Sunday, November 28, 2010

I Love You and Other Lies Boys Tell

"Took me out to wine, dine, sixty-nine me, but didn't hear a damn word I said. I see right through you." Alanis Morrisette

I'm going to be 38 in two weeks.  I've dated, been married, divorced, and now dating again.  When I first got divorced, it was hard to picture myself totally by myself.  Yet I found myself alone with two children and a dog. (and also several mice, but thats a previous blog altogether) I enjoy dating, I really do. Sometimes I read my past blogs and I get on my own nerves.  But things tend to happen that are pretty  bloggable.  And yes I am the constant in that equation (as a certain Jerky McJerkerson pointed out). But well sometimes I think, I choose wrong just for the excitement and a story to tell afterward.  . .

Check this out

I met a boy.  He is an artist (shut up, I know) We talked online.  One day he asked to come over.  I said that it was a bad idea.  He said it would be fine. He would come over, we would watch a movie and we would cuddle and then he would go home before the boys woke up.  I said sure, because you don't find many who understands that they have to be gone before the kiddos wake up. I mean the therapy costs alone...

So he came over and did what he said. It was nice. Just company. So every weekend almost after that, he would come over we'd "watch a movie" and then he would go home.  Sometimes I would go over to his place.  He made me waffles in the morning.  His apartment was like a vacation.  Movies, cuddling, breakfast, silence.  So after a couple of months of this, I got curious. That is a bad sign. that means I'm getting attached. I want to know about him, meet his mom and what not.  *sigh* the beginning of the end.  At any rate,  I noticed that he always came over super late.  It started to bother me.  It bothered me to the point that I said that I was tired of being secret girl he saw late at night.  It was cool for a while, but a person with half a heart wants more than just that.  He said, "ok".  I was pissed. I guess I expected him to put up a fight, to say he'd do better. no such luck.  Then I asked him to send me the beautiful pictures he took of me.  And he told me he deleted them.  I was furious.  Those were the best photos I'd ever taken. So raw and beautiful..gone. And so I do what I do what I always do.  I threw a text tantrum.  Oh the curses I used...

But the next day he said, "are you too mad to play scrabble?" And we played online scrabble just like the old days.  I was impressed. No one ever survived a text tantrum except the Nigerian, and everyone knows he's the love of my life (shut up). 

But I think, that he was a little late on the complete damage I did with my text tantrum, that may or may not have gotten back to facebook, allegedly.  Now its the silent treatment which only rivals plucking my leg hair one by one to the level of torture that is....gosh.  I guess thats over now...

Meanwhile back at the boy bunny ranch:

So I was talking to my other friend (Fred) and complaining about how boys want to have secret late night sex relationships and that was all.  He said,  "I know what you mean.  I am coming to your birthday party. I can't wait to see you."  I thought that was the sweetest thing ever.  Maybe I had mis-judged him.  Then he said, "I know what will make you feel better."  And then he sent me a picture of his penis.  Sigh . . .

So there is another boy, Aloyoisus St. Dexter.  We went to college together.  I met him on the streets one day, and we went to lunch a day later.  Super sweet.  We talked and ate and drank. And then he went back to Jamaica.  He is cool and a west indian (I SAID SHUT UP). But he is in Jamaica.  We talk and laugh on the phone and over skype, but who is to know what he would be like if we were in each other's space all the time.  Murphys Law is a bitch I tellya.

Anyways, my birthday is coming up.  I have an awesome dress, and about to order some fuck me pumps.  However, none of that will be going down.  But it is cool that they want it to.  I just wish someone would like to talk and play board games too.  Maybe a little drunk bop it (funnest game ever). The Nigerian is's hoping that nothing happens....

Monday, September 13, 2010

Unexpected Waffles (beginning of a short story)

ts okay you know.
Its okay for there to be quiet.  I relax in the silence that your space provides.  Looking out of the window and seeing the rain and fog in the early morning, settling into the makeshift bed in the middle of the space where you create, I feel hidden.  Not ready to get up and make my way in the world that has been created for me. I turn and look at you with your funny face and strong arms.  You seem so strange sometimes, and I am curious about who you are.  But I am glad for you just to be here, just to be who you are, whoever that may be.  I know it is what it is and nothing more, but I appreciate this little thing.  This little space.  This silence.  The rain against the window and the unexpected waffles.

