so i finally get around to this damn meme...

let me first say that i know i'm a trife mothafucka for waiting almost a month to complete this thing. sowise tagged me way back on june 1. all i can say is that...well, fuck it. i don't have anything to say. i'm doing it today cuz i'm lazy and uninspired.

so here goes...

Keep it Real...(as if there were any other way to be...i'm a human being, not an orgasm...)

1. If you could be doing what you really want to be doing for a living, what would it be?

writing...and breathing.

2. If you could slap the shit out of any famous person, alive or dead, who would it be?

why would i wanna waste a perfect good slap on a famous person when there are so many people i know who deserve it more, like my boss. i just wanna smack him in the mouf one time for all the times he said "we've got to complete this project by (insert ridiculously unrealistic date here)" what the fuck does he mean by "we" when his part in the "we" scenario is him basically sitting back on his ass while i do all the damn work.

then again...i would like to slap pari.s hil.ton. i saw some footage the other week where she had some guy who was evidently one of her puppets, talking shit about lindsay loham. now i'm not one of lindsay's fans but damn...some of the shit he said was harsh and paris just sat there giggling and whispering into her phone while he looked like her bitch spewing all that hatred. doesn't she have anything better to do with her time than sic her malicious pet upon another celebrity? just go away already.

3. What's the dumbest decision you've made in the past 5 years?

letting others impose upon me what their definition of happiness is and me buying into it. i'll never do that shit again.

4. Give up one for a year: (good) sex or (good) music.

i've gone this long without good sex so i guess i could go a little longer (although not much...)

5. Dudes, would you rather have a big dick or a great sense of humor?

Ladies, nice tits & azz or common sense?

i've got nice tits and ass and it hasn't gotten me anywhere. give me the common sense, damnit.

6. So you've been invited to an all expense paid Blogger Prom in The Bahamas. You're sitting at the bar on the beach. Which blogger do you want to join you for hours of good convo?

that'd be scarlettrae. we've already had hours of good conversation so i know she's good for it.

7. Which blogger would you most like to cuddle with on the beach? (and don't defer to your current signif other either. Infidelity won't count against you. Duh.)

jerome, but only if by 'cuddling' you mean 'fucking the shit out of each other'.

and no, i'm not linking his shit.

8. You're going on a 5 hour road trip...which 5 CDs do you bring?

1. frank sinatra - the reprise years
2. earth, wind, & fire - greatest hits
3. marvin gaye - best of marvin gaye
4. no doubt - tragic kingdom
5. stevie wonder - songs in the key of life (disc 2)

9. Would you rather bury your children young or have your children bury you young?

really...who would prefer to bury their kids?!?


10. What's your biggest insecurity?

my weight. even at my skinniest i thought i was fat. comes from growing up in a household where everybody was skinny and making comments like "don't you think you've had enough to eat?" or "a second helping?!? you sure you need that?"

11.What's the first blog you read every day...or however often you read them? (And I swear to God, don't be saying mine just cuz I'm the one asking...unless of course you really mean it. lol)

ladynaynay, cuz i know she's posted something and it's gonna be interesting. i love her pooka and school stories and her sense of humor always makes me smile. i don't think that woman has gone a day during the week without posting something. i just love her blog :)

12. When's the last time you peed your pants?

does the little "i'm frantically running to the bathroom before i pee in my pants" trickle count? if so, then about a month ago.


13. Which was better, your first kiss or your first pay check?

my first kiss SUCKED. let's just say there were alot of kids around and i didn't know what da fuck i was doing.

i'll take that first paycheck from mc.donal.ds, please. yeah...the one that paid me about a hundred and twenty bucks for two weeks worth of work.

14. Do you have kids? Want kids?

i have kids (the ones i mentor, that is). i want kids very, very badly.

15. You get dropped off at home after the office holiday party by your bitch azz boss that you can't effing stand...you exit the car and he peels out, runs a red light at your corner and rolls up an unsuspecting midget. The next day the midget watch groups are on TV outraged at the heartless hit and run, and are calling for any witnesses to please come fwd...that half dead midget has a family at home waiting on C-mas presents. Would you take $1000 hush money? $500? $100? A six pack?

i'd send that mothafucka to jail and not because he's a spineless bastid (which he is), but because he hit a midget and that's just wrong unless you're hitting one from behind, in which case it's just nasty.

16. Live the rest of your life without your eyebrows or your fingernails?

i gotta have my fingernails. i can pencil in eyebrows.

17. What makes you angry?

purposefully ignorant people
complacent people
passive people
people who don't hold themselves accountable for the shit they do
abusive people
injustice anywhere

18. What makes you horny?

breathing him and breathing and him.

19. What makes you nervous?

getting a phone call too late in the night to be a booty call (that's between the hours of 3 a.m. and 6 a.m.)

20. What makes you smile?

talking to my brother
writing
reading great blogs like yours :)
autumn
football season
this little one right here...

this is very necessary

check this out. a response in her domain, which makes sense because it's her spot. thought it was important i post the link so you can know she didn't take the coward's route by not responding at all.

this isn't to say that her response is any less ignorant than the one she posted here, but it's all good. i appreciate her right to an opinion even if it's garbage. ;)

miss ann thrope's eloquent response to my response (written in what i take to be a 'bitter bitch ranting on her blog' type language)

btw...she doesn't allow comments on her shit. you gotta email her. what kind of shit is that?

