Thursday, December 27, 2007

Stolen from Blah... *revised*

Who's blog I just recently got turned on to and is, of course, now promptly deleting it, lol

(oh um... I changed some shit.)

1) Was 2007 a good year for you?
um... that depends soley on your definition of good. It was difficult. To say the least. But I've gotten through it, and I feel like I'm alot more settled in my skin because of it. Objectively speaking it was pretty good. When I was "mildly" intoxicated new year's eve I mighta said differently though, lol. Poor Almost Fiance

2) What was your favorite moment of the year?
My word. I have no idea. Vegas with my sister for my birthday, New Orleans, this night. Howard Homecoming. an 18 hour phone conversation. adopting Honey.

3) What was your least favorite moment of the year?
Oh god. SO MANY. LOL read everything from June to August or so. There ya go. I'd probably have to say this which was swiftly followed by this

4) Where were you when 2007 began?
drinking on the other side of town with Ghana Girl and her friends

5) Who were you with?
see above

6) Where will you be when 2007 ends?
in San Antonio

7) Who will you be with when 2007 ends?
Almost Fiance

8) Did you keep your new years resolution of 2007?
I don't think I made any... did I? I try not to because I think it's a set up. Actually no, that's a lie. I made one. And I kept it.

9) Do you have a new years resolution for 2008?
to travel more (and that is already being worked on even as we speak{type})
to move (see above)

10) Did you fall in love in 2007?
HA. Yeah. And promptly fell out. And quietly started contemplating if I'm falling in again...

11) If yes, with who?
Psuedo, Bob

12) If yes, do they know?

13) Are you still in love with them?
Psuedo notsomuch

14) You regret it?
regret is pretty strong. I know better now

15) Did you breakup with anyone in 2007?
Officially, just Psuedo. But there were a few alternates up in there that had to take that L too

16) Did you make any new friends in 2008?
wow a few. couple bloggers, some work folks at The Company, Mariella and Ella

17) Who are your (most memorable) favorite new friends?
Mari and El. Certainly wish they hadn't moved

18) What was your favorite month of 2007?
end of Oct, beg. of Nov :-), April was pretty fantastic

19) Did you travel outside of the US in 2007?
NO! But by summer of 08 that needs to change. Remember when I said I hadn't (and wanted to) have sex somewhere outside the country? Hello?!?!? Where's the assistance? lol

20) How many different states have you traveled in 2007?

21) Did you lose anybody close to you in 2007?
to death? no. otherwise? *sigh*

22) Did you miss anybody in the past year?
Missing people is an emotion I am getting all too familiar with lately

23) What was your favorite movie that you saw in 2007?
Transformers. Hands down. Hence, why I saw it 5 times. (yeah nigga I said hence) And now after seeing it this weekend, The Great Debators. Absolute perfection (and not just because of the shout out to Howard being one of the top 2 historically black institutions)

24) What was your favorite song from 2007?
"Bottle Poppin'" Young Joc
"Come See Me" Jill Scott
"Get me Bodied" Beyonce
"Back to Black" Amy Winehouse
"Rehab" Rihanna
"Stronger" Kanye West
"Every Thought is You" Kelly Rowland

25) What was your favorite album from 2007?
Back to Basics Christina Aguilera

26) How many concerts did you see in 2007?
Only 1. WTF?!?! But it was Stevie Wonder so it was worth it

27) Did you have a favorite concert in 2007?
He wins by default but he woulda won anyway had I been to 100 concerts

28) Did you drink a lot of alcohol in 2007?
Oh GOD yes. It is the only things that got me through. My flask was quite possibly one of the top three presents I got this year. I think I wanna invest in a fancypants silver one with my name engraved on it. Does Tiffany's make flasks by any chance? Stace I know you know, lol

29) Did you do a lot of drugs in 2007?
none actually. I'm kinda a punk that way.

What?!?! Weed don't count! "It's a plant. It just grows that way. And if you should just so happen to set it on fire, there ARE some effects..."

30) How many people did you sleep with in 2007?
not enough, more than plenty, less than you, greater than or equal to the weight of air. no way in hell you're getting a straight answer to that question

31) Did you do anything you are ashamed of this year?

32) What was the biggest lie you told in 2007?
"No. I wasn't faking it."

Aww, that's tragic. lol

34) Did you treat somebody badly in 2007?
*sigh* yes

35) Did somebody treat you badly in 2007?
just Pseudo

36) How much money did you spend in 2007?
way too much to have planned on saving alot, lol. in my defense, most of it was circumstancial and not me going on shopping sprees and shit

37) What was your proudest moment of 2007?

38) What was your most embarrassing moment of 2007?
Falling, a couple more I didn't have the nerve to blog about

39) If you could go back in time to any moment of 2007 what would it be?
none of them. I'm so over '07 I dunno what to do with myself.
Wait... I can think of one :-)

40) What are your plans for 2008?
travel, move, travel, get outta debt, get started on some of my career plans, and... travel.

Monday, December 24, 2007


aka Jam wants me to shake. the. SHIT. outta her.

1. There's only one Christmas movie I can stand and that's How the Grinch Stole Christmas, the original, not the Jim Carey version. Actually, the Carey version ain't so bad but I prefer the original.

2. I've only had a real Christmas tree once. I loved the smell so much that I made my mom keep it up til I graduated from high school in May. I was the only person with a graduation tree. I have no idea how it stayed alive and pine smelling so long. Call it a Christmas miracle.

3. Come Christmas of '08 I BETTER be on somebody's island somewhere.

4. The only people who get Christmas presents from me are usually Joy and whoever my significant other is at the time. For 2 reasons: #1 because these gifts are usually so extra and elaborate that I don't feel like putting effort into anything else and #2 because history has taught me that they are the only 2 people who appreciate it

5. The best gift I've ever gotten was from Gay Husband sophmore year. He got me D&G Light Blue (my scent obsession at the time), a Christmas edition Winnie the Pooh (wearing a light blue sweater- sensing a theme?), and the best part... a first edition copy of The Velveteen Rabbit (my fav childhood book that my little brother destroyed)(who's cover artwork was also light blue.)

6. I spent one Christmas Eve visiting my mother in the psych ward of a local hospital.

7. The only part of Christmas I look forward to is the food. Did I mention I like to eat? And I come from a long line of goddamn-I-can-cook-my-ass-off women. God bless us, every one.

8. I think I won't like Christmas until I have kids. And I don't wanna have kids. So...

9. The worst thing to have to do is work in retail during Christmas. I did it for 7 years. No mas.

10. I think little kids taking pictures with Santa is the cutest thing on earth.

11. However, I HATE when people dress their animals up in costume. Why is your dog dressed as Santa? He's a DOG. Dog don't need people clothes. They come with their own outfit. Its called FUR.

12. The Christmas lights? Notsomuch. I can't stand the tacky multicolored, cross religious celebration in excessive lights. Nor can I tolerate when you try to get all trendy with the monochromatic lights. *vomit*

I'm not tagging anyone. You gotta be fuckin' kidding me.

Friday, December 21, 2007

Home for the Holidays

Be back next week.

~ Mgmnt.

(Pray I don't wind up on the news, yes?)

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

"You Know How I Know You're Gay?" and Other Hilarious Randomness

Couple things...

1. Um... Jamie Lynn Spears is pregnant?!??! I'm not even surprised. What I AM shocked about though, is why VH-1 doesn't have a Spears family reality show in the works. Fuck I Love New York. THAT shit would be a HIT.

2. If I don't see Beyonce anywhere doing anything else for the next 3 years it will do my heart good. I love me some BB, but damn. Stay home every once in awhile. Then again if I barely had a marketable personality and had spent the last 10 years in the business doing my best pinochio impression, I guess I'd need to make sure my ability to brand myself was through the roof too. But seriously? A cell phone? Perfume? Hair products you KNOW can't be used on lacefronts? Two lines of foolish clothes designed by your country colorblind mama, anchored solely by a line of dresses that is bangin'? A DVD touting your Ailey knockoffs and Janet swagger jacking in a "freakum dress "as an "experience"? ( I swear if they add that phrase to the dictionary I am literally taking off for Canada.) A COUNTRY ALBUM?!?! Sit B. Sit. Good girl.

3. My daddy is cooking for me as soon as I hit the Georgia state line. I can almost feel how full and sleepy I'm gonna be. I'm not even gonna bother telling him I don't eat red meat, cuz he never listens. It's gonna be so fantastic though, lol.

4. You know how I know you're gay? Because I'M looking at her ass and you are not only not looking, but it never even occurred to you to glance up as her gravity defying backside damn near overturned our table when she walked by. And because you can't stop waxing poetic about a Destiny's Child reunion or how fabulous Naomi is in her new Vuitton campaign.

5. Shh. The game is on. Why do I have to tell you this? You're a BOY.

6. I've been having this pain in my wrists... maybe from all the texting? Meh. *picking up my phone*

7. There is no excuse for me to be trying to figure out how to spike my morning tea. None. Whatsoever.

But if there WERE, it would be that I am still kinda congested, lol

8. I need these to live. Oh, and these. Like, if I don't own them soon, my life will cease to make sense.

9. I need another tattoo like I need a hole in my head... which I also want. Cuz I kinda want my nose pierced? And another thing... well, two other things...

10. About that Christmas party... what it must be like to get drunk on the dance floor, completely embarass yourself, and have no one to answer to on Monday morning. Oh, to not be a minority.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Merry Christmas

You wanted to be my friend.

I think we both know you wanted to have your carnal way with me too, but I know you'll never admit that.

Friendship is such a foreign thing to someone who generally "distrusts everything that breathes."
But you... dammit.

I've been writing as long as I remember. (Remember why?) And yet, I can't capture you. I can't figure out words that depict the right shades of red, the depths of our purples, the brightness of our yellows. And that's not me.

Speechless, I guess.

Remember months ago when I told you I felt "full"? I still do. Maybe even more so. But it's different. There's a weight, a gravity to it, that makes me feel centered. That makes me feel tethered to the Universe.
To you.

I can't sleep on your side of the bed. Which is funny considering we've never slept in my bed. But I think maybe I hope that one day I'll roll over and you'll be there so I can put my cold feet on you to warm up.
You're here of course, even when you're not.

