Friday, September 29, 2006

down home cooking

i used to have serious battles with my ego. at times she refused to digest reason, instead choosing to pick at her plate, eating only those choice items she thought would satisfy her appetite. if she knew something was gonna give her heartburn, she stayed away from it. while this might appear to be healthy on some levels, ultimately it left her emaciated of nutrients she'd get from those items. it's kinda like milk...i need it as a part of my diet, but i'm lactose intolerant, so i need milk that doesn't have lactose in it. in other words, my ego needed the experience that would cause heartburn so that in the future she would know how to create a similar experience that didn't have heartburn as an ingredient.

she needed the whole plate of reason, including the reality. meanwhile, my ego was afraid. she was afraid what she wanted she would not get if she digested reality. she was afraid she'd experience the kind of burn that would leave her heart in cinders, so she continued to pick at her plate, never gaining the nutrients she needed from the experience because she'd shaped everything on her plate to resemble her version of the events, which guaranteed protection against hurt.

for years i indulged her because it was just easier that way. i mean, who wants to argue with someone who is only trying to avoid the pain, even if it means ignoring reality? reality tastes nasty most of the time anyway. it's like the castor oil of meals.

meanwhile, eventually i found myself as a twenty-something year old woman with the coping skills of a child. my ego'd become so good at eating so little of reason that my brain was operating in an alternate universe, one where nikki was always right, everyone else was always wrong, and it was up to nikki to convince people of their flaws and of her perfection. it appeared that the way my ego was operating was good for me, but there's always a downside and this one was about as low as it could go.

cuz reality is always on the plate and it should be swallowed immediately, while it's fresh and easier to break down. the earlier it's attacked, the more time can be allowed for nibbling and adjusting. meanwhile, the longer my ego pretended it wasn't there, the more rotten reality became. it would appear on each plate served to me for weeks, sometimes months, growing rancid as my ego went on about her business of pushing the food together to form pleasing images of 'me not being rejected, but him being unable to handle my perfection' or 'those people only fired me because i was too good to work there' or 'she's not really dying. somebody lying to me'. all the while reality would sit there in a moldy pile of unrecognizable matter, its hideous odor forcing my ego to acknowledge it was still there waiting to be digested. no matter how many times it was scrapped from the plate, it would appear again on the next one, more decayed, more determined than ever to be consumed.

and you know how it goes when you eat food that's gone bad...stomach cramps, vomiting, fever, hallucenations...basically all the shit that could have been avoided if my ego had just eaten the damn reality in the first damn place.

if i'd only eaten that reality earlier i wouldn't have wasted months trying to get him to see he really loved me and then be forced to swallow reality whole when i saw him with someone else. i wouldn't have become sick and gone home and holed myself up in my house for days afterwards.

if i'd only eaten that reality earlier i would have adjusted my work behavior so that i wasn't always getting fired. i would have known to look for jobs that didn't start early in the morning. i would have known to seek jobs that challenged me instead of boring me to the point where i wasn't motivated enough to complete the tasks and ultimately get myself fired for it. instead i was forcibly injected with a dose of reality as i became homeless after being jobless for eight months.

if i'd only eaten that reality earlier i would have made time to spend with my great-grandma after i was told she wasn't long for this world. i would have known to make the most of that time left and given her the respect and attention an elder deserves (so sayeth amadeo). instead i was pushed headfirst into a plate of reality when she died and the only memories i had of her and i together were from five years prior to her dying.

like i said...the downside is a bitch...

so i put my ego in check.

it was time for her to face facts from jump, to stop seeing the world as it was shaped on her plate, to stop acting as though she'd had nothing to do with making the dish in the first place.

cuz you know how it goes...empowerment against hardship only comes when one can acknowledge one's part in the creation of the hardship in the first place.

it's been hard though and at times i falter. i still would like to believe that no man with good sense would ever reject me, and on the rare ocassion actually find myself trying to force the issue, as though i can convince him he doesn't really know what's he's talking about...he knows he wants me. but the fact of the matter is that i'm not appealing to every man on earth and even if things start off one way and ultimately sputters, that's just life. folk know their own minds and i have to respect that, even if means i don't get what i want.