Edit: i have been told by one of her regular posters that she allows comment, so i take back what i said.

all of this said...i won't be commenting on what she said. the way i see it, she's made her point known. she's adamant about it which means any attempt at discourse would be a wasted effort.

sooooo...moving along...

the token negro speaks...into a fucking vacuum

what am i to them? am i 'that black chick' or do they not note my brown skin at all? how could they possibly overlook such a distinctive characteristic when it's the one of only two things separating my appearance from that of everyone else? (the other being my locs). i'm sure they don't.

they knew exactly what the fuck they were doing when they hired me.

that lone bit o'coffee to go in a cup o'cream.
that dollop of chocolate syrup on vanilla ice cream.
that black stain on a pristine white blouse.

i'm that token negro.

what da hell is a 'token negro', you ask? i pulled out my dictionary o'colored folk terms to find out.

token negro - n. (derived from the language of white corporate guilt and affirmative action initiatives.) the existence of less than .1% of black folk in the department/ division/ lab/ company. her existence is pivotal in creating the elusion of tolerance and diversity. she will be over-qualified and underpaid for her job and will be held up to a higher standard of behavior and work habits than her white counterparts. she will accept this as par for the course and simply revel in the fact that she was lucky enough to get in the door.

her job will be one in management only if she has obtained at least one academic degree more than all her counterparts and she can expect to hit the 'glass ceiling designating a lack in equal opportunity for advancement of black folk' within five to seven years of being employed with the organization. at this point, she will become an embittered negro and decide to either leave the organization for another position where the process starts over again or start her own business with the express intent of gaining contentment without having to sacrifice her humanity in the process.

used in a sentence: that token negro betta watch her back cuz they only need one of her and her ass can be replaced.

as one of only three black folk in a lab of over 150, i'm acutely aware of the precarious nature of my position. on the one hand, i could be arrogant about it. i mean, they need my black ass, right? my presence guarantees that the naacp won't be stopping by the offices with a demand for my boss to hire more black folk. me being here means there will be no group of angry negro folk with picket signs out front marching in circles while singing "we shall overcome" and formulating plans of staging sit ins in the department's breakroom.

then again, i'm one of three black folk, which means they can get rid of me and still have two in the cage, ready to be lead out before the masses to dispel any notions of racism existing within our organization.

so basically i'm the equivalent of a rick fox. role player who don't look half bad but in the end, i'm easily replacable.

are you a token, too?

do you have white friends who see you as that black associate they can flaunt to others as proof they're not racist?

"...i have a coloured friend. so you see, i'm not racist."

"do you actually hang out with this 'coloured' friend?"

"sure. we work in the same building. every now and again i see her in the hallway as i'm turning to run in the opposite direction."

"why are you running in the opposite direction?"

"cuz that's where the bathrooms are."

"so you running away from her has nothing to do with her being 'coloured'. you had to pee."

"look, i told you i'm not racist. i've eaten with her a few times."

"really? did you talk to her?"

"uh, no. i didn't want to disturb her."

"but you were eating with her. isn't that the point? to talk?"

"well actually, we weren't sitting at the same table."

"well then you weren't eating together."

"we were eating at the same time. surely that accounts for something?"

"you don't mind breathing the same air as her. that's what that means."

"yes. if i were racist i'd have an adversion to that."

"uh, just so you know...just cuz you tolerate her doesn't mean you're not racist."

"look here. i don't go burning crosses on lawns or wearing white hoods or calling people nigger. i am NOT a racist."

"have you ever spoken to a 'coloured' person and found yourself shocked because the person was articulate? have you then raved to other folks about how articulate and intelligent that 'coloured' person is, as if these are rare traits to be found in such people"

"but i'm complimenting them!"

"have you ever witnessed a 'coloured' co-worker at work and marveled at the fact that he or she knows things that would not make you marvel if that co-worker had been white, like being able to use 'sophisticated' software like microsoft word?"

"well that is a pretty difficult program to master..."

"what about a 'coloured' person's temperment? have you ever hesitated before causing conflict with her out of a fear that she will exhibit a lack of control and 'go off' on you?"

"but they are rather passionate in nature..."

"would you be cool with your daughter marrying a 'coloured' man?"

"i don't see what my daughter has to do with this..."

"my point is this...racism isn't just the shit folk do like drag folk behind pick ups and it ain't an affliction patented by a few mullet-wearing white folks driving pick ups and swigging beer from the front porch of their trailers in south georgia. having a college education or living in a metropolitan area doesn't automatically grant you a free pass from racist behavior. think about that shit next time you see your 'coloured friend'."

"i will not think about it because there's nothing to think about. when i see her, i speak. i'm cordial to her. i think she's articulate and intelligent. i don't run from her when i see her and we've even made small talk from time to time."

"i have some questions for you."

"out with it. i don't have all day."

"do you see 'coloured' folk as equal to you in every way? do you think they're just as capable as you are mentally and physically? do you feel that if the playing field in america and around the world were truly level that 'coloured' folk would be just as successful as their white counterparts in all endeavors both personal and professional?"

pause

"what are you talking about?!? the playing field IS level!"

"you really believe that? i see this is gonna be harder than i thought..."

____________________________________

see, this is the conversation i want to have with at least one of my co-workers. i wonder how they'd answer my questions? would they be offended because i brought the 'race' thing up? would they assume i'm looking for them to feel guilt because of how black folk have been treated by white folk in america and beyond? would they assume i fault them personally for that?

i'm not sure, but i'm starting to think that kind of discussion is on the horizon.

rainy day in georgia (power of positive thinking)

it's monday.
it's rainy.
it's dark and grey.
its cloudy.
its thunder.
it's lightning.
its loud.
its scary.
its slippery.
it's wet.
it's humid.
it's hot.
it's high-volume traffic.
it's absent electricity.
it's frustrated folk.

it's perfect.

my commute took an extra ten minutes.
my clothes got soaked because i left my umbrella at home.
my body is uncomfortable and clammy.
my hair is frizzy.
my glasses are foggy.
my view out of my office window is blurry.
my work from last week is piled upon my desk this week.
my office is full of old and new projects.
my time today will be filled with tasks both difficult and tedious.
my boss is in a bad mood.

it's perfect.

cuz i still breathe
cuz i still live
cuz i still love
cuz i still give
cuz i still meet
cuz i still seek
cuz i still grow
cuz i still know

no matter what goes
on

it's perfect.

man...

i gotta apologize to my boy west. my angry and frankly, petulant response to him on friday was uncalled for. i've always strived for my blog to be a place where everyone felt welcome and encouraged to voice his or her opinion, even if it's in direct opposition to mine. no excuses. i shouldn't have behaved so poorly.

he's been an amazing friend to me over the last year and my treatment of him was totally disrespectful. he didn't deserve it and therefore, i'm putting this post up so he knows of my public apology. what did i say earlier this year? gotta check myself when i fuck up. i'm doing it now.

i'll be posting shortly, but i wanted to drop this shit first. aiight, now i feel better.

get over it.

sistas, how many times have you heard stuff like this?

"men don't talk to other men about stuff like that. you women share too much with each other."

"men don't back-stab their friends like you women do."

"men know how to keep friendships drama-free."

yes. men are so much more evolved than women are.

for example, here in blogland, women read and comment on the blogs of other women all of the time. it's like natural. it's the sharing of experiences, knowledge, triumphs, failures, happiness, sorrow, etc. we're so barbaric.

meanwhile, the more evolved of the species, the men...why, they don't bother to comment on the blogs of other men (for the most part). if i see a high number of men commenting on a man's blog it's safe to say that guy is gay. no, i'm not assuming this because only gay men reply to the blogs of other men. i'm saying this because gay men don't mind sharing their thoughts with other men and that shit shouldn't be patented to them.

see, i know why you heterosexual men don't comment on the blogs of other men. some of you think it might make you look gay. others think it might make you look as though you're jocking the brotha and that's DEFINITELY not a good look to you. still others kinda like the idea of no man ever cracking the walls of their fortress by commenting on their blogs. i mean after all, it's really all about being appealing to the women, is it not?

let's not fool ourselves. most of you guys created these blogs so you can get the women all on your nutsacks. you want the attention and you don't want that shit split by having another man in the mix. you ain't gonna comment on another guy's blog if you think he might end up commenting on yours. i mean, why would you want the interesting guy to comment on your shit? he might end up taking your adoring fans away from you.

and we can't have that, right? i mean, your fragile hold on those women is easily threatened by the appearance of a guy who is just as cute if not cuter than you. keep it female and those sistas might never guess just how average you really are.

what's funny is that i know alot of you brothas read the blogs of other brothas. you actually enjoy the damn blogs. so why not comment on them? why play silent and not give them the encouragement and praise and sense of connection you so dearly seek from the females you want to comment on your blog?

are you really that afraid of appearing to be less of a man? do you really think that the fact you don't comment on a brotha's blog somehow makes you more of a man? do you think encouraging and praising and bonding are feminine actions and men who do it are gay (as an insult)?

i think it's time you brothas 'woman'ed up'. be courageous enough to show support to each other without fear of being viewed as being gay or jocking a mothafucka. this is supposed to be a community, not a contest.

believe me, sistas read alot of blogs. while you sitting there thinking we're all caught up in your mix cuz we commenting on your shit, please know there are plenty of male bloggers out there with female audiences, doing the same thing you're doing and for the same reason.

in other words, you're playing yourself for the average cat.

that's the worst look of all.

oh, it's ON now...

king has posted a response to my entry on getting rid of pesky guys. i feel a gender war coming on...

sistas, it is your duty to go over there and tell king just how wrong he really is. LOL

oh, and you guys? please refrain from male bonding. that's not a good look, especially if you want pussy in the future.

get off da clit, dick.

ever find yourself in a situation where you're trying to get rid of mothafuckas after they've fulfilled their purpose in your life? that guy you met at the club who immediately turned you off when he told you he was a redskins fan (YUCK) but he had all of his teeth so you gave him your number anyway? or that guy with poor bedside manners...you know, the one who thinks you should find the taste of sweaty balls coated with gritty dirt a tasty treat? what about the one you met months ago who you thought might have been 'the one' but now you realize he's 'the one to avoid'?

it'd be easy to get rid of these guys if they were smart enough to pick up on your signs of disinterest, i.e. calls made only from him to you. time wasted on the phone whispering with dead air and stupid conversations comprised of his insipid questions like "what's up?", "soooo...how's the weather?", "uh, what you doing?", followed by your sarcastic answers like "hopefully, your i.q.", "who cares? i don't live on the streets", "didn't i just answer that fucking question?"

or the one-sided im conversations where he talks and talks and talks and you read at first before you tune him out and straight up walk away from the computer to watch television, come back fifteen minutes later and see the mothafucka is still talking as though you'd never left. in fact, you could watch a movie online, put in an "uh huh", a "true" and a couple of "no doubt"s at various intervals and it's almost like you're an active participant in the conversation. almost.

goodness forbid you have a moment of weakness and find yourself actually fucking the person. you know it's happened to you before. you're sitting at home bored and horny and the booty call is either busy or non-existent and then the person you normally avoid at all costs is a welcome diversion to the ennui you're feeling. you start contemplating how you can fuck 'em and leave 'em with the least amount of drama. you say to yourself "he ain't half bad" despite the fact that his voice grates on your nerves, the conversation is so uninspired you think you could find more things to discuss with the pebble lodged in your shoe, and physically speaking, his body is about one tenth of what you're looking for. it doesn't matter, he's got the required erect member to get you off and that's the most important thing.

so you fuck him.

and now he won't go AWAY.

what do you do? what do you say?

i've got my own solutions for these situations. use 'em at your own risk.

scenario: you developed a blog crush on a guy early in the game but after months of talking to him online, you realize he's a very good writer but boring as hell otherwise. it's not his fault. he has no idea you've renamed him 'mr. blah man' in your mind. evidently on his side of the world, people value the ability to assault folk with a continuous cacophony of colorless consonants coupled with vacuous vowels forming entire paragraphs meant to motivate one towards committing suicide. he prides himself in his ability to hear himself talk without your occasional opinion interrupting the never-ending stream of his ingenious insight.

in other words, he thinks you're perfect for him so he continues to pursue. what are the surefire methods for ridding yourself of this guy (or at the very least, keeping the romantic notions out of his head)?

a. put him on "permanent offline" status on your yahoo. don't feel bad about this move. if he's monopolizing your online time and doesn't care about your desires, don't care about his feelings.

b. send him an email detailing to him exactly why you are no longer feeling him. use phrases like "it's not me, it's definitely you." or "back when i didn't know you well, i thought you were perfect for me. now that i know you better, i realize you're perfect for someone else." be sure to point out all of his flaws to him so that he's a shuddering mass of weeping male by the time you're finished with him.

c. stop visiting his blog. brotha got a sitemeter, so he'll figure it out.

d. tell him you're a man. this will not work if he's already met you offline...or if he's bisexual.

e. talk about another blogger dude you're digging on your blog. the key here is to be as gushy and mushy about it as possible. this particular maneuver will require you to fake the role of a woman in the throes of infatuation. it means making little comments that only your "other" man will understand, little inside jokes that let folk know you two talk outside of the blog. you could pick a really lonely and desperate male blogger to set your faux attentions on, but then you'll end up with yet another brotha you gotta get rid of. your best bet would be to make up a fictitious blogger. you will have to set up a separate account, but that's little work in the big picture. ultimately, you're gonna have to be both corny and childish to pull this one off. therefore, use this tactic only if you have no pride or maturity.

f. show him a friend girl's blog and be like "she's cute AND insightful. i bet you two have alot in common, too!" ya girl might not appreciate this move so expect retaliation, but as long as you get brotha offa your ass, do you really care?

scenario: you were just being friendly when you gave him your phone number, not wanting to embarrass him in front of his boys. meanwhile, he never really stood a chance of getting with you. was it the knock-off versace shirt of satin embracing his body like a toddler holding onto its momma's leg for dear life that made you think to yourself "maybe this ain't the guy for me..."? perhaps it was the conversation consisting of little more than tepid lines meant to have you tweaking your nipples in anticipation but instead got you ready to kick him in the crotch. lines like "i've got a car...and it runs. wanna touch the hood?" or "i love going downtown on a sista." let you know he's a loser right off the bat. he's already trying to get into your panties and you don't even know his yearly net wage.

and unfortunately you couldn't give him the wrong number because damnit, now folk be plugging the shit into their phones immediately before calling you to give you theirs. this is a slick move, cuz really he's making sure you gave him the right number. what could you have done to avoid this situation? what do you do if you're already caught up in it?

before he starts reaching for his phone, you have a number of options:

a. pick your nose and eat the booger, right there in his face. if he gets a chubby after that display, he's one sick bastid. only use this one if he's got ugly friends. otherwise, that cute guy staring at you from across the club is doing so cuz his boy told him you a nasty heffa.

b. tell him you have an aversion to giving blowjobs. explain in detail just how unappealing putting your lips on a dick would be, using the appropriate facial expressions to magnify your dislike for the task. again, use your discretion with this one.

c. tell him you're looking for someone to take care of you. use this one only if he's broke. broke brothas are looking for someone to take care of THEM so that automatically puts you out of the running.

d. pretend you don't know english. don't use spanish or french, cuz those are the popular languages and he might be fluent in one of them. use something obscure like russian or chinese. this might not be as convincing if you're black (cuz really, are there any black folk in russia or china?) but he might buy it if you have your girl with you to tell him the story of your parents being communists and having to flee to russia or china to escape persecution. you gotta be careful with this one, though. make sure you know who he came with so you won't get caught talking in fluent english to his friends.

if you haven't the talent to act out the above suggestions and find yourself exchanging numbers with the guy, don't fret. you've still got a few options:

a. set up a coded system on your phone. when you've received the cell number of a guy you will want to avoid in the future, name the entry "do not answer1". this can be used numerous times, just add a different number to the end. you can also get creative with it by using labels like "big-nosed bastid" or "desperate dude" or "no fucking way" or "stank breath". just make sure you use something that won't confuse you. i mean, if you like desperate dudes or guys with huge honkers you don't want to use those as labels for someone you want to avoid.

b. hide the cell phone in the purse and turn the ringer off. then tell him you don't believe in technology cuz it just makes you more vulnerable to the machinations of 'the man'. this one works well if you've got 'locs cuz you're already putting out that 'revolutionary sista' vibe. if your appearance is too manicured, this won't work cuz he'll know you're high maintenance and therefore, a cell phone to you is a necessity. if you simply must be coifed, don't match your accessories and you might be able to get away with it.

c. give him a very, very specific time to call. tell him some shit like "i'm only available on the second thursday of every other month between the hours of 9 p.m. and 10 p.m." if he asks why your availability is so limited, tell him your psychic healer told you those are the only times you can talk on the phone, otherwise you risk being struck down by goddess delilah. he'll be deleting your number from his phone before you finish the sentence.

d. when he leans over to check your phone display to see if his number 'took' make sure you're displaying a photo of you surrounded by a bunch of kids. tell him they're all yours. keep the number of kids in the photo high but realistic, somewhere between four and seven. you have to make up names for all of them, so be prepared. if you have no access to that many kids at one time, go to the local boys and girls club and volunteer some time. in exchange you can have a photo taken with you and the kids. to be fair, you shouldn't request the photo until you've put in at least ten hours of service there. otherwise they'll think you like to get freaky with the kids and then you might find yourself being arrested. oh, and make sure the kids all look very different from each other but are of the same color. you want it to appear like you've got more than one baby's daddy but he'll become immediately suspicious if he sees an asian kid in the mix cuz we all know asian men ain't getting with the sistas.

scenario: you are not attracted to him and in fact you know you'll have to fantasize about someone else just to keep yourself wet enough to finish the deed without chafing the coochie. however, your dildo is on the fritz and he doesn't have a disagreeable body odor (for the most part) so you figure you'll give him a little just to knock off some of the itch. so you do and now he won't stop calling you cuz despite the fact your effort was lukewarm, he hadn't had quality pussy in a long time (if ever). see, you gave him some of that sunshine pussy, the kind that'll have him telling you the truth outside of the bedroom, so he open. meanwhile, you gotta find a way to tell him you don't want to see him anymore. this is a tricky situation because even though you want to say 'never again', you know you might find yourself in desperate straits sometime in the future, so you can't cut him off completely. you just want to keep him on a long leash, one that won't allow for the scent of your sex to go wafting through his nostrils, reminding him of his need to stalk you daily, but strong enough for you to be able to snap him back to your side if the need ever arises. how do you get him to 'play dead' until you need him to be a 'live one' in the bed? here's are some options:

a. have the sex at his house, but not in his bed. if it's in his bed then he might think you think the moment's special when it's really just an exercise in the release of sexual frustration. by having it at his house you have the freedom to bounce whenever you're ready. if he's at your house he might try to bogart his way into some extra time and then you're stuck there trying to find a nice way to kick his ass out.

you can also have sex in your parent's house. this way you can act like they're gonna be home at any minute so he gotta hurry up and finish. Important note: make sure you've gotten yours by the time he's done, otherwise you defeat the whole purpose of having sex with him.

sidebar: yeah, yeah...i know there are alot of you guys saying to yourselves "shit, i wouldn't mind being used like that!" meanwhile, you're the same cat lamenting on your blog about how the sista just dipped on your ass after you did "x" and "y" for her. admit it. you don't like being played, even if it is for sex.

b. afterwards, tell him you're moving to another state. keep in mind this only works if you two don't frequent the same spots. it might require you get an out of town phone number but with cell plans these days you won't have to pay long distance fees.

c. have one of your other guy friends pose as a crazy ex-boyfriend. he might be required to call the unwanted dude and cuss him out over the phone or slash a tire or two. you will need to do some pre-planning for this one because the performance is only believable if the guy friend believes someone is messing with his property. therefore, you will need to flirt a little strongly with the guy friend for about a month prior to when you will need his services, getting him to believe he might actually have a chance at the pussy. then you tell said friend that someone else is trying to push up. tell him the only way the guy will understand is if guy friend acts a little crazy. if he hasn't had any ass in a long time, it won't take much encouraging for him to get 'tyson-like' on a mofo.

scenario: brotha tells you he's a redskins fan and you're diehard cowboys fan. it's obvious he lacks intelligence so really, there's only one answer here...

KICK HIM TO THE CURB IMMEDIATELY WITH HIS INFERIOR TEAM LOVIN' ASS.

i encourage you be rude with it. if he's thick-skulled enough to remain a redskins fan after witnessing decades of their continued mediocrity, then you gonna have to smack him up beside the head for him to receive the rejection. your purse or a shoe are perfect tools you can use to accomplish this.
_________________________

now it goes without saying that all of these scenarios can be avoided by simply being honest with the guy. you could find a way to spare his feelings while also stating firmly that you're not interested in him. meanwhile, that's boring shit. why tell the truth and be direct with him when you can lie and be sneaky about it? leave the truth-telling to the animals. we evolved human beings are way too sophisticated not to lie.

what would you do? let me know how you'd handle these situations.

*whew*

man, this was one of those weekends that make a sista go "what the fuck am i doing here dealing with this?"

not much to offer in the form of an entry other than to say i've been preoccupied. i figure i'll spend the next day catching up on the blogs i've been missing out on.

love life is in disarray (wait...that'd mean i have a love life, which i don't.)

job is getting on my last nerve and i want that mothafucka to get the fuck OFFA it.

my mom read a couple of the entries i wrote about her. i'm sure she skipped over the part where i was talking about how horny i was (am), but she enjoyed the rest of it.

ever notice how when you finally get over a person they're suddenly unappealing in almost every way? like "i was nose open over him? what the fuck was i thinking?!?"

do you ever find yourself wishing you could be with someone you know isn't right for you? what's worse is that your brain is working overtime trying to justify the differences between you two, as though the fact that you're an atheist and he's a devout christian is but a small hurdle in the road to love.

was it just me or has dwayne wade now firmly established himself as one of the elite players in the nba? i mean, every now and again i blinked and it was like i was watching jordan from the early 90s. wade is fucking CARRYING that team.

how come professional players who leave atlanta end up playing like beasts somewhere else? jason terry was here for five years and the guy was barely average. now he's with dallas showing his ASS. i told my brother last night it's cuz atlanta's a vampire city. it sucks the talent out of everybody here. expect michael vick to feel the prick in the next couple of years.

where the fuck is shaq? oh yeah, he's that big body in the paint not doing shit. i tell you, if you take away his past glory nobody would even be mentioning his name in this series. they're barely saying a word about him as it is.

why are people on espn wondering whether or not phil mickelson choked? HELL YEAH he choked. he choked like a girl deep throating for the first time.

how many white men were pissed off at that negro tiger for not making the cut in the u.s. open? i bet if they could have gotten away with it, tiger's ass would have been lynched.

i don't want the u.s. to win the world cup. it'd be like a swedish team coming here and winning the super bowl. really, america as a whole don't give a shit about soccer, so why should we win the world championship in the sport? oh yeah, so we can tell the world "we're number one in a sport you people treasure and we think is shit. if that doesn't prove to you we're the best country to ever exist, i don't know what does."

ever be around someone who initially you thought was an idiot and then a couple of months down the road you be like "you know, i could fuck him for real..."...then again, we've all fucked idiots. if you've fucked me, you've fucked one.

ever develop a blog crush based simply on someone's writing even though you've never seen a photo of that person nor spoken to him or her via aim or yahoo or gtalk (that gtalk is the shit y'all)?

i can now officially say that i've had poetry written for me. this, when two months ago i said i hadn't had poetry written about me since i was a kid. good looking out, brothas.

how can you possibly have a decent conversation with someone who regularly has three or more im chats (and a phone conversation) going on at the same time? that's right...you can't.

here's a clue. if you start getting a bunch of monosyllabic responses during your "conversation" with someone online, he or she is not paying attention to yo ass. you are not a priority. do what you gotta do with that bit of information.

i'm gonna make myself keep this blog candid even though i know my mom is gonna start reading it regularly. man, this is gonna really show me just how far i'm willing to go knowing fam is watching.

anyone check out lemans? i did, and it's not nearly as boring as the concept of a bunch of cars driving around an 8.5 mile road course for 24 hours would suggest. then again, anything was better than having to attend a wedding i didn't want to go to, so thank you speedvision!

my pride is a wonderful/terrible thing. wonderful in that it protects me from being hurt again and terrible because it is preventing me from loving again.

got into a heated argument with my dad on father's day. turns out he would prefer i vote democrat even when they haven't done shit for black folk in decades. actually got pissed when i told him clinton didn't give a shit about black folk. when will people understand that as long as we're convinced we have no choice we'll continue voting for people who ain't gonna do shit for us?

shit...this ended up being some random shit. oh well...

torched singer

eleanor found hell within her body, flames of self-hatred licking angrily at the frayed edges of gangly limbs, a developing skeleton of underformed breasts and narrow hips splattered with skin the color of sun-dusted mud. strokes brushed broken by a displaced angel formed her into mostly angles, an incompleted canvas bereft of deft curves. her good was neglected, her 'goods' left infected from the diseased desire of adulterating men.

there was no light
yet she saw sin.

peddling her tainted vessel for pennies, she fucked for her freedom, eager to seek a way out of the bleak tick tock of bought time others sought between her bowed knees. years spread her thighs wide, the hours raping her with minute strokes while passing her around for sloppy seconds. endless encounters of jism spent upon her pubic hairs laid her legs like bricks cemented to relenting, yet she still ain't make enough to pay the rent.

it was at this time her voice came heaven-sent.

"You're making me blue
All that you do
Seems unfair
You try not to hear
Turn a deaf ear
To my prayer
It seems you dont want to see
What you are doing to me
My arms are waiting to caress you
And to my heart they long to press you, sweet heart

My heart is sad and lonely
For you I cry
For you, dear, only
I tell you I mean it
I'm all for you
Body and soul..."

eleanor became billie, her change from 'lady of the night' to 'lady day' an attempt to imbue light into the darkness. but her voice was enflamed starkness and revealed her inner burn in every song. she could never shed the remembered pain of semen stains upon her soul.

her internal inferno seared holes into her vocal cords from where her voice curled and unfurled in cindered chords from tinder lips, the lyrics singed into embers of fervent yearning.

"...I spend my days in longing
And wondering it's me you're wronging
Why haven't you seen it
I'm all for you
Body and soul..."

the cooling hues of the blues were meant to soothe her but instead they were transformed into an indigo explosion infused with her flame, her voice becoming a diamond pressed into existence with the persistent squeezing of daily strain. it conducted her heat, manipulating sound as it fractured the blues into a melange of emotions, reflecting ever-changing inflections of sensuality and suffering. at times it caressed the chords like a tender lover's labia lapping, seducing sound to flow in orgasmic release down the open mouth of a tongue-thrusting trumpet. other times it struck a chord hard like a raging pimp's slapping, smashing through the piano's ivory teeth, leaving the song to continue on with a black and bruised b-flat. during times when lady sang the booze, her voice's shine was steeped in wine. it reeked of wrecked refrains, stumbling drunkenly over phrases before falling in an unconscious heap upon the saxaphone, snapping its neck as it gasped out the final note.

"...Life's dreary for me
Day's seem to be long as years
I've looked for the sun
But can see none
Through my tears
Your heart must be like a stone
To leave me like this alone
When you could make my life worth living
By taking what I'm set on giving, sweet heart..."

hell became her addiction, heroine the self-inflicted stick of dynamite she detonated within her veins. the continuous eruptions of drug induced euphoria left her a hard and shriveling shell of her never self. her voice was a cluster of cubic zirconias falling from wilted lips, fabricating melody easily cleaved into unremarkable shards of glass. it was whispered smoke of a remembered wildfire, too weak to climb but a few scales at a time. it had peaked years before...before the fire outside stole the oxygen from the one burning within.

"...My heart is sad and lonely
For you I cry
For you, dear, only
I tell you I mean it
I'm all for you
Body and soul"

no longer burning
she was burnt out
her inner light
had been snuffed out
with a yearn that went
a lifetime unfulfilled
she sold her body...
then her voice...
very cheaply, both by choice...
and got nothing other than a
bitter pill

i hope this won't be me...

what do you wanna know?

yes, this is a deliberate attempt at delaying my final entry about 'the roots' concert. my mind has been on other things and i can't summon the words i need to get it together.

so here is me being obvious. i'm buying me some time and making you work at the same time! that's almost the perfect scenario as far as i'm concerned. the only that'd make it better is if i found a way to get you to pay my bills and other 'services'. :)

aiight, here's the deal. what do you wanna know about me? you know i will be honest with my answers. so honest i'll probably be cringing as i type out the answer. that's aiight, though. this is the year to put it out there.

think about the questions, though. i mean, i don't want one of the simple ones like "what's your favorite color?" (that's celadon, by the way...)

i want the kind of questions that will make me think and perhaps hesitate before answering it because i'm like "DAMN...why he/she ask me THAT?"

i'll answer the questions in the comment section. haloscan ROCKS!

i'm ready. set? GO.

someone struck me with a star...and that shit hurt.

courtesy of bridge and tunnel club
date: saturday, february 18, 2006
time: @6:30 p.m.
place: la guardia airport

he was 6'3, dark-skinned, and attractive.

and at least 60 years old.

i had just dragged my luggage to a table located in the food court where i promptly plopped my exhausted ass into a seat while i considered my next move. nobody was there to pick me up from the airport, so i could either take a cab to brooklyn which would have cost me a friggin' GRIP or take the shuttle bus to the train to brooklyn which would have been a major hassle because i'd be towing a large samsonite with a week's worth of clothing in it, a laptop case, and my purse. folk familiar with new york's subway system will no doubt remember their isn't an elevator to be found in any of the stations, just staircases that seem to go on forever in both directions. in other words, i was fucked.

i'm marinating on the fucktosity of my situation when brotha steps up and asks me if i need assistance. it was obvious from his attire he worked there at the airport.

"i've gotta catch the shuttle bus to manhattan," i answered a bit exasperately, "do you know where i need to go?"

"i'll take you there if you'd like."

"thanks so much, sir."

the strap from the laptop case was cutting into my shoulder and i felt an acute pinching of pain in my lower back. i'd been dragging my luggage around since 8 a.m. that morning when i'd rushed to hartsfield airport thinking i was running late for my 9:30 flight only to find out an hour later i'd misread my ticket. the flight was scheduled to depart at 11:30 a.m. then at 10:00 a.m. i found out my flight was delayed and wouldn't be there until 1:30 p.m. oh, and this wasn't a direct flight. i had to go to milwaukee, wisconsin to catch a connecting flight to new york. UGH.

so by the time i get to la guardia, i'm beat down like bread dough, my impatience hovering around me like a white cloud of flour in the wake of a vigorous punch to the yeasty mass. airport dude was looking at me with what i hoped was fatherly concern.

"let me take that suitcase for you." he reached over and grabbed the handle of my suitcase and started pulling it behind him. "the shuttle stop is this way."

i attempted to stretch the muscles in my tired limbs as i walked behind him, hoping to release the fatigue clumped within the fibers like georgia red clay. unfortunately, it didn't work. i couldn't stretch it out or shake it off so i just yawned and prayed i would get to my granny's house in brooklyn before dawn.

"so you're a student?" i heard him inquire from in front of me. i wondered why he would ask me that question before belatedly remembering i was wearing a ga te.ch sweatshirt.

"yes sir."

"what are you, a junior? a senior?"

"junior, sir." just the task of opening my mouth was becoming a soul-draining chore.

"i have a daughter who's a junior in college," he responded with pride. i was watching his back as he spoke, noting the way it straightened as he made that statement. i imagine his chest was puffed out like the proud papa he no doubt was.

meanwhile, i was too tired to even continue with small talk. i mean, i could have asked him what school his daughter attended, what was her major, you know...all the stuff that qualifies as small talk between two strangers during a short time together. i just couldn't. it was requiring too much energy just to pull the few short answers from my mouth.

when we reached the bus shuttle (which by the way ended up being just a short distance from where we'd initially been standing), he turned around to hand me the handle to my bag. and that's when i saw it. that glint. that "you hot young thang i wanna get up in them panties" look. aww shit.

"thank you, sir," i said quickly as i took hold of the handle i made to step past him.

"you know, i've got my own business," he stated, a few strands of hope dangling like participles from the end of the sentence, "this is just a side job. i happen to live very comfortably."

i just looked at him, a vacant expression crawling into my eyes as i played dumb.

"really? how awesome for you."

"if you give me your number, i can take you around town during your visit here. you know, show you the sights and everything."

i was wearing the day's fatigue like a neon-colored windbreaker with bricks loaded into the pockets. my shoulder was sagging beneath the weight of my laptop case, my back was hunched over like an osteoporosis patient and my face was pulled down like that of a bloodhound. all this, and i was still cute enough to be hit upon. yeah...cute enough to be hit upon by an older cat eager to get his 'walking cane' stuck in some 'young' crack in the sidewalk. oh yeah...i was feeling good about that one.

"uh, that's alright, sir," i responded with a frustrated sigh, "i have family here. i'm sure i'll find a way to get around."

he stood there a moment longer, watching me as i tried shifting my bags to a more comfortable chaos around my person.

"you sure?" he asked, then i noticed him pulling out a card to hand to me. "if you change your mind, you can give me a call. here's my cell number."

i thought about it for a minute. actually, my mind was sluggish so it was probably more like five minutes. finally i reached out and took the card. whatever.

"thanks, sir," i replied, "if i change my mind, i'll give you a holla."

then i turned and walked away. i looked back to see him making his way back into the airport before i crumpled the card in my hand and tossed it in the trash bin next to me.

my luggage had become even more cumbersome now that i was thoroughly tired. it seemed like the suitcase was no longer able to stand upright and was consistently falling to its side. my laptop case, evidently in a competition with the suitcase to see which one could fall faster, was mimicking the moves of the suitcase. every time i moved, i heard a scraping noise and for the life of me i couldn't figure out what it was, although i suspected it was my ass. this on top of some really cold winter winds shredding whatever warmth i found in my inadequately thin suede coat and i was a shivering, clumsy mess by the time the bus finally arrived. as i stepped onto the bus, my luggage banging loudly against the entry steps, i was siezed with dread as i suddenly remembered my cash-strapped status. i had no money.

the bus was packed, too. packed full of tired black folk just like me, only these folk were living in the ny and were probably not born with the "give a helpless stranger bus fare" gene. i stood behind the bus driver and gathered my luggage as tightly to my body as i could as other folk made their way onto the bus. what was i going to do??? it was getting late and if i exited the bus, i'd have to find an atm machine and THEN make change and THEN come back to the shuttle stop to wait who knows how long for the next shuttle. it was becoming painfully clear i wouldn't make it to brooklyn before the ny jets won a super bowl (and you know that shit's at LEAST a decade away. i mean really...pennington's as brittle as words uttered in clipped fashion from a cat with a british accent. the jets suck.)

"uh, sir..." i directed my fear at the bus driver, "i don't have the fare for this trip." yeah...so i didn't actually tell him this until after the bus had already started moving. i figure i'd have that in my favor. surely he wouldn't stop and put my ass out on the street, right? RIGHT?

he glanced at me in the mirror, noted the embarrassment and fear painted on my face in twisted strokes, and turned his attention to the road before him.

"don't worry about it, miss."

