Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Lunacy on Parade

This whole not talking on the phone thing has really opened me up to some silliness over AIM. You'd think we'd have more sense being college educated and all, but, notsomuch. This, ladies and gentleman, is why I'm always online...

Reka: Well I'm over this
Reka: And I took sleepin pills
Reka: So I'ma close my eyes
La: Lol
La: Druggie!
La: Lindsay Lohan!
Reka: Hahahahaha
Reka: I wanna be Paris
Reka: She got more money
La: Lol
La: K. Night Paris :-)
La: I'll be LiLo. Lol
Reka: Hahahahahaha
Reka: Wait if I'm Paris
Reka: U gotta Nicole
Reka: Hahahahaha
Reka: Britney?
La: Good nite
La: Lol
Reka: And scene

Which I put in an away message. Which led to...

Scottie: see, that's easy, you be Kim Kardashian. she got money AND a sex tape
Scottie: and she not white
Scottie: lol
La: Lmao!
La: I didn't think of that!
La: And I can keep my ass! Yay! Everybody wins!! Lol
Scottie: LOL
Scottie: see
La: I'll let Reka know
La: We shoulda come to u about his first
Scottie: LOL
Scottie: as i am a wealth of knowledge and advice
Scottie: i can understand why you two would try to work this out amongst yourselves first
La: We're sorry for not coming to you. We know better, lol
Scottie: haha
La: Wait do I wanna have a sex tape though? I mean I know that's THE way to get famous nowadays...
La: But I'm unsure...
La: Wise One?
Scottie: of course you wanna have a sex tape
Scottie: more fans and more press
Scottie: Reka seems to not care since Paris has 2
Scottie: lol
La: That Reka is a fast one! Lol
Scottie: hahaha
La: at least I'm doin Playboy
Scottie: yea, but with your clothes on
Scottie: what kinda bs is that!
La: I'm CLASSY niggas! Lol
Scottie: LOL
Scottie: i want to see dat ass! bare as the day you was born
La: Lol
La: That's what the tape is for! Can't oversaturate my ass
La: (Literally)
Scottie: hahahaha
Scottie: let me tell you something
Scottie: i don't know if you know this
Scottie: but you can NEVER get enough of seeing naked asses
La: Lmao
La: But u don't wanna see the same naked ass right?
Scottie: if men didn't want to see the same naked ass, there wouldn't be such a thing as marraige
Scottie: lol
La: There IS no such thing asmarriage
La: Except for in your case of course, lol

*it should be noted here he recently got engaged

Scottie: LOL
Scottie: men will be beating it to your naked ass as much as they can get
La: Lmao!!!
La: that was...
La: well, alrighty then
La: Ass, ass everywhere!!!
Scottie: YES!!!
La: Lol
Scottie: haha
Scottie: you are a fool
La: Lil bit
La: But don't tell nobody. It'll ruin my mistique, lol
Scottie: LOL
La: *mystique?
Scottie: you're an xmen villian?
La: I dunno how to spell that shit
La: I COULD be. All naked and body painted and whatnot. Me and my boobs could pull it off
Scottie: *drools*
La: Lmao!
Scottie: that's my answer
Scottie: lol
La: Such a boy
La: Lol
Scottie: LOL
Scottie: well, i just want credit when that's your halloween costume... assuming you don't go as kim
La: It'll have to be next yr. This yr I'm goin as a cop. I got the shorts and handcuffs and everything
Scottie: oooooh
Scottie: you know how many men are going to tell you they've been bad boys and need punishment?
La: I've got my baton ;-)
Scottie: that should be when you said "sure" and call 911 on them for real
La: Hahahahahahahahahahaha
Scottie: "this nigga's crazy!"
Scottie: "come and bring him in, he confessed to everything"
La: U know I'll do it too
Scottie: LOL
Scottie: hahaha
Scottie: it'll be like "to catch a preditor"
Scottie: except with a sexy fake cop instead of a cracker
Scottie: LMBAO
La: Omg! That shit is hilarious
Scottie: yo, me & deva even watch the "best of's" that be coming on msnbc saturday nights
La: Its better than going to a movie
La: I haven't seen it!
Scottie: hahaha
La: Man, the X got me hooked on that shit. It is NEVER NOT funny
Scottie: hahahahaha
La: They need to release that on dvd. I'd have To Catch a Predator parties and shit
Scottie: LMAO
Scottie: you got me cryin over here
Scottie: yo, that'd be so hot
La: Seriously, that show makes me so warm and fuzzy on the inside
Scottie: and make a drinking game
Scottie: everytime the preditor says "this was my first time" take a shot
La: Lmao!!!
La: We'd all be drunk in the 1st segment
Scottie: LOL
Scottie: exactly
La: We need a special drink for it
La: We'll call it The Predator Roofie
Scottie: pffff LOL!!!
Scottie: you could have some Jesus Juice there too
Scottie: that's a hit with the kids, according to Mike
La: Lmao!
La: Ok now I'm cryin
Scottie: hahaha
La: I'm still laughing Hahahaha
Scottie: you musta had some o' that jesus juice yourself
La: Lol
La: I WISH! U know I'm all about drinking on the job
Scottie: LMAO!!!!
Scottie: and why shouldn't you be?
Scottie: i mean as long as you get work done
Scottie: what does it matter what's in your cup right?
La: It IS the way god intended, lol
Scottie: if it wasn't then why did the Blood of Christ taste like wine?
La: And why did he change water into wine? Why not just let them niggas drink water?
Scottie: right!
Scottie: he wanted to get the party started
La: Of course! Jesus has to know how to party right?
Scottie: what else do you call the last supper?
La: Scottie this right here is the shit I'm talkin about
La: I shoulda known if anyone was gonna feel me, you would, lol
Scottie: "if anybody feel ya nigga i FEELS ya"
Scottie: it's a mcflurry, it's nothin
La: Lmao! Hahahaha and now my makeup is running down my face

