open...he

when i skimmed the screen and came across it, i was immediately intrigued. and instantly afraid.

he gave it to me willingly, a present encased in an unassuming comment on my blog, a brown study wrapping of velvet imagination. an intricate pattern of his insight into my entry was embroidered into the cloth, revealing intertwining vines of his mind with mine. i didn't notice his gift immediately, as its quiet allure was drowned out by the loud hues of gaudy phrases of paper thin praise drapping other comments surrounding it. they crumbled into nothing beneath my probing stare, the obvious emptiness of their contents making them weak structures in the face of my scrutiny. meanwhile, his comment remained standing. the longer i stared, the more fearful i became as i realized its foundation was strong enough to shake mine.

i didn't open it.

i instead contented myself with staring at his gift from afar, my eyes etched into the threads stiched across the surface of his statements, my heart itching for knowledge of what lay inside.

my mind was fertilized by the seed of his interest, becoming impregnated with dozens of embryonic thoughts as the excitement at the possibility of another gift made delivery of newborn self-examination only mildly discomforting. the contractions were milliseconds apart as my cerebrum dilated, the folds of my subconscious splitting as the words were pushed from within me, an endless birthing of entries covered in the clinging fluid of raw emotion. they lay naked and wailing within the indigo confines of my blog, their cries splintering the minds of those with courage enough to read them.

i wonder if he knows he is their father?

i mean, how could he not know? each entry bears a resemblance to him. the firstborn, and each one after that, has his eyes, luminescent orbs with sight into my soul. some of them have his nose, wide and open to the scent of my spirit, cinnamon notes of vulnerability layered with citrus hints of tenacity, a perfume i try to cloak beneath a heavy splash of sarcasm. others have his large hands, their fingertips familiar with each man-made valley carved into my landscape. a few more have his mouth, soft lips suckling from my breast, the honest essence of myself either being swallowed greedily or dribbling down the letters to land in puddled puntuation at the end of each sentence. all of them bear the birthmark of bruised skin, having had to push their way past the scars of my mental endometriosis before they enter existence. i cradle them all to me, wishing for them the strength to move the world onto a new axis of inspiration, loving them with the same desperation i love their father.

i want them to grow up to be just like him.

each entry receives a gift from their daddy, though he has no idea they are his children. at first glance, his offerings all look to be encased in the same brown velvet. however, upon closer inspection, i notice the earthy notes of his humor printed in whimsical swirls in the wrapping of some of the packages. others have the onyx lines of his jagged wit zig-zagging across the surface in scattered sequences. still others wear painted patterns of his pain, diaphanous whispers of crimson cracks feathering the surface of the wrapping like wrinkles across a sun-dried countenance.

he reveals so much in the gift of his comments and yet i have never been courageous enough to open any of his offerings, afraid to peel back the sumptuous cloth for fear of finding the package holding uninspired elements inside. my hopes are simply too high. the wrapping is so lush, its rich velvet wording hinting at a fathomless depth of insight i am sure cannot be surpassed in either beauty or movement by anything contained within. i've known the disappointment of opening a gift only to find a matryoshka of samsonite baggage, an unending unveiling of illusion until i hold nothing in my hands.

but eventually i grew restless...

i thought it was enough for me to simply view his gifts and revel in the feeling of knowing someone understood me, someone who saw my writing as a blind man sees a summer sunset...the taste, touch, smell and sound of my words reconstructing the sight of my soul in his mind. but i grew restless. the presents were stacking high, all of their wrapping intact, and my self control was evaporating fast beneath the heat of my constant yearning.

it's time he knows how i feel. i want him to know he's a father.

i pulled the first comment he ever gifted to me and read it again, finding a reflection of my own experiences in his words, bolstering my courage to finally, after all this time, open the package.

and so i did.

"hey...you probably never saw this email coming but i've wanted to tell you for the longest just how much your comments on my blog inspire me. i'd really like to get to know you better..."

it's not writers block

it's overload

an overload of feelings flooding my mind, a deluge of fragmented images soaking my conscious to the marrow as i try to stay afloat long enough to salvage at least one thought before it's swept away by the roaring tide of my emotions. i'm trying to wait out the storm but i find no solace, no shelter so that i can at least focus long enough to complete a sentence. instead my ideas are all ending in ellipses...

and i'm crashing against the bobbing objects of stories abruptly cut short, their unfinished surfaces splintering my skin with the serrated edges of shredded endings, their teeth whittling away my flesh until i'm a figure of asymmetrical aggravation...

so this morning i've stuck my finger down my psyche in hopes i can regurgitate something discernible, something that will be my life raft until i can pull my thoughts from this raging ocean of emotions onto something that will allow it to dry beneath a cloudless sky of concentration, warm itself beneath the golden rays of his inspiration, and eventually form a completed entry...




if only i could get rid of these fucking ellipses, i'd feel as though this were finished...

random thoughts

if dicks grew on trees i'm sure the only ones i'd find appealing are the ones located on the highest, most unreachable branch.

i'm really looking forward to doing fantasy football this year. being chased by a bunch of fine men makes this the best kind of fantasy ever!

my mom had to call me last night to remind me my birthday is next week. evidently i'm turning 90, cuz i can't seem to remember shit anymore.

man, my breasts look pretty damn good for a 90 year old...and barely average for a woman in her 30s.

if lip balm is for keeping lips moist, how come i can't use it on my pussy lips?

i'm gonna try to call you one more time dude. if you don't pick up, consider yourself cussed out the next time i see yo ass.

one of my favorite actresses, ju.ne ally.son died a couple of weeks ago. she was the really petite chick with the smoky voice that sounded like she came out of her momma's womb with a cigarette in her mouth. r.i.p., june. tell frank i said wassup.

i don't want barry to break hank's record. i don't care if he's just one of many who doped up. he doped up. he don't deserve that record. leave that one for the mothafuckas who can get it legit.

when you're number one in a man's mind, everything is perfect. when you're one of many, it's like being sent to live in the stable with the rest of the horses after years of staying in the big house.

he told me yesterday if i was a guy i'd have pussy on me constantly because i'm such a smooth talker. well i'm a girl with pussy that's been on me since birth and i'm here to tell you it's nothing special.

i can't write about new or cute with you
cuz what i feel for you ain't safe...
its a rising sun
torching the skin of the horizon
as it ignites ocean and earth with its rays
before the crawling flames reach through your window
and set your bed ablaze

i want you to burn as i'm burning. i want you to yearn as i'm yearning. i want you to die a little each day because we're not together, as i'm dying.

it ain't that "let me build prose for you" kind of feeling. it ain't that "let me dedicate a song to you" kind of feeling. it's that "let me build roads with you" kind of feeling. it's that "let me dedicate my life to showing you how blessed i am to have you" kind of feeling.

aiight. enough of the mushiness. it's damn near making me gag. back to the randomness...

i'll be getting up with a fellow blogger this week hopefully. i gotta check my schedule and then stop being trife and actually call him. why am i being trife? LOL

i'm calling you today will! sorry for the delay!

i'm so sexually frustrated right now, wearing a bra is making me horny.

i haven't been tagged in a hot minute. then again, i haven't been reading blogs steadily either so i can't be mad at it.

definitely gotta make sure i catch up on my reading this week. i miss my folk.

