i love | i need | i want

(stole this post idea from teeteezie, whom i lurv & really do not talk to enough)


prince of peace honey ginger crystals. holy hell, this has gotta be the BEST ginger tea yet. i know they sell it at whole foods & random around-the-way health food spots. yes, the main ingredient is cane sugar, but SO WHAT? the ginger is strong in this, son.


more essential oils. so i can make salts, fizzies, and other delicious items. i'm out of lavender, jasmine, eucalyptus, sweet orange (but blood orange is on the way) & peppermint. those are all crucial to what i do. if you wanna contribute, leave a comment. we can work som'n out. aight? aight.

* i also need someone to pay my rent. but that's some shit i can do and AM doing myself. which is why i need more essential oils.


(really badly)

naturalizer kingsley wedges. i've had my eyes on them for a hot minute now (since there was still snow on the ground) & i LOVE them. in brown. black, too, actually. heh.

maybe it'll happen. soon.


this shit here is ridiculous.

thanks dennis for sharing this movie review with me. it's happy feet, not the passion of the christ or something. sheesh. i get worried when ppl pick on childrens' films like that.

i'll be back to discuss this after work.


this was just gonna be a post about la india.

but now it's a full-out salsa fest. lol!

la india, "seduceme" live:

dlg (dark latin groove), "la quiero a morir," one of my favorite songs of all time:

and, of course, we cannot forget celia.

but check THIS shit out:

yes. i know.

there isn't really a way to make it sound fancy

i'm about to go all the way in(to him)
there's very little reason for me to say no
& i think he agrees.

this is real amazin,
cuz about 3 weeks ago i was real low. feelin mighty bad like sofia in the color purple. flailing about, trying to reach something that i wasn't even certain existed.
... now, here i am.


though it's technically the day after

happy birthday to the only other person i know on earth who wears my name on her birth certificate.
i hope we're still homies when you're turning fifty-seven. lol.
may the abundance, ecstasy & bliss of life always be within your reach. you most certainly are your own superstar. keep it up. i'm proud as hell to call you a friend.


i thought about it long and hard today.

i'd like to say that i extended myself to you. i'd like to say that i broke my neck to give you the part of me that i know you should have, by virtue of the nature of our relationship. alas, i cannot; i feel that there's nothing to say for either of us. there is nothing i feel, no sentiment other than the one i can categorize as overall uncaring. blankness.
it's as simple as not knowing how to respond to the inaction and well-demonstrated apathy of someone whom i expected to do/ be/ act better.

this post is a placeholder until i can finish (or re-write) what i wanna put here. it's about two ppl whose behaviors have really done a lot to change the way i think & feel about my connectedness to ppl around me.

i still have those moments sometimes

where i wish my breasts were larger, my skin a different (deeper) shade of brown, & that the width of my feet were less.
there's nothing wrong with me, i know
but it feels like i haven't grown all the way into myself today.
i hope to.
i want to.
one foot in front of the other
eyes open
looking fwd.
i'll get there.


dull flame of desire

is thusfar my favorite track on volta. i might be touched. but i love that song. my early feelings are that i'll enjoy this album as much as i enjoy post, if not more.
we'll see.


today is the day

for declarations. first off, happy birthday to bek & myra. i love you crazy hoes.

& now for the super important declaration:

i think "umbrella" is the greatest radio fluff song of 2007. for a while, lil mama's "lip gloss" was my shit, but rihanna has taken it elsewhere. the video alone is worth it to me.

there. i said it. i like "umbrella" & probably won't get sick of it. i don't have cable. i don't watch television. & i never listen to the radio. i'm safe, i think. lol.


