Thoughts by WordSmitz

Column: The Gluttony of Poverty

2012-01-10T23:29:00.000-08:00

Confession: I have a slight obsession with reality shows.

Make that ~~had.~~

Be it E! Entertainment, Bravo, MTV, VH1, HGTV or any other acronym you can think of chances are there was a show I knew and watched.

I suppose you can say it was my chance to unplug, unwind and live amongst senseless nonsense of television instead of the senseless nonsense of the real world.

There is something sinfully wonderful about watching narcissistic people shop their woes away, only to criticize their actions and swear you aren't as bad as they are. To swear you have a better grasp of reality.

Despite my loyalty, the east coast is shifting my California vanity onto more important topics.

In an effort to cleanse my guilty pleasure and sometimes guiltier conscious, I've been indulging in the wealth of current events, international affairs and political smörgåsbord that is CNN. Not only do they have some of the best and brightest journalists in the business, but they afford me an insane array of information and knowledge.

The other day I found myself binging on CNN, slightly lamenting the state of our world and the chaos that is now the average and norm. Certainly much heavier stuff than the fluff I like to watch, Between quips about the end of the war in Iraq and questioning the relativity of marriage in today's culture, they delved into the topic of homelessness. Except this wasn't your typical onslaught of mundane yet tragic information. For the first time since it's inception some 25 years ago, the National Center on Family Homelessness is now counting children as part of their homeless statistics.

What have they come up with? It's shocking actually: in the home of the brave and land of the free, 1 in 50 children is homeless. 42 percent of these children is under the age of 6, with African Americans and Native Americans "disproportionately represented". Families, not just singles, are finally and accurately being counted as homeless citizens. What's more - 1.16 of these children will not graduate high school. Our youth and future of America is slowly being flushed down the forgotten rabbit hole.

Hearing this was like looking at my once upon a time actuality...

In fact, I was homeless. My childhood can sometimes be a blur of 14 schools and countless apartments - parts of which seem like yesterday, and events that aren't so lucid. Amidst all the musical chairs, there were times when the music would stop and my family was left without a seat, or worse, a roof. The first time that comes to mind I stayed at my aunt's while my mom, dad and little sister slept in the car. We had an old Volkswagen bus that sat about 7 or 8 and looked like something out of a Scooby-Doo cartoon; less Mystery Machine, more homeless family of three clandestinely tucked inside. Another time we were in between a move-out and an as yet unknown move-in. Not having many options and even less money, a family friend told my parents about a house someone was renting that was within our price range. Catch: the house was in LA, didn't have a stove, had walls lacquered with wood and it was constructed presumably with one eye closed. We instantly dubbed it 'The House That Crack Built' lived in it for 3 months and commuted to Orange County for work & school until the ends met the means and we could afford to move back to the suburbs. I can recall a time or two more, but those tend to be the less clear memories.

I can however attest to more late, absent and sick days than a few students combined. Fortunate for me, as hectic and unpredictable as aspects of my life were, my education didn't falter in the long run. In fact, I was accepted into the GATE/Honors program in the fourth grade and have been challenged ever since. I had to strive harder to compensate for what some kids took for granted and had at their leisure.

Looking back now, no one ever knew. Had no idea really. I was ashamed. Embarrassed to be surrounded by the up-and-coming 'burbs and all the pseudo wealth that was seemingly there, my family barely making ends meet month after month. The wealth I now watched on TV. Little did I know the 2007 recession would reveal that more than just my family were struggling; albeit us harder than them, but struggling just the same. It seems no one wants others to know their dirty laundry.