Ladies and gentlemen... this is the future, lol.

Monday, July 30, 2007


Shamelessly stolen from X. Much like her disclaimer stated, if you're not interested in the detaiils of my sex life, skip this post. But if you are (and you wanna play too)...

Copy this entire list to your blog. BOLD everything that is true about you. Leave plain anything that is not true about you. Put an asterisk next to anything you would like to be true. I can't do special fonts on my Sidekick, so bear with me :)


1. I sleep better after sex.
2. There are some nights I cannot sleep without sex or masturbating.
3. I have had phone sex.
4. I have watched more than one gay/lesbian porn video.
5.. I think we should do more to understand the cultures of sex.
6. I would participate in sex research given the opportunity.
7. I currently have a "crush" on someone of the same sex.
8. I am difficult to live with if I'm not having sex on a regular basis.
9. I have had sex under water.
10. I have given sex as a gift.
11. I have made a video having sex.
12. I have taken nude pictures
13. I have taken a trip longer than an hour just for a booty call
14. The bed is NOT my most favorite place to have sex.
15. I am turned on knowing someone is watching me masturbate.
16. I have had sex knowning someone else was watching.
17. I have been tied up during sex.
18. I have dripped wax onto a lover's body.
19. I have had a lover drip wax onto my body.
20. Erotic toys are a regular part of my budget.
21. I have clicked on porn links in my email.
22. I have flashed strangers.
23. I have set-up a three-way for my lover.
24. I have had sex at my place of employment.
25. I have had sex while wearing a blindfold.
26. I have blindfolded someone else during sex.
27. I have had sex with someone who was tied up.

1. I like being choked during sex.
2. I have given/received a facial.
3. Some people might describe me as a nymphomaniac.
4. I have had more than one partner in a 24 hour period
5. I have had sex while surfing porn on the Internet.
6. I am often disappointed in my sexual relationships.
7. I have had sex in the snow.
8. I am in a polyamorous relationship.
9. I have had a one night stand.
10. I have a foot fetish.
11. I have a leather fetish.
12. I have a tickle fetish.
13. I enjoy nudie magazines.
14. I think PLAYBOY is tame, maybe even boring.
15. Much of what I know about sex comes from porn.

1. I want to have sex with someone on my blogroll.
2. I sleep better with someone snuggled up next to me.
3. I have to have music playing while having sex.
4. I am a member of the Mile-High Club.
5. I stopped during this list to have sex.
6. I have had more than ten orgasms in one night.
7. I have erotic art on display somewhere in my residence.
8. I have had sex while watching porn.
9. I have masturbated for someone over a web cam.
10. I have had sex over a web cam.
11. I have watched a couple have sex.

So there isn't much on the list of things I haven't done or wouldn't do. So um...

*hangs head in shame*

*smiles a little on the inside*

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

An Off Day + Boredom = a Lesbian

I'm nervous. As hell. I dunno why. It's not like this is for real. But I always thought it was so damn CHEESY, you know? Just... ugh. But I saw the flyer and decided to show up. Besides, it's free and that fits nicely in my budget.

A couple more women file into the room, looking around, seemingly as uncomfortable as me. I catch the eye of a tiny Latina girl with thick black hair. She gives me a quick smile and quickly averts her eyes. We all sit in silence, feigning intense interest in the contents of our expensive purses (Coach, Louis, Chanel, Coach, a Birkin over in the corner) (note to self: self, find out if Birkin has a son) and looking at the ground. The Latina girl has found her way to sitting next to me. She leans over to me.
"I dunno about you, but mi madre would be so proud if she knew I was here right now. I'm sure this is what she intended me to end up doing when she sent me to an ivy league school."

