Friday, August 31, 2007

To Forgive but Not Forget

I've always had a great capacity for forgiving, mostly because I realized very early on that holding grudges really only created self inflicted pain, and the only thing I hate worse than other people hurting me is me hurting myself. I have always fancied myself to be the kind of person that could see a friend who she fell out with and at least be courteous, that could come across a no-longer-so-significant other and his newest acquisition of significance and genuinely wish them the best. For the most part, with a few notable exceptions, I have kept myself quite nicely from holding grudges against those who have fallen by the wayside of my expectations. I can forgive most trangressions.

The forgetting?

That secondary function has always failed me. I'm not sure why. But as much as I can forgive, I can never quite seem to forget. Does that mean that I have not truly forgiven? Is it not so much forgiving as it is learning to live with the weight of the disappointment? What do you do when you just can't forget?

I have been talking to The Great Houdini. Everyday pretty much for awhile now. Emails, texts, IMs, we've lived in the land of the written word. It had been building up, this onslaught of communication, birthed from a particularly nasty email I sent him months ago. More angry words sent through cyberspace, answered with his own self depreciating acceptance of all blame. He didn't shy away from my wrath. Eventually, the anger tapered off into long late night missives sent saying those raw, honest things you say in the melancholy hours between midnight and daybreak when all of the anger is gone and you're overwhelmed with sadness at the way things have turned out. And that was it. We said what we needed to say. And we were done.

Then one morning, at the start of an immensely horrible day at work, I get an email from him.

What's your favorite cartoon character?

I smiled so big. Back when we were we, when we were happy, if one of us was going through something particularly trying, we'd play the favorites game. We'd trade silly, mundane questions back and forth throughout the day, sometimes serious (What's your favorite day of your life?) and sometimes silly (What's your favorite sour candy?). It never failed to make us both smile, and somewhere along the way, we'd unearth even more ways we were similar.

It struck me, that morning, sitting in my car with my head in my hands, that he is so skilled at cutting to the heart of me that he had the power to change the course of my day with just a sentence. All day, we emailed back and forth, his words being the bouy that kept me afloat in the sea of bullshit that was going on at work. It grew from there.

But at some point, it wasn't cute anymore. With every sentence, every word, I found myself losing my eloquence. Suddenly, I had nothing to talk about, could not muster anything more than one word replies to any and everything he said. I couldn't bring myself to speak in anything other than monosyllables.

I couldn't pretend anymore than nothing had happened.
I couldn't forget that just a few short months ago we had all but imploded, a blow that, when compounded with the force of all the other debris swirling in the storm around me at that time, succeeded in shattering my entire life in the process.

I don't think we should talk anymore.

If that's what you need then I'll stop bothering you.

I don't know why, given the overwhelming evidence of the last couple months, I thought there would be more of a fight. Or at least, the question as to why, considering the context of our conversations over the last few weeks. In my own mind I resigned myself that this was It; that doing what I'd done was what I needed to do.

You're not bothering me. But I can't keep talking to you and pretending nothing happened.

I didn't expect you to anyway. I'm surprised you talked to me this long.

I wanted to say, "Yeah, me too." But it seemed cruel and unneccessarily mean. I decided that maybe, for once, I wouldn't be cavalier or pretend to be ok.

I don't really know how to talk to you anymore. And I don't think you really have enough room for me in your life or are really interested in making any. And I won't have my feelings hurt again.

I can tell you don't know how to talk to me and it's all my fault. Would you ever want to be in my life again?

Part of me still wants to be the person you grow old with, but I don't think that's going to happen. And I don't think I can pretend to be your friend.

And that was that.

I'd be lying if I said that there wasn't something soothing about the rhythm of our conversations the last few weeks. And I'd also be lying if I said that it didn't make me uncomfortable enough, unsettled enough, to want to do something different. I thought I could handle alot more than I was probably ready for, but I thought that as long as I'd forgiven him, that anything else could be worked out, that eventually it could all fall into place and we could at least be cordial. One day.

But I can't. I can't forget.
I'll never forget.
I have a decision to make. I can be honest, or I can walk away, armor securely in place, pride fully unfurled to show every dimension of every feather.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Guilty Pleasure

I adore Jennifer Lopez. I can't help it. I think this woman is utterly completely and totally FABULOUS. Sure, she can barely hold a note in a bucket with a lid on it, and I know that as a trained singer, I am supposed to loathe everything she represents. But she is FAB.U.LOUS!!!

Look at this shit!!!

Even her errors are correct. I'd rather watch her perform than most chicks in music and movies now. Why? Because she does everything so PASSIONATELY. With everything, she goes so HARD. She comes across as being fearless without being abrasive, a classic example of my favorite type of woman; the kind not afraid to put her balls on the table and go all out. Also, you gotta love that despite all the fame and glamor, she is still such a Puerto Rican from the Bronx. Don't believe me? YouTube the interviews she's doing for her new single, "Do It Well". (Which is my shit by the way.) Every other word is, "youknowwhaimean?" in rushed PR fashion. I. Loves. It!

And yeah, I'm probably gonna buy her album in October. And so?


Even more...

1. Toilet paper: over, under, or what the hell are you talking about?

Over. And it bothers my OCD having ass pretty badly when it's not.

2. Toilet when you are done: everything up, seat down but lid up, everything down?

Lid up, seat down. I AM a chick

3. When was the last time you kissed someone not your significant other? [I am talking about a kiss with some gusto not just a little hello or goodbye peck]

K.B. but he tricked me into it I swear.

4. Would you rather have you significant other (this can be a hypothetical SO) have sex with someone else or fall in love with someone else? [You have to pick one.]

Have sex with someone. There's at least a slight possibility I could get over that. It would completely devastate me if they fell for someone else.

5. If you had $1,000,000 to give away, how would you divide it up? Who and how much?
$500,000 of it would be invested in various ways so I could make sure my money was making money
$60,000 to pay off student loans
$100,000 for both of my siblings' educations
$250,000 for a house in Atl
$40,000 for my white on white Rover
$25,000 in the bank account, $25,000 in the savings.

Bonus (as in optional): Tell us something that very few people know about you.

I am a preacher's kid.


Organized Noise has given me a whole bunch of tags to do. Here's the first...

I am not: patient. Mostly because I am used to getting my way with very little effort
I hate: narrow minded people
I hear: that I'm the prototype
I regret: only one thing...
I cry: very rarely and always in private
I care: about my friends
I always: pay my bills on time
I long to: travel by myself, preferably outta the country
I feel alone: often, but Honey is always here
I listen: very well. Wanna talk?
I hide: from my emotions
I drive: very very fast
I sing: better than most people breathe
I dance: pretty damn well in both the technical trained sense, and in the club
I write: as a form of therapy
I breathe: air...? I dunno if I understand the question
I play: in my own hair because I don't have nobody else to play in it :-( Wanna?
I miss: Joy
I search: for random news stories on the internet
I say: whatever comes to mind, usually the thing most likely to get me in trouble
I feel: waaaaaay too much for my own good
I succeed(ed): at graduating
I fail(ed): at keeping my emotions in check with Almost Fiance
I dream: in black and white
I sleep: curled up in ball holding my pillow
I wonder: what the next 5 years will hold for me
I want: him more than I ever care to admit to myself or anyone else.
I worry: about my future
I have: everything I will ever need to succeed
I give: waaaaaay too much when I probably shouldn't
I fight: only when provoked
I am: the prototype
I can't: let em see me sweat
I stay: flyy
I will: die peacefully and surrounded by my friends and family
I can: watch sports allllllll day
I would: do anything for the people I love
I might: try to disappear off the face of the earth for like a year
I like: bubble baths, shoes, and people playing in my hair
I love: him more than I ever care to admit to myself of anybody else
I smile: waaaay too big and goofy sometimes but it's genuine
I frown: when I'm thinking too hard
I read: everything with words
I work: NOT AT ALL!!! It's LOVELY!!! lol

Snatch and Grab

More from Organized Noise...

1. Define "infidelity" as it relates to a relationship. Have you ever been guilty of infidelity? Have you ever been the victim of infidelity? Have you ever been a participant in someone else's infidelity?

For all intense purposes I have always defined cheating as strictly a tangible act; going on a date with someone, kissing someone, sleeping with someone else. The more emotional cheating gets a lil fuzzier. Let's define it as anything that you know would make me flip out and go to jail for whatever I did following, try to avoid it.

2. What is the last thing you stole?

Someone's heart? hahaha I stole a cookie from my friend. But she REALLY wanted me to have it, she just didn't know that yet.

3. Name one place in your country that you have never been but would like to visit and why.

Just one? Well, today I'm dying to be in San Francisco for some reason. Yesterday it was Chicago. Last week it was San Antonio. (LOVE the Alamo.) Last month it was Alaska and earlier this year it was Vermont. It changes everyday.

4. What movies can you watch over and over again?

All the Lethal Weapon series, The Departed, Finding Nemo, While you Were Sleeping, Happy Feet, Sleepless in Seattle, Bad Boys II, Transformers

5. Who is the last person you saw naked?

First Love back in Atl

Bonus (as in optional): In honor of the 237 reasons we have sex study. Tell us at least five but not more than ten reason you have had sex.