While each situation and story varies, from those caught up and trapped in the consequences of the recession to those plagued by crime and drug abuse, the result is the same; instability, wandering and weary, trying to cope without a roof. Without a feeling of security. But none of this is actually new. New to the masses but not new to reality.
But chances are, that reality TV show won't be picked up my any channel and will continue to be told through peeks and sneaks into what is truly a real problem.Most of us would rather overeat with the Kardashians than pinch and scrap like the Jeffersons. Poverty doesn't sell like outlandish gluttony does and typically people aren't willing to TiVo the folks down the street getting yet another eviction notice on their door. That would be too real in this 8.5% unemployed culture. It seems we want TV that reflects more fantasy than realty. Reality TV is simply too real, especially for those living it.

The C in D.C: Blame It on the College

2011-12-14T20:04:00.000-08:00

For a while now, Isuppose you could say I have been in denial. Somewhat not ready to admit it. Daily this truth stares me in the facebut I have been keen on just…dismissing the facts. However, at this point, onesemester officially behind me and a healthy dose of others ahead, I should be sensibleabout the situation. Come to comfortable terms with things because as they say,it is what it is, right?

Admittedly, I am between a rock and a hard place. One mightsay stuck between a life and a college place. What I mean by that is at 23years old (going on 24 cough cough) I am not your traditional student. Amodern, perhaps progressive ideal of what students in 2011 look like, butcertainly not suffering from fresh-out-of-high-school-free-from-mommy-and-daddysyndrome. Look it up – at this point I am convinced something of the sortactually exists. Yet I am surrounded by just the type: excited, crazy, nothinking gulp drinking scared albeit willing 18-22 year olds; the traditional college bracket. Whatcan I say: I took some time off. And while it isn’t all about age, that all tooidentifiable number posted on our foreheads for others to determine our worthand maturity (not to be confused with our credit scores which act as a similar discriminator),it is about experience, mindset and continualdevelopment. I have always been told I am not a typical ___ year old (whateverage I may be at the time), but instead am more mature and adult-like (whateverthat means). Someone even confused me with a grad student the other day. Yousee where I am going with this?

So while I am fully enjoying all that college has affordedme, be it the curiosity, the education, my peers and our collective communityof ambition, I can’t help but grasp that I am in a different lane in life thanmy fellow Bison. Not necessarily a better or more advanced lane – after all,isn’t life all about perspective? – but a separate lane nonetheless. Case andpoint: a few weeks ago I found myself invited to hang out at a dorm. Since thisis my first semester at Howard, I have a few orientation classes and whatnot inwhich I have made friends with freshman and sophomores. Drinking at a dorm issomething I did when I was 18 and 19 at UCLA and USC, ironically not being in college myself. I digress…now that I am an academic, I fancy myself taking part in all aspects of collegelife. I had a great time: the 19 year old me drank, laughed, joked, dared andfor a few hours completely submerged myself in my friends. Then the 23 year oldme came out to play: halted the drinking pre-limit (and proudly sans ahangover), kept an eye on the time to avoid commuting home at an unsafe hour,and watched we gore as 2 particularly robust freshman boys drank like that bottle of Crown(yes! Crown Royal) was the absolute last bottle that they may ever see in life.My body ached for their inexperienced yet ripened kidneys and I, unlike them,knew their tomorrow would be a painful one.

When I relayed the night to a friend from back home, alreadyout of the college club and in a similar life lane as I, she laughed; partiallyunsure if I was serious, somewhat confused as to why I would be drinking withillegals (I mean when you put it thatway…). She understood my desire to partake in what ‘college kids do’ but wasquick to point out that unlike them, I can go to a bar and just socialize withfolks in my lane, who also have a legal ID and can guzzle outside of anRA-guarded dorm. Touché. I do that Iassured her, but I suppose in my eagerness to do what I thought college kids did I ignored that I am simplybeyond that sneak-a-toke stage. Beyond smuggling Smirnoff into my room underthe guise that I’m almost an adult so it’s ok. Beyond calling home for extramoney this week because I couldn’t balance my big kid account and now needed areal grown up to bail me out. Beyond not knowing better because I have beenthere and done that. But it was her phrase “hey, that’s college life” that reallystuck with me. What’s college lifemean for me? If Jaime Foxx can blame his indiscretions and recklessness onalcohol, can’t I blame my slight whimsy for the next few semesters on thecollege?

