municipal e-mail of the month:

courtesy of a correspondence between a coworker and myself, regarding complaint calls that we've gotten:

There is a crazy lady who calls every so often, sometimes even on weekends. When we are here she tells us of her "AIDS infested," immigrant, disgusting, drug dealing, child molesting, rodent throwing (?!) neighbors who live at 5XXX Malcolm street. Other times she'll leave 2 or 3 messages on the voicemail on a Saturday night. She always has a new and more interesting story that she wishes to report to the "board of health." She apparently has very malicious neighbors who wish to destroy the community by injecting people with the AIDS virus, throwing fecal matter on people, or throwing rodents on people. It's always something interesting. Then she hangs up after she vents.
Today, the self-proclaimed "Dr. Reverend" Mary Jones called to report that her immigrant, non-English speaking neighbors were randomly throwing mice and rats on people and that the people were being attacked. I guess they are not molesting their animals and children today, but instead have taken up the Yankee pasttime of rat tossing. Ah, yes.

Unfortunately, there is no reason/ means to 302 her.

I love this place.


** note: 302 is the code for involuntary committal to a mental institution. please believe i changed the lady's name. cuz i don't want any of y'all looking for <insert real name here> on malcolm street in philadelphia. coworker says the lady once called & left him 3 messages about her neighbors putting AIDS in the feces and throwing them at her, thereby forcing her to need immediate medical attention & an inoculation shot. i'm still laughing, a day later, at the sheer ridiculousness. sometimes, crazy can be funny. y'all watch "flavor of love," don't you?

last night i was talking to

my girl lauren about life, love, ifa, damaged ppl & some other random stuff.
& i realized: i am sooooo blessed to have clear-thinking folks in my circle. to have friends who're really about being good, whole ppl . . . man, that's wonderful. not everyone is interested in being a whole person. not everyone does what they need to do to right themselves first & worry about everything else later.
*this is a placeholder, until i get my internet right &/ or come back home to finish writing.

meh: an update.

1) i'm paying earthlink for internet service. earthlink is cheap. earthlink is trying to make this city wireless. you get what you pay for. i am beyond annoyed. i can't even blog from home! gah.

2) there is a major scandal brewing at my job. i work in human resources, & that basically means that the inspector general is gonna be down our throats sooner as opposed to later. not just the HR manager. like, the whole office might get called before whomever wants to know about us. lordy be. i'm keeping a low ass profile at the gig. i'm crazy but not stupid. i need to pay close attn & keep my ear to the ground, f'real.

3) i would rather be fucking. seeeeeriously. you have no idea.

4) i discovered that there's been a four legged creature visiting my apartment. i will kill it, like i did the other one. sorry. if you don't pay rent & aren't a welcomed domesticated creature you have to go.

5) i found out that someone i don't fuck with like that is not only friends w/ someone else i don't fuck with like that, but that they both seem to think the world of me & want me to kick it wiht them, despite my apparent demonstration of not-wanting-to-fuck-with-them-ness. (yeah, i know.) i want them to be clear on my unwillingness to be bothered, without my having to scream or gnash my teeth. wish me luck.

6) i'm gonna start giving ppl 3 days to pay for bath products. i am not about to waste my life force making salts/ bombs (especially damn bombs) for ppl who don't seem to understand that they need to pay for what they order when they say they will. this especially applies to the girl in my office who waited 3 weeks to tell me she didn't have $6 for some bath salts. wtf? boo, i know you don't have it. that's why i didn't bring them shits to your desk... & don't think i'm giving you a sample or freebie cuz i feel bad. it's your prerogative to spend bath salts money on mcdonald's, the same way it's mine to take these joints home to take a bath with. holler.

7) amy winehouse's first album is so drastically different (sonically) from her first that she almost sounds like a different person. it's kinda sad, like on some carmen mcrae shit.

8) that being said, keyshia cole needn't be on the cover of the new essence. that's vomitous. falcor the luck dragon made the cover before they found a "down" white woman? i'm not buying that shit, kid. (if you don't know i'm joking please let this be your warning. but something about keyshia cole makes me itch incessantly. i don't know what it is.)

9) riesling is something that i never should have discovered. i love it so much that i wanna name all my babies riesling. really.

10) tomorrow (really today) i go for allergy tests. oh, lord. if i find out that i've got celiac disease i'm gonna cry a LOT. then i'm gonna find out how to make bread out of not-wheat. yeah. that's a word i just made up.

11) knowing that a girlfriend of mine is pregnant, two friends are going through divorces, & that most of my attached friends are either having drama or dating complete loons has made me feel much better about rolling solo. it sucks when i wanna cuddle on the sofa, but screw all that emo crap. i'm bad all by myself.

12) i just got cayenne pepper up my nose. damn.

13) my crush probably doesn't know he's my crush, & that's okay.

14) season 4 of the wire on dvd soon. YES! more cutty. thanks, netflix!

15) i'm one day going to be a homeowner. that's neat.

my net connection is acting up

so i will make this really short and hella obvious:
i am featured in the latest edition of reloaded, here.

some other crazy mess

my intern said:
"i was so offended, well, kinda offended, when i saw knocked up. because, you know, they didn't have to show the baby comin' out and all that."
smartly, i asked him what the rating of the film was. he responded that it had an 'r' rating. i coyly giggled, "that's just what you get for seeing a film that you technically shouldn't have without an adult guardian present, instead of your only friend who's 18 already."

inspired by miss dark daughta's post on what society at large wishes to quote-unquote protect children from seeing.

i'm not gonna waste my time picking apart his logic. i don't have the energy to. his internship is over, so now i have to tackle the recurring problem of my supervisor's apparent unwillingness to make sure that the temporary office assistant actually knows how to do and executes his job. fuck the both of them, for the record. i have much anxiety about this job.

that's another post for another time.

maybe i'm just a mean old heifer.

i don't know. basically, yesterday, my intern (he's 16) asked me if i understood what mos def was talking about in his songs. that is, asked, "you hear the messages in his music, talking about the third eye and all that?" i blinked. i replied, "yes, i hear him. & i don't think what he's saying is wrong, necessarily." intern then says, "it's a shame that he thinks that way," or something like that. i had to take a deep breath, then politely inform youngin that no matter how much you listen to someone's music, you're only gonna begin to align your personal beliefs with what's expressed in their music if you feel you should. i give my brain more credit than that. i also had to let intern know that it's not ever okay to assume that (a) someone is a particular religion, (b) that they wanna have religion-based conversations with you, or (c) that anyone withn hearing range wants to be party to such a discussion. we work in city government. that's a really bad idea. i also had to let him know, that whatever a person believes (or doesn't believe) about god, it's not any other human being's business. period. he got kinda quiet. then said "i didn't wanna get up in your business, i was just sayin . . . he shouldn't think that way." i didn't waste time asking why. because i choose not to have that kind of talk with ppl at my job -- i barely talk to ppl outside of work about my faith tradition or anything religion-related. i just reminded him that assumptions aren't okay. i left it at that.

i know this child to be very much into church, into being a 'warrior for christ,' as i've heard him say. (that shit makes me cringe, just for the record) i know that he reminds me of myself when i was about 12. i thought i had to be extra preachy gospelly . . . that i had to tell the world about jesus & tell ppl they're wrong for being non-christians. of course, as i got older, i realized that i love secular music. i also realized that i didn't necessarily think jesus was my savior. i had questions that were not being answered by anything i read in the bible, nor did i have questions that were being answered by my elders. i also found that i disliked the idea that i had to maintain some standard of purity in my life, lest my humanity allow me to fall prey to the tools / whims of satan . . . who really was just a disgruntled former angel in the first place. there were too many holes. too many things that made no sense to me. so i kinda sat back & watched. i let everyone who identified as a christian show me how they were far from emulators of jesus christ himself. i shrugged, shook it off, & kept moving.
i dunno, my whoooooooole entire family (save my grandfather, one uncle & maybe one or two relatives by marriage) lean on jesus extra hard. that's cool, if it works for them. i think my baby sister might be one of us witchy yoruba santeria lucumi vodou candomblé goddess worshiper types. but i dunno for sure. my overwhelming feeling is that black folks allow whether or not someone is a christian be their deciding factor in regard to whether or not that person is acceptable.
there's a fatal flaw in that: there are folks who you may attend church with, who still don't have the same values you do, for whatever reason(s). i come from a family that values dialog but is still at times very authoritarian. my mother taught my two sisters & me to be as critically-thinking as possible. that didn't go terribly well with my grandmother, grandfather & two uncles. but they all managed to get the hell over it at some point -- they created little encyclopedia-reading monsters who never stopped wondering/ creating/ thinking. & it became okay. nerdiness is woven into the fabric of my family, & along with that comes talking & introduction of new ideas. my extended family identifies as christian, but what about the nurturing of growth/ encouragement of education that i experienced at home? if it doesn't apply to them does that automatically make them bad/ wrong?
but i'm getting off topic. my basic idea about exclusively using your religion as a measuring stick for others -- especially & including those who identify within the same religion -- is that your measuring stick is the result of your interpretation almost exclusively. that's not accurate. furthermore, variables are unavoidable. people vary. period. that's a dangerous thing. it's like fitting a square peg into a very round hole.
i hope intern learns as he gets older that that kinda shit isn't okay. he may not -- he comes from a position of privilege within the social circles where he exists. patriarchy rules supreme in his world (the worst thing i've ever heard come out of this child's mouth is that no woman should ever break up w/ her high school sweetheart just because she doesn't wanna have a long distance relationship), & it guarantees his comfort. so, i don't know. he has no idea what this wide world holds for him as a black male in america.
i hope he he learns, though. gently, easily, gradually. because the next person may not even entertain the idea of being sweet or diplomatic. i know what it is to have everything you believe in snatched out from under you. but then again, he may need that . . .