BBBBRRRRRRRIIIING! The alarm sounded and she turned to grab her phone.  5:30am.  Stretching she turned on the light and sat up in bed.  She regarded the pills on the bedside table with irritation, reached for the glass to get water, then thought better of it and turned to get 15 more minutes of sleep . . .

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Stuff that happened while I wasn't on the internet

weight: 138.7 lbs
alcohol: tried some pineapple vodka
and am mixing it with EVERYTHING
food indulgences:  ramen noodle kick
medication:  0 lexapros but reconsidering . . .(had 3 anxiety attacks and been sleeping too much)

It's been a minute.  I decided to put back up the titles for how I start off these personal narrative blogs, just for those who are new followers and also because I haven't done it in a while.  I chose those things to keep track of because those are the things that usually indicate how well or not so well my life is going.

Soooo, I'm at a new school this year.  (surprise) Ahem, this school is great.  The people are inviting and most of all it seems that they could benefit from things that I am good at.  I think I am needed and that is  always good.  I loved my old job, but the people were kind of mean.  And I don't like feeling anxious or depressed going to work.  Upside, I had a great summer off with the kids.  Downside, I didn't work at all and i am behind the 8 ball with my bills.  It will all work out eventually i'm sure.

Let's see.  things in the romance department are going swimmingly.  I have learned a few things about myself.  I often can get what I want if I ask for it.  Opening myself up to somebody else is scary but necessary.  Also I have learned that absence makes the heart forget who you are.  no bullshit.  that grow fonder nonsense is for the birds or folks who enjoy playin damn games. (ahem)

Oh yeah.  I was in a play this summer.  It was at the Atlas Theater and part of the DC Black Theater Festival.  It was great, you can see some pictures from it here. I'm going to do the general auditions for LOWT and BTA.  I'm hoping to do a play a year during the spring/summer season.  I enjoy getting random extra checks for doing something I love.

So I was walking to lunch today and I saw two birds.  They were nicely sharing a huge piece of bread they had found.  Then one bird flew across the street with the whole piece of bread in its beak, leaving the other bird behind empty handed.  The bird hopped a couple of times toward the curb, but then turned around and pecked at some other pieces of trash on the sidewalk.
The lesson:  Sometimes you have to let people go they're own way, but you are never left truly empty handed.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

I knew an old lady who swallowed a fly

I did something really awful yesterday and I need to get it off my chest.

I willingly allowed someone to accidentally swallow a fly.  Willingly and willfully.

A lady was sitting at a table at work.  She pulled out a donut.  She was talking to a couple of folks in the room.  As she was talking, she had her phone in one hand and the donut in the other.  A fly landed on the donut.  In my head I wondered if she would throw the donut away because the fly landed on it.  Then I realized that she didn't see the fly.  So then I thought, I wonder if she will see it before she eats it.  I wonder if she will shoo it away and eat it anyway.

After she finished talking, she raised the donut to her mouth.  By this time I was wondering which side of the donut she would eat.  The fly side or the clear side.  As it got closer to her mouth, I knew she was about to eat that fly.  I think it might have been stuck on the glaze.  Now I was completely fascinated. 

She put the donut to her mouth and took a big bite.  When her hand came down with the donut, the fly and the part of the donut it was resting on was gone.  She ate it. 

I said nothing.  She ate a fly and I let her.  I wonder if it was crunchy?  I wonder why I let that happen.  I can't even ask her what it tasted like.  What a waste . . .

Friday, June 25, 2010

Black Writer's Reunion and Conference

Day 1:

I knew I should have blogged the night of the first conference day.  I always forget important stuff when I put it off.  But I shall do my best. 

 I went to "Learning to Layer" by Dr. Venise Berry who talked about avoiding some pitfalls new writer's have (e.g. lack of precision and clarity, unnecessary words, long words when short ones will do, etc)  I actively work on avoiding these things in my writing.  But I did learn something through the workshop,

Lesson 1:  Revise, Revise, Revise!  I think a lot of writing is "talent" but a good portion of it is hard work.  I try to rely on talent, whip out a quick 5 pages and expect it to be awesome.  Which in my opinion happens about 50% of the time.  I blame the instant gratification of blog posting and facebook where I post my stuff.  I don't usually go back to make it better.  I think this explains why even though I write some pretty good stuff, alot of the things I submit gets turned down.  I even submit stuff knowing I need to fix some things, but I submit without revising anyway.  It's a habit I intend to break.

