You reveal depth to me like hallmark sentiments
through unwritten words, you talk of being more intimate
Rewinding time and trying all of this again
Since when did our this become ridiculously complicated?
I listen to you, astute, hanging on every word
your long distance neediness sounds cleverly doctored
Regale me with a few lies and promises so conjured
out of thin air; rare to see game this haggard.
Does she know about your suto confessional?
or how we both met; more or less professional
Think she would appreciate your late night unfaithful
This generic sincerity is exhibit A, counsel
Your just as fake as your hallmark sentiments
mass produced, reused, sealed and licked; send it again
Deprive me of your washed up oral remnents
The best thing for you to do now, friend, is subscribe to silence.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Sending an S.O.S
I dont think Im done crying over you. I tried though -believe me. Sucked it up and put up a front - quite deceiving. I tried to shed every last tear because 'we' as we knew us is no longer here. Maybe not forever gone, but no longer near. I fear my emotions are a facade. I have oceans left and my eyes are consistently on the brink of flooding over. I'm sending an s.o.s your way...but I think our pride may let me sink way too deep. We both know I can't loose myself again...but Im feeling that feeling creep.
Yesterday was your birthday and strangely, it was me left wishing, blowing out the candles. Your no longer my light. I wish for you hopelessly. My lamenting lulls me at night. I want you happy but without 'us' it doesn't seem right. How can either be happy when their soulmate is out of sight? s.o.s...
Like Bonnie and Clyde we had a master plan. You with ambition of dollar signs in the sand. Me, with you on my left, and writing gripping my right hand. One day getting hitched, finding a niche, sans babies unplanned. Southern bohemians. When did our life idea get canned?
We talked about forever. Staying so high on love and coming down never. Not for anyone or anything ever. Forever Young and always together. Forever, it seems, was more temporary than our original endeavor. It's much more tragic than clever. Im sending an s.o.s your way...please reply. Let me know your on the same page as I; not now, but not never. What was once granted forever but truely now, there's no rush, just a worthy wait. I can wait. You let we know when.
Like Bonnie and Clyde we had a master plan. You with ambition of dollar signs in the sand. Me, with you on my left, and writing gripping my right hand. One day getting hitched, finding a niche, sans babies unplanned. Southern bohemians. When did our life idea get canned?
We talked about forever. Staying so high on love and coming down never. Not for anyone or anything ever. Forever Young and always together. Forever, it seems, was more temporary than our original endeavor. It's much more tragic than clever. Im sending an s.o.s your way...please reply. Let me know your on the same page as I; not now, but not never. What was once granted forever but truely now, there's no rush, just a worthy wait. I can wait. You let we know when.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Language, And I'm the Messenger
Language belongs to us. It always has.
They can't handle it.
Can't take it away; no, they can't touch
They can't manage it.
It's not manageable. Not tangible.
So don't try to man handle it.
Persuade it to cater to your whims; nah, we're not havin it.
See, every word you've ever read belongs to me,myself,and I.
My trilogy of infamy won't let language go -won't let her die.
We let you borrow it, breathe it. Now exhale - your permit to write has been denied.
See, I sleep with it, go deep with it, like a fantasy I've always dreamed.
Full of passion and promise; letters flowing together so clean.
Language belongs to us. It always has.
Tells me what to write - I tell the world, present and past.
I'm the messenger, translating a muddled alphabet soup into something the masses can feast on. My pen forces feeds them. Shit, its like they've never eaten, the way my pen keeps them.I feel blessed. To be this messenger and chosen with few rest.
I'm full and literate - in love with language like the true gift she is. She makes me feel
They can't handle it.
Can't take it away; no, they can't touch
They can't manage it.
It's not manageable. Not tangible.
So don't try to man handle it.
Persuade it to cater to your whims; nah, we're not havin it.
See, every word you've ever read belongs to me,myself,and I.
My trilogy of infamy won't let language go -won't let her die.
We let you borrow it, breathe it. Now exhale - your permit to write has been denied.
See, I sleep with it, go deep with it, like a fantasy I've always dreamed.
Full of passion and promise; letters flowing together so clean.
Language belongs to us. It always has.
Tells me what to write - I tell the world, present and past.
I'm the messenger, translating a muddled alphabet soup into something the masses can feast on. My pen forces feeds them. Shit, its like they've never eaten, the way my pen keeps them.I feel blessed. To be this messenger and chosen with few rest.
I'm full and literate - in love with language like the true gift she is. She makes me feel
... mischievous; hiding secrets and undeciphered thoughts yet to be formally introduced to my pen. They are deep from within. Language is our liaison. We rendezvous whenever she calls. And I'm happy to take part in her ploy. I'm the messenger.
Language, what should I write for the world today?
Language, what should I write for the world today?
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
1214
Countless tomorrow's have culminated into today. The moment has arrived. A title of victor awaits at bay. The question is, which will thrive. Tireless they fight. Restless day and night. The skies have turned an unsettling shade of livid. The look among us all is timid. I stare. Where once doves roamed freely, frolicking in the calm breeze of peace between both realities...now, they flee. Unable to keep flight in the tormented abyss..I stare. Looking up I feel an even colder chill in the air. Back up has arrived. From the north, a heavy rain has been contrived. From my seat, a purple reign can be described. Though not for the grayish side. I see you sun- commander in chief in his army of a united one. You are the guiding star to freedom in this darking Battle of the Light.
The water approaches, like a well rehearsed ensemble, ready to play the old freedom spiritual through its assault. The true war has begun. Of battles before, no one has ever won the war. Not anymore. The sun coyly follows suit behind the rain and the massacre that is bound to ensue. First one, then two. Drip drip,bloop bloop. Heaving from the heavens, like canons do; massive attacks of water seeping through. My panaramic view looks like a civil war gone askew. The symphony of rain sings its freedom song, from verse one and steadily unto. Truly in sync, without mistake or redo. The assault is vicious. Safe in my haven underneath I grimace. Puff's of cloud attemp to regroup to take vengence, but its far past that wish of a finish. This war has been claimed by the sun and his troupe but the scene is still a menace. The lead cadet and his calamity of clouds slowly diminish, wiped clean from the forefront. Who knew clouds would lay to rest by too much dew.
I see you sun. Though weak and weary you've finally won. This moment was waiting for you. A star. Complete with rays of light that blind from wherever you are. But I stare. I want to feel your warmth; I smell fresh victory in the air. Kudos to your persistence. True valiance has a right to insistance...and others must succumb. The battle of the light is over and done.
The water approaches, like a well rehearsed ensemble, ready to play the old freedom spiritual through its assault. The true war has begun. Of battles before, no one has ever won the war. Not anymore. The sun coyly follows suit behind the rain and the massacre that is bound to ensue. First one, then two. Drip drip,bloop bloop. Heaving from the heavens, like canons do; massive attacks of water seeping through. My panaramic view looks like a civil war gone askew. The symphony of rain sings its freedom song, from verse one and steadily unto. Truly in sync, without mistake or redo. The assault is vicious. Safe in my haven underneath I grimace. Puff's of cloud attemp to regroup to take vengence, but its far past that wish of a finish. This war has been claimed by the sun and his troupe but the scene is still a menace. The lead cadet and his calamity of clouds slowly diminish, wiped clean from the forefront. Who knew clouds would lay to rest by too much dew.
I see you sun. Though weak and weary you've finally won. This moment was waiting for you. A star. Complete with rays of light that blind from wherever you are. But I stare. I want to feel your warmth; I smell fresh victory in the air. Kudos to your persistence. True valiance has a right to insistance...and others must succumb. The battle of the light is over and done.
Yet another day in my western paradise, the sun has overcome.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Would he?
I'm living my book, but its missing some chapters. A co-author with meaning, not some rehearsed Shakespearean actor. One who refills ink with tribulations and sweat - like I do. Jots mental stanzas and can never forget - like I do. A dream team. Would he? He would be a queens lost king. A writer penning romance that spans centuries unseen. I need his pen in between my pages. Continue writing your verses that linger on life's lost graces. I'm reading.
Would he? He would enjoy my candor. Appreciate my humor and sarcastic grandeur. The hard covers act as my stage and you, my best audience. You always want an encore. I'm always wanting to give more. Would he? He would inspire me to dream bigger than before. Silly me, I once imagined there stood walls or doors. I'm surely mistaken. He shows me the world, says its mine for the taking. I'll take it. Don't tease, don't fake it. Would he? I'm thinking. He would write off the universe if suggested. Steal all the words from all the world wherever they rested. Language belongs to us. It always has. We live and digest it. Daily. We both crave it. Would he? He would finish the book I'm living. Insert my blank pages with chapters doused in chivalry never ending. Cure my ails with ink so mending. Be willing to bend the future if it means us in it. My book is on hold for a minute. I'm thinking. I want the right he to help finish it.
Would he? He would enjoy my candor. Appreciate my humor and sarcastic grandeur. The hard covers act as my stage and you, my best audience. You always want an encore. I'm always wanting to give more. Would he? He would inspire me to dream bigger than before. Silly me, I once imagined there stood walls or doors. I'm surely mistaken. He shows me the world, says its mine for the taking. I'll take it. Don't tease, don't fake it. Would he? I'm thinking. He would write off the universe if suggested. Steal all the words from all the world wherever they rested. Language belongs to us. It always has. We live and digest it. Daily. We both crave it. Would he? He would finish the book I'm living. Insert my blank pages with chapters doused in chivalry never ending. Cure my ails with ink so mending. Be willing to bend the future if it means us in it. My book is on hold for a minute. I'm thinking. I want the right he to help finish it.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
1211
I step outside.
The boding heavens are gray and ominous. Like they are foreshadowing an undecided future. They are trying to tell me something. I feel a storm a'coming. It is early in the noon yet the sun is strugglin'. Desperately trying to be seen, be heard, be known as more than nothin'. I see you sun.Battling for the forefront, it is so many clouds against one star. So many near against one so far. So many surfs against one true czar.A dim attempt at an eclipse, they want a coup, and one in particular steps in to hide the growing glow. Ashen and bleak, like it has fought this war before; a hazed and once triumphant solider in the Battle of the Light.
This is an aerial plight and from underneath I have the best seat. Out of reach, but ever so clearly, I see the combat. Slow and calculating, waiting, debating the odds of success. The infantry gathers behind their leading cadet. My romantic western sky becomes a timeless standoff between good and bad while the world ponders the outcome.
Bashfully, the sun hesitates. To shine or not to shine, that is the internal conflict. Yet there is no time for hesitation, No time to spare. The air is biting colder and colder, viciously taking sides in a standoff that seems so outnumbered. Hopeless without a star to shine in the damp darkness.
I stare.The noon is dying and still no clear heir. One has to succumb for the other to stay there. My money is on the sun.
Shine with all your light and let there be none. Over your doubt and release your burden. Open the gates of heaven with your sol so that others will believe. I see you sun. Even if others don't. I won't despair and I pray that you won't. Let your glow defeat those who can't see past the clouds. The battle of the light is forever and defeat is not allowed. Today may not be yours but tomorrow is anew. One is more than many if hope holds true. Victory is there; it is simply waiting for you. I see you sun. Tomorrow, they may too.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Downtown Download
Behind the brazen screen and gleam your a beast held captive by a machine. Your modern vice is vernacular but luckily the keyboard provides the relief you seek.You sought me. The whole wide world is your web and you've caught me. My left hand over my mouth, the least I'm doing is talking. I'm tangled, entrapped in your verse and candor meandering between the lines of abbreviations and digital confessions.
Your I.M's on my M.A.C are keeping me M.I.A from reality.