now look, dammit

i don't know who all on earth might find themselves browsing this blog. & i know the language or the random rants about r. kelly might throw you off. you may even feel inclined to stop reading because i talk about sex freely & don't have any trouble discussing my occasional toke. but if there's any one thing you need to know about me, it's that i do not think domestic abuse is acceptable or okay in any situation. it just isn't. i'm not hearing that "he's a good person" shit, i don't care if "all she did was" hit you once. i don't give a rat's ass. it's not okay. the idea that your abuser has any redeeming qualities, to me, is a damn joke. they nullify all of those things once they choose to put their hands on you, once they put forth any effort to control you by using violence. i do not believe that there's any dialog to be had, there's no reason to try to work it out. the first thing you need to do is get away. the second thing you need to do is stay away. if there's a need to return to a home you share w/ the abuser, have someone escort you (preferably the police or other neutral party) & get your shit. don't negotiate. don't let the begging & pleading & all that other hot bullshit be part of the equation, if you can help it. get out, get away, stay gone. if there are children involved, of course it's not that easy. but there are ways out. please don't ever think there aren't. please.

this post was inspired by juanita bynum's interview with fox 5 atlanta regarding her having been attacked by her now-estranged husband, thomas weeks. she had a press conference the other day. i'm really kind of ecstatic that sis chose to announce that domestic violence in the church isn't just about the church, but something that crosses boundaries. i'm thankful that she can say that unflinchingly. i hope that she's genuine in her stance. i hope that she is really, fully okay with taking on the mantle of being an anti-domestic violence advocate. i really hope she's sincere. she has so many ppl who buy her books and watch her on tv, etc. she is in a position to demonstrate positive things to so many folks.
i hope she does turn this around.

music survey that i stole from aj

List 10 musical artists that you like:

1. esthero
2. the roots
3. jill scott
4. feist
5. mos def
6. nina simone
7. eric roberson
8. outkast
9. bilal
10. lizz wright

What was the first song you ever heard by 6?
i think it was "my baby just cares for me," maybe "see-line woman"

What is your favourite album of 8?
hmmm... atliens

What is your favorite lyric of 5?
that's a tough one. probably something from "climb"

What are your three of your favorite songs by 7?
errrmmm... "rock wit u," "for you," & "a dream"


What are your favorite three songs by 2?
"star," "the next movement,"& "adrenaline"

What are your three favorite songs by 10?
"soon as i get home," "salt," & "fire"

What is your favorite album by 1?
breath from another. of course.

How did you get into 4?
i was listening to lettuce's last.fm radio station & then i heard "inside and out." it was a wrap after that.

What are your three favorite songs by 3?
"sweet justice," "my love" & um... um... "not like crazy"

What is a good memory concerning 2?
every concert of theirs i've ever ever ever ever been to

Is there a song by 8 that makes you emotional?
not especially. but an ex boyfriend put 'jazzybelle' on a mix tape...

What are your three favorite songs of 1?
"i love you," "country livin' (the world i know)" & "we r in need of a musical revolution"

What is your favorite song of the 9 artist?
after all this time it's probably a toss up btwn 'fast lane' & 'something to hold onto'

1. Of all the bands & artists in your collection, which one do you have the most of?
either the roots or outkast, i really am not certain

2. What was the last song you listened to?
"skyy, can you feel me" by raphael saadiq

3. What's in your CD player right now?
on the laptop: the evolution of robin thicke

4. What is your favorite instrument?
drums, maybe the tambourine

5. Who's your favorite local band?
the roots.

6. What was the last concert you attended?
mos def

7. What was the greatest concert you've ever been to?
that's a toss up btwn the roots new year's eve show in 2004 and the roots & special guests radio city show

8. What's the worst band you've ever seen in concert?
van hunt's band was great but i didn't like him. & when i saw donnie earlier this summer he was TACKY...

9. What band do you love musically but hate the members of?
lol, what an odd question. i dislike dice raw but nouveau riche is kinda tight.

10. What is the most musically involved you have ever been?
i was in chorus in high school & definitely plan to go back to voice lessons & maybe get a side gig singing backup for somoene

11. What show are you looking forward to?
none right now. i'm being a jackass when i say this, but i want angela bofill to recover from her stroke so she can start performing again. i'm kinda holding my breath for that one, though it seems really improbable

12. What is your favourite band shirt?
police 'ghost in the machine' replica shirt courtesy of my beloved billster

13. What musician would you like to hang out with for a day?
hmmmm... probably muhsinah, mj zilla, or amy winehouse BEFORE the drug addiction

14. What musician would you like to be in love with you for a day?
mos told me he loved me back when i howled "I LOVE YOU" to him ... so i think i already got that one handled. as a backup? black thought

15. What was your last musical "phase" before you wizened up?
i used to buy shit at the suggestion of someone who thought ludacris was a musical genius.

16. Sabbath or solo Ozzy?
does it matter?

17. Did you know that filling out this survey makes you a music geek?
it makes me later for work.

18. What was the greatest decade for music?
the 90s

19. What is your favorite movie soundtrack?
NOT LOVE JONES. lol. probably dead presidents or wattstax

20. What would you be without music?
bored & angry

on: comfort and safety

someone once told me i'm too attached to material things. this someone is male, black, american-born and raised, & claimed that it was absurd of me to care so much about things that were/ are mine. this person grew up w/ several siblings in a single-parent household & though i could identify w/ certain aspects of his stance, i found myself largely feeling like he never got what i was talking about when i expressed a need for what i call my creature comforts. for me to feel comfortable in an environment that i haven't designed to my liking, i tend to do what i can to create familiarity around myself. isn't this what most humans do? at a new job, don't you look around to see how or if your contemporaries have their workspaces decorated? when you come into a new apartment or house, don't you make it into what you want it to be & aim toward your ideals? creating comfort -- especially in my home -- makes it easier to cope w/ the many things that i feel daily (or otherwise regularly) assault me outside these walls. but maybe that doesn't matter to anyone else. not that it necessarily has to.

in this entry, dark daughta explores what codes of conduct for oneself do in the way of creating/ maintaining sanity & safety. she says: "I'm...slowly...raising...my hands...over...my head... I don't have a gun...a chainsaw...a hacksaw...or a knife...I've got words, thoughts, questions, a keyboard and a Code."

** i know this isn't finished. it may never be.

gratitude #6:

music

laughter

the circle of new friends into which i've been absorbed

ppl who appreciate simple shit

netflix

folks who're not wise enough to password-secure their wireless networks

coconut milk

the nail salon up the block from me

phillyspeak

knowing when i shouldn't do something, & sticking to that

water

yeye mi

gentle winds of change

baba mi

the fire it takes to speak up

favela rising

honest yet tactful critics

the eyes to see what's really going on

finding new blogs

yummy smelling bath stuff

knowing that what i really want is well on its way

collard greens

strawberries!!!

babies

my crafty leanings

flirting

my sunday boo (we need to really plan these dinners)

i sit at the seat of bliss... no matter what. i am carving out for myself the place i want to be most.

