Wednesday, August 30, 2006

The Great State

I'm in this funny place. Not funny like haha, funny like I don't know what else to call it. I'm searching for the words but I'm not doing so well. I find myself in a state of polarity; I want a hug but I don't want to be touched. I want someone to call me, but I don't wanna talk. I hate being alone but I can't stand meaningless company. I wanna smile but I'm so tired.

I'm in my head alot. Which I guess could explain my current disgust with words that don't work. Walking around inside my head among the disconnected thoughts, thinking about things I haven't thought of in years. I'm excavating old disaster sites, trying to see if there's anything salvageable among the ruins. My soul is unsettled.

I can't think of much more to say. I feel as though I brought this state on myself. So I, logically should be the one to get me out. This is my fault, I guess.I keep thinking to myself that I don't know who I've turned into. I can't navigate the distance between who people think I am and who I see. I am caught between the couldas, wouldas, shouldas.

I'm just... tired.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

The Thievery Never Ends

One day I'm gonna come up with an original idea for a blog. Til then, I continue to steal...


* What is your salad dressing of choice? Ranch

*What's your favorite fast food restaurant? Taco Bell

* What is your favorite sit down restaurant? Lauriol Plaza

* On average, what size tip do you leave at a restaurant? usually 20%. You have to really fuck up to not get a good tip from me

* What food could you eat every day for two weeks and not get sick of? chicken. I'm so black

* Name three foods you detest above all others. oatmeal, grits, jell-o

* What is your favorite dish to order in a Chinese restaurant? shrimp fried rice

* What are your pizza toppings of choice? pepperoni

* What do you like to put on your toast? butter and grape jelly

* What is your favorite type of gum? Big Red


* Number of contacts in your cell phone? about 250

* Number of contacts in your e-mail address book? probably around 200 too

* What is your wallpaper on your computer? Trenton in the bathtub

* What is your screensaver on your computer? some phrase my mother put up

* Are there naked pictures saved on your computer? no but there used to be

* How many land line phones do you have in your house? One

* How many televisions are in your house? Two. But I deseperately need on mouted on the ceiling in the bathroom like at ESPN Zone

* What kitchen appliance do you use the least? the stove. I refuse to cook. lol

* What is the format of the radio station you listen to the most? R&b/Hip Hop

* What do you consider to be your best physical attribute? My boobs

* Are you right handed or left handed? Right

* Do you like your smile? No I hate it. As soon as I'm able I'm getting braces

* Have you ever had anything removed from your body? My piercings

* Would you like to? I could go for some lipo

* Do you prefer to read when you go to the bathroom? Depends on the length of my visit. I text alot in there

* Which of your five senses do you think is keenest? touch

* When was the last time you had a cavity? I've never had one

* What is the heaviest item you lift regularly? the remote

* Have you ever been knocked unconscious? yes

* If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die? No it would just drive me crazy

* If you could change your first name, what would you change it to? My mother almost named me Jessica Camille. I like that better. I'm still considering changing it actually. When I get famous I can be j. Cami hahahaha

* How do you express your artistic side? I write, sing, paint sometimes

* What color do you think you look best in? Red

* How long do you think you could last in a medium security prison? I'd probably be fine for awhile

* Have you ever swallowed a non-food item by mistake? LOL um...

* If we weren't bound by society's conventions, do you have a relative you would make a pass at? HEEEEEEELLLLLLLL no. I don't even like most my family members that much

* How often do you go to church? every Sunday unfortunately b/c it's easier right now than arguing with my mother. But it's hardly by choice

* Have you ever saved someone's life? not that I know of

Has someone ever saved yours? yeah. Joy

Dare-ology:For this last section, if you would do it for less or more money, indicate how much.

* Would you walk naked for a half mile down a public street for $100,000? Hell yeah I would. That would pay off my loans and still leave some left over

* Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100? Sure. If she was pretty. It's an easy way to make $100

* Would you have sex with a member of the same sex for $10,000? It would have to be WAY more than that

* Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000? HEEEELLLLL no. My hands are really pretty and that would not be in keeping with the theme

* Would you never blog again for $50,000? Hell yes. I don't need to blog. I need $50,000

* Would you pose naked in a magazine for $250,000? yes. well, depends on the magazine. I'm dying to do a Maxim cover one day

* Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1000? LOL yep. How black is this question?

* Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for $1,000,000? no. Never. I don't think I'd be able to live with myself

* Would you shave your head and get your entire body waxed for $5,000? Oh hell no. I love my hair. It would have to be closer to almost a million for that

* Would you give up watching television for a year for $25,000? As long as someone bought me Grey's Anatomy on dvd I could live without it.

Friday, August 25, 2006

The Magic City

I toss my hair back over my shoulders once more and paint my lips with gloss in the mirror.

"Aye shawty, keep throwing that head back all hard, see if you don’t snap your neck." I laugh off his comment, and I notice my giggle sounds high pitched and tight. I'm nervous.