"thank you soooo much, sir," i whispered to him, relief in my voice.

i slinked into the seat across from where i stood and pulled the suitcase to sit in between my legs, stacking my laptop case on top of it. i squeezed my purse into the small space next to my right hip. i felt like a bulging piece of luggage with arms and legs and a head sticking out of it. there simply wasn't enough space for me and my shit but i had to make do.

he made a series of stops around the airport and with each stop of the bus, my laptop case would slide off of the top of the suitcase to swing in front of it before pulling it down to the floor. too much SHIT. i yanked the case off of the top and plopped it onto the empty seat next to me. people had to squeeze past my stuff just to get to the seats on the bus. i was fervently hoping i'd spontaneously disappear.

at the last stop a couple of people got on the bus. i paid no attention to them as i put on my earphones and turned on my ipod, trying to erase the fret i was feeling with some hip-hop. it wasn't until i the body heat from the people standing directly in front of me that i realized i needed to move my case from the seat next to me so that someone could sit down. it wouldn't be a comfortable seat cuz there was a pole right next to it, but i figured i'd at least make it available just in case someone needed it. i looked over and reached for it.

and found myself staring into a pair of brown eyes. familiar brown eyes.

talib kweli's brown eyes!

WHAT THE FUCK?!?

ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit!

i know what you're thinking... what is a hip-hop star of his caliber doing on a damn shuttle bus? believe me, i asked the same question. i'm wondering "is brotha's mercedes in the shop? is he on the bus so he can stay 'real' by hanging with the 'po folk'? is he really that unassuming and uncaring about all of the material posessions he could surely afford with the money he's pulling in now?"

then there was the other series of questions i was asking myself...

"how am i looking to him right now??? do i look like some kind of bedraggled freak with a suitcase distended from her belly like a bloated second stomach scarred with c-section slices? is my hair now reminding him of a mass of frizzy shoestrings run recently through the mud? do i smell like sweaty ass? does he know i'm not listening to him on my ipod right now??? lawd, why is he sitting just two seats over from my disheveled, discombobulated ass???"

my next move was predictable. i grabbed my ipod and frantically started searching through it for either some talib kweli or black star shit. i figure if brotha hears the music at least he'll know i'm a real fan and not just bandwagon material. initially i was gonna play 'get by' but decided against it cuz that's like the theme song for a bandwagon kweli fan. i finally landed on one of my favs...

"Against the canvas of the night
Appears a curious celestial phenomena
called Black Star, but what is it?...

Black people unite and let's all get down
We got to have what? We got to have that love..."

i admit it. i chose it cuz i knew the lyrics by heart and i could mouth them in front of him to show him i've been a fan of his since before kan.ye was producing for him. i wanted him to think "oh, she's down with the OLD shit...she's REAL."

yeah. nikki's a punk.

after setting the music choice and putting my laptop on top of my suitcase, i relaxed as much as i could considering i was sitting next to one of the few celebrities i actually admire. i tried to look at him on the sly with sideward glances but my vision was too blurry. that's what happens when you wear glasses. all i saw was a brown blob. a famous brown blob.

then the bus makes a sudden stop as the driver avoids hitting a car that had just shot out in front of him.

*WHAM*

yeah, that was the sound of my laptop flying sidewards, taking my suitcase with it.

i swear, if i could have cut a hole in that seat and fallen through the floor to get crushed to death by the wheels of the bus, i would have done it. it would have been less painful than the embarassment then pinching my muscles as i clinched my body in response to the loud noise. i stared at my stuff now laid across the floor and was too stunned to move. slowly i started to reach down to pick the stuff up. talib got there quicker. he had already set my suitcase upright and was putting my laptop in the seat next to me.

"i'm putting your laptop right here, sista."

what? huh? uh, what?

i blinked a couple of times. this is SURREAL. i am NOT sitting here looking talib kweli in the mouf. he is NOT putting my laptop next to me. he is NOT speaking to me. this is a dream. i'm dreaming.

WAKE UP NIKKI!

perhaps i was just a bit star-struck.

the muttered 'thanks' fell from my mouth like saliva, leaving drops of spit all over my composure. i was done, folk. done.

the rest of the ride went by uneventfully. by the time we got to harlem where i'd get off to catch the train, i was feeling a little better. the embarassment was a mere throb of anxiety as opposed to the previous full-blown spasms of distress i experienced earlier.

the bus stopped and i stood up and grabbed the handle to my suitcase.

"let me get that for you."

okay, so that was talib kweli speaking to me again. i didn't say a word (cuz frankly, i was speechless) and i watched him take my suitcase and carry it off the bus for me. he stood it upright and waited for me to step onto the sidewalk.

"thank you." i remembered to smile and look him the eyes when i said that. a miracle, for sure.

"you're welcome." he smiled quickly before turning and walking away.

i stood there three minutes in the cold, freezing my ass off, grinning like an idiot.

then i called a friend and was screaming in his ear about having just met talib kweli. of course i made it seem like i was more couth than i actually was. come on...who's gonna admit he or she acted like a idiot savant in front of a celebrity?
_________________________

date: may 22, 2006
time: @11 p.m.
place: the roots concert

talib kweli has been on the stage for 45 minutes, doing all of his popular cuts and some new ones from his most recent joint. my mind keeps revisiting the time i sat next to him on the shuttle bus and every now and again i can feel the embarassment and humiliation scratching my skin with splintered fingernails. luckily, his muscianship was so tight i eventually forgot that meeting and got caught up in his voice and those wonderful lyrics. he finished off his performance with his most popular joint. by the end of the song i was jumping hysterically in the air, my voice hoarse from all the yelling i'd been doing over the last couple of hours. i was starting to feel a little tired but i still had energy to finish that song.

"This morning, I woke up
Feeling brand new and I jumped up
Feeling my high's, and my low's
In my soul, and my goals
Just to stop smoking, and stop drinking
And I've been thinking - I've got my reasons
Just to get (by), just to get (by)
Just to get (by), just to get (by)

Yoyoyo, yo
Some people cry, and some people try
Just to get by, for a piece of the pie
You love to eat and get high
We decieve when we lie, and we keepin it fly
Yoyoyo, yo
When, the people decide, to keep a disguise
Can't see they eyes, see the evil inside
But there's people you find
Strong or feeble in mind, I stay readin the signs..."

that song had me feeling brand new like that first month of first love.


more to come...