Sunday, November 05, 2006


I can hear you falling.
Falling for me, falling in love falling right out of it, slipping. You have no shape no real form. Whatever gravity shapes you, however you shall fall, slipping out of my hands. I am watching you just slip down the drain.

Washing my rejected vessel of affection I feel dirty as you ease over me. Consuming you I can never wipe clean the past tarnish and heartbreak, hard water stains of warm sensations. Dreams of you still float in my stream of consciousness, images rolling down the small of my back. Slipping...

Each time you flood my life with a smooth mixture of passion and pain. Subtle and inescapable one drip at a time, causing yellow rings in my tub of life, mildew stains on my walls of affection rusting away the accessibility to the very core of me.

I see you sneaking into the shadows sliding into the darkness, sipping down the drain. Staring blankly I await every drop with anticipation. Ah, the exhilaration of watching you fall, I flinch when I see you hit and sigh to see you slip away. Every time I watch you in adoration knowing very well your fate is the drain.

Little punk drops instead of a steady stream. Every drop contributing to my lime encrusted view of life, eating away my steel door of resistance, a leaky faucet of dreams. I've resolved to never bathe in your mercurial presence again. I enjoy steamy hot baths. High-water pressured showers of warmth, flowers and attention to wash away the soapy residue of the day. Not little punk drops.

Drowning in thought, I blink breaking my minds surface turning off the faucet, drying my tears.

I found this piece recently in a notebook from two years ago. I can still feel what I felt when I first wrote it. I felt compelled to share.

DripSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Time Change

Yesterday morning I woke up and picked the edges of hair by my heads temple. I did so for ten solid minutes though late again for work. Fixed in the mundane I had a profound moment. As a college student I dreamed of exercising just enough to have that flat stomach and collecting enough money off dining tables to buy the flyest BabyPhat outfit. Though I worked weekends and I had entirely too much homework to be at anyone's club, the desire to be the "baddest bitch" if you will, was ever present.
It's been some years now since college yet I have realized that such desires are hard to abandon. I have cleaned out my closet and am slowly replacing my denim outfits with wool-blend slacks from Ann Taylor. I have broken my relationship with the ever present two-packs of Zuri Ultra Yaki tresses, either sewn in or braided, in the hue of honey blonde because... Beyonce and I have two very separate professions. Clearly. Yet, when I turn on BET I still have this yearning that I just can no longer respond to. I cannot hold on the desire of being the baddest bitch in the club. Maybe my(non-existent) boyfriend's eyes will wander to that young dime piece in the "Juicy" shorts who doesn't have a well-salaried job to lose. Perhaps he'll dream, hell even try to run his hands through all that hair down her back that she paid $1800 of her Pell-Grant money to have fused in. I'm sure she's young and agile enough to "shake her money maker" until the club closes at 2am and still have enough energy to keep him up all night because once again...she doesn't have a well-salaried job to lose in the morning. And maybe that will just have to be okay.

I may have the cute little nightie with red "S" across the chest but I am NOT super woman. I do not have the energy anymore and it breaks my heart to feel as if there is something I CAN'T do. God forbid I am no longer with the times. And the gulf just grows and grows, between me... *sigh* and them. And it will just have to be okay...because times change. I've changed. I just kinda worry about those who haven't and won't.
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Monday, October 02, 2006

Hold the Phone...

Walking through the kitchen of my new apartment you've crossed my mind. Sure. Many times. And right now I just don't see the point. I would like to be removed from your periodic well-wishing phone-calling, frequent mass-fowarded email list because I have enough garbage in my life. But thank you very much. I don't need you clutering my various inboxes with foolishness of the kind that is oh-so friendly and well-intended but sure to later "unintentionally" break my heart. "You know I didn't mean to". Too angry to play in your sand box, to angry to answer the phone I'm just...

Too old to even try to believe that you are not being shitty, pulling my heart strings and referring to such actions as "being civil". To dwell any longer in the memories of your bed and you, and how I...
would replay your voice mails to hear you say my name just one more time or marvel at the natural shine of your hair and how your eyelashes were so long and how I only adored you. And I did. Yep. From the moment we met. Civil. Civilized Civil War...Words neatly folded and pressed no longer move me, or my panties. Trust me.

I 'm too tired. And I'm still missing the point as I continue to recieve your phone calls as if...I should not want more as if I am incapable of giving you more. Maybe I am just too tired to give you anymore than you've been allotted, and I am near dry. So to shoot the shit for more than 120 seconds exceeds my limit and makes me weary deep in my soul and I am too old to believe that I am just being sensitive and to pretend to be unaware that things will not change. Unaware that you cannot live with the idea that you broke someone's heart and it is your guilt that dials my number. But everytime the phone rings and its you it hurts a little and I can smell your cologne, feel the warmth of your smile...take me off your- just calling to see how you're doing, multi-text messaging- happy holidays honor roll, please.
Maybe I'm just a little too angry.
Maybe I'm just going to disconnect the line, on you.
Just after you say my name and I recall the scent of your cologne...
Hold the Phone...SocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Friday, September 29, 2006

mind your business

Today I had the opportunity to truly enjoy my personal time. I stayed up just a bit longer after the Colbert Report and exfoliated. Very important indeed. In the past few weeks I have found a sense of stability that is quite freakish ... there has always been some sort of happenings and goings-on in my world. Though it is so refreshing. I find it is quite easy to get wrapped up in the gossip and drama of your surroundings. But just as easily you can simply step back and close the door. Just shut it. Can you hear my door slam?

I have always had a fear of shutting the door and never being able to open it again. So I have mended many friendships and relationships with the fear of losing, on missing out. But what happens if you finally just let that door swing shut? Dunno probably nothing. Eck! Excuse my rambling today.

I am appreciating how much more I have actually accomplished by minding my own business. I would REALLY appeciate it even more if others would do the same.
mind your businessSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Milk Jugs

"No use crying over spilled milk" they say. And I'm not. My eyes are puffy at the sight of all this dry cereal. Such cinnamon-frosted whole grain goodness and no enjoyable way of eating it. All this material and no means of using it. My ears still ring from the hours opportunity knocked repeatedly but I...I just couldn't reach the door. Standing steps away with my arms crossed behind my back? Maybe. Or perhaps I was too busy, dry-eyed cleaning spilled milk, eager to pour another glass and set the table for who ever was knocking. I believe it may have been both. I have been slaving in the kitchen for years, tied to the stove worried about the next thing cooking. The next thing coming, but still knocking over glasses.

"No use crying over spilled milk". And I didn't. I'd quickly catch the liquid before it would drip off the counter and hit the linoleum. No tears. But I began to weep over the broken glasses, and the slicing shards others would pretend didn't hurt... once turning over my palms to find it mutilated and scarred. I never looked at them again, but since always felt pain in my grip. Milk continued to spill and...

"No use crying over spilled milk," they'd say. Well, I couldn't. My scarred palms finally could reach the door. Opportunity stared me in the eye then sat down at the table, the table I stressed to dress, but was yet to set. In hurry I made a place setting. Opportunity had arrived and all I could serve was toast. Why? Because I ran out of milk. Unappeased, the door shut and left behind was the echoing message "get out of the kitchen because it looked as if you can't take the heat" As if I didn't have the fire. I have made mistakes but I always have that fire. I'll be back in the kitchen cooking something new. And trust me this time I'll have lots of milk jugs.
Milk JugsSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Sunday, September 10, 2006

I know...

Yes, I have been ghost. (thanks for putting the fire in my butt through myspace messages!) I will post soon, as soon as I have inspiration and access to the internet at precisely the same time.