At the conference there are basically two kinds of writers.  There are folks who write "urban fiction" and everybody else.  I'm not going to get into the difference between them because that would take a whole blog and I'm trying to be less verbose (lesson 1.5) but check out day 2 reflections . . .

During the workshop we had an activity where we had to build around a sentence.  The sentence was "This time was different".  Here was my layered paragraph:

Slumped over, legs askew nursing a bruise on her cheek.  She realized that she was surrounded by multi-colored daisies.  It struck her beautiful.  But this time was different.  This time the flowers were projectiles used to release rage.  Her husband had arrived home and caught her in a position that warranted the opposite of a surprise bouquet.  But now she was left alone, surrounded by flower petals still falling from her face and hair.  What a strange yet beautiful weapon.

I love writing exercises.  I'm learning to respect the craft more.  I am trying to delay gratification and resting on my random acts of awesome.  I'm learning that as confident as I am, I am still afraid to read my work aloud.  I am discovering I am a writing snob. I am learning that talking to folks about writing is just about the most fun in the world.

Day 2: The Rise and Fall and Rise Again of the "Urban Fiction" Writer  Stay Tuned!

Sunday, May 23, 2010

The Best Date Ever

So a few months ago when the blizzard hit the east coast, I was confronted with the daunting task of shoveling out my car.  Now for those of you who were in the blizzard know, this was no ordinary snow fall.  The snow was measured in feet not inches.  As a now single mom, there was no one to help shovel out the snow.  So I got my tools together and went out to tackle the job. After 20 minutes, I had made some good progress.  My arms were burning, my nose running, and despite the frigid temperatures I was drenched in sweat.  Just when I was about to take a break inside, this beautiful man comes up to me shovel in hand and says, "do you need any help?" 

I tried to hold in the back flips, and I calmly said, "any help you can give would be greatly appreciated."  So together we shoveled out my car. He flagged down the guy with the bobcat clearing our apartment parking lot and it cleared out the rest of my space after I had wiggled my huge car free from the spot.  I thanked him profusely and went back inside to warm up and gain the feeling back in my toes.

Since that time, upstairs neighbor guy and I exchanged pleasantries and smiles.  For the past month or so, i've noticed him waiting for me to get out of my car so he can say hello.  So I decide to take this to the next level.  I was growing bored of the pleasantries, the smiles, the looks, I wanted to know what this dude wanted for real.  So I got up the nerve to put a note on the car.  The note said:

Hi neighbor!
I never got the chance to appropriately thank you for helping me shovel out my "tank" during the blizzard.  How about you let me buy you a beer or something.

your downstairs neighbor

I left my number below my name.  That very night he calls and says he would LOVE to go out for a beer. We talk a bit and make plans for the next week.  During the week leading up to our "date" he would stop me to say hello and repeat how he couldn't wait to go out, how he was so looking forward to our beer.

So Friday night, we meet at a bar near my (our) apartment.  We order drinks and food.  Conversation was good.  It was an easy flow to it.  When he laughed at any of the several hilarious things I said, he'd playfully nudge my leg or touch my arm.  So as we were finding out about each other, he shared that he didn't get out much because he has a 3 1/2 month old daughter. 

Wow, 3 1/2 months is a new baby.  So that slows me down a bit.  But we continue talking and laughing.  I mean hey, babies happen. It doesn't mean that he and baby's mama are still together and did I mention we were having a great time.

So I ask him, "So, who all lives upstairs with you?"  He says, well its me and Leyla (my daughter) and Paula, my wife.

Um, excuse me say what now?

Yep, I heard him correctly.  He lives upstairs with his wife and daughter.

So I'm wondering, "Am I reading too much into this date?  Maybe it isn't a date at all.  Maybe its just a friendly beer between neighbors."  But he was all touching my leg and arm and what not. Laughing at everything I said.  I'm funny, but not that durn funny.  I have two choices, either I can say if you are married, what the hell are you doing at a bar with your female neighbor without your wife.  Or I can not say anything and assume that it is I that have misread this whole situation.

