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 . . .

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!

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.

Signed,
your downstairs neighbor
Michele

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 . . .

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

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

Underwater

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

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

damion.deejay: but...i...need...help

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!