i told someone yesterday i licked my dildo last week because i missed having a dick in my mouth. what the fuck was i thinking? oh shit. what the fuck am i thinking admitting to that now?

if my mom is reading this, i know that last sentence probably made her faint.

i miss my little brother so much it hurts to think about him.

i'm thinking about moving to the ny yet again and this time i'm serious. atlanta...i just gotta leave here. i can be happy here but i think it's time to move to a new spot with new things.

my.spa.ce is starting to pick up for me. i didn't realize there were so many bloggers with my.spa.ce pages!

i was up in u.p.s last week and for the first time in years i did a double-take AND my heart stopped after seeing a guy for the first time. i'll be writing about that one this week.

speaking of fine, karembe was back in my office yesterday to see me. he never said anything about the fart episode so i assume he never smelled it or he's just being a gentleman. i almost wanna ask him just so i can stop speculating. meanwhile, it looks like he's stepping up his efforts. he's flirting with me more and it's flattering but i can see it in his eyes, folk. he looking to settle down. i ain't the ONE.

last night i got caught up in a two-part episode of litt.le hou.se on the prai.rie about when mary went blind and the town of wal.nut gro.ve was about to shut down because of the railroad. i cried like a B.A.B.Y. this is why i don't watch that show. i don't care if its an episode about a tree and the pig who pees on it, i'm gonna end up crying.

i finally washed and curled my locs. yes, i'm looking and feeling damned good today.

"looking good billy ray!"

"feeling good louis!"

aaaaaaaaand CUT!

fantasy football league

i've set up a fantasy football league for us football heads. if you're down and i haven't already sent you the info, shoot me an email and i'll send specifics. the deadline is september 2, as the live draft takes place on september 3. we've got eight signed up so far and the league can have up to sixteen.

if you don't mind getting spanked by a female, bring your shit on. ;)

fine guys and farts go together like peanut butter and jelly

at least, that's how it appears to be in my life.

so yesterday i was sitting at my desk, my stomach rumbling with gas from the yogurt i had that morning. i make a quick glance at the doorway and see no one coming my way. i decided to let one rip (silently of course...that required some serious asshole control). thus began the fifteen minute assault i did on my office chair as the toxic gas left my ass and no doubt put a hole in the fabric. i tried to lean forward so i could at least prevent the heated stuff from rushing up my shirt, but the gas just kept on blasting from my ass.

at that point, i'm looking around for a candle, cuz it was getting pretty funky in the cut. i couldn't close my door but i could imagine the smell was making its way out into the hallway. as i'm reaching for my candle a really, really big fart is gathering like a tornado in my intestines or wherever the hell gas like that gathers. i feel it making its way to the blowhole and i sit down quickly cuz i know this one might be a bit loud. it came out like a muffled roar and i shake my head, embarrassed for myself.

and just then karembe walks right into my office.

karembe is one of the facilities guys i met about a month ago. he's tall and dark and beautiful and african/brazilian and beautiful and sexy and beautiful and considerate.

and beautiful.

and i KNOW he heard that shit.

and i KNOW he smelled that shit cuz it smelled like shit for real. i mean, it STANK up in there.

so what do i do?

"HEY!" i said with false cheer as i jumped up from my chair and walked swiftly out of my office so i could somehow lead him away from the smell, "how are you?"

he looks perplexed for a minute. i don't know if he's perplexed because of the smell or my actions but i don't care...

don't just stand there, damnit! follow me! run for your life before the fog o'funk overtakes you and your insides are disintergrated and you crumble like a boneless mass of black man onto the carpet!

meanwhile, he doesn't move. not one inch.

"i'm doing fine," he says with a laugh, grinning at me as i walk down the hallway unsure of where i'm headed, the only thing i'm sure of is i want to get far away from the creeping toxic fumes that will surely kill him soon...

why aren't you MOVING?!?

i stop in front of the mailboxes and silently give thanks that there's something in my box for me to pick up so i can at least pretend like i was walking in that direction for a reason.

karembe is still standing there just inside my door with that sexy ass grin on his face. he has perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth exposed between perfectly sensual, perfectly full lips and he had a jovial twinkle in his perfectly brown eyes. dude was perfect...for his inperfect olfactory sense.

"uh, so what's new?" i asked as i look at the papers in my hand and shuffle them like i was actually paying attention to them. by this time i had stopped a little ways down from my office in hopes he would come to me. lawd, he just stood right there in my office doorway. didn't.fucking.budge.

"i had to come and get my daily dose of nikki. i hadn't seen your beautiful face today."

is this cat flirting with me? wait...didn't he just hear that loud fart i let out before he stepped through my door? doesn't he smell the jungle of dead animal carcasses residing inside the door right now? does he want my nasty ass because of this?

i know i had the confused look on my face but i couldn't help it. a half smile tilted on my face as i studied him. dude is rare, folk. 6'3 frame of solid chocolate and its silky and firm to the touch. wide shoulders, trim waist, nice long legs with nice defined calves. he plays futbol in his spare time. he reminds me of one of the guys from the french world cup team, only accessible.

but he couldn't possibly be flirting with me, could he?!?

"so, are you going to move to gwinnet?" he asked, as i heard the lush foilage of the amazon lilting through his speech pattern.

"gwinnet? isn't that where you live?"

he started grinning so hard i could see his back teeth.

you're flirting with me! get the fuck outta here!

"uh...i hadn't considered gwinnet. that commute's too far for me."

"awwww, no it's not!"

for real though... don't you smell the ass on fire in my office?

at this point i'm leaning on the wall across from the office doorway, sniffing furtively while i watch him cautiously.

okay...maybe it's safe to go back in...

"i can't do a commute longer than fifteen minutes and gwinnet is outside of the perimeter," i said to him as i slithered past him and surreptitiously sniffed again before taking my seat in front of the computer. amazingly, the odor had dissipated.

he was still smiling at me when i swiveled in my chair to face him.

"just think about it. it's not that far. maybe a 25 minute commute with traffic. we could even carpool together."

his voice was so dark and scrumptuous and high-inducing...like a brownie baked with a couple of sprinkles of the weed leaf in it.

i couldn't even flirt with him though. all i could think about was the fart and the funk and whether or not he heard it and/or smelled it. if he did, he was totally playing it off, which gave him a three months off coupon to be used towards a cup o'chocolate heaven from the exclusive spot of coochie de'nikki.

eventually he bounced, but not before he winked at me. me, with my capri jeans and frizzy dreads and askewed glasses. me, with the couple of extra pounds (blessedly in the all the right places but extra nonetheless) and the ashy legs (another long ass story) and the gassy ass.

it's soooo obvious why he would want me. hell, just thinking about all those attributes makes me wanna fuck myself!

anyway, this marks the second time i've been caught in a fart by a guy who was fine. is this a mating call for guys? i mean, are they summoned to me by the sounds coming from my ass? do the 'silent bombs' act like a dog's whistle where only really handsome guys can hear them and come running?

or do african/brazilian guys just have a thing for thick chicks who fart?

i really, really hope he doesn't have a fart fetish. i mean, i'm pretty gassy but i'm not sure i can do that shit on command. i just might try it for him though.

is writing about sex a sin for a christian?

i don't even pretend to be a regular churchgoer. those of you who know me personally know i haven't been inside a church in over a decade. yes, i consider myself to be a spiritual being, i just haven't chosen to go to a church to express that part of me.