i still would like to believe i'm right all of the time, but all i have to do is look at the debris on the path behind me marking my 'triumphs of a different kind' in order to see perhaps i could tried a different route. 'triumph of a different kind' is another word for failure, which i've chosen to banish from my vocabulary. and no, that ain't me altering reality, it's acknowledging the only failure is the failure to try, not the outcome.

my ego has suffered a number of bruises and numerous cases of heartburn. but they are fewer and further between now, because she's become a better chef with the creation of each new situation. and now that she's tasted reality when it's fresh, she better knows how to prepare it so that it's tastier. so even if things don't work out in her flavor, the reality of the situation can be spiced up with a dash of positive thinking. she eats a hearty meal of both reason and reality and bolsters her strength against the disease of the spirit. i guess this is where somebody reminds me that castor oil is good for that kind of thing...

so now i'm a thirty-something woman with the coping skills of a twenty-something woman. come on...surely you didn't expect the shit to just right itself once i put my ego in check, did you? then again, i'm sure that's what my ego expected.

that heffa and her flights of fancy...

Thursday, September 28, 2006


i find myself holding him in.

no screaming my feelings so that they leap from the top of my lungs to sommersault from my mouth before diving into a head-first dispersal of love-tinged verses bouncing off of surrounding ear drums like fingers strumming guitar strings.

no drawing of endless entries illustrating his image in reverent tones of gold inscribed with declarations of my devotion, the words describing him encrusted with diamonds so that folk are left dazzled by the shine of his fine.

nah...fuck THAT. i already know the rarity of his cut. i won't be blinging my feelings for him on this screen.

see, cuz i know how it goes. folk see others in the throes and stick their noses all up in the show cuz they gotta know.

oh but no...

i can't share this...

i am hording everything about him and us and this...

you ever find yourself gifted with a secret? like, you found this really great bakery who makes the most wonderful biscuits and nobody around you knows of the place and for the moment, while it's new to you, you ain't really trying to tell them. you wanna pretend the shop exists for you alone, so fuck sharing the taste of this delicious biscuit with others right?

well, that's how i'm feeling right about now.

i bathe in his attention, sinking supine into its depth until my nose is tickled by the bubbles of his chuckles. he makes me laugh so easily, as though his jokes are flute notes and my mouth but an entranced snake slithering across my face to curve in thrall before him.

but you can't know that...

i collect his thoughts like fireflies, capturing them into jars and placing them into the dark spaces of my soul's abode, his enlightened mediation bringing illumination forging exploration of newfound paths for future contemplation.

but you can't know that...

cuz then i'd be blinging
i'd be flaunting this king clinging to me, making you ask me "what's the name of that bakery again? you got directions?"

and i ain't one for singing

so excuse me while i lick my fingers of his buttery flavor and savor the taste of him on my lips while greedily hording each crumb as they gather in my lap...

then pretend i didn't just tell you all that...

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

prayers are always answered...even if it's not the answer we were looking for...

i've been avoiding this blog for what feels like months, afraid that by putting words to screen i'll somehow seal the fate of my granny by acknowledging what up until now is only doctor's speculation.

i've typed out the prognosis at least twenty times before backspacing it into non-existence as though the simple act of removing it from before my eyes will remove it from my granny's body.

i've refused to even speak it, hopeful that by banishing the words from my vernacular it will somehow cease to exist at all.

but i can't escape the words told to me from my brother as told to him from the men who examined my granny's body and found something foreign growing there. they sit like a tumor on my brain, eating away every thought, every image save the short death sentence uttered into my ear. i can't run from the future painted absent of her presence in six to nine months as predicted by those same men. it is impossible to think of her without thinking of it and acknowledging what they're saying will mean her eventual suffering, a suffering i can do absolutely nothing to prevent.

i wish her pain was a pill i could steal from her nightstand and swallow for her. i wish i could gather that disease like a weed, yanking each cell from her body like a determined gardener, planting in its stead the seeds that will bloom her strength to live. i wish...

i'd rather bear the pain of her dying than to bear the pain of my living in the wake of her death.

she's 83 years old. i'm supposed to be happy i've had her so long. i'm supposed to be accepting of the fact that she wasn't to be here much longer anyway but i'm not. i'm selfish. i'm not accepting of it. i wished for her a quiet ending, one where she went gently into that good night after putting up the fight long enough for all of her life's dreams to be fulfilled. it was supposed to be pain free for her, like a slip out of the scratchy burlap rags of this world into the exquisite silk gown of heaven. i selfishly wanted this for me because then i wouldn't see her waste away.