It's boldly tempting...to say what I may actually never, but am always thinking. Sincerely, its interesting. But i like it. And I respond, adding fuel to the fire; your fingertips simmer as they touch the keys and your modem. This is an illicit adventure. Desire on the verge of overwhelming intensity...still i hit enter. The thrill of sending keeps me. I just know your thinking, waiting, enjoying me on the edge of my seat. Only for so long. This exchange can keep me only for so long before I want what's real. Yes; the intentions are a done deal but moreover something I can feel. The cursor is flashing, beckoning to be typed by the keys your teasing. Grazing over the buttons, the temptation is seething. It softly taunts me.Yearning in its purest form, don't worry, my viral protection is on; I'm ready. Panting and anxious for it. And it comes.
The screen filters the flames and once again,
were safe at either end.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
I, She, and all the Motivation Inbetween
I wont surrender. Won't give in. Refuse to fulfill the unforgiving legacy left for me. My course is destined and I manifest my own destiny. I don't own a white flag. I don't know what "cant" means. I keep hearing it; echoing like surround sound, reverberating off of the haters and procrastinators that cling to my boots as i climb to the top. But it sounds foreign. I don't speak as being content. My vocabulary produces results; I'm just fluent in success. My mind is made up so don't try to steer me off the road. Don't bother planting your ideas for me; my future has already been sowed. And I water it on the regular- with school and promise and increased fervor. I get excited to be me at my prime, and then I remember; my prime is yet to come, still my focus is forever. I want to reach the top, dust it off and place a book there. A book I wrote and dare another to compare - beware. My bark and my bite are equally vicious. I want this to much. My desire is ridiculous. I'm too anxious, too fearless. I've got nothing to loose but blank pages and laziness. A past cycle that bore me to shepherd this flock; I'm Christine Columbus and the 'top' is Plymouth Rock. Don't get left behind or you will wind up empty- I'm the light at the end of life's tunnel and She is the pilot that lit me. Whether I'm 5 years or 50, it is her. She motivates my will and strive; my ambition and stride to keep it pushing. Always. I want to embody all that she couldn't. Traverse the unknown, not cuz she wouldn't, but because I was too prudent. Placed things aside once I was born. All her thoughts ideas worries and cares took a back seat as I rode up front. Sacrifices were made and her going without was the brunt. This is no game to me, no make believe day at the park. The buck stops here - I'm leaving my mark. A mark that says if I can so can you. She taught me how, and I just promise to follow through. She didn't get a chance like mine but repentance I plan to do. By writing my life down and everything I see. By making myself happy and succeeding in who I am supposed to be. I got plans. Taking over the world if the pen in my right hand so demands. And never looking back so don't call after me. I inhale letters and exhale eloquently. My motivation is clear & set. Not succeeding would be blasphemy.
Friday, December 4, 2009
transgressions of indiscretion
Liaison, liaison; I simply cant stop at one
My transgressions of indiscretion has left me hurting some
but liaison, dear liaison; the naughty is half the fun
The other half is between the sheets
and if I try to run;
Don't look at me with disgust and
please don't think all is lost
I want to change, I really do; hope isn't so far off
Hope; that I can keep my meandering eyes at bay
Hope that your love is all I need to faithfully make it through the day.
And I pray that you will still love me for who I really am
Not the me that's hurt you or the one that didn't give a damn.
But more the me that is caring when your day has given you enough
or the me that is vigilant when its time to get tough
The me that is always tardy and tries to make it up
The me that is in love with you and is sorry I made the road rough
Please allow that me to show you the 'think and thin' I pledged
This cant be it; it isn't the end; I'll mend our widening wedge
This road were on was never made from gilded fools gold
Still shame on me, I did not see, that what doesn't glitter...
My transgressions of indiscretion has left me hurting some
but liaison, dear liaison; the naughty is half the fun
The other half is between the sheets
and if I try to run;
You grab my hand and lead me in
the bedroom; lights off - its done.
But in the morning when its time to face the music of the sun
Im ashamed; lust is to blame
I've yet again hurt my plus 1.
The sorries in all the world cant make up for what I've done
And all the rubber in between those sheets cant rationalize the sum
the bedroom; lights off - its done.
But in the morning when its time to face the music of the sun
Im ashamed; lust is to blame
I've yet again hurt my plus 1.
The sorries in all the world cant make up for what I've done
And all the rubber in between those sheets cant rationalize the sum
but im sorry
and I worry
that your forgiveness is left at none.Don't look at me with disgust and
please don't think all is lost
I want to change, I really do; hope isn't so far off
Hope; that I can keep my meandering eyes at bay
Hope that your love is all I need to faithfully make it through the day.
And I pray that you will still love me for who I really am
Not the me that's hurt you or the one that didn't give a damn.
But more the me that is caring when your day has given you enough
or the me that is vigilant when its time to get tough
The me that is always tardy and tries to make it up
The me that is in love with you and is sorry I made the road rough
Please allow that me to show you the 'think and thin' I pledged
This cant be it; it isn't the end; I'll mend our widening wedge
This road were on was never made from gilded fools gold
Still shame on me, I did not see, that what doesn't glitter...
is still worth everything I hold.Everything I am. And everything I aim to be.
Forever yours
C.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Untitled
Long lost and no where to be found
Not 6 ft under but still 'underground'
Scraping up your things to high tail it out of town
Your running so that you don't drown.
Anywhere but here is where you tell him to go
No other way to make money so you decide to hoe
steal...
cheat...
lie to get by on the low.
Dirty and disgusted as you look in the mirror
under your nose and you sniff; it looks vaguely familiar
Deeper and deeper down the hole you spiral
sex
drugs
rock and roll...your
Out of control and the destination is viral
Climbing up the walls you cling to get out
Soundless your seem yet you scream and shout
Desperation takes hold and your loosing your grip
This seedy seduction has found in you a niche
In a city filled with sin the gray has made you cold and numb
What happened to the 'dream' of having so much fun?
The illusion of grandeur that seduced you to succumb
Was quickly dispelled - in its place it left you with none
Now you have to run from the person you have become
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Nameless
I see you. And your everything, but nothing at all.
Your Parisian flair & your hair down to there
Your supple lips and your tiny hips
...Tease me
I want to be like you. Not you you
But the you that is shiny and brand new on the cover.
With your waif delicacy entangled in diamonds and glamour
And your legions of fans that all flock and clamor
To see you.
Not the you that is like me
Trivial, broken and bashful
Bloating with insecurity and add a handful
Of anxieties.
Sometimes I feel nameless.
No, not that you.
I want the you that is pampered and adored by millions.
They love you and seek you out
Listen to you every word and stay true and devout
Take pictures with zoom lenses
Through your walls, high gates and fences.
Whatever you wear flies off the shelves
People want what they see on you on themselves.
Your waif entangled in pop and disaster
Is this the you that I’m after?
Your that girl. Your her. Quintessential ‘it’.
But you’re nothing at all. You’re nameless.
Im no it girl, no girl like you. But it turns out
…I have a name.
Your Parisian flair & your hair down to there
Your supple lips and your tiny hips
...Tease me
I want to be like you. Not you you
But the you that is shiny and brand new on the cover.
With your waif delicacy entangled in diamonds and glamour
And your legions of fans that all flock and clamor
To see you.
Not the you that is like me
Trivial, broken and bashful
Bloating with insecurity and add a handful
Of anxieties.
Sometimes I feel nameless.
No, not that you.
I want the you that is pampered and adored by millions.
They love you and seek you out
Listen to you every word and stay true and devout
Take pictures with zoom lenses
Through your walls, high gates and fences.
Whatever you wear flies off the shelves
People want what they see on you on themselves.
Your waif entangled in pop and disaster
Is this the you that I’m after?
Your that girl. Your her. Quintessential ‘it’.
But you’re nothing at all. You’re nameless.
Im no it girl, no girl like you. But it turns out
…I have a name.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
We’re not fam, we’re related
We’re not fam, we’re related
Ya dig?
We’re not fam, remember?
I'm ‘barely your kid’.
Don’t let convenience guise your sorted past
Don’t let me being grown let you forget you never wiped my ass
Never read me a prayer
Never braided my hair
Never were you ever there.
Yet you return with a blank stare.
Your absence didn’t make my young heart grow fonder
I'm still sittin here, like I'm 3 again, wonderin’...
Who you are?
And where I came from
And why you left
And why now you want to come back.
To the mess you made that She cleaned up
For 21 years and now you pop up so abrupt
Wasn't my birthday enough for a call?
Wasn't my stumble enough for you to catch my fall? No, huh?
Well catch my drift...
I've made it thus far, with the door to my life ajar
and you slowly shut it.
Now my growth is complete and surprise, you want to meet.
See my family you say? Nah, we're just related.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Im not your bitch,hoe, slut, dime piece or anything your lame ass 'swag' decides to dub me
Im tired of being referenced to as anything less than a Queen over a dope beat and a fresh hook.
Im tired of hearing all the masagonestic venacular that one man can think up while holding a blunt and smackin ass.
Im tired of being rated on my ass at all.
Im not your trophy dime piece. Your future wifey. Your bitter baby mama. Your bottom bitch. Your ghetto hoodrat. Contrary to popular belief, Im not tryin to be your golddigger.
My name is Christine; whats good?
I have more to offer than a pretty face and a rumpshaka. I have more to say than "yes" and "I can go lower". I have more ambitions that to simply belong to you...
The misconceptions that I, or any of my fellow Queens, are here to "have a baby by you and be a millionaire" are ridiculous. My future is blinding with possibility and, shockingly, it extends past your sperm.
Let me repeat - having a baby is possibly the slowest way ever to be a millionaire. So thanks, but no thanks, broke ass lame ass tryin-to-put-rimes-on-your-caddy mofo.
And try as you may to believe it, Im not tryin to "tie you down", "be a groupie hoe" or keep you from livin your 'great life'.
Trust when I tell you, things only get better from the moment you meet me, and it will be YOU not I tryin to make me settle; in more ways than one.
Im past wanting the joke of a dream I see in videos. I dont want to be your video vixen. I dont want to be the girl over the hood of your bently. I dont want to be on my knees, waiting in line with the 'others'...
Im not asking for much, but the caliber of my Queens has weined. Right now, I will restart the revolution.
I demand respect for me. My mind, my body, my thoughts, my ideas, my opinions, my spirit, my goals, my ambitions, my desires, my cravings, my urges, my hopes, and my dreams.
Sometimes I may want to be your fiesty girl, and if I ever choose to, it will be because I choose to; because I know you appreciate and respect me for what I am and what I offer and not for some plaything you want in the moment. Dont underestimate my willful 'sin'; i can be your 'naugthy girl' when I want to.
Dont think you can ever buy me - its never going to be that easy. If you dont want to put in work, step aside and let the next man apply. Because this job needs filling. And its a position for life.
My name is Christine, and yes, that is exactly what you can call me.
Im tired of hearing all the masagonestic venacular that one man can think up while holding a blunt and smackin ass.
Im tired of being rated on my ass at all.
Im not your trophy dime piece. Your future wifey. Your bitter baby mama. Your bottom bitch. Your ghetto hoodrat. Contrary to popular belief, Im not tryin to be your golddigger.
My name is Christine; whats good?
I have more to offer than a pretty face and a rumpshaka. I have more to say than "yes" and "I can go lower". I have more ambitions that to simply belong to you...
The misconceptions that I, or any of my fellow Queens, are here to "have a baby by you and be a millionaire" are ridiculous. My future is blinding with possibility and, shockingly, it extends past your sperm.
Let me repeat - having a baby is possibly the slowest way ever to be a millionaire. So thanks, but no thanks, broke ass lame ass tryin-to-put-rimes-on-your-caddy mofo.
And try as you may to believe it, Im not tryin to "tie you down", "be a groupie hoe" or keep you from livin your 'great life'.
Trust when I tell you, things only get better from the moment you meet me, and it will be YOU not I tryin to make me settle; in more ways than one.
Im past wanting the joke of a dream I see in videos. I dont want to be your video vixen. I dont want to be the girl over the hood of your bently. I dont want to be on my knees, waiting in line with the 'others'...
Im not asking for much, but the caliber of my Queens has weined. Right now, I will restart the revolution.
I demand respect for me. My mind, my body, my thoughts, my ideas, my opinions, my spirit, my goals, my ambitions, my desires, my cravings, my urges, my hopes, and my dreams.
Sometimes I may want to be your fiesty girl, and if I ever choose to, it will be because I choose to; because I know you appreciate and respect me for what I am and what I offer and not for some plaything you want in the moment. Dont underestimate my willful 'sin'; i can be your 'naugthy girl' when I want to.
Dont think you can ever buy me - its never going to be that easy. If you dont want to put in work, step aside and let the next man apply. Because this job needs filling. And its a position for life.
My name is Christine, and yes, that is exactly what you can call me.
Dear Kate Moss
~While I am not a huge fan of yours overall, I FULLY support your comment that "Nothing taste's as good as skinny feels". No where in that self-imposed maxim did you suggest, imply or condone anorexia, bulimia, diarrhea or any other -ia that folks use to curb their figure.
Sorry - i call bullshit on the media.
And any woman worth her weight in honesty will subtly agree that there has NEVER, in the history of food, been anything as delicious as fitting into a pair of skinny jeans or into a top and looking FAB! Without tugging or pulling, or sacrificing breathing to fit into your clothes. Without using the mirror to offer reassurance, but instead using the mirror like a play thing because you know you look that good. 'Don't tease me', you think...
We all have our forbidden food rules that regulate our guilt vs our gluttony and this just so happen to be the motto of an international supermodel.
So KUDOS to you Kate, for saying what women have always mumbled to themselves when pining over the last cake, cookie, or carb of any form....
Sorry - i call bullshit on the media.
And any woman worth her weight in honesty will subtly agree that there has NEVER, in the history of food, been anything as delicious as fitting into a pair of skinny jeans or into a top and looking FAB! Without tugging or pulling, or sacrificing breathing to fit into your clothes. Without using the mirror to offer reassurance, but instead using the mirror like a play thing because you know you look that good. 'Don't tease me', you think...
We all have our forbidden food rules that regulate our guilt vs our gluttony and this just so happen to be the motto of an international supermodel.
So KUDOS to you Kate, for saying what women have always mumbled to themselves when pining over the last cake, cookie, or carb of any form....
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Infatuation
Suddenly, I wonder how I never knew you.
How I have managed to come this far in life...
do this much...
be this happy....
without having you by my side.
This is infatuation and I cant think with my head. Insomnia from
Not seeing the rest of you is causing me to lose sleep
lose hope
lose sight
of what it was that I did before I met you.
Was there a 'before I met you'?
Presumably so. But this is infatuation. and true to cliche, I have to have more.
Of your smile. and your lips. of your laugh and your jib. More of your swagger and your sin. More. Always more.
This is infatuation and sensibility has left the building.
I feel overwhelmed by the underwhelmed thoughts of me sans you.
Sans my girly giggles and giddy fantasies.
My inhibitions flee for cover and me, raw and real, finds you waiting...
anticipating my arrival. Ready.
We do what we want and whenever the urge overpowers, when we want.
This is infatuation and bad ideas have taken hold.
But I'm with you and truly, fuck the world because we are here.
How I have managed to come this far in life...
do this much...
be this happy....
without having you by my side.
This is infatuation and I cant think with my head. Insomnia from
Not seeing the rest of you is causing me to lose sleep
lose hope
lose sight
of what it was that I did before I met you.
Was there a 'before I met you'?
Presumably so. But this is infatuation. and true to cliche, I have to have more.
Of your smile. and your lips. of your laugh and your jib. More of your swagger and your sin. More. Always more.
This is infatuation and sensibility has left the building.
I feel overwhelmed by the underwhelmed thoughts of me sans you.
Sans my girly giggles and giddy fantasies.
My inhibitions flee for cover and me, raw and real, finds you waiting...
anticipating my arrival. Ready.
We do what we want and whenever the urge overpowers, when we want.
This is infatuation and bad ideas have taken hold.
But I'm with you and truly, fuck the world because we are here.
Monday, September 28, 2009
S.O.S: No strings attached...
I have a theory. It isn't proven in any journal or acclaimed anywhere, but it is a tried and true sort of 'Murphy's Law'. And truly,that's all the proof I need.
Dating is fun - until it stops. And in it's place, settles drama.
I don't mean to insinuate that all dating leads to drama, but I will contend that any sort of relationship, friend or otherwise, has the ability to lead to drama. And that, includes dating.
I have experienced such of the like recently, and lucky me, from a few different point of views.
And as I scratch my head like, huh?, I always land on the same question:
When did this get so complicated?
No strings attached? I don't know.
I mean...
Our times are punctuated by reality way too often, still, I cant stay out of a daze with you
... so at a lost for words with each other, I don't know how we've ever spoken at all.
Flirting on the edge of possibility and curiosity; I dare you not to miss me. But please don't call my bluff.
When did this get so complicated? I don't know.
But I'm willing to work it through.
Dating is fun - until it stops. And in it's place, settles drama.
I don't mean to insinuate that all dating leads to drama, but I will contend that any sort of relationship, friend or otherwise, has the ability to lead to drama. And that, includes dating.
I have experienced such of the like recently, and lucky me, from a few different point of views.
And as I scratch my head like, huh?, I always land on the same question:
When did this get so complicated?
No strings attached? I don't know.
I mean...
Our times are punctuated by reality way too often, still, I cant stay out of a daze with you
... so at a lost for words with each other, I don't know how we've ever spoken at all.
Flirting on the edge of possibility and curiosity; I dare you not to miss me. But please don't call my bluff.
When did this get so complicated? I don't know.
But I'm willing to work it through.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
It vs. Me
You tick...
And I run for the hills. I ask, 'how high?' and 'can I do it faster?' Where would you like me; it? Here? How about here? Is this better?
I think I can, I think I can...
Go faster, further, harder, stronger,. It can always be done better.
Why? Because
You tock...
And my anxiety builds. I feel your second's hand on my neck, down my back,breathing heavy
heavier
heaving in my right ear. Go; don't stop, 'til the end. But it never comes. My hands hold a vicious fever and both are burning a pyro's dream set ablaze with midnight oil and a wick burning from both ends. My eyes are weary from the heat as I look up. Another
Tick...
There is never enough of you and yet all I do is crave more. Always more-don't deny me. But you do. Our tumultuous rendezvous keep me, controlling my right hand and all it's mass production. I stare and look for you incessantly; needing your approval and acceptance, cringing at the thoughtof your shame. The slender fingers of your grip teasing me to continue amidst the countdown, when it comes.
Tock...
And I run for the hills. I ask, 'how high?' and 'can I do it faster?' Where would you like me; it? Here? How about here? Is this better?
I think I can, I think I can...
Go faster, further, harder, stronger,. It can always be done better.
Why? Because
You tock...
And my anxiety builds. I feel your second's hand on my neck, down my back,breathing heavy
heavier
heaving in my right ear. Go; don't stop, 'til the end. But it never comes. My hands hold a vicious fever and both are burning a pyro's dream set ablaze with midnight oil and a wick burning from both ends. My eyes are weary from the heat as I look up. Another
Tick...
There is never enough of you and yet all I do is crave more. Always more-don't deny me. But you do. Our tumultuous rendezvous keep me, controlling my right hand and all it's mass production. I stare and look for you incessantly; needing your approval and acceptance, cringing at the thoughtof your shame. The slender fingers of your grip teasing me to continue amidst the countdown, when it comes.
Tock...
The pressure heightens and my burden increases. Working with less and expecting more; always more. The pen can't move across fast enough, left to right left to right, and the fever hits a dangerous peak. I feign exhaustion, begging for the relief only you can provide. But you don't. We both know I can't, I wont; neither of us will allow the buzzer to time me out.
Go; don't stop 'til the end...but it never comes.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Sipology Illusions
The ever eclipsing moon is high in the sky above where I sit; silent, but restless.
Just waiting.
For what I am not exactly sure - yet I will know it when I see it. Feel it. Hear it.
I've been here longing for what seems like a lifetime -twenty one years- and while alot has caught my eye, very rare have things caused me to turn my head.
As I sit tonight, a man, small and frail, but full of hope and belief, passes through the doorway of my perched spot. Even as he hesitantly walks, I feel his positive optimism; not because he is overtly so, but because it is so genuine and suprisingly unjaded. He is older, 60's perhaps, and it is apparent to any who look that he has be directed down the rubble-ridden road of life; the fortunate ones, like myself, have been given the guided tour thus far. My guides? Chance, destiny, opportunity or simply the distant idea of luck that have kept me kept. But not for him.
He smiles to the blase strangers who instanly give him the defensive death eye and force him away with their ignorance. He hasent had the necessary dose of societal conformaty's to be out and about with people who thrive on such things. To him, no words are spoken as he shuffles his feet away, and although they know better, words would actually be useless; he is deaf. He feels their shuns, and turns - only to turn back around and graciously hand them a worn, consequently weatherd, note in the same classic cursive most older people use.
The kind that has written years of letters and correspondence; in this case, mercy pleas.
His note reads of being deaf his whole life and uneducated, assuring them he is of the best intentions and simply would like to know if they have anything to spare. Albeit they cannot read over the blinders of naivete.
Shunned again, and again, and again...
he spiritually picks himself up and smiles his seemingly signiture facade to the last strangers, and proceeds to the doorway he came through. The doorway that brought him into my view.
He passes and in doing so, his note wistfully slips from his meak hands and lands on the wooden slates next to my feet. It is now, under this eclipsed moon, that I turn my head...
Just waiting.
For what I am not exactly sure - yet I will know it when I see it. Feel it. Hear it.
I've been here longing for what seems like a lifetime -twenty one years- and while alot has caught my eye, very rare have things caused me to turn my head.
As I sit tonight, a man, small and frail, but full of hope and belief, passes through the doorway of my perched spot. Even as he hesitantly walks, I feel his positive optimism; not because he is overtly so, but because it is so genuine and suprisingly unjaded. He is older, 60's perhaps, and it is apparent to any who look that he has be directed down the rubble-ridden road of life; the fortunate ones, like myself, have been given the guided tour thus far. My guides? Chance, destiny, opportunity or simply the distant idea of luck that have kept me kept. But not for him.
He smiles to the blase strangers who instanly give him the defensive death eye and force him away with their ignorance. He hasent had the necessary dose of societal conformaty's to be out and about with people who thrive on such things. To him, no words are spoken as he shuffles his feet away, and although they know better, words would actually be useless; he is deaf. He feels their shuns, and turns - only to turn back around and graciously hand them a worn, consequently weatherd, note in the same classic cursive most older people use.
The kind that has written years of letters and correspondence; in this case, mercy pleas.
His note reads of being deaf his whole life and uneducated, assuring them he is of the best intentions and simply would like to know if they have anything to spare. Albeit they cannot read over the blinders of naivete.
Shunned again, and again, and again...
he spiritually picks himself up and smiles his seemingly signiture facade to the last strangers, and proceeds to the doorway he came through. The doorway that brought him into my view.
He passes and in doing so, his note wistfully slips from his meak hands and lands on the wooden slates next to my feet. It is now, under this eclipsed moon, that I turn my head...