if you read my blog regularly, you know i write about sex alot. it has more to do with the fact that i'm currently suffering from a state of unending arousal, and it's frustrating to no end.

however, i wonder how folk see me. i wonder if i'm considered in the eyes of some folk as being a non-christian because of my candidness regarding carnal matters. i've noticed a favorite blogger of mine's decision to end his blogging habits after a few months of writing about beautifully about highs and lows of sexual intimacy. it pissed me off to see him end it like that. on the one hand, i respect his desire to devote his next blog to more spiritual matters. however, i wonder why there has to be a separation of the two.

i mean, is acknowledging intimacy for more than just reproduction in conflict with acknowledging a love for god or whomever or whatever a person worships? if i do one must i deny the other? when i see his decision i can't help but believe that there are alot of folk who see sexual intimacy as a dirty thing that cannot be embraced by those who choose to embrace their religion closely. it's as if sexual intimacy and the discussion of such a thing is a dirty or bad thing, a 'side' to one's self that should remain hidden from others because it's that 'sinful side', that side that god would hate knowing.

does a gospel singer have to stick with only singing about worshipping god? can he or she not also sing about making love? the only cat i remember doing this was sam cooke. he sang about god and also sang about "bringing it on home to him." did he become less of a christian when he acknowledged he had lust for women and acted on that lust? was his love and devotion towards god less believable because he sang about making love to his woman?

i don't think so. i don't think these things are separate. i don't think there is a good side and a bad side to us, only the one side encompassing all that flows through us, anger, elation, lust, envy, compassion, etc. having sex isn't a bad thing and it shouldn't be seen that way as far as i'm concerned. it's not naughty, it's not to be ashamed of, it's not to keep locked up in a box on the top shelf of a closet. it's a part of the natural order of things and thus in my mind means it's a blessing, so long as the participants are two consenting adults.

me writing about sex doesn't make me love the ultimate one responsible for my existence any less. i would hope it shows folk that we should embrace everything about us and accept our sensual natures as something that's good because it allows us to share intimacy with someone we love (or at the very least, someone we're attracted to who shares the same fascination).

someone help a sista out. am i making this too simple? i don't think so, but you're more than free to state your opinion on the matter.

token negro rules

yesterday i found myself in a precarious situation. my co-worker was attempting to discuss politics with me. see, as token negro i understand the rules i must abide by in order to make my stay here as drama-free as possible. in the case of yesterday's conversation, i didn't escape unscathed. 'corn-fed guy' started ranting about 'crazy cynthia'...cyn.thia mc.kinney for you uneducated folk out there. he goes on about how he wish he was in her district so he could vote her out of office. i said nothing. he continued on with his diatribe, this time saying that black people are ashamed of her because she doesn't know how to act. i frowned at that...and said nothing. finally, he exclaimed "i hope the people in her district are smart enough to get rid of her crazy ass."

i forked a brow at that statement...and said nothing.

see, cuz i don't talk about politics at work. not if i can help it, anyway. mind you, i wanted to open my mouth and tell him that he didn't know how black folk felt about mc.kinney because he didn't hang around enough of us to know. i wanted to say she's no crazier than the rest of the fucking politicians in washington. i wanted to say all he had to do was look at the guy he voted for, b.ush, to see who the insane folk look at and be like "now THAT nigga's crazy!"

instead i said nothing...cuz token negro don't discuss politics at work.

there are a number of other things i suggest other token negros do if you wanna stay out of the drama. here's a list of them. add to it as you see fit.

1. get a copy of the dress code standard in writing, then never deviate from it, even if you see some of the other folk doing so. that person wearing the booty shorts is probably the boss's secretary and he got his own reasons for allowing her to do that shit. you're not fucking the boss, so you don't have it like that. the guy wearing the tank top? probably the top sales guy in the region, which means they're gonna let him do whatever the fuck he wants as long as he's bringing in the money.

in the case at my gig, i was told it was 'business casual'. meanwhile, the rest of the campus had a more formal dress code, so i wanted that shit in writing. they tried to just tell me what i could wear. nah, i want that shit in writing. cuz see, even though that might be a fucked up reason to get me fired, it can happen. it's all a part of that whole "insubordination" shit. no, to prevent that, i asked for it on paper and as specific as possible. i got just that, with a list of 'acceptable' gear vs. 'not acceptable' gear.

when it came to my hair, it initially wasn't a problem (and ain't really one now...) i had a fro when i was hired and didn't grow locks until i was a couple of years into the gig. in other words, i snuck that shit in on them. they've never said anything derogatory about my hair. in fact, i've gotten nothing but compliments from folk here. i'm not sure what that means, but it ain't on the list of 'non acceptable' shit, so i'm gonna roll with it.

2. don't assume 'flex-time' means 'come in whenever the hell you wanna'. i learned that shit from experience. when i was first hired, i was told i was on flex-time...and nothing else. of course in my mind that meant i could stroll up in the spot at noon if i wanted to. i did that shit for a week before i was pulled into the office and told i had to choose a time to come in...and it had to be at least four hours before when i was coming in. luckily they didn't fire me, but i was scared shitless for a hot minute after that. to avoid my mistake, make sure if they come at you with that 'flex-time' bullshit, you know it really mean 'we expect you to be in by 8 a.m. everyday.'

3. don't assume when you see other folk coming in late and/or leaving early that you've got the same freedom. again, you don't got it like that. mind you, the folk around you been doing the shit for years without repercussions, but you STILL don't got it like that. here's the deal...as the token negro it is more times than not assumed you have the 'get over on whitey' gene in you which makes you suspicious. many will assume you harbor some kind of irrational hatred towards white folk and are looking to get over on them at any possible moment so they will be on the look out to make sure you follow the 'rules', even if nobody else does.

4. do not get fancy with the potluck dish you bring to the company barbeque. your co-workers will not eat that shit unless it's soul food like collard greens or ribs, cuz black folk know how to do collard greens and ribs. if you try to pull off that gourmet chef shit you gonna find your dish the only one with the spoon sticking out of it untouched. even if you're a great cook it matters not. black folk don't do cooking courses and there's nowhere else we can learn how to make a spinich quiche, so someone's gonna assume you fucked it up...or think it's some new way black folk came up with to make collard greens.

5. assume you are not trusted by anyone around you and that the word of your co-worker will be accepted over your word. i also found this out the hard way. i took a couple of weeks of vacation about two years ago and came back to the accusation that i'd been ordering office supplies for personal use. i was silent during the meeting where i was being accused, never mentioning the shitload of copy paper i'd seen folk around me take home. when i was asked what i had to say for myself i gave them a detailed list of what every last bit of shit i ordered was used for. there wasn't shit my boss could say. he got red in the face, then told me i could go back to my office. the chick who'd made the accusation had to take it back. turns out she was trying to get me fired so she could get her friend, whose job was getting phased out, brought in as my replacement. however, the fact that i was even brought into the office let me know who he was inclined to believe from jump, even if there was no proof this was the case. that was a harsh lesson to learn, as i figured as long as i did my job, it was all good. i never even questioned whether or not i was trusted. i just assumed i was cuz i had given them no reason NOT to trust me.

don't be naive like i was. that trust thing ain't just for office supplies. it applies to other shit, too. document what you do and what you purchase if you have to, but cover your ass. it's a cynical view i know, but the office environment is just like everywhere else...you will have some people who won't trust you just cuz you're black, so be prepared.

