Thursday, March 31, 2011

epiphany

Not much to say tonight

except that I know

that we aren't as comfortable

with each other

as I thought we imagined we were.


Familiarity often feels like many things

love comfort trust comfort need love

but sometimes

it's simply

the notion that

you've become used to me

and I've become used to you.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

even though we don't have penises, women have needs too

I don't want your number boy, just want your body
you can keep the conversation for some other hottie
I got a one-track mind, baby don't worry
no dinner dates or movies, just come on and hurry
-Jazmine Sullivan, "Don't Make Me Wait"

That's right, it's been a long time
since I've had a man that did it real good
if you ain't scared, take it out
I'll do it like a real live, nasty girl should

Tonight I'm living in a fantasy
my own little nasty world
Tonight, don't you wanna come with me
do you think I'm a nasty girl?
-Vanity 6, "Nasty Girl"

"Jazmine Sullivan's a freak, I ain't know." -one of my team members

The quote above is the preface I received before listening to one of Jazmine Sullivan's new songs, duly titled "Don't Make Me Wait." (And, if you knew better, you'd know not to make me wait. Anyhow.)

Let me tell you a little something about this word "freak." This is part of the male lexicon that has been inextricably linked to descriptions of me for as long as I can remember, and I have no problem telling you this because such lexicon has been tied to me on unfounded grounds. (You know, like when you hear some shit and even though it doesn't really make sense to you, you repeat it to someone else, and then it doesn't make sense to neither one of y'all? Yeah. Let us continue.)

Reasons why I've been termed a "freak" from my perspective:
A). because I wear glasses
B). because I wasn't having sex
C). because when I was having sex I wasn't messy about it
D). because I speak properly
E). because I read
F). because I write
G). because I'm smart
H). because I smile
I). because I don't wrinkle my nose at masturbation or fellatio
J). because I have a vagina
K). because I'm honest
L). because I'm naturally taller than most people
M). because I'm comfortable in my own skin and happen to think it's sexy as fuck

Now, if you notice, most of these reasons actually have nothing to do with sex. Might I also let you know that in most cases, in fact, actually all cases, I have been labeled as "a freak" by men whom, mind you, at the time of them saying this, I hadn't actually had sex with. And when I asked why they felt this way, I never could get much of a straight answer. They just seemed to "know." How can you know something sexually about someone you haven't had sex with? If you see a Beemer in a parking lot and decide that it looks like a smooth ride, despite whatever clues you may think you have pushing you toward this conclusion, you still won't know until you test drive it. (And if I had to be a Beemer, I'd be a white one with white leather. No self-hate. It's just fresh as fuck. Anyhow.) We'll explore the fallacy of this thinking momentarily.

So, back to today. I was sitting there, listening to Jazmine's song, instantly in love with the beat, and when I started listening to the words, and thinking about what my team member said about her being a freak, I grabbed a pen and started jotting down my thoughts, just knowing that I'd be writing about this later.

In all fairness to my team member, he was joking when he said she was a freak (based on the song), but his joke sparked my more critical thinking. The sole reason why women can even be regarded as freaks is due to our social constructs. Historically, women are to be many things: seen, but not heard (hence, assertive women quickly being labeled as "bitches"), driven, but still submissive to a man (hence, why so many women who have made it up the ranks professionally seem to be single), and, the big one, sexual, but only so much so. (Hence, women who explore the same sexual liberties as men being quickly labeled as "sluts" or "whores.")

The word "freak" struck such an immediate chord with me. She's a "freak"--but why? For expressing a normal human (not solely male) desire that a lot of people like to pretend doesn't exist? She's not interested in the common rigmarole that we all put up with (sometimes joyfully, sometimes not so much so) when trying to get to "know" someone*, she's interested in revelling in the joys of a man's physical manhood. Sometimes, it be like that. Sometimes, you don't feel the need to know someone any further than how they make your body sing, and is that wrong? Is it not a human necessity to be able to carry out our more lustful desires?

So many concepts in this life are based solely on societal norms--and who gets to determine what's "normal"?

Think about it.


*--the reason why I term it as "rigmarole" is because it is quite the ritualistic thing, so much so that we don't even question its necessity (or lack thereof). Yeah, it's good to spend time in the beginning getting to know someone, but the truth of the matter is that in that three month span that you spend getting to know someone, you still, believe it or not, don't actually know that person. You are now aware of their daily habits, how they communicate, how they may think (if you're deft enough to be paying attention), but you sincerely don't "know" that person. I can look back at my most recent ex and I. I remember what I thought of him and what I thought I knew of him when we were at three months of knowing each other. It doesn't compare to what I think of him and what I know of him after two years of knowing him. And I can further recognize that even after two years of knowing him, I still don't "know" him per se. It takes a long, long time to really get to know someone on a very real level. So, if you know that's not what you're interested in, why play the game? Just be up front and take it from there.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

daydreaming, and I'm thinking of you... or not

maybe I'm a dreamer
you're still my queen
your love's like a river, girl
it's running right through me

share my life, hey girl,
you can trust in me, baby
you're all I want, hey girl
you're everything I need, hey babe

I love midday radio, a fact only marginally unrelated to today's thought. I feel as though in the afternoon, the commercials are less frequent, there's barely the presence of talk radio hosts (at least, not until you are certifiably in the mid-afternoon, like 2 or 3 pm), and, if I'm able to catch midday radio, that usually means I'm in the car escaping from being bored at work taking a lunch break.

Anyhow, I was escaping on break today when Kem's "Share My Life" came on. I think it's a positively gorgeous song, from the arrangement, to the lyrics, to the flow--muted in places where it should be thoughtful and quiet; expressive and bold in places where it should be telling. I do fancy the song.

As I drove with my eyes squinting from the sunlight in my face (where the hell are my sunglasses?), singing along with the radio, I found myself smiling wistfully, thinking to myself that I would love to have a man feel that way about me.

Girl my sun sets/anywhere you are


I tried to picture a man singing those types of words to me, and then tried to picture a man saying those types of words to me, and then I realized that I found myself at the cusp of the daydream, unable to continue it through; unable to continue the thought that a man would say those types of things to me.

No, it's not an issue of me lacking in knowledge of my worth. Trust, I do believe that I'm worthy of being someone's weakness. I want someone to write a song because they need me. I want to be all that someone wants.* I am valuable, and I deserve someone who recognizes that.

So no, that's not the reason why. I can't necessarily say that it's even because I've never had a guy express such romantic sentiments to me. (I know. Believe it or not, there was a time when the romance I sought actually existed, though, in classic fashion of life, I wasn't really cognizant of it. Isn't it ironic, don't you think?)** Lately though, the guys I've been significantly interested in have not been the most romantic of fellas (letters, not wanted, candlelit lovemaking sessions, eh, not valued by all***) and maybe that's why I have trouble sustaining the reverie of a man being able to reenact the sublime nature of the song.

But, in the middle of this attempted daydream, I realized that my lack of visualization didn't end there--I also couldn't seem to sustain the vision of myself accepting or reciprocating the emotion in the song. At first thought, this doesn't make any sense. Not me, the moody Cancer, the hopeless romantic, the crier, the always-in-love-with-someone-or-something girl. Me, incapable of daydreaming about reciprocating or receiving emotion? Sounds like dirty lies.

Maybe, however, my experience with guys has made me awkward, or maybe I have always been awkward (it pays to be self-aware), or maybe I was just simply suffering from post-lunch/midday/it's-cloudy-and-I'd-rather-be-in-the-cut delirium that caused me to be incapable of imagining something that sounds sweeter than dutch apple pie and Blue Bell vanilla ice cream; regardless, in that moment, I couldn't imagine a man extolling my virtues in such a way, and I couldn't imagine accepting or reciprocating such compliments.

That being said, is it possible that I am not able to imagine such compliments because I am somehow preventing them from happening? If we attract the same type of energy that we put out into the universe, is it possible that I am incapable of attracting that standard which I actually want?

I have always been the type to really long for love and relationships: to want the steady boyfriend, to want the marriage, to want the romance, etc. Conversely, I also stand by the notion that love and relationships have not wanted much to do with me, whether due to fault of my own, the universe's own plans, etc. After what feels like many seasons of not being able to attain (or maintain) that which I so desire, I feel like I've reached the place where I don't care about the same things anymore. I don't care if I'm the "proper" girlfriend or wifey material; I don't care about having the steady boyfriend like I used to; I'm not sure if marriage is the option anymore. I am satisfied being me, and enjoying my life, and if "it" happens, then so be it, but I'm also acknowledging the fact that if "it" doesn't, it doesn't.

Despite the fact that deep down, I seem to still long for love and relationships, if more of me is saying "no" to that idea, then that is the vibe I'm putting into the atmosphere, the "no" rather than the "yes." And if we attract the energy we put out, then that means I am attracting men who also have the same nomadic emotions as I. Thus, creating an emotional set up when my more surface feelings give way to the deeper, less transient feelings that inevitably are less likely to be reciprocated, due to some variables.****

Is it possible that I'll never attract that which I want most of all? And if I seem to want one thing deep down and another thing on the surface, can it be said that I unequivocally know what I actually want after all?


*--paraphrased from actual song lyrics
**--before I recognize this moment/this moment will be gone--John Mayer, "Clarity"
***--there's always an exception to the rule :)
****--due to my age bracket, and the difference in feminine maturation versus male maturation, it makes more sense that a guy who doesn't seem to want to settle down is more likely to actually not want to settle down, unlike women who "don't want to settle down" until someone comes along to change their minds.

superstition

I saw him, again, and again, I took no pictures.

It's not like part of me wasn't wanting to take a picture or two; friendly reminder five years from now of that perfect almost-summer day we had in the park, warm breeze blowing, sun warming our kisses. I had my camera at hand's length away, in my purse, purged of all its pictures, ready to add in some new memories, but I left it reposing in the bottom of my bag; I never even touched it or made mention of it.

When you pulled out your phone to take a picture of the view--some things never change, thankfully--I remembered my camera, hidden from sight, but I did not grab it. Did not make move toward my bag at all. Instead I sat atop the lime green comforter, my legs tucked beneath me, waiting for you to join me.

Again, I can't shake the fact that there is something I have come not to like about pictures and lovers. Superstition, you could say, but there's something so finite in the posing for a picture with a lover who is not really yours. Feels like I'm tempting the gods who preside over love--may sound crazy, but the first time my lovers and pictures coincided, he left and never came back. Old fears are hard to break.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

nothing's ever promised tomorrow, today

Life has no guarantees, and how could it, since life itself is not even a given?

Live it like nothing is promised to you. Enjoy the hell out of every minute, learn what you can from everyone, ponder deeply and thoughtfully about everything you can. Tell people how you feel, work hard for what you want, don't accept the status quo just because it's there.

I have said it many times, and I'll say it again today. We are living on borrowed time. I'm trying to make the most out of my unknown quantity of borrowed time.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

"Hail Mary... la da di da di da di da...."

Tupac was only 25 when he was shot.

25 years young.

I've been watching documentaries and footage of him all day. I'm not sure why they are on, but they are fascinating. I'm always into conspiracy theories/stories, and I'm always fascinated by famous people with troubled lives. Not fascinated in a happy way, but in the ways of irony. How ironic is it that you are famous, and have more pull and money than any of us regular folk, but end up probably much lonelier than any of us regular folk are? It's sad, but a fascinating study of humanity, quite frankly. (Cue Frank Sinatra, Marilyn Monroe, Michael Jackson, etc. etc. etc.)

But still: 25? I'll be 25 in about a year. I can't imagine having the type of life he had, and I can't imagine that he was still the youngest of young adult when he was killed. He seemed so much older, so, so much older.

My heart is heavy for someone long passed.

Saturday

Missed a post, while I was sitting holding my "nephew." I knew it was going to happen. A). because I couldn't access Blogger from my phone, and B). because I couldn't let go of all his one-month old, good-smelling babyness to write. My fault, completely.

Being at home is inhibiting to writing. I'm not completely upset with this.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

traveling bug

I had another post planned, but I'm sleepy, at my parents' house, and wanting to go... somewhere that I won't be going because after I take this shower I'm going to fall asleep.

I just saw the Oprah episode when she went to Australia... I am wowed.

If there's one thing I know I have to do, starting now, it's travel. There are so many other places, so many people in the world. So many things, so many wonders.

As I was sitting there watching with my sister, she remarked on how the Prime Minister's voice was "funny." I told her that her voice wasn't funny, it's just that she (to us) sounds like she has an accent. I told her, think about it: in Australia, she sounds normal, and we (to them) sound funny, sound like Americans.

What a profound thought. Sounding "American" is not really a tangible concept to me. We have plenty of people here who speak other languages or have accents, but I bet they still sound American to others. That's part of the reason why I want to travel so badly. Though I've never had any experience living in other countries, I feel like when you live in America, it's so easy for you to feel like your little area of the world is all that there is. That we are all that happens, which isn't true at all.

Think about it: even living in Miami, I have told people that I'm from Orange County, and they have had no idea that Orlando was in Orange County, or that Florida even had an Orange County. (Like, seriously? I'd never been to Miami until a couple years before moving there, and I still was aware of Miami-Dade County, and not just because Miami was in the name.) If people can be lacking in knowledge of someplace that's less than four hours north, imagine what knowledge they may lack of places that are hundreds of thousands of miles away.

Think about it.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

cop out

Not much to say tonight. Inebriation has left me thoughtful, but speechless.

I promise, I'll be thinking of something harder to come with tomorrow, and the next day... and the next day.

(and the next day.)

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

gym flow

There is no sexier feeling, than when I'm in the gym, and I step down off of that machine, and sweat is actually rolling onto my forehead, and my bottom half feels disconnected from my top half.

I live every gym experience for that feeling.

Curiously, when I was in Orlando (there are definitely gyms there), I never thought seriously about getting a gym membership, which is intriguing to me because I had more time, and more money. Hmmm.

I used to go occasionally when I was at UF, but usually late at night, and mostly when I was troubled. I saw results real fast though--my Freshman year (before my schedule got real; in fact, I do believe this may have been the only year I truly went) I did notice a reduction in my thigh size, though, back then they were barely big enough to be called thighs.

For whatever reason that could be the fact that everyone I run in close circles with seems to be part of this gym but only two of us actually attend regularly, I joined the gym here, and I've worked it into my routine. I don't wait until I'm upset to go, and I don't go one week and then not go for weeks at a time. I go as often as I can. I even go on the weekends, when I can.

If there's one thing that's true, besides the fact that my body feels differently now that I work out regularly, my confidence has increased. I definitely wasn't expecting that. But it can be said that I was feeling a little uncomfortable with some areas of my body (forget Freshman 15, which didn't happen to me, let's talk about the City Year 20). Now, I feel like I even walk a bit differently. A bit more confidently.

Especially when I step off that machine and feel like I'm walking on air, sweat rolling and all.

Monday, March 21, 2011

Jazz in the Gardens part II (and The Isley Brothers)

You know, I have work in approximately seven hours. But, I'm a creature that does not need a whole lot of sleep to function. If I can get at least five hours, four at the minimum (anything less will just make me cranky), I'm good. So, I decided it was more important for me to sit down and tell you about tonight's experience in the Gardens.

Tonight completely and utterly made up for last night, in every way that it could. Even though right before I left for the concert, I discovered I had a flat tire, everything worked out. My roommates changed it for me (living with guys is not always a bad thing, though now that I've seen a flat tire changed for the second time, I know I could do it myself), and then I was out the door. I got there in time to see the remaining acts of the day: Musiq Soulchild, En Vogue, Gladys Knight, and The Isley Brothers, performing together for the first time in years.

I was geeked about tonight's performance because I really, really, really wanted to see The Isley Brothers. Like, when I talked about me not having grown up a Lauryn fan or non-fan in my last post, this is the opposite. I had no choice but to grow up a fan of the Isley Brothers, because they were a part of my childhood's musical lexicon. (I grew up on old school music, I really did.) Not only that, but I started listening to their music for real for real once I hit eighteen. (Here we go with this eighteen foolishness again, I know.)

Let me take this moment to take you on a quick trip back into time. Yes, like I mentioned in my other post, there were lots of things I learned during my eighteenth year of life, and a lot of those things had to do with my college ex. I distinctly remember one of the conversations we had, this one about music. I remember him saying that one of his favorite artists was The Isley Brothers, and I remember being in a state of shock... why would this Dominican man know anything about The Isley Brothers? I was so used to people not being familiar with the music I listened to (and mind you, I'm talking about other Black people my age sometimes not knowing anything about old school music) that the fact that he even had the slightest inkling as to who they were left me speechless. (Again, extraordinarily ordinary things have more power than you may think.) "For the Love of You" was one of his favorite songs, understandably so--it's one of my favorites too.

One night, he was being silly and made a video for me of him vibin to the song in his room. I can't really remember the video that well; I remember it in a still frame, like a picture in my mind, but I'll never forget how it made me feel. Even now, when I hear that song, sometimes at what seems like the most coincidental* moment, I stop and take a breath. Sometimes I shake my head, sometimes I shed one tear, sometimes I smile, but I always sing along. That song was always special to me, but now it is representative of so much more, of a moment in my life when I experienced true love, and maybe even got a little back, without even recognizing it.**

So anyhow, I hope it makes more sense as to why I was so excited to see The Isley Brothers.

Musiq Soulchild started off quite well, and every act got better and better. His falsetto and lower register were to die for (he has a very solid voice). En Vogue came out and rocked the damn stage something serious. It was so good to see Dawn Robinson in the place. They sounded great, and they took me back to my childhood. (I was a 90s kid, and En Vogue was definitely big.) Ms. Gladys Knight took the stage and started singing without introduction--she can do that. She's Gladys Knight. She reminded me of why I love old school so much. Her performance and voice were flawless. To me, she shamed Lauryn Hill. Gladys Knight has probably been performing longer than Lauryn Hill has been alive, and Gladys can still get on stage and take the audience there, sounding just like she did years ago. Lauryn's only been gone for a few years and already seems to have lost it.

Gladys sang some of my favorite songs, including "If I Were Your Woman" and "Neither One of Us" and I sang right along with her, even though my voice is practically gone thanks to Camp City Year last week. The audio during the performances was sooo much better than yesterday, and the crowd seemed liver today, even though I sat in the same area I did yesterday.

Then: The Isley Brothers. They started off strong with "Between the Sheets" and performed all the songs I can play on repeat (as I am right now): "For the Love of You"; "Hello It's Me"; "Groove With You"; "Voyage to Atlantis"; "Footsteps in the Dark"; "Make Me Say It Again Girl" and more. I'm not going to be able to tell you how I felt, because words can't really describe the place you go to when you're in the groove of a song, but it was amazing to hear the songs in person that I've stayed up all night listening to on myriad occasions; to hear the songs in person that I've played on full blast when driving around in my car late at night under a creamy white moon; to hear the songs in person that molded a young girl's heart around an ideal almost six years ago.

Ron Isley's voice is the most unique gift I've ever heard, and Ernie Isley on that electric guitar was some kind of spectacular. I swayed back and forth, and I sang along to every word, transcending higher and higher until the night was over and it was time for me to head back to my room, to prepare to head back to the real world tomorrow.

If I try to explain any further, I'll become repetitive and still not be able to say what I want to say, but just know that I am so thankful to have been able to get there. So thankful to have been able to see them all. So grateful.

I'm off to sing myself to sleep now.

driftin' on a memory
ain't noplace i'd rather be, than with you, yeah
lovin' you...


*--If you know Miss Malorie, you know she doesn't believe in coincidences. There are no such things.
**--before I recognize this moment/this moment will be gone... (John Mayer, "Clarity")

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Jazz in the Gardens, feelings, and Lauryn Hill

How sad, how sad, that all things come to an end
but then again, I'm not alone
it was the sweet, sweet, the sweetest thing I've known
-Lauryn Hill, "The Sweetest Thing"

Is this just a silly game
that forces you to act this way?
Forces you to scream my name
and then pretend that you can't stay...
tell me, who I have to be
to get some reciprocity
'cuz no one loves you more than me
and no one ever will
-Lauryn Hill, "Ex-factor"

I wanna love you, and treat you right
I wanna love you, every day and every night
we'll be together with a roof right over our heads
we'll share the shelter of my single bed
we'll share the same room, yeah, for Jah provide the bread
is this love, is this love, is this love, is this love that I'm feeling?
-Bob Marley, "Is This Love?"

Don't even get me started on love and what a terribly confusing and unpredictable commodity that is. Maybe it works for some people, but when you are a person of intense, extreme emotions, it just doesn't seem to work very well. (This being said, neither does attraction, nor infatuation, nor fascination. They all end up feeling like love because they're all so damn intense. Or maybe the few people I'm fascinated by I actually love. I don't know and I don't care.) Love requires something that I really really really dislike, that being needing something from others. Sure, you can love people at a distance, and sure, you can say that you love them for being them and that you don't need anything from them, and sure, you can like people and be fascinated by people and have them not pay any attention to you, sure. You can lie to yourself and say that it's fine, but at the end of the day, at the end of some day, you're finally going to feel the dissatisfaction, and the feeling of rejection, and you're going to realize that you've been lying to yourself, and then you'll be questioning like Lauryn: who really do I have to be, simply to earn some reciprocity?

I'm in some kind of state of emotional dissatisfaction. Just in case you couldn't tell.

That aside, Jazz in the Gardens started last night. In case you're not aware of what Jazz in the Gardens is, it is a two-day concert featuring some really great acts in Miami Gardens, Florida. In the past two years, I've seen Teena Marie (R.I.P.), Frankie Beverly and MAZE, Anthony Hamilton, Common, Erykah Badu, Kenny G, Babyface, Mary J. Blige, etc. So, now that I actually live in Miami (and work a stone's throw from the stadium), I knew I had to go this year, especially since one of the headlining acts was scheduled to be Lauryn Hill, yes, the Lauryn Hill of past fame and recent musical infamy. So, after much financial stress (what else is new), I copped my tickets and yesterday was at the stadium, ready to enjoy myself.

I saw Charlie Wilson (excellent performer, excellent), and Heads of State (Bobby Brown, Ralph Tresvant, and Johnny Gill--all great performers and dancers too!), and was enjoying myself, just vibin. I was a bit perturbed that there were so many audio problems, and the crowd didn't seem as live as they've been in years past, but that could be because of how far back I was sitting. (I told myself that today I'd sit in the liver section.)

Well, the later hours of the night approached, and we were waiting on Lauryn Hill. I found myself anxious--I didn't grow up a Lauryn Hill fan or non-fan. She wasn't really on my radar, considering I wasn't really into music in the same way then as I am now. But she was a part of my childhood. I remember seeing her in magazines and that impressive Grammy run. So, I wasn't anxious as if I was seeing someone whom I absolutely adore, like Prince. (I'd probably cry if I saw Prince live. I really hope to in my lifetime. See him and cry, that is.) I was anxious because I've heard about her recent performances and how they've left a lot to be desired. I was nervous that she'd take forever to come out. (It was already around 11:30 and I was talking to a coworker about how when he saw her a recent homecoming show, she came on two hours late. I was freezing and vowed that if she didn't come out by at least 12:15 I was out.) Well, speak of the devil, right when my coworker told me that story, she came out on stage.

Now, before I even get into her performance, can I tell you a bit about those three songs whose lyrics I posted up there? Can I? Okay, thank you, I shall. In reverse order.

"Is This Love" is a song I actually never knew until my eighteenth year of life. I learned so many things in that year. I learned it--of course--from the college ex, when he told me we could share the space of his single bed. (Yeah, I know. Still makes me a bit tender even today, so imagine my melt-factor when I was eighteen. Contrary to popular belief, I have never been one to have men falling all over themselves to say nice things about me in any sincerely non-platonic way. Because of this, a lot of things that should not be so valuable to me still are, but that's a conversation for another day.) We shared his single bed for a little while and then went our separate ways, but that song will, for me, forever be linked to those memories. So it resonates with me. Plus, the idea of someone saying to me that they want to love me every day, and every night, and that we can take a single space and make it ours? Leaves me yearning every time. Men aren't out here saying things like that these days, let me tell you.

"Ex-factor" is... well, what woman anywhere near my age bracket doesn't know all the words to this song? Doesn't sing along whenever it comes on, wherever it comes on? What woman doesn't understand the fuck out of this song? The line of this song that always resonates with me the most, seemingly no matter what age I am, is: tell me, who I have to be, to get some reciprocity? 'cuz no one loves you more than me, and no one ever will. Even now, I feel like I never get any reciprocity. Never. No one is ever on the same page with me, no one can ever emote as deeply as I can, no one feels and I mean really feels the way I do. I feel like whether I play the games or don't play the games, I still end up with the same result (nothing). Sometimes I wonder who I have to be in order to get what I want, but I don't feel like I have the energy. When I say that, people always think I'm being melodramatic, but if they knew that I've been in some sort of emotional turmoil having to do with men that I care about/love/have had sex with/want to have sex with/am infatuated with/are fascinated by since age 14 to now (almost 24), then maybe they would understand when I say I'm tired as fuck. Tired. I honestly am inching ever closer to not caring. Not playing any more games, not trying to bait and fish and reel, not doing any of it anymore and just being by my damn self. For ten gotdamn years I feel like I have been loving/liking/wanting the fuck out of people and receiving nothing in return. Nothing. It was a hard lesson to enter into when I was so young, and it's still not easy to swallow. Thus: tell me who I have to be, to get some reciprocity....

"The Sweetest Thing" is one of those songs that just works. The melody, the tempo, the keys, the words... it all works for me. It's the type of chill song that I can really vibe to. Plus, I really connect with the idea of the innate sweetness in ordinary things. (Again, when you lack ordinary things in your life, when you do get them, you attach to them an extraordinary high level of value.) Forehead kisses, someone putting their arm around you and pulling you closer into them, locking fingers, lying with your faces touching--extraordinarily simple, ridiculously valuable. Another song with sentiments that resonate with me: how sad, that all things must come to an end... a line like that is hauntingly austere and reminds me that at the end of the day, all sweet things that we experience will, at some point, become sweet memories that we relive through daydreams. Not a nice feeling for a romantic like me, but it is a truth of life. And what does she mean when she says but I'm not alone? Does she mean that she has God? That she has herself? Her memories? Regardless, if any of these songs comes on, and I'm around you, please don't speak. Just let me vibe and sing.

Now that I've waxed poetic about these three songs, I can explain why I picked them.

I picked these three songs in particular because Lauryn Hill killed them last night at Jazz in the Gardens, and by killed, I don't mean she sung the fuck out of them, I mean she stabbed them in the back with an ice-pick.

She came out on stage dressed very strangely (long puffy black skirt, black shirt, red jacket, lots of makeup, a weird haircut/wig covered by a Yankees cap), and she came out singing some song I didn't know. She never really connected with the audience, didn't stop to talk or chat us up, just started singing. Or, well, talking, because it wasn't quite singing. She sounded out of breath the whole time, and she sang completely out of key/register... which is where our songs come in.

She performed the songs in the order I posted lyrics, so of course when I heard the melody to "The Sweetest Thing" I got so excited. I'd just been vibing to the song earlier in the day when they played it on the radio, and there's nothing that makes me happier than being able to hear an artist's live take on a song that I love. (When I heard Raheem DeVaughn perform "Mo' Better" I could have floated away, and it remains one of my favorite songs.) Well, she sang it in a completely different register and essentially plowed through it. Her live performance had none of the easy reminiscence of the actual song. In fact, I don't even think she was singing all the words. I gave up trying to sing with her because I was the only one on melody.

After a couple of other songs that she seemed to run through (the whole time she was performing, she never stood still and she continually motioned to her band and the sound people to fix audio things and keys, etc.), I heard the melody of "Ex-factor." At this point, I wasn't necessarily excited, because I was still talking to my coworker, and coincidentally, we were talking about the song right when she started to perform it. He told me that I'd cry when she performed it, because of how bad it would sound, and he was wrong. I didn't cry. But I was immensely disappointed. That is a song where you grab a stool, sit down, get close to the audience, show us your vulnerability. Cry. Sing the fuck out of it. I'm not a performer, but I've seen enough excellent performances to understand what you do at what time. I'm not a singer, but I know I'd sing the fuck out of that song. A few bars into the song, and I told the person I was with I was ready to go. I never leave performances early, but her performance of that song pissed me off. She sang it with zero emotion. She continued moving around, singing half of the lyrics, breathing/talking over them instead of really singing them. She didn't seem like she was appealing to me, asking me how she could gain reciprocity. She seemed like she was rolling through a song she's no longer attached to. She might not be looking for reciprocity anymore, but I still am.

When we were walking out, she started "Is This Love?" and I started walking faster. I in no way wanted her version connected to any memories I may have of that song. She plowed through that one too.

I'd heard that her performances had not been great, but I wasn't prepared for how much it was going to feel like a train wreck. Considering that I didn't even grow up with Lauryn like that, I can't imagine how someone who did felt if they witnessed that last night. I needed, I needed her to plaintively ask, just ask who I have to be, I needed her to, for me, for everything I'm feeling; I needed her to ask because I have too much pride to. But, she didn't, and my pride stood intact, while the question remains in me, swirling around but never uttered.

it ain't workin... it ain't workin...

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Saturday

Another day, and unfortunately I find myself without a lot to say. I mean, I could say a lot, a lot, but sometimes, contrary to popular belief, I do believe that some things are better left unsaid.

In a weird emotional place lately.

What is life, if not for these strange emotional states and consequent exploration of them?

Off to wander through my wondering.

damn, first miss

First night I actually missed a post, and that was because I just got settled. Been out literally all day.

As I'm sitting here, on my balcony, underneath the full moon's light, the type of light that always makes me feel some kind of way, I think: I may not be your first, and I probably won't be your last. But I damn sure better be something that you can't and won't forget.

Not much of a post, but it is much of a thought. A definite thought.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

infatuation

Sometimes,

I wish people

could see themselves

as I see them,

and maybe then

they would understand

just why I

desire

.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Wednesday woes

Short thought today. Disclaimer is that I'm currently in some kind of feeling, and I don't like it too much.

I need control. I would have never thought this about myself previously, but I need control. When I feel things that make me feel as though there is a possibility that I am giving off an air that I cannot control, this is what usually happens: I think too much, and try my hardest to act like I'm not thinking, which leads to me being quieter than normal, which leads to me giving off a different air.

Then, I get all in some kind of feelings and get cantankerous and remain quiet, thus giving off the air that something is wrong, which is indeed true, but not something I need everyone to know.

Hence, this time around, I'm going to try something different. Instead of succumbing to the neurosis caused by the uncontrollable feelings, I'll take control by doing something that takes a lot more bravery than it should: be honest.

The worst thing that could happen is that my actions could be met with a response I'm not seeking, and, let's be honest--in the realm of feelings, I'm no stranger to being met with responses I'm not seeking. That's part of the reason why I'm even having this slightly one-sided discussion with you now.

At the end of the day, I'm still a person who cares and feels more deeply than sometimes I wish I did, for people who don't seem to outwardly make sense, for reasons that are quite extraordinarily ordinary, and much faster than most people think is possible. And although I know these abilities were bestowed on me for a reason, that doesn't mean that they necessarily always work to my benefit.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

random (as I do so well)

:DST just happened. (Daylight Savings Time, not Delta Sigma Theta.) Although I know it's now 7 o'clock (at the time of my writing), when I stepped out the shower, while still being in my bathroom (which has no window), my body felt like 6. My body told me it was 6. When I looked out the window, due to the low, golden sun and Monet-like clouds in the sky, my brain told me it was still early, even though I knew it was later. This for me poses a deft question: how much of our reality isn't actually based on what we know, but rather how and what we feel?

:Epiphany: just got off from a long day being a camp counselor again (at the time of my writing), after being away from it (truly) for almost two years. My body is electric. I feel good. Great, even. I'm slightly tired, but not craving sleep. Sure, it could certainly be the fact that this is a break from the regular 8 to 6, and that's why I'm so excited, but, if I do recall, this is what I used to do every summer, and , once I moved back home, every day. And though it got old to me, it wasn't the job itself that got old, it was the fact that I felt like I hadn't explored enough outside of my job that got old.

Well, after some exploring (even though I've still technically been working with kids), I came right back up on my first love today. (At the time of this writing.) It felt better than great to be in charge of that group. It felt right. It felt like me, whistle around the neck and all. And when I looked up from what I was doing to see one of my babies looking around, so young, but with such a promising twinkle in his eye, I fell in love all over again. This is what makes me feel right and good. Now if only I could combine that with other things that make me feel right, good, and successful, we'd have ourselves a career here. (Clearly, I need to be my own boss and employee.)

Monday, March 14, 2011

Think as a lady, and be one, too

The entire premise of Steve Harvey's book (Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man) is false, and I apologize to you if you ran out and snatched up a copy like it was The Bible and Jesus personally told you He was coming back and that He would autograph your copy. Yes indeed, I sincerely apologize to you.

I haven't read Steve Harvey's book, not because I didn't want to, but because I could never seem to get my hands on a copy. (Once I discovered the infamous hold-out-on-sex-for-three-months rule was in there, I realized I wasn't in as much of a rush to read it anymore, not that I was ever in any kind of a rush about it.)

I am now glad I haven't read the book, because it came to me in the shower (no pun) that the premise is indeed false, and I'll tell you why.

It's false because women cannot think like men. We're women. Whether it's due to wiring or training, we will think like women. The most we can do is "think" like the man who trained us in what his version of male thought is like, but, at best, we are pantomiming.

For instance, I always ask my best sexy guy friend for advice on situations with men, and I'm always picking up on his behaviors with women and the results of how he thinks. (Which are usually overwhelming in his favor.) I admire the way his brain naturally works, so, of course, I try to make my brain work this way as well. Even when I consider myself "thinking like a man," I still have to unplug my female thinking brain and plug the male one in.

Case in point: in thinking about another particularly sexy guy I know (Lawd, thank you for how you've blessed me with even knowing two sexy people at the same time *hand claps*), I found my brain naturally wandering to imagery of us dating, and then us, married. (You know if you're a woman you've done this, more than once. Show me a woman who hasn't and I'll show you a man.) Now, had I not been talking so much with my guy friend and trying to tune my brain onto his wavelength, I probably wouldn't have even paid any attention to what my mind naturally did. Tonight, however, I caught it, and here I am writing to you about it.

My supposition is this: the most we can do as women is continue thinking like women, but smarter. It's unavoidable, the thinking like women part. Your feminine plugs are in there, for sure. Mine are. I continue to think like a woman, but I take the parts of that style of thinking that don't necessarily work and make them play a much lesser role in my thought process. For example, with tonight's wayward imagery of being with a guy I don't even know like that (yet), I tossed it away as soon as it came, and instead of thinking, "Awww man, I thought about him like that, it's a sign!" (typical) I thought, "woman thought" (atypical recognition).

I understand Harvey's title and thought process. At least, it's easy enough to understand. Every woman can learn from man's natural disconnectedness; conversely, every man could learn from the female tendency to want to unite. We could swap intelligences a bit, this is true. but there is danger in telling women to "think like men," because he is asking us to pantomime and consider it actual, naturally occurring thought, and also because, what if we choose the wrong man to learn from? Now, we're not only "thinking" poorly, but now we assume that the fact of our incorrect thought is across the board representative of the typical male thought process. (Danger. No Mystikal.)

So, in essence, think like a lady, but just a wee bit smarter. Call it thinking like a man if you will, but I'd like to tell you to not limit the thoughts of womanhood to solely baking cookies and only having sex for love. I must believe that women can conjure raunchier, more disconnected (and somehow, still connected), smarter thoughts and desires than we've been told we can. Sex is not solely an arena for the male mind.

Don't regulate yourself to acting. Be a lady. And think as one, too.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Calle Ocho

I never said how long these posts would be, you know.

Today I went to Calle Ocho. Saw Flo Rida (ugh), Trina, and some others. Had fun. Ate tostones and my coveted arepa.

Was not disrespected by any male, like I was told I would be.

Saw some basic looking bitches, and some generally ratchet looking folks.

That's what it takes to make the world go round, apparently.

Fin.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Why sex is the new handshake

Sex is the new handshake.

Don't believe me? Think I'm wrong because you're in such-and-such committed relationship, or because you only have sex when you're truly in love, or this reason, or that reason?

Well, that's fine. Everyone doesn't have to feel as though sex is the new handshake in order for me to make this assertion. Besides, not everyone shakes hands anyway.

Speaking from experience, sex has moved to the forefront of personal relationships. It's gone from meet--date--get to know--fall in love--commit--have sex*, to meet--date--have sex with the other variables (get to know, fall in love, commit) possibly not even making an appearance.** Sex has become the way that we get to know each other; apparently, the way we relate to each other when understanding and words may fail. I have some ideas as to why.

1. The death of the pre-modern courtship

No, I'm not going to wax poetic about how I feel about the status of modern courtship. I'm not going to reminisce. But I will say that the matter and manner of courtship has changed, and that is undeniable. Many things have changed it--the times we live in, the advent of social media and technology in our lives, shifts in societal norms, etc.

Now that we've established that courtship is different than it used to be, it's safe to say that back in the day, sex was the reward of marriage. It goes back to the formula above; in that formula, sex was what came after fall in love--commit--marriage. Courtship was a grounds to marry, and even though courtship itself has transformed throughout the years, it's still a grounds to marry. But--and it's a big but--with the institution of the idea of marriage also having transformed throughout the years, marriage is no longer a societal guarantee. So, with marriage no longer necessarily waiting around behind courtship, it makes sense that sex isn't necessarily sitting grounded behind marriage anymore, either.

2. The de-taboo-ification of society

Back in the day, we were all puritanical, with a little bit of hedonism riding just below the surface, waiting for someone to engage it, so we could suppress it. Now, it seems as though society has greatly embraced our underlying hedonism... to the point, sometimes, that it seems like excess.

It seems like these days, society on the whole enjoys things that makes it feel good--as opposed to before, when society seemed more concerned with things that it made it feel right--and it's no secret that sex makes people feel good. It seems like society is more open to sex. Or, rather, to people who are open to sex.

I always thought it was rather stupid and, quite frankly, puritanical junk (just can't escape those roots) that sex was such a taboo topic. It should always be considered as very important (as anything that can begin and end life should be***), but it shouldn't be taboo. Sex can be a very healthy release of emotions and energy. Apparently, a portion of society feels the same.****

3. Children experiencing natural sexuality w/each other sans the components of societal fear or parental fear

People are sexual. This is normal. Children are sexual also. This is also normal.***** I was always sexual, and I was always aware that I was, but I experienced and explored my sexuality mostly by myself, but also through kissing and a bit of petting, not by myself. Though I was offered sex as young as middle school (I honestly cannot remember being properly propositioned, and I don't think he was serious about it, either, but I know it happened, the proposition, that is, not the sex), I wasn't biting, and can honestly say I wasn't the least bit curious about what I was missing. I happened to grow up in a time when society's grip on instilling fear/distaste of sex was a little firmer. There was no 16 and Pregnant when I was a kid. If you had sex or, God forbid, got pregnant, you weren't a television star, you were a trollop, a fast girl, which I knew I didn't want to be, because I also had the fear of my mother's disapproval instilled in me as well.

My mother had me when she was 27 years old, and she always told me the story about how people called her an old maid to be having her first child at 27, and she always told me how she didn't care what they had to say. She clearly took pride in not caring about how people thought she should live her life, and I picked up on that. (She also told me the story about how her younger sister had gotten married way earlier than her and had three kids [twins and another child] within two years with a man that wasn't really a good fit for her. My mother never told this story disapprovingly, but something in my mind let me know that this was not what I wanted to do.)

So, with no media portrayals of it being okay to have sex as a kid, and with my mother's silent disapproval, the urge to actually engage in sex didn't legitimately enter my life until I was a very young adult. However, kids in these modern times are growing up without the hold that society had on me.

Now, kids call each other "hoes"****** the same way they call each other "green" and "gay." They use all these words to call each other stupid, but I feel like the word "ho" for children today doesn't have the same dire connotation that it had for kids in my day. In today's times, kids can turn on the televison and find kids who were/are sexually active. (Uh, Britney Spears' little sister, Sarah Palin's daughter, any girl from 16 and Pregnant, even the show Secret Life of the American Teenager showed a relatively positive situation regarding the main character, who gets pregnant around 16. Is 16 the magic age? Oh yeah, and the other girl on that show gets it in like every episode. I'm an adult and don't even get it in like she does.) In today's times, kids are giving each other head in the back of school buses and having sex in school bathrooms. Not only has the media's/society's grip loosened tremendously, but I feel as though that parental disapproval probably isn't what it used to be. Parents are getting younger and younger themselves, so when it comes to that unspoken message, like the one my mother gave to me, what unspoken message are they sending their own children?

At the end of the day, I liken sex to a handshake not to say that it happens more frequently now than it did at any other period in time (well, let's just say I'm pretty sure people may have gotten it in a little more in the 70s, but that's just my assumption), but to say that sex has now become just as common as a handshake. You can disagree with me if you may, but when I have my 17 year old sister telling me about her classmates who are pregnant and/or who have STDs without even batting an eye, I'd say the whole lot has become pretty common.

As common as a handshake before a business meeting.



*--there is no scientific formula; this is just a supposition on my part based on personal experience and assumptions on how most other people probably conduct themselves.
**--for the purposes of this argument, we're talking about serious relationships lacking some of the latter variables, not more sexually-focused endeavors, not to say that more sexually-focused endeavors (i.e. hooking up) has to necessarily lack the aforementioned latter variables, but the assumption is that they do.
***--begin: pregnancy, end: AIDS. Never looked it that way until the idea floated to me today. It's true that something people occasionally treat quite carelessly can begin and end life.
****--Sex in the City changed my life. Even though I was watching the watered-down TBS version, it was still enough to implant a fierce image in my head. I wanted to be Carrie Bradshaw, minus her indecision and her dwarfish height. (Sorry, folks. At almost six feet tall, seeing how short SJP actually is frightened me.) I wanted to live in NYC with my little computer, but I also wanted to have the sexual prowess of Samantha. Miranda was too lesbian-like for me to want to be like (and, no surprise to me, she is a lesbian in real life, the actress whose name is slipping my mind right now), and Charlotte was too puritanical. Boring. That show showed me (before I went through this mental thing and decided it was all bullshit because they were all in their damn 40s and still having sex and being dissatisfied every episode) that there was power in sex and sexuality for women. That I could suck a dick and brag about it and not be a ho. For all it's worth, there is power in that awakening. And despite how I may have felt about the show afterwards, I never lost the magic of that awakening.
*****--notice I said sexual, not sexually active.
******--I work with kids. I would know.

Friday, March 11, 2011

prayer answered/perspective

Before I recognize this moment/this moment will be gone...
-John Mayer, "Clarity"

Appropriate that the song is entitled "clarity." Once upon a time, whether it was a dark, starry night in East Orlando, or whether it was a sunny day on the road, moving, I prayed for clarity. I prayed to God to see things as they are, not as I want them to be. I can remember going to sleep numerous nights, murmuring that phrase to myself as I fell asleep, to remind myself of the prayer I didn't want to be in vain.

Today, I had a moment of clarity, which often happens before I can recognize it; hence, the perfect marriage of song title and content via Mr. Mayer. I've had moments like this before; I just didn't know what to call them.

I feel like my words are falling on top of each other unpleasantly in my attempt to describe what was visceral.

When I walked out of the building today, after one of our group conferences, and after my team did a phenomenal job on the presentation we had to do today, I realized that it all works. All of my crabbiness, all of the tensions of different personalities mixing, the problems between two of the members, all of my concern about whether all of the individual components would be able to come together well--it's all fine, and it all worked. Everyone did a marvelous job, and I realized that all of the worrying I'd done was for naught.

(I'm a worrier. I get it from my father. I've seen in the last couple of months just how true this genetic trait is. Parenthood is going to be some type of holy hell for me, because I'm going to worry about my kids every possible second; this I feel coming.)

They did wonderfully, and I cried, as I knew I would do (and tried to deny initially). I felt a surging of pride and love for them, unlike I've ever felt. They've always had the potential, but today I saw it executed, and the thing was that I saw it executed collectively. That's a big deal for a leader of a team. If you don't believe me, ask someone who is responsible for leading a team.

As I walked out of that building, with the award they made for me in my hand ("Queen Bee/el capitan"), and with the sun in my eyes and the breeze tossing a lock of my hair, I realized that these are the days I'm going to think of in a few months, and these are the days that are going to make my heart squeeze real tightly in bittersweet reverie. These are the types of days that are going to make me miss Miami.

For as much as I have complained, and as much as I've not liked, today my perspective made that final shift to a much better and different place than it was when I began this journey. I am proud of my team, my entire team (my manager included), and I am deeply appreciative for what they and others have done for me. Things may not be perfect, and they never are, but I have a family here in Miami. You may not always like them or want to deal with them, but you always, always love them. And I will always, always, always love the people I've met here. I'm hoping that we are forever friends.

Knowing that you are slated to go somewhere else aids in perspective shifting. It happened right before I was leaving Gainesville almost three years ago. A place that was so reviled by me, and knowing that it was all coming to an end shifted my perspective into that last critical phase: well, it's not so bad after all.

When I was first moving to Miami, the prevailing sentiment was that it's only a year; a year's not that long, which is true. But the year didn't necessarily fly by. Somehow that phrase doesn't get to the essence of what the feeling is. It feels like the year stealthily stole by us all. It feels hard to believe that a year ago this time, I was working in a middle school in my hometown, feeling perpetually troubled by the fact that I wasn't "doing" anything. Well, in thinking about the fact that I'm almost three years out of college (May 3rd), I've been doing exactly what I said I wanted to do. I said that I wanted to live and experience life. I'm pretty sure I've been doing that. I'll be able to say that within three years I've lived within three different cities. I'll be able to say that within the three years I've met 100+ awesome, awesome people, and that's not an exaggeration. Those are pretty significant.

I'm rambling now, clearly, but my larger point is that, I feel Your clarity, thank You. And that life is not about what you encounter, but how you handle each and every situation you are granted.

I'm in love. With my life. And with the people in it. The end.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

double standards of Essence

Making good on my promise... though tonight's post will be shorter than I anticipated.* I'm working on a presentation for tomorrow that I got more into than I thought I would. I've been sitting here for a couple of hours working on it. I have the tendency to get lost in projects when I get in the zone.

So, today: I was at work, scrolling through some websites, wasting time, when I stumbled upon Essence Online's photo album of "Naked Celebrities." (Seeing as how I just saw the Chris Brown penis pic this past weekend, I figured it couldn't hurt to find out what other naked celebrities there are out there.) Some parts of the photo album actually showed the naked photos in question (like Amare Stoudemire's HUGE frame jumping into a pool with one hand over his region**), whereas some just gave pictures of the celebrities in more typical fashion... you know, with clothes on.

Regardless, each picture came with a caption. I don't know what I was expecting, but when I gave the captions a second read-over I was disturbed by the messages behind the captions.

For instance, pretty much all the male pictures (which, by the way, were included in the photo album in all their almost-but-really-naked glory, whereas mostly all of the women were shown fully clothed) were lauded or treated like they weren't naked pictures. Don't believe me? Amare Stoudemire's lengthy nakedness? They said women across the nation got the magazine for the first time just to study his body, following all that up by saying "Damn." And not in the way you say "damn" when you forget your keys, either.

Jamie Foxx? Well they said he was a "gangsta" for leaking his own pictures onto the internet. (a. I didn't know he had pictures, and b. I think that kind of makes him a lame.)

Chad Ochocinco? (Whom, someone rightfully pointed out***, can't even get his made up name right. 85 in Spanish is not ochocinco, but, ochenta y cinco.) Well, they barely batted an eye at his picture, which involved him being booty, butt ass naked with just a football covering his manhood.

But Rihanna? They went "tsk tsk" at her for having naked pictures leaked on the internet. Cassie? They said hers were "very explicit!". Ummm, okay.

But then, they said nothing about Halle Berry, nothing about Garcelle Beauvais, and they even said that Naomi Campbell "gets a pass" because her body is a "work of art." Ummm... excuse me, but I think Rihanna's body is more attractive on any day than Naomi Campbell's.

And, why is Naomi Campbell's body a work of art, but not other women's bodies? And why do men's bodies seem to be considered okay to be portrayed naked (at least, for purposes of this list), but not women's? So, do we not bat an eye at men standing naked with a hand or strategically placed football blocking his penis because the juxtaposition of the photos with the commentary is an example of some writer's penis envy? (If I am to assert that the writer behind all of the commentary blurbs is the same person, and that said writer is a woman.)

Do we not bat an eye because it's one of those "it's okay if men do it" things? Is it because we still operate under the belief that women are supposed to be coy and chaste?

And why, operating under the unspoken and thus unknown restrictions on this list, why does nakedness seem to be allowable for models and actresses, but not for singers? Does this speak of how society views the hierarchy of "artistry"?

Questions seek answers. Go.


*--looking back, this ish wasn't short at all. Go 'head girl.
**--ummm... either his fingers are really big, or his shit is rather small. Just saying.
***--I wish I could remember who dropped this on me. I really hadn't even thought about the fact that this negro actually means for his name to be "Chad eighty-five" rather than "Chad eight five."

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

some good memories go unreviewed

Sometimes, when the wind blows right in the sky
I'm reminded of the small joys of you
that I quietly clung to, unbeknownst to me--
standing in summer dusk, dark while still
glittering ebulliently.

Soft raindrops calming air's humidity,
leaning against your car
into the unknown, never-spoken-of safety of our arms
while our tongue whisper secrets,
the things we'll never say.

We hold each other
'til dusk becomes night.

"for me it ain't real... it's fool's gold..."

I guess I can look back at all of the mistakesexperiences I've had, and understand that if there's any reason why I had them, it's so I could utilize them later in life to tell you stories.

Once upon a time, I was in this relationship. It wasn't a real relationship, and I wasn't really aware of this, sadly. (Looking back, I realize that I can no longer give myself points for cognizance. Though I knew it was an atypical thing, I think I sincerely thought we were in some kind of atypical relationship.) The man that I was being fucked bydating was not a great catch. I mean, he was a wonderful catch if you wanted to clean up behind an overgrown man and make him sandwiches, and accompany him on cliche, non-inventive, awkward trips to visit family members you shouldn't be meeting, and if you wanted to watch him fall asleep sitting straight up in bed with SportsCenter on before your pussy had barely had a chance to lubricate itself enough to be moist-like.

Essentially, if you wanted a mental vegetable with a big dick that looked good, he was your man.* (Because he clearly wasn't mine.)

I spent most of my time frustrated and being stood up. I can remember how livid I was, sitting in the parking lot of a Carrabba's, not on my side of town, waiting on him, crying my mascara off, unable to go back home because I'd lied to my parents and told them I was going to see a movie. Sitting, crying in a parking lot. (That wouldn't be the last time I'd cry in a parking lot over a no-good man, go figure.) Stuck like chuck, driving around town trying to kill time, angry that I'd been stood up, but still hoping that he would text me back at the last minute, giving me any bullshit excuse as to why he chose not to answerdidn't see my texts, knowing that the second he did, I'd go running to the same house he was always in. Knowing I would do it, and praying to God all the while that he wouldn't text me; that I'd learn and take my ass home. (How's that for double consciousness?)

Fully inside the memory of the foolishness of him, the foolishness and youth of me, and the ludicrous absurdity of our not-so-clandestine fuckingpairing, I also can remember that Fall, when our "relationship" became long-distance, because I'd gone back to school out of town. I can remember sitting in class, doodling to myself, Mrs. Malorie ________, and writing thoughtpoems about him, and daydreaming about what it would be like to be married to him, and to bear his child.not like it would be any virgin territory for him since he already had two.

*record screeches* Excuse me say what?

Yes, I daydreamt about being married to the mental vegetable with the big dick. Of course, being all of (insert age here), I was sure that I loved him.... even though I didn't like him that much. I honestly didn't know him enough to like him. I didn't know enough of him to like him. He had no commanding presence, except the lucky genetic stroke of good looks and height. Pretty much all of his aura was comprised of what others thought of him. All of his swagger came from the women who pretty much put their pussies on display in front of him. (A lot of these women were married or involved, mind you.) In private, he was particularly insecure... or rather he played the "modesty" game** because he knew women just love a man who isn't actually aware of how amazing he is. (*vomit*)

Now, I say all this to do what? To tell you another funny story from my vault of stories that you probably don't even believe happened to me? (I know, they can be that ridiculous sometimes.) Just to have something to write?

Well, yes and no.

I was listening to Amy Winehouse this evening, listening to a song I'd heard before. I knew I'd liked the song, as I liked damn near every song on this particular deluxe album. But for whatever reason, tonight it resonated within me.

The song is called "Fool's Gold," and it is the story of me. Well, the me I'm leaving behind. The girl who won't be happy 'til she looks down and sees her engagement ring. I was that girl, without even realizing it. Without having a family who bred me to be "the marrying type" (whatever the fuck that means), and without even having the security of having grown up and been into dating/relationships (they weren't into me like I was into them), I was still that girl. The one who would be able to go back to school and daydream about a mental vegetable with a big dick simply because she's seen a dress [and] she has the flowers planned.

Well, for me, that's no longer real. It is indeed, fool's gold. I want to love someone past the boundaries that even I'm comfortable with, and have them love me in return, and I want us to be happy. I don't want everything to be perfect. I don't want either one of us to be mental vegetables. I don't want us to have sex because we feel like that's what we're supposed to do. I want us to like each other quite a bit and be able to recognize it. I don't want us to be perfect, and I want us to love one another for our innate imperfection. Sadly, though I'm pretty sure I've done this, I can't look back and say that anyone else has really done this with me. I have danced in the facade of this with a few people, but at the end of the day, where are they and where am I? I am inside my feelings, and they are pretending like they never had any.

I don't want any more fucking fool's gold. I want the real thing.

Listen to the song. It gives me chills. And, hold on to the gold you find. Make sure it's real. Life is too short to waste time.


------------------------------------------------------------------
*--to be fair, for him to have been a mental vegetable, he was nice. Until we got in a verbal disagreement while he was watching a boring Christmas special and told me I was disrespecting Jesus. Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Never mind. He was an asshole.
**--you know, when you tell a guy he's attractive and he's like "oh no, there are better looking people than me..." Learn how to say thank you and shut the fuck up with the "oh no, not me" shit. Nothing is more unattractive than someone that doesn't know their own worth. Or doesn't value what they have.

hello, hello...

I know, I know, I know. Before you even say anything, I apologize for being away. I shouldn't have left you without something to read. I should have said something before going away. I know.

I didn't know I was going away. This happens sometimes, you know. Sometimes, contrary to popular belief, I run out of things to say. When I'm not in a high-state of romanticemotional distress, it takes effort for me to write. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe that's when my better writing comes out, when it's not pouring from my fingers.

*shrugs* I don't know. I'm on this quest (which shall be lifelong) to enhance my writing. To make it better. To never be satisfied. To make sure I'm the best of the best at what I feel is my calling. If not the best, then what really is the point? I'm not saying I'm going to be posting every day (I still believe that quality overrides quantity, always), but I'm going to make a conscious effort.

Anyhow, so, some things have happened since I've been away. I've started going to the gym. I relaxed my hair. I'm moving across the country in a few months. You know, the usual goings-on in my life. Romantically, there's not much popping. That's also a usual going-on. I've got plenty of feelings, none of which I will share here. When I do share them, you won't really know that I have.

So, I said all of this to say hello. And that I'm coming back. I swear. There's going to be a post that pops up after this. I promise.

Unless otherwise indicated, all words here are property of Miss Malorie

MyFreeCopyright.com Registered & Protected