tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40375604041874475582012-01-27T17:53:35.495-06:00Everything that happens after everything you're supposed to do.Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.comBlogger5391100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-7653437943814978682012-01-25T12:13:00.000-06:002012-01-25T12:15:14.258-06:00

If 2012 were a guy, it would be guy who tries to fuck on the first date. Not even like, guy-who-is-insanely-charming-and-hilarious-so-you-have-absolutely-no-recourse-BUT-to-end-the-date-with-your-panties-on-top-of-the-flat-screen. No, this is like barely-put-forth-an-effort-but-expect-you-to-give-it-up-because-he-brought-popcorn-AND-candy-at-the-movies guy. That is to say, 2012 is fucking me

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-65443523998646510782012-01-12T10:09:00.000-06:002012-01-12T10:10:28.834-06:00

3 weeks ago... “How is it that we both thought things would turn out the same way, and yet they didn’t?” “It’s all the way it's supposed to be. You know that, right?” “Yes. But still...” “Still.” He looks at me, his eyelids heavy with sleep and sorrow, wiggling his mouth the way he does when he is considering something. He lifts my hair from where it has fallen into my eye, brushing the long

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-12976823014910848272012-01-10T09:14:00.000-06:002012-01-10T09:14:18.111-06:00

Today's post title brought to you by the letter U for "undun" by The Roots which, if you have not bought it yet, means you are failing rapidly at life. I’ve spent the last couple of years trying valiantly to squash my natural proclivity for being impulsive and spontaneous, believing, however misguidedly, that such tempestuousness was indicative of extended youth rather than, you know, just me

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-13241763129562036582012-01-06T11:38:00.000-06:002012-01-06T11:38:28.656-06:00

When I was younger I used to fix cars with my daddy. My daddy is no mechanic, but he knows how to do more than a few things to a car. And there were plenty of days that he came up with a reason for me to be in the sweltering garage with him, holding this tool or pointing a flashlight at that. He would explain carefully, in his daddy way, what he was doing, how, what larger impact it had on the

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-34112195330884067502012-01-05T11:26:00.001-06:002012-01-25T12:29:33.064-06:00

Today, a change of pace; a date where I am an absolute mess. In case you’ve missed it, I have a penchant for wearing heels. High heels. Five inches or better. Three inch heels are flats to me. I am also quite tiny, so in situations where I desire to be the height of a normal sized person, say, on a date with someone taller than me, I don’t hesitate to wear the highest, most vertiginous heels I

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-22278487268008366632012-01-04T10:53:00.000-06:002012-01-04T10:53:09.293-06:00

In retrospect, I should have known something wasn’t right. He was a bit too reliable. And I don’t mean that in an I-am-jaded-so-I-look-for-issues-even-when-none-exist kinda way. I mean he was always too… punctual. If he said he was going to call at 6, he called AT 6. If he told me to call him at 3:42 and I called at any point before that, he was incognegro. His schedule ran like clockwork. And it

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-38817223264829655242012-01-03T11:25:00.001-06:002012-01-03T22:30:25.166-06:00

Exactly 15 seconds into the date, I knew I wanted to sleep with see this guy again. Ever since the moment I saw him standing in the lobby of my dorm, apologizing for not parking closer and throwing his heavy overcoat over my head so that my hair didn’t get wet in the rain, I was deeply enamored. He was older and sophisticated. He spent the car ride to the restaurant talking about his recent trip

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-10696197050609730932011-12-20T08:00:00.000-06:002011-12-20T11:04:43.270-06:00

As is customary around these parts, I am taking two weeks off to travel home for the holidays, do hoodrat things with my friends, drink my weight in liquor and eat your weight in soul food. It's tradition after all. And in that spirit, I will also be taking a break from the twice a week posting I do here. I will give you a moment to mourn... Feel free to come back in the new year, when I will be

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-78906773952910940992011-12-08T07:30:00.000-06:002012-01-27T17:53:35.508-06:00

I shoulda been a stripper. Thanks to Chris Rock, I know that it is the goal of every father to keep his daughter off the pole. But really, I have never been so convinced that I shoulda been a stripper in all my life. It started out as a joke among me and the girls, slowly escalating to various levels of ridiculousness. First it was just the idea that maybe instead of looking for partnership

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-15630528567604226572011-12-02T07:30:00.000-06:002011-12-02T08:46:25.532-06:00

Because I am a serial under dater, a lot of my skills have gone to shit. Before I tell you what an embarrassment I am to my former self, let me explain the concept of “under dating.” By that I don’t mean I don’t date enough (though, if I ever want to have a whorish phase that I missed in college, I likely want to step my game up). I mean, I perpetually date people I know good and well things

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-39981988930425451172011-11-28T11:03:00.001-06:002011-11-28T11:07:47.245-06:00

(Shout out to Skinny Black Girl for having me thinking about this for two damn months…) I remember quite vividly once, standing in the middle of my bedroom, rocking back and forth on bare feet, feeling light-headed, tingly. I was, quite literally swooning, overcome by the intense urge to scream at the top of my lungs just to release some of the pressure. I could feel it, how in love I was,

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-9350605002887356412011-11-08T11:28:00.003-06:002011-11-08T11:29:01.182-06:00