she's been god's servant for over fifty years, a faithful member of a church that worshipped god every sunday and wednesday. she was a sunday school teacher, spreading the gospel to other folk wanting to educate themselves about the bible.

and yet i can't help but wonder if it'd all been for nothing.

i mean, how can god give her this? is this a reward for her years of faithful service? is this her paycheck? is this the devil's work? i know someone's gonna tell me i don't know god's plan but i must accept it. you know what? right now i don't want to hear it. i want to hear someone tell me my granny isn't gonna die this way. i want someone to tell me when i see her lifeless body it won't be a shriveled shell of what she was before that foreign thing devoured everything within her. i want to be able to recognize her when i look into that coffin, not wonder who that person is laying there upon funeral satin in her sunday best. i don't want to have to count each minute and feel guilt because i'm wasting the time she has left by not being with her. i don't want to prepare myself for that moment when i look into her eyes and she no longer recognizes me. i don't want to try to figure out at which moment my granny was lost to me before her body gave out. was i sitting in front of the television when she no longer became cognizant of this world? was it while i took a shower in october? was it when i shivered during a walk in november?

i want her to live long enough to look upon my child's visage and see something of her there, maybe her slightly unfocused eyes that need glasses to see things clearly or her big wide feet that can only wear shoes from specialty stores. i want her to live long enough to talk to my child and see something of her there, maybe the same dilligence she had when she made a living with only a 3rd grade education before getting her ged in her 40s, or her meticulousness as she sat in her bedroom each night between the months of april and september and listened to the ballgame on the radio and did the box scores for the brooklyn dodgers and ny mets for over 50 years.

i want my child to look into her eyes and see where i got it from before i could give it to him or her. where i got my love for sports and my disdain for unfairness and my embracing of all of the things shaping my heritage. where i got my sarcasm and my quirky sense of humor. where i got my husky laugh and phrases dipped in insight and served with side order of compassion. where i got my impatience and insecurities.

i want my child to see the threads my granny supplied in the tapestry of my being.

but it ain't about what i want or don't want is it?

i can't help but feel as though i'm always running late when it comes to life. if someone i love dies, then i regret all of the things i didn't do when they were around, all of the dreams i didn't fulfill so that they could share in my joy. i've been meandering through each moment as though the people around me will be there when i eventually get my shit together, as though their lives are somehow suspended in animation until mine begins in earnest, but it's not like that at all. people will die even if i never get my shit together. she'll be gone before i get my college degree, before i have my first child, before she sees me really happy, just as my uncles did, just as my father did. maybe i'll be dead before these things ever happen.

i'll stop now before i sink too deep. too many thoughts pouring from too many wounds and i'll need my strength for what comes next.

Monday, September 18, 2006

i'll be around...

going through things with the fam. please pray for us. i'll be back soon.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

repost - you think you know the ghetto folk role but you don't...

yeah, i'm taking the lazy way out today, but i thought it necessary to repost this because i'm coming across more and more blogs where the term "ghetto" is being used in the way that totally infuriates me. i'll post about the 'getting some' experience tomorrow.

"Ghetto, Ghetto, Ghetto, Ghetto we livin

These streets remind me of quicksand (quicksand)
When your on it you'll keep goin down (goin down)
And there's noone to hold on too
And there's noone to pull you out
You keep on fallin (falling)
And noone can here you callin
So you end up self destructing
On the corner with the tuli on the waist tight just got outta the bing doin stay time
Teeth marks on my back from the canine
Dark Memories of when there was no sunshine
Cause they said that I wouldn't make it
(I remember like yesterday)
Holdin on to what god gave me"
- Akon

there is no denying the negative impact ghetto living has left on black folk. many of us were killed as children, white chalk outlines of our little bodies tattoo the sidewalks and playgrounds with permanent reminders of how easy it is for a kid to die before having fully lived. liquor stores share the corners with other drug dealers, their narcotic products gifted in helping get folks minds lifted away from the daily struggle of surviving. many folk are strewn around like straws, sucking in the bitter drink of helplessness and victimnization which keeps their faces permanently disfigured into masks of self-hatred.

