tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91032442024-03-12T23:56:58.484-04:00Mental OasisMy name. . .Black MambaBreezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.comBlogger282125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-43745541493506542842008-09-16T11:09:00.002-04:002008-09-16T13:15:51.121-04:00It's never really goodbye, is it?Mental Oasis. It was like falling in love for the very first time. (You have no idea how ironic this statement is.)<br /><br />I established the Oasis on November 4, 2004. How amazingly life can change! If you would have told me that less than a year later, I'd be a stranger in a strange land, I would have chuckled. I thought I would never escape New Orleans. That's partially why I created the blog. An escape; a sounding board; a means to show people that I'm pretty damned clever.<br /><br />It was my intent to hold off until the fourth anniversary to close out this blog, but what better time like the present for a new start. So, welcome to <a href="http://beautyjackson.wordpress.com/">Wreckless Endangerment</a>. Enjoy the ride!Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-56085933555694383592008-09-15T20:41:00.003-04:002008-09-16T11:09:25.772-04:00Inquiry<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwHlNxhOJCBmRIpBzDLn5IitI3Q-456PyH3uPlzD763epIGnvPR9emukqQTWCGnOVivpLl5Up9kHoLI0Fzqc6piZUNJaz7KoZKw0qmAvt7_dft542yO7jZJn-7SHnA4Oue3IYP/s1600-h/jessica+rabbit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwHlNxhOJCBmRIpBzDLn5IitI3Q-456PyH3uPlzD763epIGnvPR9emukqQTWCGnOVivpLl5Up9kHoLI0Fzqc6piZUNJaz7KoZKw0qmAvt7_dft542yO7jZJn-7SHnA4Oue3IYP/s200/jessica+rabbit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246420632648248354" border="0" /></a>Pop quiz hot shots!<br /><br />What sexified blogger got her cardio on tonight?! <br /><br />I'm telling you man, I was in the ZONE! The zone dammit!<br /><br />Twelve pounds by my birthday!Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-43313848025903518322008-09-15T10:14:00.006-04:002008-09-15T16:53:38.591-04:00"Oooh Child. . .<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Ve2GBZnpXP4-VZalkDbu_qB43rG9c1-oDml3MfwuLhgQ_JuPMRALCbD2xxMNvvbx0dFyLNsAOQ2hQQTeDyay_6P3PEJVgvlbY71W3qHLl90lGqqB_PgIU6ElZvPZxPgIpb4W/s1600-h/Horton-1395.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Ve2GBZnpXP4-VZalkDbu_qB43rG9c1-oDml3MfwuLhgQ_JuPMRALCbD2xxMNvvbx0dFyLNsAOQ2hQQTeDyay_6P3PEJVgvlbY71W3qHLl90lGqqB_PgIU6ElZvPZxPgIpb4W/s200/Horton-1395.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246354134758851954" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span>...things are gonna get easier..."<br /><br />It's NEVER as bad as you think. Not ever. And even if it is, it could always be worse. I was watching one of those "Animals Gone Bananas" shows (I can never remember the names, but you know the ones that like to show antelope kicking the crap out of people and whatnot), and they showed this guy who worked in some sort of animal refuge/zoo/something else, in charge of taking care of elephants. Dude was either kneeling or sitting behind one of the elephants. I'm fairly certain he was scooping crap. However, since his job didn't suck enough, the elephant decided at that moment to sit down and the dude's head was stuck in the elephant's rectum. Talk about a Pyrrhic victory. He lived, but when his number is finally up and his life flashes before his eyes, elephant ass is going to be right up there with holding his firstborn and giving his daughter away at her wedding.<br /><br />So my friends, no matter how rough you think it is. No matter how shitty your situation may seem, chances are, you were never an elephant's colonscope.Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-9343290026855276432008-09-14T20:55:00.002-04:002008-09-14T20:56:27.966-04:00However, I must admit...one of these would come in handy.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/BGRN39oifsE&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/BGRN39oifsE&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-68634900113371061902008-09-14T18:45:00.009-04:002008-09-14T20:50:11.582-04:00"That same [chick] you gave nothin, I made something doin" (c) Jay-ZIt's September 14. Do you know where your life is?<br /><br />I've been in Maryland almost three years. There have been times when I questioned whether or not it's purpose had run its course. Each time, my eyes would be opened to a new purpose; something left for me to complete. Even when I would go through a difficult time, Something would happen, and I would make it through. That doesn't seem to be the case these days.<br /><br />In my heart, I would rather let me kids stay here, live here. My son has already picked out his college. They go to a great school and there are a lot of benefits that come with living in Mo County. Unfortunately, the economy is fucking me UP. My departing the DMV is becoming less and less of a casual discussion, and more of a distinct possibility. <br /><br />I can't, in good conscience, stay here and wait for life to become terrible. When i came here, I was so encouraged and supported. it's hard to stay in a place when you're not only struggling, but feeling alienated. I try to internalize, rather than verbalize. That's why I was a bit freaked out when Ladybug inquired about how difficult things were for me. Friday night, I asked what made her ask that question. I wanted to be sure that I wasn't throwing a pity party and she could see. She then said, "Well, it's two of us and one of you. Two to one isn't easy right?" <br /><br />I've always felt that struggling is what keeps me sane and