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.
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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.
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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.

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