those of us no longer residing in the ghetto (if we ever did to begin with) find humor in all things "ghetto", creating whole sites dedicated to either laughing at and/or condemning the self-expression of folks living in the ghetto. blue hair weaved through bone-straight black-tresses finger-waved to perfection after a sista spent four hours in the beauty parlor and spent alot of her $5.50 an hour paycheck is seen as a joke to folk. she ain't just a mess. she's a "ghetto" mess, which implies that she's an entirely different species of mess, the kind that even cockroaches look upon with disdain.

but then non-"ghetto" folk come back with "ghetto-fabulous", as if that's a compliment somehow. a person with "ghetto" fashion sense can't just be fabulous cuz he or she isn't exactly up to the regular standard of what fabulous is. his or her fashion sense is just a step below, dwelling in that "she look good...for a dark girl" territory. you see, it's not fabulous on line with what is widely accepted as good fashion. it's fabulous on a lower scale of standards.."ghetto" standards. i mean really, only an ignant person would think a pink suit with matching gator shoes and a fedora with a pink plume in it is fabulous, right?

the thing is this...we black folk been expressing ourselves in this way since we were in africa. back then, we wore bright colors to express our passion for life and land, gold jewelry to confirm our royalty, and our hair in braids and cornrows. we went from fully clothed to scantily clad and nobody now will say africans back then looked stank or lacking class. so what's the difference between the regal behavior we ordained african fashion to be then vs. the tackiness we've labeled the folks dressing "ghetto fabulous" now?

only one thing. the enslavement of those africans.

in the aftermath of their enslavement, black folk have assimilated with the european standard for fashion and beauty to the point of dissing anything that deviates from that standard. we have used the definitions of other cultures to tell us what is classy and what is not (ghetto). we've assumed that anybody not practicing that particular brand of fashion is just ignant or "doesn't know any better." in other words, we're looking at our own folk through someone else's eyes and finding the image lacking.

and what's so ironic about the whole thing is that many folks say that its "ghetto" folk who exhibit the most self-hatred, glorifying violence and masochism and illegal behavior. meanwhile, the very act of labeling only things that are tacky and tasteless as "ghetto" or "ghetto fabulous in that tacky, tasteless sort of way" is evident of another kind of self-hatred. why? because the fact of the matter is that many black folks live in the ghetto and many black folks express themselves that way and many black folk living in the ghetto are just like those of us who "thank the lawd" are no longer subjected to living in the ghetto.

so this ain't just about black folk, it's about class (or lack thereof). the term itself implies the acquirement of status and acceptance in a world dominated by white folk, something that a "ghetto" person won't have.

now ultimately, i don't think the word "ghetto" should be used to describe anyone, fabulous or not. it's a noun, not an adjective. it's a place where people dwell, not who people are. but if we gonna go there, then acknowledge that "ghetto" is more than just tacky and tasteless and a reflection of ignorance. it's also that determined sista working an 80 hour week at a fast food joint or cleaning someone's house or BOTH, and doing it for pennies so she can keep a roof over the head of her family. it's that prideful brotha who gotta find dignity in a job that everybody else scorns and see as a "step down". it's that intelligent and courageous kid who's trying to find a way to be adequately educated with inferior educational tools while also trying to evade the lure of quick money in the form of illegal activity. it's that dilligent old lady who, despite her age, gotta work her ass off cuz social security and medicare benefits ain't but crumbs in the big pot.

the ghetto reflects all that is good and bad about black folk. the strength and determination and cunning necessary to survive the daily struggle, the laughter and love and hope necessary to make that daily struggle worth surviving, the killing and oppression and hatred that makes it a struggle in the first place.

and you bets to recognize.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

when did he decide he wanted to fuck me?

this russian cat is so aggressive at this point it's like trying to kick away a rabid dog. he's been in my office almost everyday since i got back, asking me out to lunch. now part of me is down for lunch and part of me is like "chill OUT". he was in my office this morning and i was on the phone. i saw him standing there and decided to purposefully prolong the conversation to see what he'd do. he decided to stand there for five minutes before walking down the hallway. i heard him tell someone he was looking for another colleague of ours, basically lying to the person like he didn't want anybody to know he was outside of my office intending to stalk me. he had me believing he'd left, but as soon as i got off of the phone he was in my office, like he'd been listening or something. then he asked me about my surgery last week and made some small talk and i'm sitting there wondering how i can get him out of my office cuz i got work to do. he's trying to work his way up to asking me out to lunch again. i can FEEL that shit. then he asks me where the copier is so he can make copies of a presentation he has to do later in the day. i'm sitting there like "dude, you know where the copier is, stop playing..."