5. you cannot get drunk at or bring alcohol to company functions. many folk there already have limited exposure to black folk so you're probably the lone black dot in many of their universes. they probably got all their 'education' by watching programming that gives them an 'accurate' depiction of the black experience in america...shows like 'friends' or 'will and grace'...you know, where black folk show up every five years or so in the form of a two-episode love interest. either way, they're sure they've got an idea of how black folk behave when inebriated and it's probably not flattering. a couple of drinks is the maximum for you, just to let them know black folk don't get belligerent and sloppy after only one drink.

a couple of years ago i was at a division function overflowing with gui.ness sto.ut, mich.elob, mill.er, and bu.d beer. it was the first time i'd attended such an event and i was blow away that they'd allowed alcohol for such a thing. after i got over the initial shock, i walked over to the big tub holding all of the beer. i was immediately disappointed at not seeing my beloved corona or heineken bottles stacked among the others. i grabbed a michelob and went over to the corner where i could drink in relative privacy. fifteen minutes into the party the first drunk materialized in the form of 'butch anne 1', the only female program director among us at the time. her buddy and former love interest 'butch anne 2' (both were named anne) was also in the cups. they started getting loud and cracking bawdy jokes and everybody was right there laughing with them, including me. then 'b.a.2' starts a story about how she ended up at a tar.get store one night dressed only in her night gown. everyone thought it was hilarious and the next day folk were recounting the tale followed with "that anne...she's so funny!"

you can't ever be the one to tell a tale like that to your co-workers. no stories about bad sex or moments of drinking mishaps or other times where you end up embarrassed can be shared with your co-workers. in this case, self-deprecating humor will only make you look like you've got a drinking problem. you tell a story like that while drunk at a company function and the next day you're gonna get called into your boss's office where he or she will begin asking you questions like "is everything alright at home? do you need to talk to someone about your 'problem?' is there anything we can do to help?"

keep your stories like that to your friends unless you want your co-workers to start acting like you're a functioning alcoholic and you find brochures on alcoholics anonymous mysteriously appearing on your office desk.

6. do not form alliances with anyone and keep off-site interaction at a minimum. otherwise, you'll find yourself in a shakespearean tragedy like othello, caught up in a web of lies before you end up committing career suicide. the workplace ain't the spot to make friends. even if you get familiar with folk, recognize that the bottom line is you will be hung out to dry if the other person's position is threatened (and you'd be the same way so you can't even front.) know that any associations at work are for the express purpose of making someone else's job easier while affording him or her greater access to promotion through networking. if you see that shit as anything more significant, you're playing yourself. if you want to make friends, find them outside of the job. otherwise, there's the possibility your dirt will be all over the office, right down to your favorite time of day to take a dump. they'll know that beneath your brown exterior lies someone who isn't to be feared and that shit ain't cool unless you like to be dumped with bullshit work. keep it mysterious and it'll work in your favor. if they don't know you, nine times out of then they will approach you with respect, unsure of whether or not you'll cuss them out. while normally having them assume you're hot-tempered isn't necessarily a good thing, in this case it is because they won't come to you with the bullshit.

7. never, never, NEVER by all that is holy discuss politics at work, especially if you're not voting like everyone else around you. initially everyone here thought i was a democrat cuz you know, all black folk are democrats. if you came out of the womb with a significant amount of melanin in your skin, you are immediately registered as a democrat. i made the mistake of correcting them when i said i wasn't a democrat. then they assumed i was a republican and in this spot, there are only two parties...republican and "those other parties run by bleeding heart liberal commie scum". so now they think they can talk to me about how wonderful conde.leeza ri.ce and coli.n pow.ell are and expect me to agree with them because i never bothered to correct them in their assumption about my political leanings. they assume because c.r. and c.p. are black that i'm down with them cuz i'm black. i've been privey to way too many conversations about how accepting bush is of black folk because after all, cond.eleeza is black, so he must love black folk otherwise he wouldn't have given her the gig. i've always held my tongue, sometimes biting into it so hard i can feel the taste of the blood as it coats my gums.

in the case of 'corn-fed guy', he assumed i shared his hatred for 'crazy cynthia'. i kept quiet, and eventually he just shut the fuck up. the way i see it, folk are gonna think and believe what they wanna. i'm not here to convince folk their beliefs are wrong through discussion. i'm doing that shit through action. either they figure it out or they don't, but that's my way to keep this shit absent of drama.

if you know of some other 'token negro' or 'token (insert ethnic affiliation here)' tell me about it. i can only speak from my experiences but i'm sure there are more out there.

2 = 1

i don't want him to be 'the one' even though he is for all intents and purposes 'the prototype'.

have you ever found yourself in a situation where you weren't ready but the right person was? what'd you do?

what am i doing? keeping him FAR AWAY. it's just easier this way...

what do you think about...

when you're masturbating?

me? i think of long strokes and a deep throating of something warm and silky in feel. i think of his skill as he grabs my ass and takes me from behind. i think of stabbing at a speed that leaves me breathless. i think of his fractured breathing on my back and in the hollow of my neck. i think of convulsing muscles and clenching fingers and thighs. i think of the hazardous speed of heartbeats in synchronicity. i think of frenching tongues and linking lips and licking nipples. i think of erect thickness and taught tightness and that moment right before, during, and after...when i can feel it build in his balls, when i can feel it build in my clit...when toes curl and unfurl and joints uncork and pop...when he.can't.speak.and.i.can't.speak. cuz words are impossible in the middle of release...i think of rising past horizons, past a sun burning the sky, past clouds now cushioning my feet as he

skeets...skeets...skeets...

and i drown him in my

sweet...sweet...sweet...

and we greet heaven together, replete with euphoria and ecstasy...and then we retreat...

and we tumble down stairs carpeted with shattered glass gasps and furry double vision and our skin is covered in tapered tingles of sunlight as the inner explosion has our ears ringing...has our skin singing...

i think of the afterglow of arms and legs entangled in darkness and long kisses and murmured utterings both dirty and sweet...

"damn, you put it on me tonight, baby..." and
"i.can't.move...DON'T TOUCH THAT...it's too sensitive right now." and
"you think you'll be ready for another round in say fifteen minutes?"...

and i think of him rubbing my ass softly as he kisses each cheek...

and hours later i fall asleep depleted of all strength, dreaming of my happiness complete.

taking the lazy way out...for now anyway...

here's the article i submitted for the website. i'm telling you right now if you're not into football this is gonna be a dry read, but seeing as it won't be put up on the site for another week or two and i've got some editing to do on it, i figure i'd give you a peek. i'm working on another entry i'll post later today.

note to Amadeo - i'm not writing about the seahawks thank goodness. i'm writing about the best team in the history of the world, the dallas cowboys. so THERE.



Four of a Kind or Three and a Dud?

"My best success when gambling was to gamble with "quality". If I started with the fundamental of quality, uh, as in this particular case you start with an outstanding football player all the time, practices I mentioned as well as the games and competitor. So if you're gonna run some risks, do it with that kind of quality." - Jerry Jones speaking on his signing of Terrell Owens.