1. Because I was looking for distraction

2. Because I was UNBELIEVABLY drunk

3. Because it was the best way to end the argument

4. Because it was time

5. Because if I didn't, I'm PRETTY sure I would have exploded

6. Because I hadn't seen him in months

7. Because we got caught up reminiscing

8. Because I was absolutely, butt crazy in love with him (10 pts if you know what movie that's from) and I had run out of words to explain it.

9. Because he was leaving.



1. What's the worst/corniest pick up line someone has used on you and/or you used?

After I first got to Texas I was in the mall walking around when this dude totally fell flat on his face in front of me. I laughed, of course, but I leaned down to help him up. I asked him if he was ok to which he replied...
"I'm fine, you just seem like someone I could really fall for."


I still crack up whenever I think about it. Niggas are the worst, lol.

2.Have you ever gone out on a date with someone and went home with someone else? Explain.

No. But I'll work on that.

3. What is the worst thing that you did to a friend? Did they do anything to deserve it?

I don't think I've ever really done anything shitty to a friend. That's why I still have them, lol. I did date an exes ex best friend, but he was dating a friend of mine at the time so it seemed like less of an issue, lol

4. What is your favorite sex scene in a regular movie (not porn)? Why?

The scene in Mr. and Mrs. Smith where they're fighting each other and then they just start going at it. I have seen that movie a million times and I still can't get thru that scene without squirming a little.
Oh the scene from Unfaithful where they're in the stairwell... jesus christ.

5. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? What would you change on your SO?

I second guess myself way too much. And I'm not sure why because I have pretty good judgement and for the most part make pretty sound decisions. But I am extremely hard on myself about everything at every turn.

And I don't have a SO.

What countries, other than you own, have you had sex in? Was it someone on the trip with you? Someone from that country?

NONE!!! Who wants to help me remedy this?


Organized Noise invited me to do this one...

1. What is the best relationship advice you've ever received?

"Love cannot exist where ego is present." I have never seen a relationship where there is an exception to this rule. I don't think you can truly love someone where your biggest concern is still self; how you will look to others, how you will benefit from the relationship. It just can't happen. And I don't think it's true of just romantic relationships, but I don't think love can truly exist where your greatest concern (or fear) is still for you.

2. How many people have you dated at once? How many people do you think it is acceptable to date at once?

I have realized recently that contrary to my previous thought, I AM a relationship person despite not ever having actually looked for a relationship. That being said...


But in my defense, I was single and in the middle of a scientific experiment, lol. I was testing the theory of "The Starting Five". You know, where you date 5 distinctily different men who all fulfill different needs you have?
Well, yeah. And before you call me a hoe, no I was not sleeping with (all) of them. Maybe I'll tell you guys that story one day.

3. What made your worst kiss so bad?

Ugh! It felt like a shower!!! It was sooooo wet and gross and awkward and just BAD. I was so disappointed too because he was sooooooo extra fine, but it was soooo not good. *shudders*

4. Can a relationship last if the sex is bad?

Yes. But only if both partners are willing to work on it. Sex, to me, isn't just a physical act. Sex is a form of communication. From sex you can truly gauge where your relationship is (if you're paying attention) but having bad sex is just like not being able to have a conversation. If both people aren't willing to explore ways to open up that line of communication, it's doomed.

5. What one thing would you like your partner to do every time you have sex with them?

That would solely depend on the person. But I find that most guys just don't put a premium on kissing anymore. And I LOVE kissing. LOOOOOOVE. I remember back in high school with First Love when I was still petrified of sex and thought you could get pregnant from any kinda physical contact (Catholic school will do that for you), we would just kiss FOREVER. And afterwards I would always feel so weak. Even now, a really good kiss will do that to me. I wish more men would realize the kinda dividends that just paying a little bit more attention to kissing could pay.

Bonus (as in optional): What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?

If I tell you, it won't be a secret anymore. *wink* All you need to know is that my aresenal of weaponry is vast and varied, and I have just about every weapon needed to take out any mere mortal man depending on his weakness.

I can tell you one thing that seems quite alluring to men is my general love of talking shit. (Women too actually.) What they don't realize is that it goes both ways; if they can go toe to toe with me, they're golden.

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Still Stealing

... this one from Wise

Yes. But not nearly enough for my liking.

Yes, quite a few times actually.

Wouldn't you if you fell face first off the bed?

Yeah. It's a strange sensation.

Notsomuch, but it depends on the person mostly. I have cuddled before. But don't tell anyone

Yes. Bastard.

by faked you mean....?

Oh no. PLEASE talk. Alot. And loudly. And the least R rated the better.

Unprotected physically or emotionally? Unfortunately yes to both.

No. My friends and I don't have even remotely the same taste in men, which is why we're still friends.

No. And I don't think I could. Despite all my tough talk, I'm really a sissy at heart.

No. Which is shocking.

HA! Yeah. And not even how you're thinking.

Ugh. Yes.

Much like Wise, "I know it's up there somewhere."


um... lol. I'm gonna plead the 5th cuz I know he reads my blog still

Probably. I'd give it a 80/20 chance in favor of the probable.

I'm sure I'm way past that

Enough to know what I'm doing, not so many that I should feel like a hoe.

Depends on the person but generally, yes.

Yeah, occassionally. He's alot different now than how I remember, so we don't talk often.


Never had any concrete evidence, but I've had my suspicians.

Very, VERY good

It's a waste. Mostly I spend the whole day picking out something great for him to go, "That's cute baby... now take that off." It's not worth the effort.
Just show up naked and put on heels.

Yes. And at work nonetheless!

(x) park
( ) church
( ) cemetery
( ) beach
( ) boat
(x) school
( ) parent's bed
(X) your bed
(X) car
( ) picnic table
(x) kitchen counter
(X) couch/chair
(x) dining room/kitchen table
( ) woods (open and/or in a tent)
(x) hood of a car
(X) bathroom
(x) shower
(x) bathtub
(X) the other person's bed
(X) porch/deck/balcony
(x) in a house with parents home
( ) at a party (But I reeeeaaaally want to)
(x) on top of the washer/dryer
( ) with other people in the room
(X) hotel
( ) concert
( ) grandparent's house
( ) field
( ) bleachers
( ) bookstore stock room
( ) linen closet

30. How many virgins have you "deflowered?"
Just one. And I'm quite proud of it.


I should seriously stop stealing. But this one comes curtosy of the homie Organized Noise.

Accent –
Well, when I let it out, it soooo thick countryghetto. I had to learn at a very early age to control it in order to pursue a career singing and acting, but when I get within an 100 mile radius of home, my voice is not even my own.

I Don't Drink - Hennessee. I can't handle it. I mean I handle my liquor better than some men twice my size. But Hennessee is pretty much an invitation for me to fall over and die.

Chore I Hate – Washing dishes. I hate hate HATE it. A close second is cleaning out the bathtub. Everything else I will clean top to bottom. But those 2, I need a dishwasher and a maid.

Pets – Just Honey right now. But I wanna get a Golden Retriever, and a maltipoo. In my life I've had more pets than a few. I love animals.

Essential Electronics – My sidekick is essential to all my major life functions.

Perfume/Cologne - In the fall/winter, Burberry Touch, in the spring/summer Escada Sunset Heat or Lacoste Touch of Pink

Gold or silver - Silver. I never wear gold. If I ever get married, my ring needs to be white gold or platinum cuz I refuse to wear gold

Insomnia – Faaaaaar too often. The last couple nights I have been up til AT LEAST 5am. It comes and goes in bouts. I am very excited about it going.

Job Title – good ol being unemployed...

Most Admired Trait – By others or by me? I like my lips and my hair. Other people seem to really like my rack and my ass.

Kids – I'd like to have a small litter. I don't have specific names picked out but I am very attatched to the idea of girls with what could be boys names: Charlie, Evan, etc. I really like Ryan Ashleigh which is something that me and the ex decided on, but since it's partially my name and he sucks, I'm keeping it.

Religion – I'm a believer. Let's keep it at that.

Siblings – I am my parents only child, but I have a half brother and step sister

Time I wake up – I usually can't sleep past like 9 or 9:30 anymore, even while hungover. It's quite sad really.

Unusual talent/skill – heh heh. I'm talented. Can we leave it at that?

Vegetable I refuse to eat – caulliflower and cabbage

Worst habit – cursing. ALL the fucking time.

X-rays – I have only had a couple which is remarkable seeing as how I am very clumsy, but I've been lucky enough to not cause myself any serious injury... which is why I'm pretty sure I'm invincible.

My favorite meal – Depends on where I am. Hands down though, my daddy's fried chicken and my mama's macaroni and cheese, some green beans, some hot water cornbread. I'm a true southern girl at heart.
And now I'm hungry...

Road Trip Bitches!!!

So I have been thinking very seriously about where my nomadic self would like to go. I kept thinking, I WANNA GO SOMEWHERE RIGHT NOW, but realistically speaking with my life being the big question mark that it is right now, that might not be entirely feasible. But I really wanted to take X up on her NY offer. And I REALLY liked (stealing) Wise's idea of going to Chicago.

But in the end NYC won out.

Stop jumping up and down bitches, here's the catch...

I realized I need something to look forward to. And not just a trip. So I pulled out my big list of things I wanna do before I die. #7 is:

Watch the ball drop for New Year's in Times Square.

Yes, touristy of me, I know. But I wanna so shut the fuck.

So here's my propostion...