I’ve decided that yes, I can. And then again no, I can’t.

I’myoung – 23 and some change – and allotted a pi-esque number of crazy, fun, illogical,last-night-was-insane moments in which I can look back and beyond thesepriceless college years and onto my youth in general, all whilst smiling. I don’t want tobe so stifled in this self-inflicted age genre that I don't explore outside my box. Still, I do know better than to reek havoc simply because I'm in college and that may or may not be what college kids do. I came onto this campus with a personal objective and a unique fire lit under me to continue this journey and finally cross the finish line - regardless of my lane and any other paths I cross doing so. I may not be fresh from high school or under the legal drinking age, but I'm open to this college life and all the madness that comes with it. My college life, that is...

The C in D.C: How to Not Have Sex on the Metro

2011-12-10T21:55:00.001-08:00

My first wheels on the open road were epic in every way. It was 2006 and I somehow fanagled my friends dad to sell me their family's 'training' car instead of sending it to a dreary junkyard death. For $200 I became the proud owner of a green 1994 Ford Taurus, with charming engravings on the roofs interior and loads of character dented, peeling and scratched throughout the car. Didn't matter. With my personal CD player connected to the car's cassette opening, I would whip through Orange County - any and everywhere my wheels would take me. Until...the transmission fell through the bottom piece by piece down Santa Margarita Parkway. From there, I've owned a 1988 BMW, a 2008 Scion XB and lastly my 2009 Camry LE. Alas, my auto saga has come to an end for now...

Getting around town in the District can be an efficient, but exhausting task. Sans the need for a car, my transportation options have multiplied: train, bus, taxi, biking or walking. Depending on where you need to go and what you need to do dictates what mode you take. Personally, I'm a metro girl.

Lately I have been forced to commute via metro during peak hours; 6-9 am & 5-7 pm. What that means is that upon entry onto the train I am instantly butt-to-balls with half of D.C. There is nowhere to sit, nowhere to stand. Inevitably you end up on top of some stranger, squished between two poles and a pair of taken seats, with your toes mangled in your shoes griping its soles to stay afloat between jerking stops and shifting passengers. All in all, it can be a trying journey.Last week a women in a twead business suit, knees buckled holding her chic briefcase and worn red bottom Loubutons in tow made a comment that "riding the metro can be like having sex with a train full of strangers". Word. Not to mention the array of colorful characters that are bound to greet you on and off the track. After a few unpleasant and awkward rides it didn't take me long to realize there are rules to the road...er the rail...well, rules of the metro.

Always wear your sunglasses - rain or shine, your stunnas aren't for the weather. Au contraire metro rider, you need sunglasses to shield you from the nonsense that is bound to occur on each and every journey.
Small talk - it's helpful to have a universal quip or two tucked in your back pocket. People, like the twead woman, will spout out seemingly clever things and anything that can avoid more awkwardness is welcome.
But, dont talk too much - unless you are right next to the person you are talking to, do not, by any means, atempt to carry on a conversation worth value across the train. It's tacky, loud, obnoxious...you get it.
Ear phones - come without them and you might as well just stick your fingers in your ears. Be it the deafining silence of co-existing strangers, the pulsating beats of the tracks on rails, the faint thump of Jay Z oozing out of some teens Beats by Dre headphones or the interesting yet personal conversation you should so happen to overhear in the booth ahead of you. Sidenote: discussing last night's escapades is quite entertaining to hear and imagine.
Keep your bag close & your phone closer - theivery. helllooooo?
Water, gum or the like - I have developed a huge fear (thanks D.C) of being stuck, trapped or somehow involuntrily on the train for a long amount of time. Imagine: me, a car full of randoms, hunger, annoyance & desperation...yikes! Bring it with - you'll thank me later.
Be ready to act quickly - with everyone wedged on a moving closet, it's important that you are able to shift quickly and respond aptly to open space or ushering in & out of the train. Not doing so is justifiable cause for trampling.