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Intruige
Things have become muddy. Fast.
Faster than most may have predicted given the laiseez faire persona we both candidly embody.
'Between the sheets' evolved to the lofty sweet nothings whispered in my ear as we lay...
What occurs after dusk is long erased from our composure by dawn, but the smirks alone are enough to prosecute us as truly guilty.
Yet our enjoyable lucidity has been jaded by confusion, dilusion, and mistaken ideas of grandeur, which at best is presumptuous; worst, "dissapointing". The natural inclination to aspire to something, albeit, truly wanting nothing but enjoyment and security to fully dive in....
Alas, our playing fields of preference are off the richter and there seems to be no mutual ground for reconsideration.
Faster than most may have predicted given the laiseez faire persona we both candidly embody.
'Between the sheets' evolved to the lofty sweet nothings whispered in my ear as we lay...
unable to sleep until all was quenched.
We quickly forgoed the customary public renouncement; silently choosing instead to slip gentle hellos and secretive smiles amist the unspoken ethos that surronds us. What occurs after dusk is long erased from our composure by dawn, but the smirks alone are enough to prosecute us as truly guilty.
Yet our enjoyable lucidity has been jaded by confusion, dilusion, and mistaken ideas of grandeur, which at best is presumptuous; worst, "dissapointing". The natural inclination to aspire to something, albeit, truly wanting nothing but enjoyment and security to fully dive in....
Alas, our playing fields of preference are off the richter and there seems to be no mutual ground for reconsideration.
Monday, August 17, 2009
The Perks of Living in a City: Random bar hopping, conversation, and things of that nature
Even though I have lived in my new-ish apartment for a little over a month now, I can't seem to find the time, or the proper 'company' to accompany me out on discovery adventures, frequently known as "good and random local bar quest(s)'. Why would I always want company? You know, for the quintessential conversation and/or people watching, and mandatory subsequent laugther.
Tonight that problem was solved.
After securing not only the ambition, time and suto perfect company, I explored the eatery's and theaters at The Pike, slowly paced the way to a trendy neighborhood near Ocean - had coffee and beers and chatted like we couldn't stop the wave of convenient and entertaining conversation.
All on the same few blocks...placed so perfectly clandestine in a hobo corner of my downtown mecca and all its public wonders.
Three new places in one night and I feel closer and closer to my new home; as it drops the prefaced title of new and simply becomes, home.
Tonight that problem was solved.
After securing not only the ambition, time and suto perfect company, I explored the eatery's and theaters at The Pike, slowly paced the way to a trendy neighborhood near Ocean - had coffee and beers and chatted like we couldn't stop the wave of convenient and entertaining conversation.
All on the same few blocks...placed so perfectly clandestine in a hobo corner of my downtown mecca and all its public wonders.
Three new places in one night and I feel closer and closer to my new home; as it drops the prefaced title of new and simply becomes, home.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
One of those classic "WTF" moments
Anyone that knows me (and I suppose after writing this, the 'secret; will really be out) knows I love kids. I think they are fun, creative, imaginative and with three younger siblings under my wings, I find myself in the wonderful position of 'spoiler' and not disciplinary. Yes!
Still...
this love of children has its place and while I cant wait to have my own one day
I realize that this is very much
one day.
Leave it to the lovely toy industry to help young girls - like 5,6,7- capture one of the beautiful duties of motherhood in the midst of thier own youth: breastfeeding.
Kindly insert a very necessary "WTF?!"
Yes, Berjuan, a Spanish toymaker introduced to the world the 'gluttonous baby', also known as the Bebe Gloton, a doll that is specially made for breastfeeding.
Not so wierd, you think? I mean, they already have dolls that cry and pee and burp and all those fun absolutely disgusting things that kids do that only a mother would dare to take care of.
For me, the issues are out of control:
Society puts a ridiculous amount of pressure on girls and women of all ages and this is simply another ploy in the making. From day one, females, young girls especially, are told to be young and innocent; look pretty and always be agreeable. Don't make waves. Then, at a magical phase sometimes known as puberty, we hear these loud voices from magazines and TV and (oh fun) the Internet, to be sexy and fearless and desirable. Just don't make waves. Fast forward past the presumably unavoidable 'Brittney/Lindsey/Miley' years, and its demanded that we be professional career-minded women with independent tendencies and Samantha-a la SATC-esque cravings. And about those waves...get a few years older and poof - your a cougar who's been done in and turned out from the stress of men, children and a lifetime of assumed 'roles'.
Simply put - its exhausting.
What is so wrong with little girls just being little girls? Enjoying pig tails, and melting ice cream, trying on mom's earrings and writing notes on fun paper with those cute little stickers. Good times, good times.
The point is:
periods and boobs, leg hair and mood swings come soon enough as it is. We don't need our little girls with yet another burden of adulthood.
Still...
this love of children has its place and while I cant wait to have my own one day
I realize that this is very much
one day.
Leave it to the lovely toy industry to help young girls - like 5,6,7- capture one of the beautiful duties of motherhood in the midst of thier own youth: breastfeeding.
Kindly insert a very necessary "WTF?!"
Yes, Berjuan, a Spanish toymaker introduced to the world the 'gluttonous baby', also known as the Bebe Gloton, a doll that is specially made for breastfeeding.
Not so wierd, you think? I mean, they already have dolls that cry and pee and burp and all those fun absolutely disgusting things that kids do that only a mother would dare to take care of.
For me, the issues are out of control:
Society puts a ridiculous amount of pressure on girls and women of all ages and this is simply another ploy in the making. From day one, females, young girls especially, are told to be young and innocent; look pretty and always be agreeable. Don't make waves. Then, at a magical phase sometimes known as puberty, we hear these loud voices from magazines and TV and (oh fun) the Internet, to be sexy and fearless and desirable. Just don't make waves. Fast forward past the presumably unavoidable 'Brittney/Lindsey/Miley' years, and its demanded that we be professional career-minded women with independent tendencies and Samantha-a la SATC-esque cravings. And about those waves...get a few years older and poof - your a cougar who's been done in and turned out from the stress of men, children and a lifetime of assumed 'roles'.
Simply put - its exhausting.
What is so wrong with little girls just being little girls? Enjoying pig tails, and melting ice cream, trying on mom's earrings and writing notes on fun paper with those cute little stickers. Good times, good times.
The point is:
periods and boobs, leg hair and mood swings come soon enough as it is. We don't need our little girls with yet another burden of adulthood.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
S.O.S: An Unexpected Vegas Reunion
Several days ago, I wrote about my up-coming voyage to Vegas.
Think: Jennifer and myself, in an air-conditioned Corolla, 108 degree weather outside and the open deserted desert at our feet.
While the trip itself was low-key relaxation, the play by play leading up to the trip and during it is PRETTY much epic:
Think: Jennifer and myself, in an air-conditioned Corolla, 108 degree weather outside and the open deserted desert at our feet.
While the trip itself was low-key relaxation, the play by play leading up to the trip and during it is PRETTY much epic:
Thursday
After hastily packing just about EVERYTHING I own, I make my way south to Irvine where Jen lives. The plan is to leave bright and early the next day. Even on vacation, I seem to manage a 6am wake up call – go figure. As were prepping for Fridays take off, I get an 11pm call from a 714-number and instantly recognize those all too familiar digits. It’s my ex.
We ended up talking for 3 hours. About what? Everything. Single life, our families, the weather, old memories, my new place and his new roommate. It was strange at first; strange to feel so at ease with a person whom I haven’t had a laughable or enjoyable conversation with in over 3 months. Wow – 3 months.
Friday
In the car at 645 am, and onto the 55, the 91, & the 15 to Sin City. We arrive around noon, are graciously given rooms hours before obliged on the itinerary and make our way to the shops. We meet up with our company for dinner, do 5 rounds on Patron shots and taste every wine the cute waiter hands me.
In the meantime – the texts are flooding in. He wants pictures: of the hotel, of the casino and mostly of me. I oblige. He asks how the trip is going; the trip he was supposed to be on pre-break up and move out. Its great, I let him know. I wish he were here, I hesitantly add at the end, hoping for a miracle in my liquor filled haze. In all the places miracles could happen, I got mine in the middle of a casino restaurant.
Saturday
After 3 hours sleep, Im up. We He and I spoke into the wee hours and now Im anxiously awaiting his arrival.
What are we going to say, how are we going to act, what will other say about us?
We, us, our? I really need to stop doing that.
We spent our day sleeping, talking, swimming, socializing and smiling. Grinning ear to ear, it seems we both forgot were not really together together, just ‘a couple for the weekend’. Sometime this moderate thought entered my mind and I would kiss him like in the movies to shake my doubts.
After hastily packing just about EVERYTHING I own, I make my way south to Irvine where Jen lives. The plan is to leave bright and early the next day. Even on vacation, I seem to manage a 6am wake up call – go figure. As were prepping for Fridays take off, I get an 11pm call from a 714-number and instantly recognize those all too familiar digits. It’s my ex.
We ended up talking for 3 hours. About what? Everything. Single life, our families, the weather, old memories, my new place and his new roommate. It was strange at first; strange to feel so at ease with a person whom I haven’t had a laughable or enjoyable conversation with in over 3 months. Wow – 3 months.
Friday
In the car at 645 am, and onto the 55, the 91, & the 15 to Sin City. We arrive around noon, are graciously given rooms hours before obliged on the itinerary and make our way to the shops. We meet up with our company for dinner, do 5 rounds on Patron shots and taste every wine the cute waiter hands me.
In the meantime – the texts are flooding in. He wants pictures: of the hotel, of the casino and mostly of me. I oblige. He asks how the trip is going; the trip he was supposed to be on pre-break up and move out. Its great, I let him know. I wish he were here, I hesitantly add at the end, hoping for a miracle in my liquor filled haze. In all the places miracles could happen, I got mine in the middle of a casino restaurant.
Saturday
After 3 hours sleep, Im up. We He and I spoke into the wee hours and now Im anxiously awaiting his arrival.
What are we going to say, how are we going to act, what will other say about us?
We, us, our? I really need to stop doing that.
We spent our day sleeping, talking, swimming, socializing and smiling. Grinning ear to ear, it seems we both forgot were not really together together, just ‘a couple for the weekend’. Sometime this moderate thought entered my mind and I would kiss him like in the movies to shake my doubts.
Sunday
Jen and I reunite after seemingly being apart for forever. We inhale breakfast and parts ways to pack and exit our humble abode at the Four Seasons. I’ve never dreaded going home so much. Yes home is where the heart is, but right now Im still in my liquor haze and being in love isn’t helping me sober up. He leaves around noon since he has to work and our good-byes are turned into see you later; he asks to see my new place when I get home.
Jen and I have a tumultuous 7-hour saga home and 10:30 pm encroaches as I find parking in front of my duplex.
He comes around 1130 and we are simply happy again. No drama, no fighting, no nonsense- just happy in the moment and silently wondering, what’s next? Yet neither he nor I ask and perhaps that’s a good thing.
We’re both asleep in our fantasy when he’s beckoned back to reality and the night shift. Quiet, sad and naïve I walk him to the door and finally say good-bye. No see you later this time because the weekend is over. But again, the question of what’s next looms over us, as we stand sheepishly fixated in the hallway of my building. I don’t know – I don’t want to know.
Im just grateful for the weekend.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
D.O.A a la the French
Lately- I would say the last 10 years - there has been a slow mutiny from the norm emerging in the mainstream music world that includes a certain electronic instrument, if you will. Auto tunes, or the proprietary auto processor, has become a clutch and escape for sub par vocalists to dodge real talent and real talent to dodge getting boring.
Read: A gimmick.
We all know (and have shaken our ass to) T-Pain. He's in Love with a Stripper, Sprung, Chopped N Skrewed, and I Can't Believe It, he wants to Buy You A Drink. All of which he has done with the joys of auto tune. Successful? Heck yes! Actual talent? Meh. Although I will give him undeniable props for making so many absolute hits; you want a #1, put T-Pain on it.
While I too have been guilty of enjoying the 'hits' that come from this axis of evil, I will take a genuine cope out and proclaim it is not entirely my fault. Not when every other song on the radio has been filtered through this magic box and perfected to a T with great pitch and vocals.
In fact, Kanye West-the latest leader in the sans bellicose revolution-asked T-Pain to mentor him in his attempts at auto tune on his recent 808's & Heartbreak. Definitely a success: Heartless, Amazing and Robocop (the live version preferably) is simply sincere poetry put to music and shifted through auto tunes to get all the loose sediments and rubble out of the way.
Still, with all the hits and #1's on the whoevers-couting-the-hits-and-#1's-list, I am excited about the impending slow D.O.A. Maybe a gruesome beheading a la the feisty French in their
equally important revolution? And if not for the total demise of auto tunes, then I will gladly settle for a less concentrated dosage of the magic box- too much has given me the plague.
Certainly Jay-Z -Hova if I may- has had enough: he kindly pronounced the time of death on June 6 and stands that "The guys who did it, did it great," but that's where it ends. "They got their little niche, lets move on. That's just my opinion. I don't know if everybody feels the same way"
We do.
And now, a moment of silence...
We all know (and have shaken our ass to) T-Pain. He's in Love with a Stripper, Sprung, Chopped N Skrewed, and I Can't Believe It, he wants to Buy You A Drink. All of which he has done with the joys of auto tune. Successful? Heck yes! Actual talent? Meh. Although I will give him undeniable props for making so many absolute hits; you want a #1, put T-Pain on it.
While I too have been guilty of enjoying the 'hits' that come from this axis of evil, I will take a genuine cope out and proclaim it is not entirely my fault. Not when every other song on the radio has been filtered through this magic box and perfected to a T with great pitch and vocals.
In fact, Kanye West-the latest leader in the sans bellicose revolution-asked T-Pain to mentor him in his attempts at auto tune on his recent 808's & Heartbreak. Definitely a success: Heartless, Amazing and Robocop (the live version preferably) is simply sincere poetry put to music and shifted through auto tunes to get all the loose sediments and rubble out of the way.
Still, with all the hits and #1's on the whoevers-couting-the-hits-and-#1's-list, I am excited about the impending slow D.O.A. Maybe a gruesome beheading a la the feisty French in their
equally important revolution? And if not for the total demise of auto tunes, then I will gladly settle for a less concentrated dosage of the magic box- too much has given me the plague.
Certainly Jay-Z -Hova if I may- has had enough: he kindly pronounced the time of death on June 6 and stands that "The guys who did it, did it great," but that's where it ends. "They got their little niche, lets move on. That's just my opinion. I don't know if everybody feels the same way"
We do.
And now, a moment of silence...
Sunday, July 26, 2009
The Perks of Living in a City: Hole Mole!
Its Sunday.
The weekend has been favorable toward me.
Except last night.
Fast forward 6 hours: West Hollywood, herbal,cheap vodka, and a chaser of drama.
So I awake today at 2 in the noon. Starving and lethargic, thinking where am I going to get food?
Thn I remembered one of the Perks of Living in a City:
1. Corner fast food.
My prescription - Hole Mole on 4th.
:-)!!!!
The weekend has been favorable toward me.
Except last night.
Fast forward 6 hours: West Hollywood, herbal,cheap vodka, and a chaser of drama.
So I awake today at 2 in the noon. Starving and lethargic, thinking where am I going to get food?
Thn I remembered one of the Perks of Living in a City:
1. Corner fast food.
My prescription - Hole Mole on 4th.
:-)!!!!
Friday, July 24, 2009
S.O.S: Just Having Fun
As a preemptive strike to the chaos that is bound to ensue in Vegas, I have been causing my own ruckus around town.
Ok so my ‘town’ is nothing like Vegas and my ‘ruckus’ has all been sober-driven BUT a little exaggeration never killed anyone.
I’ve spent most of my dating years love stoned with some boy or other, and have never really enjoyed the process of single-girl dating; ‘prowling’ as our empowered species is inclined to say.
Alas, thanks to the cosmic wonders (and my science classes being over!) I have some highly coveted time in my life to pull a Dora the Explorer and seek out some men.
First up: the Professional. I met him in a, err um, office setting and he’s quite the career minded individual. While I have known of him for over a year, we didn’t actually click until recently (convenient no?) and all is well. He has this arrogant sense of knowing everything and being entitled to whatever he wants. Greed? No. Confidence? Too much. Yet still, he is playful, sarcastic and ready. Sometimes, that’s just what the doctor ordered.
Then, I have my Rock Star. With blue eyes and dark hair a la Tyson Ritter, he’s awesome: sincere, intense, fun, spontaneous and yes – he’ s really in a band. He’s resides in the City of
rock n’ roll all night.
And to wonderfully round things out, there’s my tried and true NY import. He’s in the OC via the East Coast and how I love to get a quick visit of the Big Apple whenever I can. Five years and counting have put us through some major times and yet we find ourselves always on good terms and having fun. But I wonder, should something pop off finally or let the wheels (on his sexy Audi) roll where they may?
Oh girls we just want to have fun…that’s all we really want.
I will let the Cosmos work things out. In the meantime, and largely in-between time, I am adjusting to me, and what it is that I want. What I want this second, and what I want later when the timing is right. I think they call this stage rebounding?
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Viva Las Vegas!
It's about that time again...
Yes - time to go crazy and have no shame in Vegas. Do believe: I plan to do just that.
Next week is my annual company trip to Sin City with a luxurious stay at the Four Seasons. But that's not all folks!
We will also have an open bar all weekend, prime seats for the Cris Angel Mindfreak show, lasar tag, a wonderful Four Season Spa facial, a 5-course meal with accentuating wines and last but not least, shopping.
Exhausted just thinking about it...stay tuned for details and pics!
Monday, July 20, 2009
S.O.S: In the midst of a bad decision; Pt 1?
60-day 'he-tox' my ass!
I made it 2 weeks and, sigh; I gave in like an old IKEA futon at a frathouse.To my credit, it was not a blatant giving in . I didn't do what I did with the intention of doing it. Ugh, here I go, beating around the bush and trying, even with Internet strangers, to rationalize my naughty behavior.
I called/text/visited my ex.
Yes all three cardinal sins at once; I'm just asking for a heart attack,right!?
Here's how it went down: Legitimately, I had to go to my old town to pick upa school assignment a nice classmate offered to proof read. And, I threatened myself with no food for a week if I also didn't go to a gym before heading home. Equally legit, days after moving, I realized I had actually left a few things in the old apartment that I would need to go back for and soon; one of the things I left was luggage I would need for an up-coming Vegas trip. So here I am, in-between the gym and my old co-op dream apartment; like a moth to a flame my wheels turned toward the latter. Without a pre-emptive call or text or evencourtesy smoke signals I just drove up.
Seeing his shiny black car with it's signiture plate must have shocked me into reality that oh shit he's really home. I don't know what I was expecting if he wasn't? Perhaps just to linger and reminisce a bit...Anyway he was home, so assumingly typical of all ex-girlfriends-who-accidentally-become-stalkers, I panicked a bit. As I backed my car out of any view of the apartment, I wondered if I should call,or what to say if I did, or if he would answer.
I called; no answer.
Sigh I text; "Hey. I would like to know if I could come to the apt to get somethings I left please." Simple. To the point. Right? Right. Hold back any evidence of a partial break down that was on the brink of occurring.
He replied: "No, I will be home tomorrow."Hmm. His car was here so...oh no! Days of reading over analyzed man-blogs from magazines were catching up with me. What does that mean? He¹s here now?! I could feel dramatic anxiety building up and I quickly hated myself for even doing this.
I text back: I am close by, are you unavailable?" Survey says: "No I am unavailable." Looking back I concluded that there are a few possible reasons he could claim unavailability.
1. He has been chilling around the house and sans a shower, did not want to see me post-break up and smelly. Of course I did...
2. He had guests (*insert a silent prayer that it was not a female*) and having me over, especially with friends who knew of 'us' would be beyond awkward. Especially unannounced.
3. He really was unavailable: getting ready for work, or had prior plans.
Although, simply picking up a few things would take mere moments.
As I descended into reality, all my thumbs could fumble was "Ok thank you."
Like all crazy freaks of nature, I am still wondering what made me do this.Why would I subject myself to the anguish, anxiety and anticipation of whatis bound to be a blow to the uphill battle of getting over him? Why, when I know that, love him or not, I should have kept my distance and simply asked him to place in at the front door? Unattached to 'our' old home, 'our' old memories and most dangerously, to him?
Why? Because Im a girl in love and like most things that are pure acts of chance and destiny, I cant explain my actions.
Im just still in love.
Monday, July 13, 2009
S.O.S: Rehab
Monday's are double ball buster's lately because your's truly has a four hour class for Speech. *insert synchrinized shuttering*
On the bright side, what better block of time to catch up on my 'sex & love' reading on Glamour.com. Today's juicy discovery: "he-tox".
To put it in it's fitting context, the short article was the opinion of authors G. & A.R Behrendt, who gracfully wrote "It's Called a Breakup Because It's Broken: The Smart Girl's Breakup Buddy." In it, the duo boasts of the 60-day "he-tox" in which a girl must keep her distance from her ex-boo for at least 60-days.
EEK- I thought. 60 days!
Then again, that's simply two months. Looking back, my ex and I broke up once in late summer and didn't start 'talking' until November. Well over 60-days.
Sign Even with our seminal anniversary in October.
So...
perhaps this "he-tox" is possible.
On the bright side, what better block of time to catch up on my 'sex & love' reading on Glamour.com. Today's juicy discovery: "he-tox".
To put it in it's fitting context, the short article was the opinion of authors G. & A.R Behrendt, who gracfully wrote "It's Called a Breakup Because It's Broken: The Smart Girl's Breakup Buddy." In it, the duo boasts of the 60-day "he-tox" in which a girl must keep her distance from her ex-boo for at least 60-days.
EEK- I thought. 60 days!
Then again, that's simply two months. Looking back, my ex and I broke up once in late summer and didn't start 'talking' until November. Well over 60-days.
Sign Even with our seminal anniversary in October.
So...
perhaps this "he-tox" is possible.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
S.O.S: A tardy independence day
While the rest of America was celebrating our continental Independence from the cheeky boys overseas, I was claiming my own domestic stake in the whole ordeal.
On July 4th 2009, I moved into my first place.
More officially, today is the culmination of my first week as a quasi home 'owner' and of my single mindset. My solo living, table for one, uno pizza all day, every day.
As some scoff at my endeavor -"Congrats" I can hear them sarcastically mumbling as they read this - I am all too pleased with my moderately young success and freedom. To think, this all began as a 'rebellious' 17 year old with a 1994 Taurus...
I digress
This week has been very interesting and not without its customary challenges:
After 'deep-cleaning" my renovated turn-of-the-century apt, I happily moved all of my things in and began getting settled. By getting settled,I mean building my bed and promptly sleeping on it. Monday arrived with a seemingly smooth drive into work; a meager 25 minute drive from my front door to the employee parking garage. Every day has pretty much been the same as far as traffic. In addition to moving residences, I took on 2 more classes, math and speech, and those in conjunction with my biology and geography classes, I'm pretty much whipped. Daily. However, the latter two are ending soon, to my enjoyment. The week ended unceremoniously, as most of them do, with a basketball game and some herbal social gatherings.
Still, even with my excitement and starting anew, I have had a moment or two of missing 'it'. It is relative, I suppose, to the varying people who find themselves missing some. For me, 'it' is my old kitchen and bathroom, my old window that looked onto the pool and large trees; the breeze that escaped through those tress and snuck into my room for comfort and hospitality. As I open my new front door, with its white symmetrical squares and gold handle, 'it' longingly reaches for the old door; green and inviting with a silver modern and simplistic touch. The same door that we opened March 22 and closed May 18. Short yet truly sweet.
I digress
'It' has come and gone, and while I am sure that my nostalgic memories will cease to fail me and instead rehash those Utopias times, I find myself here in my apartment, enjoying the silence in my home and the city lights outside my window, the breeze filled with salt and ocean. I look forward to hanging more pictures, building more Swedish goods, and finding me outside of everything 'it' was 'we' had. Making sure I am something without having to add a 'him' to make me a whole. One part creativity, two parts sincerity, and three parts happiness. For me, 'it' should always end with happiness...
On July 4th 2009, I moved into my first place.
More officially, today is the culmination of my first week as a quasi home 'owner' and of my single mindset. My solo living, table for one, uno pizza all day, every day.
As some scoff at my endeavor -"Congrats" I can hear them sarcastically mumbling as they read this - I am all too pleased with my moderately young success and freedom. To think, this all began as a 'rebellious' 17 year old with a 1994 Taurus...
I digress
This week has been very interesting and not without its customary challenges:
After 'deep-cleaning" my renovated turn-of-the-century apt, I happily moved all of my things in and began getting settled. By getting settled,I mean building my bed and promptly sleeping on it. Monday arrived with a seemingly smooth drive into work; a meager 25 minute drive from my front door to the employee parking garage. Every day has pretty much been the same as far as traffic. In addition to moving residences, I took on 2 more classes, math and speech, and those in conjunction with my biology and geography classes, I'm pretty much whipped. Daily. However, the latter two are ending soon, to my enjoyment. The week ended unceremoniously, as most of them do, with a basketball game and some herbal social gatherings.
Still, even with my excitement and starting anew, I have had a moment or two of missing 'it'. It is relative, I suppose, to the varying people who find themselves missing some. For me, 'it' is my old kitchen and bathroom, my old window that looked onto the pool and large trees; the breeze that escaped through those tress and snuck into my room for comfort and hospitality. As I open my new front door, with its white symmetrical squares and gold handle, 'it' longingly reaches for the old door; green and inviting with a silver modern and simplistic touch. The same door that we opened March 22 and closed May 18. Short yet truly sweet.
I digress
'It' has come and gone, and while I am sure that my nostalgic memories will cease to fail me and instead rehash those Utopias times, I find myself here in my apartment, enjoying the silence in my home and the city lights outside my window, the breeze filled with salt and ocean. I look forward to hanging more pictures, building more Swedish goods, and finding me outside of everything 'it' was 'we' had. Making sure I am something without having to add a 'him' to make me a whole. One part creativity, two parts sincerity, and three parts happiness. For me, 'it' should always end with happiness...
Sunday, June 28, 2009
?
Confusion is setting in. Deep.
Like the weather recently - with it's ominous clouds in the morning before the pm sun awakens - I am in a gloom.
Typically, I am not the person who reads their horoscope and actually believes it. That's like going to eat Chinese take out at midnight in downtown, and expecting the generic fortune cookie to describe your life. Not going to happen. However, even my cookie cutter astrological reading wouldn't have been more accurate if I had Diane Warwick and Ms. Cleo reading my sign personally.
Are the Aquarius's' under attack or is my life just really that under siege?
Regardless...things need to be cleared. My confusion and strained emotions and mental capacity really need rest. I need my afternoon sun - my mornings have been far to gray this late in June. I know what I want and its my cake with a huge fork to eat it too. I want my past and my future. Just not necessarily where they meet in the present. Can we have both? Can anyone truly have both, or am I, like others kidding myself with a cloud-less existence?
Like the weather recently - with it's ominous clouds in the morning before the pm sun awakens - I am in a gloom.
Typically, I am not the person who reads their horoscope and actually believes it. That's like going to eat Chinese take out at midnight in downtown, and expecting the generic fortune cookie to describe your life. Not going to happen. However, even my cookie cutter astrological reading wouldn't have been more accurate if I had Diane Warwick and Ms. Cleo reading my sign personally.
Are the Aquarius's' under attack or is my life just really that under siege?
Regardless...things need to be cleared. My confusion and strained emotions and mental capacity really need rest. I need my afternoon sun - my mornings have been far to gray this late in June. I know what I want and its my cake with a huge fork to eat it too. I want my past and my future. Just not necessarily where they meet in the present. Can we have both? Can anyone truly have both, or am I, like others kidding myself with a cloud-less existence?
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
The Hills Are Alive
As an aspiring writer myself, I find it amazing when people accomplish their artistic goals. Sometimes they are seemingly intangible and so far from your reality, yet when you finally touch it, see it, or bear witness to the endearing fruits of your labor, it is a magical moment. Even my small and relatively insignificant triumphs have made me giddy with the possibility for more and my ears, eyes and hands are open like a 4 year old child wanting her Halloween candy. Gimmie, gimmie.
I want to be a writer.
On the flip side, it is a bit irritating and dare I say it, unfair, that people are given what so many others work for. What they work tirelessly for and sadly, may never achieve. Yes- I know this is the way of the world. Yes-"nobody said life is fair". Yes -life is what you make it, it's a box of chocolates and all that good stuff. A scenario like this where one is literally handed every prospect makes me think of Lauren Conrad and her Hills-saga of fortune and opportunity.
We all met the shy Cali-girl via Laguna Beach almost 5 years ago. Through MTV, we saw her life ravel and unravel on the shores and off the cliffs ofthe beautiful backdrops in her hometown, Laguna Beach. We were introduced to her boyfriends and her 'frenemies' and all the lovely people who filled up airtime on the reality show between vying for Stephan Colletti's attention and having immense drama with the young sassy Kristin Cavallai. Good times, good times.
We have stayed tune to her grow into a San Francesco College drop out, to a FEMA drop out, and to a fashion designer, um, in progress. Through it all, she has been resilient and young and continues to try things out until one of them is successful.One of those 'trys' is apparently being a writer. Excuse me, author. Recently she has released a book titled "L.A Candy" and is on a tour promoting her newest venture. Uninterestingly enough, it's about her. Or should I say, it's about a girl from out of town who moves to LA to be a fashion designer and ends up living her life on a reality show. Uh, hmmm...
Not only do I think this is super lame, but I feel like L.C (as all her BFF's and America affectionately call her) can really do better. I mean, she lives in one of the most interestingly seedy Mecca's in the US. I can imagine the endless scandals she has witnessed, the coked-out Hollywood starlets she's bumped into in the ladies room, or the hot guys who have made her their unsuccessful one-night stand target. Who slept with whom, who is a bitch in real life, and who is really as awesome as they appear. Earth to Lauren: THIS people will read.
Exhibit A: Superhead and her Video Vixen duo of revelations.
While this is in no way a knock to her trying and I would love to stand corrected if her books go flying off the shelves and into the laps of the NY Times Bestsellers List. However, I feel like this won't happen. If not for the simple fact that it is essentially about her and the gift and the curse of being a reality-based celebrity is that we know everything about you. Atl east enough not to have to read a fake book based on real life based on a weekly reality series based on fake scenarios and blank stares. I can't forget the epic blank stares. Good times, good times.
It is refreshing to see that L.C, after over 5 years on camera, has steeped out of the red flashing light of reality TV and is now available to make her own way in the world through her talent, good nature and trademark blonde waves and winged eyeliner. Simply my opinion, but I would say leave the "about me" endeavors behind and work on pioneering some new media to takeover. Give us 'aspiring' people a little bit of dream-room please.
I want to be a writer.
On the flip side, it is a bit irritating and dare I say it, unfair, that people are given what so many others work for. What they work tirelessly for and sadly, may never achieve. Yes- I know this is the way of the world. Yes-"nobody said life is fair". Yes -life is what you make it, it's a box of chocolates and all that good stuff. A scenario like this where one is literally handed every prospect makes me think of Lauren Conrad and her Hills-saga of fortune and opportunity.
We all met the shy Cali-girl via Laguna Beach almost 5 years ago. Through MTV, we saw her life ravel and unravel on the shores and off the cliffs ofthe beautiful backdrops in her hometown, Laguna Beach. We were introduced to her boyfriends and her 'frenemies' and all the lovely people who filled up airtime on the reality show between vying for Stephan Colletti's attention and having immense drama with the young sassy Kristin Cavallai. Good times, good times.
We have stayed tune to her grow into a San Francesco College drop out, to a FEMA drop out, and to a fashion designer, um, in progress. Through it all, she has been resilient and young and continues to try things out until one of them is successful.One of those 'trys' is apparently being a writer. Excuse me, author. Recently she has released a book titled "L.A Candy" and is on a tour promoting her newest venture. Uninterestingly enough, it's about her. Or should I say, it's about a girl from out of town who moves to LA to be a fashion designer and ends up living her life on a reality show. Uh, hmmm...
Not only do I think this is super lame, but I feel like L.C (as all her BFF's and America affectionately call her) can really do better. I mean, she lives in one of the most interestingly seedy Mecca's in the US. I can imagine the endless scandals she has witnessed, the coked-out Hollywood starlets she's bumped into in the ladies room, or the hot guys who have made her their unsuccessful one-night stand target. Who slept with whom, who is a bitch in real life, and who is really as awesome as they appear. Earth to Lauren: THIS people will read.
Exhibit A: Superhead and her Video Vixen duo of revelations.
While this is in no way a knock to her trying and I would love to stand corrected if her books go flying off the shelves and into the laps of the NY Times Bestsellers List. However, I feel like this won't happen. If not for the simple fact that it is essentially about her and the gift and the curse of being a reality-based celebrity is that we know everything about you. Atl east enough not to have to read a fake book based on real life based on a weekly reality series based on fake scenarios and blank stares. I can't forget the epic blank stares. Good times, good times.
It is refreshing to see that L.C, after over 5 years on camera, has steeped out of the red flashing light of reality TV and is now available to make her own way in the world through her talent, good nature and trademark blonde waves and winged eyeliner. Simply my opinion, but I would say leave the "about me" endeavors behind and work on pioneering some new media to takeover. Give us 'aspiring' people a little bit of dream-room please.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Lets keep this short and sweet
I want to get right to the point. Right to the heart of the matter. All up in the nitty gritty of the situation:
I'm OVER Twitter.
Now I say this with personal experience, and thus first hand disdain for the 'social network'.
I first 'tweaked' as just a way to be in-the-know with the latest Facebook/Myspace trilogy. Alas, it exhausted me and I felt like I had obtained another full-time job. Like a Giga-pet or Tamaguchi - don't pretend like you didn't have one. Basically, Twitter = maintenance.
And, i don't know about you...
But I don't particularly care about what Tila Tequila, or John Mayer, or Joe Blow from up the street or across the world is doing. At every moment of the day.
Not really.
Yes; chances are their life may be way different from your own. More exciting, more glamorous, more enticing. Maybe.
Because I don't know about you...
But how exciting, glamorous or enticing is it to be sitting in front of a computer waiting to be doing something so that you can update others on that something that you may - or may not - actually be doing. Worse yet...to wait for others to do something so that in turn, you will have something for yourself to do by reading about what they did?