i tried really hard to hold my breath

& refrain from speaking on terrence howard's declaration that women who don't clean themselves w/ baby wipes are 'just unclean.' i wanted really badly to refrain from giving his low-talent ass any more shine than he's already gotten for playing such brilliant characters as the around-the-way barfly named cowboy (dead presidents), chu chu (biker boyz) & the 'struggling pimp' djay (hustle & flow). i didn't say he couldn't act, but outside of his light skinnedness & wearing church clothes to virtually every event he attends, what's the draw?
but anyway. i was tryna bite my tongue, then i remembered that this here blog is mine to do what i wanna do with it. so, here goes:

first off, this motherfucker is not important enough to go around telling anybody how to wipe their asses, short of an infirmed or infantile family member of his. he's not a doctor. he is an actor. he gets paid to dress up and make believe that he's someone else & he isn't even good at that! let's not allow him to have that much influence over our bathrooms, our anuses or our purchase of baby wipes. i have a girlfriend who's a doctor & she expressed some annoyance that grown ppl (who come to her & end up getting rectal exams) don't fully wipe their asses. i'd listen to dr. homegirl before i listen to that guy. because it's what she's spent 3 years in school for. because she's begun a residency. it's her job to be concerned with health/ hygiene.

secondly, i have to point out the overall tone of the interview. he seems to fall into the category of a misogynistic woman hater. i say he seems to, because i don't know him & have only ever read this one interview w/ him. but the idea that he's a woman-hater is backed up by this article on jezebel.com. there as also a fashion shoot in an old issue of vibe magazine with the theme of a couple going through their daily routine or whatever, where one photo depicted him grabbing or shaking the female with whom he did the shoot. i don't like that. not one fucking bit. my eyebrow is at least raised in that man's general direction.

thirdly, as pointed out by (my new favorite blogger) dark daughta in this post, he's sans vulva. he is not an authority on vaginae, vulvae, clitorises, or anything else that biologically belongs to women. sorry. nope. to quote my beloved grandfather, "what's wrong with that rabbit brain?" honest to goddess, unless you study vulvae from a medical standpoint (being a porn hound does not a coochie expert make) i kinda don't wanna hear it. really.

so, in short: terrence dashon howard needs to shut the fuck up.

oh, jill.

jill, jill, jill. i feel this song fully.



i've been there. with more than one paramour, quite honestly. it seems like they all end up the same way, too.
we split up for whatever reason(s), you get somebody new, i get somebody new . . . we both live our lives, & may even still be really good friends. but i know deep down inside that i feel like i'm not finished, that you're not finished. not so much a regret that we split -- when something isn't working, it's just plain not working -- but something like a deep want to try again. i'll ignore it, because you've got someone else you're kicking it with (you're not wasting any kind of time, since you don't want the chance to miss me) & i'm doing whatever i'm doing . . . i won't let myself regret you. i won't convince myself that i should apologize profusely & call you up trying to see if there might be a way back in. this is primarily because i can't handle the idea of being rebuffed when i want to be desired & refuse to try too hard at anything i'm prone to suck at. i'm prideful that way. i'm trouble that way. & she isn't. that's why you like her so much -- she doesn't challenge you to be a better person, quite honestly. she'd never encourage you to reach for everything you've ever wanted -- because you're all she's ever wanted. a daddy, financier & lover all in one. you have the bankroll for her to hit target without flinching -- note, i said her, because she's never considerate of your money situation. it only matters when she has to pay. you don't think i know she sees you as an open wallet/ bank account/ whatever, even though you essentially make the same amount of money she does? you don't think i've noticed all these things when you talk about her to me the way you would one of your homeboys?
but you'll allow it, because it's easier than being alone. because it's easier than trying to get back to what you know was harder to keep, but more worth your time.
& maybe that's why i let go, too. because i'm too comfortable running shit & it's not even about control issues -- the only issue i have is that i wanna be in control. period. when i'm not at the helm, it's only because i let you be. i think that you enjoyed that as much as i am accustomed to it.
so now here i am, after the fact, wondering why the fuck i even care.
because i love you. & in the back of my head, i imagine where we'd be had we stuck it out or reloaded the whole thing. if we'd said "let's try one more time," & said yes to a do-over. i wonder if you would have taken my hand, had i extended it.
i don't live w/ regrets or guilt, but the what-ifs surely can be a beast.

these people aren't pro-life . . .

they're killing doctors. © george carlin

i love him
& i appreciate dark daughta for posting this clip. i think that her blog (see the 'caminos de mis hermanas' link list) is an important one. check out all of her links, peep the birth photo log (wow, okay? it's beautiful) . . . just enjoy. i really, really, truly feel good when i read her words.

a hilarious chat w/ my mom

(& her homegirl) yielded a rather interesting response when i mentioned that a friend of mine thinks it's a good thing for her & her husband to split up for a while, if not permanently. i expressed that my girl was probably on the verge of killing dude in his sleep. & without missing a beat, mommy & ladonne gave the infamous international black woman response: MMMPH. that's no acronym, babies, that's the actual sound they made. that, like a clicking of the tongue, can say everything without actual words being used. that was an empathetic sentiment; mommy said, "note that i didn't say 'aww,' or encourage you to tell her to seek some help. she'll be aight. just tell her he isn't worth catching a court case."
that's my mom, folks.
dunno wtf i'd do without her.

okay, what the hell is going on here?

after a good two months pass, you decide to make a request to see me? after i was ready to go all the way in, & let go of my idea that the next man i deal with is gonna have to be the permanent mate/ baby maker/ cohabitator deluxe . . . you wanna come over and monopolize my saturday? man, i don't know about all that. i have shit to do tonight. i haven't got a whole day to spend with you; i barely have 3 hours of my afternoon. i don't know about all this sudden . . . interest you have in me. you wanna sniff my neck & play fight on the couch like you haven't been fucking missing in action for two, almost three months? baby, you must have had a really bad trip or something cuz it doesn't work like that. none of our mutual friends or associates ever fucking knows where -- or more importantly, how -- you are. i am not comfortable with that. you sporadically pop up on AIM, or myspace. you don't respond to my now-defunct weekly e-mails? are you fucking kidding me? a three word response would be fine. don't be an asshole about this.
look, man . . . i don't think i'm there anymore. i wanted to sit on my couch and watch a movie w/ you because you're good to watch movies with. i didn't ask you to marry me, give me your sperm so i can become a mommy next spring, i didn't even ask you to be my fucking boyfriend. i simply asked you to be consistent and present. i asked you to be considerate and forthright. if you can't even do that, then what the blue fuck are we doing?
you don't meet my needs. you aren't complete enough to even begin to meet your own. i know you're hurt, i know there's a hole in your heart as big is the pacific ocean, but don't penalize me for that. don't penalize your mother or your sister for that, either. our mutual friends? they care about you. i care. i think maybe we need to press that button, the reset button, & start all over. at least try to, because it's too easy for me to just decide to stick my titty in your mouth and let my wet pussy do the talking. because i do miss you, & i do feel very deeply for you. but sex isn't gonna fix it.
you can't do everything i need/ want, but i'll be damned if i waste my time trying to wait for you to get it right. some things you can be taught, but some shit i'm not willing to school you on.
i'd rather be alone.

i've been tagged

by omi, so here goes nothin:

*What side of the heart do you draw first?
the vena cava.

*Can you dive without plugging your nose?
probably, but i hated diving because the bottom of the pool was a whole effing TWELVE FEET away from me. that shit makes me wildly nervous.

*What color is your phone?
black

*Who would you want to be tied to for 24 hours?
jonathan haagensen? shit, i don't know. depends on if we're tethered closely.

*Where are you right now?
home

*How do you feel about carrots?
fresh, steamed, or not at all

*How many chairs at the dining room table?
i don't have a dining room

*Who is the best Spice Girl?
none.

*Do you know what time it is?
time for me to get off the damn computer

*What would you do if you were stuck in an elevator?
make sure i had water & some contact w/ the outside

*What’s your favorite kind of gum?
altoid

*T or F: All is fair in love and war?
false. and that's supposed to be a declarative statement; no question mark necessary.

*Do you use words that you don’t know the meaning to?
rarely, if ever.

*Do you like to sleep?
sometimes, yes

*Do you know which US states don’t use Daylight Savings?
i know indiana and arizona don't.

*Do you know the song Sugar We’re Goin’ Down?
nope

*Do you want a bright yellow ‘06 mustang?
hell and no

*What’s something you’ve always wanted?
a giant afro

*Do you wear a lot of black?
no

*Are you an adult?
is your mom?

*Who is/are your best friends?
i don't really have one. i haven't claimed anyone as such since i was in high school

*Do you have a tan?
not anymore. it faded. :(

*Are you a television addict?
not in the least

*Do you enjoy spending time with your mom?
she cooks. i don't. you figure it out

*Are you a sugar freak?
no but i love gummi bears

*What is your favorite movie?
don't have one

*What’s your sign?
libra

*Where do you wish you were right now?
in a new apartment

*Who did you copy this from?
omi

*How do you know them?
she's my sister, but from different biological parents...

*Would you have sex with them?
i'm not her type!