Hmmm...am I missing anything?

The C in D.C: See no AIDS, Hear no AIDS, Speak no AIDS

2011-11-11T10:09:00.001-08:00

In the District, I am incredibly outnumbered. Gratefully so, but the facts still daunt me. PSA's sprawled across the city consistently remind me of the stats and in fact, it's overwhelming: 25,000 to 1 in my case. Daily, those odds are growing. In a niche of approximately 600,000 and counting, 25,000 is a number to reckon with. So as a one amongst a many, I'd like to share what I have dubbed my real world awakening.
DC is the countries top metropolitan affected by the ongoing HIV/AIDS epidemic. Yes.

Epidemic.

Though it is our nations Capitol, many don't realize the facades of the District that make it so dynamic and equally so, dichotomic. While the prestige of the White House and the Supreme Court gleam in the background, the forefront of urban DC looms with drugs, disease and hidden alternative lifestyles. The homeless and displaced are rampant; a cough suddenly feels like the bubonic plague reincarnated and panhandlers make more than the employed. The culture of DC, likewise, is extreme: the yuppies and the hoodrats; the politicians and the change-the-worlds; the educated and the blissfully ignorant; Blacks and whites. And the men you see as one sexual orientation during the day, may easily affiliate with another at night. With this, comes the unusual acceptance yet denial (if that makes any sense) of the homosexual population. People know they are here - in fact, 'they' are a decent amount of Washingtonians - yet for some, 'their' own orientation is never to be put on display.

This is especially apparent in the Black community, where the trend of secret alternative lifestyles is controversially accredited for the lack open awareness and testing regarding the topic. Dubbed as being on the down low, or DL, Black men not readily accepting or honest about their lifestyles is not a new phenomenon either here or in other Black meccas like Atlanta. Men on the 'DL' see themselves as heterosexual men, often having families, wife's and straight friends and affiliations. They do not identify with being gay because of the feminine stigma that can accompany that orientation, as well as the flamboyancy and obvious activity. Within the Black culture, a feminine man is seen as a weakness. However, in actuality, these men are gay, if at the very least bisexual and neglect to honestly inform their partners - men and women - of their true lifestyle.

People often passingly snark about the indecisive lifestyles of these men and their inevitable contribution to the problem. Older women warn the younger girls on the supposed signs of a "suspect" man, calling his secretive dabble into both homo & hetero lifestyles "rachett" and "tacky". I have actually been told to look at a man's wrist; if it's strong and assertive he is straight, but if it's weak and dangles, he's obviously gay. The science behind determining who's who is a potent mix of fear, ignorance and stereotyping, but it is nonetheless shared as though it is a prized secret to saving yourself. Are gay men the reason HIV/AIDS is growing within the Black community. No. A factor? Likely. 7% of Black men in DC are infected with HIV. Then again, the lack of communication between partners, the naive assumptions about people and their status, and the avoidance of regular testing are also prime culprits. Regardless, the trend is becoming very apparent in the ever increasing HIV/AIDS cases, with over 45% of new HIV diagnosis in 2009 given to Black Americans. In D.C, often deemed the Capital of AIDS, statistics place the small city at higher rates than those of West Africa - 3% of the total population, with no signs of slowing.

In an effort to make the masses more aware of their sexual M.O, the government and private institutions alike have turned to PSA's. At any given moment, one can walk into the metro, onto the bus, pass signs on the street, see TV or hear radio ads clamoring to alert the masses: wrap it up. Get tested. Be safe. Tell your partner. The language is gentle but the message is urgent - some ads even prescribe a twice a year regimen of testing "in the sun and in the snow". With a ratio of 3 out of 10 condom users in what we call a first world or industrialized country, that is far below enough. A friend recently confided in me that she herself was unsure of her standing among the have it's and have nots due to a roaming husband and a shaky marriage. As her support system, and an ode to adapting to my new surroundings of urban living and a testament to my own soap box advice, she and I got tested for HIV/AIDS.

