Honoring Bob Nesta Marley

July 27, 2008
12:32am-The last of the texts between GM and me. Something about the anonymity of texting and the lateness of the hour makes me very excited to go to sleep and think of him

6:55am-The dog is up, barking his head off. I think the worm medication keeps him awake. I go downstairs and walk him. When we come back in I realize that he will be in his crate most of the day, so I give him the run of the house while I try to sleep some more.

9:18-The boys are still asleep. We had quite a trip yesterday. It exhausted them. I get up to get their clothes ready for the day and the next. I start getting more texts from GM. I love when that happens: to go to bed talking to someone and waking up with the same someone. It’s like we slept together. But not really at all, just in my mind. I shared my summer to-do list. I was nervous he would pick the wrong one. Dudes always go for the threesome. But he didn’t, he said he would see about helping me keep my skin clear. That is a good thing because I could feel a pimple coming on my chin.

10:30-the boys are up and in the bathtub. They leave so much water on the floor. It is messy, but I love that I am not bathing them separately yet. DJ is beginning to complain, I know I will have to stop this soon. I hustle them out of the tub and into the lotioning and dressing portion of the little boy makeover. I haven’t even showered yet.

11:30 Breakfast is done. We get in the car and start the trip back into Maryland to drop them off at their dad’s and for me to get to brandi’s by noon. I suggested noon. I mean I know the trip to Wolf Trap was going to be closer to an hour than 40 minutes. Not to mention the trip from the car to will-call then to a free patch o’ land to set up shop.

12:20 Randi still hasn’t arrived to Brandi’s yet. I can feel myself getting anxious. It didn’t matter. We still had to pick up juices to mix with the vodka and roll up . . .well nevermind. We don’t get on the road until 1:05pm.

1:50-We’re still on the road. It begins to rain. I am relieved. Summer storms are fleeting. I am learning to let life have its own timetable. If we had left on time, we would have been soaked. I am relaxed now.

2:20-We finally arrive and split up the load to lug up the hill to the will call. We get our tickets. There are very few seats left. We squeeze into a spot on the hill. It is obvious that we won’t actually see any acts. But this really wasn’t about the actual seeing of the acts, it is about being out in the elements experiencing good music and friendship.

3:10 Listening to the opening act. They are pretty good. But at this point I am a drink and a half in. I meet Matt or Mike. I was dared to go ask him to take a picture of his dreds. Don’t dare me . . . I did.

3:30 Barrington Levy comes on Under Mi Sensi is the bomb. We get up and start moving. Brandi, Randi, Denise and I. Dancing . . .Singing . .. badly. But so much fun!

4:00 The sun has emerged. Oh Hell is hot but Wolf Trap on Sunday was soooo much hotta. The heat and the vodka has gotten to me. I lay down to rest. 30 seconds later Matt/Mike shows up to chat me up. He takes his hat off for me to see his waist length locs. He said he only is ok with letting pretty girls touch it. Yeah game is not tight. Very weak in fact. Then he tells me he’s in a band (The I-ternals) and will be at the Sept. 7th festival at RFK. Yeah u need more than au natural locs and “I’m in a band” Cool though. He leaves after a minute or two.

4:17-Ziggy Marley takes the stage. I’m sorry, but to me he is the most boring of the Marley brothers, next to Julian that is. So we drink vodka and rum slushies! Yum! I am having a good time. Love spending time with those girls. I’m drinking a lot. So is brandi. Every 20 minutes she asks, “Where’s the vodka?” Its in the same place bran. I’ll pour.

4:47-Stephen Marley takes the stage. I enjoy him. There is more dancing and singing badly. There is a clay colored Jamaican who is flirting with Denise. I mean seriously he is clay colored, with the thickest accent. But he is more dancing and fun. He eventually dances with all of us. So much fun. Beautiful . . .

5:14-Damian comes! Jr. Gong himself doing his Traffic Jam piece. Dancing and singing and chanting well this time. This was our jam a couple of years ago!! I do a shot with some dudes passing by. I spill most of it purposely. Yeah, I always know when to say when

6:00-We pack up and get back on the road. We crank up brandi’s ipod and sing and dance on the way back. It was such a good day. Love and singing and dancing and friendship and freeeeeedom.

After 6:30-We get back to brandi’s. I grab a couple pieces of chicken and some juice to go with my cheap vodka at home and drive back to DC. I drunk text a couple of folks. Not a good idea. I will have to stick to those words later . . .damn, damn, damn. But liquor is my truth serum, it was all true, but not as complicated or as serious as he thought. All my feelings are deep, its who I am. And I just had a day of freeeeedom. I won’t be held captive by worry about being understood. I am who I am and it is what it is . . .that’s all.

8:41- I get a couple of texts. I have no idea, because I apparently am sleeping hard. Not passed out, mind you, just sleeping hard.

10:27-I notice the texts and respond thinking I just got them. I realize I got them an hour or so ago. Oh well. Back and forth, back and forth. I swore I wasn’t going to text him anymore. We don’t do well over text. Unlike GM, our text never really convey what we want to convey. Who knows, maybe GM and I shouldn’t be texting either. It feels false. Though it bothers me more with him.