alive. Though it's not healthy, as much as I crave peace, I tend to see it as the calm before the storm. it's a twisted form of self sabotage. The rub is, I am often correct. That being said, the adrenaline rush that comes with embarking upon a new adventure for the purpose of improving our lives is exhilarating. I relish being able to look at my life and see where I have been blessed with the means and the strength to always improve things for myself, Finge and Ladybug. <br /><br />I do realize, that having only one job is not going to cut it though. My writing has to work for me. I've also had a dream for eons to run my own staffing agency. These things will only remain dreams if I don't act on them. The vision, in honesty, is MUCH bigger than that, but that's the gist. My problem is, I don't have the foggiest idea of where to start. <br /><br />Those that know me, however, don't worry, and rightfully so. I embody everything that is the comeback kid. I can't accept credit. My life has been blessed beyond measure; it's what made my East Coast adventure a possibility. But what I know is that I have been blessed because I put forth the effort and respect the hustle. <br /><br />"You need to dance and dance to make the rain come down..." <br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/tTsPgxmOopI&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/tTsPgxmOopI&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-15149343056540741032008-09-14T03:36:00.002-04:002008-09-14T04:04:34.120-04:00Trouble SleepingNancy Grace - have we figured out why she exists? Seriously. Even her delivery seems like schtick. What's more disturbing is, who watches this? Is she like porn? A multibillion dollar industry that NO one used to admit to owning. As an aside, I can say that porn isn't making money off ME. I've purchased it...downloaded porn is SO much better. I'm not sure if it's the added thrill of getting it for free, but boy oh boy.<br /><br />The fact that the double cheeseburger is a dollar is absolutely criminal. No joke, they want poor, and shit, middle income people, to DIE. Just DIE. Lettuce and half an ounce of chicken is $5.00. A third of a pound of beef and cheese is a dollar. Off balance much. I won't even get into the testicles and livers and shit that I believe they use to make sausage. As stressful as it is though, I promise that eating healthy now will save you in the long run. I am by no means the picture of health, but I'm sure I would be a thousand times worse had my parents not instilled in me the importance of a solid diet.<br /><br />Bruce Jenner? What happened to you? I mean, you were an Olympian and...nevermind. Just...*shudder*.<br /><br />Speaking of blasts from the past, since I am awake at 4 am, I'm watching "Sanford and Son." I forgot Jane Hathaway from The Beverly HIllbillies was on it. Why do I care? It's four in the morning...don't sweat me.Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-10131996728579432022008-09-13T18:59:00.002-04:002008-09-13T19:23:48.319-04:00SheeshIf idle hands are the devil's workshop, then my hands are bound for glory. I've been up since about 5:30, and besides the time it took to type this morning's blog and check a few random emails, I've been grinding. <br /><br />I did some laundry, dealt with more wise beyond their years conversations with my little geniuses, completely cleaned my car and cleaned up around the crib. You would think that all that sweating would have resurrected my buckshots, but nooooooo. I'm still looking like Elvis around the bang area. Yes...I effing have BANGS! Some ole bullshit.<br /><br />Speaking of Elvis, in addition to being a poet, Ladybug has developed a comic strip entitled "Evil Elvis." When I inquired about the premise, I was told, "He does all the things Elvis wouldn't do. You know...the singer." What the hell does she know about Elvis?! I'm TELLING you, this kid has been here before. I'm sure people don't believe half of what I tell them about my kids. <br /><br />Finge plans on playing the saxophone. Let's recap: my son is tall, dark, handsome and intelligent. Am I sanctioning an activity that will certainly have him backstroking in women? Is it right for me to raise this generation's Shadow Henderson? I'm still trying to work through this.<br /><br />I also, for the first time ever, sent my son in the store by himself. It was borne of necessity. I needed a can of soup, and after laundry and car washing in the blazing heat, not only did I reek, but the car wash detergent stained my paints. I was on pins and needles the entire time. However, as I recall, I was going in the store alone at his age as well. <br /><br />Now, I'm sure my <a href="http://extraflavory.squarespace.com/">Uptown Ambassador</a> may take exception for borrowing his moniker in today's theme music (because "every good superhero has his own theme music" and make no mistake, I AM a muthafuckin superhero), I'm sure he can't possibly begrudge my paying homage to the illustrious Dennis Coles.