You're in the cards and handwritten notes I keep by my bed, that I usually read every night before falling asleep. You're in the pictures in my camera, and the Lemonheads I still can't bring myself to eat. You're in the silver CD in my car, and #15 on repeat, that one line we love always making me tear up. You're in my ear when I don't put on my makeup in the morning. You are 73 of the 100 text messages in my phone, 11 emails in my inbox that's just barely full. You're around. Always. I make sure of that.

Our conversations stay on repeat in my head. I hear your laugh internally in my most chaotic moments, and I feel still.
And that's what I prayed for.

You know I'm gonna forever maintain that you seduced me of course. But that's neither here nor there.

Even when you think you're broken, I think you're beautiful. And I say that, not as a person who has shared your lips, but as someone who has listened to your pain. It kills me, you know, because I wanna fix it. Because if I could, I'd make sure you never knew another ounce of pain in your life. I can't control that of course. So... I'm just here. Always.

Because I am your friend. Because I love you. Because even though you seduced me (hahaha), I know you'd never take advantage of me. Because I know your heart. Because I recognize so much of myself in your soul.

It's profound really, the kind of foundation friendship can lay, if you let it. If someone would have told me so many moons ago that this is where we'd be...

Somehow you've slipped through the cracks. You know I can't even contemplate future travel plans now without you in mind? It's absurd really. A friend sent me a link to a vacation package for Greece in the spring. I immediately imagined holding your hand through the streets, watching your skin darken under the sun. (Did I send it to you?)
There's a picture attatched to one of the links. Its a cliff, completely vertical, dangling over blue waves. An edge. Close to oblivion. Or the promise of everything perfect. Whichever your heart believes. I wanted to go, and stand there, see which way the wind moved me. I've got a pretty good idea.

It's cold now, and I know you have on 19 layers and long socks pulled up to your knees. You're in bed, more than likely, snuggled underneath the down comforter. Maybe you're working. Maybe you're reading. Maybe you're laying on your side of the bed trying to figure out if what you're writing is eloquent enough.

My hands feel strange when not occupied by your skin. The silence has an awful discord to it when not infused with the melodies of your voice. I'm texting you as I'm writing of you, and I can hear the things you'd say in my head.

Sometimes when I can't quite seem to put a name to what I'm feeling, I turn quiet. I sit perfectly still. I call you to the forefront of my mind, where you never seem to quite stray from, and I listen. And I'm well. Better. FanTAStic.

I'm invested in your happiness because you deserve it. Because you were my friend before there was ever talk of Spain, back when it was a you and a me, no plural pronouns, my desire for your happiness was exponential. Still is. Maybe moreso?

This is the closest I've come to a love letter. I'm not at war or anything (SO ridiculous) and it's not coming in the mail but it's genuine. It's sincere. It's from the heart. It's one of very few things I know for sure.

You are red on black and white. You are stillness in chaos. You are life amidst destruction. You are song within disharmony. You are Coltrane, Etta. Overjoyed. You are fire in the rain. You are home in foreign territory.

And that's just perfect (for me).

Feel free to return to your regularly scheduled sweet potato fries and insulting of Middle Eastern jewelers.


Friday, December 14, 2007

Things I Am Thankful for at 3:36am When I'm Too Sick to Sleep

1. Sending Joy epic text messages and her never complaining about my lengthy venting sessions.

2. Pads in my most vertical heels to cushion the balls of my feet.

3. Being charming.

4. Jack in the Box.

5. My sidekick, aka the thing essential to all my most basic life functions.

6. Cheese fries.

7. Knowing that on the rare occassions you do decide to pick up the phone, caller ID has already let you know that the voice on the other end is the only one you really wanna hear.

8. Clarity.

9. The way dark denim jeans make my hips and ass look.

10. Airplane tickets.

11. Really good, sweat your wrap out, intense, way-too-loud-considering-you-have-neighbors-but-I-couldn't-possibly-shut-up-or-care-less sex.

12. Text messages from moons ago crushes letting me know they're thinking of me. I haven't thought of you in eons kind sir, but you're good for my ego.

13. Bossip and Perez Hilton. Like me, Perez doesn't sleep and the daily dose of bitchy Queen is essential to my happiness.

14. Having the self control to not run around my neighborhood screeching at the top of my lungs and yanking down the gaudy ass Christmas decorations that occupy damn near every house for blocks. No mas.

15. The billions of discounts I get on stuff through The Company that I will never be able to use all of... but dammit if I'm not gonna try.

16. Unexpected starbucks giftcards. Woo! I'll see you in a few hours Steve! (my fav barista... baristo? Baristperson?)

17. and bka where the vast majority of the Christmas presents I did buy came from.

18. Bloggers!

19. Realizing that among the legions of books that I own that I've missed reading a couple, therefore giving myself something to do this weekend other than figuring out what the hell I'm gonna wear to The Company's Christmas party.

20. Someone to stay up with you when you're too sick to sleep :-)

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

The Airport

I've always loved airports. When I was younger, I lived not too far away from one. At night I would lay in bed, my mind whirling with thoughts of the things that my days held, and I'd listen to them takeoff and land and imagine where they were going or where they were coming from, who was on board, what they'd done, what they'd seen. Every time I drove past the airport, every time I laid in bed, listening to a takeoff reminded me that the world stretched beyond my current conditions. Every time the engines roared overhead, I felt hope.

I'm extremely aware of the click of my heels on the linoleum and the burn in my thighs indicative of the consequences of their height combined with my pace. The muscles in my neck knot around each other, the familiar stress of my everyday life returning and tangling itself around each sinew, twisting. Behind me, someone says my name, low and intimate, followed by a sigh. I tense because no one knows I'm here.

I remember once, First Love and I drove out to the end of a new runway they were building as part of the expansion of the airport. We sat outside that night under the expanse of indigo sky, and talked, laughed, kissed. He asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. The Sasha Thumper in me replied, "Alive."

I turn my head quickly enough for the knots in my neck to snatch. It's not me that's being addressed but rather a tiny girl in a red sweater a few feet away. Standing in front of her is a guy clutching a jacket to his chest, staring at her like she is the thing that's been missing from his life. I sigh at how absurd I'm being, how foolish, my heart pounding wildly in my chest, suddenly out of breath. I'd laugh at myself but I'm tired. I'm so tired. I curl up on the bench closest to me, my feet tucked underneath my legs and lean my head back on the wall. Deep breaths. I have no choice but to have the strength to carry myself forward.

I studied world history in the fifth grade, and it was the only book I remember taking home every night whether I had homework in it or not. I'd study all the places, all the name of cities and important landmarks, the languages, the pictures, so enraptured in world different from my own. I didn't know how, but I was going to figure out how to see every place in every picture in that book. When we moved near the airport that fall, on the heels of yet another destruction, I took it as a sign that I was moving in the right direction. The airport represented promise.

"Please," he says, almost begging, his eyes tight at the corners with grief. "I don't want you to go." She folds herself into his massive arms, tears hanging close to the edges of her long lashes, threatening to fall south.
"I don't want to go either."

I'm reeling at how eerily similar this conversation is to one that I had not even twenty four hours ago. My heart constricts in my chest. I know I shouldn't be watching but I can't possibly look away.
"So don't. Don't leave me. Please," he mumbles into the heavy fall of her red hair. I hear her sniffles and know her face is red just like my own even with her entire front being crushed against his broad frame.
"I have to. Please don't do this. I have to."
"You don't. Stay with me. Everything else we can work out. Just stay." His words are so forceful, so convicted that I can't help but mentally urge her silently to stay.
"I can't. Don't do this."
"You can. You don't want to."
"Of course I do! What are you talking about? You know why I can't. It just isn't that easy."
"But it can be. And any other complications we can work out together." At the mention of that word, I see her face change. I watch her turn inward, disentangle herself from her embrace. Her jaw clinches.
"I'm gonna miss my flight," she says to him, her voice even and emotionless.

The first time I left the country, I cried for the first hour of the twelve hour flight. I couldn't believe I'd done it. I couldn't believe that despite all the curve balls that had been thrown my way, I was on a plane on my way to Paris. I'd done it. I'd taken a step. It wasn't just a promise anymore.

He looks at her and I can see his heart breaking as he regards the change in her. He bites the inside of his jaw, and shuffles his weight back and forth before settling squarely on his two feet, trying hard to fight the tremble in his voice.
"We can't-" he falters- "we can't keep doing this. We can't continue forever this way. It's been years. And every time, every SINGLE time, it gets harder. What else do I have to do? I have faith; why don't you?" I can see her mind clicking behind her eyes, rushing to put together a reason that can cool off the emotional heat of this moment.
"My life just isn't-"
"That's BULLSHIT."

They are silent, his eyes wide with sorrow, the muscles in her limbs twitching and jerking at the urge to run. They stare at each other for a long moment, silently communicating the thing they both know but won't say. He sighs first.
"If your life is the way you want it to be, if this is the way you need it to be, that's fine. For you. But I," he flings his arms out to his sides, surrendering to the thing he probably thought he'd never say, "I can't keep doing this to myself. It's too much." He pauses for her reaction. She is perfectly still, silent.
"Ok. Ok," the second one a studder step behind the first and barely audible above the morning travellers rushing around completely oblivious to the heartbreak unfolding in front of them. He throws the jacket on the ground and pulls her to him so suddenly, so hard, that I gasp out loud. He crushes her with a kiss that seems to charge the air swirling around him. He lets her go and steps away, his eyes sweeping her over and gathering mist in the outer corners.
"I have to go. I love you. But I have to go." And with that he vanishes into the crowd of rushed footsteps and rolling luggage.

Being at the airport always represented a sort of freedom that I have longed for all my life. I remember the dreams of that little fifth grader and for the longest, it seemed like I was on track to achieve them. And somewhere along the way I got stuck in survival mode. And I can't seem to quite get out of it. And the older I've gotten, the more I've lived, the more things have gotten in the way. My outlook has begun to change. Maybe it isn't promise at all. All around, people are saying goodbyes, some final goodbyes, heartbreak hanging high in the beams in the ceilings. No matter where you go in life, on some level, you're leaving someone.