… not think about him anymore. I went to bad last night, quietly seething, hollow with hurt, and determined not to wake up feeling this way anymore. To wake up and be magically healed, my mind unfettered with questions and wants and maybes. And if not by magic, by murder; if I had to I’d wake up this morning and smother all my feelings underneath so much denial, so much distraction that

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-42670752986546325332011-11-03T16:38:00.005-05:002011-11-03T16:38:47.534-05:00

On Friday nights, I do what everyone who is young and works too much and doesn’t care for sobriety does; I head to my closest happy hour, make friends with the bartender, and drink on a sliding scale depending on how hard my week was. This Friday was no different. I’d done drinks before dinner, then dinner with drinks, and was at the 3rd spot of the night for just drinks. It was one of those

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-78921470196538065502011-10-18T15:55:00.000-05:002011-10-18T15:55:11.792-05:00

Granted, I'm not Santa, but I had to use this pic if for no other reason than because it says "bitches." It is that time of year again, where my fellow alumni and I will converge on The Mecca, celebrate our superior legacy, drink our weight in adult beverages, and then stumble into work Monday morning to pretend to be productive members of society. It is tradition. And I don't intend to

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-60069161359241481562011-10-11T11:03:00.002-05:002011-10-11T11:04:21.500-05:00

I feel like I am going deaf. My heart is beating so loud that everything sounds muffled. I am dizzy with the effort it takes to breathe, my lightheadedness making every second feel like a dotted whole note, lasting longer than usual. I am trying hard to concentrate on the voice in my ear. I burrow myself deeper in my covers, and sniffle without my permission. Like most emotional trauma, it was

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-2849353237021289712011-10-06T11:02:00.000-05:002011-10-06T11:05:21.551-05:00

I am lucky to have older friends who reflect back to me that life in your twenties is not as life will be forever. Granted, that means that it won’t always be cool for you to split to Vegas on a random weekend, and do things that you wouldn’t dare tell even your friendly neighborhood hooker, but it also means that the bad dates, the entry level jobs in a field you love, crappy apartments, and

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-66949287960628857402011-09-30T13:28:00.000-05:002011-09-30T13:31:03.879-05:00

“Can I ask you a question?” my mom asks me quietly, as I am driving us back home one night from dinner. Here’s the thing; I don’t mind this question. Sure, it sets my teeth on edge, but I prefer this over other set ups for life altering conversations. (See: “We need to talk.” And also, “Where is this going?”) But when it comes from my mom I can ALMOST GUARANTEE some manner of inappropriateness,

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-50253241326595524222011-09-26T17:03:00.000-05:002011-09-26T17:04:18.070-05:00

On Sundays, I clean. I also assiduously avoid talking to people who are not QQ if I can. Sunday is my day to relax and unwind, to decompress and prepare for my week. For as many hours as I can manage, I let myself become the center of my own universe, cleaning my space, performing a number of beauty rituals (deep conditioning, facial, eyebrow shaping), and napping to my heart’s content. Unless,

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-54328238253718378772011-09-16T13:07:00.000-05:002011-09-16T13:08:58.872-05:00

This is a story in three parts. The first part is here. The second is here. The entire backstory of this saga is here. This is the finale. I want to disappear. I know this before I even make it back across town. Before I realize I’ve cried so hard that my eyes are nearly swollen shut. Before I wake up with a start, having literally cried myself to sleep behind the wheel. He knows it too. It

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-56447430811490507152011-09-13T15:36:00.000-05:002011-09-23T16:54:32.261-05:00

This is a story in three parts. The first is here. The second glass of Jack and Coke the bartender puts in front of me is much bigger. There is hardly any ice in it. I look up at him and he winks at me, and I look at The Great Houdini with an eyebrow raised. “You had something to do with this.” “I did not. I told you the drinks were strong here.” “Whatever.” “You need some water.” “I’m

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-54638480606342901932011-09-07T15:18:00.001-05:002011-09-07T15:18:58.183-05:00

“The thing about control is that we never have any. Some of us are comforted by the idea that we maintain some control over things, but by submitting to the need to control, control is controlling you. Funny little paradox huh? Thought: that which we view as weak is our biggest fear. We act in spite of it and that is why that, which we seek to control, controls us. Thus, we are ruled by not

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-2835410651797828142011-08-31T16:13:00.000-05:002011-08-31T16:13:20.146-05:00

A lesson about community service. Liquor is a prominent theme in my life on this blog. It’s even in the title. As much as I talk about going to happy hour and appreciating the wonder that is Jack Daniels single barrel whiskey, you probably think I am drunk more often than not. That is simply not the case. I have a job that I don’t talk about that I do very well and go to everyday. I am a

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-28023436313261409662011-08-26T11:54:00.000-05:002011-08-26T11:54:21.225-05:00

I have been breaking things. I don’t mean that metaphorically. It started with a tiny plate, one of those little dainty things that you rest a hot tea cup on. What the hell are those called? Unknown nomenclature aside, it started with that. I pulled it out of the cabinet and the thought rang through my head as clear as a bell; I should drop this on the floor. So, I did. I watch it fall and

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-91323845797294925702011-08-17T13:12:00.000-05:002011-08-17T13:12:40.106-05:00