*What brand of shirt are you wearing?
my favorite trapeze dress

*Have you ever smoked anything?
lawd YES & i'm about to do that soon...

jonathan haagensen: the remix.

would you LOOK at that gloriousness? good god almighty. so what if i'm 3 years his senior? that doesn't matter. so what if i only know how to say "bom dia" to portuguese speakers without second guessing myself or thinking i sound crazy? he can teach me the same way nettie taught celie to read in the color purple -- w/ wax paper, crayons, & everyday household items. we can skip the whole oliver twist thing. i don't like that book. i'll read the alchemist or veronika decides to die instead. yup.

(if you've never seen city of god, you lose. go see it. dig him as cabeleira ('shaggy') & understand the gorgeousness.)

i love | i need | i want

#3

love:



trader joe's pomegranate white tea. iced w/ lime juice and the right amount of turbinado or agave nectar . . . lord. just get some, please. that is, get some for me. cuz i'm gonna drink all of what i have.

need:



the west elm storage bed. yes, lord. in chocolate, queen sized. it took me forever to decide what kind of bed i wanted . . . & i've found it. now i just have to order the thing, put it together, & enjoy it. (i also need new bed linen, but that's really on some 'go buckwild at ross or burlington' stuff)

want:



a new apartment. not the one pictured above -- this is for illustrative purposes only. but i need a new one. i'm literally outgrowing the space i'm in, not to mention having problems with my landlord being one of these. the long term goal, of course, is a home of my own but that's gonna take a bit longer. the immediate needs i have: 1-2 br, $650 or less per month, respectable neighborhood, proximity to public transit (the car will be procured early 2008), & good neighbors. i need lots of natural light, i don't mind a walkup, & i think it's important that i have fully functioning (even if older) fixtures. i just want it to be a dope space where i can entertain, live, & be happy.

so maybe this is really an i love | i need | i need post?

i still wanna bite

jonathan haagensen on the arm. good JESUS he is one fine motherfucker. he popped up in favela rising & i was like gotdammit. it's like when you find your favorite something or another hidden away someplace... like "hey, boo, i forgot i was in love." i mean, i'd be his official weed carrier with no qualms. well, not actually. but, i'm sayin. boy is fine. wow.

sunday morning eye candy. might be a good, regular post to have. don't you think?

i've got to know why

touring the favelas of rio is some new cute tourist activity. i need to know what the deal is. is it just an issue of cheap lodging? is poverty simply so fascinating that the visitors have to go see how the other half lives not in their own nations, but in latin america? are people actually working in these communities to change them, like grupo cultural afro reggae?

i ask because i'm black. & i come from salt-of-the-earth, hard working black folks who worked hard as hell to get everything they've ever had -- just like most of the world's poor folks. i don't know what it is, but i don't see a whole lot of these same do-gooders trying to stay in the states & help folks in the hood here. i don't. i do, however, tend to see folks with purportedly activist & altruistic leanings trying to get me to sign up for save the children while i'm on my freaking lunch break. i bristle at the mere notion that organizations like dialoguedirect are hiring young folks here & putting them to work to raise money. it bothers me that direct action doesn't seem to be an option for folks anymore. & maybe it is; perhaps i'm not in the right circles. i could be kind of removed from the activist community by virtue of my day job. i'm not certain. maybe the widespread notion that white folk just cannot be trusted is really ingrained in my head & i have yet to shake it off.

but touring the hood? like that shit is cute? i really, really hope that's not the case. the police maim & kill however & whomever they want to. it's not a secret. it's a lot harder for police here to get away with that shit. & i'm not implying that the lack of safety in favelas (or any slums, or squatter communities anywhere) should be a reason withhold help or to stay away altogether. but, let's be for real: some of these same folks (nicknamed 'poorists') are not tryna crash in or near the now-defunct cabrini-green homes when they go to chicago. they were never trying to hang around the 4th ward of new orleans. never.

some of these same folks will just gush about the humanity of the people, & the beauty, etc . . . then make a nasty face at the black kids sitting near them on the subway. come the hell on. hell, when they come teeming from gringolandia into the city where my family lives, it's not about anything other than shopping & maybe picking up a hooker or running some drugs. but you go into a store like marti's (btw, a white man, i believe an american, owns that store) & hear all the cooing about what's so cute, how _____ is so authentic, and goddess knows what else. it makes me sick.

i try my damnedest not to be that woman, the one who gives kids money because they're just so cute & it must make their day to get coins from an american. i don't want to be the lady who loves la raza so much when i'm there but shuns the dude who's bussing my table at vietnam palace.

i dunno. i'm rambling.
but my original question still kinda stands: what's up w/ that?

i haven't done this in years, literally:

friday five:


Imagine you are on your deathbed. Recommend to those who remain in your life...

1) One book to read.
~ sassafrass, cypress & indigo by ntozake shange

2) One movie to watch.
~ bus 174

3) One food to eat.
~ fresh mango.

4) One place to go.
~ the desert.

5) One life lesson to leave behind.
~ if you believe that you're god's child, treat others like they are, too.

hold the motherfuckin phone! (part 2)

now, i love me some amy winehouse. i do. both of her albums are in constant rotation w/ me -- work, home, it doesn't matter. i love her music. it was such a real treat to see her at the black lily concert (even though ?uestlove screwed the song up -- don't ask me how i know that; i have sources), & if i'm on a youtube kick, i'm likely to look up her videos.

but this makes me sad.

*sigh* i hate to see ppl doing this kind of shit to themselves. i mean, she told perez hilton a different story than what's largely being reported, & if it's true, then fine. but that doesn't mean she shouldn't be treating herself better, if possible. if homegirl's cutting herself, that means something's bothering her. she cancelled the north american tour, so i hope she really takes the time to get shit sorted out. one can only hope, right?

she reminds me so much of this girl i went to high school with...

messin w/ the camera phone again

i dunno
i was bored
& honestly, i was avoiding doing laundry (note the crumpled dress under my head, next to the pillow)

my hair looks like kiwi fuzz. lmao. i need either a haircut or some serious dedication to growing my 'fro out. at the moment i'm considering hollering at the malian sisters who braid hair in my neighborhood. i think i could bring back the kanekalon or body wave 10 inch for a few months. maybe. i'm not patient enough to sit for microbraids anymore. lol.

hold the motherfuckin phone!

Row over SA minister's transplant

By Peter Biles BBC News, Johannesburg

South Africa's controversial Health Minister, Manto Tshabalala-Msimang is facing new calls for her resignation.

They follow newspaper allegations that she underwent a liver transplant while suffering from alcoholism.

The government says the reports are "false and speculative", and President Mbeki's office says he still has confidence in his health minister.

Dr Tshabalala-Msimang has - in the past - come under fire over her unorthodox approach to the HIV-Aids crisis.

Her emphasis on the use of garlic and beetroot for HIV sufferers brought her many critics.

But over the past fortnight, South Africa's Sunday Times newspaper has made startling allegations that the health minister was an alcoholic who jumped the queue to obtain a liver transplant earlier this year.

The paper has also said that as part of a five-month investigation, it discovered that Dr Tshabalala-Msimang was convicted of stealing from a patient when she worked as a medical superintendent at a hospital in Botswana 30 years ago.

The health ministry has dismissed the newspaper allegations as "false, speculative and bizarre".

It is now in the process of preparing a more detailed response.

President Thabo Mbeki's official spokesman, Mukoni Ratshitanga, has called on anyone with firm evidence, to produce it.

President Mbeki and Dr Tshabalala-Msimang have an association that stretches back more than four decades.

They were part of the same group of students which fled South Africa to go into exile in 1962.

Ten days ago, Mr Mbeki fired his deputy health minister, Nozizwe Madlala-Routledge, saying she had not been a team player and had made an unauthorised trip to an Aids conference in Spain.