i thought about just telling him where the fucking copier was, but decided to show him. he's walking behind me and i can feel his eyes on my ass. lawd...

we get to the copy room and i'm explaining to him how he has to let the machine warm up before using it. i try to get past him and he's like "so you're a very busy woman". well DUH mothafucka! i just got back from being off of work for almost a week and i've got that much work to catch up on. i explained the same to him, albeit more politely. he then meanders with small talk before getting to the crux of the matter.

"so when will i be able to take you out to lunch again?"

shit shit SHIT.

"i'll be busy for the next week and a half. i've got those seminars to prepare for next week so..."

"you don't have time even to eat?" and he's looking skeptical.


i stood there for a second.

"i told you i work through lunch, mike, and now with all of the work i have to catch up on, i'm not inclined to take lunch until i've caught up."

he looked disappointed but determined.

"so maybe we can meet after work?"

"dude, i just had surgery. i'm barely strong enough to be here at work. i've been going home to relax."

"maybe friday then?"

i'm beginning to wonder if he really knows english or he's just been pretending this whole time and really don't know what "i don't have the fucking time for lunch right now" means.

eventually i told him to hit me up next week and maybe i could take a few moments for a bite to eat. as i stepped past him to leave the copy room, he follows me. a co-worker is standing out there. mike pulls the professional mode bit.

"i will call you about that then." he says to me. the look in his eye was like "i WILL have you" like some shit i read in romance novels. it's cute in romance novels but straight up scary in real life.

see, this is the kind of shit that will get a sista killed. he can play like we don't know each other outside of work and then when my dead body turns up they won't be able to connect it to him. or is this just how it is with his culture? anybody out there ever date a russian dude?

i remember telling this other dude about a month back how he should give the chick who was digging him a chance. now she was mad aggressive, basically to the point of residing in his tighty whities. yet i was like "hey, she might not be crazy..."

so when that situation went sour due to some loopy shit, i bet he was like "i shouldn't have listened to nikki's ass..."

and now i'm sitting here in the same predicament and i'm thinking back to my advice to that cat and i'm wondering what the fuck i was thinking.

ALWAYS trust your instinct.

i told him not to trust his and he ended up with drama for days. now while in the end he ended up happier than he's ever been as that situation led to other shit popping off for him, i can't believe the same will happen to me. if i fuck around with this crazy dude will i end up meeting the guy i'm gonna fall in love with or am i gonna end up face down in a pool of blood? or maybe this cat's around so i can recognize the cat i'm vibing with right now is the one? or maybe he's around to remind me that i'm not ready for a relationship anyway?

or maybe he's just around to remind me to stay away from crazy russian dudes.

either way, this constantly riding my nipple shit is getting on my last nerve. i'm gonna email him and let him know he needs to step the fuck back. i'll let him know if and/or when i'm ready to proceed with lunch again.

yeah, that's what it is. i ain't ready. what did someone tell me a couple of months back? "if you gotta question it, he ain't the one cuz timing has just as much to do with it being the right situation as the person involved." someone from here said something like that.

well i ain't ready and he's crazy, so that's two reasons right there why i need to cut him out right now.

so anyway, i wonder when is that moment when a guy looks at a chick and is like "i wanna fuck that" and then begins to do everything in his power to make it happen. is it from the first moment or after a couple of conversations? is it possible to go from "i ain't hitting that ever" to "hold up...that pussy might be juiciness...i want at it!"? i think about my past situations and i can recall only one time where the guy went from unfuckable to fuckable and frankly, that was a mistake. i remember meeting him and thinking "he ain't really my type". next thing you know, we're kissing and i'm like "wait...maybe he's kinda my type" and then i met another guy shortly afterwards and was like "hold up..THIS is more my type" and i kicked first dude to the curb where he languished for a number of years. i would eventually revisit him and us and we ended up fucking, which was a situation that should have confirmed he wasn't really what i was looking for but because we'd been friends for so long and he was rather inexperienced, i figured he'd catch on eventually. it never really happened. in other words, i should have just gone with my gut when she told me not to give him the pussy.

