Impetuous

I'm 28 years old and I still don't think things through totally. When there are choices to be made, I will invariably choose wrong - I believe I've said that before. If I haven't, I'm stating it for the record now. My goal now is to work on that flaw because it's really not attractive at all. This flaw affects all aspects of my life, including friendships.

My life is really at a standstill and I have a slew of decisions to make. Every single aspect of my personal life is in upheaval and I really don't know what my next step should be. Everybody seems to be under the impression that I am strong enough to handle the things that are going on with me, but they're mistaken. I'm not. If I were, I wouldn't be having the problems I have now. I have spent my entire life trying to make everybody happy. The problem with that is, when you attempt to do that, you make everyone unhappy.

There's a part of me that believes that the right decisions are in my heart and it's just a matter of implementing them, but until I figure out what those decisions are, I'm going to be running in circles. I guess this is just turning out to be a rough day, but I guess I've had rougher, so I'm sure I'll make it through.

The Act of Selling and Redeeming Wolf Tickets

The best and worst thing about me is my big mouth. I am truly not one of those people that make an issue out of everything, but once something has become an issue for me, things can get ugly. Even deeper than that, is the overwhelming desire to follow up my words with actions. Allow me to explain.

On my second day of kindergarten, I got into a fight. This girl named Tiffany and I went to the same baby sitter and she HATED me. Evidently, to her, I seemed like the chick to fool with, so she just walked up to me on the yard and shoved me. Given the fact that I already had the reputation for being a fighter, and got in trouble on the FIRST day of school for catching the bus (when I had a ride and NO idea where I was going), my mother sent me off with the instructions to "not act a fool" that day. So I told her to leave me alone and walked on. She started pitching rocks at me and I made a few disparaging remarks about her appearance so she came at me. I told her "If you come over here, I'm gonna bite the devil out of you." Evidently that gave her an idea so she ran up and bit my arm. Unfortunately for her, that put her face in an extremely vulnerable position. I put a pit bull lock on her cheek and wouldn't let go. For some reason, the teachers that didn't witness her push and throw rocks at me did catch me trying to rip her face off. Maybe it was the screams that clued them in. In any event, I got in trouble that day at school, but my sitter and my family, who knew of my woes with Tiff, found the whole thing hilarious. I had EXCELLENT role models. I also had few, if any, problems with Tiffany or anybody else for the rest of the year.

Fast forward to fourth grade. By then, my cussing skills were sharp as a suit at the Players' Ball. Even my older brother was impressed. About this time, I also developed this bold rebellion that defied reason, considering my parents never hesitated to put their feet in my ass. For some reason, my fourth grade teacher, Ms. Gourrier, plucked my nerves. I had been threatening to curse her out for weeks and of course, none of the kids believed I would do it. On this particular day, the class was rowdy and she decided that she would take our PE time from us. For some inexplicable reason, I decided that was the time to make good on my threat. The PLAN was, while all the other kids were protesting, I would make my move - hopefully being drowned out by the cacophony, yet being heard by my seat mates and keeping my word. The words "BITCH you must be out of your fucking mind" came out so quickly, I barely had the chance to realize that my utterance of the word "bitch" silenced the room. She turned nine shades of purple and asked, "What did you just say to me?" At that point, it was done and I couldn't back down. I knew I was in trouble either way, so I figured I'd go out in a blaze of glory. Though part of my brain was telling me to shut the fuck up, the part that ruled my mouth made me say, "I know damn well you heard me." She knew that my mother didn't play that, so she called her at work. I wasn't suspended, but the moment I got home, my parents set up a tag team ass whipping extravaganza. Of course, it didn't stop me permanently, but it did earn my teacher about two weeks of peace from me.

My family thought that as I matured, my mouth would do the same, and it did - to a point. It took a lot to set me off, but once I did get set off, shit went full throttle. I was a new mother, on a family trip to AstroWorld. I did, and do, not play when it comes to the well being of my child and woe to the person that threatens it. Ty was only about 4 months old. Some bad ass kid jumped over his stroller, and I told him to keep his ass away from me. He turned around and made some reference to getting his mother. My response was "Call your damn mama!" Within five minutes, I was face to face with one of the biggest women I had ever seen in all my days. Common sense told me to get the hell out of there, but something else said "If you don't stand up for yourself and your child, who will?" It was bullshit though. Part of it was for my child, but the other part was for my big ass ego. What's funny though, is the fact that if that woman would have gotten a-hold of me, standing probably would have been a distant memory. I stood my ground and went word for word with her. She told me "I don't know who in the hell you think you are talking to my damned child like that. You fucked with the wrong one." To which I replied, "Maybe if you CONTROLLED your child, we wouldn't even be having this conversation, so I'll do you a favor. . . AFTER I beat your ass, I'm gonna beat his ass so that he remembers not to act a fool and jump over strollers." I said it, but the whole time I was talking, I was thinking, "This behemoth is going to grind me into powder." I surveyed the area for something to crack her dome with and was coming up with nada. Evidently, it got to be too much for some of the other folks, because security showed up and escorted both of our parties to our cars. That was a lucky day because that big bitch was going to make mincemeat out of me.

I'm sure that I referred to the fact that one of the reasons behind my divorce was physical abuse. Once I left my ex, I told him "you've gotten your last free lick off me." I planned for there to be some consequences and repercussions. After months of him harassing and threatening me, things came to a head in June of 2002. We were having a disagreement in a hallway outside of my pregnant cousin's apartment. He was angry because I would not let him in. We were going back and forth when out the blue, he popped the shit out of me. He was cocking back to hit me again and the words "last free lick" popped into my head. I then proceeded to execute one of the best rabbit punches of all my life. I must say, I dazed the hell out of his ass. He shook a little bit and tried to hit me again. I was feeling cocky, so I drew back, swung and damn near took his jaw off. Unfortunately, the next thing I remember is catching a pool of blood in my hand. It turns out the motherfucker hit me with a key ring and damn near broke my nose. What a beyotch. But what can I say. I just told him it was his last free lick. . . I didn't say I would whip his ass. I can say that was the last time he ever put his hands on me.

If I believed in reincarnation

I would believe that I was a man in a past life. Here's why:

I can not bring myself to put TP on an empty roll. It doesn't even occur to me to do it. I have NOOOO desire to do it. The same goes for refilling ice cube trays. Two simple tasks that I hate to the core of my being.

Were it not for motherhood, I'd probably live off of ramen, hot wings, pizza and alcohol.

I find toilet humor INGENIOUS!

In my opinion, the Lifetime channel and the Lifetime Movie Network, aka Uber-Estrogen Entertainment, are abominations before the gods of television. Their creators should be stoned.

The mere thought of dishwashing brings tears to my eyes, so I kind of . . . well, I don't.

I forget shit. As in, EVERYTHING.

I shamelessly eyeball men - to the point that they feel cheap and used. AND I LOVE IT!

I think that my boobs are awesome! After I had my first kid, I used to go into the bathroom and look at my "gifts".

I think that going to sporting events and screaming to the point of elevating my blood pressure, at people who will have no impact on my life whatsoever is the sign of an awesome evening.

After sex, well, back when I actually used to have sex, I want a snack, maybe a drink and some silence. Hate to be rude, but I really don't want to know what you're thinking or share what I'm thinking. Especially if I found the act sub par.

Though I am an adult, I could play video games for HOURS.

I will pull a wedgie in public. Granted, it has to be an extreme wedgie, but be forewarned, it WILL be removed.

If I am pushed to fight, my logic will be overshadowed by my ego and I will plunge headfirst into an ass whipping, retaining the satisfaction that I defended my honor, and laugh about my swollen lip.

I like watching a good fight.

I believe that shooting and explosions enhance movies.

Taking things apart that I have no clue how to fix is my idea of a good time. I love the challenge it presents.

I will say "Ok, you're right" if it will get you to shut the fuck up.

Touching my remote is high treason.

Porn . . . PLEASE BELIEVE ME!

Touching the settings on my car stereo are grounds for being dismissed from my car.

If I ask a direct question, and the response consists of more than five words, I stop listening.

The greatest proof is the fact that I think that these qualities are not only normal, but admirable. So deal with it or bite me.

