Thursday, March 15, 2007

And in Case I Don't See You, Good Afternoon, Good Evening and Good Night

This is my 200th post. I had been writting this epic, verbose diatribe about who I was when I started blogging, where I was, how much has changed. I'd been working on it for 3 months. And the further I got into it, the more I didn't like it. The more I read and reread it, the more I hated the words on the page.

Which is huge because I've never hated anything I've ever written.

I hid it under my bed, between a pile of clothes that don't fit anymore and an old box. In a fit of late night cleaning a couple days ago, I pulled it out and reread it.
And it made me cry.

I laid there for the better part of an hour, letting my tears fall into my puppy's fur while she whimpered and nuzzled my neck, feeling my face grow hot under the silent tracks etched in salt. I had no words for me at that moment.

I could wax philisophical for chapters about who I used to be, compare her to who I am now. I could write a million poetic paragraphs about who I am to become, but I just don't want to. I just wanna become already.

When I'm gone, I'd like to be remembered as someone relevant. Someone who did something, said something, accomplished something, wrote something that made someone else feel like they could go somewhere they'd never gone, do something they've never done, be someone they've never been before. I'd like to think that one day, someone will stumble across my little blog and read something that makes them get in their car, open their sunroof and turn the music up. Something that made them smile at a stranger, or laugh out loud at the most inappropriate time.

But right now, I'm not that person. And I don't know why. I'm not writing and I don't know why. I'm not sleeping and I'm cleaning and I'm angry and irritable and anti-social.

And I'm tired yall.

Two years ago when I started blogging, I wanted to challenge myself to do something decidedly uncharacteristic of me; to talk. To share my life, the everyday intimate details of my entire experience. To teach myself to be brave enough to be bare on a stage for the world to see. And I did. Maybe not all the time, but I did. At least I'd like to think so.

For some reason now though, I don't feel inclined to talk. Or rather, I don't feel prompted to do so. I've curled into myself, tired and world weary, and I think I wanna just be still for awhile. I see myself turning into someone I don't recognize, someone I don't think I like too much. And I don't want to share that.

So I think I'll be gone for awhile. And I felt that I owed you, my family here in blogland, at least a semi-intelligent reason as to why. I might not be gone forever. I'm not sure yet. Maybe this is the last thing that happens when you run out of paper. Maybe you'll check back here one day, and it'll all be gone, this entire documentation of a life as though it never existed. Maybe you'll read a friend's friend's blog and it'll sound like me, and you'll wonder if I've found a new home in this annonymous landscape.


But for now, I leave you to wander. Thank you for a thousand kind words, a million revelations. Thank you for making me feel I could go somewhere I'd never gone, do something I've never done, be someone I've never been before. Thanks for making me get in my car, open my sunroof and turn the music up. For helping me become the me that can smile at a stranger, or laugh out loud at the most inappropriate time. I owe you that, at the very least. At the very, very least. You've shown me what it's like to be intimate, to be witty, to be fearless, to be vulnerable. Plus, you're cheaper than therapy. And for some reason beyond my explanation, I love each and every one of you. I'll probably still be stalking your blogs of course. But maybe I'll be the quiet girl in the back of the class you don't notice. But I'll be there. You'll feel me.

But for now, I go elsewhere. And I'm going alone. But oh, how I'll miss you.

Let us hope that if there is #201, that it is drastically different, lighter, happier than the last couple posts of late. Here's hoping.

Until then, this isn't goodbye, just goodnight.

Love ya,
La :-)

It's the Crazy Ones That Have the Good Pills

Seriously, I'm convinced I'm losing my mind. Really. I don't even feel like myself. I can't write, I don't sleep, but everything gets cleaned til it shines. And then I mess it up again, because how perfect everything looks bothers me.

I remember junior year at Howard, feeling the same way, not sleeping, cleaning all the time, not wanting to be touched, not wanting to talk to anyone, distracted, feeling restless all the time. It's strange, really.

Honey and I (my new puppy, pics to come soon) are laying on the couch. Here's where we'll be if you need us.


Wednesday, March 14, 2007

The Begininng

and you can use my skin
to bury secrets in
and I will settle you down
and at my own suggestion
I will ask no questions
while I do my thing in the background
but all the time
all the time
I'll know

so for the time being
I'm being
and I'll miss this bitterness
if you'd just consider this
even if it don't make sense
all the time
give it time
and when the crowd becomes your burden
and you've early closed your curtain
I'll wait by the backstage door
while you try to find
the lines to speak your mind
and pry it open hoping for an encore
and if it gets too late
for me to wait
for you to find you love me
and tell me so
it's ok
don't need to say it...

Random Tidbit Tuesday

Today's randomness:

My nickname when I was younger was Pooh. As in Winnie the. The reason why is absolutely beyond me. Maybe when I was born I looked like a fat cartoon bear. I dunno. But it stuck. I have soooo many things with Winnie the Pooh on them it's disgusting, but I refuse to throw them away. For the most part the nickname has faded into obscurity with the exception of an aunt and an uncle who can't let go and probably still think I'm 5. And a really good friend of mine calls me Pooh cuz it's cute on him.