She stands there for awhile, not moving, barely breathing as far as I can tell. When the last piece of fabric from his coat vanishes on the other side of the glass doors, I hear her gasp. She breaks down suddenly, the entire weight of what just happened crashing down on her, buckling her knees. She stumbles to a seat a few away from my own where I have been a silent voyeur, her face wet with tears, wiping her cheeks as rapidly as I am wiping my own. She wraps her arms around herself, sobbing, gasping for air. She feels my eyes on her and turns to me, taking in my wet face and red eyes.
"I should have stayed," she says, barely above a whisper and I nod. She cries harder.

In that moment, I think back over the last few days, tears streaming down my face. I want so badly to push myself up, to compartmentalize what I'm feeling and go about my day as usual, but I just can't seem to. I push my palm into the left side of my chest, silently pleading with my heart to stop breaking. I double over. I think of seafood and candles. I think of random homeless people and feather comforters. I think of wine and embraces, of kisses on my shoulders and turkey burgers and cheese fries. I think of mid-afternoon naps and hot showers, of late night emotional eating, and laughter, of text messages from across the table, and constant plotting. I can't help but smile through my tears.

I think of Tuscany, Jamaica, Chicago, Italy, San Francisco, Greece. I think of Dubai and Puerto Rico.
I think of Spain.

And I can't stop crying. Because I can't help but wonder if every first step starts with some kind of goodbye.

Laying in bed later that night, I was once again that little girl that lived near the airport, contemplating the places she would go. The difference now is that I've lived enough to recognize that my childhood longings weren't about freedom; they were about escape. And really, there is no running. You can only choose where you want to be miserable if you leave. On some level, if you don't say goodbye, you are always a slave to what you left behind.

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

My Cherie Amor

There are some moments in your life who's details will never dull in your memory.

The first moment you realize you're in love with someone.
The birth of a child.
That perfect first kiss.
The day you or your favoritest person gets married.
Your first night in your own place.

The moment you realize that you are watching Stevie Wonder from 13 rows back.

At the risk of sounding disgustingly dramatic, I am pretty sure last night changed my life. Sincerely. The man is a genius. And he's silly. He's superbly talented. He is utterly spectacular.

I really have no words for how amazing his show was last night. All I can say is that if he's coming to a town near you, it's worth the price of the ticket. Hands DOWN.

So, true to form, here are the things you need to know about last night presented in a hilarious and well written list.

1. Stevie Wonder is 114 years old. He's been singing for the last 175 years. He performed straight, nonstop for 2 and a half hours. No choreography, no pyro or special effects, no bullshit. His voice is still as clear and crisp and strong as it was 207 years ago when he started his career. You silly bitches complaining about exhaustion and having issues with your voice? You should be dragged outside and beaten.

2. Anyone who can sing "Knockin' the Boots" and make it sound like a song you'd want your kids to listen to is aiight with me. Ditto for "Bed" and "Rehab".

3. My man stood up on the damn piano... and then JUMPED DOWN. WHAT?!?!?!?

4. Black people are the worst. You mean to tell me, kind sir, that not only were you 30 minutes late to the show, but you crawl over me, all in the middle of "Sir Duke" and then you have the nerve to be so big that you're sitting in all of your chair and half of mine? And you're drowned in Dolce and Gabanna Light Blue (a WOMAN'S perfume?!?!?) and then, THEN you mean to tell me I am supposed to excuse you being dressed like your wife... in a red jumpsuit?!? No mas.

5. You know you're about to see a good show when you sit down and look over the stage and realize there are no huge elaborate sets, no pyro set ups, no abundance of props, no intricate backdrop, just a littering of instruments. Ahh yes, real talent.

6. Experiencing a historic occassion such as the first time in 25 years Mr. Wonder has toured makes everyone fast friends. We bonded with the chicks next to us. By then end of the show, random people who didn't even know each other were dancing together in the aisles. It was a nice display of unity, even if temporary.

7. Have you ever been to a concert so damn good that the audience isn't howling along except when requested? How many people do you know so damn talented that people won't sing along? To that end....

8. You KNOW you're working your ass off to give a good show when you're sweating while sitting down and singing at a piano, as Stevie was.

9. I'm sorry sir, did you just do an entire 10 minute breakdown where your entire vocalization was inhaling and exhaling rhythmically and making it sound perfect? I. just. cant. take it.

10. Really? Really couple? You have on your eighth grade prom dress ma'am, and you, kind sir, have on a tuxedo... LITERALLY? I know, I know, they don't let niggas go nowhere too often but I gotta tell ya... this is why.

At some point, I might attempt to come up with a post that discusses the show a little more in depth. But for right now, I am far too delirious and in shock that I actually saw Stevie Wonder live in a full length concert.

From 13 rows back :-)

Friday, November 30, 2007

The Phone Call

I am tossing and turning, flitting through dreams, some entertained in a happy landscape, others notsomuch. I'm hot and then cold. Technically I am asleep but I feel myself being very aware of every time I kick the covers away and conversely every time I get cold. I feel when I brush my hair away from my face, when I clutch my pillow and burrow deeper in the sheets. Somewhere on the edge of consciousness, another dream begins.

I'm in bed, this bed, fast asleep when the phone rings, the ringer mistakenly up high, sqwaking a ringtone I haven't heard in many moons. I'm snatched from sleep. I contemplate not answering for a minute but it's so late or early, depending on which side of the moon you regularly consult with, and I am naturally prone to worry. I fumble in the dark and flip the phone open.
"Yeah what's up KB?"
"I know you're sleeping and I'm sorry to wake you-"
"Then why did you?"
"We need to talk."


I sit up straight, bracing myself for whatever follows, knowing that nothing that comes after "we need to talk" is ever good. I try and corrale my senses.

"What's up?" He pauses, and in the silence I hear his mind whirring and clicking, synapses firing, trying to fit together his words in such a way that this can somehow be a logical conversation between two adults and not a forray into 10th grade delusions of grandure. My heart rate speeds up just a bit.
"How have you been?"
"Cut the bullshit. You didn't call me at 4am to ask me how I been KB."

In the silence that follows I feel his resentment settling in and suddenly the air in the room goes cold.
"So you're seeing someone?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Mad Max said he saw you in a hotel bar around Galleria a couple weeks ago. With-" he chokes on his words, "someone."Despite myself I smile at his discomfort, and shake my head at how naiive I can be when I want to be.
"Yes. I'm seeing someone."
"How long?"
"Mmm, I dunno. Awhile, not too long, not long enough, forever and a day. Does it matter?"
"I just didn't know."
"I wasn't aware I was supposed to send you a press release."
"I guess I really didn't have to worry about dude I saw you with awhile ago."
"Honey he was GAY."
"Oh." That only temporarily slows his roll. "So you lied."
"About what KB?" punctuating my question with his name, a habit of mine I employ to notify the listener of just how absurd this conversation is to me.
"You were ready to date."
"KB do you realize I met you damn near NINE MONTHS ago?"

He takes pause because he hasn't done the math. I hear him calculating in his head, more click and whirs that tell me that this is an impulsive call, born purely of ego and emotion.

The worst kind.

"Honey," I take a deep breath and try to even out my tone," why are you upset?"
"I just can't believe... I... I just didn't know..." he trails off.
"Well, now you know."
"I mean... THAT'S who you date instead of me?"
"I'm happy. Can it be about that please?"
"You have GOT to be fucking kidding me."

For the next 10 minutes or so he rants and raves of all the things we coulda been, shoulda been, laments this choice I've made, until he tires himself out into silence.
"You feel better now?" I ask him, not a drop of anger or maliciousness in my voice. Mostly just exhaustion at the weight of my choices, sadness at this being an issue.
"No actually. I don't."
"Well good. Me either. I need to go back to sleep dear."
"Ok. I'll call you later."
"Please. Don't."

I hang up the phone softly and put it on silent. As I slide back under the covers, I feel myself falling.

I snatch awake, the darkness still quiet around me, the dog snoring contentedly in the corner. Honey raises her head for just a second to look at me curiously, wondering why I'm awake. She decides she doesn't care, rolls over and within seconds is snoring again. I laugh at myself. I am so extra sometimes. I lay back down, curling around my pillow like I'm holding someone, pulling the covers up to my chin and close my eyes. My breathing starts to deepen and I feel myself drifting.

Then the phone rings.

I snatch it up, incredulous at the caller ID.

"We need to talk."



Oh the joy.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007


...I quite literally pissed off every single person I had contact with from the moment I woke up ("Hey you wanna go out this weekend?") to the minute after I fell asleep and was awakened around 4am by a phone call ("We need to talk.") Ugh.

I think that's pretty damn talented.

This is why I don't talk to people. Because it gets me in trouble. Because they say things that make me say things that I need to consider first. And since I can't exactly seem to get a handle on that whole brain-to-mouth censor thing, I think it's best I hush.

Except, my phone keeps BLOWING UP. And no one calls me, ever. And everyone is instant messaging. And emailing. And texting. (And we all know how attatched I am to my texts... don't we Jam?) Where were all these people when I wanted to talk? When I could talk to people and not alienate my friends? lol

So here's what I learned from yesterday...

1. Don't call me and ask me for relationship advice. Please. It's best for the both of us.
2. If you keep your phone on silent, you won't be tempted to answer it when it rings because you won't hear it.
3. When your friends call you and complain about you being MIA, feign mock confusion and then have the call "drop". You must do it within the first 3 minutes of the convo. It's better this way. 4. I hardly ever wanna have a convo that begins with, "We need to talk." I especially don't wanna have this convo at 4am... with you.
5. I am notsomuch with the people skills. But I'm working on it. Sincerely.


So Jam asked over at Joy's spot and, for lack of any other inspiration, I guess I will reply.

Ahh, Barbie. First coined "Gangsta Bitch Barbie" by yours truly (which may or may not be the way it happened but I'm gonna claim it cuz I'm gangsta like that and know it will go unopposed.)