I don't care where you spend Christmas. (BOO CHRISTMAS.) But New Year's you need to have your ass in New York. Why? Because I said so. And because I'd like to finally put some faces to these people I've been reading all this time. And because I'd like to accomplish something I've wanted to do for a very long time so this year isn't entirely a waste and I'd like to do it with some people that I think I might actually like. And because so many other people have actually met other bloggers besides me and I feel left out. You can bring your significant other if you want someone to kiss at midnight and all that, just bring your ass.

So that's my proposition: New Year's Eve, NYC, big blogger meet up.

Got it?

You have 4 months to plan.

Go forth.....

now X let's talk about this W thing...

Blushing, Butterflies, and Michael Buble

Today was one of those rare days I was actually in the mood to talk on the phone. I am a notorious screener, ruthless enough to screen even my own mother. I could lie and say that the writer in me prefers the written word to communicate, but really, texting serves my ADD better. I am free to continue what I was doing when you contacted me (or exit the conversation) as I see fit. But for whatever reason I had the strongest urge to just have a conversation with someone.

I called a few other people, avoiding the one person I hoped more than anything would be the one I actually wound up talking to.
And when I finally got tired of pretending to myself that I wanted to talk to anyone but him, I called.

As soon as B answered, my entire face lit up in a smile.

I spent most of the day talking to him about absolutely nothing and everything at once. Talking to him, laughing with him, flirting and smiling, lying back on the smooth baritone of his voice consumed most of my day. He's so damn charming, in a nonoppressive way, flirtatious in a way that isn't offensive, and just all around sweet. And he takes his time.

And that's what I'm in need of right now. To be handled with kid gloves.

He was on the road driving to Albany from Atlanta (about two hours south) and each time the poor service disconnected us, I waited for him to call me back, just so I could hear his ringtone.

I've never felt like such a loser in my life.
For some reason I can't quite put my finger on, he makes me smile. He makes electricity race up my spine, but makes my heart be quiet. There's never one particular thing he does or says and I never quite realize I'm smiling so hard until my face gets sore. It is kind of as I've always wanted something to be; like Sunday, easy, comforting, warm.

I like that.
I like him.

Someone to Watch Over Me

K.B. is standing over the stove finishing dinner and I'm mixing drinks when the doorbell rings. I answer since he's preoccupied as he tends to get when he cooks. People start streaming in the door, bottles in hand, hugs and kisses showered over faces as the sound system gets turned on and the atmosphere gets loud.

After the perfectionist in him is thoroughly satisfied, we all sit down to eat way too much food and talk waaaaaay too much shit.
And did I mention the drinking?

After we're all completely stuffed, we move the party to the living room. I end up on the couch next to Dougie Howser discussing exactly what ends of the earth we would each go to in order to acquire the new Camaro Chevy is rereleasing '09. (I think I was willing to do the most craziness.) K.B. is in the middle of the floor trying to learn how to do the Soulja Boy from Mari's girlfriend, Mad Max and Scooter are in the kitchen making shots, and Butter is on the balcony trying hard to pretend that her boyfriend isn't at another bitch's house.

Everybody is chilling and enjoying life. Before long, someone throws some old school in the changer and Gap Band, Parliament, Stevie, EW&F and the like is flowing through the wall mounted speakers. We move back the furniture and we're all trying to out wopelectricslidebutterflycabbagepatchtwostep each other. Me and Mari both pull our hair back before long. The guys have untucked their button downs, and 4 sets of stilettos have been abandoned in the corner. We're all sweaty and dancing and laughing and still only slightly drunk. I take a break to go get some water and K.B. follows me into the kitchen.
"I didn't know you had it in you youngin'."
"Shit I'm surprised you could keep up with me out there old timer. You come in here to rub some bengay on your knees and rest your bad hip?"
"Ah you got jokes lil nigga?"
"One or two. Here and there." At the end of my sentence the opening notes of "As" filter through the speakers above our head.
"Ohmigod I LOVE this song!!!"
"Well come get your two step on with an old man then." He grabs my hand and leads me out to the living room where try to out dance each other for the entire 7 minute song. He holds his own. We all decide to take more shots at some point. So we do. We dance more. Ella, Mari's girlfriend starts to sing, so me, being the competitive creature I am, I feel like I need to outdo her. We settle on a duet. More shots. Me, K.B. and Mad Max retire to the balcony momentarily.

"And the smoke got thick/cuz the haze was blownin'/from dudes doin' shotguns/passin' the dutch/one steady coughin'/he took too much"

More shots get passed. Mari and Ella indulge Scooter and Mad Max's sophmoric request to watch them kiss. Butter sends frantic text messages in the corner while Dougie, ever the sweetie, tries his hardest to keep her smiling. K.B. pulls me down on his lap in the big chair by the window. Someone grabs a bottle of wine and we all wind up in the living room, talking too much, the liquor peppering all of our conversation and making it a little spicier.

The Highlights:

On travelling:
La: Mad Max where's one place you're dying to visit?
Mad Max: Brazil.
La: Ooooh yeah I hear it's a beautiful country.
M.M: Yeah and Brazillian bitches are the shit.

On experimenting:
Mari: La could you have sex with a chick?
La: I'd never say never about anything, but at some point she's going to need to have a dick that isn't strapped around her waist. *laughter*
K.B.: Can't leave the dick alone huh?
La: I like what I like.

On male/female dynamic:
Ella: What attracted you to your man Butter?
Mad Max: His Benz.
Scooter: His stock options.
Dougie: His generosity.
La: His black card.
K.B.: His gaudy ass pinky ring? *laughter*
Butter: That is so fucked up yall.
Ella: So what was it really Butter?
Butter: Oh it was all that shit they said. They just didn't have to put me out there like that.

On head vs. sex:
La: Which is worse yall? Bad head or bad sex?
Butter: oooh bad sex.
Dougie: Definitely bad head.
K.B.: yeah bad head.
Mari: Well for us bad head IS bad sex.
Mad Max: Does it even matter? Both of them will get you kicked in your fuckin' head.

On everybody's favorite position:
Scooter: Ladies let's take a poll. What's your favorite sexual position?
Chorus: FROM THE BACK!!!
Scooter: *all bewildered* Seriously? I didn't think chicks liked that too much.
La: Nigga are you high?!?!
Mari: Seriously, I haven't had sex with a man in 2 years and that is still one of the first things I'd have him do.
Scooter: Why?
La: It's quite simple. There is no area in my life I don't run. That is the one time where it is acceptable and even preferred to let him have all the control to do WHATEVER he wants to do.
Butter: Oooh girl and the hair pulling. *high five*
La: What? You think I keep all this hair for G.P.?

Butter: So everybody how long is too long to go without sex? For me 6 months is pushing it.
Ella: I've gone a year before.
Mari: I've gone 3 years before.
Mad Max: I dunno, a couple months? Never had to go that long before, lol.
Dougie: I think 6 months would be about my limit before my vision would start to go bad.
K.B.: Real talk, after about a month I'm not real happy.
La: Well that depends... are we asking how long I've gone before or if I was with someone how long would be acceptable to go without?
Butter: If you were with someone.
La: Um... like a week?
La: Maybe 2. But shit if I'm with someone and I have steady access to it, why would I go longer?
*silence and murmurs of agreement*
K.B.: Will you marry me? *laughter*

... and on a nicer note...

Ella: K.B. what would make you wanna settle down with a woman?
K.B.: Something would have to let me know that she would be the person that if we didn't live in my house, if i didn't make as much money as I do and we lived in a studio apartment down in 5th ward we could still be just as happy and just as solid. I wanna be like my grandparents and still be 85 years old and still travelling together and enjoying each other and still making each other laugh.
*everyone smiles, pauses to let that sink in*
Mad Max: Ay yall wanna go to the strip club?


We end up at Onyx, where I was a couple weeks ago with the girls, where Ghana girl got a stripper to show her how to make her booty clap and we made friends with all the employees. The guy at the door recognizes me and the manager knows K.B. so they let us in for free and set us up in the Champagne Room.
"I hope," I say tiptoeing to whisper in K.B.'s ear, lest my crazy be heard by all, "that he knows you from another venue and NOT because you are a regular here." He laughs at me.
"I'm not a regular La. And why would I come pay for ass when I can make you put on a show for me at home?"
"Who told you that?" He smiles at me smugly and turns around to order a bottle. Damn his cockiness.

Damn this liquor for making it attractive.

One of the dancers that comes back to give Mad Max (who IS a regular) a private dance recognizes me from being there with my friends. She asks me if my friend has gotten any better at making it clap or if she still needs someone to hold her ankles. I have a pretty rough time explaining the whole thing, especially because my tongue feels a lil bit swollen and I'm having a hard time forming anything that sounds like English.

I take a quick trip to the bathroom and come back and survey the scene; Mad Max getting what can only be described as dry sex in the corner because it left a simple lap dance many erections ago, Ella getting a lap dance from a tall Amazon looking sister while Mari watches, Scooter and Dougie smoking Cubans and talking business with the manager...
... and K.B. with his eyes on me.

He beckons me over to him and I make my way slowly, not because I'm trying to be cute but because I'm drunk and in 4 inch heels. He curls me up in his lap like a kitten, stroking my hair until I purr.
"You drunk?"
I nod.
"You wanna go home?"
I nod again.
"You staying with me."
I nod.
"That wasn't a question."
My body temperature shoots up 100 degrees.