Obviously I have thought this through.
There are undeniable pros: keeping really really in touch, trying to syncrinize your watches, or to finally learn if Lindsey Lohan is straight, bi or just plain crazy.
"I'll take just-plain-crazy for $500 Trebek."
Moral of the story: I don't have time to share, or time to care. Time is money and as usual, there's never enough of either.
I'm OVER Twitter.
Now I say this with personal experience, and thus first hand disdain for the 'social network'.
I first 'tweaked' as just a way to be in-the-know with the latest Facebook/Myspace trilogy. Alas, it exhausted me and I felt like I had obtained another full-time job. Like a Giga-pet or Tamaguchi - don't pretend like you didn't have one. Basically, Twitter = maintenance.
And, i don't know about you...
But I don't particularly care about what Tila Tequila, or John Mayer, or Joe Blow from up the street or across the world is doing. At every moment of the day.
Not really.
Yes; chances are their life may be way different from your own. More exciting, more glamorous, more enticing. Maybe.
Because I don't know about you...
But how exciting, glamorous or enticing is it to be sitting in front of a computer waiting to be doing something so that you can update others on that something that you may - or may not - actually be doing. Worse yet...to wait for others to do something so that in turn, you will have something for yourself to do by reading about what they did?
Obviously I have thought this through.
There are undeniable pros: keeping really really in touch, trying to syncrinize your watches, or to finally learn if Lindsey Lohan is straight, bi or just plain crazy.
"I'll take just-plain-crazy for $500 Trebek."
Moral of the story: I don't have time to share, or time to care. Time is money and as usual, there's never enough of either.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Just a little thought...
I don't make this up.
Desmond Hatchett, a man from Tennessee, has been hauled to court this week to face his 11 baby mommas.
And his 21 children.
At the ripe age of, oh, 29 years old, he has been able to on average, produce 4 children a year with these delusional women who for the most part knew of his other 'baby momma drama' and claimed they just "deal with it"? While he is employed, he works a minimum wage job. Since the State of TN can only force him to pay 50% of his gross wages, each mother typically makes out with barely a fraction of the actual costs of raising a child.
Or 2 or 3 or 4 of his children.
Its ok though; "usually when I ask he gives it to me" states one of the mothers when discussing how she makes do with so little, or sometimes no support at all. Whew!
Desmond claims he knows all the names and ages and birthdays of his large family that "just happened" and is avid that he will not be having any more children.
Although I am shocked, disgusted, and threw up a little in my mouth, I am not surprised by this. Ok I was a little, then the idea settled and now I think, 'Eh, typical'. I too come from an unplanned blessing and have discovered that this reality is not so uncommon. Nor are men who viciously and deliberately continue to have unprotected 'relations' with countless women. They create beautiful little beings only to (surprise!) realize that they neither afford financially or emotionally or mentally to care for them. Cue the classless epidemic of single motherhood. Cue the welfare lines and the children who will grow up asking "where's daddy?".
Don't get me wrong; I do not only blame him. Yes he is a sad excuse for a man and yes, society will continue to simply slap him on his wrist for the lifetime of damage to his children's self-worth, psyche and financial stability. Still, these women were no Mary's. How idiotic, ignorant and daft of these females to have SO many children with a man who can not provide? A man who is so busy just procreating that I find it hard to believe they ever saw him past ejaculation and his exit out the front door.
Did I mention he has a criminal history that spans 14 pages? So I stand corrected he had to squeeze in jail time too in-between all his babies.While I personally have no children, I cant help but to feel that it is in our female survival instincts to want to procreate with a man who is dreamy,and fun and appears to be great man, thus a great father. Oh yes, and have a decent job, a fabulous skill or useful hobby. Something they can bring to the table (or bedroom) besides endless supplies of sperm. Apparently I am asking too much. It says a lot about the self esteem of these women, and Desmond for that matter, that they continually brought these children into the world without a clue as to how or with what they planned to raise these kids. With such a blatant audacity as to state that since Desmond is incapable of 'providing' for his offspring, the state of TN should, how do you say, pick up the slack? For supporting 21 children through adulthood? Suppose they want to pursue college?
What does that say about our society that men find it manly and 'dominate' to have elaborate amounts of unprotected sex and nut up (no pun intended) when the obvious occurs? And how low have our feminine ideals become when we 'just deal' with a man who is no good, has nothing to offer in terms of love or commitment, and allow him to have children with us and 10 other women down the road? Unfortunately, the real losers in this situation are the children who will go without ballerina lessons or that field trip to the museum or a new pair of shoes when the old ones become worn because sufficient planning for their survival never occurred. They will become disadvantaged, beyond financially,when only mom is there to tame their curiosity or to teach them right from wrong, and how to be a good man and a respectable woman. They will learn the harsh realities of poverty and 'going without' and thinking they don't deserve the best simply because they cant afford it. They will perpetually ask "Where's daddy" and the unspoken truth that dad, and mom, made some bad choices and will be forced to leave that answer to cycle in the circle that has been continued with single parented children.
Desmond Hatchett, a man from Tennessee, has been hauled to court this week to face his 11 baby mommas.
And his 21 children.
At the ripe age of, oh, 29 years old, he has been able to on average, produce 4 children a year with these delusional women who for the most part knew of his other 'baby momma drama' and claimed they just "deal with it"? While he is employed, he works a minimum wage job. Since the State of TN can only force him to pay 50% of his gross wages, each mother typically makes out with barely a fraction of the actual costs of raising a child.
Or 2 or 3 or 4 of his children.
Its ok though; "usually when I ask he gives it to me" states one of the mothers when discussing how she makes do with so little, or sometimes no support at all. Whew!
Desmond claims he knows all the names and ages and birthdays of his large family that "just happened" and is avid that he will not be having any more children.
Although I am shocked, disgusted, and threw up a little in my mouth, I am not surprised by this. Ok I was a little, then the idea settled and now I think, 'Eh, typical'. I too come from an unplanned blessing and have discovered that this reality is not so uncommon. Nor are men who viciously and deliberately continue to have unprotected 'relations' with countless women. They create beautiful little beings only to (surprise!) realize that they neither afford financially or emotionally or mentally to care for them. Cue the classless epidemic of single motherhood. Cue the welfare lines and the children who will grow up asking "where's daddy?".
Don't get me wrong; I do not only blame him. Yes he is a sad excuse for a man and yes, society will continue to simply slap him on his wrist for the lifetime of damage to his children's self-worth, psyche and financial stability. Still, these women were no Mary's. How idiotic, ignorant and daft of these females to have SO many children with a man who can not provide? A man who is so busy just procreating that I find it hard to believe they ever saw him past ejaculation and his exit out the front door.
Did I mention he has a criminal history that spans 14 pages? So I stand corrected he had to squeeze in jail time too in-between all his babies.While I personally have no children, I cant help but to feel that it is in our female survival instincts to want to procreate with a man who is dreamy,and fun and appears to be great man, thus a great father. Oh yes, and have a decent job, a fabulous skill or useful hobby. Something they can bring to the table (or bedroom) besides endless supplies of sperm. Apparently I am asking too much. It says a lot about the self esteem of these women, and Desmond for that matter, that they continually brought these children into the world without a clue as to how or with what they planned to raise these kids. With such a blatant audacity as to state that since Desmond is incapable of 'providing' for his offspring, the state of TN should, how do you say, pick up the slack? For supporting 21 children through adulthood? Suppose they want to pursue college?
What does that say about our society that men find it manly and 'dominate' to have elaborate amounts of unprotected sex and nut up (no pun intended) when the obvious occurs? And how low have our feminine ideals become when we 'just deal' with a man who is no good, has nothing to offer in terms of love or commitment, and allow him to have children with us and 10 other women down the road? Unfortunately, the real losers in this situation are the children who will go without ballerina lessons or that field trip to the museum or a new pair of shoes when the old ones become worn because sufficient planning for their survival never occurred. They will become disadvantaged, beyond financially,when only mom is there to tame their curiosity or to teach them right from wrong, and how to be a good man and a respectable woman. They will learn the harsh realities of poverty and 'going without' and thinking they don't deserve the best simply because they cant afford it. They will perpetually ask "Where's daddy" and the unspoken truth that dad, and mom, made some bad choices and will be forced to leave that answer to cycle in the circle that has been continued with single parented children.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
isn't it ironic...dont you think?
The media strikes again.
I read today that some Americans (and the GOP cough cough) are upset that President Obama kept his promise to his wife to take her to a Broadway play once the Presidential race was over.
First, let me preface these following thoughts with the fact that I think marriage can be a beautiful and magical ideal and when done right, can make the world a better place through it's love.
Yet we live in a country where marriage only survives (yes, survives, like it's on the reality show in the middle of the Amazonian rainforest) 50% of the time. When that half does actually make it, they are rarely the picturesque love-filled, glowing blossom of light that Ive always dreamed of. Ive always seen on TV in those 80's and 90's sitcoms. In the way my parents were not.
True, reality does set in and makes 'being in love' more difficult than anyone can predict. It makes doing the little things for your other half unimportant and uneventful. It makes figuring out how to pay a bill on a wish and a prayer more of a priority than the person you pledged yourself to for rich or for poor. It makes us come home and cuddle with the couch and our cell phone and our big TVs and our laptops and our ridiculous gadgets, instead of making love and letting your problems just sit for a bit. They aren't going anywhere fast.
Still, that is no excuse for us; as people who love and want to be in love and want to give love and want to see love and want to feel loved. That is no excuse for the way we systematically ignore the welcomed duty of love. Especially making promises to your partner, supporting your partner and reflecting your happiness and bliss back onto your children, onto strangers,onto the world.
So why is it that when our President, who has continually displayed his undying love for his wife, goes out for a "date night" to NY does he get so much slack? Because GM is going bankrupt? Because our country can't balance a check book?
According to some groups, it was a waste of time and energy and focus for Obama to go to NY to have dinner and see a show as he promised to his wife, when the country is in financial turmoil. We've been going bankrupt, been in financial dissaray, been stuck without a pot to piss in. Obama having a night off to spend with the person he pledged his life to under God will not somehow deter him from guiding the free world. Why is it that the first President, in a very long time, who shows affection for his family and actually embodies what we Americans see our 'way' of family and life, gets ridiculed?
It didn't make Clinton loose focus (and we all know that was not his wifey)...
I read today that some Americans (and the GOP cough cough) are upset that President Obama kept his promise to his wife to take her to a Broadway play once the Presidential race was over.
First, let me preface these following thoughts with the fact that I think marriage can be a beautiful and magical ideal and when done right, can make the world a better place through it's love.
Yet we live in a country where marriage only survives (yes, survives, like it's on the reality show in the middle of the Amazonian rainforest) 50% of the time. When that half does actually make it, they are rarely the picturesque love-filled, glowing blossom of light that Ive always dreamed of. Ive always seen on TV in those 80's and 90's sitcoms. In the way my parents were not.
True, reality does set in and makes 'being in love' more difficult than anyone can predict. It makes doing the little things for your other half unimportant and uneventful. It makes figuring out how to pay a bill on a wish and a prayer more of a priority than the person you pledged yourself to for rich or for poor. It makes us come home and cuddle with the couch and our cell phone and our big TVs and our laptops and our ridiculous gadgets, instead of making love and letting your problems just sit for a bit. They aren't going anywhere fast.
Still, that is no excuse for us; as people who love and want to be in love and want to give love and want to see love and want to feel loved. That is no excuse for the way we systematically ignore the welcomed duty of love. Especially making promises to your partner, supporting your partner and reflecting your happiness and bliss back onto your children, onto strangers,onto the world.