Once, I asked my ex about her body count. She steadfastly refused to tell me. Like, would not even entertain my question, and actually got upset that I asked. At the time, I was irritated as hell because I thought this was just the latest example of her bullheaded insistence on keeping to herself anything her loved ones might judge, disapprove of or misunderstand, which lead to a lot of strife

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-45132268363881844012011-08-10T10:42:00.000-05:002011-08-10T10:42:06.851-05:00

An anecdote so that you may come to understand how ridiculous my mother is… A couple years ago, she threw her then boyfriend a dinner party for his birthday. She’d gathered a large table of his friends, and was playing the role of doting girlfriend at a tucked away hipster restaurant known for its impressive wine selection. I showed up fashionably late, first because I recognized that no one

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-16167416575122210722011-08-01T17:58:00.002-05:002011-08-01T18:03:48.921-05:00

Full disclosure: One of my high school boyfriends is now gay. My first college boyfriend was gay. I’d say about 40% of the men in my life are gay. I was born and raised in the gayest city in the Confederacy; I have one of the gayest degrees you can have from a very gay friendly school in one of the gayest cities in the country. In short, I know gay. I say all that to say that if you wanna know

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-32427459045452319542011-07-29T17:11:00.000-05:002011-07-29T17:11:52.378-05:00

The first time it occurred to me that something was wrong with my body, I was in the fifth grade. Where I was filling out (my breasts sprouting, my hips rounding out and my thighs getting thicker) my fellow classmates, having not only not yet reached puberty but being of the mostly thin, WASP-y variety when they got there anyway, were not. First, I noticed a disturbing pattern among all the

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-52903396798064617572011-07-25T18:24:00.002-05:002011-07-27T11:18:06.493-05:00

It dropped in my spirit around my birthday in April, coming, as it usually does, without me even noticing it. A fleeting thought that became a seed, blooming brighter every time the thought became more frequent. Which it did. It happens, at different intervals, sometimes months, sometimes years, but it always feels just as it always felt every single time it has come over the last six years. A

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-91440639785450925162011-07-18T17:35:00.000-05:002011-07-18T17:35:10.506-05:00

I have a couple different subsets of friends. There’s my best friend since 7th grade, who transcends all subgroups because she knew me and loved me when I thought it was cute to wear dark brown lip liner and silver lipgloss. There are my college friends, who are probably my longest, closest friends, as we have been miraculously, permanently and co-dependently in each other’s lives for almost

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-75274237776440594662011-07-15T15:38:00.002-05:002011-09-23T16:53:47.468-05:00

This is a story in three parts. This is the first part, though not the begininng... I know I have a choice. I can sit in this parking lot, inhaling the strange amalgamation of curry and maple syrup courtesy of the Ethiopian restaurant in front of me and the general smell in the air in the south right before it rains. I can stay in this rental car, running my hands through my hair root to tip,

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-59279667559873704322011-07-08T11:10:00.001-05:002011-07-11T10:04:09.748-05:00

I am not a preacher. I am the daughter of a southern Baptist minister, but that is really another story for another therapist. Despite that pedigree and a proclivity for giving good advice, I don’t preach. I am human and flawed and ridiculous like the rest of you. I have done nothing so great that I deserve to preach. But I have to say this so bear with me anyway. If you follow me on the

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-84497346988177302032011-07-05T09:00:00.003-05:002011-07-05T09:00:12.229-05:00

You know how most women have that thing where, in the presence of a wedding they are all breathless, and excited, mentally photo shopping their head on the bride’s body and inwardly changing all the things about the planning/rehearsal/wedding/reception they would do differently? Or maybe glancing at their date wistfully, beaming them psychic signals that one day they really hope the girl up there

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-19183329491184509582011-06-30T15:15:00.002-05:002011-07-08T11:22:42.735-05:00

I adore my apartment. It's in a quiet, gated community that is relatively inexpensive. I have more than enough room for me and my furniture and Honey. I've got an amazing garden tub (I haven't had sex in- sad clown), great, big windows, 9 foot ceilings and a comfortable patio facing the quiet of the woods. My dog even has a room of her own. It's kind of just perfect for us. It's such a shame I

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-32721476986275756202011-06-22T13:35:00.002-05:002011-06-22T13:35:59.445-05:00

I am prideful. Sometimes foolishly so. Because I am prideful, I am not particularly fond of having to depend on people. This can be just as detrimental to interpersonal relationships as you might think it is. Because I don't like depending on people, I don't care for asking people for things. This, coupled with my outlandish pride, will, at best, make me do things the hard way. At worst, I

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-60922455847388581012011-06-17T15:42:00.000-05:002011-06-17T15:42:22.276-05:00

I should probably issue a few disclaimers before I say anything else. The first and maybe most important one being, I am single and childless. Most of my friends, those who are single and those who are in varying degrees of love, are also childless. We’re all varying degrees of sexually active as well. In short, not having a child if you don’t want/aren’t ready for one is not impossible. My

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-36734470615319945222011-06-13T14:48:00.002-05:002011-07-06T14:47:24.782-05:00

I have something to admit here, if you have not already surmised it from six years of writing about my life's foolishness. For the most part, I have been Girl Who Always has a Dude or Lucky Girl Around. And not necessarily a relationship but just SOMEONE; someone to take me out or tell me I’m pretty or what have you as needed. But where I largely fell down was keeping a jump off on the side.