Haiku to a Dumbass

You're back in the world
Do you now cherish freedom?
Or stuck on dumb shit?

Summertiiiiiiiiime, and the livin's easy

UNLESS you are an open toed shoe. You could be subjected to some of the most heinous environments known to man, er, woman. Summertime is right around the corner. Here in good old New Orleans, temperatures are already in the mid to upper 70s. There's something about summer that makes a certain type of woman turn crazier than a shithouse rat when it comes to matters of fashion. So, in the spirit of sisterhood, I will pass on a few helpful hints. The thinking woman will find the reasoning behind them is self-explanatory. If I can reach one, it will have been well worth it.

If your back resembles a bursted pack of biscuits, halter tops are not for you.

Don't let the heat overrule common sense. A few no no combinations: miniskirt/chicken legs, v-neck/flat chest, puffy feet/strappy shoes - you get the picture.

BUY YOUR SHOE SIZE DAMMIT! You know who you are.

To wear lipgloss is cute - wearing lipliner is divine. Stop walking around like you've been attacked by a wild pork chop.

Ass crack is NOT the new pink.

If you have feet like Tyrone Biggums, do not wear open toe shoes until you've sought medical care and have had at least 3 pedicures.

Bullet wounds aren't the new pink either.

I know that this is the year of the BBW and self acceptance is a beautiful thing. HOWEVER, if you're 300 pounds and elect wearing a see through top with next to nothing underneath . . . I'm shooting you my damn self.

Sister to sister, all that weave looks hot and heavy. The heat emanating from your scalp is making me sweat. As a matter of fact, that's not club smoke you see around you, that's vapor.

Lastly, if you see your girlfriend going out wrong, tap her on shoulder and help her out. Those that see these wrongs, yet say nothing are even more guilty than the offenders.

Random

It's messed up when you find everything you never knew you always wanted encased in someone that you've always known you should never want.

Can I shine?

What's the matter with your life?

Why you gotta mess with mine?

Don't keep sweatin' what I do

Cuz I'm gonna be just fine - check it out

[CHORUS]

If I wanna take a guy home with me tonight

It's none of your business

And she wanna be a freak and sell it on the weekend

It's none of your business

Now you shouldn't even get into

who I'm givin' skins to

It's none of your business

So don't try to change my mind,

I'll tell you one more time

It's none of your business

Now who do you think you are

Puttin' your cheap two cents in?

Don't you got nothin' to do

Than worry 'bout my friends? Check it...

I can't do nothin', girl, without somebody buggin'

I used to think that it was me, but now I see it wasn't

They told me to change, they called me names,

and so I popped one

Opinion's are like assholes and everybody's got one

I never put my nose where I'm not supposed to

Believe me, if he's something that I want, I'm steppin' closer

I'm not one for playing high-pole

Like the high siddity 90210 type of the ho

I treat a man like he treats me

The difference between a hooker and a ho ain't nothin' but a fee

So hold your tongue tightly,

wish you could be like me

You're poppin' all that mess only to stress and to spite me

Now you can get with that or you can get with this

But I don't give a shit cuz really it's none of your business

-Salt N Pepa

Damn! Can my people and I have fun? Can folks speak their minds without bystanders getting their panties in a bunch? Don't like the program? Change the channel.

Okay, venting over. Go back to your lives citizens.

Addendum - Please allow me to credit Danja for posting this song first...though GOD only knows why. I mean I don't think she wrote it. colored folks . . .I tell ya. She also has this thing with folks using "her" words . . . as though her name is Webster's or something. Ah well. I love her funky self anyway.

It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye

The mystique of dating a married (or otherwise committed) man is something I've never been interested in dissecting. Nothing is sexier than honesty. A committed man can't be involved with someone else and remain honest. When you have knowledge of a person's dishonesty, I would think that you'll always wonder "When is it my turn? When is that person going to be dishonest with me?" Or maybe it's just me who thinks that way.

I had a friend, my first roommate as a matter of fact, who dated married men. She was a serial married-man-dater. It was quite disturbing to watch a married guy sit at her apartment, on his cell phone with his wife telling her that he was at "Tony's" house. What was more disturbing was my homegirl just flitting around like it wasn't a thing. I, on the other hand, was about to piss my (then still virgin) panties. I just KNEW that she had a LoJack implanted in his genitals, was on her way and somehow I would get caught up in the bloody crossfire. When I expressed my concerns, my friend casually replied, "Oh, she always calls when he leaves the house. She probably knows he's with somebody, she's just not sure who." Daaaaaamn . . . that's messed up. Scratch that . . . that's FUCKED UP!

Now she has a husband . . . and is quaking in her boots. She suffers from PTSD (Post-Triflin' Stress Disorder). Now that she's decided to stop cheating, she is scared to death that her man is on his cell phone at "Tony's" house.

I know quite a few women who deal with the same issues. My ex's current wife is among them. It was cool when I was the one being left at home, but now that he's pulling disappearing acts on her, she's talking all slick to me when I call out of necessity. BLAH.

Karma really isn't something to fool with.

Men that don't bother me

Yes smarty pants, such things exist. I have spent a lot of my blog time talking about men that bother me, yet I don't speak much about men that don't. So in all fairness, I will list some male non family members that don't bother me. I'll go so far as to say, I actually like these dudes.

1. My friend JC

He's a wonderful pain in the ass. Some days I have a crush on him, some days I want to drive to his town and let the air out of his tires. However, he's great. I can count on him when I want honesty and the occasional twisted compliment. He gives me advice like "Stop reading so much and have some sex dammit!" I tend to find it funny (except when I have the occasional crush on him). He's one of those cats that knows something about a little bit of everything, which is a handy trait most of the time.

2. My friend MW

He's my sweetie pie!!! We have been friends for a long time. If I wasn't such a bitch and he wasn't such a wuss, we probably would have dated at some point. But alas, the bitchiness and wussiness triumphed, so we're just good friends. We bonded through our eclectic personalities and copious knowledge of useless facts. We can always find something to laugh and talk about. He's a horndog, and sometimes I think he wants my booty, but nobody's perfect and his good points outweigh whatever else he has going on.

3. My friend RF

I have a confession. I am the tiniest bit crazy about him. He's funny, encouraging, extremely intelligent, cute. . . *sigh, swoon* I could go on. The oddest thing is, as honest as I have been with every other guy that I've been interested in, I've never told him that I have a major league crush on him. It doesn't matter, because he moved away to Chicago to go to school and is mad busy. I still get bright eyed when I hear from him though. Dammit! I can't post too much about him because I'll end up sounding all mushy and high school-ish.

4. My friend NG

He's really and truly a cutie. I used to have a crush on him and he kissed me once. Shortly afterward, he said that we should "just be friends." I spent a while wanting to punch him in the nose. Then I just got over it one day and we were buds again. He's really cool to talk to and cool to hang around. No harm, no foul. He also has more paid leave on his job than I thought humanly possible. HE AIN'T GOT NO JOB MANNNNNN! Hee hee.

5. My friend LS

He's probably my best male friend. He sucks because now that he has a girlfriend, I hardly ever hear from him, but he's good folk anyway. If I need something, he's on the spot without a thought. So I GUESS I can deal with him having to spend time with his girl. Even if he don't get no bigga. . .

6. My friend AM

He is the quintessential gentleman and sweetie pie. I had to actually come back and add him to this post. I can't imagine HOW I forgot him. He's extremely smart, a doctor as a matter of fact, cute and funny as well. He tells some of the most unbelievable stories I've ever heard. I've given him a category in life called "Just A__" because these things could never happen to, or be told by, anyone else.

Honorable Mention

These are guys that I haven't had the pleasure of hanging out with, but they're still good folk in cyberland:

1. My chat buddy CJ

He's mad smart, sarcastic, a fellow Sag and has beautiful dreds. How can I not be cool with someone possessing those qualities?

3. My chat buddy K

He's cool and funny. . . even if he did say my pic looked like something out of the 80's. I won't hold it against him. He's fun to talk to and keeps me laughing. Plus he agrees that New Orleans has some of the best food in the world.

Whew! Dishing out compliments...and it didn't hurt a bit.

Mel's Rotten Tomato Pitching Extravaganza!!!