I am not sure exactly what to expect from this little outing. Granted, I have lived in the capital of its consumerism all my life, driven by them for years, heard about them during conversations I wasn’t supposed overheard, seen them in movies and on TV. And while most of me is fairly sexually liberated, there are still vestiges of a plaid and pigtailed Catholic girl in me that wants to run to confessional with a rosary in hand, threading it through my fingers as I say ten Hail Marys and an Our Father in contrition. I flip my hair again.

"Shut the fuck up," I say, cutting him off and sliding out of the car door. I stand beside the car, trying to steady the sharp end of my heel on the gravel and adjust my bra, smooth my hands down my hips, and lick my lips one more time. I'm ready.
I think.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

My Favorite Accessories to Every Outfit

So, T.I. almost got me a ticket a few months back.

I swear!

Ok maybe not TI in the flesh but listening to "Top Back" in the car wasn't helping me keep my speed anywhere near the legal limits.

So I was speeding. A lil. In honor of Atl. :-)

And I got pulled over. I was pretty scared because it was late and dark and I was kinda off of the beaten path. And I pretty much figured I was going to jail because I was damn near airborne. When I looked in the rearview and realize it's a guy, I found myself suddenly wishing that I had pulled over somewhere a little more well lit. This guy was really big, hardly the donut and coffee eating variety. He had a gun.

Oh God I'm gonna die. So let's set the scene. It's dark, I'm in the car shivering and hoping I don't end up on the news. Big 220 pound, 6 foot 5 cop is striding towards the driver side, gun in clear view, rigidity set in his jaw. I start praying. Alot.

By this time he's reached my window.

He is CUTE!


He smiles at me. "Do you have any idea how fast you were going?"

I try to weigh my options. I can play dumb and maybe he'll let me go. I can be completely honest and hope he finds my honesty refreshing and will let me go appreciative of the fact that I didn't try to play him.

"I have a pretty good idea that it wasn't anywhere near the speed limit."
He laughs. Ok good sign. I smile a little and he smiles even harder at me. I notice he hasn't asked me for any of my info yet. Another good sign. And then...

"You realize that I'm gonna have to give you a pretty serious ticket huh?"

Sigh. Maybe not.

He squats down. He can still see clear through the window because he's THAT tall. All of a sudden he blinks really rapidly and looks stuck for a second. Is there something on my face? Do I have something illegal in the car? Is this the look he gives scared little girls at least a third of his size when he's about to give them a ticket that will cost them 100 MILLION DOLLARS? Or worst, is this the look he gives tiny women before he savagely beats and rapes them mere feet from their cars?!?! WHAT is he looking at?

And then I realize it.

I have on a wife beater.

He's looking at my boobs.

"If I let you go without giving you a ticket, can you slow it down a little?"
HELL YEAH I can!!!
"Of course," I say, "and I'd really appreciate it. I just wanna get home cuz I'm kinda sleepy."
"Understandable. I've been in your position many times myself. I'm gonna let you go with a warning." pause "Can I ask you a question?"
"Yeah sure."
"You single?"

So I ended up not getting a ticket and going on a couple dates with a VERY cute cop. (Even after I'd sworn off cops lol) This happened months ago but the girls keep reaping the benefits. Everywhere.

My mom and I go to Cheesecake Factory a couple weeks ago and it takes FOREVER for the waiter to come. When he finally does, he glances my way and suddenly our service is IMPECCABLE for the rest of the evening. My mother is jealous, I'm positively tickled. LOL

I go with Mr. Wonderful months back to pick out a new plasma screen tv. I start talking up the salesguy who can't stop staring at my black sweater. In the end, we walk out with a brand new plasma screen tv about 15% off and complimentally speakers thrown in.

It happens all the time. And I'm ok with it. Like I said, if I have to have a period every month this is a fair trade. And to be perfectly honest about it, my boobs are spectacular.

No. Really. They're awesome. LOL

I won't describe them in detail, but imagine what a really great boob job looks like. That's what mine look like. Except they're REAL!

I went to a gay club with some co-workers a long time ago wearing a bustier (sp?). I'd be bitching all night about this beautiful man standing in the corner who I would never be able to have beautiful children with because he wasn't playing for my team. Suddenly, he walked over, grabbed my hand and whispered in my ear, "What are you drinking beautiful?" He bought me a drink, and we talked and after a minute he says, "You have the most beautiful breasts I have ever seen. You're really making me miss women right now and I haven't felt that in years. Who did them?"
"Um, God." I reply and his mouth drops.
"They're... REAL?!?!?!"
He was astounded. He also bought all my drinks for the rest of the night and fawned over me until dawn. And honey once you get the approval of the kids, you know you gotta gift!

Anyway, I said all that to say that my boobs are my favorite and most flattering accessory to every outfit in my closet. Especially in my new Victoria's Secret Ipex bra. It pushes them way up to there.