So sincere,

I know...SocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Monday, August 21, 2006


I had so much I wanted to say but I couldn't reach you. I wanted to jot it down in my near by notebook to save but it just didn't feel the same. So much has changed, I have changed and you wouldn't believe it but I feel so good. And in this time apart I realized how much you mean to me. I spend almost every other minute dreaming about coming home, grabbing a diet coke and pounding away at the keyboard of my laptop. Whenever I can get a spare moment, because every day inspires me now, I want to spend it with you. However, there is no internet connection at home and the public library is closed when I get off from work now. I think of you every morning and how you've helped me through so much. You revitalized me, awakened my soul a year and half ago. My sole reason for waking. In my period of insomnia I only thought of what I would say to you. You have been my refuge, my entertainment, my shouting post even when I believe no one is listening. In you I have found encouragement and a kind of intimacy I have long sought. I was once yearning for shadows, insisting on carrying water in my hands. But it was here that I found joy in the idea that something in my own image would never leave me, and pleasure in water running through my fingers. I found peace, it only took creating a blog.
YearningSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Un Real

It is one extremely hot day in Florida and I am on the floor ironing a pair of slacks inpreparation for a job interview. I had just commented to a friend that you can tell a man in academia because his suits aren't as sharp as the business man's or as polished as the lawyers they are ill-fitted and probably outdated. As I ironed my slim legged suit pants whose print was out of season I longed for my desk and statistical applications. I was 70 percent certain that this was a mistake. Buttoning my suit jacket was surreal. ME and a real job? A sea of gray upholstered walls with pictures of cats and children thumb-tacked to them. Slaving away at a desktop Dell computer staring at the digital clock on your desk begging it to show 5 o’clock sooner. When someone asks if you enjoy your job your response is about how great the benefits are!?! They call this the real world but there is nothing real about it.

As I glanced over my resume gasped at the fact that I had no real world experience. What the hell have I been doing? Ann Taylor and the Gap? I can’t put Sonny’s Bar-B-Que on my resume can I? All jobs to support my summer vacay’s, sorry addiction to midnight mocha latte’s and Red Bull and the oh-so--frequent car/computer crash and shoe fetish crises supplemented by Visa and Master Card, of course. And I never took those jobs seriously; please don’t contact my previous employers. I have found myself extremely frustrated deleting years of education shortening my resume so that I don’t seem over qualified when quite frankly I just want to work. And in the real world you can’t just want to work. Don’t want to seem too anxious, desperate for the job. I was particularly excited about my second interview with a high end shoe store. We were perfect for each other. 50% of for all employees on full priced footwear, talk about great benefits. And just like a guy they said they’d call. I’m still waiting. But you must display the ability to be passionate about the position. Who in the world is passionate about being “account specialist I?” However, one day in my office at school I turned the page of my text, “Economics of Collective Choice” and all the words ceased to make sense. And in a moment I was in my own little cubical hell wishing the only thing I had to memorize was a crayon scribble pattern on construction paper from some co-workers kid tacked to my cubicle wall.

I remembered that scary feeling as I buttoned my suit jacket and rehearsed my bit entitled “this position IS certainly in line with my career goals”(yeah, goals of paying off my credit card debt) and reassured myself that I will be okay. The real world I just came from is far scarier.
Un RealSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Saturday, August 05, 2006

Ghetto Loser (Reprise)

How many of us are really true to ourselves? Okay, if you were really true to yourself you would know that if you mentally raised your right-hand in response to that question...You are a liar. This is something that comes slowly. So I encourage you to admit your personal lies one by one. I'll go first.
I am not ghetto. I am an urban aspirer. My country-grammar, my down-south slang...all a lie. As a child my proper speech was often pointed out by my peers and listening adults. My immigrant parents emphasized the use of "queen's English", so really I am a grammar queen. I tried with all my might to sound cool. "That is so live!" I knew I was using the same words as every one else but I sounded like a dork. When I reached high school my ability to imitate the ghetto-sassy was nurtured by other middle-class girls like myself alienated by our use of proper English. I was able to wear my new found urban-ability like a magic Starter jacket allowing me to navigate through the halls of my south-side school (or inner-city, if you will) undetected. Like Harry Potter. Now I can pop my neck, roll my eyes and talk slick like the best of them!

What started as a personal joke has now become a part of me. It is the way I correspond with my friends. Especially my best-friends. The word "be" is a verb, noun and adjective in our vocabulary, indicating that no matter how progressive I am...I ain't never too far from da' hood.
But I admit it, I am not 'hood. I can't be 'hood. I had to have someone point out to me where the housing projects were in middle school. Free lunch? Well, considering I couldn't work at 13... Sure, I had free lunch, from my mommy. No not my mommy. I have no street credibility. I am not Ghetto Barbie. My father now wears my newsboy Kangol hat. My green-colored contacts and baby-phat jeans were purely functional. Green is my favorite color and Baby-Phat jeans were the only jeans that could fit my butt for $19.99 at TJ-Maxx. We all know TJ-Maxx exists only in Suburbia.
I am not a gangsta gyrl looking for a soldier with the highest baller status. I am a former urban aspirer and I am so grown-up now. There is no room for my polished "street" slang in the halls of higher academia and cocktails with city mayors. With that said... I can blast my Rick Ross with a clear conscience.

Original 09/05
Ghetto Loser (Reprise)SocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Friday, July 28, 2006

Coronas and a Moonless Sky

Driving under a moonless sky on a humid night makes me wish I had someone to come home to. Someone waiting, hogging the remote, playing X-box, leaving his smelly socks on the floor and the toilet seat up. Someone that rolls over in the middle of the night and steals the covers. Just someone reliable and consistent to fill the "guest" side of my queen sized bed.
I fought the urge to make any late night phone calls that could be percieved as more than a friendly gesture. Upon loosing that fight I prayed my call wouldn't be answered. And it wasn't. I sighed, mentally scolding myself for having less control of myself than my Volvo with a bad alignment. I didn't see the stars out tonight or even the moon and found it quite strange that today I really wanted to discuss that with someone over a couple of Coronas and nacho chips.

"Dang, baby. I can't see the moon, can you?" Unfortunately, I couldn't make out an imaginary voice to respond.

And it's just as well. There will be no more random phone calls or imaginary boyfriends or meantime play dates. I have put myself in time out, on the relationship naughty stool. Recognizing the void and just letting it be. It's actually nice driving alone without extra junk in the passenger seat. And there has been a whole lot of junk...

And in time I'll remember this night and its humid air that my asthmatic lungs work to breathe. Hand in hand with my companion I will let out a deep sigh, much like the these, squeeze his hand and ask "Where the hell were you?" And in a voice that I can't make out tonight he'll reply "Probably drinking beer with the boys, searching for the moon like you". Yep, that sounds exactly like what he would say.
Coronas and a Moonless SkySocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Come My Little Sea Scallop

Tasty as bay scallops eaten on my birthday last Thursday, I bite into what I consider my last meal at my condo here in the lower southeastern U.S.A What I am eating now matters very little for I have absolutely no clue what I am going to do afterwards. “Perhaps I should take out the trash,” Or hell, maybe I’ll blog”. “About what?” I ask myself, completely exhausted with the “I don’t know where the hell I’m going” posts. I’m quite sure my readers have gotten the point. I didn’t want to write about my love life…at least not today. There isn’t really much to say. I toyed playfully with the subject of my summer weight gain. My holiday gut is actually cool as long as I hide my beach photos. I guess that’s price I am to pay for my addiction to those Applebee’s riblets, considering I am not usually paying for my meal.

I could talk about how the top of my refrigerator is covered with empty liquor bottles similar to that of most 20-something frat boys at my Alma Mater, and how I am too lazy to put them in the recycling bin. I would tell you that I have slept 8 hours a day consistently for the past 3 weeks particularly because I consume some form of alcohol every night and that I have surprisingly began drinking beer from a can. I want to write about how my floor needs mopping and my car needs washing and how long it is taking to pack up my room (and find a job!). But I just as quickly abandon the idea because writing about it doesn’t make it happen any faster.