I decide on the latter and finish this "date".  I finish my cocktail and I tell him that I have to make it over to my friends house before 11.  We are walking out together, still talking.  He is giving me his recipe for sangria.  After we find my car, I turn to him to tell him good night.  He takes one step towards me.  He says it was great and thank you so much for inviting him out.  That note really brightened his day.  I said, oh your welcome, it was fun and my pleasure. I take a step back.  He takes a larger step towards me.  I can feel his jeans on the side of my leg.  This dude is actually moving in for a goodbye kiss.  I take a step back and tell him goodnight again and turn to walk to my car.  So yeah, this situation is crystal clear.  Mr. Upstairs Neighbor is a married man, father of a new baby girl, out on a date with some woman, while his wife is at home taking care of their child.

I don't understand people sometimes.  I don't think I understand men most of the times. I wasted a good two hours of my life and I want it back, asshole.  Maybe I should put that in a note and leave it on his car . . .

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

A Flower Pot is Not a Hat

Weight: 141 lbs (trying not to freak out)
Drinks: Countless mimosas at the Bens Next Door  (there should definitely be a warning)
Food: eh nothing special

I'm not sure why I've named this blog A Flower Pot Is Not a Hat .  It was one of my favorite books growing up.  It still has some wisdom that is seldom found in books for grown folks.

A flower pot is not a hat
But if you put it on your head
it is

A stair is not a bed
but if you lay on it
and take a nap
it is

I actually wanted to discuss  a string of bad luck i've been having. I guess I don't really believe in luck. But there have been a definite trend lately.

Bad things tend to come in threes.  And good things come peppered throughout.  They distract you from the bad things.  Then all of a sudden the second bad thing happens and you're awakened to the fact  that you're in the middle of this badmind trio.

Thats where I am at right now, waiting for the 3rd bad thing.  In the middle of experiencing a new focus to my writing, an article in the September issue of Marie Claire, vacation planning and photo shoots, comes the first thing:  "Im sorry ma'am but until the next court date there's nothing we can do." 

Then new career paths, job opportunities and new friends comes thing number 2:  "Mommy why are all the lights off?" and "I'm so sorry ma'am since the account is not in your name we can't even discuss this with you."

Yes, two "sorry ma'ams" in the same month.  Not a good sign at all.  The third thing is coming, I can feel it.  But I suppose its all in how you deal with things.  Your perspective.  I usually find myself trying to force some more good things to happen to thwart # 3.  But I know better now.  Its best just to let it happen and deal with the third thing, and wait patiently for good things 6-24 to make it better.  I know it and they will come.  It will happen organically I just have to let things be.  Because after all,

A bad thing is not a crisis
But if you agonize and hide from it
it is

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Frosted Shredded Wheat

137 lbs
haven't cooked all week
last week cooked everyday (tho that was poverty induced)
3 words: Mo Scat OH

So what up y'all? It's been a minute.  So I  thought I'd  drop a proper blog to catch up.  Hmmmm so whats been up with me?

I tried out for the  When Harlem Came to Paris extraveganza by Lil So So Productions . I wrote an essay and she called and said she would like me to be a part. Ha! what do you think of that.  I tried and it worked out.  It was a great night and I looked fabulous.  I may rethink the whole natural girl no make up thing cuz jeez it makes a heck of a difference.  Maybe not skin but definitely eyes.  Oh and I had to perform a bit too.  I wasn't scared at all and I think I did okay.  So much so that I was brave enough to do open mic a couple of weeks ago.  And I know I did more than okay.  Talent is confirmed.  Feeling pretty confident. I did a few more brave things:
  • submitted work to DC Writer's competition (i'm still in the running made it through first round)
  • submitted work to Poet Lore and Poetry online mag
  • submitted story to The Sun
I am also being brave personally.  I'm making new friends.  Putting myself out there and so far so good.  I also am trying to make better choices in dating.  I figure it this way: I get so jazzed everytime I meet someone new or reconnect with someone. Then reality sets in and I realize that not everyone has to be the one.  And I should stop sabotaging myself by keeping men far at bay by offering physical first. Cuz boys have a hard time shifting gears and seeing women for both physical and mental beings. For most men its one or the other and for them to see the mental part, they have to see that first.  If they get the physical first, they never bother to see the rest.  Unfortunately for me, I have this libido that really needs to be put in check.  But c'mon mama has needs!  *sigh*