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cJs10sy0vBg&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cJs10sy0vBg&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-49612688242873131122008-09-13T07:21:00.002-04:002008-09-13T07:55:28.097-04:00House, Home, Mojo and Other StuffFinge turns ten this year. My grocery bill has doubled from what it was last year. What is scary to me is that he's eating more and getting skinnier. He has an uncle that is 6'4 give or take. Jesus, take the wheel. In addition to that, Ladybug has decided to actually have a growth spurt. I am so not ready for puberty. <br /><br />I go to the salon once a year. There is something to be said for not using heat products on hair. No blow drying. Nothing. During this year's visit, there was a miscommunication, and my hair was flat ironed. No bigs. It was a sort of fun change. HOWEVER, my hair has not fully changed back. My fro is the essence of my mojo. Remember the Living Single episode when Regine got the breast reduction? that's how I feel right now. Now I just look like I'm letting my SOOOOOOOOOUUUULLLLL GLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW! It's sort of curly spirally. I take things like that as a sign for necessary change. <br /><br />My writing has been progressing quite well. I'm so thankful for that. It has really helped me refocus. Good stuff.<br /><br />I need to get Bubble detailed and get the oil changed. Having a car is like having a third kid. My kids want a dog. That's a fourth. Does it ever end?<br /><br />Sunday at noon BABY! The Saints meet the Foreskins!!!! Reggie better have his act together!! I got a whole dollar riding on this one!<br /><br />Leaving Maryland is still heavy on my mind. Still haven't decided 100%, but I officially have no family on the East Coast. My cousin in Florida is heading west to New Mexico. I like the autonomy that being away from home affords me. Sometimes though, I wanna go where everybody knows my name...I would at least like to be able to drive there periodically.Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-76312746986064310392008-09-12T20:45:00.001-04:002008-09-12T20:47:02.262-04:00Look out Nikki GiovanniIPeople know some things<br />People know some stuff<br />But my mom knows enough.<br /> - Ladybug (c) 2008<br /><br />Yes ladies and gentlemen, she IS the bomb!Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-48588199139858267642008-09-12T09:25:00.002-04:002008-09-12T09:37:22.291-04:00So not trying to deal with thisSo last night, we were watching TV, and the girl child says, "well, when you take a pregnancy test, how do you know how many lines are right?" Uh...what the fuck? After answering her question (I'm a firm believer on if you can ask the question, you can receive the answer), I decided that I had enough for the day. I went to bed. (I've been sleeping much better lately.)<br /><br />This morning, we were going about our routine of getting ready, and she said, "Is it hard, Mommy?" I offhandedly asked what. The news was on and we were watching a report about the Capoiera Festival. "Having two kids and having to do everything by yourself." <br /><br />Now, she's ALWAYS been a heavy chick. She favors biographies and books about state history over fiction. She prefers Animal Planet over Cartoon Network and she's first rate student. But still, I am SO not ready.Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-87694978904199727752008-09-12T06:16:00.002-04:002008-09-12T06:21:23.050-04:00Holy Posting Batman!I have been so hyper lately. Things have been tough, but I KNOW I'm on the verge of something great. I'm looking for it. I'm working on it. Last night, I was in the midst of cleaning (my new Thursday tradition - who wants to spend their entire weekend cleaning up?) and I was overcome with the feeling that my breakthrough was so close, I could taste it. It tastes orange sherbet, and I LOOOOOOOOVES me some orange sherbet. I should be getting ready for the day, so enough fucking around.<br /><br />P.S. - I'm keeping all coastal Texas residents in my prayers.Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-30232762669746930712008-09-11T14:32:00.002-04:002008-09-11T14:33:13.458-04:00Funny StuffShow of hands...Who really thinks this? Be honest!<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qqXi8WmQ_WM&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qqXi8WmQ_WM&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-4417449973126502292008-09-11T11:47:00.006-04:002008-09-11T13:46:24.964-04:00"Oh my god! All this for me?! I must be on my job!"When I was younger, my parents taught me the reward for hard work: more hard work. It goes without saying, that made no sense to my seven-year-old self. Wasn't the reward for hard work an extra 30 minutes of "Asteroids?" Dave, my district supervisor on my first job outside of the home (I have been generating income since I was six), had the saying, "If you have time to lean, you have time to clean." More recently, while in conference with the <a href="http://extraflavory.squarespace.com/">Harlemite Bon Vivant</a>, he waxed philosophical about sh<div class="cssButtonOuter"><div class="cssButtonMiddle"><div class="cssButtonInner"><a>Save Now</a></div></div></div>arks known as "obligate ram ventilators," that are unable to survive if they are not in constant motion.<br /><br />The past couple of days, I've made sure to have my scheduled packed with, well, stuff. Guess what? Day two of singing in the shower. My dance card is full until mid-October. In addition to that, if all goes according to plan, Spring Break is going to be off the chain. My high school reunion is in May. I, of course, plan on being there and FABULOUS! I also have fam having a destination wedding next July, so a trip to Cancun is a distinct probability.<br /><br />This have been tough, but what a difference a day makes...or rather, a couple of days, but let's not split hairs!<br /><br />P.S. Guess who lost two pounds? That's right, bitches!Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-50184358305048649512008-09-10T09:33:00.003-04:002008-09-10T10:23:30.814-04:00Sometimes you wanna. . .Ok, Cliff Notes version of what's been going on with me:<br /><br />I've had the blues. The frustrating part is that I haven't been able to pinpoint the precise reason why. I could nitpick at little things here and there and call them part of the problem, but I'm not sure they make a dent in the real reason.