If you are familiar with my blog, you know that I have a surly side and get annoyed by some harmless stuff. I love poking fun at that which annoys me. What better thing to do on a rainy day (since I can't engage in mind bending sex) than mentally pitch rotten tomatoes at life's little annoyances?

I have a very firm belief about what should happen to the individual who spawned, as well as the individuals that use, the term "overstand". Each individual should be shot and buried. The earth where their remains lie is to be salted to prevent anything from growing there, but I'll settle for hurling a tomato. I'm assuming that this expression was coined to become a clever, intelligent substitute for the word understand. Wooooohooooo we don't want to be UNDER anything. The individuals using this word remind me of the character portrayed by Damon Wayans on "In Living Color." You remember the dude. . . he would always create big words to give off an air of an intellectualist. He would run around saying things like "Suppress your deFLEcation" and whatnot. Poor sap. The thing is, he was a character in a sketch comedy series - the overstanders are in earnest. These are the same people that believe that since "conversate" has been added to the dictionary, it should be used. *sigh* What am I going to do with my people? *SPLAT!*

Though I recognize that a public lavatory is, well, public, but there is are unwritten rules that should be followed. Namely, if a stall is in use, and there are three other available stalls, do NOT use the adjacent stall. Come on! What the hell is wrong with you? It's a "personal space" concept. Get with it. *SPLAT!*

When new folks ask the question "Did you miss me?" or some other intimate question inappropriate to a new situation/relationship. This is not a male or a female thing. I've seen both sexes commit this grave folly. I concede that there have been occasions where two people meet and hit it off. Sometimes though, one hits it out of the park. . .leaving the other in the stands. Take it easy people. Shit like that is how stalking begins. *SPLAT!*

All to often, I encounter people who believe that black folks are a monolith. If someone of another ethnicity were to walk up to a black person and assume that they like chicken, the gut reaction is to become highly offended. It's an ignorant stereotype. That being said, why is it okay for other black folks to assume what movies, books, television shows, politicians and just general ideology, black people should approve of and support? This needs no explanation. . . *SPLAT!* As a matter of fact, folks that generalize by race, sex, or beliefs as a matter of course *SPLAT!*

The terms "ATM Machine" and "PIN Number" bug me. Especially since one would be saying "Automated Teller Machine Machine" and "Personal Identification Number Number" The average layperson says it without thinking. They go to the bank, that's what the rep calls it and ultimately, so sayeth they. I spent quite a few years working for a bank and almost ALL of the employees, who should arguably no better, used these terms. This one is for you. *SPLAT!*

People under the age of 50 that wear fanny packs. *SPLAT!* (I'm biased towards people over the age of 50 since my daddy wears them. Call me a hypocrite - I don't care. He paid my car insurance last month and is a positive male influence for my kids, so he can pretty much do whatever the hell he wants.)

Men with pigtails. *blank stare* and *SPLAT!*

I guess that's it for now. Then again, what could possibly come after men who choose to wear their hair like my four year old daughter.

Mel - Hurling tomatoes for over 20 years.

I Could Have Lied

There must be something
In the way I feel

That she don't want me to feel

The stare she bares cut me

I don't care

You see so what if I bleed

I could never change

Just what I feel

My face will never show

What is not real

A mountain never seems to have

The need to speak

A look that shares so many seek

The sweetest feeling

I got from you

The things I said to you were true

I could never change

Just what I feel

My face will never show

What is not real

[Chorus]

I could have lied

I'm such a fool

My eyes could never never never

Keep their cool

Showed her and I told her how

She struck me but I'm fucked up now

But now she's gone yes she's gone away

A soulful song

That would not stay

You see she hides 'cause she is scared

But I don't care

I won't be spared

- Red Hot Chili Peppers

I'm naked. Emotionally, that is. I feel without fear. You don't have to guess with me. If you spend any amount of time with me, you will be shown, and probably told, exactly how I feel. I wonder if that's a good way to be? Sometimes, people are not ready to hear what I feel, which ultimately means they are not ready for me. Of all the things I have been able to shroud, my feelings have never been among them. Lately, I've questioned the wisdom of my complete emotional honesty. Maybe sometimes, I should lie.

Childless People

Sometimes I really don't like them. Especially single childless people. The total unaccountability of it all. It just makes me want to vomit. Yeah, I'm hating, so what? The thing is, some single, childless people don't understand my pain.

When my single, childless girlfriends tells me that she has met the perfect man and thinks I should date him, I must resist the urge to slap the shit out of her. If he was that perfect, she'd be dating him. End of story. I have encountered a vast array of characters and issues listening to my friends. These include: horndog/man-whore, major BO, chronic between job-ness, mama's boy syndrome, a descendant of Lilliput, old enough to be my father's older uncle, extreme dorkiness, several ex-wives, preoccupation with dull or odd topics and what I refer to as "damp mouth" (always looking unnecessarily moist around the mouth). More times than not, she thinks she's done me a solid by setting us up, you know, since the dating pool for my single, parent self is soooo small. If the date is unsuccessful and and I'm still speaking to the heffa (even if it's just to ask her what the fuck she was thinking), she usually justifies her judgment by saying something like, "Girrrrrrrl, you better get on that man, he make goot money." I couldn't give a flying fart on the rings of Saturn what he does or how much he makes, there is nothing I can do with a 5'1, moist mouthed man with BO that lives with his mama.

Far too often, the single, childless men that I date only have eyes (and ears) for themselves. This is the man that can't do anything but talk about what he does, where he does it, how good he looks while he's doing it, what he drives, what he'll be driving next, who he used to date, what type of women he has no patience for, blah, Blah, BLAH!!! Shut the fuck up you verbose summamabitch! Once I've been verbally pummelled into silence, one of two things happens, he either asks me why I'm not talking he tells me that he likes me because I "know how to listen to a brotha." The fact is, since he knows absolutely nothing about me (or the rest of humanity in general since he only pays attention to himself), he does not realize that I'm damn near bored to the point of tears.

Many single, childless people (especially middle/upper middle class) have no concept of financial reality. I had a friend that told me that it would be better for me if I quit my current job, took on a waitressing job and go to school. That way, my schedule could be flexible and I could live off student loans in the meantime. Shut up you twit. In this instance, I thought about siccing my children on her. There is no way on this earth I can financially cope on my own as a part time anything and raise two kids.

My two favorite things to hear from a single childless person are "Why don't you just get a sitter?" and "Why don't you just send them to bed?" Both sound easy. . . neither actually are. Most parents need breaks because the kids are bad as hell. Sitters know this and therefore, aren't usually inclined to deal with bad ass so and sos that don't belong to them, not without receiving a hefty fee at least. As far as putting a kid to bed, at least with my kids, you have to damn near be a belt wielding samurai octopus. When you get one down, the other gives you issues, once that one is down, the other one is stirred again. If I had a nickel for every time I have said go to bed in the past year, I would be able to pay the plastic surgery bills for Lil' Kim, Viveca and Demi twice over.

This year my sister has taken pity on me (THANK YOU!) and is going to take my children to spend some time with her this summer. Maybe then I can lose my senses and enjoy an (albeit temporary) unaccountable existence.

Rwanda Redux?

http://www.kansascity.com/mld/kansascity/news/consumer_news/11154568.htm

http://www.alertnet.org/thefacts/reliefresources/111038817665.htm

Yo, the media really doesn't give a fuck about what happens in Africa, does it? I see why black folks are a minority - we get slaughtered by the MILLIONS and no one hears about it. Ain't that some shit?

Monday's Child is Full of Grace

She is the embodiment of joy. She loves ponies, princesses and dolls. Sometimes I go in the room just to watch her sleep; or ask her a question just to hear her speak. The funny thing is, I didn't even want a daughter. The birth and upbringing of my son went so swimmingly, I couldn't wait to bring another boy into this world. Sneakers and basketballs all the way. Ribbons were NOWHERE in the vision.

When the doctor told me I was having a girl, I smiled and was grateful that I was blessed with yet another healthy baby, but a smidge disappointed. I grew up with three sisters, so I'd had my fill of dealing with the additional estrogen. The thought of the mega-fro that I knew I would have to comb was enough to bring tears to my eyes.