Jerry "The Gambler" Jones sits with erect back high in his chair, the air of smugness rising in tendrils of curling aura from his form. His steel gray gaze cuts across the press room at a steadied pace, leaving incisions in the carefully constructed questions of the gathered corps as they attempt to glean from him what he's holding in his hand. Maintaining his poker face, he relaxes slightly, a glint of knowing in his eyes as he recognizes the importance of appearing as if what he has in his hand is unimportant so long as he's got the cards necessary for him to beat the other teams in the league. He's already acquired Terrell "The Wildcard" Owens, but will his presence be enough to win the Cowboys the Super Bowl Championship? Which Owens will show up, the "Ace" or the "Joker"? Jones leans back into his seat, the expensive suit hugging his frame as crisply as the many newly minted dollar bills he'd gambled for and won to purchase it, as he contemplates the previous gambles with "quality" that ultimately proved fruitful for him:

- His purchase in 1989 of a once-heralded Dallas Cowboy franchise supposedly on the decline after a combined record of 26-37 the preceding four seasons. He would ultimately turn it into a three-time Super Bowl Winner.
- His acquisition of Coach Jimmy Johnson, successful on the college level but unproven in the NFL. Johnson would be the mastermind behind the 76-36 record and two Super Bowl winning Cowboy squads from 1990 to 1993.
- His drafting of relatively unknown players from non-Division 1-A schools (Leon Lett - Emporia State, Erik Williams - Central State) who would become the cornerstones of the offense and defense and establish themselves as perennial Pro Bowl starters.

Yes, Jones has every right to wear the arrogant smirk dangling at an angle from his lips.

Jones glances down at the four cards cradled within his hand. Each card represents an integral component for his success on the field – Draft, Defense, Special Teams, and Offense. He's confident he'll be victorious at season's end. Will the 2006 season be one in which he'll be forced to fold early or will his hand prove strong enough to ride out to the end? An anvil of anticipation slams the sound around him into shards of silence as everyone at the press conference focus their attention on Jones. He decides to reveal each card one by one. A murmur of approval spreads across the room as the first card is placed upon the table. It is the card representing their performance in the draft...

The Dallas Cowboys used their picks wisely and chose players who will instantly vie for starting spots in the most threadbare positions – Defensive Linemen and Secondary. Expect an immediate impact from OLB Bobby Carpenter, first round draft pick out of Ohio State. At 6'3, 255 lbs., his build makes him versatile enough for Parcells to place at both inside and outside linebacker. Scouting reports say he has a slow reaction to the snap and lacks the burst of speed necessary to make up the ground to compensate for his lack of instinct. However, those supposed shortcomings didn’t hinder him at Ohio State, where he finished his career ranked 10th all-time with 14.5 sacks. Another plus, and probably the reason why he was drafted above other more athletic guys at his position is his familiarity with Bill Parcells' coaching philosophy. His father is Ron Carpenter, who coached him in high school after a nine year career in the NFL, four of those years as a member of the Parcells-led New York Giants. No doubt he groomed his son to reflect all of the characteristics Parcells favors in a player – relentless worth ethic, overachievement regardless of natural talent, and doggedness on the field. Bobby Carpenter has the determined nature and acuity for quickly grasping defensive schemes necessary to give him the inside track on a starting position in his rookie season.

3rd round pick Grambling State DE Jason Hatcher lacks experience against the elite competition of Division 1-A opponents but his size (6'6, 283 lbs.) and his explosiveness when finishing tackles makes him a versatile commodity as does 6th round pick DT Montavious Stanley of Louisville. Both will add speed and athleticism to the defense, although they're considered to be raw talents in need of a season to more fully develop their skills. 5th round pick Florida State FS Pat Watkins is expected to start immediately in a secondary that only managed to snag 13 picks (15 total) last year, placing Dallas 21st in the league in interceptions.

Dallas was also very effective in picking up the exact players needed to fill up their holes on the offensive line. 7th round draft selections OG Pat McQuistan out of Weber State and center E.J. Whitley out of Texas Tech will both be expected to improve upon an offensive line that allowed for 50 sacks on its quarterback, ranking it 29th in the league in pass protection last season. The selection of 2nd Round draft pick Anthony Fasano, a TE out of Notre Dame, was a surprise because there was no perceived need for a tight end given the fact the Cowboys already have a Pro Bowl tight end in Jason Witten. However, Fasano will prove to be an integral part of the offense as the Cowboys adopt a two tight-end formation this season. He is a great blocker and has soft and intuitive hands, which makes him just as much of a pass-catching threat as Witten. His tenacity in manner and style of play on the field is reminiscent of Mark Bavaro, former Pro Bowl tight end for the New York Giants who was also one of Parcells' favorite players.

It looks like the draft card is a Jack of Diamonds which means they had an above average draft but it wasn't the best.

Jerry Jones stifles a yawn as he reveals the next card. He looks a little bored, as do the rest of the individuals who see it as its being played. Oh goodness...it's the one representing Dallas' defense...

2005 was the year everyone expected the Cowboys' defense to step it up a notch given Parcells' history of fielding dominant defenses. However, due to the lack of depth and experience he inherited in the linebacker position, he was forced to adopt a 4-3 scheme instead of the 3-4 scheme he'd been successful with in the past. As a result, while the defense did improve from the 2004 season, it was average against the run and little better than average against the pass (ranked 15th and 11th in the league respectively). With the release of La'Roi Glover and Scott Fujita and the retirement of Dat Nguyen, Dallas lost experience but gained both youth and potential with its free agent acquisitions. The signing of OLB Akin Ayodele will definitely facilitate the transition from a 4-3 defense to the 3-4 defense as he brings the playmaking abilities that netted him 70 tackles in 2005. He's expected to battle with recruited OLB Bobby Carpenter for the starting position opposite OLB DeMarcus Ware. Ware and DE Greg Ellis both tied for 10th in the league last season with 8 sacks apiece and I predict the numbers to improve even more so as the new defense will allow for more opportunity of aggressive pursuit of the ball.

The secondary is headed up by free safeties Roy Williams while on the opposite side is Keith Davis, who will be going up against free agent acquisition FS Marcus Coleman for the starting position. Coleman brings much needed experience and leadership to a relatively young secondary that was among the least opportunistic in 2005 with its low interception numbers. On the plus side, Williams and Davis, along with starting cornerbacks Anthony Henry and Terence Newman, were responsible for holding opposing offenses to an average of only 192.7 passing yards per game, good enough for a ranking of 11th in the league. The addition of draft pick Pat Watkins guarantees a fierce battle for playing time at free safety as his presence means at least two quality backups at the position. Unfortunately, this quality depth doesn't extend to the cornerbacks, as there were no draft picks or free agency signings for this position, leaving the Cowboys with the same guys as last year. Bill Parcells is banking the additional year of experience will mean improvement for the cornerbacks and the added linebackers on the field will provide more opportunities for interceptions.

The defense overall is still a relatively inexperienced squad, but they have youth and depth at the linebacker and free safety positions. Also, their shift to the 3-4 defensive formation will best utilize the athleticism and speed found in the linebacker corps, ultimately making the defense more aggressive than last season. Expect Dallas' defense to continue to climb out of mediocrity and into the top ten in sacks, along with experiencing a marked improvement in its performance against both the run and pass.

This card is a ten of diamonds, setting Jones up for the unbeatable combination of a royal flush. A royal flush would earn him the ‘jackpot’, a Super Bowl win.

At this point Jones is wearing a feline line across his face reminiscent of the cat who got away with swallowing a canary right under the nose of its owner. He tosses the next card almost carelessly onto the table and the audience sees it's the one representing special teams. No one can argue against the strength of this particular card...