We all pile back into the trucks, Mad Max speeding in front of us in the Tahoe, K.B. at a slower pace behind him, Robin Thicke pouring from the speakers. When we make it back to his house, everyone stumbles through their goodbyes. K.B. scoops me up in his arms and carries me through his lobby, into the elevator and through his door. Once in his room, I strip down to my bra and panties without shame, hell bent on being sleep within the next 1.17 minutes.
"I'll be downstairs if you need me La." He heads to the stairs.
"Yeah lovely?"
"Come back." He takes the few steps back to the door slowly, stopping underneath the frame, unsure of what's coming next. "Come here," I say and I throw back the chocolate colored covers. He slides his large frame in next to my tiny one, his skin at least a thousand degrees cooler than mine. I curl up in the curve of his arm and get comfortable. I stop wiggling when I feel is huge hands on my back, pressing me into the length of his side, his other arm falling heavily over me.
"You hate sleeping with people," he mumbles into my hair.
"I do."
"Is now a good time to ask you a question?"
"What are you so afraid of?"
"Being let go," I mumble into his chest.

And then I fell asleep.

In the morning I wake up, my flushed cheek still up against his cool cocoa skin. We're still in the position we fell asleep in, his head resting on top of mine, his arms around me. Most of me wants to get up and go home, sneak out before he wakes up. But part of me, just a tiny part, wants to still be there when he opens his eyes.

For once I listen to the tiny part. I close my eyes, feel my eyelashes flutter against his chest. Instinctively, his arms tighten around me when he feels me shifting. I go back to sleep.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

"Me Plus You, it Equals Better Math"

"So you cook too?"
"No," I reply without ever turning around. "Anybody can cook. I-" pause for dramatic effect"- throws DOWN in the kitchen. You got about ten minutes before the food is done and I recommend you shower."

He laughs at me on his way up the stairs as I put the finishing touches on the food. In exactly ten minutes, he's back, shirtless and rocking the hell out of some black pajama pants.

He sits at the table as I put his plate down. I go back to get my own and join him. We pray. After the amen I sit back in my chair and watch him take the first bite.
"Oh. My. Gawd. La, this shit is so good."

And that's all I hear him say until his plate is clear. Although I did have an interesting time watching the top of his head and hunched shoulders.

After he finishes, he sits back, his hands rubbing the ripples in his stomach. I try my hardest not to get distracted. Suddenly, my eggs are real interesting.

"Seriously La, why are you not married yet? Or at least wifed up?"
"Because if I wanted to be in an institution, I could just go to a hospital." He laughs at me, that gorgeous smile on display.
"We really didn't set you up you know."
"Yeah I know. I texted Katy Girl about it this morning."
"I just wanted you to know that."
"We're cool. Thanks for making sure I got to bed. I didn't mean to put you out."
"It was nothing. Katy Girl was trying to go home with Batman anyway so everybody ended up safe and happy."
"Oh goodness, what an incestuous little group." We laugh at all of us and our dynamic.

After alot more talking, he gets up and clears the table without me asking and I retreat to the big chair by the window. The view from his place is so lovely. So high up you feel like you're the only person around for awhile.

Once the dishes are cleaned, he comes and curls around me in the chair, kissing the back of my head. We're quiet for awhile, sitting that way. It takes me awhile but before long I've relaxed into the curve of his body. It feels strange, being held after going without so long. I'm not ashamed to say I missed the feeling.

"You left me in bed alone..." and I trail off hoping he'll complete the thought.
"Yeah. I wanted you to know I was serious about not pushing." I nod, my heavy hair falling into my eyes.
"Thank you. I really appreciate that. That's all I ask."
"To not be pushed. I come around to where I need to be in my own time. I just hate for someone to be pushing me at their pace to achieve their own agenda."

We fall silent again. He starts raking his big fingers through my hair, massaging the tension at the nape of my neck.
"You hair is getting so long. If you cut it, I'll kill you."
"You're such a nigga." We laugh because it's true.

After awhile he breaks our silence again.
"Can we real talk for a second?"
"Please," I respond and I shift away from him preparing myself for what follows.
"I know you feel alone out here and you don't have many friends or family. I'd like to try and be your friend. I know it's something I'll have to work at because I recognize I have feelings for you, but I don't want you to feel alone. I might not get it right everytime, but I wanna try. Like last night, I didn't want you in my bed so much as I wanted you safe and taken care of. And I knew if you were here with me, you would be." He pauses to check my reaction. "Is that ok with you?"
"Yeah. That would be good. Thank you for being willing to put forth the effort."
"It's not a thing. Look, I've gamed you before a lil before-" I bust out laughing because he says this as if I had no idea.
"No shit."
"Hush. I just want you to know I'm being genuine. No more bullshit. But that means you have to do the same for me. Ok?"
"Ok." He moves from behind me. "If you wanna shower, I'll run and get you some clothes."
"I can just put on what-"
"Shower and shut up."

By the time I have washed the sweat and smoke from my skin, he has gone and returned, leaving a black sundress on the bed for me that perfectly matches the wedges I had on last night. I check the tags. He even got the size right.

He's got to be gay.

After I dress and try somewhat unsuccessfully to make myself look less hungover, I walk downstairs to find him fully dressed and on the phone. Without breaking his conversation, he hands me two more tylenol, this time with water. He throws me the keys to his truck and mouths to me that we can go pick up my truck back at Katy Girl's house.

As he's walking out of the door I realize that if by some miracle or act of God and/or Congress we can make a friendship work, he'd be a good person to have in my corner.

I use the marker on the board by the fridge to scrawl him a message in my big, loopy writing:

Me plus you it equals better math...

"Watch What you Say to Me"

Try to refrain from being violent but you come out your face...


The following post comes to you in high definition ghetto. May not be suitable for CHILDREN.

Lately, I've been on my zen shit right? I've been reevaluating some things, putting things in perspective, restoring order, cleaning house if you will. I've been existing on some philosophical, live and let live, everything happens for a reason and all those other cliches type level and I'm trying real hard to hold on.

But I'm about to let go of that shit for a minute.

I am not, by nature, a violent person. I AM however, by nature, someone that does not like to be fucked with under any circumstances for any reason. And that's a pretty human desire to have, right? To be left alone, free to live your life.

So that's why I can't FOR THE LIFE OF ME figure out why bitches won't let me live.

I play my part. I keep my shit to myself, I get on my grown woman shit, and I K.I.M. Why can't you do the same? WHY YOU KEEP BRINGING UP OLD SHIT?!?!?!

Cuz I ain't never been a sucka/been gangsta my whole life/so if a nigga disrespect me then it's on on sight/I hear what you say in your songs/some of it I don't like/keep up, I feel tried/I see you we gone fight...

I'm living my process, but I'm doing it alone. I let things settle and anything I felt was unresolved, I sought resolution within myself, not involving any outside parties no matter how much easier that would have been for me. I did what I said I was going to do. I faded to black.

See all that whispering is lame/I ain't one for the games/If I say fuck you/Then it's fuck you nigga/Simple and plain/I say no problem it's no problem/pimp can you do the same/or you just swallow your pride/cuz you know I'm off the chain

But I can't abide childish bullshit. And even more than that, I CANNOT abide just plain ole, low down, dirt.

You're playing dirty bitch and it's only so much longer I'm going to hold on to my newfound peaceful nature.

Consider that your first, final and only warning.

I'd like to go into specifics, but now that I know I'm being blog stalked and shit and that anything I say could very well be used to hurt someone I love more than this life and the next, I'll keep it at this vague diatribe. But real talk...

I'm LOOKING for an excuse.

Give me one.


Wednesday, August 22, 2007


I never let myself think about you.

On the occasions when you do pop into my mind, I busy myself with other things. Things get cleaned and organized, I IM random people at random times, I play with the dog.

This issue is that these thoughts aren't occassional for me.


They used to be, but for whatever reason, as time goes on, I think about you more and more. During the day it's quite easy to block you out, to distract myself from feeling like you are standing right behind me. Like you're right here.
You're not of course. But I feel you anyway.

Night time is where it gets trickier.

There is no one to call, nothing left to clean, and the silence lays me completely open to whatever thoughts you choose to invade. Sometimes I feel like you're doing it on purpose, sending yourself over to my side of the world, conjuring me up in your own mind so strongly that I have no choice but for your to pop into mine. Sleep used to be some kind of solace for me, but you've gotten in there too. You are all over my dreams lately. Even if you are not the star, I catch you in the background somewhere, a face in the crowd. You're watching me and I feel like you're reading my mind. You're silent but you know.

I took to writing you out of my brain but nothing comes out the way I intend it. I am editing and re-editing myself in ways that I am not even familiar with. There seems to be no accurate words to truly capture this purgatory I exist in.

I hate how we left things. That wasn't who we were, right?

I'm starting to question so much of our past. And maybe that's what bothers me; not that we left things the way we did, but what if the signs were there all along that we were not wholly what we imagined ourselves to be and this was inevitable? What if it was all a misunderstanding? A mistake? A fantasy that we took too far? What if it was all a dream?

Now it seems like no matter where I go, you're there, somewhere, hiding in the background. I can never see you, but you give me goosebumps.

Why am I dreaming about you now? I don't entirely know what triggered this assault on my senses or else I feel like I could stop it. But you're just... EVERYWHERE.