On Monday, March 5, my little Jaedyn entered the world. Her personality was evident from day one. Jaedyn was also delivered by C-section. (There are folks that argue that C-sections aren't really "having" the baby. My ass extends an invitation to their lips.) I remembered being on the table when I had Ty, there was this enormous amount of pressure, then out popped the baby. Not so with the diva. I felt this enormous amount of pressure, then it it stopped. Then I felt another enormous amount of pressure, then it stopped. After the third time, I had to ask what happened and they all laughed. "I'm sorry Mrs. ___, but she keeps curling back in." They eventually suctioned her out (literally) and showed me a carbon copy of Tyson. She was tinier and had a somewhat softer look, but they were definitetly brother and sister.

However, I faced the challenge of making the ladybug welcome, without upsetting the little person who up until that point, was the sole owner of my heart. So I made her his baby. I made sure that he was a part of everything that needed to be done for her. That way, rather than her taking over, she was fitting in.

She was the best baby I've ever encountered in all of my days. She slept at night, she was easy to console and she was extremely quiet. Once while I was taking a nap, her dad told me that he was going out and taking the kids. I took that as an opportunity to do some grocery shopping, so I hopped in the shower, got dressed and headed out the door. As I put my key in the door, I realized that her dad left without taking her car seat, so I went back in the house to call him, find out where he was and bring him the car seat. There Jae was in the seat, playing with the buckle on her seat, quiet as a mouse.

Of course, that lasted until she was about a year. She turned into the most hellacious child I've ever encountered in all of my days. She's a princess, she's a diva, she's a mommy to her dolls and she's a complete sweetheart - most of the time. I joke about renting her out to folks with self-esteem issues. By the time she finishes telling you how beautiful and sweet and nice you are, you CAN'T be depressed.

Her eyes are her most striking feature. It's not their copper-brown hue or large almond shape that grabs you - it's the life that is in them. She does everything passionately. She's not afraid, she's "so TOTALLY scared." She doesn't think you look good, you look "super gorgeous." She's not angry with you, she'll "never be your friend forever n'ever."

She has most of the people in her life hypnotized: my dad, her dad's parents, her brother, my sisters. It's hilarious to me, but I guess that's all a part of the fabulous life of a princess.

Movies I Would Have REALLY Wanted to See

"Disappearing Acts"
"Thelma & Louise"
"Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood"

Women flock to see these movies so they can say things like "it was touching", "it's very poignant" and, through tears, "I felt like it was about me and my friends!!!" Uh I'm sorry, but did you see Angela Bassett's house in "Waiting to Exhale"? None of my broke ass girlfriends have it like that. I also have yet to know of a woman that went to Jamaica on a whim. Biloxi, maybe. . . Myrtle Beach if they're being "exotic", but never Jamaica. So I'm going to list some titles of movies that I'd like to see, that would make me feel comfortable.

1. "Disappearing Ass" - Young urban professional sister struggles with a weight problem. She meets a roughneck type brother that blows her back out, causing her to shed pounds in the process. She ultimately realizes that he is a loser, dumps him, but enjoys her new found weight loss.

2. "How Stella Got Her Income Tax" - Single mother is laid off, but fortunately, she's just received her W-2. She immediately goes to Turbo Tax on the web (because she's decided that Jackson Hewitt sucks ASS!), recieves a rapid refund and is able to stay afloat until she finds a new job.

3. "Waiting to Choke-Slam" - Four women - one left for a white woman, one living a life as the other woman, one finding out about a gay ex-husband and one just generally being dizzy - decide they have had it up to here! After the backs of their proverbial camels have been broken, watch as these women ceremoniously beat the crap out of everyone that commits even the most minor infraction.

4. "Divine Secrets of the Front Hook Bra" - One woman's quest to find the front hooked bra that never unfastens in public.

5. "Kecia & Sherelle" - After telling their SO's to fuck off, these two sisters decide that crime sprees are for white folks, go to Mexico with little incident, and open a popular soul food joint in Guadalajara.

Ahhhhh...if this world were mine.

Information Age? Yeah...right.

This morning, a judge and two other individuals were killed in a
courtroom. This is a very tragic event that has been all over the
news. My prayers are with their families.

However, this morning, ELEVEN members of a New Orleans family were
killed in a fire. I'm attaching the link that tells the story.

http://www.nola.com/news/t-p/frontpage/index.ssf?/base/news-3/111052592523900.xml

Though this information was on the first page of the local paper, I
haven't seen it anywhere else? Why? Because eleven broke ass niggas
don't rank in the media. They don't now...and they haven't ever. Now,
were this a story about the father coming in and shooting his eleven
family members to death, CNN, FOX News, AP and Reuters would have
broken their necks to ensure this tale be broadcast far and wide.

In all honesty, this is nothing more than what I expected from the
media, but somewhere, in a hope beyond hope, I'd like to think that 11
black lives would register on the national radar, even if it's only
for a day. Maybe I'm pissed because Jon Benet Ramsey is still in the
media spotlight and most of America will never know that nine year old
Stephanie Wilson existed.

We can go all around the mulberry bush regarding the bad judgment in
having that number of people in a small house and the complete
stupidity that caused the tragedy. However, in the end, eleven human
lives were lost. Four children will not be in school today. Three
children will never even know what school looks like. We will NEVER
know what six month old Hyron could have become. Saturday, March 5
will be marked as the last time Sylvain Johnson ever bought candy for
his children. Ireone has lost everyone, save her own child. The salt
on this gaping wound is that, not only does the national media not
care, but it's obviously under the belief that the majority of America
doesn't either.

Booty - Erykah Badu

Your booty might be bigga
But I still can pull your nigga
But I don't want him

Ya got sugar on your pita
But ya nigga thinks I'm sweeter
But I don't want him

Ya know the whole encyclopedia
But ya nigga thinks I'm deeper
But I don't want him

Got a whole lot a junk off in ya trunk
But ya nigga think I'm live and I keep him crunk
I don't want him

Hey, hey, heyI don't want him
cause of what he doin to you
And you don't need him
Cause he ain't ready
See I don't want him
If he ain't made no arrangement with you
I hope you would've done the same thing for me too

Your kisses might be wetter
But your nigga likes mine better
But I don't want him

Ya got the beans and rice and the hot ho cakes
But ya nigga still over here in my plate
I don't want him

Ya got a PHD, Magna Cum Laude
But ya nigga love me with a GED
I don't want him

You the one with all the money
And he knows my money's funny
But I don't want him

Hey, hey, hey
I don't want him
Cause of what he doin to you
And you don't need him
Cause the boy ain't ready

Got ya pad all decked out fa sho
But ya niggas at my door, though
I don't want him

Well you can do the butterfly and the tootsie roll
But ya nigga straight sprung off the way I stroll
I don't want him

Ya know the whole 120 + degree
But you can't keep ya guy up off his knees
I don't want him

Got a 9-5 and a 6-10
But ya nigga told me not to work again I don't want him

Hey, hey, heyI don't want him
Cause of what he doin to you
And you don't need him
Cause he ain't ready

Booty - Erykah Badu

This is a dedication for all the tired ass folks that are cheaters, pursuing cheaters, holding on to cheaters or trying to build shit with cheaters. Wake the hell up.

"Whose is it?" and Other undesirable Sayings

1. "Da bomb", "Haaaaaaaaaaay Girlfriend", "My bad" and "You got it going on"

If you are over the age of 50 (40 for white folks...sorry, it's an ugly truth) you are hereby obligated to cease and desist uttering the above referenced phrases. The sun has set on your days of slang usage. The hour for cornball language and fanny packs is nigh.

2. "One years old"

One is singular...work it out.

3. "Crunk"

I've also heard this supplemented with "extra" as in "extra crunk". If Lil Jon represents crunk I'm not even trying to ascertain what's involved in extra crunk. It sounds scary, evil and like something that would cause one to lose an eye.

4. "I'm Rick James Bitch"

No. . . you're not. You're Joe Parker and evidently not creative enough to make up your own jokes and sayings. I'm sure Dave Chappelle would thank me for telling you "Shut the fuck up!"

5. "I would see my son/daughter but his/her mama be actin' funny"

Stop it. If a person violates a court order, they go to jail. Guess what? That includes custody orders. Do me a favor - get off your ass, stop making excuses and fight for your relationship with your child.