someone asked me once

why i'm not a christian.
i had to politely explain to them that my primary motivation is that christ's teachings, though valuable from what i've gleaned, are no justification for me to worship him. he was a man. i don't believe he was god's son any less or more than i am god's daughter. period. it's not a gender thing. i've never felt comfortable referring to jesus as my savior. i was the queen of gospel choir in undergrad & high school, but more because i love singing. i wasn't blaspheming; my faith in god is simply unshakable. however, singing "jesus is real" always feels like a conflict for me; the clark sisters' "you brought the sunshine" is one of my absolute favorite gospel songs but i harmonize along w/ twinkie & them because i love that song. it's kind of difficult to explain, but most of my girlfriends who're non christians feel the same way. especially those of us who grew up worshiping in what's considered the black american tradition. it's a given. you love god with all your might and the time to really demonstrate it is sunday at church. give god the glory, praise, and honor; your blessings are yours because he gives them to you. there's another component to that which i call the hurry up & wait factor but i'll get into that another time.

i learned to show my faith when i was a child. you must claim god, you must tell the whole world that you worship jesus. i don't know if it's an actual bible verse (i haven't read the book in ages & would like to dedicate actual focus to doing so) but i was constantly told by various church folk that if i were ashamed of christ, he'd be ashamed of me before his father. okay. so that, to my 11-year-old mind, was the ultimate guilt trip. i was fat, didn't have some extravagant relaxed hairdo like my classmates, had ridiculous acne & was NOT tryna have anyone else be embarrassed by me. so i learned all the dogma & put up the front like nobody's business. i was just waiting to feel jesus working in my life. i didn't know that everything is a blessing, even when it's not what i want. i was told that praying and waiting were the way to go. but i was a child. you know i prayed that god would exact revenge for me against all those rotten ass kids in my class who did me dirty. and by the time i was in 7th grade i couldn't believe that any of my schoolmates (or administrators for that matter) at blair christian academy were actual followers of christ by virtue of the fact that 3 girls were kicked out of the high school for being pregnant by the time i was ready to enter eighth grade. then, when went back to public school i had begun to realize that i was a christian at a christian school because i didn't know what else to be.
i felt it was necessary because that was the tone of the school, that was the culture, etc. we were not outright graded on how faithful we were, but there were always comments on my report cards about how i was growing in christ.
why did i have to grow in christ?
why couldn't i just grow?
it upset me. i loved anita baker's music and could not believe for one minute that god was gonna send me to hell for listening to secular music. i tried to shake myself of it. but i couldn't. tlc's first album was my favorite. i couldn't live without sneaking to listen to the chronic, the u.m.c's, or whatever was on the radio. when atliens came out, i couldn't get to my radio fast enough. i was making pause tapes until i graduated from high school. if listening to michael jackson's off the wall was a sin, then screw it. i'd have to answer to the lord for that.
i attended a quaker high school. the quaker ideals were much more realistic to me: the inner light, service to others, quiet reflective meditation. this was something i could really get with. but quakers weren't the right kind of christians, so i could learn about quakerism allllllll i wanted to. i'd just be out of my mind to attempt to practice it in that house. i was on gospel choir. that was the jesus showcase, you hear me? quakerism wasn't as christ intensive as many black folk like. so it wasn't goin down.

my grandmother died when i was 2 weeks shy of my 18th birthday. i think that, at that exact moment i stopped believing in jesus altogether. it wasn't about him taking her away from me; she had copd & was really gonna go anyway. i believed in jesus (or claimed i did) for her. she had to know i was bullshitting, though; who doesn't know a child that they've essentially raised? at any rate, her funeral felt crazy to me. i felt god all around me but couldn't call on jesus while i sat there and wondered why there was such a thing as an open casket funeral for anyone who'd been very ill. her skin was green, for crying out loud. i'm supposed to call on jesus when i know i'm finna have nightmares for months on end? nope. i had to tell my grandmother directly, "please get some rest, momzie. get some peace." she hasn't been in my dreams since. it's been 9 years.

as i entered my anti-organized religion twenties, i became everything that that embodied a sinner. i drank, smoked weed, picked up a cigarette habit, had all kinds of sex, cursed a lot, stole, & took the lord's name in vain almost nonstop. i felt good about my life. i never thought "coming to jesus" was gonna fix any of my problems. i knew it was incumbent upon me to make things right, to balance myself.