Even this was not what I wanted to write. But I can't seem to manage coherrent thought when it comes to you.

It's 3:30am and I'm awake, afraid to go to sleep because I know you'll be there, waiting for me.

There used to be a time when I could hear whether or not you were asleep, if you were feeling the same thing, just by listening inside myself, even when you were a thousand miles away. There was a thread, a voice on the inside, that spoke where you were and what you were feeling if I just took the time to listen.

And now it, just like we, is silent.

10 Things I Like About Me

Shamelessly stolen from Wise

1. I can cook my ass off.
I know, lots of people say this. But in my case, it's true. I CAN COOK MY ASS OFF. I don't get to cook as often as I like, but when I do it is never disappointing. Take for instance tonight; I made chicken breasts sauteed with white wine sauce and capers, whole grain rice, fresh salad. Seriously, I was mad when I got full. Anyone can cook if you read a recipe, yes, but that's not what I'm talking about here. I mean I cook like you're going to eat it and go completely mute and deaf and then you're pretty much guaranteed to fall asleep afterwards. I have said for the last couple years that I wanna learn how to make pasta from scratch so my goal is to learn before 07 is over. Who wants to be my guinea pig?

2. I am pocket sized.
I'm fairly short. And I like it. Yes, I wear tons of heels but that isn't really so much about the addition of height as it is about making my ass look better. I hit puberty before everyone else so for awhile in grade school I towered over everyone else. And then puberty decided to hit me horizontally and chill on the vertical action. I've pretty much been the same height since 5th grade. Sure I have to climb on things to reach top cabinets, and yes I usually have to stand up on chairs to see the stage at concerts, but it's cute on me.

3. I am a fountain of useless trivia.
When I was younger, I pretty much read anything that had words. Anything that looked or sounded interesting, I picked it up and read it. I am still the same way. Alot of times, I am doing nothing more on my sidekick than following link after link of random facts and news stories that seemed kinda out there. Because of it, I have millions of little utterly useless facts stored away somewhere in the recesses of my brain that serve no purpose until someone says something to which I can reply, "Did you know that sharks are the only animals in the world that can't get sick? They're immune to everything, from the common cold to cancer."

4. I drive superfast.
Which sometimes, the passengers don't like. In my defense, I generally try to keep it somewhere in the general proximity of the speed limit if someone is with me. If not, my speedometer is probably tipping somewhere dangerously close to 90. It feels weird when I do anything below 75 or 80 or so.

5. I have absolutely no tact.
But I'm working on it. Mostly though, I enjoy this aspect of my personality. I think in general, society has pretty much politically corrected itself to death. No one says what they mean anymore and if they do it's some watered down version of the original so vague that it doesn't mean anything anyway. Or, they use so many signifiers that it loses any and all authenticity. I've come to realize as I've gotten older than not so many people are well equipped to deal with my bluntness, so I'm trying to find a way to tone it down. Or at least, you know, stop cursing at work.

6. I'll do anything once. (Just about.)
And yes I do mean JUST ABOUT ANYTHING. And alot of things, I've already done. Some of them I didn't like so much, so they only got done that once. Some things I liked ALOT so they get done as often as the opportunity presents itself. But at least you know if I say I don't like something, it's not because I have some preconceived notion of what I should and shouldn't like, it's because I've probably already tried it and realized I'm not a fan.
You can take that however you'd like... :-)

7. I am Daria.
Did anyone else love Daria? I was so heartbroken when that show went off air. If anyone wants to get me a Christmas present, convince MTV to release that on DVD then buy it for me, k? All jokes aside, Daria and I have the same dry, sarcastic humor. I realize that many mistake my jokes for me being really bitch, but I PROMISE I am kidding. (Except for that bitch in the one piece spandex ensemble today. THAT bitch needed to SIT DOWN.)Few people get my humor, but those who do think I'm hilarious. Those who don't... well, fuck them. They don't matter. (See? See the no tact thing?)

8. I am unnaturally attatched to music.
Seriously, my whole life feels thrown off if I go a day without listening to music. I'm always all over the radio and the internet looking for new music (Shouts out to my homie Nile over at You Heard That New who's always hooking me up with my latest fix.) I wake up every morning singing a song. And it usually dictates my day. I love music. I have found myself so many times getting so wrapped up in a song that all of a sudden I am crying, or laughing outloud or otherwise completely ignoring my surroundings. Sometimes I'm so into a particular moment in a particular song that I'll drive allll out of my way getting to my destination just so I can let the moment ride.

9. I am absurdly talented.
And no I don't mean that nearly as conceited as it seems. I am blessed, abundantly. There isn't too much that I can't do. I am a pool of creative energy. I sing, I write, I dance, I act, I paint, I design clothes, I direct, I choreograph, design lights, compose. I can harmonize with very little effort, I pick up choreography faster than most, I can play just about anyone. I play piano by ear, I can write about anything. And I do it all WELL. Anything I haven't done or don't know how to do, I can pick up fast enough that you'll soon forget I've never done it before. I don't think it's because of anything I've done so great; I'm just blessed.

10. I am nothing like I look.
I have been my greatest lesson in learning not to judge people because my inner workings are nothing like my outside adornment would suggest. Yes I wear designer jeans and expensive shoes, yes my purse is worth a small fortune and ok I put alot of effort into personal upkeep (hair, nails, skin, etc). But at heart, I'm pretty country and simple. If I could wear jeans and flip flops all year round, I would. If I could wear my hair in a ponytail everyday without it breaking off, I'd probably do that too. Yeah, I've been alot of places and seen alot of things, but my favorite place to be is in my daddy's kitchen when he's cooking or rolling around in the grass with my dog. My outward appearance stems from years of living in major cities and hanging out with queens, lol. I was just as soon throw on sweats and walk around barefoot in my yard. It's funny because, to look at Joy and I, everyone assumes she's this super spiritual Earth mother type, but I'm the one all into holistic healing and planes of energy, and all that other hippie stuff no one gives me credit for because I'm wearing $200 shades. I've taught me that you never know what a person is like and more often than not, the assumptions you've learned to make about tangible attributes are sometimes pretty far off.

So let's see...

I'm gonna tag Jam. Why? Because she hates tags. And because I am gonna harass her mercilessly until she does it...

And Joy, cuz she's my bestest...

And V because I don't know you as well as I know all my other blogger family so you've gotta come up with some juicy ones...

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

"Ya Boy's a Good Look but She's my Better Half..."

I swear I was coolin'. Sitting at the bar, on my 3rd (or 6th shot) of Patron, laughing, texting a little, nodding my head to Fabo and Neyo, laughing at the busted broads who had their hands up feeling the song but could be an upgrade to no one. (Oh stop looking at me like that. You KNOW it's the truth. And you KNOW you've wanted to say it.)

Katy Girl is doing her usual, giving some guy the business of the dance floor, Gucci Girl is next to me, goin' hard with the shots like me, I'm chilling and talking shit, texting and emailing a few folks. The waitress brings me a SoCo and lime with a note.

Beside every great man you can find a woman like a soldier, holding him down.

My head snaps up and I feel eyes on me. It's a struggle to focus through the strobe lights and crowd, couples with the fact that I am quite possibly the least sober person on earth right now. But I feel his eyes on me. I find him, up in VIP leaning over the balcony, Blackberry in hand, smiling at me. We get our nigga technology on.

I'm pretty sure you're stalking me.

Pure coincidence.


Cross my heart.

Who's the model chick you're with?

Friend. I'm a force when WE'RE together.

She's bad as hell.

Think so?

I wouldn't kick her outta bed.

LMAO! You're a mess. How throwed are you?

Throwed enough to know I should stay down here.

Did you think about me when this song came on?

I ignore that text and get on the dance floor when they play "Tattoo". (Yeah, worst song ever. It's still my shit. Don't judge me.) They play a couple ATL songs and after I've walked-it-out-rocked-my-hips-cranked-that-soldja-boy, I head back to the bar to reclaim my seat and get a cran and goose. My phone vibrates at my hip.

Dude in the red behind you is staring at your ass.

I lean a little bit more into my hip, perfectly round out the curve of my backside. Phone goes off again.

Don't make me come down there and fuck you up.

I laugh and swivel long enough to blow him a kiss just as the bartender puts my drink down in front of me. I lean over and tell Gucci Girl he's here. We talk in each other's ears as the DJ switches the song. I feel his fingers sweep my hair over my shoulder, his lips on the tattoo on my shoulder. Without turning around:

"This isn't exactly what I meant by us staying away from each other."
"Purely coincidence mama."
"So Katy Girl didn't tell you I was here?"
"No. Actually, I was supposed to be over at Red Door tonight."
"And you're here because...?"
"Batman wanted to come through. Some girl he's trying to get at is one of the bartenders."
"Which one? The light skinned one with the huge boobs or the light skinned one with the huge boobs."

We laugh because we both know Batman's type pretty well. I notice that Gucci Girl has discreetly vacated the seat next to me. Traitorous bitch.
"Come with me."

He grabs my hand and leads me to the dance floor. We start out timid since most of our club outings together didn't consist of much dancing since he was mostly working. With every verse, we get a little closer, his hands slip a little further down my back, he says something else in my ear.

And then the DJ started to spin "Oye mi Canto".