6. "You look married"

Someone asked what a guy means when he asks that. This is a prime example of bullshit silk. If you don't have a ring, you don't look married. You might look unconcerned, anxious, content, relaxed, at ease, uptight...but there is no such thing as looking married. That's like saying "You look like you have a sister." I'll tell you what a guy means when he asks that - you're doable, and he's opening up the lines of booty communication.

7. "Cunt", "Cock", "Shaft". . . you get the picture

Those words sound base and stupid to me. Unless you are living in a porno flick, eliminate them from your vocabulary expeditiously.

8. "Cuz see, I'm a real man/woman about mine" aka "I know I'm a good man/woman"

Newsflash - The real/good men and women are far too busy doing the shit that makes them real and good to make pronouncements and seek accolades. Shut up, improve yourself and screw the haters when necessary.

9. "Well, until he starts actin' right, he ain't gon' see his kids"

You are the moron that provides fodder for the brothers described in Number 5. Whether he's a dog, doesn't want you, or maybe is just immature for your tastes, please remember, he is the doggish, immature, flighty dude that you decided to have unprotected sex with. Live with the consequences of your actions, grow up and stop using your children as pawns.

10. "Whose is it?"

If you have to ask, it's not yours. Unless you're prepared to hear that it belongs to Jason, but your name is Jeff, don't ask.

*The opinions on this blog do not reflect those of www.blogger.com or its subsidiaries.

Just something floating around...

Strip clubs. Interesting concept. A guy leaves home and grabs money to watch naked women that he can't touch dance around. Hmmm. . . sorry, but I can't get with it. I mean, can't you just hit up Pay Per View in the evening and handle ya biz that way? It's what? $11.99 and you don't even have to tip. J/K!!! I know there are some men who take the titty bars extremely seriously. I can't knock them for that.

However, personally, I'm not a big fan of male strippers. I'm sorry if you happen to read this blog and it offends you. I just can't do it. There's something so horribly cheesy about it. Greasy men come out and dance in tight clothes that they strip off to reveal even tighter undergarments, i.e. what I call the schlong sock. It's gross man. I know chicks that go CRAZY over male strippers, however, any dude that dances around in panties is suspect to me.

Ah well. . . to each his own.

The Single Girl's Soliloquy

I have gone through phases where I had no interest in sex. I have gone through phases where I had no interest in relationships. There are times I believe that I will be single for the rest of my life. Sometimes it bothers me, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes, I am actually happy about it.

However why, whenever I have my program in order, someone steps in and tries to mess it up. Why, whenever I assert my happiness and contentment, someone feels that they have to show me something different. In theory, its fine, but the moment I get comfortable with the idea of having someone around, I get gut-punched. I will come across a seemingly nice brother that finds it horrible that a beautiful sister like me is traversing this earth alone. They make it their aim to show me how much happier my life will be with the right brother at my side. They just neglect to mention that they have no intention of being that brother. That's the way the cookie crumbles I suppose.

I have a very dear friend who has a concise theory of what men are good for. Many times, I am inclined to agree, however, I am of the belief that there are some exceptions to the rule. I never walked around saying "my man is different", but I would approach each situation with what I like to call "hopeful apprehension." By that, I mean this: Given the opportunity, most men will do exactly what they believe that can get away with, and maybe a little more. However, I harbor a tiny hope that the brother I'm dealing with will, for once, prove me wrong. Alas, that has yet to happen.

My very dear and wise friend, made a statement that is so hilariously accurate, I have been repeating it to everyone. It goes as follows:

I mean the headaches involved every time they open their mouths really isn't worth the hassle is it ladies? 99.99999999% os men are cut from the same cloth. This is that popular Bullshit Silk.

Now, before you judge, don't think I'm on some "All men are dogs" bullshit - I'm not. I have a father, who is a beautiful man. Handsome, good provider, loving husband, the whole nine. The same can be said for my brother-in-law. Truth be told, I have a host of male family members who hold it down in many respects. However, the majority of these individuals were MEN when I met them. So I didn't know the horny 17 year-old, the silver tongued 21 year-old or the playalistic 28 year-old. I knew the man they became after they turned that silk into a suitable garment (even if they were frightened into it by the women in their lives). Mind you, all of them still have shit with them, but they're good men. Their goodness outweighs the BSS, so it's acceptable. Hell, us wimmenfolk got shit with us too, so it breaks even with that sort.

However, there are some brothers who egregiously flaunt and drape women in the bullshit silk (colloquially referred to by me as "dat dubioooooni") and this is the brother that I refer to. You see this brother everywhere - on the net, at the club, at the party, in the grocery store, at the car wash (whoa whoa whoa whoa, lol), at the book store, at the poetry readings. . . Oooooooh lord, the poetry readings. . .He's the brother that will "queen" you to death and is always talking bullshit about aromatherapy and drinking your nectars. . . YUCK!

This brother is the plan wrecker. It's not only unfair that I've made the decision to be single. . . it's downright criminal. What ultimately happens is, as soon as I'm comfortable talking to the brother or show any hint of emotion, it can almost hear the door slam and the neon light go off in his eyes saying "GOTCHA BITCH!" I can't even lie, it worked. It worked a lot. Now after years of picking up and dusting off my lil feelings, I get the picture.

So at 28, I stick to my plan. I'm still apprehensively hopeful, but I don't count on anything or anyone. I'm making the most out of what I have, and enjoying myself in the process.

Ranting, Raving and Roaring

Why do people have the tendency to wait until they are grown to turn into idiots? Though I recognize that none of us are immune from indiscretions and bad decisions, there is a cut-off time for certain types of fuck-ups.

The father of my children turns 30 this summer. Recently, he was picked up for possession with intent to distribute. Idiot. To make matters worse, he had the bail bondsman call my father? Can't you just be embarrassed in front of your own family? Must you bring mine into the mix? Besides, isn't 30 a little old to be running around with a bunch of nickel bags. I mean, I'm not for thug life, but by that age, should you have at least two people working for you? Guess not. To quote Sampson Simpson "He's got to be the dumbest muthafucka in the history of the dope game." I guess I'm also a little salty about the fact that he didn't even bother to give the kids any of the nickel bag proceeds.

To be honest, I'm beginning to think that he has a more serious drug problem and that concerns me. I'm not a micro-managing "other parent". When my kids would spend the weekend with him, I wouldn't spend my time calling, checking up, etc. because I know that regardless of the issues he and I have, he loves his children. However, I have seen through other family members how a drug problem can alter your sense of priorities.

Folks tell me "Just keep doing what you're doing and your kids are going to remember you for that." Hell, I don't want to be the "better" parent. I just want to be a parent. Someone who raises kids without having to pick up slack, make excuses and do "extra" to give the appearance of "normal".

He spent 5 years being an adequate father. I hope he can at least get back to that.

"Excuse me ma'am...may I please roll on your booty?"

I love the occasional jaunts to the club. Some weeks, you just need to watch cuties, have a few drinks and dance your cares away. It's an opportunity to forget that you are overworked, underpaid and occasionally under appreciated. You can be as fun, glitzy or 'hood as you want, and feel secure that at least half of the people won't remember your alter ego because they were probably as drunk as you possibly were, or like you, just looking to let their hair down. However, drunk or sober, the club does not excuse barnyard behavior. Let's explore some recurring club scenarios, where the parties went wrong, and what the polite course of action should be.

1. The Free Drink Scenario s/k/a "Uh uh...I bought that bitch a drink!"

It's not at all uncommon for a man to purchase a drink for a woman, and sometimes her friends (I LOVE that type of guy), to catch her attention. A harmless, good-natured gesture. However, this can be tricky. In Bad Situation #1, the man feels that the woman is now indebted to him and should focus all of her attention on him FOR THE REST OF THE EVENING. In Bad Situation #2, the woman feels that the man who purchased her beverage is somehow beneath her and, though accepting the free drink, is rude and dismissive. This can lead to the occasional Bad Situation #3, which is a combination of the aforementioned situations and all hell subsequently breaks loose. However, the Free Drink scenario does not have to be chaotic.