But I’ll say how much I and my hair have grown. How I may cross some and just how fine I am with that. I will say how I have $0.45 in my checking account however am rich in my soul for just as many as I irritate, those same fools love me to death. I am going to write about how I have gotten over my fear of failure by failing miserably and still having the breath in my lungs to tell the tale. I am going to tell my readers that I wake up at the crack of dawn only to close my curtains, turn on the AC and catch two more hours of sleep. I will tell you about the raspberry martinis and almond covered bay scallops I had for my birthday dinner. I am going to tell you how extremely lucky I am. I am telling you now that I woke up one morning to the voice of Billie Holiday singing "God bless the Child That's Got His Own", looked around... and had become an adult.
Come My Little Sea ScallopSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Sunday, July 16, 2006

The Thinnest Line

I rolled over after my usual dream of you and muttered the words "I hate you". Dragging my feet across the carpet towards my bathroom door I looked in the mirror to say once again "Damn, I hate you". The scent from my $5 bar of soap (coincidentally purchased the last time we were together) forced me into the realization that at that moment those weren't just words.

During my morning shower I began to recall the random and miscellaneous. Lipton Rice, T-shirts reading 'Virginia is for Lover's', Urban Denim and all-white sneakers, Serially Monogamous men, Ignored phone calls, Ebony Magazine's Successful 30 under 30, Virginia tags...all things I too hate. All of which I associate with you. I remembered how much I dreamed of you next to me, on my left side or my right. Involuntarily, I was a serf to my mind and subconscious being taxed 20 minutes of every hour towards the maintenance of my obsession with you. Enabling the incessant thoughts of how much smarter, prettier, funnier, thinner, more relaxed and better in bed I would be ...the next time. Everything in my post-adolescent life I had done in anticipation of seeing you again. Wrapping my towel I remembered how I wanted to be you. Just like you, amazing. Obsession? I have always called it love. And well, it takes a great deal of love to hate someone.

Dropping my blue tube of my body cream on the bathroom floor I began to hate you more. For every time the phone rang and I wished it was you. For every time I thought it was you in an airport. For every one I was involved with just to get over you. For every petite woman I compared myself to. For the years I felt I wasn't good enough. As I angrily applied my shea butter I hated you. I hated you for every 3 hour conversation, every poem, your laugh, for that scary plane ride home... and her. I hated you more for the night I cried so hard that I laid my head on the floor and vomited. For the minutes there after that I wanted to die. For wounding my womanhood. I hated you so much because despite all that I gave you couldn't find it in your heart to love me back.

And you tried. I hate you for making it seem so fu@king hard.

With tears in my eyes I wiped my steamed mirror and caught a glimpse of a severely insecure woman with festering anger and wet hair. Throwing down my towel I cried out "I hate you" ! Sobbing, I saw for the first time in years that I loved myself more than I loved you. I let my desire ferment and destroy me. But that was a while ago... As I sit next to you now I glance between the image of a man I longed for and the scenery outside your car window with indifference. I can now admit that I didn't know how to love but perhaps how to want. I think now I can truly love you, as your friend.
The Thinnest LineSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Sunday, July 09, 2006

Because Blogging Twice a Month is Stupid

I am always writing about the "changes" that I have been going through for the um, past year and a half. However, in the past couple of months I have become a bit more stuctured about my the aspects of my life I would like to change. I felt like sharing, because I think blogging more often is on my list as well.

I would like to
1)Improve on Punctuality,Organization and Time Management...drastically.
2)Check my Email and Voicemail regularly....because I don't
3) can't budget $2.50 a month though
4)Prioritize...everything is a priority for me which also translates to nothing priortiy for me
6)Chill the f$ck out!...I am getting better.
7)Stop being a half ass...It's true.
8)Relax and
9) Drink more water
10)Stop taking things personally
Because Blogging Twice a Month is StupidSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Happiness is...

Happiness is

1) Eagerly getting out of bed at 7:30am when I could have slept in until 11am.
2) Taking a long hot shower with my most desired body scrub.
3) Buying a new pair of shoes.
4) Being able to take my car on road trips
5) Knowing a friend trusts me with their secrets and values my advice
6) Getting up after a nasty fall when I thought I couldn't
7) Rolling over on clean crisp sheets
8) Finding enough money in loose change to buy a strawberry cream slush from sonics
9) Being able to go to the beach just for the day with my friends.
10)Finding a good moisturizing body cream
11)Having amazing sex with someone I care about and they use the word "incredible" to describe it
12) Holding and hugging my friends child
13) Hearing how many people read my blog
14) Closing doors on a painful past
15) That warm feeling after reading the last line of a really good book.
16) A good game of flip-cup

I acknowledge that happiness is a choice a process and something that is found step by step through everyday things. Funny how happy I have been lately.
Happiness is...SocialTwist Tell-a-Friend


Why By Golly I think I have done it! This background doesn't suck does it? Sigh... back to blogging.
Yes!SocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Thursday, June 08, 2006

On the Park Bench (part 2)

The wind is blowing a little, my nail enamel has dried nicely and it has turned into late afternoon. My heart pounds again. Anxiety is a bitch. "Get a hold of yourself" I whisper. "But I can't, I think I have officially lost it." I am sitting in the 4:00pm breeze on a park bench looking across the Mississippi River debating with myself whether or not I am a complete lunatic. I lift my thigh from the bench to relive it form being pressed against the crevices of the boards and begin to laugh. Crazy people aren't aware that they are crazy.

I decided to sit straight up after awhile because I was starting to feel uncomfortable. Every previous position did not feel right. The wooden boards on my back had become too hard, I wanted to lean back, I no longer enjoyed swinging my legs. On this park bench, where I have laid my woes, my fears, my broken dreams and sat watching many steam boats with red power wheels paddle away the flowing muddy water of the Mississippi that I couldn't control, that I couldn't hold for long in my small hands with weak fingers, sitting on this wooden bench I now felt choked. Periodically, I would look to my right and catch a glimpse of another individual. Finally, someone willing to sit with me on my metaphorical bench, not just pass me by. They are content with the view of the river and the right side of my face, my legs swinging lapped with my woes, fears and broken dreams. My small hands don't matter, my finger strength sufficient for I don't have to hold on so tightly. In time my discomfort turns to disgust.

"I don't f-ing belong here. Life and the river continues to flow, you can't stop it." As the last of those words fell from my lips I have reached an epiphany. Strength is built through persistence and exercise. Small hands can do great things and my fingers are at least as strong to hold on to me. Hmm, I never really tried holding on to only myself alone. So I stood up from the wooden bench and looked to the left at those who have made way ahead of me along the Mississippi. "They left me because... I should have been walking." So now I am right along the river unsaddled by excuses made, no longer being carried by the current.
Perhaps one will slow, or even I may catch up and look to my left to see someone walking along side me. Someone who too is making their way along side this damn river just nice enough to match their stride with mine.
On the Park Bench (part 2)SocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Wednesday, May 31, 2006

On the Park Bench (part 1)

Heart pounding, watching tug boats float by. Sitting straight up feeling my life flow into the gulf driven by the current of this muddy river as I press my back up against the wooden bench to stop it. Holding onto me has been as good as cupping water in my hands. My hands are small, the strength between my fingers weak. I have long hair today that graze my shoulder blades. God bless America and the weave shop on Monroe. No press and curl could press out the ever present lump in my throat as I decided to face this. As I sat on this park bench and decided to face me, to tell myself the truth .
"The wood boards that constuct this bench are the only ones spacey, boo. It's you too and that isn't at all in your blueprint." I have sat on the the metaphorical bench content with the rationale of destiny, of needing a break, of being held down, never being called up...sitting on this park bench with my legs swinging. It was depression, the oppression of others, the minimal strength between my fingers that force me into this section of living, of existance. That's why I couldn't hold on tight enough. I feel everything moving but I am being carried, carried by the current into the Gulf.

I eyeball one man walking by in basketball shorts stroking the wooden bench with space left for one. I often wondered why many would pass along though no one would sit. If there was one tired enough to sit next to me, it wasn't for long. I continued to stroke this bench longingly, still telling myself that I was waiting for the right person to sit next to me. I have sat with my legs swinging, my skin sinking into the crevices of the wooden bench watching many a boat pass along the Mississippi. The river carrying cargo, fish, drunken gamblers, tears, memories of the faces that briefly sat to the right of me and a little part of my pride into the Gulf.