Like most campuses, Howard University has a health care center. Fortunate for us, the health care provided fitted the epidemic it sought to contain - they provided instant HIV testing and results within 15 minutes, sexual health counseling and an abundance of contraceptive freebies. All free. In fact, in the District of Columbia, HIV testing is almost always free with clinics gracing every other street in many neighborhoods. If diagnosed, HIV/AIDS medication is free to any and all who need it. Luckily, my friend and I simply walked away with a bag full of condoms and a renewed sense of sexual responsibility.

Wrap it up. Know your partner. Get tested. It's you against an epidemic - need I say much more...?

Equal At Last: Equality

2011-11-11T09:42:00.001-08:00

A guest post from my younger sister, Sydni Bond.

What is still needed to advance towards Gender Equality?

A David Copperfield kind of sunlit path.

Strengthen women’s economic security and rights!

Ten bucks for women. Fifteen bucks for men.

Advance the gender equality perspective, NOW.

Inferiority complex. Crippled by the inadequate amount of Gender Equality.

That kills me!

But now, women’s empowerment is increasing.

I’m glad as hell.

Gender

Slaves had withering injustice. That’s against my principles

The Negro still is not free. Human rights! Crippled by the chains of discrimination.

Racial Justice. By a snob that won’t talk to you.

This situation can and will be changed. Let us be happy and bawling.

An oasis of freedom and Racial Justice. Reduce and end judgement by color.

Judge by the content of their character. He’s a terrific snob.

Racial.
You think they don’t give a damn, but they do.

Inferiority complex.

I sort of miss everybody.

Equality

We will be equal at last.

The C in D.C: Time Won't Give Me Time

2011-10-27T07:54:00.000-07:00

Among the many things the city has so diligently taught me these past several weeks, one of them is that time is truly of the essence.

In almost every aspect of life, there is never enough time to do everything one sets out to do. We all complain and quip about it daily, and the cliche thing to say during any idle conversation is that you are tired, busy, sick of being tired or too busy to talk. I feel like that inherent quandary is only confounded when in the city and hustling through each and everyday.

According to the calendar, it is almost the end of October - alas, I am in denial. Four weeks feels like a whirlwind of here and there, do this and that, back and forth; my head is dazed with the reality that in the blink of an eye, a month has passed by and soon, I'll be on to the next one.

Between the load of classes, the daily rigamaru and the steady and sure traversing of the D.C social scene, the extras that have popped up during the last month have been amazing, exhausting, and fantastic all at the same time. Here's what I mean:

Despite all my attempts at planting, watering, hoeing and waiting - money has yet to grow on a single tree for me. Leaving my failed green thumb behind, I was able to find a job doing what I used to do back in the day before I got on the corporate hamster wheel - babysitting. Anyone who knows me knows I adore kids, especially babies, so this is perfect for me, my schedule and I can still make mullah. Since I came to D.C to not only finish school, but also get my hands dirty with my career in Public Relations, babysitting will keep me fed while I chase my true goals. Speaking of...

Last week Howard had a massive Career Fair featuring some of the countries best PR/Marketing/Advertising companies (Read: Publics and Waggner Edstrom), as well as TV & Film bigwigs (Read: MTV, BET & HBO). With my newly tweaked resume highlighting all my awesomeness and my best 'interview' smile, I did the networking rounds to several booths and even had a few on-the-spot interviews. Survey says? Success! I received a lot of great feedback and HR cards for spring and summer internships. And so, the applying and waiting game begins.

In the meantime, I have officially become a member of the Howard PRSSA National chapter; HUPRSSA. In short, it is an established collegiate organization for students majoring in fields such as Public Relations, Advertising and the like. Howard happens to be the oldest (and best!) HBCU chapter of the association. It's a great venue to discover internships geared for Communication majors and will specifically aid me in gaining the skills I'll need to be a kick-ass PR talent.