Don't remember too much after that. After about 30 minutes of reggaeton, we retire to a plush purple couch up in VIP, a bottle of Grey Goose and some cranberry juice waiting on us. Dammit if this man doesn't notice EVERYTHING. We talk and laugh and flirt. I'm existing on a totally different hemisphere given the liquor running through me. Every once in awhile he breaks away to go meet someone or talk to someone who needs to feel important and I send emails I should probably not be sending but that's another convo for another day. I lean back on the couch and close my eyes until I feel his hands on my thighs.
"You ok?"
"You're not gonna get sick on me are you?" My head snaps up.
"Nigga don't try and play me." He laughs at me.
"I love how your accent gets thick when you're drunk."
"I'm not drunk. I'm just not as sober as some other people might be." He laughs at me again.
"Aiight baby."

He sits next to me and pulls me under him, his cologne invading my senses and making me feel quiet. He's playing in my hair and dammit if I'm not a sucker for that shit. And dammit if he doesn't know that shit. He's talking in my ear. I'm just about to turn to him and say something extra ignorant when Katy Girl comes up.
"Hey La we're about to get outta here." She looks at him. "You coming K.B.?"


Somehow we all end up back at K.B.'s place. I wander off, find my way to sitting on the stairs, sending some text messages. (I think. I was drunk. Did I mention that?) He peeks around the corner, looking up at me.
"You good?"
"Depends on your definition."
"Why do I get the feeling you're not talking about being drunk?" I sigh and lean back.
"Because you actually listen." My phone chimes in my hand signaling I've just gotten a new email. He wanders back to the kitchen.

That's the last thing I remember.

The next morning I wake up, chocolate colored sheets bunched up near my head. I feel like a fat girl is tap dancing on my temples. I sit up and look to my right. There's tylenol and beer sitting there. I realize that I'm in a tshirt, my clothes neatly folded in the big lounge chair near the window. I have fuzzy red socks on my feet. It's bright outside but I barely notice because the shades have been drawn. I'm in bed alone.

I pop the tylenol and wander downstairs. K.B. is stretched out on the couch, still in his club clothes, sleeping with his hands on his chest like he's been laid out by a mortician. I sit down in the chair across from him and watch him for awhile, thinking. He stretches, grumbles like an angry puppy, and works his way back to sleep. I laugh.

I get up and start making breakfast...

Monday, August 20, 2007

Yes, I believe in Tarot cards and astrology and psychics and all that. Bite me. This is my card for today. Thought it was interesting.

The Tower

As a personal card, The Tower is perfect for the revolutionary or iconoclast, or anyone who flourishes in rapidly changing environments. What The Tower brings to the mix is sudden, usually unexpected change. With that change there will be a period of disorder, and there may be loss. However, the loss is probably not yours, since you may well be the agent that created the change to begin with. Many positive things can occur from the change The Tower indicates: Truths will be laid bare, revelations and breakthroughs are not just possible but likely, and nothing spurs creativity like a good dose of chaos and confusion. In the end it is likely that what replaces what was lost in the fall of The Tower will be worth the loss.

"Loving you is my Biggest Weakness"

Someone said this to me a year ago.

And it broke my heart.

He later went on to clean it up nicely and spin it into a real deep convo about the dynamics between male and female relationships, but that inital way I heard it, that 1st way I took it, the original way I felt it never quite left.

"Loving you is my biggest weakness."

It is interesting to me now, in ways that didn't occur to me then, as I've grown alot of ways from the person who had that conversation last year. I can hear now, unlike then, the undertones of what wasn't being said. For a year, I've discected it, this one little sentence, I've analyzed it, broken it down a million different ways, established a million different meanings, taken it apart and rebuilt it, dug under it, and cracked it open. But really only one thing matters.

It hurt me.

It took me a year to figure that out.

I hate the way things were left.

But even moreso I hate feeling I am the thing that's making someone weak.

Sunday, August 19, 2007


Even over the dull roar of the other patrons I can hear the snare drum of my heartbeat. If I were to sit still, I'd probably start to tremble a little. But I can't sit still. I shift, I rake my fingers through my hair, I pull at my hoops, I sip my drink. I can feel sweat starting to prickle on the back of my neck, sliding down my spine, pooling in the sharp curve at the small of my back. I clear my throat. Shift, hair, hoops, sip.

I see him hit the entrance and I gasp just slightly. Now that I'm not trying to be all hardcore and shit, I can admit it; the man is just gorgeous. Beautiful. Head to toe. All 10 feet of him. I take a minute to watch him before he sees me and I have to stop outright staring with my mouth slightly open. I take in the changes I see in him just over the last few weeks since I saw him last; the ceasar has been shaved and even the skin on his head is smooth and flawless. The facial hair is gone. For once, he's not in a suit, just a polo and jeans, but for some reason his shoulders look even more broad than I remember. He smiles at the hostess, his dimples like caverns and I watch her giggle. It makes me laugh. Half the women in the room, even the ones who are not alone, have turned to watch him once the sheer magnitude of his prescence reached their table. He sees me. Gives me a slight smile. I flush from head to toe, every inch of me heated up from the inside. I smile, probably too hard. We look at each other from across the room for a minute. I can see his fans looking back and forth between us wondering what the hell is going on.

I avert my eyes first because, well, I'm a punk, and I'm pretty sure my face is about two seconds from bursting into flame. I look at my feet and without looking up, I feel him moving into my orbit. Before I can stop myself, I'm tugging at my shirt, pulling my wide leg pants, wishing I'd worn my hair down instead of in a ponytail, wondering if I put on too much makeup or not enough, lamenting the fact that I shoulda worn my diamonds instead of these obnoxious ass hoops, kicking myself for not wearing pink or red or blue instead of all black. He stops in front of me and I know that at some point I'm going to have to look up lest he have a conversation with the top of my hair.

I look up at him and his eyes go soft. He's smiling at me and I want to hug him, to kiss him, to do something other than stand here with my mouth slightly ajar.
"I just KNEW," he starts, "that I would have something clever to say once I got here."
"And?" I prompt him.
We burst out laughing, too hard, too loudly probably but I can feel the ice crack beneath our feet.
"I got you a drink. Hennessee on the rocks, 2 olives."
"You remembered. I'm impressed."

We sit down, our eyes never leaving each other and I'm afraid if he keeps looking at me the way that he is that I'm gonna just throw up on myself.
"You look different," he says, his eyes sliding down over me.
"Its just my hair."
"Yeah, you never wear your hair back."
"Head's too big."
"But that's not it. You look... settled." I smile at that.
"I'm working on it."

We small talk each other some, yadda yadda yadda, work, friends, sports, and I take advantage of the shift in atmosphere after the waitress leaves for the fourth time... of only serving him.
"So I wanted to talk to you-"
"Oh God you're pregnant."
"No fruit loop shut your face." More laughter, and not that polite kinda laughter you give up because you don't wanna be rude, but more like that deep inner laughter you have with someone you truly feel like you around. I try to start again.
"I owe you an apology. I'm sorry for acting the way I did. I shouldn't have treated you the way I did, whether I made my intentions clear in the beginninng or not-"
"Look La-"
"Shut UP goddammit and let me talk." He sits back. "You are," deep breath, "the kind of man every woman should be smart enough to want. And I hate thinking that I could have damaged any of those qualities just because I was going through shit I wasn't grown enough to deal with in any real way."
"You know all I heard from that is that you wanted me."
"Oh nigga you are THE WORST."

We laugh and I'm loving his smile, the way his shoulders bounce when he hangs his head to chuckle. Praise God for any man he ever made like this. Chuuuuuuuch.

"K.B. you already knew that though," and I let the implication hang in the air long enough that he knows something is following it.
"But...?" he prompts me.
"You're not ultimately who I wanted to be with. And you didn't deserve to be a seat filler."
"You still love him?"

I don't want to answer for fear he'll call me stupid, but in my heart I know he's not that kinda man.
"Yes. Of course. I probably always will," and I offer up that ruefull smile and shrug that usually comes with speaking your heart even when it isn't saying the words the general public wants to hear.
"I'm actually glad to hear you say that."
"Because it means you're closer to getting back to you. I see you settling nicely into your skin. And I like what I see." I smile at that, every bit of me on display, but not caring a bit.
He says, "You know it's just-"
"Something about me. Yes I know. And if I ever come any closer to figuring that something out myself, you'll be the 1st to know."
"The first?"
I let him digest that.

"You still wish you'd met me first?" he asks me, his voice dangerously low.
"No. I don't. Because then I would have never been with him. And I don't regret loving him. I think it was the first time I've ever loved someone with my whole and complete self. And I'm proud of me for having the balls to do it." He nods over and over, his eyes suddenly shifting to the window overlooking the parking lot.
"But," I start and his eyes shift back to me, "I wish I'd met you later."

He smiles that smile at me that a million orthodontists wish they could take credit for and takes my tiny hand in his.
"So what now?"
"Now I move."
"Literally or metaphorically?"
"Metaphorically. Been standing still too long. It's not until your life falls apart that you realize that you are the one who holds the power to arrange the pieces."
"Mmm that's deep."
"Yeah well, I got it like that." We laugh and then fall silent, looking at each other, no doubt both of our minds travelling to What If even if we know we don't live there.
"You've changed. Just since I've met you, you've changed. It's beautiful to watch." I smile at his words and feel tears form behind my eyes. He touches his hand to my face and instinctively I nuzzle my cheek into the curve of his palm.
"I like your hair back," he almost whispers and I know on some level he's trying to let me know he's liking the changes I'm going through.
"So," he says tracing his fingers down to my collar bone, "is this where you go back to black?"
"No. But I have work to do."
"Need some help?"
"In some ways. But you know I'm nothing if not a solo star." He laughs at our inside joke. "I think this is work I've gotta do on my own."
"I'd love to see the finished product."