Anyway, I want to have that Sunday kind of love. A love that last past saturday.  I keep finding Frosted Shredded Wheat love.  You know how frosted shredded wheat starts out all tasty, but then when you get down to it, is just as dry and tasteless as regular shredded wheat.  I mean shredded wheat tastes like straw flavored dirt.  And that frosting is just a tease to divert your attention from the dirt taste.  So yeah I'm looking for some sugar pops or fruit loops or cinammon toast crunch type action.

Next steps:
  •  Continue working on the thing that will change public education as we know it (more information as it is confirmed and publicized)
  • More open mics (but I'm pretty sure I could swing a feature. I got mad personality, son!)
  • finish the book proposal from hell. (agents be making you jump through hoops, yo)
  • finalize promotional pics and while i'm at it some pics of my beautiful sons
  • lock down some summer adventures
  • attend and have fun and learn at the black writers conference in Atlanta in June
I will not be just a tourist in the world of images, just watching images passing by which I cannot live in, make love to, possess as permanent sources of joy and ecstasy. ~Anais Nin

Wednesday, March 31, 2010


Sometimes I want to go back in time
bring him back through space
holding tight to his waist
in an intergalactic spooning position

brng back what was the best of us
scrape together the makings of us
into my backpack
and bring us back
all the pieces
and glue them back together
back from ashes and dust
back to life again
all 2 hours and 36 minutes of us

wouldn't that be a good trick

checking in with you
making sure everything's ok with you
thats a lie
making sure something disastrous hasn't happened
making sure a "i'd love for you to meet my girlfriend" 
hadn't happened
though it may have
and i just haven't gotten back from space
with my hearing working properly

When you have been underwater for so long
breathing comes difficult
and I find myself looking
for a familiar island for me to breathe free
another lie
I just miss you
miss what we could have been
or what my mind had created us to be

they say curiosity killed the cat
but I am a dog person
and I don't think I'll ever learn

even this poem was written in your voice

Friday, March 26, 2010

What me and the boy chat about on the g-chat

so my son has a gmail account. and now he likes to g chat with me. even when we're both at the table less than a foot away from each other. Here is what our chats are like:

damion.deejay: ok

me: how was school

8:51 PM damion.deejay: good,good but it was awsome!!!!!

me: why was it awesome

8:52 PM damion.deejay: because.... we had friut snacks!

8:53 PM me: ooh yay!

8:54 PM damion.deejay: well what are we gonna do tomarow mornig and the afterNoon

me: hmmm

8:55 PM well after we get some breakfast we are definitely cleaning!

and then baths and dressed for ma's

damion.deejay: noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! no cleanin up!

8:56 PM me: yes, ur room is waaaay overdue

damion.deejay: but but i need help! :'(

8:57 PM me: yes of course. its YOUR room


8:58 PM me: yes i will help you

we'll do it together

damion.deejay: yes

me: we'll put on your michael jackson cd and clean up to music!

damion.deejay: ok.true true

8:59 PM me: ok


9:02 PM damion.deejay: well im out peace

9:03 PM me: peace out, son!

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Big Girl Weight (or How to Shake Your Booty With Confidence)

It is very interesting to me how I can be perfectly sane and forthright a person in my business relationships and be just as nervous and evasive in my personal ones. This morning I had a very straightforward discussion with a teacher, confronting him regarding his behavior which I felt was divisive and dishonest. I stated what the behavior was, how I felt about it, and its potential consequences. He stated his motivations, he apologized, new expectations were set. Fences mended, we move on.

Last nigt I attempted to have a similar conversation. But this time with a dude. Not just any dude. A dude I like. I llike him at about a 6 on a 10 point scale. Where a 1 is indifference and 10 is a turning in the players card and changing my number so the jump-offs can't find me type ish.