Taking a breath, I for the first time in a long while kicked my legs up and laid my sun-glazed caramel body across the park bench. I was exhausted from waiting, from holding on with small hands and weak finger strength to bodies only meant to warm my bench briefly. I have become self-indulgent. It's so much easier now to do my toenails.
On the Park Bench (part 1)SocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Wheels on the bus

I bought my ticket online only to find that if I'd simply walked up to the ticket counter five minutes to departure time I it would have been five dollars cheaper. Confused, I hadn't actually brought the printed e-ticket or perhaps it was crumpled at the bottom if my laptop bag. Either way when it was requested by the counter attendant it was out of reach...and she was a bit annoyed. "Okay, clearly you can find my reservation info with my ID or Visa card or is this not done at bus stations?" She found it.

To my left and right were two middle aged women with hair the color of new pennies and rather suspicious looking Louis Vuitton luggage in hopes of checking 7 pieces of luggage without paying extra. I'm not sure if it was the severe breakage of their copper-toned strands that could be easily remedied by a $1.99 jar of hair mayonnaise or the shameless peeling of the straps of their "alleged" LV luggage but something about them made me uneasy. Ah, it was the way every adjective in their dialog with the attendant was profane. Yeah, that was it. As I gathered my weekend bag, my laptop bag and purse to stand in uh, line #5 I notice three young gentlemen directly ahead of me with a number of black yard utility garbage bags and oddly attached were baggage claim tickets. What!!! Was this an emergency trip? I snapped pictures of the make-shift luggage collection for no one would believe me if I told them.

Everyone looked as if they were running, either from something or to something. Checking plastic storage bins, baby cribs, large performance Casio keyboards. It was as if someone shook the rug of life and they and most of their belongings just fell out onto the gathering floor. Some of the most inspiring stories involve a bus ride towards a dream. I believe that room held a lot of dreams and people more than willing to chase them. I was immediately reminded of why I was running and where I was running to and no longer griped about being unable to drive to my destination. Life doesn't always let you drive and despite it all here are folks willing to give it all they have. I smiled and gave my ticket to the driver. He was too surprised to smile back. I would be too. I was anonymous. I countinued to look for my seat number only to realize that there were no numbered seats. People always seem to ask "where are you going?" Many of the greatest dreams involved an anonymous bus ride to nowhere. So I guess my answer will now be "wherever this here bus takes me." I think I'll be fine with that, so long as the wheels don't stop spinning and I am determined upon arrival to take on the world.
Wheels on the busSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Friday, May 05, 2006

Silver Lining at the End of The Rainbow

Dark clouds cover the sky outside my office window as I think of 423 thousand other places I would rather be than here. Now as I hear the patter of rain drops I find it in myself to be thankful that I am at my desk and not outside in the rain. I struggle with contentment. No matter what is positive I will find a way to obsess over what is negative in my life. I long for the green grass on the other side of the fence. I only miss my water after the well runs dry. So I have become the woman with an unquenchable thirst for well water and incessant grass stains on her capris. I am ripe for a good comercial for Tide with Bleach.

Instead of posting some sad piece from the mind of Negative Nancy, I have been coming up with some cool witty piece of prose to instead...for weeks now. Yeah, I dug deep but it wasn't there. In the recent weeks I have had to come to terms with the conclusion that I am a sucky person. Now, now, there are times when people are just hard on themselves and there are times when well, you suck. I think it's about that time.
Sometimes we believe that things always "happen to me" and they do. But it is the way you handle these "things", the fact that your spouse is a spendaholic, brother is stealing from you, girlfriend is cheating, lost your job... that makes you a strong, reliable, human being. Events in the past two weeks have shed light on the fact that I don't handle life well. Nope. My strategy of choice is to go slap crazy or some variation of it. Not that I've gone slap crazy this week , it's not necessary I am already aware of my capabilities. I've watched friends and neighbors face hardships and seriously face it, with class, with grace. Where can I get some of that grace? That encouragement at times of adversity? At the freaking end of the rainbow with the pot of gold and fountain of youth? Where is that anyway, Kansas? Encouragement. That's a fun word to say.

I once used laughter as my silver lining on dark clouds. When did things stop being so damn funny? We have all gone through it, perhaps even because of our own mistakes. Why not laugh about it? I am sure that this is part of the process of forgiving yourself. So for as many times as the question has been asked "how did you get over him/her?" Drew up my favorite strategy, just for laughs.

* Cry. Cry in front of him, his mother and his friends. Then call him and leave sobbing voice mails that he can't make out. Then follow that with a pleading voice mail for his friend, in case he didn't get it.

* Show up at her job unannounced. Bring flowers, candy, a threatening weapon, all your friends. What's the harm in props?

* Pull out all things of large monetary value that was given to you by your mate. Designer bags, jewelry, watches etc. and get rid of it. Sure you might regret it later but this strategy assumes that the future is not acknowledged.

* Stare at the ceiling for um, weeks. Sure, you might have a life to tend to but remember the previous assumption. Ruining you life is only an unfortunate coincidence.

* Stalk the new mate. Google, Myspace, Friendster and Facebook have now made this extremely easy. No black mask, no mess. Just click and stalk away.

* Write a song, poem and/or love letter detailing how you will change, begging forgiveness. Ensure that it is 7 pages double spaced and soaked in tears. Actual wrong doing is not required.

* Call your estranged lover repeatedly, in 2 minute intervals. CLEARLY they are ignoring your calls. Now if this lover attempts to be clever by turning the phone off, just call at 6:30am as they are preparing for work. Just keep calling, they will answer ultimately. I promise.

* Make up names for the estranged lover and new mate. Actual used names: Chester child-molester, Dirty Peter the Cheater, Waterboy, Jenny from the Block, Not Beyonce, Roach. (I'm laughing)

* Cry. But this time at his job, on the phone with his new mate, while trying to seduce him. Lay it on thick. Offering him the punnany that he is actually trying to give up is indeed enticing.

* Tell them you love them. Then tell them how you hate them and never really wanted them. Actually being in love with your estranged lover is not necessary for this said declaration. Wouldn't want to be honest.

* Accept that you just made an ass of yourself.

* Replace them with someone that makes you say "Well I'll be damned." Using someone that just makes you say "damn" is like replacing butter with margarine. Anything else is a whole different recipe.

* Laugh about it. This as well as other disappointments in your life is all a part of life's journey.
Silver Lining at the End of The RainbowSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Let Them Eat Cake

It has been eight days. My sneakers sliding in the back seat of my car, sports bra on the floor, my gym shorts and shirt only used to cover my MP3 player as I unapologetically return the clothes I bought for my trip to Las Vegas. I have been seriously intending to pay my respects to the eliptical machine. My body is starting to show signs of excercise withdrawl. I really, really want to go to the gym. I am just bombarded with tasks such as well, shopping for lip gloss on ebay, exfoliating, trying to watch all of The Colbert Report...
I accepted store credit instead of complete refunds for almost $175 worth of $10 halter tops...bitterly. Clearly, I could have returned these items in accordance with the return policy considering I had been driving around with the unworn items for two weeks. If I really wanted to. What the hell do I really want? It has taken me more than a week and an extra 3 hours in front of my lap top to say this. While eating my third slice of my little brother's birthday cake I find it in my heart to admit that I am not indecisive, I just refuse to decide. I don't think I should have to.
They say you can't have your cake and eat it. Well, why the hell not? Who doesn't like cake? I have been slow to admit that I want it all and quite frankly I can't apologize for it. I see many with full jaws and cake filled hands. Why should people get their panties in a bunch about me? Can't I sleep until 10:30 am and still have 24 hours in a day? Eat that extra chicken quesadilla and not gain 5 pounds? Can't I still want my ex to fall in love with me and not have to admit to being in love with him? Be a bit um, freaky with my man and he not HAVE to ask who else I've done that to?