It is widely documented that I distrust everything that breathes, and Barbie was no exception. In high school she was always a little flaky to me, a little shady around the edges in ways that I couldn't quite put my finger on, but I knew I didn't wanna get close to. There were lots of things that turned me off to her as a human being in high school that came even before the event that broke up Joy and Barbie's friendship. When the whole drama went down, I was more than thoroughly disgusted with her, if for no other reason than I hate those chicks who blindly take their man's side just because he's their man without any kinda heeding of the facts. That shit drives me INSANE.

Barbie and He Who's Name I Do Not Speak did their thing. And my resentment of the situation was mostly born of the fact that I had to sit and watch my best friend suffer and I wasn't allowed to kick her ass or send someone after his. Fine. Who has bail money in high school anyway?

But that was years ago. And I barely even recognize the person I was in high school anymore. I can only hope that Barbie and her husband have experienced the same evolution. Being married and parents this long certainly implies a certain growth, but doesn't neccessarily guarantee it.

Which is cool. Cuz I DO have bail money now.

I Cannot BELIEVE...

... that I forgot this!!!

So here's a test of random La trivia... who's my favoritest artist of ALL TIME?

And when will he be coming to Houston for his first tour in 25 years?



I am LITERALLY counting the seconds until December 4th. Next week is gonna be so spectacular.

Monday, November 26, 2007

Cliff's Notes

...of the things you should be aware of or that have been on my mind as of late.

1. It's the holidays. I'm bitchy. Be entertained by it or get the hell on.

2. I had an amazing stroke of genius! I know what I'm getting everyone for Christmas! Woo! And it only took 2 migraines, alot of drinks and 1 sleepless night. Hell yeah bitches!

3. I'm looking for a second job. Which has kinda been good for my self esteem. Two places hired me on the spot in the middle of my interview, and countless more have contacted me back almost IMMEDIATELY to set up interviews. Who knew I was in such high demand?

4. It has been decided that this year's annual birthday trip will be to... MIAMI!!! ohmigod. *shaking head at how utterly, completely and totally outta control my sister and I will most certainly be* It'll be fantastic. It'll be ridiculous. It'll be more fun than we have all year... til my sister's birthday in June. I can barely stand to think about how much trouble we can get into in Miami in one weekend. If you ain't scared, you're welcome to roll...

5. The gadget universe hates me. The Blackberry I'm in love with? It comes in red... but only on another service provider. *sigh* Why me?

6. There alot of songs with my name in them. 17 of them, at least.

7. You know how I own 8,492 pairs of shoes? Why is it that I DON'T own a pair of black boots? It is my mission to rectify this as soon as possible.

8. Yes sir, I'm aware I have a nice shape and I'm pretty well endowed. I don't blame you for staring. I probably would too. It's in your genes. I understand. HOWEVER, if you could not spill your coffee on the breasts that you are staring at, that would be spectacular.

9. I'm officially the only person stupid enough to still live in Houston. Mari and Ella packed up and vacated for NYC a few weeks ago. So I'm back to being a loser. *sigh*

10. I have 4,629 trips planned for next year. It's making me quite hopeful that '08 will be far better than the horrificness that has been '07.

11. Why do people keep asking me for advice? Seriously. Um... has anyone SEEN my love life track record? And you KNOW that you don't REALLY want me to tell you the truth. Just like I know you know that I just can't and won't coddle you. So WHY do you call me and put us both through this? WHY?!?

12. It's funny how, while you're all focused on how to do it in such a way that won't create drama or trauma, the universe has a way of cutting off friends that you couldn't yourself if you just hang back and let it happen.

13. I have GOT to start disclosing things to my friends consistently. I really lose track of who I tell what to, and then I just end up not saying anything at all for fear I'll fuck it up.

14. There is nothing more disgusting in life that you purposely making your house look like the holiday section at Big Lots threw up on it. Oh wait... yes there is. Watching you, sweaty Mexican man with the beer gut hanging over your cloth belt and khakis, hang said decorations. *VOMIT*
15. Jam is the devil. On your haunches blog bully.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007


Aiight, so anyone who's been around my spot awhile knows that this is my least favorite time of year. I am not a holiday person. Usually, I'm pretty grumpy from around Halloween til the point where my first drink touches my lips on New Year's Eve (shout out to the guy who bought me a personal bottle of champagne last year and LITERALLY put a straw in it for me!!!). It's been a little better as I am not working retail this year and am not subjected to full on Christmas regalia around, oh Columbus Day or so (do people realize there are like 17 other holidays between the 4th of July and Christmas that just totally get played to the left a la Beyonce?) so that's been a gift from The Woman Upstairs. But alas, my Holiday Dry Heaves have hit full force. Why?

Because I have NO CLUE as to what to get ANYBODY for effin' Christmas.

I agonize for MONTHS about what to buy people for holidays and birthdays. I absolutely adore giving people presents. It's part of the reason I am sometimes late with them; because before you ever even tear the ribbons off the box (and yes I am a BEAST with the wrapping) I have probably bought and exchanged NO LESS than 6 presents before settling on this last one. (I'm pretty sure Joy is the only person who recognizes this. I think everyone else just thinks I am a flake *shrug*) But they are always perfect. And I kinda pride myself on that.

Now while I don't subscribe to this whole commercial ass holiday, much in the same vein that I dislike Valentines Day I do draw a great sense of joy from giving others presents I know they'll love. Usually, I've had enough random conversations with people throughout the year to have picked up on little things they've mentioned liking or wanting. Because I pay attention to the little details, I usually know what I am getting everyone around September, October or so... which is when I try to do my xmas shopping so that I don't have to deal with holiday mall traffic. This system as worked pretty well for me over the years; I don't spend Black Friday in the mall huddled in a corner and sobbing because the crowds are too overwhelming, and everyone gets something that they want but mentioned so many months ago that they kinda forgot they even wanted it. They're happy, I'm at home in the bed drinking and watching Friends on dvd. Everyone wins.

This year, notsomuch.

I got NOTHING. Not even for Joy who I ALWAYS have at least one good gift for. I can barely even stand how utterly ridiculous I am. lol

I'm at a loss. And it's November. The end of the shit, no less. Meaning everyone is dangerously close to getting homemade cards because I refuse to even drive by a mall or shopping center. At least not if they don't have a full bar inside whatever store I must visit. Otherwise, I just can't cope. Online shopping? That's an option. I'd still have to know what to get you though. See the cyclical nature of my tragedy? lol *sigh*

Oh and also, when you ask me what I want for Christmas and I say I don't really know but you can get me a gift card and I'll be happy, I'm NOT being an ass. I really do love gift cards. Like, alot. I like them much more that you buying me something I'll hate. Plus, I NEVER know what I want. And the things I DO want, are waaaaay too expensive for me to be comfortable with someone else buying it for me. (I have SINCERE issues with people buying me things and spending money on me. To that end, remind me to tell you about a huge fight me and Almost Fiance had back in the day...) So, please stop giving me that "La I'ma Fuck You Up" look when I say that I'm totally ok with gift cards. Because I really am. I don't find them impersonal or lacking thought. One of the greatest things I ever got for Christmas was a gift card to Target aka the Black Hole of my Paycheck. I was so happy I LITERALLY squealed.

So, the moral of the story is, I need all my friends and family to be more like Joy when I am at a loss for what to get them for Christmas...

*via text... *

I am COMPLETELY at a loss as to what to get you for xmas. What do you want?

I dunno.

*more texts*

I was gonna get you like 5 gift cards and arrange them all pretty in a bag, lol

I would LOVE that! (without an ounce of sarcasm) I was just gonna get you a Victoria's Secret gift card so you wouldn't have to worry about semi annual this year.

OMG! That's PERFECT! (without an ounce of sarcasm)

And that, ladies and gentleman is why I would have her babies for her. I really need to finish that Friendaversay post that's over a month late... but like the presents I buy, it's never perfect until a lil while after the fact.

Friday, November 16, 2007


It's that moment when your breath literally vacates your body for parts unknown. When, just for a second, the world is suspended, everything is in slow motion, maybe completely still, and you simply cannot remember how to breathe. Maybe your heart pounds, or maybe its beating is arrested completely. Your palms might sweat. You might be struck cold, or run hot, or maybe both in tandem. Your senses are stunted. Your days, your weeks, your life as it could be rush by you in that moment simultaneously blurry and made so clear.

You just know.

From the second you lay eyes on them, barely having a complete moment to sweep them over head to toe, you know that you don't stand a chance.

You're falling. Just that fast. You haven't hit bottom yet, but you're spiraling. You're on your way.

It's not love at first sight because that is such a whimsical feeling, such a transient theory. This is more solid than that. This has been building. Slowly gaining momentum behind the scenes, slyly wrapped around every syllable of every conversation, every smile, every laugh, all to slam you into this moment with full force. You won't be the same after this. There is no backward tread.

But if you're like me, if you've been as shell shocked and emptied by this feeling as I have, you try, of course. You try to dig in your heels and retreat. You say the wrong things at the wrong times. You play little games with yourself, little tests of your own will power, measure your worth by how long you can or cannot stay away. But your heels won't grip the ground to beat a hasty retreat back into safety. You fumble over yourself trying to fix the things your careless words have broken. You forget the clock has even started on the game and before you know it, your phone is in your hand and you're smiling, so hard and so wide that it feels like your face will never regain it's elasticity. You're laughing, genuinely, loudly, enraptured by the cadence of the voice in your ear. It's new but it's comfortable. You feel like you've lived this love before. It's exciting but not alarming.

Because this isn't that feeling you grew accustomed to. It isn't That Thing you know backwards and forwards because you haven't been struck like this before. You can't articulate It because you feel it too deeply. This is decidedly foreign but it still feels like home.

And that is utterly terrifying.

So then what?

You indulge yourself in negative thinking. You remind yourself of all the ways this is improbable, unlikely, illogical. You study the issues therein so you are well versed, so at any moment you can pull a passage from your readings and use it as suplementary documentation that it's best you retreat. Or hold back. Or take it slow. Or maybe even full out sprint in the opposite direction.

But you never do.

Because you're tethered. Because you're invested. Because you know it could be all of the things you need and none of the things you don't.