So a 6 is a solid like with potential for forward motion. Like 6 with a bullet. So dude, who I have named "Fred" is real cool. You know real nice and not too arrogant. And as Mary Poppins would say, "doesn't press his advantage." (Don't sleep, Mary Poppins gives great relationship advice). But some time has passed and real life has started up and consequently Fred's representative has clearly left the building. Last weekend there were a few of those "I'll call you back laters" which ended in no calls back and me grinding my teeth in anger. so I figure I'd let him know how I feel about that. I mean its a matter of basic manners. So I had the whole conversation generated in my head. Cuz basically I live about 75% of my life in my head.

It went something like this (WARNING: in my head I am a twenty something hair dresser living in Compton)

Me: hey Fred

Fred: hey boo whats up

Me: I wanted to let you know that alladat sayin you gon call and not callin needs to cease, yo.

I know you be all busy n shit but ain't no excuse for poor manners, boo boo.

Fred: yeah yeah you right you right. I'm sorry

Me: It's all good. you know I been likin you a long time and I just want to work this shit out now.

cuz i'm fitna make you my man, and you know, maybe possibly change my fb status. But that can't happen if you keep jackin stuff up. You may be my startin' line up, but I could still pull a nigga off the bench, yo.

Fred: Aaw baby don't do that. I know you are down for me and ain't too many broads out here a nigga can count on like that. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I'm not gon take you for granted, shawty.

me: That's right. I'm ride or die, boo. You already know, daddy.

But unfortunately the conversation didn't go like that. Unfortunately, I'm not a tough chick from Compton who does hair. I'm just a scared little browngirl from Bowie who is tryna pray her way out of an anxiety disorder.

So the conversation actually went like this:

Me: Hey Fred

Fred: What's up

Me: Whatcha doin'

Fred: Nothin, just workin'

me: um, I just wanted to talk to you about something that was bothering me. Um, I thought it was best to tell you so I wouldn't hold onto it and . . .(trailing off)

Fred: ok

me: Well I noticed that there were a few times this weekend that you said you would call or call back and you didin't.

Fred: yeah I didn't call back. I'm sorry

me: it's okay. I just wanted to get it off my chest because I get really anxious in situations like this. And when I get anxious, I lose weight and I just got my booty just the right size and I would hate to lose it. (right now I'm begging myself just to shut up)

Fred: um, wait what? Are you blaming me for the size of your booty?

me: No! I just mean that I get anxious and um, . . .nevermind

Fred: Well, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You're right the weekend was really crazy and I got caught up, but im sorry about that.

And then we continued with a perfectly fine conversation. So yeah, not the Compton scenario, but the world didn't crumble after. Although I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm obsessed with my booty. Which is just fine, cuz I kinda am.

But have no fear. I was a big girl and my big girl weight is fully intact. The first picture below is one taken a year ago at my 36th birthday party. fabulous, yes. But check out the skeleton like thingie that was passing for a shoulder (that was full on anxiety attacks weekly, days in bed). The second picture was taken a year later, at cute boys birthday party. Same dress. Big girl weight in full effect. You can't see the booty, but check out them hips and thighs, boo. You already know...

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Be Good To Yourself

I had a good day today.

At work I was at my best. Modeled a lesson and cajoled a foundation. All in two hours.

Then I left and spent the day with a beautiful boy. May be my favorite post divorce. And knowing that I only wrote "may be" because sometimes in my heart of hearts behind my bravado and fabulous bod, I think all good things will eventually leave if they know I want it . . . I'm working on it.

And then stopping for Popeyes and at Jackies Liquors for chicken and a splurge on some nuvo. Eating dinner with the boys and the younger one asks, "what does that say" pointing at the picture in the dining room. I say, "it says Home Sweet Home". The older one says, "yes, home in DC" I ask him if living in laurel isn't sweet. He says, "actually its kind of sweeter." The little one says, "that's a funny word, "home". I said, "why is it a funny word." He says, "listen, hoMe...Hooooome...Hoooommmme." and then we all laugh because the way he is saying it is very funny indeed.

And now I am writing and in a second I will take a hot shower and watch American Idol wrapped in my favorite towel. over a year ago I wrote a note about all of my favorite things and vowing to spend my days spending more time doing things that I am good at and that I enjoy. I am glad that promise is one that I made good on.

Be good to yourself. You deserve it. It is necessary. It is your responsibility to you. Be present in the little moments. For it is those little moments that make up a lifetime and the ones you need to remember in the not so bright times...