Men - Once you have purchased the drink, I would definitely recommend that you introduce yourself to the lady. (The guy that buys and lurks is a little creepy.) Be friendly, but not imposing. Don't overstay your welcome. If for some reason, there is no chemistry, or the conversation seems forced, then wish her a nice evening, take your leave and continue to have a good time. YOU CLUBBIN' MAN!! Enjoy yo'self! However, if the two of you are enjoying one another's company, then go with that feeling. Have a good time. However, as a caveat, if after a polite conversation, the woman mentions that she has to catch up with her girlfriends, etc., she's probably not interested. But that is an indication that she appreciated your gesture (and evidently was raised with some manners).

Ladies - If a man purchases a drink and introduces himself, even if he does not meet your "standards", please be polite. Seriously - who are you eyeballing? All of the rest of the men in the club that did NOT buy you a drink? It won't hurt to have a conversation with a potentially nice guy. If you're not feeling him, after a five to ten minute conversation, excuse yourself. Luckily with all of the extra baggage we are saddled with as women, we have one all encompassing savior - THE LADIES ROOM. Excuse yourself, bid him a good evening and once you leave the ladies room, pick a new spot. You may also use the old "let me check on my girlfriend(s)" routine if you came out with a group. One of those two should derail even the most ardent pursuers, without necessarily making him feel slighted.

2. The Club Date Scenario s/k/a "Oh HELL NAW! I know she ain't all up on my man like that!"

Simply put, serious couples typically don't go on dates to the entity know as "The Club". I'm sure it's done occasionally, like for birthday parties or other celebrations, but as a rule, a "date" for involved couples, usually doesn't involve the club. That being said, more often than not, if you're on a date at the club, you're not with your man/woman. This is an issue, primarily among women. If the man that you are with begins to dance with another woman, sista, LET IT GO. In a worst case scenario, you have the option of leaving the club. The most baffling aspect of this scenario is that the woman, almost invariably, becomes upset, not with her date, but with the other woman. As though that little succubus had nothing more on her agenda than seducing your man with her mind powers.

This situation can also come about if you happen to see an old flame in the club. Maybe you are sharing a moment, but that will not stop him from sharing his moments with other people as well. This is definitely when confronting the other woman is over the top because, who's to say that YOU are not the other woman? Just a little mental grub for ya.

In either case, take it on the chin. That the situation is not necessarily as serious as you thought, or would have liked it to be. As I mentioned before, you always have the option of leaving. However, there is a saying pertaining to what one monkey can stop - NOTHING! You're already dressed and looking good. Get on the floor and do your "fuck 'em" dance girl! By the way, if the dude brings you out, only to pay attention to everyone else, that's usually an indication that he's probably not what's best for you anyway. Just be glad you found it out sooner rather than later. For those of you who may experience this in a committed relationship, girl, go home and get your shit. If he's rolling on asses while he's in your presence, then please believe he's diving in them when you aren't around.

And while we're on the subject of asses in the club. . .

3. The Stop and Roll a/k/a "Excuse me ma'am. . . may I please roll on your booty?"

I love dancing at the club. Just feeling the music can make me high. However, sometimes, dancing at the club can bring out the animal in folks. Now, I will not speak out against dirty dancing. I've done it myself when the music and company has been right. However, there is a behavior that is becoming more and more common, which I call the "Stop and Roll". This is when the man basically admires a booty so much, he MUST roll on it. . .usually this is not preceded by an introduction. Fellas, THIS IS NOT SEXY. It's creepy and rude and any woman that would allow such a thing is quite possibly not a stranger to the free clinic.

There is nothing wrong with asking a lady to dance. There is nothing wrong with dancing closely. However, there is something wrong with impregnating a woman from behind on the dance floor. In the future, I would ask that you men go with the mood. If after you've danced with the woman, you think that some close contact would be okay, fabulous. Just, please, go through some type of motion to gain permission.

4. You Only Need One Bath

By this I mean, once you have bathed or showered, please do not "redo" the job by baptizing yourself in cologne/perfume. If I can smell you before I see you, what's going through my mind is not "Wow, who smells so great?" I'm thinking, "Holy crap! Somebody open a damn window PLEASE!" Do the community a favor, hit only a couple of your pulse points, and you're good. If, for some reason, you are not aware of what your pulse points are, then you should be at home reading rather than going to the club.

*This has been a public service announcement courtesy of the "Make America's Club Experience Beautiful" campaign.

THE POWER IS YOURS!

Thank you for your support.

Here's how it is...

You will not tell me dumb shit. Not ever. I really don't care who you are, where you've been, or what you do. You will NOT tell me dumb shit. I am not interested in hearing defenses, rationalizations or loopholes. You will NOT tell me dumb shit.

Now, this does not mean that I am unforgiving, and as soon as dumb shit is spoken, I'm out. Far from it. I know from personal experience that I'm not exempt from saying or doing dumb shit. However, once I have brought it to your attention, that you have introduced some dumb shit to me, then that's it. Respect it. That's what I expect, because it's what I offer. We all have quirks, and what is completely harmless to one person, is cataclysmic to another. There may be no rhyme or reason, but it is incumbent upon us to respect the choices of others if the human race is to thrive. That being said...my quirk is that I have a distaste for dumb shit. Sense a pattern?

The other day, I had close to me tell me something very stupid. When I made mention of the fact that I found it offensive, I was essentially told, tough shit, this is how I get down. And you know what, I have much respect for the honesty. I don't have time for extra folks in my life. I raise children, work, go to school, play taxi, help my son with his homework, play daddy, gift bearer and everything else. I do not have time for people that can not honor, in my opinion, a reasonable request. I have no malice for this individual, and I still care for them. However, I will not set myself up to be annoyed. And on the flip side, I will not impose my idiosyncrasies on a person when it will cause them inconvenience. Really, to me, it's simply one less egg to fry.

Life's Student

"I am so hip even my errors are correct" - Nikki Giovanni

To me, that is one of the tightest lines ever written, and it has become my motto. It's not that narcissism is so ingrained in me, that I believe myself infallible. I simply try to make everything in my life have purpose. I want it to be known that I see the blessing in the lesson - even if it's merely learning from a bad decision.

One thing that I have learned is that people are going to do what they do. To me, that is both simple and complex. It's simple in that, a person takes a certain action just because. Drinking coffee in the morning is something that I do...just because. It's not something that takes concerted effort or a lot of planning. What makes it complex though, is that in the intricate tapestry which has come to be my life, a coffee drinker is what I have become. People doing what they do holds true, not just in mundane life activities, but in their interpersonal relationships.

A great mind owned by a sister named Michelle Watson conveyed to me this thought after a failed relationship: "He did what he did because that's who he is." When she said that, I was like, "DAAAAAAAAYUM!" Here I was agonizing over the complex whys and wherefores and it was JUST THAT SIMPLE. This brother handled me flaky and calloused, because he's a flaky, calloused brother. There's no need to try and figure it out and pick apart every piece of the relationship. As I mentioned before though, this theory also has an air of complexity. What is it that led this brother to possess these qualities? What is it that makes that type of behavior seem okay?

However, I'm not going to use this as a forum for the "done me wrong" blues. It has been said that I am afraid of new relationships, and I subconsciously sabotage them. Once a situation gets heavy, I agonize profusely until I do something to eff it up. It could be me simply being passively dismissive or aggressively anxious - or a combination of the two. It could be argued that the brothers flaky, calloused demeanor was a reaction to my neuroses.

So, what lesson have I learned by that experience? I'm still in the process of learning it...but part of it, is to let things flow, enjoy the good things while they happen, and hold on to the memories of them when they don't.

If I am to be a great writer

If I am to become a great writer, I must be consistent. For so long, I've viewed writing as a hobby, but I want it to be what i DO. It's so easy to get caught up in the pressure to write something "good" all the time, when I should be focused on writing. As long as I view it as a hobby, that's all it will be. Something to do in my free time in hopes that it's "good". I'll never truly be a writer with that view.

If I am to become a great writer, I must become unafraid. In my writing, I leave my raw side untapped. I will share a certain degree of myself, but I hold back. Anything that delves too deeply into the painful, sad, erotic or even joyous - I keep that to myself. If I can become uninhibited in my written expression of hurt, desire, et al. I think that will definitely serve to my credit.

If I am to become a great writer, I must see things to completion. There is a plethora of unfinished work attached to my name, and that really needs to change. Becoming a serious writer will require me to take my writing seriously. It's just going to take me buckling down to get the job done.