Maybe you unlace your running shoes, leave them in a muddied heap by the door to be picked up at a much later date. Or maybe you never pick them up at all. You actually allow yourself to entertain the possibility. At night, when it's quiet and you are alone, you consider the What If. And you smile to yourself, maybe you speak it aloud because you like the way it rings in your ears. You turn it over in your hands and get familiar with the texture of it. Because the darkness can hide you. Maybe one day you can revel in the What If outloud, in the daylight hours.

But I'm not at that point yet.

It's funny, because fundamentally, that moment changes you. Before you remember that breath is a neccessity, before the earth around you starts to move again, parts of you are reawakened that you just assumed had long since perished to be gone forever. It's so overwhelming, that moment, and you're rooted firmly to the spot, completely transfixed.

Just breathe.

And then you say hello.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

One Word

I was born a wordsmith. There was never a time I remember that I wasn't writing. Early on in life, words became my savior, my sword with which to fight even my most egregious life battles. I have an immense respect for language, for words. Words in and of themselves, when coupled with the appropriate intentions, are extraordinarily powerful. Words can destroy. Words can rebuild. Words can endear. Words can mend. They can unite a community. They can swiftly tear asunder what was once unbreakable.

There are few words in any language as powerful as cancer.

No matter what the tone, the intention, the method of delivery, it can single handedly maraud and annihilate. The word itself is omnipotent, an exact reflection of the disease itself, swift and deadly. In and of itself, it is a force to be reckoned with. There are few things in life that render me speechless faster than human suffering. It is part of the reason I started to write in the first place. To relay, to capture the entire spectrum of the human experience. To vividly sculpt a memory where time may otherwise dull the sharpness of the details. To give voice, to my own suffering, to the suffering of others.

That word, cancer, coupled with others or standing alone, is a complete thought unto itself. A singular concept that, no matter the context or the language, is uttered with the distinct understanding that it is the inauguration of battle. No one who hears it is under any illusion that they are in for a leisurely stroll through the corridors of medicine. This is a crash course in survival, the tempo varied according to its stage and rate of progression. It changes your life. Suddenly. Totally. Because even if you beat it, you are never again the same person.

I remember when my grandmother first starting getting sick. Being the baby of my generation, and the accused favorite grandchild, no one ever really let me know just how sick she was. The first time she got cancer (yes there were two times and two very separate and distinct types) I didn't even know it was cancer. I just knew she was "sick". I never even entertained the thought that my grandmother might not make it because, being the willful woman she was, it just didn't seem logical. That coupled with the insistence of my family in protecting me from the actualities of her condition, made it easy to go on with life as if the big C word wasn't hanging ominously over our matriarch. When she got older and started to deteriorate at an alarming rate, the details of her previous sicknesses began to slowly leak out. I was beyond furious. Hadn't I deserved to know? Hadn't I deserved the opportunity to walk that journey with her, the time to grieve, to rage, to cry, to then pick myself up and be there for her? Hadn't I deserved the opportunity to wade the the waters littered with debris with her, to help her find the bits and pieces of her life she could salvage? Wouldn't it have done me better to remember her as a fighter in those days of chemotherapy as she would sit for hours wringing her hands and lamenting her gorgeous hair that had become thin and lifeless? Wouldn't it have been better than the last mental image I have of my grandmother being her tiny body engulfed by a hospital bed, her skin cold, her limbs unresponsive to my touch, months after her various sicknesses had ravished her body? Hadn't I too deserved the opportunity, like the rest of my entire family, to speak the word cancer, to turn it over in my mouth and get familiar with the bitter, metallic taste it left in the back of my throat, to utter it and give life to it, to make it real? Could I not handle such a power? I remember thinking the day of her funeral, that everything was just so wrong. It didn't seem fitting that an entire 80 plus years of life was somehow supposed to be contained and buried in such a small box. I remember THAT being the thought that made me cry. Not that she was gone, not that I'd never hug or hear her again, not that she'd never give me little presents I didn't know to cherish. The thought that this is what life can so easily, so readily be reduced to. That everything she'd known and worked for and created and loved could be forever changed by just a word. Two syllables. Infinite strength. I hated knowing that cancer was so powerful that I'd never get to hear the stories of her childhood, her experiences, her life, that she'd gotten more prone to telling as her life wore on. I couldn't stand the thought that she'd miss the rest of my life all because of a fucking word.

And now, again, cancer has struck so swiftly, so suddenly in my life. The full weight of it is so full, so heavy, that its hard to imagine there's any pushing it off.

But there is. Because there is a word more powerful than cancer. Love.

And even when I can't bring myself to believe that love, in the romantic sense, can conquer all, I know that love, genuine, real, passionate, unwavering, is the greatest weapon that we will ever have in our arsenal. I know that, even as my chosen weapon is the written word.

Fundamentally, love is greater than all things. It joins together where other words have torn apart. It is the force that prevails when all others have failed. In this life, it is love that gives depth to human suffering. It is love that captures memories and makes them vivid. It is love that heals where other words destroy. I believe wholeheartedly in love, pure, simply complex, all consuming and true. If you let it, love can be the thing stands when everything else has fallen. It is the thing worth salvaging from the wreckage. Love just IS, the mere presence of which is more powerful than any word uttered in its path. Love is the great equalizer. The light in the dark, the salvation of hope when otherwise there is none. And don't we all, at some point, need to be saved?

Thursday, November 8, 2007


Here's a little known La History Fact: It takes alot to get me stressed. Like, alot.

The earth has to be damn near combustion for me to feel the pressure. People who really know me, know that I am not truly stressed until I stop complaining about it. If I still have the wherewithal to bitch about how stressed I am, I'm not really stressed out.

Usually, once I get to that point where I feel like I'm about to break, I instinctively kick into autopilot mode. I start fixing things, doing things, planning, plotting, hustling, and generally making things happen with little conversation. Sometimes after all is said and done I come back to fill you in on it. More often than not, once the waters receed at least slightly, I'm back with my usual jokes and sarcasm, most none the wiser that there was anything going on in the first place.

This is just what I do. I'm finding myself wholly uninspired to write anything as of late. (Which usually means something great is on the way.) Probably because my brain has shut down.

Not a curtain call. Just intermission.

I'm on autopilot. Be back.

Thursday, November 1, 2007

"I Enjoy Him" and Other Randomness for Lack of a Real Post

In list form of course...

1. I am unnaturally attatched to candy corn. So much so that with all this Halloween talk, I've been reduced to craving it. I actually went out of my way to stop and get a bag damn near as big as my torso. My justification is that I was trying to avoid traffic. However, apparently everyone had the same idea as me as every store I went to was completely sold out of candy corn.

2. Speaking of Halloween (and I promise that this is not just me hating because I never got to participate in any kinda typical Halloween activity as I was always at church) when did kids get so fucking lazy? I saw kids walking about my neighborhood trick or treating that WEREN'T EVEN DRESSED UP. How wack are you? Those kids would get my door slammed in their face. However, the little Mexican baby next door that was dressed up like a dragon... oh he woulda got all my candy, and probably some of my money too.

3. I really need to buy one of those adapter thingies for my car for my ipod. The amount of cds I have floating around my car is ridiculous. At this point, I'm pretty sure the floorboards of the truck are vomitting compact discs.

4. "I enjoy him," says my co-worker TC in reference to a guy who works in our building who is QUITE lickable. She didn't know anything about him other than her enjoyment so enter Superslueth La: I damn near had a blood sample and his SSN by close of business. I'm sick with the secretive snooping, lol. And I am DEF stealing this saying. *looking cutie up and down from across the bar* "mmm I enjoy him." LMFAO!

5. When did it become popular to refer to a woman's genitalia as bubblegum? Honey you SHALL NOT chew me. And if you do, I'm kicking you in your forehead. Fall back.

6. I hate when people mispronounce simple words like saying "obeast" and "pacific". I'ma need you to get that together immediately before my irritation causes me to hit you with a flying drop kick.

7. You know what I miss most about east coast living? Really good takeout places. When I was living in NYC, it was absolutely MIND BOGGLING to me that I could get ANYTHING delivered to my place on 116th. OMG! Living in DC spoiled me too: do you know how many times we ordered Danny's at 2am? I need more of it in my life. I miss the better coast.

8. However, you know what I DO love about Texas? The fact that the speed limit damn near everywhere is between 60-70mph. Which means everyone does between 70-85mph. Right up my alley.

9. Gloria Estefan really is quite magnificant. 90 Milias has not left my cd player since I got it 2 weeks ago. Literally.

10. There is nothing more entertaining to me than riding up on white people with rap music blaring from my speakers. Riding down Kirby the other day, I had UGK on. But you know what's even better than the white lady clutching her pearls at her chest? Her daughter who had to struggle to hide the look of recognition and pleasure that passed across her face when she recognizes who it was. Hey Mrs. Henderson... you daughter is probably fuckin' a black dude. He's gettin' it in. Guaranteed.

11. I work in an office full of drunks. At any point in times you can hear plans being made about who's going where to happy hour, what drinks need to be brought to this tale gate party, etc. Someone brought beer to our Halloween potluck. Not a party. Beer. Potluck. Loves it. Speaking of which, next time you're mixing a drink, try pure pineapple juice and Bacardi Rasberry. Insert orgasmic sounds (here).

12. How did I ever live without chipotle? I really don't know. And I never plan to have to find out ever again.

13. There is something I find fundamentally attractive about Bun B's voice. Maybe I've been in Texas too long...? I'm not sure. But in my defense, there is NOTHING I find attractive about his face.

14. Another thing to add to my suspect homo male list: Men with small dogs. There is no way on earth you can have swagger walking your little white Pomeranian. None.

15. Speaking of voices I enjoy, is it just me or can you listen to Sean Paul (from the YoungBloodz) talk alllllllll day. I could. *sigh* When is his solo album coming out? God bless the Atl man.

16. Why is the "Make it Rain" Remix the most hilarious thing in my life right now? Just R. Kelly's part. "Make it rain on them hooooooooooooooeeees!!!!" He sings that shit so HARD. I am LITERALLY cracking up as I type.

17. No ma'am. I wasn't looking at your boyfriend. I don't want him. He looks like that thing I hit with my truck that time I drove home slightly intoxicated. Except he looks like what it looked like after I ran over it with both sets of wheels. Tire tracks and all. You can chill with the death grip on his arm. I don' t want him.