I am now writing for a national online magazine based at Howard, 101 Magazine. Though I'm loving PR more and more, my ultimate personal goal is to become a columnist. Working for 101 Magazine has allowed me to venture into both realms, while also padding my digital repertoire. I've been able to learn more about my writing style, what works best for magazines and online readers, assist in publicizing the site and help my editors think of story ideas for both the online and print magazine. It has been a great and educational experience. And now I am officially published!

What's more: Howard celebrated it's 87th Homecoming! The entire city came alive for the legendary week, where The Mecca lit up with celebrities, honorary alumni and students, like me, who soaked up the Bison spirit. HU....YOU KNOW! Chris was able to fly out and we spent the week exploring and enjoying all of D.C. Even the weather paused its steady fall transition to allow the sun to make several appearances.

And with that, D.C is officially in prime fall mode. Lately, I have been stopping during my walks about town just to stare at the trees. Being that I am from Cali, our foliage is simple: dead or alive. There is no 'cycle' or obvious stages of living or dying. However, the east coast is beaming with reds, oranges, browns, yellows and every variance in between. And though I know that these trees, like this year, is on it's way out - I can't help but linger on it and how far both have come. Reflect on how just a few months ago they seemed so full of life and possibility and now, seemingly accomplishing all they came to do - air and opportunity - and now are gearing to make their graceful exit from center stage.

November is settling to bring up the rear of the year... and I still have so much to do before I clock out of 2011. Stay tuned.

The C in D.C: The Politics of Death

2011-09-25T21:03:00.000-07:00

Calling D.C a 'political city' is an understatement. Knowing it is the center of all things bureaucratic, legislative and municipal is much more like it.The Districts veins ebb and flow with the political jargon of lobbyists, Congressmen and women, Senators, Representatives and the ever present hopeful intern, faithfully trailing along the way, trying to grasp every name and duty thrown their way.Not only is it the home of all three branches of American Government, but also the place of change and civic rebellion of the status quo. Dred Scott v. Sandford, Plessy v. Ferguson, Roe vs. Wade - the list of notable Supreme Court decisions is ceaseless. History is a testament to that.

And now, so is this week.

For two decades, the case of Troy Davis has resounded in the South and slowly but surely made its unjust presence known throughout the country and the world. On August 19, 1989 a trivial argument over a can of beer between a friend of Davis' and a homeless man ended in the shooting and murder of Mark MacPhail who was working as a security guard at Burger King. Troy was convicted in '91 of his murder and sentenced to death by execution. Though witnesses at the time claimed they saw Davis shoot MacPhail, and incidentally the homeless man as well, time has since changed 7 of the 9 key witnesses stories, and they now claim Davis is innocent of the shootings. The police never found a murder weapon, obtained physical evidence or DNA from the scene; their entire case revolved around testimony - now completely inadmissible - and matching bullet casings from a prior shooting Davis was convicted of. The myriad of facts are seemingly regardless now; the overall lack of evidence, his original lackluster attorneys, the four scheduled and then cancelled execution dates, the countless appeals and court proceedings, the massive continual outcry of injustice and inhumanity. All the matters now is that on Monday, September 19th the State of Georgia scheduled a hearing for Davis' 2nd clemency hearing. On Tuesday it was denied. And by Wednesday, after heart stopping last minute Supreme Court deliberation to review Davis' stay of execution request was denied, Troy Davis was indeed executed at 11:08 pm in the state of Georgia.