instinct speaks.

you ever find yourself meeting someone for the first time and thinking he or she might be 'the one' and then stuff starts happening to you? like, a number of months back i met this cat and i was digging him and then things started happening to me, like my computer would crash during the middle of conversations with him right before i was gonna reveal something of how i felt for him. i started getting clumsy, like stubbing my toe and bumping up against walls, whenever i thought about him. now i could say that was just me being out of it and thinking on him too much, but i wonder if maybe that was the universe speaking. i wonder if that trepidation i felt despite the fact i was feeling him was my instinct telling me i really needed to keep him at an emotional distance.

hindsight is 20/20 ain't it?

so coming back to the original thought in this endless rant, i wonder when mike decided he wanted a piece of this precious pussy. mind you, i'm still quite horny. that shit hasn't changed. in fact, i was masturbating last night during an im conversation with this cat and he didn't even know. what's worse, we were talking about football. FOOTBALL PEOPLE. who gets off on talking about football? meanwhile, the fact he was talking so much smack was turning me on and next thing you know i was flicking the clit like it'd bit me, typing responses to him like i was sitting calmly at my computer desk going over my fantasy football stats when i was fantasizing about football while bringing myself to orgasm. damn, did i just digress?

aiight, so i've NEVER been dressed up when i've seen mike. i've always been in jeans and a shirt cuz my work environment is about as casual as it gets. so when did he suddenly look at me and think to himself "i wanna stir my pale prick up in that bowl o'chocolate"? i swear i've never even flirted with the guy before. it was like one minute we're talking about work and next thing you know he's looking at me like he wants to devour me.

well he ain't getting a bite outta this hershey bar damnit. oh, he just walked in here and grabbed my hand and said "don't over-work yourself" and i guess some endearment in russian. oh HELL NAH.

oh, and it's official. i'm moving to new york. anybody with leads on job opportunities need to hit a sista up.

Monday, September 11, 2006

meme monday?

time for another meme. i finally decided to do it after reading roycedaughter's entry. she is really one of my favorite bloggers. her writing is just delectable!

1) Full Name: nika tene (and don't you go calling me that damnit)

2) Name Backwards: enet akin

3) Were you named after anyone? no

4) Does your name mean anything? beauty and grace

5) Nick Name(s): nikki

6) Screen Name(s): iniquitous_lyric on msn, naturalblaquegal on aim, sensual_rhythm on yahoo

7) Date Of Birth: 8/1

8) Place of Birth: brooklyn, ny

9) Nationality: blackity black, the other shit is wack

10) Current Location: atl, gawga, what'll it do faw ya

11) Sign: leo (as if there's any other)

12) Religion: the one that believes in a higher being but isn't dogmatic and respects the differing beliefs of others

13) Height: 5'6

14) Skin color: caramel after puckering up with the sun

15) Shoe Size: 11 (and you know what they say about women with big feet........"uh, that heffa got some big ass feet!")

16) Hair colour: varying degrees of brown

17) Eye colour: brown (see a theme here?)

18) What do you look like? surely you know by now. oh, and my shits are real.

19) Innie or Outie? innie

20) Right, Lefty, or Ambidextrous? lefty, although my daddy tried to change me to a righty cuz he recognized the oppression left-handed folk suffer at the hands of you righty bastids, namely having to work on desks designed for right-handed folk only and let's not EVEN discuss SCISSORS.

21) Gay, Straight, Bi, or Other? straight, but i slept with a woman once so i guess that makes me straight with a hiccup.

22) Best friend(s): lateef, candice, jermaine, antoine, taiwo, tamica, dex

23) Best friend you trust the most: lateef

24) Best friends {your sex}: come on...

25) Best friends of the opposite sex: again, come on...

26) Best Bud(s): the last three questions have been ridiculously redundant

27) Boyfriend / Girlfriend: hehehe

28) Crush: no doubt

29) Parent(s): love 'em to life

30) Worst Enemy: i won't name 'em cuz i won't claim 'em

31) Favorite on-line Guy(s): short list: jerome, amadeo, west, david, mike, verse, hassan, olawunmi, will, rell, king, noise

32) Favorite on-line Girl(s): short list: scarlett rae, blah, royce, trizzy, bkdiva, choklit, stilt, sowise, honeylibra, sanelee, gp, sophia (cuz i actually talk to these sistas outside of the blog)

33) Funniest friend: jerome. that guy can make a rock laugh.