With all of the talk about Terrell Owens and his troublesome behavior joining the Cowboy ranks, people have forgotten he's not the only big mouth to sign with Dallas in the off-season. Maybe it's because the other player in question is a kicker, an important member of the team but not the spotlight player. Don’t tell that to newly signed free agent K Mike Vanderjagt. Few can forget the uproar created as a result of his comments criticizing both head coach Tony Dungy and star quarterback Peyton Manning in 2004 following yet another Indianapolis Colts playoff loss. Vanderjagt baldly questioned whether Manning and Dungy had the mental toughness necessary to win the big game, ultimately creating a rift between quarterback and kicker that would never be repaired. Now he's in Dallas where Bill Parcells still has the taste of bitter defeat in his mouth after watching Billy Cundiff and Jose Cortez shank kicks from short distances last year. Neither of the kickers from last year put up good numbers so Vanderjagt is certainly an improvement on those two guys. He's money in the bank when he kicks a field goal under 29 yards (last miss occurring in 2002) despite his inability to keep his mouth shut. However, there is a distinct contrast between the cerebral Tony Dungy and the cantankerous Parcells. Expect Vanderjagt to learn the difference as he's taught to put up AND shut up in 2006.

This card is a ten of clubs. A royal flush is impossible now now but Jones can still pull four of a kind, good enough for third most powerful hand in the league.

Just when it appeared Jones was assured of taking the entire pot he looked into his hand and notices the last card now being held in a white knuckled grip between his fingers. To his right sits the other card, the one needed in order for the one in his hand to stand any chance of being effective. Terrell "The Wildcard" is sitting there with a contrite and somewhat faux look of humility on his face and Jones is reminded of a similar look Owens wore a couple of years ago when he sat at a press conference just like this one, only it was in Philadelphia. Jones fights off the desire to pinch himself to make sure he isn't dreaming this moment. He knows his wild card has to be in complete accord with his offense card, otherwise the jackpot of a Super Bowl win is out of the question. The silence in the room thickens as the gathered press realizes Jones has only card left to reveal. He carefully places the card for offense on the table, now holding onto the arrogant smirk on his mouth with desperately reaching lips. No one says a word...

The Cowboy offense will charge the field led by 35-year-old quarterback Drew Bledsoe. Enough has been said about him. Yes, some say he's about 75 years old in NFL quarterback years. Yes, he was sacked 50 times in 2005, with only the quarterbacks of the Jets, Vikings, and Houston finding themselves swallowing dirt at a more frequent clip than he. Yes, at times last season Bledsoe appeared to be either lost or hesitant or both as he stood in the pocket just a second too long or threw a pass that flew just a few inches beyond the grasp of his receiver time and again. Was it because of his age? Was it because of the lack of a true possession receiver to throw the ball to? Was it because the offensive line was just plain offensive with the way it let anybody waltz through it and take Bledsoe down? The answer is all of the above, and while the 2006 season finds Bledsoe one year older, he now has a possession receiver and upgraded offensive line to rid him of the lost look clouding his eyes and the clumps of grass clogging his nose.

Bledsoe's start this season will mark the first time Dallas has had one quarterback starting the most games in consecutive seasons since Troy Aikman did it in 1999 and 2000. It will also mark the reunion between Bledsoe and quarterbacks coach Chris Palmer, the former QB coach of the New England Patriots back in 1996 when Bledsoe was a young quarterback leading the Patriots to a Super Bowl appearance. Will Palmer be as effective with an aging quarterback as he was with a green one? Frankly, he doesn't have to be, as Bledsoe isn't really suffering as far as his numbers go. His 2005 quarterback rating of 83.7 was tied for third highest of his career with his 1996 campaign and his 3639 passing yards ranked him as 8th highest in the league. In fact, his statistics from last year (60% percent of passes completed, 23 TDs thrown, 42 passes successfully caught between 20-40 yards) show his skills haven't diminished enough to hurt his team. If you don't think that's important you must have missed all the times Brett Favre killed the Packers last year with his mistake.

Drew Bledsoe isn't an old man playing on fumes on the field. He's experienced and still ravenous for the opportunity to lead his team to a Super Bowl Victory. He doesn't have to worry about a Tom Brady-type quarterback waiting in the wings to take his starting position, though. Palmer will be responsible for grooming backups Drew Henson and Tony Romo who still woefully inexperienced as Henson took no snaps last year and Romo took only one. It'll be even more important for Bledsoe to remain healthy as there is no one to pick up the helm if he becomes injured.

The offensive line experienced a serious boost with the free agent signings of OTs Kyle Kosier and Jason Fabini. In 2005 Kosier anchored a Detroit offensive line that allowed only 31 sacks of its quarterback, good for 12th place in the league. Bledsoe can breathe a sigh of relief. The draft additions of OG Pat McQuistan and center E.J. Whitley will add depth to a line that was thinned out last year as a result of the season-ending ACL injury suffered by T Flozell Adams. If former Pro Bowler Adams recovers from his injury he figures to be the anchor of an offensive line suddenly deep with enough bodies to protect Bledsoe.

The running game will also benefit from the improved offensive line, but its success will depend on the health of starting RB Julius Jones. Sidelined for numerous injuries throughout his two year career, he has played in only 21 out a possible 32 regular season games, a statistic which doesn't bode well for his status as Parcells' number one running back. Marion Barber ran for 252 yards in three games without an injured Jones last season and figures to become a more prominent force this year as Parcells prepares for the possibility of Jones going down with yet another injury. With the offensive line getting in gear and the presence of Terrell Owens in the receiver corps, expect the running game to improve upon its average ranking of 13th in the league in 2005.

Dallas must be a glutton for punishment because they got rid of one arrogant, loud-mouthed receiver only to replace him with another. Only thing is, the one they signed is one of the best receivers in the league, the gamble on 'quality' as opposed to garbage stock. Not that Keyshawn Johnson is garbage, but he never established himself as the receiver guaranteed to move the sticks. In fact, no one among the receivers really took on that role. Terry Glenn had the most receptions, catching 62 passes for 1136 yards and seven touchdowns but he was double-teamed often as the defenses were able to contain a slower Keyshawn Johnson. The presence of Owens will change all of that. Glenn's numbers will definitely improve as T.O. will force alot of zone coverage and double-teaming from the opposing defense but don't think that will mean Owens will miss out on all of the fun. He will be the guy Bledsoe will look to the most for the yardage needed to move the chains which means he'll get the first looks and alot of catches under twenty yards. With Bledoe's skills and Glenn as the number two receiver, Owens will be putting up big numbers this year similar to his first year in Philadelphia where he caught 77 passes for 1200 yards and 14 tds.

Dallas is adopting a two tight-end formation this year which means a splitting of the pass catching and blocking duties between Pro Bowl TE Jason Witten and rookie Anthony Fasano. The backup receivers all have less than three years experience and none of them except for Patrick Crayton, has spent a significant amount of time on the field. This lack of experience in the receiving corps will make them particularly vulnerable if Owens or Glenn goes down with an injury.