so as i began to do that, i found ifa. i haven't looked back since. i love my religion. i feel great about it & nobody's gonna change that. every day i learn a little bit more about the goodness of the universe.

maybe i'll edit this for clarity/ cusswords & make my mom read it. so she can understand that i'm not turning my back on god or worshiping the devil. maybe.


i want to apologize to you

if you're a woman whose sexual experiences have been tainted by pornography. if your partner has ever tried to skeet on your toes, give you a pearl necklace, cockslap you or send you into the adjacent room to go fuck his boy(s), i'm sorry. i've been watching quite a bit of porn lately, & i can honestly say that these motherfuckers are trippin hard. not the producers or actors so much as the dudes who watch the shit and then decide they wanna be wesley pipes or byron long. like . . . you're not. so, menfolk:

don't come to bed w/ any clothes on, unless your partner requests it. short of a colostomy bag or house arrest anklet, you shouldn't have shit on when you come & get it.

if you're gonna be mr. shit talker, make it original. don't ask whose pussy it is. because it's hers. she is the goddess, plain and gotdamn simple. it might benefit you to say something in a language your partner doesn't speak. she might like that.

if she doesn't request it beforehand PLEASE don't slap, choke, or yank the shit out of your partner's hair. you could be digging her back out one moment & losing blood the next. watch that shit.

remember that the shit talking doesn't make up for a lack of stroke, lengthy refractory period, or other wackness.

no, really. take the sunglasses off, too. you look like carl lewis w/ them shits on, & it's not impressive. nor are the asics. stop that shit, fam.

deep throating is not mandatory. for some women it's physically impossible. remember that, lest you fuck around and get puked on.

if you only have sex once a month & your partner anticipates each move you make, you not only need to stop watching the same 3 episodes of wesley pipes on alldatazz.com but you need to get away from the porn altogether. you're boring & are encouraging her to leave you alone.

miami bass isn't always mood music. neither is really shitty locally produced r & b or hip-hop. sade. luther. esthero. anita baker. minnie riperton. hell, bjork's post is my shit. just not anything that mentions sittin on daytons. unless, again, she requests it. or y'all happen into screwing while listening to trap muzik.

it's all fun & games til someone gets splooge in their eye. YOU ARE NOT JAKE STEED. stop that foolishness. if she doesn't spit or swallow, get a cum rag like you do when you're all alone. there are products that you can use to that effect. if it's okay with her, nut where ever you need to. but aiming for the face isn't always a good idea.

& finally . . .

it's not sexy to "surprise" a woman with anal.

thank you folks, & good night.


my new e-crush

is heather armstrong, of dooce.com. she is hilarious & sounds like someone i'd love to sit down and talk shit with over a cup of something intoxicating. i found the link on atlanta's blog. i giggled heartily at heather's biography & find her writing style to be overall enjoyable. cute. snarky. not unlike myself.

i was gonna spend some time bitching about how my whole outfit today (minus the undies) is from damn old navy. because there's one right near my job & they have the ill clearance rack AND plus-sized clothes that don't look supercheap, matronly, or otherwise bad on me. even though their shit is cut funny, i have a good time overall w/ my sweatshop threads from that place. then i was gonna start bitching about how they're moving all the plus-sized clothes to the online store and no longer carrying them shits in-store. that is depressing, insulting, and hella inconvenient. i can't tool about in the internet on my lunch break. i can't try on clothes when i'm bored via my laptop. BOO, old navy. shame on you. this is worse than when h&m got rid of their plus clothes and acted like broads weren't buying the shit. *sigh*
it doesn't matter cuz btwn the IBS & my possible gluten sensitivity, i'm finna be on kelly price status: i'll drop crazy weight & then the only thing still huge on me will be my arse. lol.

anyway, i gotta go to work.


r. kelly needs to be stopped.