18. I need to add on at least 3 more hours to everyday to get everything done.

19. Since when I was I the person everyone calls to give them advice about marriage? Have yall MET me?!?!?!?!?

20. Someone please keep me out of Victoria Secret. It's like The Promised Land. And I'd really like to not completely ruin my credit.

I'm occupied for the weekend. You guys write alot so I have something to do at work on Monday!!!

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

God Bless the Child

I am my mother's child.
But I got my demeanor from my daddy.

None of that was more clear than today.

Whenever I talk to my daddy, it always makes my day. Every time. Without fail. Our conversations are few and far between as a. we both hate talking on the phone with a burning passion and b. we work conflicting work schedules (I'm working when he's asleep and vice versa.) But when we finally drag each other onto the phone, he always makes me smile. He's silly. As hell. Which is funny because he looks a little intimidating like an extra from the Sopranos. But he's a teddy bear. And he's a little crass. (Which is probably where I get it.) He's kinda lacking in social skills (again, hello?). But he's kind. And he's sweet. And he's my daddy. However, none of this is the point of course.

My daddy is all those things but he's also fairly stoic. And not in a typical dad I-never-even-give-my-kids-a-hug kinda way. He just isn't easily swayed or affected. Much like myself. He isn't all that emotional. I've only seen my daddy cry once, and it was my fault, so I felt especially guilty about it. The older I get, the more I notice that his humor is often a deflector to any probing you may attempt (How's my little brother?), the degree of ridiculousness determined expressly by exactly how personal the question is (Daddy what do you wanna do with your life?). As I've gotten older, I recognize it as a defense mechanism. But I also think I may have internalized a great deal of it at a young age. Which is strange, seeing as how my daddy wasn't around alot when I was younger. (Maybe taking on his demeanor was a way to feel closer to him when he wasn't around? I might be getting a little too Freudian for my own good.) What I recognize as well, is that it isn't exactly serving me.

Sure, not having a hothead temper like many of my family members is probably the only reason I'm not in jail or on the block today. And yes, being a little bit more difficult to rile up is probably why my mother and I haven't killed each other yet. Being non-combatitive is probably the only reason I have such good friends or have accomplished anything in my life. So part of it is probably a good thing. But where do you draw the line? Where does my intense dislike of having to have the we have to talk convo start to hurt rather than protect me? When does deflecting the probing and difficult questions with humor to soften the blow start to alienate me from the people seeking to fill the exact voids I feel I have in my life? How does the instinct to be stoic find a balance between both levelling even the rawest emotions and not cutting you off from emotions all together?

I've become particularlly skilled in the art of holding back, of being emotionally distant. Not neccessarily out of maliciousness, but just because the other side is so dangerous to tread.

I acknowledge, when I want to and very rarely, that I've been through alot to be so young. I can also say without blinking, that many lesser people would have crumbled under the pressure of my life at some point during the 23 years I've lived it. But I haven't. I'm not. I'm happy. I'm blessed. For the most part, I'm fairly well adjusted. So what if what has gotten you through the darkest, lowest times of your life is maybe what's holding you back from reaching the apex of your experience?

"Daddy, would you say that you're happy? I mean, if you passed away
tomorrow, could you look back over your life with no regrets?"
"I don't think I could La. But I could be happy that maybe I
laid the groundwork for you to have that kind of life."

Yes, my daddy is fantastic. And being his daughter is what has simultaneously condemned and saved me.

"You know you are just like your mama right?"
"I am NOT."
"Well you look, you walk, you talk, you laugh, you sound, just like your
mama. But your heart and your head is more like me, I think."

And I think I got the good parts.

Thursday, October 25, 2007


I am completely lost in the hands in my hair. Enamoured with their every twist and tug, each strand sliding through outstretched fingers like water. Fingertips gently massage my scalp, pull my hair back to send kisses to the nerves in my neck, then return to their gentle kneading. My own hands feel so empty, despite the skin they're holding, because it's not enough to fill this void I'm experiencing, this insatiable desire carved out by extended foreplay stretched for days, for weeks, until just the thought of it has stolen my focus for hours at a time.

I feel drunk, my senses simultaneously dulled and heightened, my motor skills stunted, but my reflexes still sharp, evidenced by the quick jerks every stroke induces. Each touch, every kiss is a baptism, fresh water engulfing me, washing away all my previous sins, rebirthing me in the eloquence of these fingers, these hands.

I'm soft. Trembling. Barely remembering that it's necessary to breathe, each inhale and exhale a concerted effort, no longer a natural instinct. Each breath labored by desire so white hot that sweat is raining from my pores.

Soft fingertips on the humid skin of my back, sliding in calculated lines down my spine. First just the pads, then the whole palm, pressing firmly, torso against torso. Just that quickly my skin has gone from hot to cold and I'm shivering, chills racing up my spine and exploding through my brain. My thoughts are casualties. Rendered silent by pure physical instinct, by the entanglement of arms and legs, of breath and hands, the sensation of sliding deeper down into desire so deep, so cavernous, so wide, that light has recessed into merely a memory.

Right now I'd feel guilty if my lips ever said another name.

Whispers in my ear. A potent combination of curses and commands that make my limbs twitch and contract. Before I know it, I'm on my back, wrists gripped together and pressed into the sheets. Kisses rained on my forehead, my lips, over my neck, my breasts, my stomach, my thighs. Tiny nibbles on my bottom lip. Gentle sucking that easily becomes more urgent. My own voice is foreign to me, a coarse whisper of moans and unintelligible mumbles, my breath still tangled mercilessly in the cage of my throat. Warm breath on my skin. A soft kiss. The generous offering of tongue, a deeper parting. I'm struggling to maintain some kind of composure, my eyes filling with tears because I'm so damn overwhelmed because everything about this touch, this skin, is just perfect. I'm fighting it, fighting giving in, letting go, and flailing in vain to keep a hold on my last wisps of sanity. Well placed pressure, one hand on my hip.
And I'm gone.

Hours later, I've fallen asleep and waken up again, the night still silent around us, the bed still warm from our skin. With every inhale, our intertwined scent rises liberally from my skin. I disentangle myself slightly, but not totally, wrapping my arms around myself, to take in the totality of this very second right here. I can't help feel, of course, what might be the eventual fatality of it all, and the weight of it pushes me deeper into the safety of the covers. I shake it, but not completely, just enough to resign myself that maybe it isn't important, that all that matters is that for these few secret moments, the world is still for us, and maybe that's what we both need.

Arms reach for me and I fold myself into them, so open and raw, exposed to my core and deliriously thankful I'm the only one conscious. It is then that I give credence to the fact that one of us might already be halfway out the door; I just can't decide which one.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Where We Stand

First, catch up on the jump off...

weeks ago...

He puts his hand on my back to guide me through the mash of tables and patrons in the crowded room until we get to our table. He's close to my back, speaking intimately into my ear as I slightly turn my head to respond. His big hands lift the chair easily from the floor, pulling it out for me, then scooting in back up to the table when I sit down. He takes his place across from me, passing me a menu and as I look up to address him, I catch eyes on mine from a couple tables away. There he is.
KB. KB and... Barbie?

We sit for the longest time, held transfixed by the absolute absurdity of this moment, and at the same time, both of the occupants at our respective tables feel our gaze focused beyond them and turn to see what is holding our attention. The man at my table looks to KB, slides his eyes up and down his heavy frame and then puts his eyes back to the menu almost as quickly as they left. Conversely, Barbie eyes me, a flash of recognition in her light blue eyes, slowly taking me all in head to toe. I lean back so she can get a better look, my lips curl up at the edges in what might look like a smile to an observer but I know she feels my sneer. He says something to get her attention and her eyes snap back to him, but I can tell from the goosebumps that have risen on her skin that she's shook.
Oh, yes. I'm THAT close.

We order drinks and settle in, our laughter rising high above the table, losing ourselves in conversation and thoroughly enjoying each others company. He covers my hand with his and I smile at what he's saying, so big I'm sure you can see every last tooth and bracket in my head. We dissolve into laughter again and I feel my phone vibrate in my purse on my lap. I send a quick message back to the East Coast, one that has made me smile even larger and before I can put my phone away it vibrates again. This time from much closer. A few feet away even.

aren't you going to introduce me to your date?

I look up and catch KB watching me, make a point of giving him a raised eyebrow and showing him that I'm putting my phone back in my purse. I feel it vibrate again.

ignoring me...?


Our entrees come and I go to wash my hands. When I come back out from the bathroom, there is KB, leaning against the far wall in front of the door like a scene from an awful C-list gangster movie, a designer imposterTony Montana with his tie losened around his neck and the shirt sleeves on his button down rolled up.

"He's like damn near triple your size La."
"They do say everything is bigger in Texas."
"Is it true?"
"I dunno, text me around 2am after a couple more cocktails and I'll let you know. If I'm not asleep that is." He laughs at me. "I didn't know Barbie was allowed to drive her dream car to see anyone but Ken," I say to him in reference to the mound of plastic at the table with him.
"You calling her Barbie because she's white?"
"No I'm calling her Barbie because if she gets too close to the candles on the table, it's quite likely she'll melt."
"Are you hating Lala?" I look down into the recesses of my low cut dress. "Naw baby, I'm good." We burst into loud laughter. He wraps his arms around me, hugging me so tight he lifts me off the floor.
"How have you been girl? I know you're busy as hell with the new job."
"Good, good. Just running, getting my life in order, trying my hardest to balance work and play. You know how it goes."
"Man do I? I've been all over the place. I think I'm gonna be spending alot more time in and out of San Francisco."
"So that went well?"
"Yeah man. My boss is very happy with me right now."
"Oooh that sounds good. How happy?"
"Happy enough to give me that promotion I've been gunning for along with the ridiculous raise that comes with it." Our laughter lifts over us, loud and wrong in comparison to the ambiance of the resturant.
"That's good KB. I'm happy for you."
"I have to admit part of it was because I stole part of your idea."
"Then when you get that raise I will be expecting something shiny with a ribbon on it to thank me. Preferably something that comes in a blue box." He chuckles at me.
"Done." He pauses. "You look gorgeous as usual."
"I DO, don't I?"
"Jesus La." More laughter.
"Thank you, I mean. I'll work on it."
"I should get back."
"Yeah me too. And tell Barbie once she hits puberty she'll totally grow into those things."
"You are just awful girl."
"Seriously, what is she, 12?"
"Hush woman," he says, giving me another quick hug and kissing my cheek. "Buy you lunch next week?"
"Yeah, call me in my office." He walks away and I smile at his back, still softly chuckling to myself at our conversation. I reach my table and sit down. My date eyes me suspiciously.

"Girl I thought you had fallen in."
"Nah was just touching up my makeup."
"Mmhmm. And your delay didn't have anything to do with that big beautiful man who damn near broke his neck to run down that hallway after you when you got up to go?"
"No child. Well... aiight a little."
"Giiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirl," he draws out better than any of my girlfriends, "who IS that man? He is like the freshest melted chocolate in Gucci loafers I've ever seen in. my. LIFE."
"That's KB honey."
"THAT'S him? Girl are you HIGH?!?!?!?! I'd be going out of my way to turn that man out so I could spend the rest of my fabulous life with him." He pauses. "You sure he isn't the least bit... curious?" I raise my eyebrow at him. "I'm just sayin'! You turned him down. Don't hate on the rest of us," he chuckles, trying to discreetly position himself to get a better look. I kick him hard under the table.
"If I bruise from them damn stilettos when you know I'm wearing shorts to the club tonight, that's your ass bitch."

We whisper about KB like we're in middle school, trading conspiratory giggles and trying not to make eye contact.

Of course my date was gay.
My life isn't that perfect.

Monday, October 22, 2007

All You'll Get From Homecoming

I'm not even gonna bother with even attempting a recap because, real talk, do I ever finish them muthafuckas? But I will give you a list of things La has learned this weekend that will hopefully help you in all your future homecoming/life endeavors.

1. You need travel patnahs.
Someone said it this weekend, and I now firmly believe that shit to be so sincere, "homecoming is best when celebrated with one, maybe two people." This shit is real fuckin' talk. Over the last few years, the droves in which we've ascended on homecoming has now dwindled to a core group of people we hang out with. And even now, that number continues to get smaller. I think alot of it has to do with our personalities changing and our interests becoming different. The important thing about travelling for any reason, with anyone, is that they share your vision of the trip. For it to be completely successful and enjoyable for all, everyone needs to have a clear understanding of the goals and objectives and overall tone of the trip. Which leads me to...

2. I need friends who share my interests.
Or at least my interests in certain arenas. I am multi-dimensional. Ideally I'd love to find someone to go to the Texans/Saints game with and then who would accompany me to see the Houston Ballet's performance of the Nutcracker the following Thursday. Of course, it is essentially impossible apparently to find all the qualities I am in one other. Which is cool. But when engaging in activities such as those which Howard Homecoming implies, I need someone who shares my interests in such settings. I'm loud. I'm (inconsistently) sociable. People know me and most importantly, people like me. I like to drink. Alot. I like to try new concoctions, and I'm famous for charming up bartenders and running up a ridiculously high tab and paying pennies for it. Every once in awhile, I like to go to the club. And when I do, you WILL notice me. Why? You see that girl right there? In the middle of the floor, her hair pulled back into a ponytail because she's hot, laughing and dancing to every song the DJ spins? That's me. And I'm gonna need some partners in crime. You know that schedule you like to keep when you're outta town? Yeah, La hates that. When I've got the away message up on my everyday life, I wanna do whatever I wanna do whenever I wanna do it, however I'd like it to get done, and not neccessarily on a time table. But that's just La. I roll that way. And I've grown up now enough to where if I can't find anyone to roll with, I'm ok with rolling alone.

3. Gay men make my life complete.
Seriously. Most of my weekend was spent with some of my favoritest kidz and I thank God everyday for them. They are hilarious and intelligent and raunchy and extra and affectionate and witty and loud and ridiculous and fun and thoughtful and spontaneous and tragic and dramatic and fabulous. Sunday I LITERALLY laughed so hard I was damn near hoarse and had to talk at considerably lower decibles than my usual raspy alto. I LOVED every second of it. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. I've always had a pretty consistent base of gay male friends in my life because it's not like being in theater and working in retail affords you alot of straight boy options. But I adore them. And not even because they will help me pick out bras that make my boobs look spectactular in a far too low cut shirt and I don't have to worry about them scheming ways to hit it later.

4. A well placed bottle of gray goose makes all life's ills better.
No bullshit. Again, if you aren't one of those people whom I referenced in point #2 this goes over your head. And that's fine. But for me, nothing says thinking of you like a personal bottle... or the way too expensive champagne you buy to toast to nothing... or mimosa with brunch... or mojitos with lunch... or martini's with dinner. (Driving the cute bartender to distraction by doing that thing you do with the olive is optional)

5. Groupies will go crazy over a celebrity in the club.
Lord I swear all groupies should either be rehabilitated or shot, and since I don't believe in hoes becoming housewives, somebody load a clip. We went to Love Saturday (arguably my fav club in DC) when Diddy was throwing a party. Up on the 3rd floor, while I'm on the floor doing my best to sweat my hair out, Diddy decides he wants to grab the mic and address the audience. Which is cool. He brings out Omarion and Bow Wow (whom I'm convinced are fuckin). Which is even ok despite my intense dislike of the lil one. My issue? The fact that the little bit of air we did have was suddenly overtaken by groupies screaming and clamouring to take pictures with their phones and shit. Then of course comes the choruses of "Oooh girl what I would DO to him"s and "DAMN he is so fine!!!" Really? Omarion "Baby Hair" of B2K is fine? He's fuckin' THIRTEEN YEARS OLD you grown ass bitch. Over there. Sit DOWN.

6. High conversations will be the deepest, most thought provoking, funniest convos ever.
Oh you don't believe me? Take these 2 gems provided by one of my friends after what must have been a particularly potent cipher:
"I don't fuckin' believe in dinosaurs. Not one muthafuckin' place in the Bible have you ever heard of any goddamn dinosaurs."
But wait. There's more...
"You know, I bet if you took an ounce of weed and threw it in the air in space, everybody would get high." WHAT NIGGA?!?!?!?!?

7. Hood anthems set any party off right.
Maybe this is just for me and it completely depends on what you like. But I must admit that at the opening sounds of "I'm so Hood" and "Hood Figga" in the club I was damn near reduced to that hood chick in the club you see that has taken her shoes off to dance to a song.


8. If you stay up til about 6 or 7, you can catch all the people coming back from creeping and sneaking.
HA! NOTHING is better than the Parade of Shame. Don't act like homecoming ain't prime time for random hookups. Hell, staying up and chilling on the Yard around this time when we were still at Howard proved this exhibit to be quite hilarious, but for homecoming it is turned up a notch. You know how it goes. Just go post up somewhere, the lobby of your hotel, the hottest after hours spot, and watch that chick that walks in with her hair still combed but just a lil... played in and pulled. Or take a second to check out that two sitting in the corner, huddled over their table, their convo barely audible, eating like they haven't eaten in days. Yeah. You know what was up with them just probably about an hour ago. I live for that shit.

9. You cannot judge someone by their homecoming persona.
You really shouldn't be judging anyone, but homecoming isn't a good time to make decisions about anyone. I am sure my scandalous ass club outfit that actually required the purchase of a special bra to compliment the ensemble because you would be seeing so much of it would lead many to draw incorrect conclusions. Just like I can't assume the chick I heard getting banged in the bathroom at Love was a hoe. It's just homecoming. People sometimes get a little (too) extra.

10. If you spend all weekend texting, you WILL get talked about.
Without fail. My peculiar phone activities were well documented and discussed. Just a note, if you're trying to keep your shit from nosy ass friends, put a code on your phone so when your friends try to creep your shit to see who you've been talking to, they can't access any info. Follow this with a cuss out when you recognize what they've done.

11. Sometimes the best revenge is knowing you could have done something vicious but chose not to.
And subsequently, it shows alot about your character as well.

12. You really need not try to break in new heels at the club.
I tell myself this all the time. I never listen. I will be sidelined in flats and Forces for AT LEAST a week.

13. Bitch is quite possibly the most versatile word in the English language.
Seriously. It's a sentence unto itself. It's a period. It's an exclamation point. It's an adjective. It's a verb. It's a stroke of red across an otherwise black and white sentence. I use it quite frequently. And all in love. Unless of course you're the bitch I cussed out in Adam's Morgan.

14. The key to anything can unlock alot more than a door.

15. You never miss the life you built for yourself until it's not yours anymore. *sigh* And thus commences the begininng of loser week...

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Girl Talk

Our long weeks have found us convened in Mari's living room, random limbs strewn among open Chinese food containters and bottles of wine. Mari, Ella, Butter and I fill each other in on our lives bullet point style, hitting the highlights between small sips of wine. We talk over each other, almost every sentence punctuated with curse words, laughter or a round of sistafriend mmhmm's. I pull the legs of my Howard sweats up above the knees, sprawl out on my back on the couch, my phone on my stomach in case it vibrates, letting loose the ponytail on top of my head. We gesture at each other with chopsticks and forks, our loud laughter bouncing off the walls of the aparment.

After the food is forgotten and the cork has been popped on our third bottle, we proceed seemlessly into the Real Talk portion of the evening, sharing war stories amidst a chorus of "girl you GOT to be fucking kidding me"s.

"Oh my god!" says Butter, throwing her hand to her head in mock mortification. "Mari do you remember The Clapper?" Apparently she does because she bursts into laughter so great it takes her body to the floor.
"Yes! He was roomates with Soon to be Gay, right?" she replies, her face still slightly contorted from her laughter.
"I'm sorry," I butt in, "but... The Clapper? I'm gonna need more information."
"It was this dude that Butter was DYING to get on-"
"You say that like I couldn't get that shit."
"- and dude was having none of it. So Butter is forever hanging around dude-"
"I SERIOUSLY don't appreciate how you making me sound in this story-"
"And finally him and his girl fall out. Butter finds out from one of his boys- wait didn't you fuck him too a couple months later?"
"Oh YES ma'am. At the movies I think."
"Damn!" We all fall over laughing. "Anyway, B finds out he's gonna be at this birthday party somewhere down in the Village at some club. So THIS bitch," she says jabbing her short fingers in Butter's direction, "gets, well, I would say all dressed up but truth is she's damn near naked in one of those tight ass Robin Givens in Boomerang dresses, right? She finds this dude, does her thing, they go home and get it poppin' real lovely as it sounded through our shared wall. They start kicking it. Like, the second time they were together-"
"Aiight lemme take over before you fuck up the punchline. So first time we fucked, it was just crazy cuz we were both so fuckin' toasted, like no bullshit. So the 2nd time we go at it at his place, completely sober. Now lemme go 'head and admit," she pauses for dramatic effect, "my dude's dick game was ON POINT." More laughter from the peanut gallery at how fucking OUTLANDISH this bitch is. "We go at it for like 2 hours or something, yo. So after I cum for like, I dunno, the goddamn 5th time or some shit, before I can even stop twitching good, this nigga jumps up out fuckin' bed and starts clapping. Like, I shit you not. Clapping. I'm talkin' straight up Will Smith in the last scene of Pursuit of Happyness type shit." By now, we are all doubled over in laughter, tears streaming down our faces. We laugh until there is no more laughter, just dry heaves and short breaths as we try to compose ourselves.
"But NO one," offers Mari, "tops the guy who LITERALLY burst into tears after we had sex."
"Whaaaaaaaaaat?!?!" I screech at the top of my lungs barely finished before I dissolve into fresh giggles. "WHERE in the FUCK do y'all MEET these niggas?"
Mari says, "It was this guy I was sooo in love with right after junior year in college."
"Which one was the Cryer?" Butter asks.
"The guy from Philly with the locs and that one dimple in his cheek."
"Ohhh I remember that. Giiiiiiiirl..."
"I know, right? Anyway, we had this CRAZY connection, like we'd just sit up and talk for hours. Just debate and talk and kiss and it was just so goddamn perfect."
"I loooove that feeling," I coo from the couch.
Mari continues, "This went on for months. I was so incredibly crazy about him. We still hadn't slept together. It was like the longest 3 month foreplay EVER. It was just crazy intense. One night we were at his place, and he kissed me and the clothes just started falling off. We make love, and it's sooo good and sooo intense, so beautiful..." she trails off, staring off into space the way you do when memories are whispering in your ear.
"So?" I prompt her, by now so fully involved in this story that I'm sitting up.
"Well, after what seemed like forever, he finally came. I remember distinctly holding on to his back and feeling his muscles contracting under my finger nails. Afterwards I put my hands on his face and then suddenly I feel something wet on the back on my hand. I'm like, did he drool on me? Which, because I was totally infatuated with him beyond reason, I can play off like kinda cute at this juncture, like aww I made him drool. It takes me a second but I realize... nigga is CRYING. Like, HUGE fuckin' tears. Before I can ask what's wrong, he is full on sobbing with his head between my breasts like he just watched his puppy get shot in the face. I am laying there underneath his massive body, naked and completely trapped and this guy is howling on top of me. I'm like what the fuck?!?" We are all dying with laughter.
"No wonder you started fucking chicks!" says Butter in between gasps for air, and we all break down into another fit of loud laughter. Then Ella gets in on it.
"That's better than the chick I dated before Mari."
"What was wrong with her?"
"Lets just say that between her tongue ring and my dislike of Brazil, thing got a little... painful." More howling from the audience. Jesus Christ.

After we settle, the attention turns to me.
"Aiight La so tell us one of your bad sex stories," Ella says, running her fingers through Mari's hair in her lap. I stutter start through a couple mumbles.
"Oh NO MA'AM bitch. Don't be keeping shit!" Butter yells at me while throwing her balled up socks at my head.
"It's just that," I begin, *undiscernable mumble*.
"What's that now?" Butter says. I sigh.
"I've never had bad sex." The universe's DJ snatches the record off the turntable.
"You BITCH!!!" Mari screams at me, her mouth agape. "How in the FUCK is that possible? Everyone has had bad sex." I shrug.
"I've had alot of sex, but not alot of partners. There has been sex that wasn't exactly what I needed or wanted at the time, but never just outright bad." I shrug again. "Y'all oughta stop being hoes." I duck and cover under the immediate assault of incoming pillows and other flying objects.
I say, "Real talk though, I always kinda wished I was the type of chick that could sleep around."
"Why?" Ella prompts.
"Seems like those chicks have all the fun. I mean take for instance Butter-"
"WHAAAAAAT?!?!" she yells at me, looking around for something else to throw.
"Come on Butter lets get serious. You gets it in bitch."
"I mean yeah, but you ain't have to say it all like that." Everyone in the room gives her the Bitch Please look.
"Anyway," I continue, "I mean, on the surface, it seems like the life. Beautiful men, still got your own space, your own life that revolves entirely around whatever makes you happy. I mean, have you ever even had your heart broken?" She shakes her head at me. "See? I'd trade a couple instances of bad sex for that feeling." The room is silent for a second, each one of us reliving past heartache, excavating old gravesites of loves long since buried.
"Shit," says B, "y'all be on that love bullshit." We fall over laughing again.
"Well what's up with you and The Ex?" Ella asks me, her voice soft in the middle, ever the romantic of the group. "You guys still speak?"
"Yeah. Some," I reply, my stomach clenching in knots. "You know how they get after the breakup."
"What do you mean?"
"You know the drill; the apologies, the promises to change, the begging for another chance. The talking about future plans..." I trail off, distracting myself in the smile that the text I just received gives me.
"Future plans? What's he saying?" Ella pushes were most other mere mortals would just back down. The question solicits a hard sigh from me.
"He wants to move. Here. Or at least closer. Move in together. Get a couple more dogs. Destination wedding in Puerto Rico. He's been," I clear my throat, "looking at rings," my cynicism not even slightly masked.
"And...?" Mari asks.
"And when he told me I had a goddamn panic attack." Everyone laughs at me.
"WHAAAT girl?!?!" Butter screams at me from the corner.
"A panic. Attack. Like, for real. I broke out in hives, I started to sweat, couldn't breathe, felt like this huge pressure on my chest. Started to hyperventilate." Silence covers the room.
"Well," Ella begins, "THAT'S not what you want." More laughter.
"So what's the problem mami?" from Mari as she gets up to refil her glass and mine.
I try as best I can, "You know how when you salsa with somebody-"
"Wait, what?" Butter cuts in. "Yall two wetback bitches stay referring to some shit we don't know nothing about." Pillows at her head.
"Anyway," I continue, "its like when you salsa with someone you've never partnered with. In order for the dance to work, to make sense, someone has to give up control. Traditionally, the man leads because it just makes the dance work. But you've gotta trust him to lead. You have to be able to trust that when he lifts you up over his head, he's gonna return you back safely to the ground. That when he dips you, he's not gonna let you fall. That no matter how many times he turns you, he's gonna be there to hold you up when you get dizzy."
"What's the point La?"
"I don't trust him to lead."
Ella, like a romantic comedy on repeat says softly, "But he's at least talking about it."
"And what? Its just talk. That and a quarter won't even buy me a piece of gum. Words in and of themselves are not powerful. It is the intent behind them that holds the power."
She asks, "If he asked you, maybe not right now, you wouldn't do it? I mean you guys were together so long and you went through so much together. How could you not say yes?"
"The same way he could walk away from it all." I pause and try to explain my heart. "I don't want to just pretend nothing happened because now he says he wants the things I wanted 6 months ago. That's not what I want anymore. I'm just not there anymore. I had a GODDAMN PANIC ATTACK Y'ALL. Does it sound like you should start looking for dresses?"
"Do you feel bad about it?"
"Girl please." We all dissolve into laughter again, high fives and hand claps given.

"The real question is," I say, my eyes fixed firmly on Butter, "who the FUCK are you over there boo loving with so hard that's got you all smiling and giggling to yourself?" Instantly her eyes widen and she realizes she's caught. She starts stuttering.
"I mean it it it's nobody."
"Riiiiight. Nobody got you real fucked up over there."
"Oh don't think we ain't noticed you sending furious boo lovin' texts over there." I laugh a guilty laugh.
"But at least I'll admit it."
"Whatever bitch," Butter murmurs at me and heads towards the bathroom, her phone not so discreetly tucked into her palm. We go back to talking and drinking before we realize B has been gone for awhile, and soft giggles are floating from underneath the door. We exchange looks and I push myself off the couch. I pad across the room slowly and stand outside the bathroom door. I pop the bones in my neck, my back and then my knuckles and allow for a moment of silence.

"Bitch if you don't get your Betty Crocker, Pillsberry Doughboy baking, caking, and cupcake making Keebler elf ass out this muthafucka bathroom you better!!!!"

Butter emerges after a hurried goodbye, redfaced and head hung low.
"You," she says pointing at me, "are a fuckin' HATER La. And y'all," she says, her eyes cutting to Ella and Mari curled up on the couch, "as much as we watch y'all cuddle and kiss and shit, yall could at least be nice about it." She looks at us silently.
"Bitch PLEASE!!!" Mari screams from the couch and we burst out laughing. We reassume our positions, listening to Butter tell us about dude she's feeling, her soft voice barely audible above our breathing. This girl looks positively shook. She finishes her monologue about him and looks up at us expectantly.
Ella says, "Damn girl you sound like you like dude, no bullshit."
"I do," she replies. "It's like, usually, the dude is waaay more into me than I am him, and it feels like there's a certain level of, I dunno, control I guess I can maintain. But now..." she trails off, all of us silently nodding in agreement, recalling what it's like to be feeling someone beyond all rational control on so many metaphysical levels its like losing your mind.
"But you don't always have to be in control, B," I offer gently, knowing she won't take too kindly to full out encouragement of being vulnerable.
"Oh you're one to talk."
"What's that mean?"
"What?!? Have you done or said anything to break KB's heart recently? What's up with him?"


"Oooh yeah, I haven't heard about him in forever, what's goin' on with you two?" Mari asks me all nosy, leaning forward like she's really anticipating the answer.
"Well," I start.

*deep breath...*