. Piercings: I took all of mine out but I wanna get them back


54. What kind of Shampoo and Conditioner do you use?: NExxus and Pantene Pro-V

55. Who is the last person that called you: Pizo

56. Where do you want to have your honeymoon? somewhere tropical. Maybe the Greek isle

57. If you could change anything about yourself, what would it be? oh goodness there's so many things. I HATE my teeth. I'd spend a year walking Stewart Ave in lucite heels if it meant I could get braces

58. Hate: drama, women, the fact that Grey's Anatomy isn't starting today

59. Been In Love: yes

60. Are you timely or always late: usually timely. I try not to be late b/c it reminds me of someone I don't wanna be like

61. Do you have a job: no

62. Do you like being around people: not as of late

63. Best feeling in the world: playing with kids or animals or kids and animals, that first month you realize you're in love with someone b/f the newness wears off

64. Miss someone right now?: yeah

65. Are you a health freak: not at all

66. Do you have a "Type" of person you always go after: yeah. but he's never that good for me, unless he's perfect for me

67. Are you lonely right now: yeah

68. Do you want kids: yep


69. Cried: no

70. Bought something: food

71. Gotten Sick: nope

72. Sang: yes. I try to sing for an hour a day so my voice doesn't atrophy

73. Said I Love You: yes

74. Wanted To Tell Someone You Loved them: yes

75. Moved On: working on it

76. Talked to someone: yep

77. Had a serious talk: lol yeah

78. Missed Someone: didn't I just answer this?

79. Hugged Someone: please see above answer

80. Yelled at Someone: no but I wanted to. I'm repressing myself at this very moment

81. Dreamed About Someone You Can't Be With: yes

82. Fallen Down: yes. the stairs in my house are lethal

83. Seen a Movie: I haven't been to the theater b/c I have no friends but I watched In Her Shoes on HBO

84. Talked on the Phone: HA! no sadly not.

85. Had Sex: HA! no sadly not.