34) Craziest friend: candice. she's down for WHATEVER.

35) Advice Friend: lateef and jerome

36) Loudest Friend: me? LOL

37) Person you cry with: jerome most recently

Do You Have...
38) Any sisters: in spirit, no doubt.

39) Any brothers: one. lateef. my heart.

40) Any pets: uh, jerome? LMAO

41) A Disease: some shit my doc told me last week that i can't spell.

42) A Pager: i can turn my own pages damnit

43) A Personal phone line: only for the ones who know where i live

44) A Cell phone: yeah, although it's hardly ever on or on me for that matter (stop cussing me out about that shit.)

45) A Lava lamp: it looks like cum in liquid.

46) A Pool or hot tub: of semen? can i submit a request for that? wait, that sounds kinda nasty...

47) A Car: yup

Describe Your...

48) Personality: compassionate, sincere, loyal, honest, obstinent, opinionated, introspective, spiritual, challenging, creative, affectionate, loving, sarcastic, procrastinating

49) Driving: fast and loose (but i use my turn signals)

50) Car or one you want: i drive a honda cr-v now, i want one of those l.exus hardtop convertibles though.

51) Room: ugh. it's a fucking MESS.

52) What’s missing? intimacy, but that'll be rectified before long no doubt

53) School: not this semester. LONG ASS STORY. argh!

54) Bed: king

55) Relationship with your parent(s): loving with hints of despair

56) Believe in yourself: not nearly as much as others do

57) Do you believe in love at first sight? i think it's possible to fall in love with an image at first sight. for example, i can look at a brotha who's attractive and add all the attributes i want to him that'll make him worth loving, but that ain't the real him, just a fabrication of what i want. frankly, i can't love him until after i've tilled his mind.

58) Consider yourself a good listener: i'm a bit below average, but i'm working on being even better at it.

59) Sleep in PJs: no

60) Get Along with your parents: why are there so many damn redundant questions in this damn meme?!?

61) Save your e-mail conversations: every last one of them until the person pisses me off, then i delete every last one of them except for the one reminding me of why i cut their asses off in the first place.

62) Pray: more than i realized.

63) Believe in reincarnation: yup. anything's possible as far as i'm concerned.

64) Like to make fun of people: no, cuz everybody has their own light, even if i'm not fond of the hue of the bulb, they all have a right to shine. i reserve the right to make a sarcastic comment if you've done some shit you know is foul though.

65) Like to talk on the phone: depends, but for the most part, nah. i prefer the kind of conversation where eye contact is required. phone talk is mostly bogus.

66) Like to eat: yup. DUH.

67) Like to drive: very much. planning to do a cross-country drive in next summer.

68) Get motion sickness: every now and again.

69) Eat the stems of broccoli: yeah

70) Eat Chicken fingers with a fork: hell nah. they call it chicken FINGERS for a damn reason.

71) Dream in colour: yes, cuz i can't fuck in black and white unless i'm black and he's white which technically makes me more of a brown and him a pinkish tint.

72) Type with your fingers on home row: that's the way i was taught, so yeah.

73) Sleep with a stuffed animal: no. those things be feeling a sista up. i ain't down with that shit.

What is...

74) Right next to you: a bunch of sympathy cards and a stack of neglected work

75) On the walls of your room: paint?

76) On your mouse pad: green lycra

77) Your dream car: i don't dream of cars. that's booshit to me.

78) Your dream date: me and him in a tub full of water and bubbles surrounded by candles somewhere in the mountains

79) Your dream honeymoon spot: on top of him. shit, that's the only thing that matters about a honeymoon, folk.

80) Your dream husband/wife: one who shows me that he knows me, grows me and flows through me and every now and again 'whoa's' me

81) Your bedtime: 1 a.m.

82) Under your bed: carpet, cuz that shit's on the floor

83) The single most important question: will i ever be truly happy?

84) Your bad time of the day: man...i don't really have a bad time of day.

85) Your worst fear(s): losing my brother

86) The weather you like: mid 70's, sunny, with a breeze

87) The time? 11:48 a.m.

88) The date? September 11, 2006

89) The best trick you ever played on someone: when i told him he had a big dick. hold up, that's the cruelest trick...wait, does a lie qualify as a trick?