Many say no, however, I've seen buttercreme icing in the crevices of many smug grins.

I want to be a Ph.D in political science, own a construction company, travel the world, grace the cover of Vogue, just once. I want 4 children and a successful husband that can be home by 5:30pm everyday, like my daddy. I want to beable to make a great deal of money and he still want to handle the check at dinner. Can't I have a boyfriend that is completely over his ex? Can't I have a slim stomach without doing sit-ups? Wait until the last minute to do my assignments and still make A's? Return lingerie to Victoria Secret 60 days after purchase, when I have given up all hope of ever wearing it? I should, dammit. How many times has someone taken advantage of you? How many times has someone wanted all the benefits of a relationship but no commitment? Slacked off on a group project? Pressed you for cheating yet seeing someone else the whole time? I believe everyone wants to have their cake and eat it too? Why give up that extra piece of cake? It's either you or them and to be honest, I love cake.

I encourage others to not settle for anything less than what they want, even if you want EVERYTHING. There shouldn't be anything wrong with that. Only you HAVE to make it to the gym, buttercreme icing is fattening as hell.
Let Them Eat CakeSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Off in the Club

I put a little extra shea butter on my legs about a quarter to 12. There was no way I was going to make it to the club by midnight. I still hadn't done my dance in front of the mirror and had only changed my outfit twice. The third time is the charm, always. There's no cover before 12. By way of a miracle I arrived at 11:58pm. I recall the swell feeling of walking through through the venue's doors. I can still hear the clicking of my bronze pumps and jingle of my bangles as I snapped my fingers in the air. Yes, called it swell. Having complete certainty that you are going to have a great time and confidence that you look nothing less than fantastic well, that feeling can only be described as swell.

I immediately found the bathroom for it was standard operating procedure to apply one coat of lip gloss before stepping out into the masses. I consider it good luck, though luck wasn't needed that night. The night's entertainment was good fortune enough. I stepped back and watched the grimaced faced gang of six in all in 1-ply matte jersey dresses with necklines down to their navels and skirts unreasonably short, fix their acrylic weaves and talk of how they "better not see that girl up in here". They are in every club, dressed as if they are on the clock and always provide me with priceless moments. One's metallic silver ankle strap heels had that impossible lean to the side and I was almost certain that the heel would break any minute. Unfortunately I didn't have time to wait for the big snap. There was a vodka and cranberry calling my name.

Adhering to protocol, my girl and I did our routine walk through before heading to the bar. Greeting every old classmate, friend of my brothers, sisters, ex-boyfriends, crossing my fingers to NOT see any of my exes themselves. There isn't enough lip gloss in the world to prep me for that. Memorable moments of eye contact with attractive men were salted with the realization that they were barely 21. You can read a great deal in a man's eyes, never let the sweet face or grown man body fool you. I order my first drink that affectionately call The Jumpstart. It's the only drink I seem to buy myself and always worth every penny for I've been strangely attracted to a particular bartender for some while. The longer it takes for him to take my order and ultimately give me my drink, the longer I mentally have my way with him. I always eye the way he fits those black pants, how he fills out that black shirt and the way he firmly grips the nozzle when he pours drinks. Very firm. By the time he hands me my drink I've already had my fill and am eager to take it to the floor.
This club experience is not fundamentally different than any other. But the two-step felt just bit better that night. The crowd of people, the lights and loud music forced me to zone out, think and appreciate the present moment. Appreciate it not simply because the moment was now, but because the moment was mine.

Reaching my bed, I closed my eyes surprised with the comforting stillness at the end of a typical night of partying. However this one was meant to be special. It was the first time I actually enjoyed the Waffle House.
Off in the ClubSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Shake It Off

Don't call it a comeback, "upgrade" is more appropriate. New car, new digs around the site, new beau, new shoes, fresh 'do and you know I don't play about my hair.

Much needed time was taken to collect all 97 marbles that I lost in the past two months... okay three months, but who is counting. Things just weren't right. My up was down, my down was up, and my side was on the other side. School was wrong. I think I had been in my office too long and the computer screen was making me dizzy. I sometimes saw the animated paper clip from Microsoft Word in my dreams, now that's crazy. My fantastic trip to
Las Vegas? I caught the flu. It was 30 degrees in March. There were snow flurries in Vegas, I tell you no stories. You know that ain't right. My pimp hand was slipping too, if you will. I lost my star player and started crying over the guy on the bench. The bench! What?!? And was so sick too. I was so sick over it I should have requested some days off, drank a whole bottle of Robitussin and stayed in bed. Just all wrong. Staring at the walls and sh*t...

After seeing how utterly ridiculous things had gotten I had to pull back. I had to admit that some things are just a part of the game. Life comes with risks, sometimes you lose, but it's how you take that loss that keeps you in the game for the next round. SincereCaramel is not a loser, so she is not accustomed to these "losing procedures". I don't lose. I have set backs, but I always win at last. I had to remind myself that things in my life always happen for the better. Even the bad. Now I could be a good sport and take that loss. Or after being served a large blow to the chest, shake it off and keep on running. I chose to shake that sh#t off.

So I have been Beyonce shakin' it and
Harlem shakin' it off for the past couple of weeks. The fact still remains that I have been set back in my life and my goals. And as much as I would love to point the finger, at the end of the day the name held accountable is mine. It is just me, my heart and my blog. I promise to stay sincere to all three and protect its integrity.

With that said I have counted all 100 marbles and am ready to go. I bought an extra bag at the dollar tree for backup, just in case I lose it again. At the store counter I recalled my bench-warming friend stating that creative geniuses are usually mentally unstable example: Mariah Carey, Howard Hughes. I grabbed my bag of marbles and laughed all the way to my Volvo S80. Well hell, I must be destined for greatness.

Shake It OffSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Friday, March 24, 2006

Buckets Overflown

Purple Rain in a Drought will be on a break for a while.

Things just have been a bit nuttier than a snickers bar around here. My bucket has overflown! It's making a mess of my floor so I GOTTA clean it up. My posts are just not the same, nor as good as when I first started. Before I spoke from the heart, my mind, my gut and every other part of me that has a voice and opinion. However, now I find myself censoring my thoughts because "somebody will read my blog and get the wrong idea". This blog is my heart, my hobby, my outlet and for a while it has no longer been my own. I have let it become something else, I let it be taken away. I figured that the best way to combat the anarchy of my life is to write about it. Write about it in a way that heals through laughter and lesson, healing me and potentially healing or( at least entertaining) others. Which is the very reason I started this blog a year ago, to be an asshole and be witty and so sincere about it. Writing is my love, but recently I haven't really been able to show it my sincere affection. I have decided to stop compromising.

Secondly, Purple Rain in a Drought needs a re-vamping. If there is anyone with design ideas, contacts etc. please let me know. So I guess there will be a break of say...2-3 weeks maximum then a Season 2 of Purple Rain in a Drought! I won't keep people waiting like those bastards at HBO did with The Sopranos. My life has changed in 2 years, you can't just walk back in and think I am going to be available every sunday night!

Please keep reading!

So sincere,

Buckets OverflownSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

I Put Five on My Skinny Jeans

I stepped on the scale last week and giggled. After my unhealthy diet of Sugarfree Red-Bull and spinach salads with tuna I had finally reached my goal weight in time for my trip to Las Vegas. I needed this trip like someone would need a blood transfusion. I needed to get away.
I walked up to the ticket counter to check in my bags only to find that I was too late to board my flight. Looking at my watch noting it was 6:19 am and my flight left at 6:40, I officially declared American Airlines a bunch of haters. As I walked over to those awful blue airline seats, I had to pull up my pants. Ha Ha! Well, this gives me enough time to do my make up and slip on my skinny jeans. After all you never know who you will meet in Vegas and I needed something to happen to me fast.