And hey, sometimes you gotta wear your titties as earrings, you know?

Saturday, August 19, 2006

The Love List

Joy did it so I'm copying

- Chunky sweaters
- When people bite my style
- When people contradict themselves like, "Bitch I'm a christian!!!" whaaat?!? Lol
- My sidekick3
- Everything TI has ever touched
- Big trucks
- Red
- Sourdough chicken sandwhiches from Jack-in-the Box
- Driving REALLY fast
- Using my cleavage to get out of the tickets I get because of above. Hey if I gotta have a period, I say this is balanced
- Listening to joy ramble
- Shani's hair. Its so shiny!
- Mangofest smoothies from Smoothie King
- Kappas
- Cherry Limeades from Sonic
- anything Stevie Wonder has ever touched
- My daddys fried chicken
- The little bear my 1st love bought me in the 7th grade
- Southern music
- Basketball
- Having my man wash my hair
- Being tickled
- Shania twain (Don't you judge me.)
- Things that are shiny (see shani's hair)
- Re-runs of sex and the city that I can recite ad nauseum
- Reeeeaaaaly high heels
- Pantene make hair curly stuff thanks to Jameil and poodle haired line sister
- Carol's daughter products
- The sound of baby laughter
- My blog

Monday, August 14, 2006

Dirty Little Secret

Ok, I have a confession to make. I'm not necessarily proud of it, but it has happened and I have to be honest. I tried to rid myself of this problem, I swear I did. I've tried for 2 years. But I just couldn't. And to look at me you'd never know anything was wrong but it is. Something is terribly askew.

So I have something to tell you all.

And I hope you don't think differently of me.

I am a Danity Kane fan.

What?!?! YOU HEARD ME!!! Don't make me repeat it. Ok fine.

I am a Danity Kane Fan. OK?!?!

Sigh. I'm so disappointed in myself.

It started innocently enough. I started watching the last season of MTB3 because D. Woods went to high school to me. (Also, the high school where Outkast met. We're some talented people.) So I wanted to see how she was doing. I watched that season off and on, mostly because of D. Woods and Dominique. And then D made the band so I said, ok I gotta support her and watch the new season.

And then the 1st episode came on and I fell IMMEDITELY in love with Dawn. She seems like one of those girls I'd actually be friends with in real life. And then she REALLY won my respect when she stood up for Aubrey when she was getting cut from all her songs. And then I became a really big admirer of Aundrea when they started recording "Hold Me Down" and "Ride for You". So then when they went to Miss Jones in the morning at Hot97, I kinda agreed with her when she said the group should be named 3 because only 3 of them could sing. (Also, HA!) And then I started getting advance tracks from their album. (Thank God for connects in the industry.) And then Aubrey's voice started to win me over. I could live without her spray on gangsta that she assumes at times, but I started to like her as well. Shannon still ain't quite done it for me yet, I think she might be pretty girl filter a la Britney Spears, but we'll see. I like 4 of the 5. And I've heard 7 tracks off their album, and... I LIKE THEM ALL!

Sigh. I'm such a loser. So there you go. That's my dirty little secret. I will be buying their album next week.

Still can't stand Cassie though. And yes, I signed the position.

Aiight Diddy you're one for one.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Back in the Days When I Was Young I'm not a Kid Anymore, but Somedays I Sit and Wish I was a Kid Again...

Blatant stealing...

How old were you?
Then: 12
Now: 22.

Where did you work?
Then: I was actually working a secretary in a law office during the summer back when I thought my initials meant I was study law
Now: sigh. nowhere. I'm a loser Howard graduate.

Where did you live?
Then: Atlanta. I think around that time I had just moved to College Park
Now: Stupid Houston

How was your hairstyle?
Then: It was long and black. I used to wear alot of french rolls and fingerwaves. What?!? IT WAS IN STYLE THEN!!!
Now: a bob that's a lil below my chin, kinda a reddish color or some sort due to the amalgamation of colors that have been in my hair in the last year

Did you wear contacts?
Then: Nope I was all about my glasses like V said.
Now: Hell yes. The glasses were really not moisturizing my situation or perserving my sexy

Did you wear glasses?
Then: See above.
Now: See above.