90) The weirdest food or drink that you like: liverwurst on saltine crackers. that is the SHIT.

91) Theme Song: 'show me', by jill scott

92) The hardest thing about growing up: growing apart

93) Your funniest experience: that time, in band camp when i uh...yeah...

94) Your scariest moment: any time i get a call too early in the morning for it to be anything else but bad news. most times it ain't.

95) The silliest thing you've done: this meme?

96) The funniest or most desperate thing you've done to get the attention of the opposite sex? entered a big booty contest. yes, i won...on BOTH fronts...

97) The scariest thing that's ever happened while with your friend(s): being shot at. one of us was struck and killed.

98) The best feeling in the world: being in love and making a difference in the lives of others

99) The worst feeling in the world: losing someone i love and feeling helpless to rid others of their burden and/or grief

gather and support

georgia peach lost her mom on friday. please show her some love as she makes her way through this difficult time. i'm sure she'll appreciate any emotional support you can provide. thanks.

i'll post something else lataz.

Thursday, September 07, 2006


aiight, folk...we've got sixteen teams in the pick 'em league and twelve in the fantasy football league.

the ff league is closed, but the pick 'em league is still open, but you gotta get in now cuz the first game is tonight.

here's the link:

group id: 4171
password: winner

i'm really excited about this season! there are women in both leagues and we're representing STRONGLY. you guys betta watch out!

Tuesday, September 05, 2006


i fooled myself into feeling nothing because i'd convinced myself it didn't exist.

i plunged the knife into my chest, ramming it forcefully through skin, cleaving muscle until its tip landed heavily against my breastbone. with a white-knuckled grip, i dragged the blade down towards my abdomen. the severed fabric of my t-shirt fell in divided fibers into the furrow left in the wake of the knife's jagged journey down my torso. i curved the blade's path, cutting upward and around, my left breast falling away from my body to land in a flacid mass on the floor as the trail of disconnected flesh ended where it began. i looked down and saw a gaping mouth exposing the contents of my chest cavity, my skin flapping around it like toothless gums. i was painted with plasma, the thick liquid gurgling in muted sounds as it spilled from the wound, soaking my clothing and staining my skin. my mind became a disjointed observer, indifferently witnessing the self surgery as if i had suffered little more than a broken fingernail.

where is the pain? the agony from a wound such as this should be seizing every cell within me, twisting my insides until i fall into an unconscious knot on the floor.

i glanced down with detached vision at the traitorous thing still moving within the open wound, watching as it expanded and contracted in a cadence of defiance against me. i refused to give that thing a name because to name it is to claim it and i didn't want it anymore.

it still pumped platelets of his essence through me, a coagulation of images clogging my vain attempt to rid myself of him

still beat in observance of his existence, a metronome stuck upon the rhythm of his name

still bore life born still in his absence, a painful labor of dead seconds from the withered womb of inert minutes

i reached into myself and ripped the thing from me, slamming it against the carpet. i was so sure it would lose its life in the wake of its disconnection from my body, so sure i would win my demise in the wake of its defection from my body. i mean, essentially, it hadn't belonged to me since i'd met him anyway. the winding vines of my veins had become a map tracking his invasion of my terrain from the moment my brain licked upon the vibration of his voice.

i willed it to stop beating.

stop beating.



it wasn't even listening to me. it just layed there on the fucking floor, expanding and contracting, telling me it didn't need to be within me to be in this with me.

i don't die that easily...

i watch that thing crawl across the floor, etching a path of blood in the carpet as it painstakenly put one valve in front of the other and inched its way over my shoe, up my left leg, past my waist and abdomen until finally it fell into the hole created to rid myself of it, reattaching itself to me as though it had never left.

don't get that shit twisted, heffa. you cut HIM out of your life, not ME.

she made me reclaim her, made me name her and acknowledge the anguish that once in a while comes with her existence.

my heart.

my vulnerable, selfish, sensitive, stubborn, romantic, determined, compassionate, loving, resilient, hell-raising heart.

i'll never get that shit twisted again (uh, until the next time my overly dramatic emotions convince me otherwise)

but one thing's fa sho... even if every now and then she pulsates in the cadence of his name, the pain of the remembered refrain won't ever be enough to make me think of ending either one of us again.