Do you ever find it funny how one can tell their whole life story to a stranger as long as they are traveling? Perhaps it is to make the time go by, but I always, ALWAYS find myself in some long intimate conversation during some leg of my trip. You're going where? Oh really you build ships? Kidding I went to Florida State Too. But that is the fantastic part, you never know who you'll meet and I love to meet fantastic people. Since I had to catch a connecting flight stand-by to Vegas from Dallas I lucked out and got a First-Class seat. The flight was full and the guy who originally had my seat didn't want to sit next to te window so he got off. As I walk towards my seat this sharp dressed black man with curly hair remarks, "Well, I got my wish"
"What was that " I asked.
"To sit next to beautiful woman".
Ooooh yes indeed! So glad I spent my money on these pants!

We talked every minute of that three hour flight about work and school, golf, football, HBCU's the guy I had on my mind, his wife and children. But particulary about the life and love of an ambitious woman. He inititially gave me the usual encouraging words of "Get yours and he will eventually come". But it was a three hour flight so the bullshit was going to inevitably wear off.
I want a lot for myself and my father raised me to take care of myself particularly because he doesn't trust any other man with me besides himself. I admit I am a bit old fashioned. No matter how many degrees I have no matter how much money I make in the future I know I want a husband, kids, a home. I still want a man who CAN take care of me and my kids and has that drive in him to do so, at all times. I have found at the tender age of 23 that might not happen, it might not exist. Our Mommas didn't tell us that. (If she was a progressive, dream pusher like mine she didn't) Similar to marriage in general, the truth comes out only after you are in it. I have been having this conversation with my friends for some time now and just recently visited Bullet Proof Diva who had a similar topic.

I have found that I might not be compatible with that guy that I want. Nope. Some how he takes my ambition as a means for competition. Or he sees my jazziness and tries to put me in "my place", never telling me I am beautiful or that I am smart. Not that I don't already know I am beautiful, but I am still a woman. I love complements. He is always trying to reassert his manliness. There is also the guy who knows exactly what to say, how to treat you, he has no problem with the fact that you are more successful than he. In fact he is cruising around looking to come up on the back of some female. You know him. He wants you to take care of him buy his clothes, pay his bills. I am not that chick and you can bet on that.

Life isn't stationary, this world isn't transparent or built to serve a woman. We have to multi-task, work a little harder, wear 3o hats to recieve what our male counterparts do. Here he is, handsome 38 yr old VP of a technology consulting firm who married at 28 a woman 3 years his senior who "had her shit together". Of course, the male who isn't threatened by your success, right? All you ever wanted, imagine what she tells her friends.
Only see, he get older, gathers his shit and realizes his peak is further than yours. He now more established, can take a gorgeous 23 yr old out to dinner. You can't. He can lean his curly head over and admit that now you his wife, is 41 and he is 38 and he wishes he had married someone younger and "worked with her". You can't.

We as women live through dreams. We are sold on words such as virtue, dignity and honesty. We want to hear that story of the woman who had 3 kids after 45 through fertility drugs. We love Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher. But you better wake up and walk to Starbucks baby cause that shit isn't for everybody! People LIE. That perfect husband is hardly ever as perfect as you friend, aunt, co-worker wants you to believe. And Brianna is not nearly as satisfied with her single life, there aren't enough CLK's, vacation homes or Prada shoes in the world! It doesn't just fall into place. It is hard work and even harder work for a woman who wants it all and won't take no for an answer. Why can't we be more honest? I would want my daughter to be aware that a woman is never really given power, she has to take it. I want her to understand the implications of that statement so that she make her choices accordingly so that she can get what she wants out of life.

I put five on my skinny jeans and everything that is holy that I could have had more than one drink at his suite at the MGM Grand. The MGM was grand and so was dinner, and so was he...

But I stood up for myself and for her the unsuspecting older wife who was about to get PLAYED. I don't expect another woman to do this for me. I understand the plight of the underdog. But standing is the only way I could zip up my skinny jeans and after all that work I wasn't about to just let some married man take them off.
I Put Five on My Skinny JeansSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Monday, March 06, 2006

For the Love of Little Golden Statuettes

Why didn't Paul Giamatti recieve the Oscar for best supporting actor in Cinderella Man? It wasn't like he and the Oscar statue was beefing, had a dispute on the red carpet or took one "yo mama so fat" joke a step too far... so...what is really going on?

I wasn't the Oscar Grouch this year, I actually saw damn near all of the movies nominated. Yep, which means either I am getting good or the Academy is really losing its edge. Both options are debatable. But it is indeed undebatable that somebody in that Academy has had one too many codine-laced martinis because they let Three 6 Mafia perform "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp". Sure they were nominated for an Oscar for best original song, I mean we all like a good laugh every now and again. But they let those boys...whose hits include "Tear the Club Up", "Sippin on Dat Sizzurp", and "Gotta Stay High" perform it at the Academy Awards, the classiest awards show...ever. Three 6 Mafia, not Nelly or Puffy, folks. Not a group with media coaches and PR geniuses on their payroll. Three 6 Mafia, who didn't even have enough sense to put on a tux to accept their award. I am slapping down my A-A card here. I mean for the love of little golden statuettes!!! There is a time and place black people, for everything. This was a time to see us proper at the Academy awards. This was our time, our place. Phat Farm makes dress shirts, Sean John makes suits! You can still be classy and "keep it real". But thanks Three 6 Mafia, good looking out.


I stand corrected. Perhaps they didn't have enough time to change.

Good looking out AC.

Now I do believe their performance---and I am not refering to their acceptance speech which would have been just as appropriate if at the Vibe awards, please see video clip below--their performance at the Oscars was significant. I am glad that Terrance Howard let them perform their own song. This was a major step for Hip-Hop/Rap, the stuggle of people in the South and those who definitely see their love of music as away out of "the hood", if you will. Or more generally, a way to a better life. They, Hip-Hop, The stuggle, The South was taken very seriously. This means more to me than some heavy-assed statue. But their actually wininng was like whipped-cream icing on the cake. (And we know I like whipped cream) Queen Latifah actually her gut, before calling out their names as winners. I think we are going have smug assed grins on our faces for the rest of the week.

I finally saw that Madea movie. Yep, it was on Oscar night last year too except, this year there were no tears. No million text messages and missed calls to Can't Have Him as he laid in bed with Not Beyonc, his phones on silent. I made it a point to watch this movie, almost a year later to the day, and face the turning point of my life. There were no tears there either. I am not where I was last year. I say that everyday. I am the same person but I jump just a little higher over those hurdles. I am a woman now and make decisions in congress of my head, my heart and that third sentiment. I have learned the art of letting that feeling have the final say and in the life of THIS mad black woman, I deserve a golden statue.
For the Love of Little Golden StatuettesSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Yes Kanye, YESSSSS!!!!!!

Where have I been for the past week, you ask? I was in my bed under my sheets... hiding. I have not been in the right state of mind for the past um, 15 days but I am quite aware my last 2 posts have been a bit of a downer. So I won't play ring around the rosie with the poo-poo details. I'll just tell you what I have been doing while in bed.

Now when stressed I dream the worst most realistic dreams. If I was worried about school I'd have dreams that I failed out. I would dream I fell off a balcony ( and could feel myself falling) or that my father died. Some are reoccuring, some not. Last year (when I was really stressed) I would wake up screaming at least once a week. Screaming folks, screaming. So when I found myself having nightmares these past couple of days I wasn't so surprised, it was my dream of Kanye West that made me raise a brow.

Kanye West and SincereCaramel, together in the Pleasure Emporium (a.k.a. my bedroom, stop laughing) It felt so real and I was soooooo excited. He was so sweet and um, good. Why?

Them other girls built nice dreams wit your money
Perhaps even bought nice jeans wit your money
I ain't try to buy moombeams wit your money
Just new satin sheets and whipcream wit yo mon-nay!

No need for a pre-nup, you can have it. I hate sticky sheets.