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-80126553092963425842011-06-09T13:07:00.000-05:002011-06-09T13:07:20.775-05:00

Generally I try to avoid the news, as my own life is already enough of a national tragedy that I don’t feel the need to exacerbate it by reading about the misfortunes of others. It’s hard enough to stay on a diet without reading about some poor kid who has cancer. No one can fight the urge to turn to a large plate of cheese fries when you consider the fact that the adorable kid you don’t know

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-48725724435053469662011-06-08T15:39:00.001-05:002011-06-08T17:54:52.535-05:00

“I really love you. I love you. Always will," The Great Houdini says to me somewhere around 2am when I am not nearly as defensive as we started this conversation. I knew this was coming, the way you see a car speeding in your direction. For the last two hours of this conversation I have been living in that moment when you see headlights barreling towards you and you are too terrified to save

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-3915182198646059492011-06-06T16:30:00.002-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.341-05:00

Hi readers! In case you haven't noticed, there are a few changes going on around here. We have a new name, more in keeping with prevailing themes in my life: Liquor, Loans and Love: Legends of Quarter Life Crisis. We are also moving to a new .com. If you're visiting before the entire moving process is complete, you should be able to get your entertainment from my ridiculous life with no

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-46975195085556313202011-06-03T13:57:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.343-05:00

When I was younger I had all sorts of ideas about marriage. And I don’t mean the fairy tale, lovey dovey, fantasy ideas about marriage you had. As a kid growing up in households where divorces were the norm, I didn’t have the luxury of believing in Prince Charming and ever after and all that. Instead, I had very practical ideas about marriage; do it only when you’re ready, not when you "should"

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-10343731181141272652011-05-31T16:28:00.003-05:002011-06-08T17:18:01.325-05:00

The thing about being my mother’s daughter is it is never NOT about being her daughter. There have been stretches of time, sometimes even significant, where I can convince myself that I have carved out a space for my own life that does not coexist with hers. But, like any good, codependent relationship, this is pretty much impossible. I have a theory, the details of which I have not quite yet

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-25023095626387282372011-05-25T11:07:00.001-05:002011-06-17T15:52:40.776-05:00

We are all prone to judging. It is our way as humans. And really, no matter what commonly espoused clichés would have you believe, for the most part there is nothing wrong with using your judgment. Some of y'all are taking it too far though. This has never been more apparent than this morning on Twitter watching you people discuss Kim Kardashian’s engagement. Opinions ranged between shock at

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-59781811290559858752011-05-13T11:56:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.352-05:00

You know how you have those moments where you have to sit back in your seat and think to yourself, “That did not just happen to me.” I had one of those moments on a date not too long ago. This post is belated as it happened well over a month ago, and wasn’t going to write about it but it has bothered me SO MUCH since. Because he seemed so normal. Because it was so easy and fun. Because I

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-46313443044424824362011-05-09T13:27:00.004-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.354-05:00

I stood there. Stark still. In what was probably the exact same spot, though I have no way to tell. Because there are no pictures. Just memories that are still far too sharp despite me trying my damnedest to forget. I took it all in. The second line that was part of a wedding processional. The girl from Scores walking down Bourbon in 6 inch heels and G-string, and nothing else. The older

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-9294004713247740682011-05-05T18:00:00.001-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.356-05:00

New Orleans is not the kind of city you can visit without falling in love with it. It’s the type of city where beauty and ruination can exist side by side and somehow perfectly color the entire portrait of what the city is. Whenever I go, I am always struck by the architecture, the warmness of the people that makes even strangers feel familiar, the unique sounds of the language and music special

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-55744975188864849162011-05-03T12:40:00.001-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.358-05:00

Talking to my sister this weekend, I stumbled on something that I hadn’t really realized but that I see now, in hindsight, I should have seen coming a mile away. I have gotten insanely emotionally lazy. There was a time when it was hurt; after a string of breakups, one epically soul crushing, I was just way too wounded to even pretend myself into thinking I was in a place to open up to someone

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-49328893729918577512011-04-28T15:08:00.002-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.360-05:00

More often than not, if I have not blogged in a few days, I am over on tumblr acting an utter fool. You can find me there almost every day. And on the Twitter too, of course With that out of the way… People say that girls grow up to marry men like their daddies, be it who they actually are in their prescience or who they perceive them to be through their absence. My daddy was sort of in

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-89520577352301519552011-04-19T12:35:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.362-05:00

I wasn’t gonna blog about this. But I also wasn’t gonna drink last weekend and, well, that too was a fail. There is an interesting kind of marginalization that goes on in communities, creating these sub-communities of sorts. It is prevalent in just about any group of people that share some fundamental similarities but other large differences; women get subcategorized according to whether or not

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-22178973663302035462011-04-14T16:43:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.364-05:00

Recently, I have been talking to Kit (go and tip your bartender) about a situation she's dealing with. I won't go into details because it is not my business to tell all over Al Gore's internet, but during one of our conversations I said something to her that stuck with me... “After age 18 some of these girl rules we are all supposed to follow go straight out the window.” We all know Girl Code

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-30844742843124062412011-04-12T11:40:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.367-05:00