By now full tears have started to slide down my face. After a moment, I clear my throat.
"I really am sorry. That... that's not who I am. That's not the kinda person I am."
"If I didn't know that already, do you think I'd be sitting here?" I smile so hard through my thin veil of tears, appreciative of him not judging me as harshly as I did for the way I acted.

"So, am I ever gonna hear from you again?"
"Probably not," I reply. "But I know better now than I did if I ever run into you again. And DAMN I'm gonna be so jealous of the chick you end up with." We laugh and it's much needed right now.
"Well what are you gonna do about it? You let me go."
"I know!" I consider it a moment. "If I'm sober, I'll probably be quite charming and graceful and wish you the best. And hopefully you'll catch me on a day when I'm looking fabulous."
"And if you're not?"
"Then I hope that bitch can fight cuz I might drag her outside and beat her ass in the parking lot."

He laughs at me, long and hard, mostly because he knows I am SO sincere. I laugh too, but mostly, I'm studying him, so if somehow this journey I'm about to take brings me back across him, I'll know to stop.

He pays our tab and we make moves to leave and he says, "You know, I knew you'd come back."
"And how did you know that?" I turn and take in the full affect of his smug smile.
"Because," he says all drunk on himself, "I laid it down."
We both laugh, him laughing because he thinks it's funny, me laughing because he's such a nigga and because, you know, it's true.

We get outside and he kisses my forehead, either side of my face in his hands. He says a few words that I'll probably never tell another soul and he makes me tear up yet again. I turn and walk away from him once again, but this time I look back because, well, I want to. He's still standing in the same place watching me leave. I wave at him and give up my most genuine smile, able to hold my head up a little higher, my spirit a little lighter.

Sometimes when a good girl goes bad, she isn't lost forever. Some of us, if she's truly a good woman, find their way back on their own.

Later that night my phone lights up. His message is simple;

Travel well

I intend to.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Does Anyone Else See a Conflict of Interest Here?

Here It Is

August 13,2007

Dear (Insert my Boss' Name Here):

This serves to tender my official notice of resignation as Manager of (insert company here.) As you know, over my time with the company between transitioning back and forth between (1st location that sucked) & (2nd location that sucked harder) and lacking sufficient staff due to the instability of the district, we have had many instances of inequitable work assignments resulting in excessive overtime by my staff and myself. Despite reassurances to the contrary, my team and our store have continuously suffered because of the instability in higher volume stores. This repeated issue has affected my ability to not only manage my team effectively but also has caused a severe neglect of my family life, an improper imbalance I would not expect from a company that touts itself as being "People First". To this extent, it has left me and many of my direct reports feeling uncertain about the future of this store, as we can't build a strong structure on shaky ground no matter how great builders we may be. It is clear to me that this instability will not be resolved at any point in the near future as promised and I can no longer sacrifice my time, health or well being to serve the needs of a company that is not doing the same. Therefore, I feel that resigning is the best option for me.

My last day at (insert company) will be Saturday, August 18,2007.



Yeah. You read right. I gave them a week's notice. And, so?

Tuesday, August 14, 2007


That's when it all started.

With a text message.

One of my assistant managers, the newest one that I've had for less than a week that was supposed to be saving me from a lifetime of 60 hour work weeks, sent me a text message.

Saying that he was quitting.

This goddamn coontastic fool quit his job over FUCKING TEXT MESSAGE.
Nigga technology, I tell ya.

That's what started it all. Not that I wasn't looking for an excuse.

I work too much. I pulled my time cards. 10 weeks I've worked more, MUCH more than 40 hours.
Did I mention I've only been with the company since the middle of April?

And these aren't work weeks at just 41 or 42 hours. I'm talking at most, one week I logged 57.77 hours.


After my initial shock, I called my boss, told her we were gonna need some help at my location because me and my 1st assitant manager (whom I adore) can't keep working the way that we have, 12 hour days, 7 days a week. Her response?

Pretty much that it was my job as the boss to deal with it, to be the one working the overtime.


I literally bit my tongue to keep that phrase from marching through the phone. Bit it hard enough to make it bleed. I ran my fingers through my hair, my gorgeous hair that is falling out from malnutrician and stress. I rubbed my eyes, one of which has a knot big enough on it to slightly obstruct my vision that I don't have time to go get checked. I ran my fingers over my skin, my beautiful, clear skin that I am so vain about which is now a lovely grayish color, marred with pimples and too many different shades to name. I looked in the mirror at myself. No makeup, undereye circles so dark I look like I've been punched. Red eyes. I can see where my face is getting pudgy from putting on weight. My eyes look sunken. My skin a strange color. I look sick.

And I am.

So I wrote a letter.
The best resignationfuckyou letter ever.

After I clicked send, I felt instantly lighter.

So this is the first step. The next one is unclear, but I'm moving.

Today I quit my job. With absolutely no backup plan.


Sometimes you gotta jump out the window for crazy.


This is a Crank That instructional video.

No bullshit.

Seriously, someone pay close attention to where they are dancing...

Such coonery....

Saturday, August 11, 2007

Long Islands in Long Island

So today I had a thought...

I said to myself, "Self, what would be the most efficient way to cause a car accident without harming myself or anyone else but rendering me unable to go to work..."

And it disturbed me.

No one should hate their job so much.

Truth is, I work far too much, for far too little pay for this to not be something I love. But after all that craziness was settled in my head, it really brought up a bigger issue: I'm feeling the need to travel.

I wanna go somewhere, get away for awhile. Walk some streets I don't know where no one knows me, eat at some resturants that I've never been to, get drunk in some bars I don't know, sleep in a super comfy hotel bed. (Marriott hotels have THE MOST comfy beds ever.)

For the last couple months, I've been overcome with this desire to MOVE. Sometimes I wish I was brave enough to be nomadic, to just pack up and go from city to city, just me and the dog. I want to travel right now, be away with my thoughts, learning some new cities. I have a couple trips lined up, but they aren't the type of vacations from now I have in mind. I wanna get away, come back with a fresh perspective.

Wise suggested Chicago, I think (or did I steal that?) and I liked that idea. But I kinda want to be near some water. I thought San Francisco. And considered Connecticut and Vermont. I'm just daydreaming outside myself right now.


*staring dreamily off into space, head propped up on hands*

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

yadda yadda yadda

I know we're doing the same thing...

Waiting for the other to make contact.

And it's silly, really.

Especially cuz we both know I'm not gonna break first.

I keep looking at my phone. Not LOOKING really, but just GLANCING, maybe sending it a telepathetic message of sorts telling it to make some kinda noise.

And I just KNOW we're doing the same thing.

I sit down and talk to myself. "Self," I say to me, "you're being silly. Really, this is just juvenille. Does it matter who says something first?"
Then my other self, my prideful self, says, "BITCH SIT DOWN!!!"

So I do what's most logical.

I clean.

But I'm WATCHING my phone. GLANCING, really. Not even a glance more like a nonchalant type noticing, like, oh look! My phone.
If you will.

The chime sounds signaling I've received a text. I smile, all smug, just knowing where it came from.

So I text my mom back, and I keep cleaning, my stupid phone stupidly silent, annoyingly dark.

That bastard always hated me.
The phone I mean.

So I put some new sheets on my bed. Cuz, you know, even though I changed them a few days ago they should be fresh, yes?

This is silly really. I KNOW we're both doing the same thing. We're both so damn stubborn. The knowledge makes me smile bittersweetly, almost a cringe. Oh, bother.

I almost wanna turn off my phone, just so it won't torture me. ALMOST.

But then, you know... what if I miss it?

Sunday, August 5, 2007

Black is the New Blond

I dunno what's up in the world of dating as it's been a minute since I've visited, but are black girls in style now? Cuz all of a sudden, white boys are ON IT.

Its funny. When I straighten my hair and it's hanging down my back, black dudes are all over me. But as soon as I wash it and let it curl up, the white boys are all over the kid.

And I'm not talking Justin Timberlake white boys who you know would be dating a black woman if he wasn't afraid of the ridicule. I mean straight up abercrombie and fitch, flip flops and sweatshirts in the winter time, frat boy, Zack Morris white boys.

Someone else blogged about this recently, I can't remember who, otherwise I'd link, so I know I'm not making this up. Since I've been feeling quite lazy recently, I've been washing and going the hair. Aside from the usual Hispanic guys who approach me speaking Spanish and leave me confused, I notice more White guys looking. And I mean Looking. And it's not that "Damn she could get it" look that brothers are so good at giving (God bless them), it's like that "Wow. She's so gorgeous" look. I always end up looking over my shoulder wondering WHO is he staring at like that.

Oh! Me!!! Lol

Are black girls the new blonds? Or the new Latinas? Or the new whatever the "in" type of chick to date is right now?


I have seen Transformers three times.


Why? Well the first and most important thing you must understand...