11:21- I get the pictures from the day. The day was more awesome than I realized. Looking at those pictures, seeing how beautiful we are, seeing how lively we are, seeing how real we are and how much we are connected, was a wonderful way to spend our time honoring Bob Nesta Marley. Laughing, singing (badly), dancing, and being with each other. Just us girls . . .

That's nobody's business but my own

This is a picture taken of Billie Holiday during her last recording session. She died within the year. I hate this picture. It should not have been taken. This photo has a rubber-necking, intrusiveness quality of a horrible event at which we shouldn't be gawking. I would much rather remember her singing and strong and whole. In this picture she seems broken. There is another reason I hate this picture. In her hand she is holding a glass. In the glass is vodka and lime. Anyone who knows me knows what I drink: vodka and lime on the rocks. Billie and I had similar tastes in alcohol. And even though I know that Billie Holiday was a long time heroin user, this picture still scares me to death.
My grandmother was a long time heroin user. With the exception of my mother, all of her children are or have been addicted to cocaine or alcohol or prescription pills. Food and shopping are my mother's drugs of choice. On my father's side of the family, he has nieces who have been addicted to alcohol.
I drink alot. If you were to ask my friends to describe me, they would probably mention how much I drink. But when folks talk about how much I drink, it is never in a pitiful, sad, "oh she has a problem" sense. It is always in awe. Like drinking is one of the qualities that they would aspire to have. I too am proud of my drinking capabilities. I can drink alot, no throwing up. Only my best friend and maybe my brother can tell when I'm drunk. I hold it together amazingly well. I have a very high tolerance. I am never drunk in public. The only way I can tell when I've drank too much is the next day if I wake up with a hangover. I never drink while my children are awake. Part of this control that I have over drinking is what scares me. The question becomes, How or when does a person know when they have a problem with alcohol?" Billie Holiday was a heroin addict. She drank on the day that photo was taken because she said it would help her voice. It didn't. Some say asking the question lets you know that you may have a problem. I'm not so sure. I know at one point I was drinking daily. I no longer do that. I do not drink when I'm sad. I just don't feel like it. I attribute drinking with partying and happiness.
I did until a few nights ago when I was lonely and depressed and no one was around. I really had the urge to drink. In my mind, just to have something to do. When I saw there was nothing in the freezer, it made me even sadder. When I felt the sadness wave over me about the lack of vodka, the fear crept it. I couldn't believe I was almost in tears because there was no alcohol in the house. That scares me to death. I am very grateful in hindsight there was no alcohol in that freezer. So even though I feel I have control over my drinking, there is a quality to it that is obsessive. One of the reasons I have never tried any other drug is because of that obsessive part of my personality. I don't think I could stop. I wonder if Billie Holiday thought she had control?
I have these arbitrary rules that I have about drinking alcohol. Not when children are awake, not when pregnant, not after 10 when I have to go to work the next day (unless I am out dancing, then all bets are off). The most important rule, not if it hurts someone else. Billie Holiday said, "I don't hurt nobody but myself, and that's nobody's business but my own." Well said. Self destruction can make a philosopher out of anyone.

Who's That Girl? more like the eurythmics, not madonna

I am a cinnamon brown, dred loc’d girl. I am ashamed that I began my about me talking about how I look. But while I’m on the subject . . .I am bespectacled (I wear glasses) never contacts. I remain Clark Kent. I am tallish (for a girl) I am waaay too old to refer to myself as a girl. Even though I’m one of those “natural chicks” I love tv, I can’t stop eating red meat for more than 4 months at a time, and I eat very few vegetables. I know it’s bad for me, but I have very little self control. I love words. I love how the right words can evoke feelings. I love poetry. I despise bad poetry. I love spoken word. I abhor spoken word done poorly. I love to write. I love to write. It is cheaper than therapy. I write to figure it all out and to hope others can find some truth in it to reaffirm I am not the alien that I fear myself to be.

I am writing a book. I have a poor attention span so I am worried that my novel will remain unwritten. I tend to daydream. I was thinking about getting evaluated for ADD, but I’m afraid that with my new focus, my daydreams will disappear. I find people so strange and interesting. I love talking to people and figuring out what they’re all about. Which is why I love myspace and people watching. I make up stories about them. I look through what they want people to see and get to their reality or the reality I have daydreamed up. And more often than not reality and my dreamed up reality are one of the same or pretty darned similar. I don’t like cursing. I don’t like people to curse in conversations with me, when they don’t know me. However, after a few cocktails, I tend to curse like a sailor. That is when you can tell I’m drunk, the cursing and the country accent that appears. (which is altogether strange for a girl from jersey).

I married the first man who said he loved me. I am also divorcing him. Lesson learned. I have two sons. They are beautiful and funny. Some people (including myself) think I’m funny. I like to make people laugh. Unfortunately, sometimes that keeps people from taking me seriously. And I am very serious. Some people are offended by the things I say. I say things impulsively sometimes without thinking of the ramifications. However, people shouldn’t be offended. Grow some thicker skin, really.

Hmm, what else. Yes, I love Jesus. I am his favorite. He answers my prayers (although I’m not always crazy about the answers). This is where I get my confidence, my fearlessness. I am still growing in my knowledge of what all that means. I continue to be weak in ways that are not good for me, so I am grateful for God’s grace. Ummm, I love That Girl by Stevie Wonder, I love Holly Golightly, Rear Window, Claudine, dancehall, and vodka, vodka, and vodka again. That is all, over and out.