Do not call me Pooh. I will hunt you down and skin you alive with my nails.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Let's Play!!!!

So Duck made up a great game to play over at and it took some debate but I've finally got a quote to contribute thanks to Stace.

In response to not wearing green on St. Patrick's Day, Stace's daddy says:
"Does the Irishman wear kente in February?"

Seriously Stace, fell out in the floor. Lol

Ok you people get to linking! I need some new blogs to read!!!

Thursday, March 8, 2007

Random Tidbit Tuesday

*I'm late! I know! Life had been ridiculous.

On with the random...

I know every word to the movie Crybaby.

No. Seriously.

So some of you haven't seen this movie. Some of you haven't even heard of this movie. But I LOVE it. It's the god awful horribly cheesy, campy Grease knock-off starring Johnny Depp and some blond that's probably doing porn right now. I've seen it at least 873 times. I know the words. And the songs. I sing them at the top of my lungs when I'm at home or in my car alone. Will and I bonded over it when we first met. It is the GREATEST BAD MOVIE EVER. YOU MUST WATCH IT IMMEDIATELY.



Wednesday, March 7, 2007

Word of Mouth

I have been so MOUTHY lately. Like, damn I just keep goin' off at the mouth. I dunno what it is but it's getting ridiculous now. I've always had a mouth on me but in the last couple months it's gotten progressively worse. Even I find myself rewinding conversation in my head and going, "Did I seriously say that? SERIOUSLY?!?!"

Case in point: Man stops me in the mall. Man tells me I'm pretty. What do I say to him?
"Why are you even BREATHING around me? Ugh!!!"

How mean!

Co-worker says: Does this make me look fat?
I reply: Like a couch.

Ugh! Awful!

Man says: Why do you hate men?
I say: I don't. I just hate STDs. And it looks like yours is acting up a little around your top lip.


Woman walks into my store with horribly teased, HUGE Texas hair. My (very loud) response? "Is this bitch serious?"


I should be ashamed of myself.

But I'm not.

Maybe so many years of being "good" are starting to catch up with me. It's like word vomit! I try to close my lips and cover my mouth with my hands, but a little bit still comes out. And what's sad is that the little bit is horrible but STILL not as bad as what I was GONNA say. I have totally lost the ability to censor myself. Not that I ever was all that good at it, but now it's all but gone. I'm living in the land of Fuck It, acidic, witty remarks rolling off my tongue like water.


I'm an asshole.

It's kinda funny.

Sideline Hoe

I think I always knew there was someone else.

Over the years, there were always whispers, hardly ever screams, never full out roars of there being someone else. But I think I always knew.

At the time I was young and in love, misguided by the thought that if I was #1 all the extracurriculars didn't matter. He was still doing for me all the things that I thought a boyfriend should do at the time. So I ignored the whispers, I brushed off the looks, cuz at the end of the day y'all, I was The One.

Except I think I always knew.

I could always feel him. Not in the literal sense but in the metaphysical manifestation of the word. Sometimes, I remember, we'd be apart and the hairs on the back of neck would stand up. I couldn't see it. But I could feel it. I could feel the energy of it, enough to damn near knock me off my feet. I'd send my own hot, angry energy back at him; "Get away from her."

And he would.

But she was there, still. An ever present cloud blocking just a small corner of my rainbow, stealing my shine. She was never in the forefront, always a hazy silhouette on the horizon that sometimes I could convince myself was just a mirage, a hallucination.


But denial isn't quite as blissful as ignorance.

I knew. Of course I knew. EVERYONE knew. But I was #1, so I felt righteous, even indignant in my stance as The One. She was just The Other.

I remember the first time I figured out who she was. She approached me and my limbs turned to ice. Blood roared in my ears, a disjointed symphony that all swelled to the same crescendo; this was Her, The Other.

THIS was her? Booooo you busted and brokedown bitch. I had so many sharp words dancing on the edge of my tongue, fighting my lips, dying to get out. But I held my peace. I played it cool. After all I was still The One.

"Have you seen him around?"
"I see him everyday, you'd have to be more specific," I reply, as acidic as I can manage without burning my tongue. I watch her recoil, not expecting such a response from someone like me. THEY always underestimate me.
"I, um-" she's stuttering now and I'm chuckling to myself because I realize I've got her shook.
"When WE go home," I spit at her, "I'll let my man know you was lookin' for him."
"Yeah, um, thanks." Pause. "How long have you two been together?"
"6 years," I say, softer this time, because she looks like something has broken behind her eyes.
"He's-" she clears her throat- "a good guy. You're lucky to have him."

And she turns on her heel and run/walks down the hall away from me.

It was then I decided to leave him.