He had on a cable knit sweater over a dress shirt and a blazer, all collars down. (Too old to have a turned up collar, they won't let you wear that to work, and I want to know that you have a job.)
Oooooh and the way he said "Yeah Sin City...yeah baby, take that. " I am moving my seat now, hehehe. "You're trying to touch the sky Kanye? Keep holding on me like that I'll be able to take you there!"

Weird! I don't even like Kanye West, well not like that. But for some reason it was so vivid, so real. I have caught pictures of Kanye through different websites and T.V. in the last couple of days. Is it me or is he wearing a lot of cleavage shirts lately?

Tuck it away, Ye. I would hate to see your MTV production etc. assistant girlfriend of yours (far right) have to fight because you can't control your tit-tays!

What? I wasn't hating! Assistants make like $18,000 a year right? That's more than I do.

Walking around looking like Michael with your money...

Upon sight of this picture I realized it was supposed to be a nightmare and my mind and my body just got too tired to imagine him slice my head off with machete. I would never sleep with someone who would wear that jacket.
Yes Kanye, YESSSSS!!!!!!SocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Sunday, February 19, 2006


In case you were wondering...yeah, that's me.

When I lived in
New Orleans I hung out in coffee shops. I became a bit eccentric living in the Big Easy but it opened my heart and my mind during the hardest times of my life. Through depression I often closed my eyes to the world trying to sleep my life away. Coffee kept me awake. The intelligent conversations and free internet of the coffee shops assured me of my sanity. I concluded over a cup of coffee what I couldn't after a year of therapy. My depression is me feeling like I don't have control over my life. Simple.

When I was a college freshman I had a boyfriend who was quiet and comfortable being alone. I am sooooo not that! But he was my friend, my confidante and in many ways my emotional crutch. I held him close, too close. But there were times when he was tired of me, unhappy, found me untrustworthy...I never knew. He never told me. He simply backed away and to fill the void between us I began to see (um, sleep) with someone else. I remembered the anger and frustration I felt and the sadness of when he left vividly this week. I built a wall so tall even I couldn't see over it and since have been hesitant to really let someone close enough to see my weaknesses.

In the years since I have become very aggressive and ambitious. I cracked the whip on everyone, particularly myself to be thinner, smarter, more independent. But admittedly I was still insecure. Then ultimately every plan I made either failed or gave me my just deserts and I was forced to learn a valuable lesson. The best way to be in control of yourself is to understand that you can't control everything. Hahaha easier said than done, I know. I don't desire to have of control others just myself my happiness and my menstrual cycles. (If you take a whole bunch birth control pills at once it can stop your flow for a day or two, just passing on the news). I since have vowed to never let life get the best of me and should I ever find someone like my ex ... not to hold too tight but not to push him away.

Ever since the New Year I have slowly felt my mind slipping. Okay, it was more abrupt than that. I have smack lost my marbles in the last month! Straight lost them. I heard the last of them hit the ground last week. Being unable to pay my bills for a while, my accident has left me without a car and behind in the increasing work load of this Ph.D program (that sometimes I question if I am able to do) pushing me about over the edge. Let's not forget my family and Boys (now that I am older I guess by definition they are men. What does it take to be a man these days? Just Pubic hairs?) I just haven't been handling things well. I started to reeeally hate the pretty girl I saw in the mirror. And then I remembered, I can't control everything or anyone.

So here I am in a coffee shop much like the one on Magazine Street I used to visit in New Orleans, reassuring myself of my sanity. Over a mocha latte I reminded myself that I shouldn't hold on too tight, not to him nor on to me. As I take a deep breath and smell the aroma my rather tasty cup of coffee I can hear him jokingly say "Chill out..." And for the first time in months I do.

I could say that I will go with the flow, but I don't really trust any flow other than the one that comes every 28 days... but sometimes, when you reaaaaallly need it to be on time... but that's life, man! which is why I won't throw away my whip or the complementary packs of birth control pills from the doctor. You just never know and I like to be in control of the situation.

Control...SocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Valentine's Day Massacre

February 14th 2006 was the worst day of my life, save February 28th of last year or whenever that Madea movie came out. I planned to just stay in bed and let the whole day blow over. I didn't get out of bed until 11am. But NOOOOO I had to be a trooper. I donned my red Ann Taylor sweater top with the bow at the collar and decided I had a lot of love to give that day. After all it is just a day, 24 hours right? Wasn't like I didn't make any plans. I had plans!

I think what hurts this year is that I am finally at the point in my life where I am ready to receive love and mature enough to give it. Thoughtfully. Valentine's Day only highlighted how much I had never been loved. I am using "never" very lightly. How much I would really like flowers and how many lies I received instead. Chocolate? I don't think I got that since the 8th grade and I started dating his best-friend a month later! (It was middle school what do you want me to say?) It is not just a day folks! It's a war on my sanity, my heart. I have been mobilizing the mental troops all week. Let's just say...I lost a lot of men out there.

I start off by going to the grocery store to buy a pack of sugar free Red Bull only to be engulfed by this...helium mass of shiny-ness...and men crowded around the table of bears and things, forming a barricade between me and my energy source that was needed to get through what looked like the beginning of a hard day. I grabbed my In Touch Weekly, my drink and got the hell out of there...alive. I made sure to pay a visit to my best-friend's son. He's 1 year old and he gives great hugs and I needed it. Certain of my strategic moves to avoid the mushiness, I come home to see a box of mail-sent flowers at the door and for a brief moment with all that I was...all that I could be...I wished it were for me. They were for my sister, of course. Who in my life would go through the trouble of doing that? I tried my very best to be happy for her but it hurt.

I hung out with the girls and watched the romantic comedy that makes your romance look like a business acquaintance. You've seen it, trust me if you've seen one... My romantic plans fell through surprisingly. Surprisingly being the operative word. Just as I was hoping to come home and lick my wounds, my sister calls excited her long distance boyfriend---yes the same one that sent flowers in the mail----just showed up at the airport. I was shell shocked and I couldn't get to my room without making a scene. I was hit. I am an awful person and now I hate myself. My night ended with a 3 hour phone call that consisted of the phases "what is going on” “you are lying to me” and “seeing someone else”. It was gruesome. Jose Cuervo is my witness he was the only one I was with last night, but come to think of it he was probably keeping a lot of others company this valentine’s day.

So hung over, I can see the sun and it hurts my eyes. But it is a new day. I have lived though the roses’ thorns and the helium gas and the huge massive stuffed teddies that I didn’t get. I didn’t die. The lingerie I bought didn’t self- destruct. But hey they aren’t giving out purple hearts for wounded feelings, are they? I think I’ll wear black in remembrance of this bloody day for the rest of the week. Which means I need to do laundry…I have no clean black shirts. Hey! A reason to get out of bed.
Valentine's Day MassacreSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

For What Reason

One of the best books I have ever read is entitled "What Should I Do With My Life?" by Po Bronson. It was so good that I am reading it again. It was on Oprah's Book Club for goodness sakes so um, it must be good? I struggled for 3 weeks with the idea of traveling to Atlanta to attend his talk and book signing. It's 4 hours away, folks. Granted, there is of course the possibilty of getting the good stroke down as an incentive for such a long trip in the middle of the week. But most importantly it was my scheduled time to end the cruise on the love boat. So after 10 days of eating spinach salads, aggressively performing kegel excersises, careful datebook planning oh, and let's not forget running my selected outfits by my bestfriend for approval...I set off for Atlanta. Only, I never really left town because I got in a car crash. Yeah...
and had to be taken to the hospital with my head taped down to the stretcher. So I guess I wasn't meant to go huh?

Between my infrequent moments of awareness I was able to watch Oprah basically kill James Frey Mortal Kombat style. Only I'm guessing the Vicodin provided rose colored lenses because as I now catch clips of her on say NBC, The Colbert Report etc. my jaw actually grazes the top of my Pumas in sheer "what the F#$*!" Man, he said he was sorry! I can still see that "Please God Kill me Now" look on his face and my stomach turns. But they say everything happens for a reason. Perhaps it is to preserve the nobility of the literary world or have a modern-day public stoning of one's character and career. Just put it in the fiction section for goodness sakes. I read "Confessions of a Video Vixen" it was a New York Times Non- fiction bestseller. Trust me, I and the rest of America really don't give a shit about a few details that happen to change the essence of the book. As long as it's worth my $24.50.