Story from BBC NEWS:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/africa/6955090.stm

Published: 2007/08/20 12:20:55 GMT

© BBC MMVII

maybe it's the damn weather.

all i want to do is eat & sleep
eat & sleep
drink wine
sleep
eat
sleep
pee
watch a movie
eat
drink tea
sleep
...
i hate feeling this way, honestly. i want to turn on my space heater (i was just running my air conditioner last week, wtf?), wear fleecy things or denim skirts & tights, & sip on this mint hot chocolate i have in the cabinet. gah. somewhere in this early hibernation (or a winter test-run, i guess you could call it) i'm listening to nina simone, wondering if i'll ever sign up for crochet classes, drooling over new yarns, & generally getting ready to hole up in my apartment.

but i wanna move
i want a new place to live
i'm ready to start looking, even if my money isn't all there.
i need casserole dishes and real effing dishes for once (i've survived on plastic/ paper all this time, i dunno how) . . . i want a new tea kettle & some new legwear.

yeah, it's the weather. all of a sudden i'm like in needy broad mode. this has to stop, or be relieved by some massive financial contributions from viewers like you. *cheezin* thanks!

p.s. -- i would also like to add to the list of weather-change goodies the following items:

more brainchild radio/ dj brainchild podcasts
a cuddlejawn (if you have to ask, you must not know me)
lots and lots of tea
enough time to use my vegetarian soup cookbook (HELLO, vegan pho)
a nice, cozy birthday outing
lots & lots of tasty wine
peacock feathers
several pairs of dope sneakers (it's residual conditioning from elementary/ middle/ high school)
more vinyl
... did i mention a new apartment? yeah.

wish list fall '07. i hope i can make all of this happen.

rent a rasta.

after having watched the whole documentary, i'm not fully certain that j. michael seyfert really delved into every aspect of the sex tourism in jamaica. instead, it seems that he touched on it as a segue into rasta culture/ philosophy. there's nothing necessarily wrong w/ that, but i definitely thought i'd be seeing something a bit different. i suppose, though, that this film serves to explain (even if loosely) what/ who rastas are vs. the outside world's often stereotypical view of them.

i don't believe for one minute that this even scratches the surface, for real. the women who engage in such activities worry the shit out of me, but that's another rant for another day.

goddess glory on imus.

yes, i know the nappy-headed hoes thing is old.
but there was a ripple effect. ppl are attacking hip hop like snoop dogg & nelly created the idea that blk women are hypersexualized. ppl are still talking about the level of responsibility of everyone but themselves. i'm not with it, personally.

peep the video. she makes some really excellent points.

untitled & unfinished

holding my tongue
holding my breath
tryna hold my head above the tides of tears
my foremothers wept
through osmosis i
learn the way they held it together in public
then fell apart in private
in sinks full of dishes
tubs overflowing w/ babies
they let the saline drop


(this isn't finished, i'll be back for it)

bariatric surgery & body image

are linked. they're bound, tied up in one another & it seems that some folks are focused more on what they'll look like post-surgery than how they feel. the attitude toward nearly-instant gratification in regard to weight loss has always startled me. i'm under the impression that nobody gets fat overnight, so they ought not anticipate losing the weight overnight. it's like people forget. there's no microwave for this shit. at least, i don't believe that there's one. folks have complications, they get sick, they ignore doctor's orders once they lose the weight . . . the variables involved are too many for there to be a specific outcome every time. it's not even guaranteed that the weight loss will happen -- some ppl never even make it through the surgery. that worries & saddens me. i don't like the idea that you can get some kind of magic eraser thing going on when it comes to how damaged your body is. because, that's essentially what excessive weight does. some folks have thyroid conditions, some have no idea how to best nourish themselves, & others have a strong emotional connection to food. there are ppl who fall into all three of those categories & then some. my point is, it usually doesn't happen overnight. & if you do it to yourself, why can't you undo it yourself? that's where i am.
every day i'm smarter
paying more attn to what my stomach tells me, regardless of what the bitch ass clock at work says
& knowing what the deal is w/ the things i put into my body. i'm really not keen on crash dieting (that shit is dangerous, not to mention maddening), nor am i gonna ingest any random pills to burn fat. cardio can do that for me.
i'll be satisfied w/ the outcome.
the latest goal is mine exclusively to be aware of, it's not about a number, it's about a feeling. it's about noticing some things. i find that if i'm doing things that make me feel fulfilled in general, i'm less likely to feel like a slug. even if i'm tired, i'll keep going if there's something i want to do.

my work ethic, i suppose, gets in the way of the shortcut. if there's something that i really want to happen, i'll make it so. period. determination & motivation must be maintained in order to achieve. that's a fact.

i don't knock ppl for having the surgery. i don't. that's btwn you & your insurance company. some folks need surgery before they get to the diet & exercise thing. i know someone who actually didn't know what it was to eat to the point of satisfaction instead of the point of being stuffed . . . or eating until the food was just plain gone. that's odd to me. i come from a family where the depression era dictated food shopping patterns. you don't eat just because it's there -- that's greedy -- but you eat to the point of satisfaction, as long as there's enough for everyone. i also grew up around two uncles who learned what a "man's meal" should be from their trucker father. one uncle was a construction working part-time drug dealer & the other was a phone tech (bell atlantic, anyone?) & part-time drug addict. my mother was an emotional eater who didn't want to influence her daughters negatively. so, she changed her habits early on. lean protein, lots of fruits & veggies, & NO KOOL AID. i think i'm the only black woman who grew up in a house where kool aid was considered trash. soda wasn't really allowed either. i didn't have the experience of having a soda & chips for snack every day on my way home from school. because it had no nutritive value. because my mother or grandmother cooked every single day, & there was plenty good in celery sticks w/ peanut butter.
my household was also full of secrets, the occasional drama, keeping up appearances kind of shit. let's not be stupid -- some black folks think food will fix anything. the easiest way to stifle things is to stuff them inside by any means. raise your hand if you know anyone who'll give a kid some food if they're upset, no matter what, feed them ice cream for getting an A on a test. like, no matter what, i'm going to feed you instead of knowing that you're hungry. kind of sick, but true. i don't think people recognize that. maybe they do & don't care.
i just know that i'm working to support myself. i am not making enough money to be a binge eater. (don't laugh, it's true) not with where i do my grocery shopping. the wildest shit i'm prone to do is eat the results of an entire trader joe's guacamole kit. not a great idea, but it's not a cheesesteak platter for lunch at my sit-down job, after an omelet & home fries for breakfast not even 3 hours prior. it's complicated. this whole nation is based on the principle of having more, & not necessarily the principle of having/ doing better. it seems almost 2nd nature to many americans, from what i see, to over consume. there are plenty reasons why.

i could be here all day writing about overeating, emotional damage, consumption, & weight.

but i'm gonna get an early start on my day. i need to at least get dressed to go walking...

last night

was a breath of fresh god. i laughed, ate, drank, loved, played, & generally enjoyed ppl w/ whom i love to commune. i mean, wow. i really had fun.

i need to get yani & foster their own tv show.

karas, thank you SO much for opening your home to us
we'll celebrate extra hard when you c-walk down the aisle in may next year
i love you for being your generous, wild self
next time you need a box of jeezis aych, holla @ your girl

xo

my new favorite song.

leaving it all behind, by ladybug mecca.
yes, that ladybug mecca.

love it. it reflects just how i feel about 75% of my life right now.
take the link & run with it! it expires after 15 consecutive days of no download, so, please get your mind right. lol.

for the first time in like a week, i'm late to work. but i had to shower before leaving the house. lol.

playin around w/ my camera phone

i have a samsung sync (gh-a707), & one of the best things about my phone is allllll the wild shit i can do w/ the camera. i can do more than one shooting mode, there's a timer, & even visual effects like sepia tone, b & w, & (my favorite) the negative. i'm currently loving the hell out of the mosaic effect:



LOVE.

i'll be back w/ more cell phone antics.

new moon list of desires & demands:

more 84 degree days
new sneakers
a fly haircut
more impetus to cook
a good backrub
sweet kisses from a sweet mouth
a really good roll in the hay
time w/ my girls
a new apartment
the green light on my latest scheme
a manicure & pedicure
more pomagrand lemonade
more afrobeat
more bomba
more music, period
new books!
time to watch my lil movies & really enjoy them
a dvd or two featuring the fania all stars
a dope tan
some more dresses
new places to drink tasty beverages
a nice long bath

there's more but i forget it all.
this week i'm staking my claim...

damn, damn, damn, james!

tay zonday is at it again.

mos def, watch your back
black thought, get ready . . .

cuz this motherfucker is rapping, now.

we're all in trouble.

i'm really tired

i'm not going to work. my stupid-visor actually told me that i needed to be in today if i'm working OT. ho are you smoking blue rocks? the OT isn't mandatory to begin with. & nothing in that place is as important to me as my gotdamn paycheck. get your mind right, please.

i'm ruled by my mood, the level of bliss i have in my life, & the way the wind is blowing at any given time. just because i'm there monday through friday doesn't mean i (a) give a shit, or (b) want to be there. i'm beat. i didn't feel like getting up early to be annoyed by the cavalcade of coonery or the parade of plum foolishness. so i'm gonna clean my apt a bit, hang out w/ my mommy (i never DO that anymore, fuckin around w/ that job) & then hopefully go kick it w/ riley.

i'm so not with the bullshit today.

so let me get my oatmeal & get the day started.

soundtrack: osn podcast #2 (unreleased) - by dj brainchild.*







can i get a track listing, bill? please? thank you. you know i love you to pieces.

i don't know why

but every day it's getting harder to fight the bile i feel building up inside me regarding the vast majority of bullshit i'm exposed to daily.
i can't change septa's ridership, what they read or listen to, or what they eat.
but i rally as much as possible against the madness at my job. every time someone says something ignorant, i have to brace myself & then correct them
whether they're fucking up someone's name (major pet peeve of mine) or making a rude statement about someone's name (ie the dude named olayemi who goes by 'ben' b/c his middle name, benedict, is easier for crass english speakers who also happen to be lazy, or the stankness associated w/ addressing one of the indian women who're administrators), i'm willing at least 7 out of 10 times to dig in someone's ass.

i know, that seems kinda futile considering where i work & the adherence of my colleagues to overall assholish behaviours. but i can't help it.
it's tiring as hell, i will say that much.

i don't even know if i sleep better at night knowing i'm a good fight fanatic.