It's About Damned Time

I'm going to do it! I'm about to give everyone else the finger and pursue the major that I want to pursue...English! Possibly with a minor in communications, but I'll work that out later. I've decided that the only way I can be taken seriously is by taking what I want to do with my life seriously. I've always seen writing as "my craft" and I see this change as a means of perfecting my craft.

In addition, I have also decided that I would like to teach. I'm not that interested in teaching high school, so it will probably be at the college level. That way, I can eke out a living, yet still focus on my writing.

There is so much farther I feel that I need to go. I honestly need to be more spiritually focused and I'm always concerned with being a better parent. I also have to do major work on my personal/social life and the choices I make. It's been statistically proven that when there are two avenues before me, I am adroit looking squarely at the right one, choosing the wrong one anyway and barrelling through it at full speed. That's something I definitely need to change. I've been told that I'm somewhat wise beyond my years. Judging from the past six months though, has only shown me how much I don't know and how misguided I still am.

The fact is, when I deviate from my rules, and try to live by someone else's, not only do I fail, but I'm also miserable. Ultimately, I have to go back to basics and start the whole process over again. One day I'll stop learning the same lesson.

Keeping it moving

2004 was a BEYOTCH!!! There's no other way to put it. I'm no dummy. I know that there was no magic wand waved over my life at 12:00 a.m. on January 1, 2005, but I was still glad to see that mutha known as 2004 go. I'm now in the process of getting my life back in order.

The semester starts Saturday, and though it's going to be difficult with the lack of support, I know that I can handle this. I'm considering changing my major, but nothing is in stone yet. It's kind of sad that at 28, I'm still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.

All my life, I've wanted to be a published author. I can't remember not writing. My goal is to have my first work published by the time I'm 32. It's proving difficult though, because I'm hard on myself. I just don't want my blood, sweat and tears to be a study in puerility. At the same time, I want to make sure I write what I feel, and not what others want to hear.

Along with my dreams of literary greatness, over the past two years, I've given serious consideriation to owning a clerical staffing/training agency. I have ten years of clerical experience and with that, I've always been able to find a job. I was surprised though, at how many people have virtually no clerical/computer skills. I enjoy networking and I think I could really do some good if I pursue this avenue.

Both of these goals, however, have to fit around my role as mother and the fact that, though I should pursue them, hugs need to be given, bills need to be paid and homework needs to be checked. I don't want to sacrifice my parenting to obtain secular success. The fact is, if they are neglected, then it doesn't matter how many agencies I open or quality best sellers I write, I've failed...and that's not an option.

Bearing a king

The day Tyson was conceived is etched in my memory. I called the doctor within days to schedule an appointment, though I had none of the signs - morning sickness, missed "visitor", moodiness - that were customary among expectant mothers. Nevertheless, I FELT him. I felt my child. I felt my son. At night, I'd lay in bed rubbing my belly, awaiting the day that I could hold him. I connected with a being that I had never seen. Hearing his strong steady heartbeat at the doctor's visit was the high point of my month.

Finally, on December 17, 1998 at 10:25 p.m. he arrived. I had been in labor since 7:00 a.m. and needed a last minute C-section. It was the most bizarre feeling. I was lying on a table, wide awake while the doctor sliced open my abdomen. In retrospect, I should have been freaked out, especially when I saw all the blood in the pictures. But I just remember lying their in anticipation. I'm sure that if I weren't temporarily paralyzed by the epidural, I would have been tapping my feet. The best way to describe the situation after they opened me up was that they reached in and "scooped" Ty out. During this time, it felt like all of my guts were pushed into my throat and I "held" them there until I heard my baby cry. Then I saw him. He was the most beautiful hue of pink and brown and his screams were music. It was amazing. I was overwhelmed by love combined with the feeling of being immensely unworthy of the task at hand.

For a while, it seemed like I was unworthy. I sat on his arm once. Then there was the time he was too soapy and squirmy and slipped under the bathwater; or the times he was inconsolable so while he screamed in his crib, I screamed right along with him into the pillow. Despite that, we always shared a connection. Sometimes he'd give me these looks that said "We're gonna ge through this you crazy woman." We were both trying to make it in this world and neither one of us had ANY idea how we were going to actually accomplish that. He "grew me up". He made me a stronger person and a better mother. He gave me the strength to demand the best for myself, because that's the only way he could get the best from me.

Now he's six years old, and before I know it he's going to be towering over me. I think that kissing him in front of his school embarrasses him, and the other day, he asked me for a little privacy. I am now solely responsible for teaching him how to be a successful black man, and I'm definitely trying my best, but it's a little frightening. Then again, we've made it this far. . .

Resolving, Renewing and Regenerating

New Year's Resolutions. . .I never touch the stuff. I feel that every moment we have the capability of setting resolves on how we can change our paths if we feel they need alterations. Why should we wait for an old man with curious grooming habits and a baby with curiously missing parents to take our destinies in our hands? With each passing day, experience or encounter, I resolve to not make the mistakes of the past. I guess you could call that my life's resolution or mission statement.

I do reflect on the year gone by and make mental notes on things that I could or should have done differently, but I have resolved not to let it dictate when I should make my changes. If my pants are snug on December 18th, I'm not going to make a pig of myself for the remaining weeks of the year only to assuage my guilt by promising that I'll do better next year. I take this view: If I am on a road trip and a head on collision is imminent, to reason in my mind, "I'm going to hit THIS car, but on my next road trip, I'll definitely be more careful" is foolish. My life is the ultimate road trip.

SHUT UP!

I have always prided myself in thinking before I speak. I have failed to do that twice in a month. The first time caused a dramatic change in a friendship that was already shaky. The second did notcause that type of fallout, but this is really something I need to nip in the bud. I have never been involved in drama, nor have I had the desire to cause any for someone else and being just a little too chatty, can present a major problem. I'm all about self improvement anyway.

Things to know about me

I love buying clothes that are "chocolate", "espresso or "celery" as opposed to "brown", "dark brown" or "green". Looking at a fluffy white cloud makes me a little giddy. Every once in a while, I feel the need to get dolled up and go clubbing, but it still pales in comparison to watching three year old put on her "princess" shoes and dance around the house for our "Saturday Night Dance Party". I will talk on the phone to just about anybody, but if I talk to you on the toilet, I'd take a bullet for you. The same goes for if I pick my wedgie in your presence. I am a sucker for an educated brother with dreds and a twisted sense of humor. Just because I give you a big smile, that does NOT mean I want you - my mouth is wide. . .I have no choice. I am terrified of drowning or being severely burned. If you want to end a friendship with me, lie, insult my intelligence or call me out of my name maliciously. I can handle anything that you dish out to me personally, but if you harm my children I will beat your monkey ass. If I bring a man food, I'm sprung. I will complain about my sisters until the end of time, but the moment someone else chimes in, I will not hesitate to cuss them from amazing grace to floating opportunity. I'm also undisciplined. . .which is why I was typing this instead of focusing on what I really should be doing.

Bitter Banter

No matter what has happened, no matter how many times I've felt hurt, wronged or misled (intentionally or not) I've made it my aim to not become another "bitter" sister. Regardless of the circumstances, I keep a stiff upper lip and roll with the punches. It makes no sense to give the other party the satisfaction of seeing you sweat. Every once in a while, I feel that this quality means NOTHING and gets you NOWHERE.

For example, there was a guy I was seeing from time to time. For some reason, the dating gods thought it would be funny to have me meet another individual of the female persuasion that he was dating at dinner. I had no idea that this person was dating this guy, and even further, I had NO idea that he would be interested in someone like her. I'm by no means a priss or a shrinking violet, however, this "lady" was vile beyond all definition. Besides the fact that she used "fuck" - at the dinner table with a four and five year old - as punctuation, but grooming wasn't her strong point either. Evidently, closing her mouth while chewing also didn't rank high on her list of priorities. Let me say that I'm all about being relaxed and letting it all hang loose, so for her to disgust me means that she was all but taking a dump on the table. In any event, I happened to whisper the name of the guy I was seeing to my cousin in a fairly harmless context. The lady happened to hear it and almost immediately lost all composure. Now, mind you, I was merely seeing this man on occasion and had no delusions of the situation actually "being" anything. However, this poor lady did not have that same perspective. The remaining 15 minutes of dinner were tense and embarrassing but I never lost it. Nor did I disclose the nature of my "relationship" with this guy. My not losing it however, does not mean that shit didn't cut me to the heart. Knowing that you're not the only one someone is seeing and "KNOWING" that you're not the only one that someone is seeing are two totally different ball games.