<br /><br />Homesickness, however, is a mutha. My mother lived all over the country between the ages of 18 - 25. She said that after visits home, she would spend about three weeks wanting to sit in a corner with her legs folded over her shoulders. This feeling is partially attributable to the fact that I had not seen my family in over two years. That being said, I have felt a tug, not to return to New Orleans, but to be within driving distance of home. I haven't really connected with Maryland. It's not that I have not had good times here, and I've met nice people. Yet that has not stopped me from feeling like an island. <br /><br />I'm giving it six months. I plan to give living here my all. If after that time, I still feel detatched, then I'll be searching for a place to live, closer to home. <br /><br />One of my goals (since I'm damn near in my MID-30s - wtf) is to be more thoughtful rather than reactionary. Right now I feel like I wanna...<br /><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/r-dAOVM1C8M&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/r-dAOVM1C8M&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-62528864714111131332008-09-10T09:12:00.001-04:002008-09-10T10:24:13.782-04:00Hyundai with the butterfly doors?!<object width="400" height="255" id="uvp_fop" allowFullScreen="false"><param name="movie" value="http://d.yimg.com/cosmos.bcst.yahoo.com/up/fop/embedflv/swf/fop.swf"/><param name="flashVars" value="id=v60436542&eID=1301797&lang=us&enableFullScreen=0&shareEnable=1"/><param name="wmode" value="transparent"/><embed height="255" width="400" id="uvp_fop" allowFullScreen="false" src="http://d.yimg.com/cosmos.bcst.yahoo.com/up/fop/embedflv/swf/fop.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" flashvars="id=v60436542&eID=1301797&lang=us&enableFullScreen=0&shareEnable=1" /></embed></object><br /><br />I friggin LOVE this song yo!<br /><br />P.S. - David, you can wear all the Gucci vests you want. WE know you're not that far removed from sandals and capris...Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-89297969813458328172008-09-09T10:58:00.005-04:002008-09-09T16:56:22.019-04:00Story of a Champion<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhshWOrfVT5gNy6FaPCiBawRrWLvCmpR50MIusVrBcBevZQy4nMkXatxpR1TYHj_IeBT7-iSAjKS1tpS4JRao43DohdTi8LDBFX3jogocjC9pP_5Jy6ZgEP_Vjr8S4m2FDlIIHc/s1600-h/caution-this-is-sparta.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhshWOrfVT5gNy6FaPCiBawRrWLvCmpR50MIusVrBcBevZQy4nMkXatxpR1TYHj_IeBT7-iSAjKS1tpS4JRao43DohdTi8LDBFX3jogocjC9pP_5Jy6ZgEP_Vjr8S4m2FDlIIHc/s200/caution-this-is-sparta.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244036317321801186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">His helmet was stifling, it narrowed his vision. And he must see far. His shield was heavy. It threw him off balance. And his target is far away.</span><br />- Dilios "300"<br /><br />I came to the realization that my failures - my shortcomings - are burdensome. Not only can I not glimpse light at the end of the tunnel, but I find myself struggling to make out my own feet in the darkness. In my heart, I know this is temporary. That knowledge just seems to be buried so deeply beneath a whole bunch of other caca.<br /><br />Small disappointments can be distractions from the big picture, and when you look up, not only are you unaware of where you are, but you feel as though you can't even make it back to square one (abandoning all hopes of picking up where you left off).<br /><br />My life <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> Sparta. Every step must be measured; every move, disciplined. So I don't have time to think hopelessly. I won't have time to pause. I won't have time to lament. Truth be told, I won't have time to cry. Because every second of my life from this point forward has to go as follows: <span style="font-style: italic;">stick, move, grind, repeat</span>. It has to be that way until I get <span style="font-style: italic;">there</span>. Presently, I don't know where <span style="font-style: italic;">there</span> is, so that simply means that I have to keep moving until I figure it out.<br /><br />Everytime someone took a shot at my title, I stood strong. There's no need to change that now.<br /><br />Watch me.<br /><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6W59fuLVmz8&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6W59fuLVmz8&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object>Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-76274869043058279562008-09-08T19:28:00.005-04:002008-09-08T21:31:49.518-04:00ReflectionThe other day, I was talking to a brother about the rift between black men and women. My point was not to participate in the latest man-woman "Who Shot John?" episode. I wanted to learn what is it that black women do to break brothers down. And yes sisters, we can break a brother down.