Which of your pets was still alive?
Then: I think at that point we had Black Bear, Tina, Simba, Mr. Turtle and GP the Guinea Pig.
Now: Simba and Tina are still alive. Black Bear died as a puppy. Mr Turtle suffocated himself, GP died of natural causes (my brother)

Who was your boyfriend?
Then: Robert. I spent like, 42 years with that boy LOL
Now: I don't really have one, kinda. I'm "single". Let's leave it there

Who was your celebrity crush?
Then: HAHAHA ok don't laugh but I was CRAZY about Andrew Keegan. LMAO!!! I had a secret thing for white boys. And kinda still do... but that's another post.
Now: T.I., Angelina Jolie

How many piercings did you have?
Then: Just my ears
Now: Still my ears, I took the others out. But I wanna get them all redone and add an industrial to my ear and another... *ahem* "special" one

How many tattoos did you have?
Then: Nigga I was 12!!!
Now: Four. I want 2 more

Who was you favorite singer/band?
Then: I was always a big Mariah person. Janet too.
Now: Still a Mariah and Janet person. You can add Aguilerra, Stevie Wonder to that

Had you smoked a cigarette?
Then: Yeah. I was a bad ass kid
Now: I haven't in quite awhile

Had you gotten drunk?
Then: Nope
Now: LMAO! Maaaaaaaaan, graduation weekend was NO JOKE lol

What kind of car did you drive?
Then: hahaha I was 12 dog lol
Now: a Sebring. It's my mama's. It doesn't go fast enough. I need something w/a HEMI. :-)

Looking back, are you where you thought you would be in 2006?
HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLL NO. Well kinda. I figured I would have graduated from school by now, and that's done. Now just to make the next part of the "La Takes Over the World" Plan into effect...

And here a few hopeful predictions for what I'll be doing 10 years from now...

Age: 32. Is this really a prediction in as much as it's fact? lol

Job: very successful, very famous singer/actress/entreponigga/philnathripist

Location: I'd like to be back in Atl but I know I wanna house in Miami

Hairstyle: probably really long. It's just so easy to pull back in a ponytail

Family: Um... does my sister count?

Contacts/Glasses: Contacts. Tired of my glasses falling off my face.

Pets: I really want a pit and a golden retriever

Boyfriend: Yeah if I have time

Celebrity Crush: probably still T.I. Swag like that never dies

Piercings/Tattoos: I might get a couple more tattoos. But I'm sure I will have taken out most of my piercings by the. Except for "that one". Gotta keep the sex life interesting.

Favorite Artist/Band/Singer: Still the same people. I don't see them falling off.

Home: Nice place in Atl and one in Miami with LOTS of windows

Accomplishments: I'd like to have a couple Grammys and Oscars by then. Hopefully have at least one of the hospices open and working towards getting the plans finalized for my school

Volunteer Work: I'd like to open 3 AIDS hospices of sorts in NY, San Francisco, and Atl and a performing arts high school in Atl

My Ride: Probably a Land Rover. and something smaller. probably a Benz of some sort. Hopefully by then I will have found my vintage Mustang and GTO

Drinking: Probably not as bad as the college years, but some.

Wednesday, August 9, 2006

Coontastic Foolywang to the Nth Degree

That was my first comment after watching the ignorance that is the second season of Flavor of Love. Why do black people INSIST on going on TV and acting ignorant? First, we're on the news looking crazy. Now we're on vh1 acting straight ghetto. How do you have a fight before the first segment is even over? OVER A BED?!?! Come on ladies.

And most importantly...


So she shits herself and this makes her "real"? COME THE FUCK ON WITH THIS TOM FOOLERY!

I just don't get it. Aint nothing about Flavor Flav worth fighting or shitting over.

Lmao! There is no way that isn't hilarious. I am QUITE LITERALLY laughing out loud.

You know what scares me? This is only the season premiere. What the fuck can POSSIBLY top this for the rest of season?

This bitch shitted on herself.

I gotta go. *she walks outta the room and slams the door*

Tuesday, August 8, 2006

Another Reason my Friends are Cooler than Yours

Me: Cassie sucks.
Danita: She DOES suck! I tried to give her a chance. This shit has got to go.
Me: She can't sing! That's an important part of a singing career.
Danita: She has a song called Ditto, very annoying, and definitely highlights that she topped Puffy off for a record deal. DEFINITELY!
Me: LOL! Clearly she gives the best head in the industry.
Danita: Take that Superhead!
Me: At least Cassie is pretty. She shoulda just stuck with being a model. And giving head as cardio.


Monday, August 7, 2006

Blood Legacy

It's raining pretty bad outside. Has been now for most of the time I've been in the Lone Star state. I'm sitting on the floor in the loft checking my email. My stepdad is pacing. Asking me questions I don't know the answers to, in the low, controlled, almost whisper I've come to know to mean he's hurt. And I hate to see my dad hurt.

There's something important you should know about my stepdad. He's the greatest man I've ever known. Probably the greatest man you've ever known too, if you knew him. And I'm not just saying that because he's mine. I'm saying it because it's true. Everyone of my friends that's ever met him has thought so.