The thing that bothered me the most was that, I'd let this dude "in". I experienced a comfort zone with him and was even able to let him know that I was scared of the situation and why I felt I should keep him at arms length. Then just when I felt relaxed about everything, that shit happened. Then, I'll be damned if the situation wasn't made to be my fault. I can't say that DIDN'T hurt, but that wasn't the big thing. The biggest thing was, my life was totally in order before him and he knew that. Why did he interfere with my universe when he knew he couldn't add to it?

My "favorite" though, still rings in my mind. All I can remember is that it was a day in July, 2000. I'd just recently gotten back with my husband and found out I was pregnant with our daughter. We were going out to celebrate our reunion and our new place and it was a pretty nice evening. We went to dinner then went to shoot pool. After a while, I got a little bored at the pool hall and left to do some shopping and pick up my son. When I got back, there was a bevy of large women outside of the pool hall with a baby. After chuckling to myself at the "baby mama drama" appearance of it all, I blew the horn for my husband to come out. It was raining, and there was no way I was leaving my young son in the car by himself in front of a pool hall. Imagine my surprise a short time later when I start hearing the ring leader of the "baby mama drama" crew saying that someone who shared the same name as my husband hadn't seen his son since he was born. Imagine my further surprise when she said that this man also had a "baby mama" with the same name as mine who he was leaving. Ain't that some shit. Once my punk ass (now ex) husband finally did come out of the pool hall, he had a brief exchange with mama drama and hurried into the car and told me to leave. Again, even with him, I never lost my cool, because I think that's just silly. Plus, I had my unborn child to think about and I was determined to have a peaceful pregnancy. He of course denied everything, but over time, I came to realize that he had, in fact, fathered this child. I, however, was not going to be stressed, and after I took every ounce of leave that I had from the bank (and some that I didn't) I ultimately left him.

I suppose I could say that I have the satisfaction of knowing that I stayed cool under fire, but the fact remains, both those situations broke my heart. In both situations, I stood strong, but ultimately alone. Though the situations were different, I thought that both persons had a measure of concern and respect for me, and it became evident that they didn't. However, it's incumbent upon me to not take their sins of thoughtlessness out on the next man, and I usually handle that with ease. Occasionally though, there are days like this, days that are icy and lonely, that makes that task seem just a little more formidable than usual.

The man of my dreams

The man of my dreams is in South America. No, he's not a drug lord or anything of the sort. His cause is noble. It is his sworn duty to protect the continent from the evil El Chupacabra. At least that's the story I'm telling myself. I believe that there is someone for everyone. Sometimes that person runs smack into you, sometimes, you have to stand still and listen for them...then sometimes their in South America hunting El Chupacabra. . . or eating mice in a bush in the Australian Outback...whatever. But that does not negate their existence.

I think that my relationship/emotional wants are fairly simple. But there's something about me, something I can't perceive, that doesn't compel men to meet my needs. Men just can not resist running me into the ground. I used to expect that in this amalgam of sex (both good and bad), relationships (all bad), marraige (definitely bad), friends with benefits and platonic friends, I'd one day have some type of reprieve. I used to think SOMEONE would say, "She's cool folks and I'm not going to have a hand in damaging her spirit." But you know what? That's NEVER going to happen. That's because it seems that the men I am attracted to are self-serving, egomaniacal jerks with no character. I have no idea why, but it's a time tested fact. Ultimately, the monkey shows his tail.

I've dated them all - college students, college graduates, high school drop-outs, college drop-outs, white collar, blue collar, older, younger, artists, jocks - you name it. The personalities have all been different, their characteristics have all been different. But they have all been the same in the end. I have racked my brain trying to figure out the why's and the wherefores and the before mentioned is the only viable conclusion I could come up with. Therefore, until "Javier" gets his visa and visits the States, I guess I'll experience a nunlike existence.

Unmotivated

It's a Saturday morning and I have a million things to do. Unfortunately, I don't feel like doing jack! I don't know what's wrong with me. If I don't take care of things, they won't be taken care of. I know this...I've always known this. I'm just tired of having to do everything. I can't complain because part of this is the life I've chosen. But then, part of this is the way my life has always been.

I know that I have a blessed life, but sometimes it's just so damned hard. I should be thankful that things always manage to get into place, but the journey beats me down sometimes. Ah well, I guess I'd better get crackin

Him

I miss him most in the winter. That's when the memories- the ones of deep hugs, river side kisses and ice cream despite the freezing temperature - are most vivid. I remember how his face warmed up when he saw me smile that first time, so I tried to always smile around him. I always wanted him to feel warm when he was with me. It was a youthful, innocent, yet passionate, love affair. He was my oasis and I was his. When we were together, all that mattered was the moment. When we were apart, all that mattered was the next moment we could be together. Everyone knew I was his and he was mine and outwardly, they'd laugh at us. It didn't matter because inwardly, we knew they envied us. And so it went - for quite a while.

Then, inexplicably, things changed. River side kisses went from rare to nonexistent. His face would still occasionally warm up when I smiled, but it got to where I didn't feel like smiling as much. Our love was still there and passionate, but not quite as innocent. Then, sometimes, we needed an oasis from one another. Everyone still knew that we belonged to one another, but then I started hearing "Well why isn't he here?" just a little too often. And we started arguing just a little too often. And other guys started asking me out . . . just a little too often. He still wanted me, he just didn't necessarily want to be with me on my terms - not even part time. So I let him go. Just like that.

They always say, if you love something, let it go, if it comes back, it's yours. And you know what? For once, "they" were right. He still loved me. We were laughing and talking again. We would kick it and his face would warm up (and sometimes get downright hot) when I smiled. More importantly, I wanted to smile again. The change took what we had to a different place. I've never figured out if it was quite a higher level, or just somewhere else. Our relationship reached an "ebb and flow"period. We weren't quite "together" but we could not be apart. We never knew what was going to happen from one day to the next. It was confusing.

I remember sitting in my room after we had just argued and I heard the Lauryn Hill song "Ex Factor" for the first time. I'd heard the previous release, however, that song made me get on the bus and cop her CD immediately. Nothing put into words what I was going through like that song. He and I just could not seem to get on the same page again. The love was always there, but it morphed into something different through no fault of our own. We spent more time apart again, but this time, we couldn't quite pick up where we left off. Our conversations began to take a tone of how good one was doing without the other. We were both too prideful for love. Ultimately what was passionate, innocent, pure and whole was degraded by pride.

Now, we ebb way more than we flow. Once in a blue purple moon, we might bump into one another. At first, we'd be kind of excited and catch up as much as our busy, vastly different lives allowed. Then it turned into just the occasional obligatory friendly chatter. The last time we saw one another, we scarcely said a polite hello. Maybe that was because it was summer soI wasn't reminded of that February day. The day we stood by the river, melted into one another and kissed as the sun set. I loved him then.

I love him still.

simple

i want love
not fraught with
qualifiers and stipulations
but something true.
whether it be a
lifetime of affection
or just 15 minutes of
honest purity.
i’ll accept it.
see i won’t allow
the completion of my soul
to rely on organza
and an ornate left hand.
a roseless valentine’s day
will neither make nor break
my spirit.
but to never experience
an unaffected embrace
will render me hollow.
i’m not asking that you
love me as i love you.
just love me
as much as you can.
i can live with that.

Scarred

would you believe me
if i told you
that i could forget every
obscenity
shove
philandering dalliance
and heartbreak
that i have ever endured
if doing so would
win back my original spirit?

the one that was
free to love
without jaded suppositions.
never questioned
hidden agendas
or significant others.
would you find it laughable?

if letting go of my past
meant a night of peace
huddled
back to belly
in a warm embrace
breath creating
a soft low rhythm –
i would do so
without thought.

but the truth is
that the heart
of a scarred sister
has a very long memory
and a surface
that toughens
with each encounter.