Owens has his work cut out for him. His troubles in other organizations have been well documented, from him lashing out against the quarterback and coach at San Francisco to him lashing out against the quarterback and coach in Philadelphia. However, this last time he was held accountable for his behavior. Suspended four games and deactivated for the remaining four, Owens would spend half of the season watching the games instead of playing them. For the first time in Owens' career, his personality as the loud-mouthed and perpetually petulant "Wildcard" off of the field adversely affected his play as the "Ace" receiver on the field and he won't forget that. It marked only the second time in his career Owens was punished for his behavior with game suspension. The first one was for one game in 2000 after the now infamous 'spiking of the ball on the Dallas Star' at Texas Stadium. That move didn't endear him to Cowboy fans, but that's only because he played for the other team. Now that he's with the Cowboys, the fans will embrace both him and his swagger, reminding them of when Michael Irvin played for the team. Meanwhile, T.O.'s presence on the squad automatically makes Dallas a contender for the top spot in its division.

As for the pattern of disrespect towards the head coach, it will end in Dallas. Bill Parcells isn't a young coach like Steve Mariucci, eager to work it out with his star player, nor is he like Andy Reid, the quiet coach willing to thwart conflict at any cost. Parcells is a older and more confrontational. He gets rid of guys who don't play like he wants them to play and doesn't tolerate anyone on the team who thinks they can disrespect him. T.O. can't afford to lose his temper when he knows there will be an immediate and swift punishment for it. Another thing to consider is Owens' age. He'll be 33 this year so he's on the short end of his career. How much longer will he be able to produce at the level that has made him one of the most productive wide receivers in the league? Surely he realizes his time in the league is dwindling and his past behavior means his new bosses will have a low tolerance level for any behavior deemed detrimental to the team.

The card representing the offense is a ten of spades, but is contingent upon "Wildcard" Owens' transformation into a player who leaves his talking on the field. If he's able to accomplish this, he becomes the ten of hearts, thus giving Jerry Jones and the Cowboys the third best hand in the league, good enough for a 12-4 record and an appearance in the NFC Championship.

Jerry Jones shrewdly absorbs the sight of the skeptical faces around him. They don't think he can win with the "Wildcard". The small smirk rooted to his face this entire time now expands into a full-blown grin. "Never doubt 'The Gambler' folks...never doubt 'The Gambler...'"

i know i know...

i haven't posted in the last few days and seeing as i'm not normally THIS trife, i figure i should explain why.

last week i became a freelance writer so to speak. i am now one of the writers here. my first assignment is due today , which is why i haven't had much time to write in my blog.

i'll be putting up a real post either tonight or tomorrow. until then, what's good with you?

can exes be friends?

you spent 'x' number of years with this person and now he or she (in my case he) wants to be friends. is that shit even possible?

will i end up fucking this dude?

have you ever been friends with your ex and NOT fucked him or her? even if you didn't fuck him or her, was that shit on your mind? i mean, once you've had it (and it's good) and you know you can get it, why would you not want it ever again?

see, i'm of that school of philosophy where "once you've left the train station, ain't no going backwards". however, is being friends with the person "going back" or just transforming the relationship into something else?

for real though...i don't think that shit can be done. i think that no matter what, one of the people involved is waiting for that shit to be more than friendship or at the very least, wanting to keep the other person nose open for him or her so the ego can constantly get itself stroked.

think about it...if you're friends with your ex, do you want to get back with him or her? do you think they wanna get back with you? do you think that maybe one of you is hanging around so there is always available pussy/dick? is it a case of "i'm gonna talk about all of the men/women digging me so you'll feel like a loser cuz you fucked shit up with me" or "see how i've changed? i'm so much better now! we can get back together!" or "as long as i hang around you there's the possibility we can get together...all i gotta do is wait for your ass to change."

frankly, i don't want to be friends with my exes. fuck that. cuz if i don't fuck that, i'm probably gonna end up fucking them. literally.

new health blog...do not enter if you a punk

me and a couple of other bloggers have started a health blog where we're gonna be tracking our weight loss and trading health tips and encouragement. if you're down, here's the link.

if you don't think you can keep up, then by all means don't join. ;)

see, that's reverse psychology. hopefully that shit worked. LOL

three-sided conversation

you have no idea, do you?

"wasssup, nikki. how you doin?"

do you know i close my eyes briefly whenever i hear you utter my name? it becomes so much more than just letters and syllables when exiting your lips. it becomes a morning kiss heavy with the previous nights slumber, moist and hot as it presses itself against my ears. i shiver inside, wishing it was my name floating from your mouth in sated sounds as you hold me close while the night cloaks us in the aftermath of our lovemaking.

shit! my imagination is getting away from me.

"wassup, you. i'm doing aiight. what about you?"

calm down, nikki. you sounding just a bit too fucking eager. so what if you kept your cell phone close to you all day so you wouldn't miss his call? so what if your heart jumped out of your throat every time the phone rang because you were hoping it was him calling you?

"i'm doing pretty good. just sitting at home chillin."

so what if every molecule within you yearns to be there with him right now? we're just friends. this is how it's supposed to be.

isn't it?

"same here. home chillin while i figure out what i want for dinner."

you, damnit. i want you for dinner.

"i just nuked the last of the ribs and chicken i got from tamica's cookout. i'm fuller than a mothafucka."

i never should have invited you to that cookout. i should have stayed home and fought off thoughts of you in silence where i had a better chance of keeping the images of you at bay. i should have, but my heart wouldn't let me. the heffa had control of me that day. i couldn't not be with you, even if it meant carving a smile of amused indifference upon my face and pretending you have absolutely no affect on me. i preferred to be there with you, so close i could see the shadow of your momma's lipstick from the kiss she planted on your cheek...last week.

"i had a ball at that cookout. the food, the music, the company...all on point."

did i notice any of that? the 'on point' food crumbled like ashes in my dry mouth. the 'on point' music was little more than an irritating cacophony of dismembered notes grasping at the edges of my conscious. the 'on point' company was engaged with only the portion of my mind that would prevent my preoccupation with you and your every movement from being detected.

"yeah. speaking of good company, i was kinda feeling ya girl tamica."

i know. i saw you standing there in your blue polo shirt and jeans, staring at her with that arrested look in your eyes, your head bent close to hers as if every word she spoke was a drop of liquor hovering over the parted lips of a lush desperate to plunge from the wagon of sobriety. i counted the number of times she made you smile. five times i saw that dimple appear in your right cheek as whatever she said manipulated your mouth into a beatific grin that made my heart twist within me as if to turn its face away from you.

"really? i didn't notice you two talking to each other."

i noticed nothing else.

"we kicked it for most of the cookout. you know i had to pull out the sneak attack."

she didn't stand a chance, really. when you show your interest it's as if the world around you is sucked away like crumbs from a carpet and what's left is every single feature of you spotlighted like separate dishes revealed from beneath silver serving domes.

eyes...nose...ears...neck...collarbone...pectorals...biceps...fingertips...lips

would she even know the feast of you is to be nibbled and swallowed slowly, every inch of you lingered over with long, languid licks so that the palette is forever tattooed with the taste of you?

"tamica's a wonderful person. no doubt you two got along well."

no doubt i will vomit if you two end up together.

"she's amazing. how come you never mentioned her to me before?"

cuz i want you for myself, gawtdamnit! how the fuck i look introducing you to someone else when all i can think about is making memories with you, making a future with you, making love to you, making babies with you? i'm not THAT good, damnit. i'm not a fucking martyr! i won't ever badmouth the sista but i'll be damned if i'm gonna be the one to just hand you over to someone else. fuck THAT.