My stepdad is generally very happy. And VERY, very silly. He tells stupid jokes that make no sense, he trails on in long arbitraty sentences of barely logic meant to explain some otherwise simple phenomenon. He makes up words. He knows every jazz and blues song ever recorded. He's unofficially adopted hundreds of kids like me, the ones he's taught math to that never thought they'd get it. To this day, I can barely add and subtract, but I can solve the hell outta an algebraic equation. My dad took us all on, took on the responsibility for being in charge of our education, yes, but he also chose to play a big part in our development as humans. The education of the future in and of itself is a daunting task that few take on and even less realize the heavy responsibility in. He not only took it on, but he played the part of role model to some, and to others, like me, the part of father when our own were absent. He adopted us all really, every child that stepped into his classroom, but I was the only one he made official.

My dad hardly ever worries about himself. He doesn't have to because he's got hundreds of kids to do it for him. He's hardly ever selfish, and when he is it is because he has repeatedly passed on the opportunity to indulge in himself and deposits he's made into himself have long since lapsed. He does things like putting roses in my room before I moved to Texas, not red ones, because I don't like red ones, but white and pink ones, which are my favorites. He remembers all my friends. He makes an effort to learn my likes and dislikes, that even people who have spent every day of the last four years with me probably don't know. He gives good advice. Not biased advice, or subtle manipulations based on his own agenda. He's kind. He's protective without being overbearing. He knows exactly the right words to use where everyone else's eloquence has failed. He has integrity. And conscience. And he likes cool drinks that he can't drink too much of because he has absolutely no tolerance for liquor. He's, quite literally, a genius, without being condscending or aloof. A little strange, yes, but in the very best of ways. He asks me how I feel, and he means it. He never kicks me when I'm down. Never once said I told you so. Doesn't have an evil or spiteful bone in his body. Stubborn? Yes. Evil or hurtful? Never.

He's not perfect of course. Even I don't love him enough to believe that. He has his faults that aren't necessarily few and far between, but the truth of the matter is, you couldn't build a man better than my dad. If you took all of things that women said they wanted in a man, subtracted half of it (because most of it is bullshit) and added most of the things every woman actually needs, you'd get my dad. Or something so dangerously, freakishly close to it that you'd take my dad for fear of some science experiment turning to goo in your hands.

Being a stepparent is a thankless job. Alot of cleaning up other people's messes, one's you didn't create but still have to help manage. He stepped in and did it for me, officially, and for countless others unofficially, without one single complaint. Gracious. Add that to the list.

That's why I hate to see him this way.

He's pacing, and I'm trying not to look at the clock. Each minute that passes hangs over our heads, weighing down the oxygen in the room.
"Have you heard from her?" he asks me. I reply with a simple no and I hope I have managed to not seem like I'm being short with him. I'm hoping that the force of my desire will melt me into the beige carpet so I'm invisible. I'm about the same color. It should work.

I hear the clock slide into place, another minute lost to this agony.

"I'm going for a walk," he says, his face cloudy.

I'm just glad the storm has stopped.

As soon as I hear the beep beep the alarm makes, meaning he's left the house, I press and hold 4 on my phone. Straight to voicemail.
"Goddammit!!!" I curse outloud to myself. If she wants a divorce I wish she'd just file the goddamn papers. This is just stupid.

Not too long after, I hear the beep beep of the door. My mother appears at the top of the stairs a few moments later. I look at her, biting back the scathing words I have for her until my tongue ruptures and bleeds in my mouth.
"Where's your dad?" she asked.
"He went for a walk." She sighs. She sits on the couch above me, a carefully constructed mask of pain I've seen her put on too many times to care anymore.
"Well, what do you wanna do? Because I don't wanna do this anymore."
"What?" I ask her, uninterested, still pretending to check my email.
"I'm leaving him. You need to decide what you wanna do. Because I can't do this anymore."
"Can't do WHAT anymore, exactly?" I press her for specifics, because this all sounds like a very bad scene from a very bad made for TV movie. I turn and look at her, my eyes probably cold and distant because that's how I feel right now. Under my glare she falters. Becomes unsure of herself. Talks in big elaborate circles that never really explain anything at all. I shake my head and turn away. I'm used to this foolishness. ARE YOU JUST DOING THIS FOR ATTENTION YOU IDIOT?!?!?! I wanna scream at her, but I know it'll do me little good. So, I point and click.
"Where are you going?" I ask her, not because I really care but because I want her to THINK. The beep beep sounds again. In a moment, my dad appears at the same spot she stood not even 5 minutes ago.
"Can we talk?" he asks her, his voice bearly audible above the static in the room. My heart draws up in my throat. He's given up. I hear it in his voice. He was my last hope.

She gets up and follows him to the room wordlessly, and because I know my mother, I know she's silently building up ammunition in her head. The door clicks closed.
The minute hand of the clock clicks in place.

My heart is beating wildly in my chest. I wanna run so bad the skin on my legs itch. I go to my room, silently, not wanting to disturb whatever lies on the other side of the door. I grab car keys, my purse, and my phone. I'm downstairs, in the car and out the garage before light completely turns off in my room.