*shrug*

guess i'll find out if i make some sort of impact on those folks.

the willie lynch speech was a hoax.

see manu ampim's excellent paper regarding such here.

if you wanna email posts of mine, email this one. thanks.

the commentary

on this shit right here, man . . . good lord. i mean, it's dope that nicole murphy & mel b. can get their shit together & be grown ups about this whole situation. but the comments at the bottom of this post tickle me to no end.

am i turning into a celebrity gossip junkie? hell + yes.

so sue me.

there could be worse things. like having sex w/ minors and peeing on them, then blaming my sibling for the video footage that was clearly taken in my home . . . & singing songs about jesus every time someone thinks they might take me to trial for such. (the bastard goes on trial september 17 & i cannot WAIT. i genuinely hope he gets his ass handed to him. fucker.)

mariam's gonna be famous!

look!!! she's the DIYer of the week at newsday's cheap thrills blog. yay! i strongly recommend that you buy her designs. i own a few pieces, i've given some pieces as gifts & i can guarantee that you will not ever, under any circumstances, find products like hers. mariam's one of the most intuitive, progressive, avant garde jewelry designers i know. i love her to pieces. & her little boy is CUTE. i wanna put him on some rye toast w/ horseradish mayo & red leaf lettuce. mmmmm, tasty baby. . .

i'm not a huge fan of

the studio version of jill scott's "hate on me," because it sounds kinda overproduced . . . & sort of um . . . canned, if you will. but she sang it at the black lily closing show in may & i loved it. maybe it was ?uesto & the band, maybe it was because amy fucking winehouse had shown up. or maybe because i know just wtf she's talking about in the lyrics. my sista said if i gave you diamonds/ out of my own womb/ would you feel the love in that/ or ask, "why not the moon?" can we pause, reflect & breathe on that for a moment, please? i mean, damn. there are some folks on this earth who will tear every last tendon & bit of muscle from your bones & seek more if they believe you've got more for them to take. there are sometimes instances when ppl will show you precisely how ridiculous they are, & it's like katt williams said: "you mad at breakfast? nigga, you gangbangin on bacon?" pissed, desperate. grabby & needy for no reason other than their own exaggerated sense of entitlement & sadly inflated ego. tearing apart everyone around them in the name of being whom or what, i do not know. but they do it; & think that shit is peace. isn't.

the thing is, we are all humans
& we all have our moments where we have to think critically about others & by extension ourselves (i hope we all think critically about ourselves at some point or another). not to take away from or tear down anyone, but to really see who we are & what it's hittin for. head on. & truly, i think that within such processes, we kinda gain a clarity. a perspective that shows us a little better how we simply aren't ever really in a position to shit on someone else's situation. yes, someone may be troubled or misguided or whatever. but is that really a reason to decide that they're undeserving of your keeping your nose out of their shit?

i don't mean people who maim bunnies or kidnap elderly women or pee on teenage girls on videotape and then blame the shit on their brothers. i'm talking about your homegirl who's trying to finish her master's degree & make herself a better person at the same time. i'm speaking of anyone who's just living her or his every day life & is most likely progressing with it. nothing wrong w/ wondering about why your people are in the mess that they are. there's no shame in venting about the one friend you have who continually places her or himself in situations that always require mediation or some large amount of financial assistance. you can wonder all those things -- i think it's normal, to gain the best perspective possible on how you may or may not fit into all of this.

but if you're just plain pissed at someone's existence on this planet & instead of ignoring them you're seeking out reasons to talk shit on them, then perhaps you need to go rap w/ dr. phil or somebody. cuz that's just ridiculous.

straight vampires, yo.
leave that shit alone. some of us work to get where we are, while others just end up there serendipitously. either way, i'm not in a position to judge.

i'm not afraid of/ what i got/ i paid for . . .

this negro has lost his fucking mind, once & for all.

y'all know i'm talkin about arruh kelly, right? trapped in the closet chapter 13, in just enough time for his kiddie porn charges to go to trial.

the "oh, shit" thing is priceless.

this time, insanity is funny.

(links courtesy of crunk & disorderly)


** addendum**

ladies & gentlemen, i present to you the zoo, in all its ridiculousness. unfortunately this isn't a whole performance, but y'all get the gist.

okay, i get it:

i have to stay a little while longer. even though i don't want to. even though every day i find myself thinking that i'm gonna have to run away to new york or pick up all my shit & hide out at my mom's house for 8 weeks of intensive "i can't really hack it as a grownup" therapy (better known as working the same fucked up 12 hour days no fewer than 4 days per week, not paying ANYone's bills except my own, looking for a new job on craigslist & watching a lot of crappy tv w/ my sisters). it's really obvious. it is. i complained rather audibly to one of my at-work play auntie type coworkers & then in the afternoon, what happened? my division manager announced that basically she wants to utilize the knowledge of myself & some other support staff to turn us into . . . wait for it . . . are you ready? paraprofessionals. i know! basically she wants to find a way, even within the civil service system (which, though it is not inherently racist but definitely antiquated & still fucked up), to pay us what we're worth. make sure that our skills & awareness don't go to waste & ooze out of our ears. that's what her predecessor did. constantly. i can't say i'm terribly excited, because this is not where i wanna be for the rest of my life. i don't even wanna hit the five year mark (the very idea makes me nauseous as shit) at this place when i never intended to stay beyond two. at the same time, i've been itching for the opportunity to be smart for a living -- to really know that i come to work & use the talents i already have.
i complained & got a very obvious response. i'm like . . . okay, but i don't have forever. & i don't care who's a great coworker, who has my back, who really looks out . . . i hate complacency.
& i feel kinda complacent.
i don't wanna give this place the rest of my life, so i won't. i don't want to fester & just sit & stagnate. so i won't allow myself to.

& i'm having the hardest time understanding what might be on the horizon in regard to the work situation, but i'm gonna shut the hell up & say thank you. i just know what i really want deep down inside. i'm tryna learn patience so i don't rush into it just so i can say "i quit my day job to do this!"
cuz let's face it, i need to get the money up. there are folks i want to include in my plan who are currently doing other shit (hey karas!). there isn't any way i'm gonna even feel okay doing this without a few crucial things having been taken care of first.
i don't know wtf is going on
but i know the universe answered me before i even got to finish bitching.

adupe-o.

late for no reason, this time.

lmao.

i'm just late because i wanted to blog first.

of course, i don't have enough time to write what i really want to.

*placeholder*

the bliss project got a makeover.

see the new fancy look here. i'm not quite finished, but it'll do for now. so WRITE SOMETHING, dammit! submit entries here . . .

vamp.

i've never been one to do a lot of red. i always thought big girls ought not rock colors that bright; i always used to want to be left alone, to my own devices & business without drawing attn to myself. i already stood out physically. why add to it?
then one day when i was in high school my grandmother, mother & i were in the jc penney outlet. & there was this shirt i wanted. i loved it. i wanted it in navy, but it only came in red. with simple white piping around the collar. my concession, since momzie & mommy thought it looked so nice was, well, to get it in a 3x (just for the record, no part of my body has ever been a 3x ANYTHING, even at my heaviest). so i had this tent-like shirt. it was part of my "going away to college" arsenal. so, i only wore it when everything else was dirty. because it was red. & my simple ass didn't realize that more fabric = bigger clothing = more attention.

as i've aged, i have more or less stayed away from brights. red, green . . . as accent colors only. i have print clothing that tends to be on the docile side (w/ the exception of a cocktail dress here & there). . . & the only bright i ever really stuck with was bright pink.

then i found out that i'm omo sango. his colors are red + white. when olaomi told me that i was like "dangit. that means i'ma HAVE to wear red at some point or another. i don't do red." i kinda panicked. red hair is one thing (auburn is my summer color of choice), but red clothing? eh . . .

but i'm getting better. tryna grow into who i am. baba's got me. yeye & my ancestors have got me. most importantly, my ori is doin its thing. i even own a red dress(!!!)

at 26, my first red manicure. hmm. i kinda like it.

i call bullshit on the following:

~ the idea that michael vick is essentially about to be strung up by his balls because of the dog fighting that went on in a house that he owned, but did not live in. it sounds fishy to me. everyone has ignorant ass cousins who do stupid shit & embarrass the family. unfortunately, michael vick's ignorant ass cousins might land him in jail. seriously, tell me some of y'all out there on the interwebs don't belive that you'd have every triflin criminal record having relative knocking down your door if you came into some money. i don't believe that he knew what was going on. how base are this guy's cousins though, to be dog fighting in the basement of someone else's house? family or not, if you're living in a place that you don't own there's certain shit you just don't do. & i'm pretty sure animal torture & causing bloodshed are at least in the top ten of that list. lock those fools up, absolutely . . . but don't throw the baby out w/ the bathwater. i think vick deserves to have his situation examined more closely. furthermore, if he were as guilty as his kinfolk et al, wouldn't they all have the same 5-member legal team helping them? i'm just sayin.