I burst out laughing and the other 3 women in the room look at us strangely. We seek refuge in our bags, mine Coach, hers Louis, still trying to swallow giggles. Birkin shoots us a dirty look and reapplies Dior lipgloss. (note to self: self, make sure son does not have stick up ass like mom) After another minute, the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen in my life walks in, no less than 6 feet tall, all tight and toned, the smoothest dark skin I've ever seen, hair down to her ass. And dammit if she doesn't have the nerve to have "on" these tiny shorts that don't start until about mile 2 of her legs. Bitch.
Latina Girl: I know right?!?!?

"Hey ladies," says the genetically perfect Dominican/Irish/Hawaiian (we later learn) hybrid standing in front of us mere earthlings seated around the room. "Welcome to basic Stripaerobics. I'm (something that sounds like Nay-hel-lah) and I'm gonna be teaching you some basic moves to help work out your bodies, and your man in the bedroom." The two of us dissolve into study-hall-passing-notes giggles again. Birkin cuts her eyes at us. For someone about to twirl her 40 something year old nipped and tucked ass around a pole with some twenty-somethings, she sure is bitchy. (note to self: self, seriously... about that stick...)
"By the way, I'm Mariella. Everybody calls me Mari." (Mar-ee-el-lah, ella, ella, eh eh) (ok I added the last part.)
"La." We shake on it, co-conspirators in silliness.

I strap up my 3 inch heels around my ankles and push myself off my ass. Mari and I take our position behind poles next to each other in the center of the mirrored room. Crazy Name Instructor takes us through a series of warm up stretches. I'm pretty sure, in my hours upon hours of formal dance training, I never ONCE had to grande plie in stilettos. I'm sure my teachers would all be ECSTATIC that this is what their devotion to my training has been reduced to.

After teaching us a few basic movies (the Catch, the Twirl Down, the Spiral, the Lift, and, the deadliest of them all, the Scissor) she starts to teach us a bit of "choreography". Mari and I spend most of the time whispering bitchy comments to each other and trying to ignore the fact that the instructor and other students are growing mildly annoyed with our giggling.

I pick up the "choreography" fairly quickly (even when I wasn't technically sound, I learned faster and better than everyone else in all my technique classes so I shined when it came time to perform) and Crazy Name Instructor notices.
"Do you have dance training? You pick up very quickly."
"Oh yes," straight face, "2 years of intensive training and technique at Body Tap."

Crazy Name Instructor looks at me strangely. Mari chokes on a laugh behind me. I duck my head in hopes of stifling my laughter. We get back to the choreography. It's fairly simple logically speaking, but it's pretty physically demanding. But not too awful. I'm not giving it 100%.

And then Crazy Name Instructor hits the music.

Damn that was so good
I wanna buy him a short set


Seriously, I love this silly ass song. And dammit if Beyonce doesn't DO THE DAMN THING in this video. Suddenly, I am inspired.

So inspired in fact, that Crazy Name Instructor makes me do it solo in front of the class.


I'm pretty sure I missed my calling with this whole stripping thing. The signs were there... growing up in the strip club capital of the world, all the dance lessons, the lower inhibitions than most human beings, the love of costumes... LMAO!

After class, Mari and I start talking. You know how it goes, trading school, work, superficial life info.
"Your boyfriend is gonna love it if you come home and put on that show that you just did for him," Mari says to me.
"Ahh yes, but it is all wasted as I have recently been released back out into the wild to cause a little havoc." She laughs at me. "But I'm sure your man is gonna LOVE you if you tell him where you spent your morning.
"Well... my boyfriend won't. But my girlfriend will."
"Or, you know, that works too." More laughter "Nice way to slip than in there by the way."
"I try to get it out of the way with women. If you don't wear it like a sign on your head and tell them later they assume it was all part of a carefully crafted plot to seduce them."
"I thought that's what you were doing anyway. Damn, I was looking forward to being the equal opportunity turner-downer of both sexes." (Besides, we all know starting an intelligently and witty written blog is the way to get the girls to love you- yes, Wise?)

We talk while we walk out to our cars, cracking up at the fact that we have identical trucks. She shows me a picture of her girlfriend when she calls to see if they're still on for lunch.
"Oh God, you two must KILL niggas when you go out places. They must just, LITERALLY stop breathing."
"They're the worst. If I had a dollar for every guy that asked if he could join in-"
"You'd have $387,645,962,417." (It should be noted here that her girlfriend is gorgeous as well, chocolate colored, nice body, large mane of natural hair, generous lips. I feel for every man in Texas they've ever encountered.)

We exchange info and promise to keep in touch, this time fully clothed and not pole twirling, though I'm sure this is what tipped her off as to what an awesome personality I have.
"Hey, do you have lunch plans? I'm meeting her at Lupe's."
"Oh I love that place. I always get their-"
"Fajitas? Yeah us too. So we'll get enough for three. Get in."

And that's how La made her first lesbian friend.

(that she knew about.)


I've always felt that resentment and mistrust were fairly related. More often than not, one is not present at the abscence of another.

More than resentment, I've always dealt with mistrust. I could, if I wasn't feeling lazy, chronicle the issues stemming from my childhood that have caused me to be so distrustful of people, but I don't wanna. What I will say, is that there are very few people in this life I trust explicitly. Because I've never been the type of person to do so.

And because even when I do think it's ok to trust, someone comes along and proves me wrong.

The weekend was interesting. Talked to a couple Howard associates, heard some interesting info. From a couple unrelated sources, I got the exact same story.
Which leads me to believe it's true.

So, apparently The Great Houdini was cheating. That's interesting. But that isn't what got me.

What hurt me like hell was apparently, a couple people I considered friends knew about this and never said a word. While they were giving me advice leaning towards being with this person, telling me how they'd "never seen me happier", they knew he was slinging some reckless dick on the side. I trusted them. Listened to their advice. Talked to these people everyday about any and everything, including The Great Houdini. And they never. Said. A. Word.

It's like being gut punched.

Resentment is like cancer. You find it one day, hidden inside you. You stumble upon it and it's so unexpected that it takes the wind out of you. You can't believe this could happen to you, cuz, hey, you're a decent person. You don't go around making orphans cry or kicking puppies. You start to research it, dig up all the information you can, trying to figure out why this is happening, how this is happening, how you can stop it. And then you realize that it's been silently stalking behind the scenes for so long that it's spread all over, its everywhere and it's affecting every facet of your being. It's eating at you and you're angry and you're sad and you're disappointed and so wounded. It HURTS, this cancerous resentment, because you probably didn't even know to be protecting yourself from it, because you never thought it would happen to you. But it does. You kinda shut down for awhile, because it can be life altering, this kinda betrayal that leads to this sickness, and it takes the fight out of you. You give up.

But if you're strong, you know in the long run, you're going to put your toes to the line and fight it out because THAT'S WHAT YOU DO.

I know the day will come for me when I feel like fighting. But right now, I'm going to be still and quiet. I'm gonna do some reevaluating, and I'm gonna see if I can heal me. That's where my head is at right now.

I started over the weekend after I heard this stuff. I turned my phones off. I sat very still for a long time once I got home and made the world be quiet. In the days since, I haven't talked to anyone on the phone. There have been no other voices to fill my head except my own. My communication is mostly restricted to being written, a few convos here and there with a few people. I've been reading. I've been writing. I've been meditating. I've been thinking. I finally got around to cracking open that book about Buddhism I bought many moons ago and never made time to read. I've been quiet. And I've been listening.

So this is going to go on for awhile, probably. No need to fear. I'll still be blogging. And most of it probably won't be serious or depressing. But I'm picking up the pieces of losing a best friend and a lover, and a couple other friends in the process. That's alot of loss at once.

It's like when you finally get that first test that comes back saying you're cancer free. You're happy, you feel somewhat lighter. You try to get back to some semblance of the life you lived before you got sick. But in the back of your mind, a little part of you is just waiting for it to come back and invade your insides all over again.

And you wonder if that will be the time that takes you out.

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Is Beyonce in Town?

Thus begins the first in an ongoing new series, "Things La Doesn't Understand..."

Leaving work last night around 11pm, I was kinda shocked to see lots of people crowded outside my local Barnes and Nobel. As I got a little closer, I saw ropes in front of the doors. Then I realized, people had lawn chairs and blankets and radios and food and books. I was confused.

"Is that a Ticketmaster location or something? Is Beyonce in town?" I asked my co-worker. Cuz trust, there is nothing like the return of this town's favorite puppet to create quite a stir.
"No, I don't thinks so," he replies.

We keep walking. Once we get up on the crowd we realize what it is...


Are you HIGH?!?! It's a BOOK!!!

Now I love to read. I love books. I have hundreds of them. And not ONE of them I ever camped out overnight to buy.

Lemme tell you how La's future 6 year old will not be camped out in full Hogwart's gear at 11 o'clock at night to get a book. No, take your little ass to sleep.

Camping out on the curb for ANYTHING is unacceptable. Camping out for a BOOK with your CHILD is even worse.

I just don't get it...

Practice Makes...

My phone vibrates and lights up as soon as I get off work.

Come downtown to Mercury Room. Your name is on the list.

I'm kinda tired. I just got off work.

That wasn't a request.

I'd say no.

But truthfully, the shit kinda turned me on, lol.

Simultaneously, my friend Katy Girl texted me. She's the one who introduced K.B. and I.

"Girl pleeeeeeaaaaase talk to this boy so he'll stop calling me, lol."

So I recruit her as backup, scoop her up and go back to my house so we could get dressed. She throws on jeans and a halter.

I know I gotta do a little better than that.

Black knee length skirt, slit up the back, tight in all the right places. Black button down open to expose a black and red bra underneath, red pumps, red belt, hair swept up.
I'd eat me ;-)

We get downtown, my name is on the list, and we walk inside. I feel his lips on the back of my neck before he announced himself. I don't turn around.
"Its good to see you again... finally," he says in my ear. I shift away to look into his eyes. He is angry.

Before I can say anything, he grabs my wrist hard and pulls me upstairs and into one of the VIP bathrooms. In the close confines of the bathroom I can almost feel the steam rising of him. I wait.
He exhales hard.
"You haven't called."
"I've been busy."
"Bullshit La."
More silence.

"Am I pushing?"
"You left pushing a while back."
"I'm sorry."
"No problem."

He puts his hands on my face and draws me to him, kissing me before I can think to pull away. His massages the small of my back until I sigh into the kiss and his hands slip down to my ass. We break away after awhile, but he keeps me pressed against him like that, my hands on his chest, both of us breathing heavy. The temperature in the bathroom has gone up 20 degrees.

"I know you felt that," he says to me. I don't answer. He chuckles. "You are so goddamn aggravating La." It feels good to hear him laugh. He's looking at me now, raking back the wisps of hair that came loose during our kiss.
"Tell me something true."
"Truthfully, you're a stand up guy. If things were different..."
"If things were different...?"
"But we don't live in the land of if." I pause.

"I wish I'd met you 2 years ago."
"I didn't." I pull away. He nods, just slightly, his eyes on the floor.
"Kinda wish it was 2 years ago then."
"Evolution never moves backwards. Butterflies never become caterpillars."
He tucks me back under him, his chin resting on the top of my head. We're quiet for awhile. I want to leave, but I feel like pulling away would be cruel.
"I'm sorry," I tell him. And I mean it. But I'm not apologizing for what he thinks I'm apologizing for.
"I won't call you anymore."
"Thank you."
He kisses my forehead.
"At least call me and let me know when you move back to Atlanta." I say nothing because we both know I won't. But to say so would seem cruel as well.

After awhile, he lets me go and opens the door. I walk out, head high, shoulders square, hips swaying to the beat pouring out of the speakers. I don't look back because I know he's watching me leave.

Goodbyes get easier when you get enough practice.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Good Hair

I am on a ROLL today. I've updated like 67 times in 20 minutes. Woo!


It seems like I may be jumping on the bandwagon a bit, but I've been having this thought. It's just a tiny thought, right back there in the back of my mind right underneath my ponytail, but it's there. And I'm not all for certain why. Because I don't REALLY wanna act on it. And I'm a little ashamed to speak it aloud for fear of retribution. But...

I'm thinking of getting a perm again.

Shh! Stop yelling! Just LISTEN, k?

I know, I know, my hair has been natural for almost 6 years now, and its "good hair" and it's curly and it's soft and I don't "need" a perm. I got all that. You would not IMAGINE the looks of horror I get from people when I tell them I'm playing with the idea of a perm again.
"WHAT?!?! Girl if I had "good hair" like you, I'd never do anything to it."

Bah! Lets not even talk about how much the term "good hair' bothers the hell out of me, assuming "good" just means curly or maybe it's just "good" cuz I'm "mixed" or whatever you black folks are calling it nowadays (cuz seriously I'm considering ceeding from the Negroe Union if yall keep calling it "good hair" or continue using any variation of the phrases "mixed", "exotic", or "you got Indian in your family" or is Puerto Rican the ethnic group du jour?).

But really folks, I've been giving it some thought. It just seems like it was so much easier to manage. Doing my hair now is such an ordeal if I want it straight. And when I wear it curly, it doesn't always look good after a couple days. And if I go to a club or work out or if there's even 1 drop of moisture in the air, it's a wrap for my style. And that would be ok if I lived in, say, Toronto, but seeing as how I don't, I got nothing. NOTHING.

Maybe it's just cuz I'm growing it out. Maybe I'm just getting restless. But I hate to even THINK about the fact that if I go running (which I need to do) or dancing (which I need to do) I'll have this whole pile of chocolate colored crazy above my ears to contend with.

So... I dunno. Feel free to bash me so I can cuss you out or gimme some styling or product tips or something before I get my shit fried, dyed, and laid to the side.

*editor's note: TOTALLY kidding about that last sentence. Even when I did have a perm, I was not about that hot ghetto messiness

New National Holiday

It always happens whenever I talk to someone from home, in person, on facebook, myspace, whatever. The same (two) questions always come up without fail. The first usually comes in the form of someone grabbing my left hand and excited asking how long First Love and I have been married if they haven't heard about his rampant dickcapades all over Atl. (Dammit for having one of "those relationships" that everybody is all emotionally invested in.) The second, and far more disturbing generally goes something like;

"So how many kids do you have now?"

WHAAAAAAAAAAT?!?! Fuck you mean HOW MANY? Are you HIGH?!?! As though my ALREADY having children at 23 is just implied?

When did getting knocking up by random dick get to be the norm? Boo bitch NO! I make sure I take my birth control before I EAT everyday, k?

And then when I say I don't have any they have the nerve to look at me all incredulous and shit like this is barely possible, all "Reeeeaaaally?"

Yes really! I know plenty of single moms. I know plenty my age. I know many of them that are doing wonderfully on their own. ALL of them have trifling ass baby daddies.

Not a good look for me.

And before you start hitting me up all upset and shit, I'm not knocking single mothers or young mothers or even baby daddies. Yes, I recognize people make mistakes, and some don't believe in "alternative medicine". (Seriously? Just call it an abortion Very Popular Magazine I Read This Phrase in That Pissed me Off.) But none of that is what I'm talking about. I run into the people that have 3 and 4 kids by 6 or 7 different dudes and find it shocking, SHOCKING! that my priorities are somewhere other than buying formula and making sure my infant WHO CAN'T EVEN WALK is outfited in the newest baby Jordans.
That just wasn't my choice.

I'll never understand for the life of me why people look at me like I'm nuts when I say I'm happily 23 with no kids or husband. (AND WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH EVERYONE GETTING MARRIED?!?!) I tell them I graduated from Howard, they look at me like it never occurred to them that black people attended this (historically black) university, let alone young black girls from the inner city. Or, you know, they go, but get knocked up and drop out. Whatever.

I'm over it. And I know I'm not the only one.

So you know what the fuck I need? I need a holiday. I need an all day celebration of the fact that I'm 23 with a college degree, no kids, no husband I settled for, and no burning need to find one right at THIS VERY SECOND. I need a day on the calendar to revel in the fact that, yes, I can in fact go drop $300 on a pair of shoes because I don't have to pay for daycare.

Can a sista get a holiday for being fabulous and different?

That's all I'm sayin'.

Let's get on it. What's a good day for us ladies?

The Party's Over

The party's over
The candles flicker and dim...

So my phone rings and it's my girl on the other line crying hysterically. Seems she and her man (that she shoulda never been with in the first place) have broken up. I sent and listen to her cry and vent. I realize my role in this game is just to listen and venture the occassional "mmhmm".

"Seriously La, this hurts so bad. Will it stop hurting soon?"


Also, why have I suddenly become the authority of soul shattering, gut wrenching breakups? Boo bitches!

I didn't know what to say. I didn't wanna tell her that I breakup can kinda be like a death; the loss will either make you better... or it could turn you into someone you don't recognize.

So I lie.

"Yes. Just give it time. The pain will start to dissapate."

She believed me.

We talked for awhile longer, eventually drawing herself into the resigned silence that usually accompanies great pain. I got off the phone with her, her under the guise of "going to sleep". I'm wise enough to know "going to sleep" means she's probably gonna spend the next 2 hours crying some more and rereading old texts, letters, and looking at pictures until she falls asleep. So I tell her I'll sleep with my phone on my pillow.

You know, just in case.

I Got That Comeback

Y'all La done fucked around and failed.


I um...

So I slept with K.B.

And dammit if that boy hasn't called me NO LESS than 7,839 times since. With every message, he sounds like his feelings are more and more hurt and/or desperate.

I feel guilty that I don't feel guilty.
Except only not.

I feel like I clearly aritculated my non-expectations in the beginninng. And he's a grown ass man dawg.

Seriously, there wasn't even any bed breaking involved. Straight C game performance.

So I ask again...
When did guys get to be such GIRLS?!?!

Bless your hearts. You all get hugs.

And maybe you could just turn on ESPN every once in awhile. Just have it on in the background. It might help.

I Guess It's Kinda Like X Ray Vision...

So La learned an important thing about herself today;
I'm a good liar.

My boss' boss came to visit today and we had some one on one time. In all honesty (ha!), I ADORE this guy. He really is a great person to work for. It's not his fault I hate my job.

But as we were talking, he said, "you seem so sincere..."


It took everything in me not to choke on my vanilla bean frap.

I've always thought I was a terrible liar. Apparently, I'm better than I give myself credit for. Maybe this can be my new superpower.

Or maybe we can say I'm a good bullshitter.


Thursday, July 12, 2007

I am having a shitty, shitty, SHITTY week. But, instead of being a brat and complaining, I've decided to make a list of things that haven't been shitty... despite my SHITTY week that's NOT even over.


1. Coming home every night to Honey greeting me at the door and jumping up and down in excitement to see me.

2. Getting paid tomorrow.

3. Spending too much at the Victoria's Secret semi-annual sale, therefore guaranteeing I didn't have to do post vacation laundry.

4. IMing Wise for awhile and her simultaneously cracking me up and making me feel better.

Now is THIS where we sing? I'm trying to get it right...

5. Joy letting me bitch via text without calling me bitchy.

6. My friend Boogie Down Bronx who never fails to make me a lil tingly when he calls because of the way he says, "Ay mama." Granted, it might be partially because his voice is only 1 note above no longer being discernable to human ears and the NY accent. But I'll take it.

7. Calling Shani a punk every chance I get.


8. Realizing I have more shoes than any one ordinary woman should ever own.

9. The cute boy who I gave my number to yesterday. Yummy. More on that later.

10. Reading your blogs.


*Honorable Mention*
Texting my 2 year crush and him saying things that make me look like I tried to swallow a slice of watermelon. Like this:
More on that later.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007


I think I'm progressing nicely through all the phases of grieving; we've done denial, anger, bargaining, and now we're right in the middle of sadness.
And by sadness of course, I mean anger. Again.

Consider this "Anger: the Remix" with a brand new chorus of "oh FUCK this shit."

I'll try to navigate this as eloquently as Wise did over at her spot, but I'm making no promises.

I've been in Atl for the last week, seeing family, trying not to tear up the city too bad with my sister. The thing about vacation is that it allows you downtime.
I haven't had any of that the last couple months.

Seeing as how I wasn't working, and I made the trip to Atl with my sister aka the WORST roadtrip partner in the HISTORY of mankind, I had alot of time to think. Lots of miles of road to get inside my head. Lots of periods of silence I could roll around in. And get myself worked up.
Very worked up.
So worked up in fact that I could barely sit still. I started mumbling to myself under my breath. Rocking. My hands started shaking. I started twisting the hair at the back of my neck, yanking it hard at the roots. Biting my lip. A certain song on repeat. And before I knew it I was crying. Hard. But not that nice cleansing cry you get when you need to release something. More like that all consuming, hot cry that usually occurs right before I blank out and come back to myself with witnesses telling me about whatever crazy antics I pulled while in my altered state. (i.e. the time when my ex picked me up by my throat and slammed me into a door, and whatever craziness ensued afterwards and woke up half my floor)
Did I mention all this was while I was driving?

So I pulled over, under the guise of getting gas and made my sister drive. I made myself go to sleep to make my mind go blank. Before I drifted off, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My face was flushed, my eyes darting wildly back and forth like a trapped animal.

We had so much fun in Atlanta. And one day, I'd like to blog about it. But all I can remember right now is the vague feeling of being haunted. I kept turning around expecting something to be right THERE. I spent alot of time quiet, cursing the downtime, the lack of distraction that laid open the path to the resurrection of the dead. Or semi-dead. Or, whatever. Maybe that was part of the denial phase.

I'm not sure who texted who first. I'm gonna go ahead and take responsibility for it and blame it on the liquor and my already aggitated state. We texted for awhile and with each word, each letter, I felt like I was swallowing fire.

"I love you so much..."

"It's hard for me to breathe without you..."

"I love you with everything I have. I don't think you really believe I don't love you..."

By then I was trembling. Violently. The edges of my vision going slightly black, my eyes fighting to focus. Bullshit. I'm choking on it. I was trying to jump in and out of two worlds; the present where I'm the laughing, dancing girl hanging out with her girls, and This one where I feel like someone is behind me, pushing me. Like just, PUSHING ME.

The texts kept coming, my hands opening and closing, making fists so tight that the edges of my nails started cutting my skin open. I kept my head down, rocked and shaked, tried to stay to myself. I musta been giving off at least 50 feet of don't fuck with me. I was so far gone that I knew if anyone even almost provoked me and I put my hands on them, I was going to jail. And whatever I'd do to them, they probably wouldn't have bail for.

What scares me is that I didn't care.

I've always had a temper. I always hate saying that because people assume I'm a hothead, which couldn't be further from the truth. I'm actually very unexcitable (word?). I have very specific buttons that set me off. And only those few buttons. But if you push one of those buttons... well, it sucks for you.

One of the biggest things that takes me from zero to 120?
Being lied to.

I have this sharp, almost metallic taste in the back of my mouth. I've bitten a hole through my bottom lip. I feel so hollow, carved out from the inside. My skin is on fire, but insides feel cold. I'm so aggitated, I always feel right on the verge... of... something. It's not a good look.

I hate to even say I've found a Rihanna song I like, let alone can relate to, but search out Rehab.

Baby, baby
When we first met
I never felt something so strong
You were like my lover
And my best friend
All wrapped up into one
With a ribbon on it
And all of a sudden
You went and left
I didn't know how to follow
It was like a shock that spun me around
And now my heart's dead
I feel so empty and hollow

And I'll never give myself to another the way I gave me
To you
Don't even recognize the ways you hurt me
Do you
It's gonna take a miracle to bring me back
And you're the one to blame

Next time you wanna go on and leave
I should just let you go on and do that
Cuz now I'm using like I bleed
I need to check into rehab
Cuz baby you're my disease

Damn ain't it crazy
When you're loveswept
You'd do anything for the one you love
Anytime that you needed me
I'd be there
Its like you were my favorite drug
The only problem is you were using me
In a different way than I was using you...

Oh you're the reason why I'm thinking
I don't wanna smoke on these cigarettes no more
I guess that's what I get for wishful thinking
Shoulda never let you into my door
Next time you wanna go on and leave
I should just let you go on and do that
Cuz now I'm using like I bleed
I need to check into rehab
Cuz baby you're my disease

Wasted time. That's another button.

ATL Recap 2

Shani, you're an asshole, lol.

This is a continuation of this

I've always thanked God for having more male friends than chicks because shit like this that First Love just tried to pull just doesn't fool me.

At this point I weigh my options...

So when I get to First Love's place (lol!), he opens his door for me, and I see that he's shirtless and in pajama bottoms slung low on his hips. I CRACK THE FUCK UP. Does he think this is a movie or something?!?! He makes me a drink and we lounge across the couches in his living room, talking life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. The drink is perfect, his place is gorgeous, the view is fabulous, but seriously, I was gonna give it up before he started trying too hard.
*sigh* Niggas just do TOO MUCH sometimes, don't they?

After awhile, I'm over the slow steps to where we both know this is going. I let him know I should get going so I can drive back across town because I've gotta early morning hair appointment... right down the street from his place.
"Why don't you just crash here?"
Good boy.

We retire to the bedroom, him behind me conspicuously watching my ass in my jeans, trying to be inconspicuous about it. On the inside, I'm shaking my head.

I jump in the shower to wash club from my skin. His soap is the same, I notice. And then I start to notice other things...
... the hairpins on his counter
... two toothbrushes in the holder by the sink
... two loofahs in the shower, one gray, one... lavender
I open the shower door. You know how, especially if you have long hair, when you shower with your hair down sometimes the hair will lift up onto the ceiling and walls? I look above me. Sure enough, there's long brownish hair plastered to the walls and ceiling above my head. I crack up to myself. For someone "single" he sure has alot of indicators that he isn't here alone too often. He never really was all that good at running the game his friends were so adept at.
"Yo!" I yell into the adjoining bedroom. He comes to the door. "Next time you have someone else over, hide the evidence," I say throwing the lavender ball in his direction. "If it was anyone other than me, she might actually care."
He looks struck for a minute. He starts to stutter out an excuse and I silence him with my hand. "Bring me something to sleep in." I turn on the water and get in.

Niggas will be niggas, won't they?

He brings me a tshirt of his to sleep in

Just a tshirt.
Nothing else.

Lordy. Lol

We crawl into bed and somehow wind up talking. Alot. Like, alot alot. Somehow the conversation loops around to our relationship. I tread softly and carefully, hoping to avoid the minefields.
"We were together for a long time."
"Yep," I reply.
"Whenever I tell anyone how long we were together, they can't believe it."
"Yeah me too."
"It was good with us, right?" Shit.
"Yeah," careful now, "it was. We WERE good together. Back THEN." Emphasis on all things past tense.
"Yeah. I think about it. I think about it alot actually."
We're both silent, letting the implication of that hang high in the vaulted ceilings.


It's about this time that I roll over and scoot right up under him, him spooning me, my ass pressed into his pelvis, his torso running the length of my back, his arms underneath me. He kisses the back of my neck.

An hour later we've broken the bed so he breaks out his Playskool My First Toolset to screw the frame back together. I wanna clown him for the fact that my tool box makes his look like a skinny crackwhore standing next to a supermodel but it's 5am and I'm sleepy and a lil sore. We start putting the bed back together.
"You know," I say, "most people cuddle or talk after sex."
"The way I remember it you weren't too big on cuddling."
I yawn. "Real talk."
"Besides," he says laughing, "lets be different." We work a little longer in blissful silence. My hands are working, but my mind is comatose.
"Not too many women would help a man put a bed back together after sex."
"I'm not too many women. Besides, I helped break it."
"That's some ride or die chick shit right there."
"Do I get my ride or die bitch merit badge now? I've been working on it." He laughs at me.
"Yeah, you got that." *pause* "You always were that ride or die type of chick." I look up from the screwdriver in hand expecting to catch his eyes on my exposed thighs straddling the thick wooden frame of his bed. Instead, I find him looking at me.

Oh, come ON.

"I know, I know," I say, my eyes falling back to the frame, "they don't make 'em like me anymore."
"They sure don't."

Once the bed is fixed, we crawl back in under the down comforter. He reaches out for me and I simultaneously shift away. I feel him laying there is the darkness, trying to decide if he should hold me or just go to sleep.

I roll over on my side, my back to him.

I was never too big on cuddling.

Sunday, July 8, 2007

Loser Week

I am stalling. I've been in Atl with my sister for a week.

And loser week is gonna suck. *sigh* :-(