I start to drive. I don't know where I'm going just yet. I text message my dad and tell him that I'm ok. That I'll be back. He sends me a message back:

Ok. I love you.

My heart constricts. In the middle of his own personal crisis, he tells me he loves me. No matter what. That kinda unconditional love I've heard about but never really knew too much of. I smile at my dad. Yeah, he's that kinda guy.

I text message my someone. Tell him what's going on. Tell him I'm driving and that I'll hit him back. Baby you'll get through this he types to me. I really wanna believe him.

I drive. I try to listen to music but I'm too raw, too much an exposed nerve to listen to anything. I drive in silence. Pushing the speedometer well past 90 I start to babble, under my breath. I'm praying that this doesn't do too much damage. I'm praying for my mother, that she find whatever it is she's missing, for my dad that he not be too scarred behind this all, for forgiveness for myself because I should have warned him. I know my mother better than anyone. I've seen the way she can manipulate, the way she can turn a good person bad. I've seen what she's done to others, to me. I should have warned him. I am the guilty one standing in the shore, watching someone else drown. I did nothing to save him. I'm crying and cursing and praying and hoping that I don't slam into a wall. The roads are wet from the storm. I push the accelorator to the floor. I'm almost to Galveston before I realize, eventually, I'll have to turn around. There's no such thing as running in my life.

When I get back to the house, everything is quiet. I walk to my bed and crawl in. I send a message to him again telling him I'm home. Because I don't want him to worry. I turn my phone on silent before he can answer. I don't wanna hear anyone elses thoughts tonight. I really don't wanna hear my own. He's going to reassure me, to remind me that I've gotten through worse. And he's right of course. But I don't know if I wanna be reassured right now.

The next day, I'm in bed and my dad comes in the room. He looks so tired. And hurt. Its my fault. He asks me how I'm doing. And he really waits for the answer, rather than pushing forward with some rehearsed speech he prepared. He tells me then, in that low quiet voice, some of the hurtful things she's said. They sound very much like the mother I know.
"Am I missing something?" he asks me, and he really wants to know, is really at a loss. Right then I wanna tell him that its my fault, that I should have warned him, that there are very few people in the world equipped with the kinda bitterness and evil it requires to deal with my mother. I wanna throw myself at his feet and beg him to forgive me for allowing him to spend the last four years of his life this way when I knew how it would turn out.
"No," I say to him instead. He nods at me.
"Ok," he says. "Ok."

And that's it.

I hear him go downstairs to his car and start it up. A few seconds later I hear the garage go up, then go down. I hear him accelerate down the street. And then its quiet. I wonder if he'll come back. I can't blame him if he doesn't.

I wonder if I'm destined to turn out like my mother. Yes the sins of the father shall be visited on the son. But what about the sins of the mother? The ways of the mother? The issues, the pitfalls, the manipulations of the mother? I've always been scared of becoming my mother, of stepping head first into the blood legacy of the women in my family, when I meant to step away. I thought I'd rid myself of most if while I was away, but do I not have the same mean streak? The same charm? The same capacity for manipulation? I thought I could be different but I'm not sure anymore. I don't wanna think about it.

Instead I bury my head under the covers and try not to anticipate tomorrow. Or even tonight. I curl up in my guilt, try to swallow its familiar metallic taste in the back of my throat.

The sins of the mother shall be visited on the daughter.

I'm sure of it now. I might have thought I wasn't turning into my mother, but watching my dad suffer this way and saying nothing seems to indicate I've stepped dangerously close...

to be continued...

Thursday, August 3, 2006

Really Real

I'm a fairly good friend.

Ok screw this modest shit; I'm a fucking great friend. Why? Because I genuinely WANT to be. Because I choose very carefully who I'll be a great friend to as not to spread myself so thinly that when a friend calls on me I can easily run to their side, back, whatever. I'm a good friend because I work REALLY hard at it. It's like my 2nd job. Well, really, like my 1st because I work harder at it than any other job I've ever actually applied for.

Yada, yada, I'm a good friend.

But sometimes I'm just not the person to talk to about certain shit.

At. All.

I'm not the friend you call when you wanna be sugar coated. I'm not the friend you call when you wanna bawl your eyes out A YEAR after you've broken up with your boyfriend. I respect everyone's process, but I can't abide the bullshit. I'm not that friend you call when you want someone to go "Woo woo woo, poor, poor you." I can't really help you with that. When you call me and ask me if you should leave your asshole boyfriend because you think he's a cheating slutbag ho-face I'm gonna tell you yes. When you ask me why I'm gonna tell you because he's a cheating slutbag ho-face.
No punches pulled.

If you ask me should you cut lose a fair weather friend who keeps fucking you over, I'm gonna tell you yes. I don't care if its what you wanna hear right now. Its what you NEED to hear right now. And months, maybe years from now I'm not gonna give you the chance to say, "Why didn't you tell me?!?" I won't be that friend who mislead you and let you think that the slutbag ho-face was just "misunderstood". You know, that plus the fact that I like saying slutbag ho-face.