~ this bullshit on the def jam isley brothers' page. you mean to tell me that on july twenty-damn-fifth you ask the internet to pony up support for ron isley in the form of asking for a presidential pardon? do y'all even know who the president IS? he hates black ppl, & from what i recall of his tenure as governor of texas, he's a fan of jail & the death penalty. y'all are barking up the most wrong of trees. especially at this late date -- the sentence begins august 7th. not that the gov't would bend on that shit. income tax evasion isn't gonna be an easy rap to beat. plus he's already been convicted. tsk, tsk. does this mean that is wesley snipes gets a similar sentence that blackamericaweb.com is gonna be leading the charge to help him out? negro PLEASE. ** let us also recall that ron isley is good buddies w/ arruh "piss on you" kelly. why doesn't r. release one of his patented "i'm in trouble so lemme saing sumfin about god" songs to help mr. biggs? hmmmmmm?

~ lindsay lohan's proclamation that she was wearing someone else's pants. a "black kid." & they had the coke in them. right. also, that she wasn't driving the car. someone is most likely going to kick her ASS when she gets locked up. let's get this straight. you were neither driving nor wearing your own goddamn pants. so if she wasn't completely trashed, we're supposed to believe that she was sober & wearing someone else's pants? come on. (i didn't really have to call bullshit on this one, it's obvious, but still...)

~ this new thugged out looking alvin & the chipmunks movie. you can't be fucking serious, dog. you just can't. jason lee, as freshalina would say, needs more people. i'm disappointed. i like my chipmunks old school & fully 1960's middle america friendly. attitudinal chipmunks don't sit well w/ me. are the chipmunks gonna do all the latest negro dance crazes like the soulja boy, the batman, & the jump rope? oh, wait. there's a song but no video: the chipmunks crank dat jump rope. i am loosely amused, but mostly annoyed because i'm tired of black folks embarrassing themselves in the name of "self-expression." i'm all for innovation, but this is becoming a lot more ridiculous than it is anything else. besides, the soulja boy pooh clip is 20x funnier.

i'm back to

where i was about three weeks ago. only my thought process is fueled by a conversation i had w/ some sistas the other night.
i know there are systems in place to stop us dead in our tracks. literally, even. i know that it's sometimes so impossible to even see the top of that mountain made of disappointment, disaster, dreams, & desperation that climbing that motherfucker seems like a really sick joke. baby, i know what it's like to have someone smile in my face & wish to hell that they could call me a nigger but instead just say "sweetie," "honey," or "girlfriend." & i used to ache to know what it must have felt like to be acquainted w/ folks like my self, not just folks who looked like me. that ache grew.
the resentment, the annoyance, & the overall feeling of being fucked up in the game . . . those things were winning. i wouldn't let them, though. & i won't now.
because if i look myself in the mirror & decide that every fucking moment of my life is a war -- a war that i don't even think can be won -- then i may as well pack it up . . . particularly if i come out the front door swingin on everyone i can w/ my machete or cutlass.
by virtue of biology, i am a woman. by virtue of biology, i am black. & by virtue of biology, we have become targets. we remain targeted now. everyone with a lick of sense & deductive reasoning skills knows about the prison industrial complex, COINTELPRO, the big tobacco plots, & everything else on this entire planet which has been put together to snuff the poor, non-white, &/ or female.
yes, baby, i know.
but for me, that venom cannot be turned in on myself
it will not be the weapon i use to slash every hand that reaches out to give to or help me
i will not blindly love what looks like me exclusively because of that fact
it is not okay to hate
ever

cuz if they do it to us, & we do it to them, exactly what the blue fuck is that gonna get anyone?

it's not gonna give us any of the shit that's been taken from, beaten out of, drained from, or confused about us. we will not get back yoruba, igbo, twi, akan, hausa, fongbe, kiswahili, xhosa, or any other tongue. our wombs will not take back in the children of rape, nor will they serve as a place to hide the children that we don't want to be a part of this shit here. hate will not extract what makes you lighter skinned, her hair wavier than it is anything else, that baby's eyes bright green, what made malcolm's hair red . . . we can't undo it. mahatma was NOT playin one bit when he said that an eye for an eye would leave the world blind. cuz if we hate on them, & they hate us some more, & we all go back & forth when will we have time to love ourselves? how do we build ourselves up if we're wasting energy tearing someone else's shit down? believe it or not, there has to be room for everyone . . . if you believe in a creator, then how could you not think so?

i must ask this, because i like where i live
i love my people
& i've been in that position before where when i say i'm DAMN good friends w/ white women, i get that sideways look. & i have to brace myself for the cries of 'traitor,' or worse yet being shunned or pitied because i'm 'confused' about who's really got my back & who doesn't.
cuz the same sista i want to help with her parenting skills already thinks something's the fuck wrong with me since i don't dress like she does. the sista who has the same nappy hair i do, the same ntozake shange books i do, respects the gangsta of kathleen cleaver the same way i do . . . she's still poppin shit because she don't think hers stinks. because she's taking in superficial things about me & deciding FOR me what i should/ shouldn't be a part of. what part of the game is that?
& the biology isn't enough for any of us anymore. we don't respect each other by virtue of blackness, because we are not all in the same neighborhoods by virtue of such. we are all over the place because legally, we could be . . . & the status shit is SERIOUS in these streets right now. fuck the white folks gentrifying all over the nation, niggas is fightin niggas over what some niggas appear to have, be, do, want, or feel. & that, my dears, is fucked up. screw standing up for anyone who's willing to cut your ass down -- black, white, yellow, peach, beige, blue-black, brown, red, or other. i will not, under any circumstances, support destruction of others by virtue of my own dislike for how they carry themselves. not unless it's fully crucial to my survival.

i know what you're talking about, but maybe you've never experienced what i have.

i was born fighting,
i will die fighting
but in between, i will choose my battles.

omi, i love you

but i am going to have to fight you for introducing me to tay zonday & his special brand of music. wow. like . . . wtf? no, really. i am DYING over here looking at chocolate rain. god. whaaaaat? & he sang the rainbow connection. this shit . . . man, i don't even know. it drove me to drink. no lie.

when i wrote that i'd update on monday

i was lying.

because i am too gotdamn tired to even think about recounting the whole trip.

i'll get w/ y'all on the retro tip as soon as i can get my thoughts together. first, i need food, sleep, a bath & some prayer.

there's a new celebrity gossip site for me to drool over:

it's called what would tyler durden do?
if you haven't yet seen fight club then you probably have zero understanding of the hilarity of this site's name. it's nearly as dope to me as my regular trash blogs, but it's named after one of the best films in history. love that. what a fresh lil blog!

speaking of fresh, i found this tripe on crunk + disorderly. TERRIBLE. just plain horrible. claims of being a "natural beauty" aside, khia appears to be borderline illiterate & i think maybe she's got, to quote one of my favorite movies, that nasty women's disease. i won't even waste my time linking to her video(s). no way, man. i think i have a tapeworm from even looking at the mess. lol.

anyway

i'm out this wknd,
updates monday!

being up on time for work

can be kinda depressing
cuz deep down inside allllllll i wanna do is piddle around my apt. figure out how to make better beans & rice, make one of my infamously random iced tea blends, or maybe even turn on the tv for a few minutes before cheaters comes on. i just want the space
to breathe
stretch
get up & be happy about where i'm going during the day.
not that i'm ungrateful for this job -- so many wonderful things have happened in the past 5 months alone, things that have given me the tools/ resources to go where i really wanna.
but sometimes i wanna throw up my hands & say "listen, i really can't stand you folks anymore . . . maybe we can all have dinner together one day & laugh about it but right now i wanna curse nearly every one of you out for some reason or another & that's a true problem. so, i resign. effective immediately, i quit. kiss my black ass. have a good day. i'll be back when i feel like it for my personal effects & every blank cd-r in this bitch, since nobody here has a burner on their cpu." i fantasize sometimes about that.
but until then, i'm struggling against lateness & general apathy. i like my division manager. i like a few of my coworkers. the rest i can take or leave, with a few insufferable completely inept fucking lunatics interspersed throughout. i don't like the bulk of my duties, but i'm trying to plow through this shit so i can get to the good stuff. division manager has something she wants me to do.
but the papers are piling
my supervisor is a lame duck & doesn't wanna help me out
so i gotta do it alone.
that shit is daunting.
i'm takin a mini-break this weekend.

so maybe i can come back refreshed & renewed, after communing w/ my ppls.

i certainly hope so.

today i am grateful for: travel, money, water, pretty dresses, & summer.

oh, wow!

angela bofill.
i try.