There is that moment when you realize that none of it was real. That you held on too long, too hard, fought too ferociously to make what was square fit round spaces. That all the effort you mistook for passion chipped away little pieces of what was there, and what is left in your hands is unrecognizable. There is that moment when you realize that what you regarded as gold is simply ordinary;

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-35681194184720340952011-04-07T11:37:00.001-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.370-05:00

(x-posted from La Bella Vita Tumblr) The thing about birthdays is that, much like a drunk co-ed at a frat party, they could go either way. Unfortunately, despite starting with much promise, my birthday quickly went the way of getting dicked… badly. And I hate all incarnations of that. The good news is, my girls are on their way to town right now to help save what is certainly not my worse

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-77469915060485288472011-04-04T16:41:00.001-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.372-05:00

You should know that while you were sleeping, I damn near lost my life. See, I have a bit of a problem. When most people are sleeping, I am usually getting a burst of energy. So, until it wears off (usually 2-4 hours) I have to find something for myself to do. This usually means I can get a ton of stuff done when I am not distracted by my B.lackberry or television and all, but it also means some

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-30838975991777190642011-03-29T15:22:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.375-05:00

I am funny. And not like oh, yeah ha she makes me giggle. I am hilarious. It is one of those undeniable things about me. I laugh way too loud. I always buy drinks. I pick up at all hours of the night. I always know what to say. I make friends everywhere I go. I cook too much food and invite people over to eat it. I know a bar and/or strip club you should go to in just about every major city in

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-71538499984032911692011-03-16T14:49:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.377-05:00

…realizing I have problems. I am one of those people that REALLY enjoy living alone. I don’t have to share the bed. I can keep the thermostat wherever I want it. I know where everything is because I put it there. I am free to do whatever I want there, in whatever degree of naked I desire. In short, I like my house in order as I see fit. But this could pose a serious problem for my future

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-62974160878267710392011-03-04T12:36:00.001-06:002011-06-08T17:16:37.380-05:00

This happens to me a lot. In case you weren’t aware, I live in the south. And not even the “new” south like Atlanta or Richmond. I live in the only state recently advocating seceding from the union and where the governor actively supports whitewashing textbooks to paint slavery as some sort of colonial welfare-to-work program. There is racism in this world. I get that. Post-racial my ass.

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-76647316637768939742011-02-23T11:48:00.000-06:002011-06-08T17:18:01.328-05:00

Imagine your phone rings at your desk at work. After a quick glance at the caller ID, you decide not to answer right that second because you are up to the tip of your nose in a project you have to get out by 6pm. A few seconds later, your cell phone lights up and vibrates. The caller ID tells you it is the same caller. You try to mentally decide on a stopping place you can get to in your work so

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-66813251113487745432011-02-07T17:13:00.001-06:002011-06-08T17:16:37.384-05:00

I fancy myself something of an emotional gravedigger for my past relationships. I am appropriately reverent of the life that used to be, preparing to return it to dust. I grieve respectfully and I am fairly faithful to the ceremonies of death. Admittedly, sometimes I get caught up in the ceremony for far longer than I should, but for the most part, once I put them in the ground, I am done. Like

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-22029962131596489782011-01-25T16:26:00.002-06:002011-06-08T17:18:01.330-05:00

There is a house on your street. It probably looks just like the house two doors down, and the one 2 doors down from that. Maybe it has a different color door from yours, and maybe a tree or two where one does not stand in your own yard. There is probably a neighbor there, and maybe you don't know them or their family but when you drive down the street and pass them at their mailbox, you wave.

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-54617906830015868692011-01-21T15:18:00.000-06:002011-06-08T17:16:37.389-05:00

If the legends are true, I have a bit of fear of commitment. Or, at least I do if you ask any of the people I HAVEN’T dated. *side eye* I could offer up the contents of this blog, the last five chronicled years of loving and losing and lusting, as evidence that this isn’t exactly the case, but to be quite honest, I am not always 100% sure that they aren’t right. My attitude about marriage has

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-16549248763280271602011-01-10T17:43:00.001-06:002011-06-08T17:16:37.391-05:00

Here is a cheat sheet for today's post: sometimes I contradict myself. You're welcome. Generally, I am a level-headed, pragmatic person. I am the person you want standing near you in the instance you so happen to catch on fire because I'm not the type of girl who is going to be bent over screaming, "ZOMG THEY'RE ON FIRE!!!!" I am the type of girl to calmly find the nearest bucket of dirty

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-79155855868379077572010-12-23T11:36:00.002-06:002011-06-08T17:16:37.393-05:00

This post sponsored by this song and the letter L for LadyLee, without whom you would go a month without a post. lol I don't know you; don't know those melancholy eyes I see Do you even know me? Your scent is familiar… I have a complicated relationship with returning home. In the hours before my inevitably high-heeled feet step off the inbound plane, I am wrapped up in the giddiness of it

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-37110833398411068962010-12-17T16:41:00.001-06:002011-06-08T17:16:37.395-05:00

...about how I know I am now being punished for spending a previous life kicking kittens into lakes. I went on a date. A real, live date. I was worried I would be a bit rusty after putting myself on a self- imposed hiatus through the rest of the year (it’s not hard if you keep a jump off), but I figured it was like riding a bike, except this isn’t as good of a workout and the slight bumps don’t