What kills me is that my friends know this. They KNOW. My tact is minimal, my tolerance for bullshit is nonexistant, my vision for silver linings blurred. I deal in the real. I like truth. Why? Because truth don't change.

So why do people call me when they want someone to commiserate with? When they wanna wallow and feel pitiful and bad about themselves? Why? I'm not gonna let you dump on someone I love (you). I'm not gonna encourage you to sit on your (soon to be fat) ass and eat ice cream and cry at chick flicks. I'm gonna tell you to be proactive. I'm gonna tell you to do something about how you feel. I'm gonna tell you to take care of YOU.

Now don't get me wrong, when my friends have been fucked without proper lubricant I can stand back and say, "Yeah that musta hurt pretty bad there." When the pain is fresh, and you need someone to call at 3am because you're upset and crying and can't sleep, then yes, call me then, because I WILL wake up and talk to you 'til you get sleepy. Or until you just get tired of talking. Whichever comes first. And then the day after that, when you need to talk some more, call me then too. You can even use all my daytime minutes. You're more than worth the overages.



So in conclusion, you wanna talk about hurt? Yes, lets do that, but lets also DO something about it. It doesn't have to be on my time, it should be on yours. But I won't allow you to believe things are better than they are, I won't let you stay stagnant for years over the same situation. No, you don't have to do what I would do, but do SOMETHING. ANYTHING. ONE THING. I won't allow you to hurt yourself by playing the victim. Not while I'm around to dispense a little truth. If that makes me a bad friend so be it.

And maybe I could be nicer about it. And I swear I do try. I promise my tact has nearly doubled in the last couple years. (I'm happy to report I sit happily at the all time high og 2% up 50% from just two years ago.) But there's only so gentle I can put it before I grab you by the shoulders, shake you like a yoohoo and say "HEY! You're being STUPID."

Talking about the slutbag ho-face who broke your heart 2 weeks ago over ice cream and chick flicks? Yes. (Well maybe mojitos and southern comfort food. Or just the drinks, you know, whatever.) Still agonizing over the every little detail of things with the slutbag ho-face who broke your heart TWO YEARS ago.


Slutbag ho-face
Slutbag ho-face
Slutbag ho-face

I think I got that outta my system.

Slutbag ho-face.

Now I'm really done.

Tuesday, August 1, 2006

Something More

There's a drive through Starbucks not too far from my house. This has been one of few bright spots in my move. Thanks to Will, I am addicted to vanilla white mochas. Many times I stop by to get one, even though it's scorching hot outside in Houston (at least 1,946 degrees. Celsius. In the shade.) But the coffee reminds me of DC, of grabbing coffee before my 8 o'clock sophmore year after unhappily disentangling myself from the tiny bed I shared with Secondary.

This day was no different except I decided to stay awhile and people watch. I like doing that too. I ordered my coffee (tall, extra whipped cream) and a slice of lemon pound cake so the caffeine on an empty wouldn't send me into a shivering, shaking caffeine crash. I grab a big mushy chair near the floor to ceiling windows and curl my legs under me, The 48 Laws of Power resting in my lap, and one day I will get around to rereading and studying it and taking those notes I promised myself I'd take. But not today. Today I study the Starbucks crowd, a healthy mix of every demographic possible. I watch the couple a few feet from me, a beautiful latina girl tucked under the arm of a amazingly tall black man who is playing in her hair. The grandma with her long gray hair pulled back in a tight bum, playing with her granddaughter who's enjoying a chocolate chip cookie as big as her head. I look over the crowd casually, sipping my coffee, and then I see him seeing me about the same exact moment. He's tall, but not awkwardly so, flawless beautiful chocolate skin, confident stride away from his Benz. Nice suit. From the way it drapes his broad frame I'd say it must be custom made. He reeks of success, of wealth, not the ostentatious kind, but rather the subtle, not so obnoxious kind that you can actually stand to live with. Beautiful teeth. Brilliantly white, dead straight. Nice hands, the kind you wouldn't mind feeling against your skin. He looks me dead in my eyes. Smiles wider. Dimples. The air around him seems hazy, like he walked out of a bad TV movie dream sequence. Must be the heat.

He approaches me, the long strides denoting the confidence of a man who has his life together.
"Hi," he says, "I'm D."
"Hi D. Nice to meet you."
"And you name is...?"
"Your name is deciding?"
"No, I'm deciding if I wanna tell you."

He laughs. Soft, but still obvious, like the clinking of plates in a loud room. His laughter never breaks his stride, his dazzling smile never waivers. He notices the book in my lap.
"Good book. Ever read it before now?"
"This will actually be my second time if I ever get around to actually cracking the spine."
He chuckles again and shakes his head as though he's realizing that he may be getting more than he expected with me. He squares his shoulders. I guess he's prepared for the challenge.

"So besides giving men in coffee shops a hard time when they're trying to be nice what do you do?" he asks me, his voice soft and intimate, like we've been lovers for a lifetime, but still commanding. Brings to mind the vision of pouring honey into a bowl, slow, but sweet.
"I don't really know yet. I just moved here."
"DC by way of Atlanta."
"Figured you couldn't be from here."
"Is that bad?" I ask, genuinely intrigued about how this man reads me.
"No not at all. Just a lil more stylish and well put together than Texas cowboy chic allows. Huge Coach shades, hair freshly done, just a touch of makeup without looking too overdone. Cargo pants, wife beater, flip flops, very casual but still very "done". Very Hollywood I'm not trying but I'm beautiful even when I'm casual. And then there's your nails and toes."
"My nails and toes?"
"Yes. They don't match. If you were from here, they'd probably match each other exactly in some god awful bright color and be full of glitter and paint and designs."
"So are you trying to tell me I'm pretty or that you're gay?"

He really laughs at that. I like his laugh. It's deep and full, rich. Loud enough to show he appreciates my smart ass mouth, not so loud that it's bothering. Even the back of his teeth are pretty. Damn.

"Let's go with the first one," he says, his eyes never leaving mine, never once straying down my neck to my obvious cleavage on display underneath the thin wife beater. Interesting.

We talk more and to put it lightly, he's charming as hell. Funny, witty, well read, intelligent. Young, but not so young that he's silly. Older, but not so old that he's stuffy. Successful, driven, passionate about the arts. As we talk, I notice women noticing him, but he never once gives them his eyes, his stare never wavering from mine, barely blinking, not glancing away under pretense of being shy. Confidence is an aphrodisiac and he drips it. I sense the way he affects the air around him and, I can't lie, I'm impressed.

After about 20 minutes of conversation, and 2 finished cups of coffee, he asks me if he can take me out some time. Without hesitating my answer is no. He confidence falters, but only for a moment.
"Are you seeing someone?" he asks me.
"Oh. Do you have like a situation or something?" This I find hilarious.
"Nope," I reply.
"Are you a lesbian?" I laugh so hard I choke.
"With the exception of a time I got way too drunk off cheap tequilla and played spin the bottle in college, no."

He stares at me, dumbfounded, as if it is completely out of his realm of knowledge for a woman to turn a man like him down. And that's possibly true. Not too many women would say no to this beautiful man in front of me.

"It was very nice to meet you D," I say, my voice low and intimate too, hopefully letting him down easy. I walk away, a little more sway in my step than usual because, hey I'm a woman, and because I know he's watching because he's probably sitting there with the same glazed look on his face. I check once I get to my car. Yep. He's sitting there looking at his hands, like they'll hold the answer for him. I chuckle to myself and shake my head. They just don't get it.

When I was younger, I was drawn to this kind of man. You know the one; confident as hell, charming as any legal limit will allow. You know, the one with the prescence. But as I've gotten a little older, it takes a bit more to turn my head. I know myself painfully well. We'd date and we'd both be as charming as we could, I'd be all giggles and giving him the "Lala Look" that I should really patent because there hasn't been a man yet who can resist it. He'd be all witty conversation and stories of travel, in hopes he'd seem impressive. He'd be a challenge to me, because I like challenges, especially overtly charming ones whose confidence is so deceptively captivating. Eventually, like others, I'd break his cool, get under his skin, because I always do, because I know people better than any Art of Seduction could teach, and he'd tell his friends, "It's something about her. I don't know what it is." I'd get bored eventually, and he'd either desperately seek my attention once he found it dissapating or he'd become so uncomfortable with how much I was able to affect him, he'd search for ways to screw it up so he could free himself of me. Judging by his whole routine, I'd guess it would probably be the latter.

Who I was back then would have eaten the attention up with a spoon. I would have loved the idea of being somewhere with him, the sheer force of both of our respective prescences searing all eyes in the room on us. I would have loved the idea of being the woman who, out of every beauty in the room, stole his eye and captured his intrigue. I would have loved the charm and the confidence, and the it that made it impossible not to watch him.

But not anymore. I want something more than that. I don't know what that something is yet, but I believe I'll feel it when it passes through.

The truth is, I live a much quieter existence now, more settled than I was before, more grounded and assured of my own air, so I no longer need the force of someone else's to make mine stronger.

Mostly, I just want someone to watch basketball with. Someone who'll make me laugh, and I don't mean a coy, I'm-trying-to-make-you-think-you're-funny-so-you'll-feel-good-about-yourself laugh. But a kid laugh. You know how kids laugh; loud and obnoxious, tears streaming down their red faces, that kind of screaming laughing that's annoying if you didn't get the joke?

Yeah. That one.


Him: Girl you look like you taste good.
Me: I do. Ask my man about it.

They just won't get any better. LOL