Though some would say that Davis was guilty, some would conversely say he was innocent and others among us may simply not care about a would-be criminal of any sort locked away on death row. However, Troy Davis and his case were anything but typical. The supreme lack of evidence, both then and unsought after now, is the key to the universal disparity and applicability of this case. Anyone who should so happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time accosted by a mob mentality of pointing the finger at any sacrificial lamb who appears to be guilty could be the next Troy Davis. Any man or woman, in the state of Georgia or outside of it, can be accused and convicted of a heinous crime such as callous murder should a mere few of the many factors needed in a civic court of law just so happen to line up and earn you a conviction, consider yourself Troy Davis. And when a seemingly sophisticated circuit of the highest courts in our society throw the book at you and sentence you to the barbaric and inhumane ledge of execution, despite obvious objection and with every inkling of doubt amid it's decision - then everyone of us has the opportunity to be Troy Davis. Injustice reared its ugly unlawful head this week - we all got a long and through look.

Now living in D.C perhaps I was made more aware of the proceedings going on both here and in Georgia because of the role of the Supreme Court, and it's proximity to my backyard. As a student at one of the most politically active Black colleges, my peers and I spread the word and others marched to the White House. Though Troy himself cannot be saved, the world knows his name and will never forget. And ambitiously speaking, this should never happen again. Please, let his story be a testament to that.

The C in D.C: Learning My History Amongst The Mecca

2011-09-15T15:15:00.000-07:00

Howard University, 'the Mecca' for some who don't know, is a Historically Black University; an HBCU. Meaning it was established and is promoted as an institution for the advancement and greater education of Black people; moreover, minorities.While that implies several things, likely some of them true, it does mean that the history and contributions of Black people are truly highlighted, analyzed and celebrated. Most importantly, they are talked about to begin with. Though I didn't transfer from a backwards college in California nor an ignorant one, I should confess and explain that history - my history - was neither discussed or revered. We got the obligated synopsis of Mr. Columbus and his colonizing claim to fame; The Revolution and the American audacity for freedom; Slavery and its ugly omnipresence; Civil Rights and the endless struggle. A recap, if you will, that gets pawned over year after year in grade school. Admittedly, a large reasoning for my initial application to such a school, an HBCU, was that yearning and curiosity that college ignites: who am I? Where do I come from? What do I believe?

These thoughts had never been mauled over too much because I, for a long time, have been somewhat embarrassed at my lack of even knowing about my people. Suburban raised, I knew more and felt most comfortable with my Caucasian counterparts than with those who looked, hailed from and were seen as 'like me'. For some, this may seem like an easy fix: read a book, look it up or seek it out. For me, however, it was a mindset I was craving. A total overhaul of ideology, commonality and reference. And with that...here I am.

A part of my rigorous first semester at Howard is the mandatory selection of an African history class. Gleefully I signed up for what is, in so many ways, the first attempt at my history. Foremost, there is, in fact, a difference between 'African History' and 'African- American History', not just geographically, but in all other facades. Howard certainly distinguishes as such, and so, now do I. The choices were endless - The Harlem Renaissance, Intro to African Literature, African Systems of Thought, Black Asthetics, Contemporary Black Writing - and so was my decision as to where to begin this historical wonderment that had, in part, brought me to the East Coast. My decision was Afro - 193: The History of West Indians in America. As I sit in this class now, like I will for the next 14 weeks, already my horizon is on the brink of awe. Names I have vaguely skimmed in textbooks are now being brought to life in full dimension,through reflective context and most importantly, laiden with the truth. A raw truth already shocking, a tad disheartening and seemingly too blatant to be true, but it is. Black history is American history. Visionaries who would otherwise be lauded with awards, titles and respect had they been white, are so readily dismissed by the very history they were born to create. Students of life never introduced to the very people who died upholding the 'dream' and 'promise' of life and liberty that make America what it is.

Here, at the Mecca, actual home to names like Thurgood Marshall, Kwame Toure or as the world has come to know him,Stokely Carmichael, this history - our history - has a place. And here, at Howard, I have begun to find what I have been looking for on the path to discover the answers to those universal collegaite questions of self...