<br /><br />His primary beef was the number of black women that claim to love black men and have respect for them; yet as soon as they get a man, they can't fix their mouths fast enough to tear him down. As a woman, I wanted to defend. I wanted to tell him he was wrong. Then I remembered a family member. I'll call her "Elle." The only time she discusses her husband is to talk about how stupid he is, how unsatisfied he leaves her, and how she works him essentially to death, and that's why she stays with him. I lost count of how many times they have separated, however, I do remember her going to retrieve him from his new woman's house, only to dish out more of the same. <br /><br />He also touched on our buying the media's portrayal of black men. They're either dogs, gay, or bumbling morons - lovable, but bumbling and moronic nonetheless. I feel as though I need not mention the not so subtle nudges away from dating brothers altogether. How many movies romanticize relationships between white men and black women. After the obligatory obstacle that is the sole racist family member, they go on to live happily ever after. The lack of realism is astounding. For starters, when you wade through the pile of interracial relationships, black female/white male is close to the bottom of the barrel. I'm willing to wager that if you get down to the brass tacks of white males that are not impoverished or "PWT" as it were, I'll be the percentage is even smaller. So sisters, we really need to stop banking on the white Prince Charming.<br /><br />I was fortunate enough to have a mother that kept me away from negative influences to the extent that she could. Additionally, she taught me how important it was that I respected black men. Eventually, my own experiences caught up with me. I became so used to being hurt and disrespected, that I started out on the defensive. I was tough on men that I attempted to date; insufferable to those I didn't. My friend mentioned the need to deal with each other on a human level. I thought about how many times we as women bristled at a man who only had use for women in bed. What can be said about a woman who only shows respect to men with whom she may be involved? Respect has to start prior to the relationship. After ti starts, it's too late. I had spent so much time with the wrong type of man, I became terrified of all men. I even avoided men that I thought would want to pursue a serious relationship, because I couldn't bear the thought of becoming attached to someone, then having it end. <br /><br />Once I was told by someone that I cared deeply about, that maybe I should be with someone more suited to my relationship style; someone who could love me for the way I'm used to being loved. I realized the way I was used to being "loved" was non-existent. I crafted this amalgamation of my outside view of other people's semi-functioning relationships, combined that with a couple of "black-love" movies, and created for myself quite the cluster-fuck. I knew how to be disappointed; I knew how to have fun and bounce when it wasn't fun anymore; I knew how to be single. I didn't know how to be loved, so it went without saying that I didn't know how to give love properly. What is unfortunate is that I had a hand in messing up what could have been a good thing.<br /><br />My friend said that we lie to ourselves. we say we love and respect black men, but our actions say otherwise. If I spend half of my relationship on pause wondering when (not if) I'm going to be hurt, am I really respecting my man? I can't say that I have the answers. I can't say that I'll be perfect. But what I can do is pledge to be better.Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-39543790820189431022008-09-08T15:30:00.002-04:002008-09-08T16:20:54.126-04:00I can't let things happen. I must make them happen. My life is at a crossroads, and I have a lot of decisions to make. I refuse to allow them to be made for me.<br /><br />"I<br /><br />WILL<br /><br />NOT<br /><br />LOSE.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">EVER!</span>"<br /><br /><br />- Shawn "Jay-Z" CarterBreezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-34203973724714551062008-08-27T12:10:00.004-04:002008-08-27T16:54:22.241-04:00I once was lost, but now I'm. . . missing?You ever found yourself sitting on rocky bed of a Chattanooga Motel 6 wondering where things went left? Not just left-left - left on Tulane left. I feel unfocused. I look unfocused. The trip home was necessary for so many reasons. I thought this trip was simply an opportunity to reconnect with people I cared about from whom I had been separated for far too long. I was partially correct, but it ran SO much deeper than that. I needed to discover how disconnected I had become from myself; mind, body and spirit.<br /><br />I've felt like a lost lamb in the woods before, so I figured the journey home would aid in clearing my head, and everything would be okay. I would have hatched a plan by then. Imagine my frustration when I found myself one hour from home, and no closer to a solution than the hour I embarked upon my journey. <br /><br />This feeling is not hopelessness, nor is it helplessness. If anything, it is showing me that I am growing up, and I have real things to deal with; real decisions to make. Those who know me, know that a plot is in the making. I'm just not sure what it is yet. Stay tuned though. I feel a breakthrough coming on.Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-22303524576654182492008-08-22T08:28:00.000-04:002008-08-22T08:55:38.061-04:00The Odyssey, Pt. 1This trip, I believe, may well be known as "the journey which launched a thousand posts.". Stories such as, "The day I discovered my father's pimpin is real," "you know that beignet sugar is really crack, right?" and "who knew that hunting El Chupacabra could make you sexy as hell" are begging to be told. I'm sure that some stories I will tell, and some I won't. But I've had a great time and hold mixed feelings about leaving. Don't think I've lost my mind and am entertaining the notion of returning to New Orleans. I just didn't anticipate how hard leaving could be. Let me also say that there is something positively soul stirring about traveling with the knowledge that with every stop, you're going to spend time with people that love you dearly. <br /><br />I've learned, with this trip, that there is a time and place for everything. I've learned that sometimes, you don't have to rehash the past to look at the future. I've put some friendships on pause, taken others out of limbo, and even got transported back to my high school days. That's kind of what going home is all about, isn't it?Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-8160666691672888462008-08-10T10:23:00.002-04:002008-08-10T11:45:54.038-04:00Award TourI'm out of the office until August 25, 2008. Earlier this week, at 3:39 on a cool morning, I got in my car, and started driving. I drove through Maryland. I drove through Virginia. I drove through Tennessee. I drove through Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana and finally ended up in Houston, Texas.<br /><br />It is a MUTHA to get out of Virginia, but it's one of the most beautiful drives I've ever taken. Driving through the mountains really helps put things in perspective in seeing how truly insignificant we are. Once I hit southern Virginia, I found myself amazed by the number of black people I DIDN'T see. I went to a Walmart, and I was the only black person in the store. THE ONLY NEGRO IN AN ENTIRE WALMART. I remember being a kid and wondering, "How are we minorities? There are black people everywhere I go." But I was only going to New Orleans, Baton Rouge, Houston and a few heavily negroidian areas in Missippi. I think black people are in maybe ten other cities and that's a wrap. When I saw two separate trucks full of Mennonites pull up, I knew it was time to get the hell out of there. Nothing against the Mennonites; but I was still trying to adjust to the fact that there were no black folks in Walmart. That was as different as I was ready to handle after eight hours on the road.<br /><br />Between Virginia and Tennessee, there are 6,845, 293, 957 Cracker Barrels at various exits. I began to opine that they were operated by the minions of Beelzebub, and would have no part of it somewhere early on in Virginia. However, by the time I hit CB 6 billion, my resolve had worn thin. I wanted a sit-down meal, and I vowed to avoid typical fast food fare, so I finally pulled into a Cracker Barrel, only to discover that it's not run by minions at all; but the food was delicately sprinkled with crack. It wasn't soul food, but it definitely did the trick. <br /><br />After lunch, I decided I would drive for another hour. By then, I anticipated being attacked by the 'itis, and I could take a nap at a rest stop. Every rest stop I encountered during my post-CB exodus from Tennessee was closed. I finally pulled into a Kmart parking lot in Alabama to get a few zzz's. But honestly, how much rest can you expect to get in a Kmart parking lot in Alabama. So I drove into the Alabama night, where there was NO lights. I have never in my life been so afraid of the moon. And let me tell you, we're missing out on a lot of stars in the city.<br /><br />It was midnight, and I still hadn't made it to Baton Rouge where I intended to bunk for the night. After seriously considering falling asleep in the parking lot of a busy gas station (I just didn't think I had twenty more miles in me) I decided that grabbing a motel was a much more reasonable, not to mention safer option. So I bunked in Meridian, MS. The prostitutes there are friendly. That's gotta count for something. The next morning (after briefly stopping to say hi to my sister in Baton Rouge) I headed to Houston.<br /><br />*sigh* What can I say about Houston, Texas? Everything and nothing. As much as I love to share, this one just kind of ain't anybody's business. But I can say that I've never been happier to let go of fear and live in the moment. I can also say that no matter how tough I like to believe that I am (and I drove from MD to TX, so I think it's fair for me to label myself "Tougher Than Leather), there exists a person that makes my insides feel like one of those molten chocolate desserts simply by hugging me. No clue what that means for tomorrow, next month - or even five minutes from now for that matter - but in this moment, I have yet to stop grinning.<br /><br /><br />Before I left Texas, I got to spend some time with the Creole Queen and her family. They have basically given me a time limit as to how much longer I am allowed to live in Maryland before I move to Texas. I love when people love me.<br /><br />At this moment, I'm sitting in my sister's house (she's still in Baton Rouge) at her computer, still on a high from the last few days. I'm sure there are more stories to come. Stay tuned.Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-56673489381442555322008-07-28T16:26:00.000-04:002008-07-28T16:48:53.778-04:00Mas PalabrasOctober will mark three years as a Maryland resident. Yet, once a week, there is a female behemoth that will attempt to share a subway seat with me. My behind will not invade the seat next to me, but I take up every square inch of my alloted (and purchased) seat. If you do stunts for Bruce Bruce, you can't sit next to me. Keep it moving, Leviathan.<br /><br />I can drink like a fish. There's not even a story there; just. . . hot damn.<br /><br />Every time a person says they "heart" something, Abigail Breslin is beaten with a sack of nickels. The same goes for "vajayjay." It's just stupid. Cut it out.