"my bad. i didn't realize she would have been your type."

oh, i knew she'd be your type. shit, she's exactly your fucking type. brown and natural and sexy and intelligent. just like me, only not me.

why can't it be me?

"she's definitely my type. you gotta tell me what you know about her."

oh no the fuck you DIDN'T. aiight, you wanna know about her? i'll tell you about her.

she's not a sports fan. she thinks a touchdown is a caress of "the place below the belt and above the knees."
she bites her fingernails. she's too cheap to get a manicure.
she's a horrible driver. you will fear for your life if you ever ride shotgun with her.
uh...she likes purple and you HATE purple.

so what if i'm reaching. it's still no less true, damnit!

"she's beautiful and intelligent and has a wonderful spirit about her."

where's 'the hater' when i really need that bitch?

"all of that i got from talking to her. what else you got?"

how about stop asking me shit like this! it's like i'm woody trying to convince andy that buzz lightyear is a better toy to play with. this is killing me. don't you see how this is killing me?

"if i tell you everything i know about her it will take all of the joy out of you discovering those things about her on your own."

thank goodness for my ability to come up with the swift cop out camaflogued by my false veneer of encouragement. hopefully, that shit worked.

"good point."

*whew*

"oh well, let me get up offa here. i think i'll go and get something to eat rather than cook tonight."

this conversation has become way too painful for me to continue. i understand we're just friends and have been for years. i know you see me as a sister to you. i'm not even sure when it happened. all i know is that one day i woke up and realized i wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. i hoped you would want that too.

only you see me as a lifelong friend. what kind of fucked up shit is that?

"aiight. well, hit me up later. i still have a few questions to ask you about tamica. just a couple. not enough to 'spoil the discovery' and all that other shit you said."

i'm not telling you shit else about her. find that shit out on your own, damnit. i can't do this anymore. i can't keep looking at you, being with you, and not being able to have you. this is more than any person should have to deal with. i'm ending this fucking friendship. FUCK this.

i can't tell you how i feel without feeling like a fool and i can't quit you because i can't see my life without you. how can you possibly be around me and not know? don't you feel my eyes burning into you whenever we're together?

they're are intoxicated with the sight of you. my ears can't go a day without hearing your voice. my hands are arthritic from all of the times i've had to clench them painfully so as not to touch you in a way that would reveal the secrets burdening my heart. my body is in a constant state of awareness whenever i'm around you, as if it awaits just one caress from you, even if it was a whisper of a caress, ANYTHING that would tell it you feel the same way.
it hopes. everything within me hopes. everything around me is tinted rose with hope. but i can't keep on hoping. it's obvious you'll never love me as i love you.

"and the sad part about it is i love you so much i'll continue to be your friend, praying with all my being that one day you'll fall in love with me."

"what did you just say, nikki?!?"

*stunned silence*

did i just say that out loud? oh SHIT.

i'm still alive

swamped with work and other things.

how goes things with you? you can rant/vent here if you wanna.

memorial day 2005...repost

this is a repost from last year to commemorate memorial day. it's applicable to independence day, too.

one friend suggested i not get racial or political today while another one reiterated the fact that this is my blog and my voice. why the fuck am i even wondering about whether or not to censure myself? that shit won't happen again. thanks for reminding me of that, luv :).

i figure today's as good a day as any to give folk a clue as to why black folk aren't all that trusting of the american government and are cynical when it comes to celebrating "independence day" and other federal holidays.

___________________________

i wonder how those negros felt.

you know, the ones who ran away from their slavemasters to fight for the british so they could gain the freedom that was supposed to come as a result of the outlaw of slavery in england. surely if england deemed it illegal, the british colonies in america would follow suit, right? it must have pissed those negroes off when they found out america had no plans to outlaw slavery. that's where it began, you know. that's where black folk in america first felt the stinging betrayal of a government that was supposed to watch out for them.

so what did those negroes do? well after they petitioned for their freedom to no avail, many of them ran away from the plantations and signed up with the british army. see, it was better to die fighting for freedom than it was to live resigned to enslavement. let's not get it twisted, though. england didn't give a fuck about the enslaved blacks and the enslaved blacks didn't give a fuck about england. it was about rights. nothing more, nothing less. must have been a shock to the negroes when they realized that despite their fight, their freedom would remain beyond their reach. almost makes a sista wish england had won the fucking war.

i wonder how those other free negros felt. you know, the ones who were drafted to fight in the revolutionary war for the continental army. must have made them madder than shit that they were the first ones to get called up although they weren't trusted enough to actually be given guns. they were made to fight for a country that was fighting to keep them enslaved. i don't think the word "irony" can adequately describe that situation right there. funny, but that situation cropped up again later...

so later, when the civil war began and it was again folks fighting to keep black folks enslaved, more black folk were signing up to fight for their freedom. they suffered through the racism that put them in the worst conditions, segregated from their white counterparts. they put their fear aside and ran eagerly into battle, dying in hope that the spilling of their blood meant their children would live free and equal on american soil. one-third of those who went to war would die and their kids would remain enslaved until the emancipation proclamation was signed.

so now folks is free but ain't nowhere near equal.

by the time world war one was upon us, black folks had been "free" for a half century. now it was about the fight for equality. thousands of black folks signed up for the war, hoping yet again their display of patriotism would be rewarded with equality in the eyes of the american government. i wonder how they felt when they were turned away or better yet, signed up and then relegated to "cooking and cleaning duties". one can never have enough cooks i guess.

i can't help but wonder why da hell black folk would continue to demand to see action on the front lines. as was evident from previous wars, dying for america didn't mean shit, really. proving that one can defend american didn't mean shit either, cuz when they got back, they still were made to ride on the back of the bus, if they let their asses on it at all. when they got back home, their necks were just as vulnerable for a lynching, if not moreso cuz they had the audacity to actually think they were good enough to fight in the war.

so why do it? they had their reasons, and they found a way to get to the front lines and fight for 'democracy' in a segregated society against the democracy hating germans.

world war two wasn't any better really. more black folk dying in defense of a country that would have spit on them before acknowledging how it mistreated them. more black veterans coming home and getting lynched cuz they had the nerve to wear a military uniform. better yet, they came home to find they still couldn't get a job because they were black, still couldn't get a quality education cuz they were black, still couldn't find justice if they were unjustly treated. there were still laws on the books that confirmed their inferiority. i wonder how that made them feel. i know it pisses me the fuck off just thinking about it.

see the pattern here? black folks been fighting for their equality for centuries. been trying to gain freedom and then equality by proving to the american government that they loved this fucking country as much as anybody else. proved they were just as smart, just as courageous, just as willing to die for america as anybody else.

and it didn't matter then and it don't matter now. we're still just able bodies that can be sacrificed at the drop of a bomb.

america the beautiful. i love you, but you can kiss my fucking ass.

roll call

who's at work today? here in the u.s., many of us took off the day for the july 4 holiday tomorrow. i wasn't one of them.

what have you been doing for the last hour?

me - talking on gtalk, glancing around my office with disdain as i contemplate the best way to put all of this friggin work on hold until i'm back in the office on thursday. charlie parker's on the itunes and i've got incense burning in my office. hell, if i'm gonna be the only one here (actually, one of three in the entire department), i might as well make it feel like home, damnit.