With that said, does everything happen for a reason, really? If so, what are the reasons? If we are not meant to know the reasons at least the majority of the time, then what the hell is the point of knowing things happen for a reason? I don't believe all things happen for a reason. But I do think we'd like to think so. It is the Calamine Lotion Notion for the brokenheart. We want to think that our hard work will pay off, whoever does wrong by us will get their just deserts and that long hard relationship was not a waste of time. Sure we learn but we aren't quite sure of the lesson, thus providing whatever logic our minds and hearts can handle. For example, that Can't Have Him and I are really supposed to be together. That's why he can't stay with one girl, not that he is a serial monogomist and that I am waiting. Or that this whole debacle will make Mr. Frey stronger, if not richer in the end...if he doesn't kill himself first. Lastly that perhaps my car crash is giving me more time to do my Kegel excersises. Yeah, that's the reason. You can never be too tight.
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Thursday, January 19, 2006

Fantastic Voyage

It was the summer and I was leaving New Orleans and moving back to my hometown as a grown ass woman. I was on a soul searching journey, characterized by all stand-by flights, lost ATM cards followed by a lost ID and one confirmed flight home. You don't know how hard it is to catch a stand-by flight to LA in the middle of the summer! But it was all worth it. So en route I decided to see the world. (which translates to just Atlanta and Los Angeles) This trip had further significance for every flight I had taken twelve months prior related to romantic matters. That all um, ended quite disappointingly... and comically.

It was great to do something for me, to spend time with my friends, reciting corny phrases from movies (like my favorite, 'Just mackin'... and hangin', mackin' and hangin'... from the movie "The Wood" Don't tell me I'm the only one who loved that.)

It was my first night in ATL at a lounge spot with my friends. It was the hot spot on Thursdays and had no cover. I was carefree and needless to say tip-say! Surely I was minding my business avoiding the thought of men when to be silly, I turned around facing a guy of short stature and started dancing with him.

I have never met a man more amazing.

He attended college in my hometown and is charming considerate and passionate about every thing he does. We hung out until 5:30 am---- clearly blocking all my pimp game for the rest of the night. The following day we had our first real date...and kiss. And it was good. Like -throw your hands up and scream "score!"- good. (I know you were thinking "5:30 am? No sex...?" Nope and he never pushes me, ever.)
This is a man that opens every door. Never walks ahead of me and places his hand on the small of my back. It's not an act but genuinely a part of him. It felt so good to be near him and hold him all week but all so abruptly he issued the disclaimer-he was not ready for a relationship. What? It wasn't like I asked for that, but I guess Atlanta guys fear a woman is always plotting to lock them down. Good thing I didn't sleep with him. Off to LA.

But I couldn't stop thinking of him. So when he called weeks later and ultimately came was a wrap. He is the truth. In side of him is the spirit of my husband, walking and breathing. From the way he loves his mother and truly looks up to his father (he's an only child so I guess you would adore your parents...or totally hate them) to the way he isn't just a dreamer. No matter how hard, he makes those dreams real.

I love the way he talks to me, the sound of his voice, the way he touches me, the way he kisses me. My drought? He was worth the wait. I love the way he kisses my collar bone when we make love, how comfortable I am and how I find myself always wanting to give him more. I am a little better of a woman because of him. How am I supposed to let go?

I can't remember feeling like this. I think I love him. Gasp! There, I said it and with that said, I must get off this love boat. Yep, nothing lasts forever and all cruises come to an end. It's not the size of the ship but the motion of the ocean in order for smooth sailing …and he was a reeeaaaally nice ship. But hey, you either walk off or be thrown off...and he ain't about to get a black woman's hair wet.

Big ups to Diva whose post obviously had me stuck on the ocean.
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Friday, January 13, 2006


"Do you swear to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth?" Don't because I swear to God you are the only one.

It was this past year that I realized that everyone isn't telling the truth. I know some of you all are going "duh, that's old news". But seriously, I realized I haven't beeen getting the whole story from anyone and everyone is getting the whole story from me. It could be as simple as "Hey Jill, how's it going?" "Oh everything is great SincereCaramel, I just bought a new car and my job is going pretty good. Oh and Jack, he is still amazing, sex is still amazing. We even went ring shopping the other day. He is so amazing." Then you find that Jack fell down the hill because Jill pushed him and Jill came tumbling after because well, Jill still wants to look like a devoted girlfriend/wife. You know the old saying "Stand by your man". And the sex is only amazing because they fight all the time. Make-up sex is like drunken sex, no matter how messy it's always good.

I find that I seem to answer these questions truthfully which makes me a...hmm let's see what is an all encompassing word? I am leaning towards "bitch-and-moaner" but "gullible puppy" works well too. I ifnd this not only about worldly material goods but particularly about relationships. Typical question, "How are you and Can't Have Him doing SincereCaramel?" And I will typically answer that perhaps we haven't talked in weeks and when we did it was through the increasingly impersonal text message and how he says he will call but never ever does. When I could say, "We're fine, just fine" . I haven't quite mentioned that he is no longer with the 12 year old he wouldn't leave for me. Yes, blog readers you remember Not-Beyonce' . I've know for months and have been dying to tell you. Nope he didn't marry the girl, no I don't known exactly what happened and I don't want to know. Do you think he may have told her about me? Nah. I'm sure he'd keep that a secret. Now he is seeing a WHOLE NEW person and is SO serious about her and is spending SOOOOO much time with her. I secretly want to gag when I hear it cause I know it's bullshit. But I won't tell him that. I don't know what is to become of him and his new girlfriend whom I will now endearingly refer to as Connie Chung. Endearing because it's all love there, trust me. Is this the one for him so I can move on with my life? Part of me wishes him the best because I know part of me is secretly waiting for him. So secretly that that part of me is doing it behind the "rest of me's" back. A part of me has always been a bit of a coniving bitch.

With that said how can one really have an open relationship when people really aren' Is it really reasonable to expect people to be open with you? You find that your best friend of 13 years has being doing drugs you never even heard of . But you tell her everything. How do you feel? All the more reason to just shut up. So when some asks 'how are you?' just burst into song like Big Gay Al and sing "I'm super. Thanks for asking!" That's all that's necessary.
Secrets...SocialTwist Tell-a-Friend

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Quiet, Cause Sorry Is A Lame Excuse

Well well blog, we meet again. What?!? I was on holiday break! What is that? That should have provided me more time to blog about my ill feeling towards family members and the anti-"Happy Holidays" chatter? It was pointless. Both of them. And I can't do anything about it.

I can't offer a good excuse except...I had nothing good to say. I just stopped talking. To everyone. Everything I had to say was negative. How are you? ? Hmm...not so good. Then I start talking at the mouth like a sad rat. Even though I am sad everyone doesn't need to know about it. Except through this semi-anonymous manner a.k.a my blog. You every feel like your stories are just some source of entertainment for others. Like people feed off of your negative energy, it makes them feel better about themselves. I can't offer that kind of service with out some monetary compensation. A large one. Second, sometimes I feel like I have heard all the advice I want to hear. After all, I have already looked on the bright side, yes I know I am a wonderful beautiful person, I am aware I was able to just get up in the morning. No, I probably am not just going to move on and forget about him, I haven't yet. And every minute of every peptalk/ scolding doesn't add one red cent into my currently negative-balanced bank account. So I just stopped talking, so people would stop talking to me. Thanks for your help guys, but I still feel like shit.

Perhaps time will help. Yes, two doses of half past never and I will be okay.
Quiet, Cause Sorry Is A Lame ExcuseSocialTwist Tell-a-Friend