<br /><br />I've had it with men complaining about getting the shaft for Fathers' Day presents. You can stand up when you pee and you get the big piece of chicken. However, if that's not enough for you spoiled babies, you also don't have to undergo the horror that is the bra fitting. I won't go into the gory details, but I will say that afterward, I refused to purchase the bra strictly on principle. It would have been too much like paying for inappropriate contact, and I'm just not "there" yet.<br /><br />You ever sit around and wonder who makes the rules? I do. <span style="font-style: italic;">Por ejemplo</span>, lately, I've been thinking about marijuana and coffeeI'm not running for Prez, so I'll keep it real: once upon a time, I used to blaze up on the regular. When I decided to stop blazing, that was that. Had other things going on in my life, and weed didn't fit. Done. What happens when you smoke weed? You want sex and the occasional hot pocket. <span style="font-style: italic;">Marijuana is an illegal substance.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"></span>I am a dyed in the wool coffee drinker. I have a few cups on the daily. When I try to quit coffee, I get migraines, the jitters, and I stay thisclose to homicide. What happens when you drink coffee, you become hyper and pretty much annoying as all hell. I have quit and restarted coffee more times than I can count. <span style="font-style: italic;">Coffee is a legal substance. </span>Just putting that out there.<br /><br />This past weekend, I had to take a drive to Queens, NY. You know how you see a place in a movie, and you think it's an exaggeration? Not so for Queens. You saw coming to America? It was pretty much like that. Queens is JACKED UP. However, I saw a site where they are building luxury condos. I have also cast lots on which mom and pop operation they were going to shut down so that they could build their Starbucks (or whatever godless, souless entity that is replacing the 'Bux now that the company has hit the skids.)<br /><br />Am I the only person that finds it strange when a person needs to be walked through filling out a form. "Where it says name. . ." I just can't quite get with it.<br /><br />Last week became very interesting, very quickly.<br /><br />And I'm spent. . .Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-72238259419571817472008-07-24T17:19:00.004-04:002008-07-24T17:55:18.862-04:00Words of Wisdom<blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;">I guess it takes time - more time than anybody wants to imagine - to sort things out, inside, and then try to put them together, and then try - not so much to make</span> sense <span style="font-style: italic;">out of it all - as to</span> see<span style="font-style: italic;">. Maybe that's why what seems to be past begins to be clearer than what seems to be present.</span></blockquote>-- James Baldwin <span style="font-style: italic;">Just Above My Head<br /><br /></span>When I need my mother most, she comes to my dreams. I remember holding Finge, counting his toes over and over again - Smith toes, like hers (onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten). She wanted boys in the family. <span style="font-style: italic;">She would have loved this boy</span>, I thought to myself, <span style="font-style: italic;">she would have wanted to hold this boy - she</span> would <span style="font-style: italic;">be holding this boy at this very moment.</span> One of my first nights home, she was in my dream. She told me that she taught me everything I needed to know in order to raise a good son.<br /><br />When I left my marriage, I of course, questioned myself and felt like a failure. She told me the only failure is in sitting idly by as a spectator to your own destruction.<br /><br />Sometimes, when I feel like I can't do right, I have dreams where she is sitting on our old couch, ratty as it was, she pats the cushion urging me to sit next to her. Sometimes she advises me; sometimes she tells me stories; sometimes she just lets me curl up and cry while she massages my scalp.<br /><br />The thing is, I don't believe I'm having supernatural or out of body experiences. I don't believe that her "spirit" is coming to me. I believe that her presence in my life was one so powerful, I had to sort it out. The things she says or does in my dreams aren't "new" things. The dreams are indicative of her handprint on my life. The signature of the artist.<br /><br />I guess I can't say that I have a real "reason" for this post. However, I was hard pressed not to share.Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-40346985920122738282008-07-23T12:35:00.001-04:002008-07-23T13:42:04.235-04:00Love and AffectionI can't remember if I posted this movie before; maybe I just posted the link. However, it is one of my favorite short films ever! I guess it will give you a glimpse into the fact that I truly have some problems. Enjoy!<br /><br /><embed src="http://media.mtvnservices.com/mgid:hcx:content:atom.com:c3873f3a-4cf8-410d-ab6f-44ee5f56381f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="window" allowfullscreen="true" flashvars="autoPlay=false" height="354" width="425"></embed><div style="border-top: 1px solid rgb(52, 63, 67); padding: 5px 0pt 7px; background: rgb(0, 0, 0) none repeat scroll 0% 50%; text-align: center; width: 426px; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; font-size: 10px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;"><a href="http://www.atom.