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!!!?



i'm too through.
i almost called my mom & woke her up out of her sleep for this one.

(doesn't she look like one of those paintings of yemaya or ochun? lol)

my first cell phone blog . . .

hopefully this won't come out all janky looking. i was on the beloved el (that's the blue line to you non 215ers) and thought a picture ought to be taken of moi. mira que bonita soy. :)~

i wasn't gonna write

about the whole n-word funeral thing that the NAACP had last week. but then i read in the little brother blog how phonte feels about it. i'm in agreement w/ mr. c oleman for the most part. that is, black folk will not magically be better on the whole if/ when everyone stops using this word. most importantly, it seems like treating the symptom instead of curing the disease. the subversion of language is pretty much the norm nowadays. case in point: "she's a bitch" by missy elliott, "o.g. bitch" by esthero, "the baddest bitch" by the ever-relevant trina. . . like, what about THAT word? everyone's all super emo after the don imus thing, as if his racism should be the sole catalyst for change around here. he blamed hip hop for the "nappy headed hoes" thing because he knew he could cop out to that. that motherfucker knows full well, just like any other thinking being, that the idea that black women are automatically whores &/ or have bad (read: nappy, kinky, etc.) hair came from white folks. some of us are reclaiming that terminology as well. so what, are we choosing which words we wanna flip for our own empowerment? has there been an international black folk conference about that?

cuz, yeah, there's been the store called niggas
& if i go to ghana some folks may mistake me for one who likes being called "bitch" or whatever,
but yo . . .

burying any of these words doesn't mean shit to me when the babies are dying the way they are. don't blame that on the word nigga. unemployment & desperation will not magically cease when we stop calling ourselves and others niggas, bitches, hoes, or anything else.
because even if i don't use the word, i know what i mean when i say "that motherfucker ain't shit," because i mean to insult or harm someone with my words. that's not contingent on the verbs, nouns, pronouns or adjectives. it's on me & the power that the person hearing them gives the words.
i don't know . . . let's not put a band aid on a severed limb, okay?
if we don't respect or love each other, the words don't mean shit
the acts mean everything
& who's to say there won't be another word to offend?

(i might come back to clean this up later)

*quick addendum: if i had written here about don imus as a cracka ass cracka, then what? ofay? honky? oyimbo? like . . . are we gonna bury those words too? cuz if we are then maybe i can clap my hands to the burial of nigga. otherwise, get out of my face w/ that bullshit & go DO something in the streets instead of being mad at what the streets are doing.

hey.

i heard that you've finally gotten the opportunity to do some of the work you've wanted to for a long while. congratulations. i hope it takes off & does everything you ever wanted it to do. i wish you great success, for real. i had always hoped that you would go ahead & follow whatever path you wished to -- independent of me & everyone else on this entire earth. i don't know if you ever realized it, but all the energy you poured into worrying about wtf i did with myself was ideal for your shit. maybe you did, or perhaps because we're not in touch at all, it's easier for you to do that. either way, good for you. keep it up. the forward movement is soooooo important. i do wonder if we'll cross paths again sometime, but that's nothing i can really consume myself with. if we do, we do. & if we don't, then we don't. i haven't forgotten you though. i still remember the slick, slightly crooked smile. the smirk that came across your lips when i'd see you & you said my name . . . the playful way in which you'd greet me on the telephone, as if we were best friends & could always pick up where we left off. & we could sometimes. other days, it seemed like the estrangement was inevitable so i wouldn't even try to make it pleasant between us. formalities. & you tried to play like there was nothing brewing under the surface, as if the elephant in the room weren't sitting on both our laps.
oh, well. i noticed early on that for all the mouth you had, you never wanted to go toe to toe with me. that's fine. it always made me wonder wtf you were so afraid of. i'm reasonable. i can be sweet when i want to, but my tongue does cut like a machete. words were always my forté, you said. you knew i was as dangerous with a pen as you were. only you drew. you painted. your images accomplished the same things my phrases did. i felt that you were jealous somewhat. let's face it: in everyday dealings we do not create visual art to express what we want. in situations. when your dinner is cold at a restaurant, you do not sketch dissatisfaction. i peeped that. & that's okay, too.
i just wonder wtf you'd say to me now if we saw each other.
would it be another greasy smile, with you asking me a grip of questions when it's not your damn business to begin with? would you really be tired enough to try to pick up where you dropped the ball?
i wonder.
but at the same time, i don't have the patience to even sweat you. you know how to get a hold of me.
this is a belated father's day letter.
hope you had a dope one.

addendum: this is a continuation of this post, but is primarily addressed to my father. i googled him today. i find it bizarre that he's worked on a parenting initiative that deals w/ child support . . . when there's at least one errant sibling i have. when he's gonna be in arrears until i'm 30+. this shit is crazy. but the parallels between him & the other person i'm thinking of are real scary.

i guess it's my turn now

to declare it, once & for all, so everyone can know:

i wanna get knocked up. i want to be pregnant one sunny day & know that soon, the life in me is going to come forth. i want to smile very coyly at my man & giggle when he talks to my belly. i want to be secure enough to trust enough to get pregnant with a man & know that he's someone whose seed i'm not afraid to sow. i want to brew me a warrior child w/ pacifist leanings, activist tendencies, & a great love of life. i want the initial shock of finding that i'm pregnant be the prelude to gloriously blissful feelings. i want to welcome motherhood. i want to feel the baby turning around and getting excited when i'm excited. i want to sing lullabies in different languages & give thanks to the most high every single day for the blessing of carrying a life into this world. i want to take henna to my belly as it grows & make it look extra fly as an extension of me. i want a home birth with a nurse-midwife (hi, aba! can't wait until you're fully legit, girl), a doula, & an ob-gyn i trust on standby. i want my man to be there & as involved as he wants to be in the actual delivery. i want my mom to quit trippin long enough to appreciate how differently i'm finna do it; i want my sisters to be the best aunties ever. i want my maternal grandfather to be around to see, appreciate, love & acquaint himself with his first ever great-grandchild. i want my dear, dear girlfriends (all 834 of them) to send love & good energy more than i want them (or anyone else) to buy fly gifts. i want pretty dresses to wear once i'm too expanded for my regular clothes. i want to give birth in what will be the baby's room. i want to make baby food outside of my body. i will breast feed. period. i want to travel with my baby. i want to teach my baby ASL. i want to make the transition as pleasant as possible for my baby. i will not be in anyone's stark white florescent hospital room with people yanking & talking loudly; it would drive me crazy & i know it would be traumatic for baby. i want a peaceful situation during the gestation. i want to know for certain that i'm safe, loved, & secure in my home. i want to feel free enough to do it, & aware enough of what's going on around me to make informed decisions about mothering.

i'm just sayin. i want to do this. i'm not as ready as i know i need to be (i don't mean just financially), but i'm getting closer. i'm comfortable with the idea. i'm not rushing into motherhood.
but i trust my highest self enough to know that the time is coming one day soon. it's more realistic than it ever was before, & i'm making myself ready.
may my unborn child(ren) know that i'm not doing this alone. send your daddy my way, okay? don't rush, dearest. but send him along so we can do this.

i think myra, omi, atlanta & myself need to start a club or something. lol.

oh, my damn.

samwell has a new video. awwwww, shit! i didn't even know! are you ready? are you? get ready, dulces, for "shoes r on fire." pepsi keep me near the cross!!! (that's an inside joke which i will explain at another time) i don't know how i missed this.

& if you don't actually know WHO samwell is or what the deal is w/ him, you have to begin at the beginning, with "what what (in the butt)". . . it's a classic! lol.

but wait.
i was fuckin around, tryna find some footage of jc chasez (i love that man's voice) & found this: dale goldboldo, jc, timberlake, & ryan mollyfockin GOSLING singing jodeci's "cry for you." they are even DRESSED like jodeci or shai or something.
jc i still love you, even if that was fully contrived.

mira: