Writing My Wrongs

I have the quintessential…poker face. I can look you dead in your eye and give no clue as to what I am thinking about whats being said to me. I learned that early. It’s usually when I am feeling compromised…I show no sign of interest. Straight faced.
I buried my mother last week…and I was straight faced. And all those around me, said I looked just like my mother, that I was serious, had a straight face and been through much, yet still strong. And my father being who he is, was my champion. He was my hero more than he’s probably ever been…well, maybe not ever been…but it was close.

I never speak/spoke about my mother because…well, she was never around for me to form a relationship with. I remember summers spent on the reservation…but even then, I don’t have memories of her being around, just of my grandparents.

In all these years, I didn’t resent my mother or have any bad feelings towards her. Matter of fact to be truthful, I didn’t have any feelings about her at all.
The last time I saw her was 9 years ago…and before that, it was 10 years. Between then and a month ago, I didn’t know if she was alive or dead. I knew nothing about who she was, what she did, or how she was.

Back story:
A couple of years ago I contacted my tribe looking for my mother. I asked that my information be passed on to her; to no avail. So some months ago, I contact my tribal bulletin (which is a newsletter for my tribe) and made somewhat of a plea asking for any help in finding any family members. I listed a few names so that people would know who I was related to. A couple weeks went by and I had gotten no reply. I was feeling a bit dejected. I finally looked at my “ad” and realized that the wrong email had been posted. I asked them to repost my “ad” but I received no response. So, once again…I was not knowing where she was or any of my family members from those early years on the Rez. The tribe is notorious for letting things fall through the cracks.

Present story:
Out of no where I received a friend request on FB from a name I had never heard of. I didn’t automatically delete it…I thought about it for a while and just let it sit. Finally, it dawned on me…this is the half brother that I had never met!
We started up a correspondence and continued to have long drawn out emails about who we were, what had been going on and other conversations that I sort of winged. After all, what do you say to a brother that you’ve never met? What do you talk about? And even though I sent out a plea for “answers”…now that it was in front of me…I was sort of lost. Growing up without having any siblings…as an only child…well, I don’t know what sort of conversations to have with a brother. It was foreign to me because all that I could relate it to was…meeting a new friend. I kept talking about his mother as if she wasn’t my mother. Asking how his mother was, if he saw his mother often and so on. Calling her mom just didn’t flow smoothly out of my mouth. I, sort of, felt like I was invading his space by calling his mom…my mom.

He mentioned that she was in the hospital but that she would be getting out soon. Told me the name of the facility that she would be heading to once she was released. He said she was getting better. So I let the topic of “her”…go…because…I guess I knew what I needed to know and...we started talking about him and my other half brother. Apparently for the last couple of years…well more years than a couple…they’d all 3 been very close. I felt…left out. Felt…some sort of way that I didn’t like…and didn’t understand. Up until this particular conversation…I hadn’t cared too much. Or so I’d thought.

So this is where I diagnosis myself…I cared on a level of, a selfish only child level…like…what about me! Not on the level of truly feeling like I had missed out on having a mother and 2 brothers. Not in a familial way but in a … I should have been apart of that life or at the very least…aware of that life, even if I was aware of it from the sidelines as I continued to enjoy the life I’d lead up until then. All very selfish. All very childish of me on many different levels. I get that. I know that.

As we are having conversations I am making my plans to move to New Orleans . I’m looking at houses and spent a good amount of time experiencing parts of NOLA that were unknown to me. I was dating Louisiana men, finally meeting old friends for the first time and trying to settle into becoming a woman of the south…a different kind of south. While I am going through this process I am staying in contact with my brother…letting him know practically every move I make. ‘Cause all the sudden…I have a brother! It’s weird…I don’t know what being a sister is all about, don’t know the first thing about being a sister to a brother…and just like that…I am happy I have a brother…two brothers.

I get back to NYC to set my plans in motion for the southern experience and out of no where…I decide I am coming out to the Reservation to meet my new (and old) family. I call my father and we set an action plan and I buy my plane ticket to visit the Rez. I am preparing myself for conversations. Getting my nerve up to discuss some things with the mother I have not seen as a mother…ever. Not needing answers for her absence…but just talking about whatever…everything. I am mentally girding my mind and my heart for the things I am about to find out about myself, them, and her.

...She’s been in the hospital for somewhere close to 2 weeks, not sure when she will be getting out…so I am rushing a trip that I thought I had more time to plan. My brother tells me he has told her I am coming. He says she said she wanted to see me, to speak to me and that she had smiled when he told her I was coming.
I call him up with my flight itinerary.
He calls me back 30 minutes later to tell me she has passed away.

I was numb. No tears. Regret, yes. But still, no tears. Straight faced, I put it all out of my mind… I detached myself from who and what. Two days later I am flying out of LaGuardia…straight faced. I land… and I thank my father for everything…he is there to meet me at the airport. He'd driven 18 hours to meet me, for this occassion. He looks at me and he hugs me, I have no words but to tell him I love him…and then he asks me how I feel… I tell him I haven’t processed it yet. He tells me he understands and asks me no more questions. I can tell he feels the same.

The next morning, we head out in the middle of a blizzard as we make our way on a 2 ½ hour drive through the mountains; over the mountains to the Reservation. The Reservation that I said I would never go back to. 4 million acres of desolate land that the government and the Mormons gave my people, after they had taken all the good toiling land, and the water ways that were wealthy with fish…they plopped us right in the middle of mountains...desert mountains with tumbleweeds and hard dirt. Where all that could be done with the earth was to maybe grow wheat. So the Nooch (Indians) took the barren land and tried to grow what we could…and in the process…we struck oil. And to this day, the Mormons are still trying to get to that oil and disband our tribe that has gotten smaller and smaller as the years have gone by.
What was once a thriving tribe…has now only 3000 tribal members on their enrollment. We could die out in another 20 years. Death rates are significantly higher in many areas for Indians compared to the U.S. general population, including tuberculosis (750% higher), alcoholism (550% higher), diabetes (190% higher), unintentional injuries (150% higher), homicide (100% higher), and suicide (70% higher)...we could die out in another 20 years. *IHS stats* This is where I am headed…to an area that is 150% below poverty level.

I am conflicted. I want to be associated with this part of me, I crave to know my heritage…but I feel like I am not yet where I need to be to do that. I remember my grandmother dressing me up in beaded moccasins, beaded shawls and dresses made of leather hides…taking me to Pow Wow’s and teaching me to dance the two-step with all the woman during the Bear Dance or the spirituality of the Sun Dance and its Native religious significance. I have memories that are flooding back to me and although I am emotional inside…I am straight faced on the outside.

When we got to the Reservation I called my brother to let him know where we were…he came to meet us and we followed him…he lead us to the mortuary.
I was not ready.
I got out of the car and within moments…family! Everyone on the reservation is related in some sort of way…and left and right, I was being introduced and re-introduced to people whose names I forgot the minute I heard them.
I was not ready.

I am not sure how many of you have ever been to a tribal burial…or the process that leads up to it, but it’s a spiritual and emotional overload (as is any funeral is I suppose.)
My native tongue is not written…it is phonetic. When I was on the reservation, when I was a child, I learned it. I have not been a child for a very long time…I’ve forgotten. So the prayers and the songs were foreign but…it resonated. Being her child…I was supposed to come up to the coffin before other family members, my brother motioned for me to come up…I went up and stood at the foot of the coffin…because I can not look inside…not yet.
I wasn’t ready.

The pallbearers came to take her to the hearse…and out of nowhere, my father is asked to take part, this woman who he hasn’t been married to in 40 years, he’s humbled and honored that the family still saw him fit. She was being taken to my brothers’ house for the wake. There is where she'd lay in state with her open coffin, the interior made of bear blankets. She would stay until it was time to take her to the tribal burial plot the next morning. Also there, is where they’d sing the 4 burial songs and pray…and then at midnight they’d put on her moccasins and again pray for her and sing 4 more burial songs…and then as they kept the burial fire going, on the front lawn, thru out the night and the next morning (the smoke from the pit fire was to clear her path into her next world)…they’d pray for her at dawn and sing 4 more burial songs for a straight hour. Through all of prayers the spiritual leader (medicine man) would cover us with the smoke from sage and elm. During all of this, I did not go up to see my mother.
I wasn’t ready.

My mother was adopted, this I knew. I just never remembered meeting any of her biological family. Apparently I had. Through out the day and into the evening, there would be a continous stream of people coming and going. Everyone had stories to tell me about when I was little and how my mother used to dress me in frilly dresses, which of course, was silly since I lived on the Reservation which was nothing but red clay dirt. Clay dirt I used to eat by the fistfuls. I remember my grandmother used to ask me if I’d been eating that “nasty dirt again”…I’d say “no”, not knowing I had a red dirt ring around my mouth.
Everyone told me stories about my mother and all the years I’d missed. They told me stories of a strong woman, a kind woman, a fun and loving woman, a woman that knew the path she chose was not the easiest but it was the path for her, about a woman who was a good woman.
And somewhere along the way…I started to wish…that I had known this woman.

So, sometime inbetween prayers and songs…when no one else was around…I finally went to see my mother. I touched her hand. I caressed her brow and felt her hair. And I secretly tucked a letter I had written to her inside her scarf by her heart.

I had written her a note to let her know that…
…she didn’t need to worry about me and what I thought or felt, she didn’t need to take any of those thoughts with her as she made her way to the Great Spirit…that despite all the years, all our tears and all our fears…that she didn’t have to wonder if I loved her. I did. She was and is my mother. I let her know that even though we hadn’t had the chance to have that last conversation…or look into each others eyes for the last time…that I know that everything happens for a reason and that she didn’t have to be in pain over the decisions she had made. That she was entering a new world where all those things are cast aside and to start her journey without regret…without looking back on the things of this life. I wanted her to know that her ancestors and my ancestors were waiting for her. This is the way of the Indian. This is the way she must go…without regret. It would make her next journey better for her. In that way.

Indian religion believes that life after death is just a contiuation of life already experienced. There is no death, only the change of the worlds.

On Thursday, after the sun came up, during the prayers...coals from the fire were brought in to put into the coffin with her, once they had burned the elm and sage again. Her face was painted with paint made from the earth, then they covered her face with 10 veils and completely wrapped her from head to toe in the bear blankets. Then those of us who wanted to, could place items in her purse so she would remember us in her new life, they loaded her "traveling clothes" into her coffin and closed the lid.

When we arrived at the sacred grounds and I was quietly re-introduced around the great circle of family and friends one by one…I had to shake the hands of all my elders who sat around the gravesite…I was placed next to my brothers at the top of the plot and it started to snow.
In the Indian culture…if the wind is blowing or there is rain or snow is a sign from the Creator that the footprints from this world are being swept away…because one needs to create footprints in the new world with their ancestors. It is a good sign that my mother was now leaving this life. In that way.

4 songs...4 verses to every song…sang 4 times. As the drummers played the tribal burial songs…they lowered my mother into the ground...it was with finality...

And, I cried.

And so we don’t forget her and her life she had here…never forget…and in the Nooch way…
I jumped across her grave…barefoot…in the snow.

The very dust upon which you stand responds more lovingly to our footsteps than to yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch.

- Chief Seattle @ the signing of the Treaty of Medicine Creek 1854

I didn’t have a mother like most people…didn’t have a traditional mother…but I had one none-the-less.
And although, I will never have answers to a lot of questions…or what some would say is closure to who my mother was…I am better off just by being apart of her home going.

MLJ-C
4/23/48 – 3/27/10

“I don‘t have no regrets.
I lived my life to the fullest.
I loved my life and everyone in it.
No matter what or where life took me,
I had a blast being me, but I don’t have no regrets.
Everything happens for a reason
Just like everything has a purpose in life.
Live life to the fullest and enjoy being
With the ones you love.
Life is too short to live with hatred and regrets.”
(On the back of her burial program, a poem written by her daughter-in-law)

Last night I hung out wth Cleveland. We went to dinner and then ended up coming back to my place and we sat and talked; while my new Frank Sinatra cd played in the background. We talked about all sorts of things. I inevitably talked to much.
That's what happens to me when I drink red bull. No lie.
It's like there is this truth serum in it...not only that but some secret chatty Cathy serum too.
Red bull is the devil's baby cousin.

So...back to Cleveland. We talked until 2:30am when I finally told him he had to leave. Literally!

He say, "I wasn't going to stay."
I say, well, I laughed as I say, "No shit, I wasn't inviting you to say. If you heard what I said...I told you you had to go home."
He chuckled...sort of.


As he was leaving, putting on his coat, he turns to give me a hug...and then he goes in for the kiss. Now I have been spending sometime with this character while he's spending money on me...out of boredom because Sexy Chocolate still lives in Connecticut until January...so I figured I could give him a peck. You know...to be nice and shit!
What does this dork do...he takes the peck and then tries to put his nasty tongue in my mouth.
WTF Cleveland!!??!!
I leaned back and told him "uh-uh"...matter of fact I think I might have said..."oooh uh-uh!"...all I needed to follow it up with was..."no you di'int!"

I say, "what are you doing?"
He say, "trying to give you a kiss!"
I say, "not like that you're not. Go home."

He was like...ooooh kkkkkk....
LOL
Maybe if I resembled a character on Family Guy like he does...we would be a perfect little dorky cartoon couple.
...budda...
I'm HOT.
...despite the age, the love handles, the greasy and grey hair, and my penchant to talk to myself and drop the eff bomb at random.

Tuesday I went to see college basketball at Madison Square. I went with another newbie. Let's say his name is Giancarlo. Giancarlo works for homelans security...has a nice little body BUT...he's Italian and not the dark and swarthy type...but the pasty white type. All was going good until he reached across the arm rest between us and took my hand in his. And then...he gave me the forehead kiss.
Now, I am a sucker for the forehead kiss... but not a sucker for the forehead kiss from someone who has thin lips and a eff'd up hairline like Tim Duncan.

Sidenote: This is crazy but here is something you need to know about me... I leave things that I shouldn't. That I have no reason to leave unless I am doing something I shouldn't be. I lost my belt. I think it's at the jacuzzi joint that SOS took me to. Man, I haven't had a night like that since high school. But back to belts...I've misplaced bras and panties too. Odd.

I am out...

B~E~Z

I was wrestling with my purse when I answered. You know how these days, a woman carries around a suitcase trying to pass it off as a purse…well…that’s me. No lie, I need a damn flashlight to look in that bitch sometimes. I try not to put too much stuff in it because my left shoulder feels like it should belong to a gym-busting muscle man…can’t honestly say that’s too attractive on a 5’5 pocket-size chick.

I’m wrestling around looking for a pen…that has got to be in this purse which is more and more turning out to be a black hole. My focus was on getting the thought, the line, the verse, the story, down on paper before it disappeared from my mindspace. Like it usually does.

So…I wasn’t paying attention to what he was asking. I tend to listen to men selectively. I take it all in fast but only respond to key words…but reality is…everything sounds like blah blah blah to me unless I am concentrating…or care.
So without really listening to the importance of the question…
I answered.
But as I am excavating my purse…it hit me. His silence.
So I catch myself before I take pause. I can’t just stop and turn to him and try to smooth over the situation like warm honey on soft skin, so I keep digging for my pen.
I silently curse myself.
He’s such a sensitive and accommodating man.
However,
Damage is done at this point and as much as I’d like to make him feel better about the words I used [it’s always about semantics, is it not?]
I can’t.

“Do you like me?”

“On occasion.”


Ok…so here’s the deal. I could have said a lot more than that but really…if you have to ask then you probably know the answer.
It’s that 6th sense we grow up with…the one that keeps us from dismantling the wall.
He knows where I am but… He thinks or rather, wants to be the enforcer.
He’s trying to shut down my interaction with other men, and I admire his tenacity but…
I gave him the Bloopty handbook when we met…set out the rules in chapter1 section 2A and 2B titled What to Expect When You Shouldn’t Be Expecting, 2A. I am not emotionally available for long term so you best be mighty happy with short term and 2B. Don’t ask me no damn questions about feelings or intentions. Such as, do you like me, do you miss me, where do you see this relationship going.
He’s trying to make me dependant on him for my wants, my needs. Trying to buy me things…and if he’s not careful, I may take advantage of all that he has to offer…which is not who I am trying to be. I’ve turned over a new leaf so to speak…for lack of a better euphemism. I am not trying to use anyone…but he really needs to stop with all the offers…I mean damn…I can only say “no” for so long before I start saying yes, all the time and have him handing over his paycheck.
He’s inviting me to family holiday functions, which of course I am not going. And what is it with men taking random women around to meet their family members? Yes, yes…at this point…I am that random chick, well I should be. I sure haven’t proven myself worthy of meeting friends and family. Maybe for guys that’s not a big deal. Maybe.

…but yet, he still asks the question.

I had an answer for him…but it would have been a waste of breath.
A man doesn’t want to hear that he’s one of 7 on the roster. Hell…a woman doesn’t want to hear that shit either. There was no reason to go into that type of detail…especially with a man that I won’t kiss…and when I am with him, I make sure to put my hands in my pocket so he won’t reach for them as we walk, hell I do that even when we are sitting in the car. I am terrible at this dating thing right now

So my selective hearing only heard the words…I wasn’t listening to his question.

"Do you like me?"

"On occasion."

Sidenote: I know I mention this pic all the time but I swear I luvs Secretary. When she's master bating in bed and she's moaning out...cup of creamed spinach, 4 peas...it's priceless. Or when she's in the bathroom at work master bating and she is quietly saying...cock, mayonaise, excrement.

I went to Louisville and had a relatively good time. Casual and relaxed.
He wanted me to go to a work function and I packed for it…but thought about it and was like…I don’t want to meet his friends or his family…coworkers included. I came to spend time with him, not everyone connected with him.
It was a lazy weekend. He took me out to the country, I mean the very middle of the country in Kentucky and 2 hours later, we are at the...


We took a tour and got to dip our own bottles in red wax. I thought it was cool even though the only time I drank Makers Mark was when I was out with my boss and I was trying to impress him when I ordered my drink neat. He was impressed and me…well my throat burned like I had poured acid down it and my stomach felt like hell in the pit of my belly.

I left that Monday and realized that this was probably going to be a return trip because I realize that I like country life. Or at least I think I do. I liked Charlotte or maybe I liked who was in Charlotte. I liked Charlotte…I think. I think I liked the thought of Charlotte. I like the thought of a country guy, a southern man.

I was back in NYC for 2 days before California came to New York. I wasn’t prepared. It was an ex that came for a “meeting” for his job. He was here Wednesday thru Monday. He stayed at my place 2 days and again…I wasn’t prepared. I don’t get how you love someone practically 20 years later. I don’t get it. I know he had grandiose visions of he and I getting back together. I’d heard him year after year telling me he still loved me…but I didn’t believe it. It’s exhausting trying to maintain a friendship with someone that wants to be your life-mate.

And finally…we come to Sexy Chocolate aka Just Chocolate.
I think I may be in some sort of infatuated state with him. I want him to want me the way I want him. Which is contradictory to the fact that I don’t think he is good for me.
But then…didn’t we all know I would say something like that.
Don’t we all know that I can’t equate myself with thinking I deserve some sort of wonderful instead of giving out my wonderfulness in bits and pieces to random ass.
Not really a question…no need to give your buck 76…lol

So tonight I had a date with someone that…might be ok to spend some time with. He is from Eygpt. His name is Mohamed, with Barack’s middle name. When I got into his car, he was playing Hall & Oats. I liked him for that. No rap, no smooth jazz, no crying R&B…

…I have some TMI info.
I don’t masturbate…nearly as much as I should.
Now, I do have “items” that encourage self pleasure…and let’s say I pulled one out this afternoon…
I turned down some quality poncha Friday night from the SOS…(I am somewhat holding out for Sexy Chocolate)…and I also had California in town…so why am I breaking out my “items” when I had the real life thing in my home? Well…
Right now I am just not in the mood for having a man inside of me. I haven’t had sex since…the last time I had sex.
So...I self pleasured today.
I had the strongest orgasm I have had in …ever…so intense…that is gave me a headache.
Now that is pitiful.
I am about to sex someone up soon…’cause masturbating to the point that it gives headaches is totally counter-productive.
The strain on my neck and head were so bad I was about to throw away my bullet. Almost. Not quite.

Bloomingdale’s has put up their Christmas windows. The tree at Rockefellar is up but not lit yet.

There are some things about myself that I love…and then there are some things that make me sort of wince. But I realize that…I am who I am. I could improve on those things that make me wince but then…those are the things that set me apart from others. And if I changed those things…then I’d be damn near perfect…and tell me truthfully, who the hell wants to be around someone that’s perfect?

That would leave others resenting me and sooner than later I’d drop off the invite list. I’d rather be imperfect…and be comforted by the fact that we are all imperfect instead of thinking about being that one muthaeffa that’s walking around all extra perfect and shit stuff. Being mediocre on a grand scale is nothing to turn your nose up at.
Reminds me of a conversation Zed and I had about being the middle of the middle. [Stratification, October 26th, 2006]

Lately, I find myself finding reasons to use words like lest and shall or unbeknownst and thou. I think it’s my unconscious way of preserving a romantic time of speaking. I also find myself using pet names that make no sense…and I use them at the end of every text I send…

I am headed to Louisville this weekend.
I think I am spending entirely too much time back in the DC area. Matter of fact, I have gone back and visited more since I moved back to NYC then I did in the months before I moved to MD.

I met a man. We've had some dates. I named him Sexy Chocolate. He’s 6’3, with a formidable hard sexy body…and he’s a pretty dark skinned hunk of lovin’. You know, chocolate is a natural aphrodisiac. And when I met him...all I wanted to do was roll around in his chocolateness...immerse myself in him. He was everything I liked and despite the fact that he was a gemini...I wanted him bad. No, bad!


Our first date I think I kept one of my body parts touching one of his body parts the majority of the evening.

Being with him made me want to see...well...I was ready to see if I was ready. Not like make a commitment or anything…but…just to see if I might be open to all that it might come with.
Budda, S.C. has convinced me that…
I am ready to have someone around but not necessarily for the commitment thing.
Then again, I am putting too much emphasis on “commitment”…I think that is always the part that scares me. Like…I’m really going to have to stay committed even if I don’t like you anymore?!?

The other night I made dinner. He came over after helping his sister move all day so he jumped in the shower. I closed the door to the hallway that leads to the bathroom and I sat in the livingroom and giggled at the fact that the man that I wanted in my home…was really here.
I felt like a schoolgirl…fiddlin’ with my hair and straightening my shirt and trying to find the most sexy, yet cute way to sit on the couch. Jumped from couch to loveseat to see which would be better. I settled on the couch and sat to one end to see if he’d sit by me or…sit somewhere closer to the other end.
He chose to practically sit on top of me with his damp body.
I wanted to ask him if he wanted me to rub baby oil on his smooth chocolate muscles back, but ended up just sitting there watching him while contracting my coochie muscles in anticipation of what I would one day feel when I decided that I wanted him between my legs. I didn't want to risk molesting him on my couch...in the livingroom...while in the middle of a World Series game...
But here he was...with nothing but a towel around his waist...and my actions were...stuttered. I froze up.

So, I just sat on my hands and we sat and watched the World Series…we talked about randomness, much of what I don’t remember because I swear I only heard what I wanted to hear and most of what I thought he said…was no where near what he said.
I heard, "I like you, I like you, I like you…aaaaa llloooootttt Bloopty!"
…and then around 2am he looks at me and I could see that things were about to go another direction and I wasn’t sure if all that I had anticipated, was really what I was ready for right at this moment.
You see, I wanted him sexually when I met him. Wanted to taste him and touch him and feel the weight of his body on me as he he slowly went in and...
...but now that that could very well happen this night...I was caught off guard. I didn't think it would happen this soon...I wasn't ready. Not mentally.
You see, it was much easier to just want him; crave him...without any real follow through.
I know...I've been told time and time again that I am a...contradiction.
The only time I've ever been this way was with the last Gemini I was with. The one who I wanted to marry, who wanted to marry me...the relationship I sabatoged apurpose. The one man that I'd probably get misty-eyed if I ever saw again.

I already knew but I asked anyway…”you aren’t going home, are you?” And he nodded his head no and told me he was tired from moving. I wanted him to stay. But, now that it was time for him to actually lay his head in my bed…I was scurred.
Silly I know, but…silly I am.
We moved into the bedroom and his big body took up my entire bed…but I climbed over that big ol' chocolate mountain and we went to sleep, with me half on him and him half smothering me with his big trunk of an arm. It felt good.
With that said. It also felt awkward and I woke up wishing he had driven the 2 hours back home the night before. At least he doesn't snore.
I am only 5’5…but when I sleep, I sleep all over my entire bed. Having someone in my bed just irritates me sometimes. In this single life, I haven't gotten used to waking up to someones face. I know I will one day but...
I can see at this point in my life that if I ever got married again, I am going to need to have a guest room because the first couple of years months…I am not going to like sleeping next to someone every night. I need my space.

Next day…
I got a phone call from someone even sweeter than Sexy Chocolate.
Hopefully I will be able to see the new sweetness when I get back in town.

Last night I had another strange dream…Sean Combs was in it…and he wanted me…bad. Heeheehee
Then there was this chick that I haven’t spoke to in about 4 years… And a dude I had about 3 dates with who this chick gave my blog addy to after I said something “not too nice” about him. I didn’t find that out until a year later but whatever at that point. Anyway…so in this dream…chick and dude were trying to do me dirty, so to speak. Spreading lies and sabotaging everything I was involved in. So, Diddy came over and he was all over me trying to be apart of my world…and I was like, all right then Sean. So, I made him take me to obscure spots and tried to hide him so that these two shady ass mutheffin scheisters didn’t sabotage my new love interest. The last I remember is that he bashed in the head of the chick and the dude just went away and forgot all about me. Sean and I ended up moving into my grandmothers old house and he quit the “business” and he grew old and puttered around, growing tomatoes in the backyard.

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I know I have been the slacker on not keeping up with this blog. Even when I do, it’s filled with random nothingness…and void of humor, interesting content and/or anything worthwhile…
…I just don’t have a desire to expose myself anymore… [that's not true]
…next month will be 6 months that I have lived back in NYC…and although it was the best thing for me to do at the time…a part of me wishes that I didn’t have to move. Kev and I were talking and I was mentioning to him that looking back over all the men that I had dated, or had a relationship with…I’ve never had any regrets. Well that holds true for all but one. I regret ever having met the person, from the beginning of the year, from the past year and a half. I don’t feel any anger or angst towards him…I just regret the time that could have been better spent doing something else…anything…even knitting or say…picking boogers.
Anything would have been better than wasting time with him. Nothing can be done about it now…

I am off to the Dugout, across from the Yankee stadium, to watch (what I know will be) the last game of the World Series. I am sure I will be tipsy before the game ever starts. I will need to pace myself…lol

Go Yankees!

I was well for 6 days in a row. Then I got sick again. Once again, I am bed ridden and delirious. Well...delirious/delusional...whatever. A month of being sick; my social life has dwindled down to nada. Wack!

I like the fact that my bathroom has a window that faces the main street. I don’t know but in the morning I like hearing the noises of the morning’s hustle and bustle. It’s bright in the shower and it really makes it jump start my imagination as to how I can come up with another way to fuck up a beautiful day.
I am so evil sometimes.

It’s in my shower that I always have random thoughts. Nothing really ever being connected…just thoughts that come and go.

Random thoughts today:
1. if I were a man, would I treat a woman good
2. would I rather be in love or not in love
3. why do I look better in vibrant colors versus muted ones when I definitely have red undertones which should be contrasting with the vibrant colors
4. I recognize that I usually take the road that is probably not the safest
5. I wish the shower had better water pressure
6. do I want to be waking up to the same person for the rest of my life
7. the last time I had sex was the very...
8. why would I need to make a whole box of speghetti noodles for myself
9. why do I have a weird attraction to spaghetti noodles and thoughts of rolling around in a vat of them
10. do I really want California coming to New York

There is a band (DaveMatthewsBand) that has a song that has no words…so everytime they play it at a concert, it is always different lyrics. I like that, but I like DMB. It reminds me of my sophomore year in high school when I was hanging out with white girls like they were my kin. The music reminds me of that phase were I was listening to ska music and going to hear zydeco music while high on LSD. My sophomore year in high school was something kin to a walk on the wild side in a white mans world…just for a while. It was a time where I was rebelling against my father, I stole for no reason, I ditched classes, I dated NBA players that were ridiculously to old for me, I drank hard, I spent time in juevy, I was my very worse in the 10th grade. The very worse that I have ever been and at this point, ever was.

I look back on that year and I used to hate myself for putting my daddy through that but…I recognize that without those experiences…I wouldn’t be me. I am glad they only lasted a year and not my entire teenage years. Oddly, I slipped right back into being the square I was before that year…and I went back to being the quiet goody two-shoes.

So…I am missing a pairing knife from my knife set. For the very life of me I can’t think of where it is…could be. Again with the over active imagination, I start to think of black-outs and being some sort of avenger of evil…out stalking bad men with a pairing knife. Or, maybe I just paired someone who was good but still deserved a good knifing.

It’s better to be killed by someone you know on accident, then by someone you don’t know on purpose. – Peter Griffin

Seriously, where’s my knife?
*and I should stop watching tv if all I can remember to quote is TheFamilyGuy*

And as a parting word…
I will find my own way out.

The back of my thighs are killing me. I obviously did some sort of movement that could be construed as a work out of some sort but…it could be that my old and fat ass is just out of shape. I’d realized that I have actually been lying dormant for a good month now. What with being sick and all…and then just the fact that the most activity I do is taking a shower…moving around to make sure that I am getting all the necessary areas as clean as possible. Which I have to admit…is a workout in and of itself…and that’s pretty pathetic to have to admit that I tire myself out when I take a shower.
I am out of shape, definitely.

This is another entry in my relationship dialogue.


There is a certain time of day, when the sky is a soft lavender and the world hasn’t quite awaken to the morning chirps of birds as they twitter about from branch to branch…
The sun hasn’t made itself known to a brand new day…it sits under the black veil of night that’s slowly fading…
It’s at that time, that I sometimes, feel alone.

Alone doesn’t mean lonely…it means, alone.

The lavender time of day is when I like to have sex. Not quite the morning…so after the slow grind has made me softly moan and curled my toes, and made me bite my bottom lip in ecstasy, I have time to drift off to another place and drift between awake and contented bliss before the sun peaks out over the tops of skyscrapers and hits my bedroom window. My mind is on little else than rest, satiation, and relaxing.

Being single, well…my mornings aren’t always filled with lavender love. I’m alone, awake with thoughts and promises, checklists and errands, duties and calls to be made start to invade the start to my day. I’m alone, thinking of the things that will determine whether this day will be a success. And before I know it, I am wishing for the sun to rise so I can get a jump start.

I miss those soft lavender skies…as much as I miss that golden time of day when all that was done for the day can not be taken back and where I am comforted in knowing I didn’t get through the day by myself, as I lay in the comfort of someone’s arms and feel relatively safe in knowing someone has my back, as much as, I have theirs.

With that said…

I know that life-long relationships aren’t for everyone. I have a deep down feeling that they aren’t necessarily for me. That doesn’t take away from the fact that I’d like to be in a relationship from time to time. As beautiful and fulfilling as I know that a relationship can be…it is hard work. I’m all for putting in grunt work, I’m all for rolling up the sleeves and maybe even having to get mired knee deep in some bullshit in order to get to the good stuff.

But… I feel like some labor laws have been broken by the amount of work I’ve had to put forth in the past. I need some comp time to recoup, otherwise I’m going to have to count my losses and retire.