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.atom.com/i/universal/atom_20.jpg" /></a> <a href="http://www.atom.com/funny_videos/" target="_blank" style="margin: 0pt 5px; color: rgb(193, 221, 242);">Funny Videos</a> | <a href="http://www.atom.com/channels/category_cartoons/" target="_blank" style="margin: 0pt 5px; color: rgb(193, 221, 242);">Funny Cartoons</a> | <a href="http://www.atom.com/" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(193, 221, 242); margin-left: 5px;">More Video Clips</a></div>Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103244.post-6587139842572794452008-07-15T11:20:00.008-04:002008-07-24T17:37:14.861-04:00Title Irrelevant<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RuFExBGkQYk&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RuFExBGkQYk&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /><br />Monday, July 14, 2008, would have been my mother's 57th birthday. She died when she was 43. Shortly after giving birth to her fourth child (she lost her third due to miscarriage), her host of health issues surfaced. She spent a month in the hospital. I was six, younger than my Ladybug is now. I remember her letting me get in her hospital bed and eat her ice cream. That is who she was. Her predicament was irrelevant. She wanted those around her, and her children especially, to be comfortable and at ease. During the year of these events, my mother turned 32; this year, I turn 32.<br /><br />It's easy to diefy a person when they're gone. You remember all of the good and none of the bad. That's not the case here. My mother's foot had a permanent addresss in my behind. Sometimes, I still maintain that she was extra, but she also knew I was full of nonsense and shenanigans. She had no intention of allowing me to turn my life into shit on her watch. I went to great lengths to attempt to be a "bad girl," but my mother fought that. Ferociously.<br /><br />What impressed me most about my mother, was that she didn't just fight for me because I was her daughter. She did so because I was a human being, and she desired happiness and success for everyone. If you were to speak to anyone who had the pleasure of her company, they would echo that sentiment. Her funeral was filled with countless people, crying as though they had lost their best friend. Young people, who on any other occasion, would have assumed the stance of stoic ambivalence, breaking down as though they had lost their own mother. But that is how she touched people. When she talked to, laughed with, or counseled you, she was your best friend. When she hugged you, she was your mother. There was never an ulterior motive to her kindness. She was a kind person, because that's how she believed she should be.<br /><br />The last conversation I had with her was over the phone. I remember the conversation on her end seeming rather forced. What, really, do you talk about to your 17 year old kid when you know that you're dying? I offhandedly mentioned something we could do when she got out of the hospital. She began to cry. For years, I thought it's because she knew she was dying and she was afraid. I will not say that my mother was a superhuman being with no fear of the unknonwn that is death, but I only believe that played a small role. However, the first time I held Finge in my arms, I knew it was because she couldn't bear to leave behind her children. Even at the very end, she was worried about us.<br /><br />Since I was the oldest, I did the most as far as helping my mother was concerned. I remember once, being home with her, going through our daily routine of cleaning, general care and such. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and tearfully apologized for me having to go through "all this" when I should be having fun. The same woman who took care of me in a body cast; the same woman who would stay up all night sewing just so that her four daughters would have new, pretty dresses for church; the same woman who declined countless wedding and party invitations because, according to her, "I have four girls - that's a party in and of itself." This woman was offering me an apology for doing for her what she had done for us our whole lives - a thousand fold.<br /><br />My father picked her final dress. I can only hope, with every fiber of my being, that it has disintegrated into nothingness. It was a pink contraption with matching lipstick. My mother LIVED in technicolor: oranges, bright yellows, bold purples, red (never enough red), fuschias and teals. No pinks. Not ever. For the better part of two years I watched my mother with an unparallelled sense of sadness. I couldn't change her loss of health. I couldn't change her loss of spirit. I couldn't change her loss of life. I couldn't even change that stupid pink dress. But I could change her lipstick. Radiant Red was her color; Fashion Fair her brand. I didn't see any reason for that to change. My cousin produced a tube from her purse and we changed it.<a href="javascript:void(0)" tabindex="10" onclick="return false;"><span></span></a><br /><br />Finding an appropriate ending for this post is so difficult, because, how do you wrap up in a few paragraphs, someone who had such a profound effect on everything that you are? It dawned on me that, in a couple of years, my mother will have been gone from me longer than I knew her. Despite that, I still carry her with me every day. I look at Finge and know how she would have spoiled him rotten (she wanted more boys in the family). I laugh when I think of how she would have dressed up Ladybug and let her play with her wigs. When I am at my lowest, and most lost, she shows up in my dreams. So no, I can't form a typical "conclusion" on this post. I can just promise you that there will be another.Breezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01487826139719603042noreply@blogger.com4