Looking in her eyes right then, I knew I wasn't The One. And she wasn't The Other. We both were just another. We were just two little girls, naive enough to believe that sharing a man wasn't so bad if you ranked higher than someone else on his list. So fucking stupid I was.

In the time that has passed, there have been many times when I felt the same premonition. Never caught wind of any all out conversations, just whispers, fragmented sentences carried on air with no known source. Since then, I've become a different woman. I know how to fold when someone's mere prescence in my space makes my hair stand on end. I can feel that energy, that ice radiating off The Other when I'm miles away. I don't stand for it anymore.

I think I always knew there was someone else. I think I've known it every time since. But I'm not much for showdowns in high school hallways anymore. Now though, I don't stick around for the fall out, I cut my losses and I move on even if I am #1.
It doesn't really pain me anymore.

Once a good girl goes bad, right?

Tuesday, March 6, 2007

And Yet it Stays the Same

I work for a fairly large company that sells fairly expensive handbags and other accessories. (No you may not use my discount.) Everyday at work I meet very different characters than most come across in a lifetime. Most can be catagorized. One particular category of women that I hate to encounter is the Have Nots.

And by the "Have Nots" I don't mean those of a lower economic class. I mean those women who have the mentality "I have not until I find a man who will buy it for me."

It drives me crazy. A couple weeks ago a woman came into my store and I asked her if she needed some help. She replied that she was just "dreaming" and, as this is an often repeated sentiment, I tried to leave her with my name and an invitation to ask me questions. It was then that she said:

Oh honey I can't afford one of these bags. Maybe one day I'll find a nice man who is willing to buy me one but I could never buy one for myself.


Are you shittin' me lady?

My mouth literally dropped. Women still think this way?

I couldn't do anything but shake my head. Maybe I just come from a different cut of woman, but there's nothing a man can buy me that I can't get for myself. That is by no means to say that men are dispensable or unneccessary because I don't believe that either. But I DO believe in being able to do for yourself and not waiting around for the things you want in life to be handed to you by anyone, but especially not by some man you're expecting to be your prince charming.

It's just unrealistic.

I would never look to be with a man because he had the means to do things for me that I couldn't. That doesn't mean he's worthy of me. And I'd never allow a man to do for me what I could not return; and no that doesn't mean that we match each other's presents dollar for dollar. That means that I'm not willing to let someone upgrade me if I have no way to elevate his life. If we'd like to pool our collective resources together to get to another level TOGETHER then cool. Let's be a team. But I'll be damned if my relationship becomes a charity event for the less fortunate. Hell no.

Walking into the gas station tonight, the dude working behind the counter looked me up and down and I'm sure I can guess what he saw: tiny light skinned girl, freshly done hair and nails, expertly groomed, plucked, and polished, designer labels head to toe; must have some man taking care of me.
"You spent all that money on that bag?" he asked me, his iced out fronts damn near blinding me from behind the counter. It's not lost on me that the lil boy working at the GAS STATION has more money in his mouth than I have in my bank account.

And I got money in the bank.

"For real," he continues. "How much you spend on that? Like $50?"
"A lil more than that," I reply.
"For real?!?! Like what? $200? What kinda bag is that?"
"It's (insert name of company I work for here) (no you may not use my discount)."
"Daaaaaaaamn. So I guess the man that bought you all that is taking care of you nicely huh?"
I lower my Chanel shades to look him straight in the eye, my diamond studs sparkling, my french manicured nails hovering slightly above my precisely arched eyebrows on the arm of my sunglasses, my Dior glossed lips frowning in disapproval. I hope he's taking in the whole look.
"No baby, I bought MY purse MYself, just like I bought these shades, just like I bought this watch, just like I bought this dress and these expensive shoes on my feet, just like I bought the truck that's sitting outside. Tell ya girl to get like me."

And with that I gathered my stuff, turned around and clicked the alarm to my car. I have, not because I waited for someone to drop it in my lap, but because I went and got it myself.

No really.


Waters Run Dry

I have no sex drive.

Like, seriously.

This is UNHEARD OF for me. Like, it never happens to me. Ever.

If anything, more often than not, I find myself inexplicably matched with people that just can't keep up.

And now, just nothing.

At all.

It's really strange.

Just to make sure that I wasn't the only one completely flabbergasted, I reached out to my ex with this unsettling news.

"You WHAAAAT?!?!" he screeched at me.
Yep. Guess he's shocked too.
"Girl that's crazy. You never-"
"I know."
"And just nothing?"
"Not at all? Not even alone? Not even in some kinky location, with a stranger?"
"I could not would not in a box, I could not would not with a fox."
"That's just- wow."
"I know."
"I've never known you to-"
"I know right."
"And now-"
"I got nothing."

Ugh. I'm losing everything that's important to me. I don't even know who I am anymore, lol.

Saturday, March 3, 2007

Is It a Crime?

You know how you dream about somebody, and then you wake up and you're like...

Did I just dream about...why did I... I don't... what the fuck?