So why is it that when our President, who has continually displayed his undying love for his wife, goes out for a "date night" to NY does he get so much slack? Because GM is going bankrupt? Because our country can't balance a check book?
According to some groups, it was a waste of time and energy and focus for Obama to go to NY to have dinner and see a show as he promised to his wife, when the country is in financial turmoil. We've been going bankrupt, been in financial dissaray, been stuck without a pot to piss in. Obama having a night off to spend with the person he pledged his life to under God will not somehow deter him from guiding the free world. Why is it that the first President, in a very long time, who shows affection for his family and actually embodies what we Americans see our 'way' of family and life, gets ridiculed?
It didn't make Clinton loose focus (and we all know that was not his wifey)...
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
An Ode to Lil Boys
Typically, I enjoy writing about current events. Whats in the news, whats going on in the world or here at home behind the Orange Curtain. However, today, I would like to do something special. Something that has been on my mind and is becoming quite acceptable. I would like to write An Ode to Lil Boys...
No, no. I did not spell that wrong. No, no. You dont need to re-read it.
I meant Lil boys, not little boys.
See - there is a difference.
A BIG difference.
I should know - I have a Lil Boy.
Oddly enough, he is very tall. 6'1 in fact and seemingly grown in stature.
Hmmm.
So it is safe that one understand it isn't his size that makes him Lil.
Rather, it is his mindset. His goals. (or lack thereof). His juvinile tendencies to throw tantrums and pout.
His inclination to hold out conversation when things dont go his way. His need to be needy, to be clingy, to want you to stifle your everything for his whims. His fault of unrecepricle attention.
Poor Lil Boys....
See - I am not a mother. Nor a full-time babysitter. And most certainly, I am not a grown-man sitter, whatever that is.
Yet I seem to have attracted a Lil Boy to my side...
I dont know what to do to send this Lil Boy home. Back where he came from. Back out of my life. Back to his momma...hopefully. Im sure she misses him dearly.
Maybe leave him a note: "Dear Lil Boy, We need to talk. I think you should go home."
Maybe text him: "Hey L.B - We nd 2 tlk 4 sure"
Maybe I will just call him: ring...ring...ring. "Hi, you've reached me. I'm not here right now..."
Not here. Not answering. Not responding. Not conversating.
Lil Boy, we need to have an adult conversation right away.
Dont misunderstand; I have fallen in love with my Lil Boy. He is sweet and charming. I adore his humor, his smile, and marvel at his gentle touch. There is a ton about him that is amazing.
Except he's changed...and
It's just...sometimes I think...
What I wouldn't do to trade this Lil Boy in for a Big Kid. For a Big Boy. For a Real Grown Man.
One who cares about me. Wants to truly protect and provide for me like he claims and most importantly, doesn't disrespect me.
And I would be there for him. I would love to take care of him, to cook him dinner and make him lunch. To leave him notes when he gets home that just say I Love You, and heres a reminder so you never forget. To fold his socks and find the one missing to complete the pair that has been M.I.A for weeks. To suprise him in nothing but a grin...
Sigh.
You can't expect these things from a Lil Boy...and I can't do these things for a Lil Boy.
So the search continues.
In the meantime - I will leave flyers and signs and pass out waivers to anyone I see looking lonely and in need of a playdate...
pssst.
I have a Lil Boy for sale.
No, no. I did not spell that wrong. No, no. You dont need to re-read it.
I meant Lil boys, not little boys.
See - there is a difference.
A BIG difference.
I should know - I have a Lil Boy.
Oddly enough, he is very tall. 6'1 in fact and seemingly grown in stature.
Hmmm.
So it is safe that one understand it isn't his size that makes him Lil.
No, no.
Rather, it is his mindset. His goals. (or lack thereof). His juvinile tendencies to throw tantrums and pout.
Yes, yes. Pout.
His inclination to hold out conversation when things dont go his way. His need to be needy, to be clingy, to want you to stifle your everything for his whims. His fault of unrecepricle attention.
Poor Lil Boys....
See - I am not a mother. Nor a full-time babysitter. And most certainly, I am not a grown-man sitter, whatever that is.
Yet I seem to have attracted a Lil Boy to my side...
I dont know what to do to send this Lil Boy home. Back where he came from. Back out of my life. Back to his momma...hopefully. Im sure she misses him dearly.
Maybe leave him a note: "Dear Lil Boy, We need to talk. I think you should go home."
Maybe text him: "Hey L.B - We nd 2 tlk 4 sure"
Maybe I will just call him: ring...ring...ring. "Hi, you've reached me. I'm not here right now..."
Not here. Not answering. Not responding. Not conversating.
Lil Boy, we need to have an adult conversation right away.
Dont misunderstand; I have fallen in love with my Lil Boy. He is sweet and charming. I adore his humor, his smile, and marvel at his gentle touch. There is a ton about him that is amazing.
Except he's changed...and
It's just...sometimes I think...
What I wouldn't do to trade this Lil Boy in for a Big Kid. For a Big Boy. For a Real Grown Man.
One who cares about me. Wants to truly protect and provide for me like he claims and most importantly, doesn't disrespect me.
Yes, yes. Not listening and caring IS disrespect.
And I would be there for him. I would love to take care of him, to cook him dinner and make him lunch. To leave him notes when he gets home that just say I Love You, and heres a reminder so you never forget. To fold his socks and find the one missing to complete the pair that has been M.I.A for weeks. To suprise him in nothing but a grin...
Sigh.
You can't expect these things from a Lil Boy...and I can't do these things for a Lil Boy.
So the search continues.
In the meantime - I will leave flyers and signs and pass out waivers to anyone I see looking lonely and in need of a playdate...
pssst.
I have a Lil Boy for sale.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Greatness!
This SNL skit with Justin Timerlake and Cast regular Adam is amazing. Creativity like this should be shared...enjoy!
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Moving On Up
I was reading a blog today from a woman who was asking, when, if ever, are you ready to move in with your significant other. The headline itself caught my eye, seeing that recently I (and my (significant other) have made that life changing decision.The article proposed the question of timing, how to deal with family concerns and if pursued, how do you not stagger in that level, but instead progress,perhaps into marriage, a family, etc. While I hadn't thought about all of these things to the extent the author had, they got me thinking about what did occur to me when my beau and I started to call the same place home.It sort of came as a proposition and ingenious idea all wrapped up in a hesitant question. After a year and a half of me driving to his place,living out of my large purses and slowly but steadily taking over the topright drawer of his dresser, we had become very very close and enamored witheach others company. In my own life I had moved 4 times throughout our relationship and always the helpful boyfriend, he thought all the moving wasinsane. True it was. After my family relocated to the east coast, I quickly moved out and in with one roommate near my family home. Things didn't workour and my roommate ended up relocated back up north, so of course, I had tomove. Fast forward 2 other roommates, and an increasingly annoying situationwith my then-current self-proclaimed 'mother' of a roommate and I was just about ready to trudge once more in my nomadic routine. We were sitting together one night, watching Family Guy and sprawled out along the couch when I was discussing the new room for rent sign I had seen earlier. The 'why are you moving again' look crept over his face and I took a deep breathe and prepped myself for the highly rehearsed, but very true, rote speech about how none of the places I had been living felt like a real home.Since my family left, I had never found a place that I felt could be my home and I could feel comfortable roaming around or inviting people over or even cook in the kitchen. Yes my most recent roommate would not allow me to use the oven or the dishwasher and instead banished me to a circa 1900¹s toaster oven that would spark from the outlet when it became too hot any temperature over 375 would do it. He would always see my plight and appease me by simply agreeing and urging me to move. After my one-woman monologue,we both sat in silence for a bit watching TV, and lying atop of his leg, I could feel him flinch. In my boyfriend, this is the sign of an emmerging idea. I have him a second, and like clockwork, he took a big gasp of air,and proceed with, "What do you think about living...together?". I was surprised. Elated, nervous, speechless, and excited also. This seemed right. The timing alone was perfect - he himself was in the infancy stages oflooking for a new place, without his messy roommate, since their lease was coming to a close. We both wanted to split expenses and have a cool,'grown-up' place to chill and hang out...why not live together? We left the conversation both pondering the what if's and why not's, but agreed that we would seriously consider the downside and even seek outside counselfriends- for real life testimony. This was in January. By the middle of February, we were spending every other weekend looking at housing and weighing the pro's and con's of living in Huntington Beach vs. Irvine. We hadn't even fully committed to 'doing it' but it just sort of happened. I moved out of my kitchen-less living situation at the end of February and moved in with him the whole month of March. We found a place and set a moving date for the beginning of April. The place is great bright, airy,tons of space and 2 bedrooms. Yes 2 rooms; dual masters actually. This, I believe, is such a must and a luxury at the same time. We knew we wanted to be together and live together, but seeing as how I like to do my nails in bed while watching reruns of countless reality shows, while he dreams of basketball games in his boxers with cereal by his side, sharing a room for an indefinite period seemed overwhelming. I think it is the best thing for us. Our own space, own sanity, yet his 11 steps away (I have counted) and I'm next to him, in his bed, enjoying our home and us.So to answer the question of WHEN it is a good time to move in with your significant other I don't know. After my whole speech, I still don't know. I do know that this is how it worked out for us and has been going well so far. Just be honest and open about how you live and the expectations you have for the whoever you leave with. Be patient and willing to give each other space. If you cant see yourself falling more in love with this person or wanting to know more and more about them, then moving in maybe a no go for you. Or as my mother told me, "its only a lease 6-2 months tops. You don't like it, move out".
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Im Sorry To Say
I have turned against the media. Not a full turn away from it, but in this moment, I no longer view it like the idol I once did. I say this because of the current events in the news. The saddening events. The news of Rihanna and how her life has been put on display for all of us to judge and scold as we see fit. Excuse me while I step off my own pedestal, because I am no one to judge anyone, if for no other reason than I am not perfect myself. Yet, because of her status as a 'pop princess' and 'fashion icon', the title of 'domestic victim' has also been stamped on her forehead more prominently that her own name. And by no fault of her own - no one truly knows what happened that night in Chris Browns rented silver Lamborghini, but the marks and bruises evident on her early February face say enough. Assaulted, victimized, beaten and manhandled all come into play when her picture was splashed onto TMZ's infamous website. I myself gasped; horribly amazed at the damage he did to the woman he has claimed was his girlfriend for over a year. Regardless of exactly what happened to have put both of them in the disappointing situation of violence and public scorn, she, it appears, is now the only bad guy. Yes, he did wrong. Yes, he obviously hurt her. But how awful of her to take him back. What a bad example of a woman to take a beater back into her life. Ugh she must not have learned. Really?! Is that what we do to victims? We suddenly make them the criminal and allow the true culprit, Brown, to escape the backlash he has brought upon himself? Understandably, I sympathize with Rihanna and absolutely wish her the very best under the circumstances and with everything she pursues; I believe this is also the intent of the public at large. Still, there are those who disguise their 'goodwill' under judgemental pretenses. Perhaps Rihanna should consider what truly occurred that night, assuming what it looks like happened actually happened, and let some time help heal her heart. Perhaps she should seek another outlet to give her space from her once-upon-a-time ex. Perhaps she could even let him suffer the physical consequences he has caused, and then some, and decided, based on his behavior and maturity, if he has grown and deserves her back. Perhaps. But this is her life...shes just living her life...and I personally wish people would just give her the space to do so. Thousands of abused women return to their alleged or convicted attackers, for various reasons, and while it hurts to see it happen, they never have thousands of perfect strangers telling them its wrong. Telling them they made a mistake. Telling them they must not have learned.How hurtful to someone who's already been hurt enough.
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