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-63340171554130992122010-12-01T17:18:00.001-06:002011-06-08T17:16:37.397-05:00

I used to be a girl who wrote love letters. Volumes and volumes of text, finding glory in every detail, capturing every stimulus of the senses. I was my life’s own historian, obsessively recording documentation of the beauty and brutality of it all. I once wrote stunning love letters. I wrote in searing detail of the rush of seemingly boundless freefall, of the lush colors sprung up from

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-5676898924345909302010-11-19T13:59:00.000-06:002011-06-08T17:16:37.400-05:00

This happens to me all the time. You know why? ‘Cause Jesus? He’s FUNNY. “I am telling you, La. You’d be an awesome mom.” It is around this time that I realize that the best thing about dirty martinis is that if you hold it up to your eye and look at the person across from you, it makes their face wiggly and wavy, like the movie Fantasia. And if you drink enough of them, your eyes will do it

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-89520606023176554402010-11-09T12:51:00.000-06:002011-06-08T17:16:37.402-05:00

If you follow me on The Twitter ©Betty White then you know that periodically I espouse random, but totally necessary reasons to have a live-in boyfriend. I have never had a live-in before as I enjoy not having to talk to people, sleeping in the middle of my bed, and drinking in the morning, but I imagine that these are the reasons why people move in together. But apparently some people move in

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-26068878677333297352010-11-03T11:05:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.404-05:00

It's almost 2011. 2011. And I am 26 years old. TWENTYfuckingSIX. Where did my time go? I will be forthright and admit to wasting it. All of it. The whole thing. This entire 11 months has mostly been a waste for me. I have done some things, sure. But as I look over the last year, the last few years, I wonder, is this all? Objectively I recognize that I am no different than any of my

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-53444697119643664522010-10-27T11:15:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.407-05:00

Being that I am a single, attractive woman in her mid-20's, I have the same issues that every other woman has; men. It is my goal to spend as much of my 20s as possible well travelled, well paid and well laid. It is the pursuit of that last bullet point that makes me roll my eyes. Often. I am texting my QQ simultaneously while texting the Jump Off, relaying his shenanigans and

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-72876401237430635912010-10-19T13:34:00.002-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.409-05:00

It's kinda like that scene in Definitely, Maybe. We are on opposite ends of the couch, both our laptops in our laps, our legs intertwined, him working on lesson plans and me looking at hotels in foreign countries that have alabaster beaches and cobalt water. Every once in awhile we pass our computers back and forth accompanied by shorthand grunts and mumbles, so he can look at pictures and I can

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-81323944990514375282010-10-11T13:23:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.411-05:00

There are fresh tears on my waterproof lashes. I am doing that thing where you blink really really fast because, despite all evidence to the contrary, in the moment it seems like that actually works. It does not. But I am a black girl recently left sitting alone at a crowded bar and I DO NOT need the predatory instincts of the throngs of men around me to start beeping like a smoke detector.

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-64868385613609958412010-10-05T12:35:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.413-05:00

Fall is finally coming here in the annals of the devil, which means it is bearable to go outside. This is great for me, as I have a big 50 pound dog that I have to walk twice a day to burn off energy, lest she run around my house tearing up shit, Marley and Me style. Cute puppy pic for posterity... To that end, our daily walks have become far more enjoyable now that dog and owner are not

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-40987385634578910432010-09-28T14:51:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.416-05:00

Being the asshole that I am, I have cracked many, MANY jokes on Twitter about this whole Eddie Long scandal. I would be remiss to not mention that sometimes when I am having a bad day, I go look at him posing with his hip jutted out in his tangerine Under Armor shirt, and it makes me giggle. I have even commented in private about my recollections from attending his church as a child, recognizing

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-8838480256048223852010-09-15T12:33:00.001-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.418-05:00

Somewhere between hours one and two of a really great phone conversation with my aunt (who has long since been screened once I realized she rarely calls me to talk to me in as much as she calls to track down/talk about/reaffirm my responsibility to my mother) right after talking about the dog, she said the thing that I knew she was going to say, but still caught me off guard anyway… “So… do you

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-2098202590253480292010-09-01T12:50:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.420-05:00

I have the most comfortable bed on earth. It is like lying on clouds lined with organic cotton wrapped in the sighs of baby cherubs. If love and kindness was made by Serta, this is what it would feel like. I say all of that not to offer free advertising, but rather to explain just how hard I sleep in said bed. Hard. Like, comatose. Like sleeping myself under the pillow. Like utter and total

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-59293991536056282142010-08-11T14:07:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.423-05:00

There is something hanging over my eyes, long and spindly. Before I can realize it is my own eyelashes, I have reached up and slapped myself in the face. That shit is gonna leave a mark. My eyes are open now, I think, but I am not sure because the room is completely black. I lay there a minute, waiting for my eyes to adjust and slowly, a headache creeps up around my temples. I am confused.

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-69835641827979110462010-07-28T11:45:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.429-05:00

...as though that were any different than half the offensive shit I say here on a regular basis. Before I start, I will hopefully quantify the statements following and reduce the amount of people who want to crucify me by saying this; I am overweight. Far more than I should be, thanks to a medication I had no business taking, depression and emotional eating. The previous three things are not

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-12181282991545833522010-07-13T12:57:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.431-05:00

I remember when I wrote this and then later revealed this, I got a few emails from readers who ranged from shocked ("Omg! Who knew?!") to, well, men ("Do you guest star regularly? Me and my fiancé...")* One of the emails I received stayed with me long after I read it; "I have struggled with my attraction to both sexes for a long time. I have usually only been comfortable exploring it when a

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-24938544768191270782010-07-08T14:04:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.434-05:00

Right in the middle of this whole, epic, soul searching situation, I just disappear. I warn you, I can be flaky like that, lol. But I SWEAR I had a good reason (this time). I was almost homeless, y'all! Home. Less. Without home. Sleeping in my SUV using the dog as a pillow. Not a good look for the kid. So I had to handle that. And I did, never fear. I am no longer homeless, but rather

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-57097641202518365132010-06-17T12:32:00.001-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.438-05:00

Secretly, Lady Lee is one of my favorite bloggers and a friend in my head. Don't tell her though. Can't have her throwing herself an Oldgirl parade in her own honor. I read her blog regularly, even when she writes a novella, though I don't always comment. Mostly because her entries are always making me think. And then, you know, my head is hurting, and I'm all confused and I just don't quite

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-35194236415981946122010-06-17T08:32:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.440-05:00

I am my parent's child. And I mean that certainly in more than the biological way. I am the sum of who they are and aren't, their strengths and their weaknesses, their sound decisions and mistakes, their issues and shortcomings, as much as their positive attributes and triumphs. Physically, I am equal parts of them both; my mother's face with my father's hair. My mother's mouth, which was her

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-61782832183223761642010-06-09T17:03:00.002-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.442-05:00

I always find myself having a bit of an issue with blogging. I love to write, of course, it being just about as natural for me as anything I do. But it becomes a bit of a struggle between being reticent to lay open the deeply personal things I tend to write about right now, but not wanting to not be one of those writers who bores you with the mundane details of my everyday life not because I

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-83797352352678574752010-05-17T17:25:00.001-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.446-05:00

I am competitive by nature. Probably absurdly so. But it is a part of who I am so I have come to live with it. Barely. The thing is, I just hate to lose. We’ve covered that, haven’t we? Granted, I don’t actually know anyone who LIKES to lose, and I am certainly not saying I'm an ungraceful loser. I’m far too prideful to not lose gracefully. But certainly I don’t like it. And that’s why, when

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-73797239423550316922010-05-06T12:49:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:16:37.449-05:00

I like to know things. Everything, really. So when I don't know things, it is hard for me to deal with. Especially when I don't know things about the people I am involved in intimate, intricate relationships with. It's hard for me. I feel unsure of my footing. Not 100% sure of where to step, how to be. I like to know things and when I don't know things it makes me wonder, can I deal with

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-70163982059772228552010-04-23T12:35:00.001-05:002011-01-21T15:28:41.137-06:00

I am convinced that one of the many side effects of global warming is that the world is getting smaller. It’s the only explanation I have for why I keep running into people I wish to pretend I never knew while I was someone else with someone I wish I never knew. I hear someone yell out, “La!” from behind me, and I flinch because I know that very few people this south of New York and this east

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-10120415716656618092010-04-20T15:47:00.000-05:002010-04-20T15:47:10.231-05:00

I wasn't going to comment (outside of Twitter that is) about the whole new crop of reality shows popping up and their disastrous depiction of black women. (Really? Basketball "Wives", where "wife is apparently very optional? Kill yourself, VH1) Because it isn't new or different, no matter how many new and different shows get released on TV. The actual reality is that I know PLENTY of women (of

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-9906860295783694292010-04-13T16:03:00.000-05:002010-04-13T16:03:29.042-05:00

Recently I have been toying with the idea of returning to church. For those who are not long time readers of this blog, my relationship with God is good; my relationship with organized religion is complicated at best. I would say, without a trace of irony, that I am most certainly a sum of my parts or, more accurately, my experiences. Searching for a new church home is hard for me, not just

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-47763631914855111942010-03-29T12:41:00.000-05:002010-03-29T12:41:23.923-05:00

We interrupt your day to bring you the following emergency service announcement.... I get it. I really do. I mean, I don't get it like you do, which probably requires a trip or two to the friendly neighborhood free clinic, but in theory, I understand. It's easier to be a hoe than a woman. I totally get it. People are, by nature, drawn to the path of least resistance. Sure you don't mind

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-50743817107927266672010-03-05T12:51:00.000-06:002011-06-08T17:18:01.333-05:00

I often joke that, at 25, I have already been married three times. This isn't literally true, of course; I have never gone down to the courthouse and filed any papers agreeing to take someone's name and file my taxes with them. But despite that fact, I have already been through three marriages. My mom has been married three times; my daddy, He Who Shall Not be Named, and my dad, stepdad #2. My

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-15717113003309237082010-02-26T16:42:00.001-06:002010-02-26T16:43:20.490-06:00

Today in glaringly obvious understatements: I was an excellent English student as a child. My love of the written word came directly from my love of reading. I absolutely loved to read. I didn't think it was uncool or not fun. Fiction was a means by which to escape; history a conduit to self discovery. I devoured books in school. (I still do.) If a particular book peaked my interest, I was done

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-45993246142274200492010-02-16T13:17:00.000-06:002010-02-16T13:17:24.586-06:00

We have plans tonight. I go hard for a man who takes control, y'all. But I've already made plans with my bottom bitch to hang out and drink wine and talk shit. I can't. I have plans.Can you reschedule?You should have let me know sooner. But I'm not cancelling on my girl.I understand :-( However serendipitous though, inside the hour, my girl has flaked and I am texting him back. Come and get

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-55069228949500702212010-02-11T13:30:00.001-06:002010-02-11T13:55:41.303-06:00

Seriously, I hate this time of year. And before y'all try to play me like I don't like it because Valentine's Day is coming up and I'm single, kill yourself. That's not why. I am not one of those single people. Maybe because I actually enjoy being single rather than just saying that until some man comes along that makes me abandon my friends, my interests and generally my own identity, I don't

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-43904991289827284902010-02-01T12:21:00.001-06:002010-02-01T17:20:39.582-06:00

Here are some things you might not know about me... - I am 25. - I have a college degree from the HBCU better than all others. - Said degree was obtained in 4 years... but it should have taken me 6. - I have no children. None. Just a dog. - I have never been married. - I have a good job at a name brand company, and a part time job to fund my dreams. In short, I hustle. - And, to put it plainly,

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-49788128354662669752010-01-21T12:29:00.000-06:002010-01-21T12:29:35.214-06:00

I remember pretty vividly my time with Almost Fiancé. Mostly because it was pretty intense (in a good, healthy way). But also because I did a significant amount of growing up during that time and during our relationship. I remember quite clearly one of the worst conversations we ever had. I believe it was during his first deployment (I think by the time the second one rolled around we had broken

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-34626200150500649012010-01-12T17:34:00.001-06:002010-01-12T17:45:40.676-06:00

It's true. I’ll admit it. I see racism everywhere. I even see race inside of race, acutely and finitely. I.e. If I were to walk into a room of brown skinned beauties, you could not convince me that at least 3% of them would hate me on sight because I make a brown paper bag look like it spray tans. Being black, being from the south, being of mixed race, having gone to the only black school that

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-6900126285632576052010-01-07T13:27:00.002-06:002010-01-07T13:56:22.559-06:00

Alright. I had planned for the first post of the new year to be a whimsical and funny dalliance into the foolishness and mayhem that is my life, but I couldn't quite make that happen. Mostly because over the last few weeks, I have been preoccupied with the desire to let Nicki Minaj smash to divorce myself of my race and gender at a rate more alarming than usual. I love being black. And I love

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-86330644805717960222010-01-06T17:01:00.000-06:002010-01-06T17:01:25.519-06:00

I had the best NYE, yall. Spent it with my girls (and Jay Jay aka Wanye aka Titty Watcher since 1984), in Atl drinking, eating, talking MUCH shit. MUCH. Your girl likes to talk shit. Renews the spirit I find. :-) I could do a whole big thing about the types of huge monkey balls that 2009 (and many of the years prior to it) sucked, but I choose to focus on the positive; I got the opportunity to

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-22476121076225622532009-12-01T15:51:00.000-06:002009-12-01T15:51:51.032-06:00

this is a continuation of this. Catch up first. Don't worry. I'll wait... "What's wrong?" His cheeks are flushed, broad ribbons of salmon whipping back towards his hairline. His eyes are wild, from my outburst or my bra, I'm not sure. But truthfully, I can barely even focus on that shit right now. "Oh. My. GOD" I say, trying hard not to stare. "What?" "I thought..." The end of my thought

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-9342047990319080802009-11-20T17:44:00.000-06:002010-08-11T14:12:49.447-05:00

I love Peter Parker's place because it is immaculate. And I don't mean that kinda immaculate that denotes him having something to hide. I mean that kinda clean that is lived and comfortable with just a slight bit of anal. You know, like mine. And it always smells good. Like the cologne he wears and the soap he uses, wrapped in a layer of baby powder and some kinda spice. Yum. Right now though,

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-7133610903863105862009-11-12T13:38:00.001-06:002009-11-12T13:41:09.394-06:00

I used to wear a cross around my neck. Nothing fancy. Just a simple, silver creation that I really liked. To my recollection, I wore it everyday. Actually, if I am being truthful, I don't remember ever taking it off. Until of course I took it off. The cross went the way of my faith; I don't remember it being a conscious decision, just a slow winding down into permanent separation until one day

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-607667388770027702009-11-05T17:07:00.001-06:002009-11-05T17:09:34.046-06:00

For as long as I can remember I have had a thing for buildings. Not necessarily the architecture, but more so for the lives, the stories contained inside the construction. In my mind, each house is a curtain to be lifted, revealing the show inside. Each home its own stage, replete with all the trappings, each front door the portal to whatever lives are contained therein. When I was younger and

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037560404187447558.post-455105395740877922009-10-28T12:39:00.000-05:002009-10-28T12:39:00.800-05:00

I am a girl who loses. So by definition I am a loser. But not the kind that doesn't win things. More so the type that just loses things. People. Faith. And sometimes I am still reeling from the loss of one thing when another fatality happens suddenly, so fast in fact that I am still stumbling from the previous loss, far too consumed to deal with the present one. My life has been an exercise in

Lahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263956941852080340noreply@blogger.com3