... is that Optimus Prime is THAT NIGGA.

He's a big part of it, lol.

Seriously, First Love got me hooked on Transformers when we were growing up (Thundercats too) and it stuck. When I first heard they were doing the movie, I was skeptical. Then I heard Michael Bay was directing.

Michael Bay also, despite being Caucasion, is THAT NIGGA.

The first time I saw it was in Atl and it was better than I could have even hoped. So I've seen it twice since. I'd be lying if I said I didn't clap and squeal a lil everytime Optimus came on the screen.

The movie in and of itself is pretty damn good. I know Jam hated it, but as I am actually my mother's son, I loved it. Even my MOM loved it, and she's a mama. She was with me 2 of the 3 times and spent the next 3 days immediately following talking about the movie, recommending it to friends and co-workers and running her car into things because she was feeling 10 foot tall and bulletproof like Prime (true story.) Lots of things blowing up, great fight scenes, realistic looking CG. It had that wry Michael Bay humor, and Shia LaBeouf is just wonderful. He does that geeky adolescent thing without being cheesy, and his comedic timing is impeccable. One of my favorite lines of his is when they're being flown by helicopter to Hoover Dam where Megatron is being held. One of the analysts (also, how much do I love the fact that the person who figured out what was going on was pretty AND female. One day, she might even be a minority. I digress-) asks him, "What did they get you for?" He replies all nonchalantly...
"Bought a car... turned out to be an alien robot. *pause* Who knew?"

I cracked up.

The moral of the story is, it's a great movie. Yes, its possible I'm biased because I liked the cartoon and I was meant to be a boy but, whatever. Its all the things a great summer action flick is supposed to be. And not only that, but it has a great message that's pretty relavant to the war in Iraq today if you care to pick up on it.

Also, did I mention Optimus Prime is THAT NIGGA?
Just making sure.

"Autobots... ROLL OUT!!!"

*clapping and squealing*

Ask Dr. Phil, Not Oprah

Why is it that women ask their female friends for advice about men?

And NOT their female friends who think like men, but their single, bitter ass, going through the same fucked up bullshit as you clueless friends.

I don't get it.

Exhibit A...

I have a friend, let's call her Delta, not because she rocks crimson and cream but because she is from said region of Mississippi. I tell you this, because maybe her being a little slow on the come up is where this all comes from.

Delta moves to Big City. Delta meets boy. Delta likes boy. Delta dates boy. Boy and Delta fall in love. Boy moves in. Boy cheats.
Delta loses her goddamn mind.

I am not one to judge. I'm more impulsive than a little bit, more irrational than slightly. So when Delta calls me and hurriedly details her latest run in with her ex, I'm all conspiratory giggles and, "Bitch you did NOT!"s. Until she says...
"Girl I thought he was gonna hit me."


I've met her ex. Violent he is not. He's a pussycat, damn near a doormat with a sissy ass pink flower on it and a watering can. I'm confused.
"Whey would he hit you Delta."
It's her turn to pause.

After she studder starts though a jumble of words, she starts to tell me what she's done. This girl has gone all out crazy ex-girlfriend; keyed car, smashed windshield, eggs on the paint, sugar in the gas tank. And that's just what she did to his car. Lets not talk about how she went to his place over the weekend while he was outta town with the Sideline Ho, destroyed his clothes, wrote all over the walls, set fire to the carpet, let the dog out.

She's talking and I'm sitting there jaw dropped. She pauses her confession long enough to ask me what I think.
"Bitch if it was me they'd STILL be looking for parts of your body."

Real talk.

These kinds of things don't even sound like her so I ask her where she got this idea. Come to find out, one of this off center chicks she's been running with gave her all these ideas... and a ride to his apartment.


"How on EARTH did you think this was a good idea?!?!"

After some prodding, she tells me a little bit more about this girl. Recently single, cheated on, doormat to a man much older than her "wise" 19 years.

WHAT?!?! You're taking advice from a bitter ass child?!?!

Oh sigh.

I've certainly entertained some felonous thoughts about exes. But I just can't see me brick slinging in 4 inch heels, ya know?

I've never understood it. Whenever I needed male advice, I always went to my male friends. They'd always tell me straight shit, no bull precursor, and I didn't have to worry about getting bad advice from bitches who are doing worse than me.

Ladies please stop asking your lonely, single, bitter, childish friends for advice. I guarantee you when your ex comes looking for you because you fucked up his car, that chick will be ghost and you'll be an ICU patient.

And I'm scared of hospitals, so I can't do shit for you.

Saturday, August 4, 2007

Everybody Else is Doing it...

...except Jameil. She's a blog prude.

1. Lace or silk?
Lace. I think it's sexier and silk makes me hot... and not in the good way

2. Do you subscribe to (or regularly buy) any "dirty" magazines? Which ones?
Notsomuch. Well, wait, does Maxim count? Mostly I read that cuz the guys that write it are friggin' hilarious

3. Have you ever had sex in the water (tub/pool/lake/ocean)?
Just shower. Although I gotta say, never understood the whole on the beach thing. I get sand in enough weird places just sun bathing. Could you imagine the sand burn? *shudder* I think that was just one of those popular fantasies that everybody jumped on board with before thinking it through.

4. The three words that best describe you in bed are...
Loud, spontaneous, subordinate

5. The three words that best describe your most recent partner in bed are...
Passionate, strong, selfless

6. Did you lose your virginity as an impetuous youth, "to prove that you loved him," because of a romantic gesture, a newlywed, or other?
I was certainly young but there was no "proving I loved him." I'd been with First Love for about 4 years at that point and it just kinda fell into place. To this day, I'm one of very few people I know satisfied with how I loss my virginity.

Name three words that:

Get you excited: "Who's is it?" seriously, sexiest sentence ever.

Make you squirm: "Can we talk?" Worst sentence ever.

Make you laugh: "Scene nigga scene!!!" (inside joke.)

Friday, August 3, 2007

C Is for Your Confidence Boy, I Love the Cool in You...

I can barely stand myself right now. My face is stuck, pretty much permanently I'm sure, looking like a slice of watermelon.

I am glued to my phone.
I am sleep deprived.
I am listening to nothing but love songs (and the occassional "let's get it poppin'" cut).
I have all the classic symptoms.

I have a crush.

I've resisted writing about him because a. I couldn't come up with a decent pseudonym for him and b. I prefer to not convolute the destruction of one thing with the evolution of another.

And because if I wrote about him, captured him on a page, then, well, it would be real. And I would have to deal with it. And we all know I don't wanna do that.

But he is persistent, this one. Stubbornly getting to me, making me feel like I am in high school. So you get to call him B, because I do.

I've known B for a little over two years, the subject of an ill fated match up that could never quite seem to get it together. The friend who introduced us told me, "La, he's perfect for you." But at the time, "perfect" lived 1,000 miles away. Apparently I talked to him once on the phone and was pretty damn rude to him.

Which, let's face it, sounds like me.

Then I met him. I was instantly attracted to him, but I couldn't focus on that at the time. Said friend who was responsible for seeing our "perfection" was in the middle of a confrontation with her most recent ex, and I was in the midst of a string of red faced, four letter words. I remember he made me take a walk with him so I wouldn't be looking at the two of them and fuming. I even remember how he did it. He put his hand on the small of my back and just said, "Come with me."

Without even making the decision to, I did.

Fast forward to now. After losing contact for awhile, I got a random text from him awhile back. I'll spare you the sap, but it made me smile and continued to make me smile for the many days following because, yes, I saved and reread the message. Often.

If you haven't heard, I'm all over the place, constantly working 50 or so hour weeks and text or email or IM straight to my phone are the best ways to get a hold of me. After the initial text, which led to a phone conversation that night, I started to notice that the texts started to come more frequently. And every one made me smile a little wider, and a little longer than the one before it. Every phone conversation stretched a little bit longer, the echoes of his words lingered in the back of my mind for a few more days after we'd actually hung up the phone.

Earlier this week, he texted me just to say goodnight. The following night he called me after we both finally left work. I was right in the middle of my whole not speaking to anyone thing so I almost didn't answer. Before I could stop myself though, I was picking up and saying hello.

And then, that damn smile he puts on my face.

This whole week, thanks muchly to him, I've been on whatever is just a tiny step above cloud 9. While talking to him last night, I just so happened to mention what time I had to be awake for work.
"Oh, and you're like an hour behind me right?"

This morning, I woke up to my phone ringing.

"Since I kept you up all night, I thought I should at least make sure you got up on time. And I figured since my voice was the last one you heard before you went to sleep, it should be the first one you heard this morning."

Oh, God. Oh, God, I am in so much trouble.

After picking myself up off the floor, I went about my day, my facial muscles stretched big and wide towards the outskirts of my face. It stayed there all day, and if it wavered, I only needed to double back to my cell phone and read one of his texts. I was smiling and happy, laughing out loud at even the dumbest things. I felt a little like singing. My usual loud rap music on my morning commute to work was replaced by some Alicia Keys and Robin Thicke. If this was some cheesy Disney movie, this would be where I'd go sing this duet with the birds.

I'm so disgusted with myself.

"You know," I told him that night when I rushed to call him after getting off work, "if you keep this up, my mouth is gonna be stuck this way permanently."
"I hope it does get stuck. I can't think of anything better than seeing you smile."


Me too. More than either of us probably realizes.