i've heard two songs from his latest album, and i can honestly say that he is completely out of his gourd. the marvin gaye comparisons should have stopped a long time ago, & i venture to say that double up is evidence of that. i can almost guarantee that marvin never would have had monkey or elephant noises in the background of any of his songs . . . & never woulda called himself a sexosaurus. this is just preposterous. there should be no accolades for this shit. it's absolute trash. i feel like i'm the only one who realizes that the emperor is ass naked.

fuck it. i'll be that one person who knows what the deal is. because there is no good reason for anyone to enjoy "real talk," as it is an exercise in foolishness.

i refuse to look for mp3s or lyrics. do you, reader. look up the lyrics to "the zoo" & tell me something isn't wrong w/ how that man's mind works.
at any rate
that shit is sickening.

& it's 330 in the morning. i gotta go back to sleep.


real quick

sometimes, i still wanna ignore
how hurt i was, & probably still am.
it's like a miles-deep wound, a scar across my belly
like i'm a leftover from somebody's massacre
if i try to think about it
i immediately begin to shake my head, "no,"
because it sometimes feels like i traded my sanity to have something else
& i don't even know what that something else is.

other days i'm thankful
full of joy & hopeful
looking fwd to trying it again some other time
when i have more to offer,
less to carry
& more love of self.

this year will make it five.

it's so surreal, because my brain still travels that path sometimes:
she would be five in december
i might be living in the projects or renting a shithole where i'm afraid to come home after dark
i know he'd be gone already, possibly a suicide, maybe another part of the murder rate
and there's no telling how i would be
because i wasn't fully myself back then,
i didn't know i that i was magic
i had no idea it was incumbent upon me to be the goddess
or to even respect myself enough not to let that be the case. ever again.

here's to the lost ones,
whom we tried to save from ourselves
for whatever reasons;
for my girls who've been through it, i love you & can guarantee that god loves us anyway, no matter what, all of the time.
look at the grace in your life. give thanks for where you are now.
you are a whole, beautiful, divine, capable, magical being.
you have the power to choose where your life goes. you are not bad. you are not ugly, you are neither a waste of woman nor are you scarred.
you are NOT used goods.
you are blessed.
you are not a coward.
remember that on the days it hurts the most. be glad that you're here.
somos luchadores, hermanas. somos supervivientes. somos guerreras fuertes.
please, i implore you, do not give up on yourselves. love you for all you are. you need to.

so that if you choose to go down that road again, you can hold your head high & be thankful that you're better prepared.
& that if you choose not to, you're at peace w/ that and can STILL hold your head high
because you're a child of the creator.

don't let anyone or anything take from you who you are.
every hair on your coochie, you have earned. through everything, you are your own. you are god's. we only do this stream of consciousness once. no do-overs, no take-backs.

so through the mourning, find that laughter & smile
get to the point of bliss
& be thankful

because you most certainly coulda curled up and died a long, long time ago.

(inspired by omi, who every day reminds me of who i wanna be when i grow up; for oyin, who is the most beautiful geechee woman i know; for melissa, who first held the mirror up to my face; for la flaca, who's stronger than she knows, & for sg whom i want to know that it's okay to let go of all of that bullshit.)


osun works quickly. lol. maferefun yeye laketi! adupe-o.

i feel blessed & highly favored
i feel like it's all very possible . . . whatever it is i want.

cuz i was getting sick of feeling life kicking me in the shins every time i stepped fwd.



is odunde.

i need the prayer, the reflection.
i need to go to the river w/ some honey, cinnamon sticks, & an orange for my girl oyin.
it's important that i talk to yeye & say thank you; asking for things is okay, but giving thanks is most important.

so that's what i'm about to do. i wrote this prayer the other day, which i sent to atlanta, omi, & oyin:

may the money we get our hands on, be money we can KEEP our hands on;
may the love that we direct towards others be ever magnified & reflected
upon us tenfold;
may even the roughest days give us sweet moments to appreciate & cherish;
& most importantly, may we always revel in the fact that we are conduits
of the energy of the most high oludumare.
let it be so.


i don't feel

like writing. again.

hiatus #4534982040.

call me if you need me or wonder how i am.