C in D.C: Quakes, 'Canes and A Little Morning Mobile Masturbation

2011-08-28T19:38:00.000-07:00

The District has welcomed me with open arms.

Very blunt, public and interesting arms, but open nonetheless.

As a new and excited member of this politically intriguing, culturally satisfying and historically enriching community, I feel as if the world has just opened up. And in so many ways, it has. Though I am here for school, this District is certainly teaching me about life, about true city life and the hardest lesson of all - about myself. Class is now in session:

With actual classes starting Monday and my boxes from California still amongst the postal chaos, I had lots to get done this week in order to get somewhat settled. Grocery shopping. my habitual run(s) to Target ( I really can't get enough of that place no matter where I am), meet-n- greets with friends of friends and naturally, school run around. All of this on the Metro and yes, on foot. I'm from a place where a car is key to any efficient or social life at all.

However by Tuesday, I got a small tidbit of home that I think others could have lived without. A 5.9 earthquake struck Virginia and rippled through the District and Maryland. Howard shook like a flag in the air while hoards of people screamed for their life. Yes, screamed. Because screaming has always been the protocol for emergencies such as earthquakes. *shrugs*

With the quake heard round the east, classes were dismissed indefinitely ( hindsight: it was only until Thursday), as were most other schools and business, and all of D.C was free to roam about. True to character, I used that time to try a new happy hour: Zatanya in downtown. Success.

By Thursday, life has ensued and I headed to a full day of classes: Communication orientation, West Indian history, Spanish and Social Theory. However, I didn't even make it to class when I caught wind of a very private, very intense masturbation session with some strange man in his car. On the street - the main street. I didn't believe my eyes, until I saw what I saw increasingly getting closer and closer as I walked toward my school and inevitably, toward him. After the initial shock and dismay, I proceeded to vow I would always walk the streets with my sunglasses on; day or night, just for any extra protection against any added visuals. And prayed I may never see him, or his member, again.

Thursday also brought about news of a possible hurricane approaching the east coast. Irene was set to touch down in North Carolina by Saturday. Family and friends from the west coast flooded my phone with tips and warnings about how to be careful during a hurricane. Might I add, to the best of my knowledge, only one of them had actually been in a hurricane. I digress...I prepped like any naive person would: I just starting buying stuff. Extra food, toilet paper, and a personal Brita filter...anything I could get my hands on. Stores were filled to the brim with weary and nervous neighbors looking to purchase just one more candle, one more battery to hopefully keep them safe against the 'cane. After spending all day Friday personally attempting to stimulate the economy, I exhaustively set out to finally unload the last of my traveling boxes from home and make my room complete. The weekend started off quiet, but it wasn't long before consistent and heavy wind-assisted rain drenched D.C. Though we didn't get nearly the worst of it, the city was bathing in Irene's water, with Virginia and of course, North Carolina getting the brunt of her wrath. Indoors and without the balls to step more than a few feet out of the house, I watched Irene from my window and the porch. What a feisty bitch. Sunday bought about some of the best sun and breezes that I have seen since leaving California and because of that, all is forgiven between Irene and I.

Alas, my week was one I may never forget here in the District. A first for so many things on so many levels. Not many people can say they experienced an earthquake and hurricane all in one week. Now I will. And should anyone ever ask me what I feared most during this week of firsts in D.C., assuming I will respond with either the quake or the 'cane, it will now, and forever be, the man with the mobile morning masturbation.

The C in D.C: And It Starts

2011-08-21T13:12:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, say last year, a young 20-something year old dared to pursue her dreams. Better yet, she finally stopped dreaming. She'd never seen fulfillment fully done, didn't know exactly what to do or how to make 'it' happen but something, just something in her knew it was time to start living what she thought she was born for. Self-doubt and lack of imagination had kept her hostage for far too long.

With the types of her keys and the support of several inspirations, she lept...onto the pages of college applications, hoping somewhere in between the generic someone would see her passion and propel her toward her future. Name. Check. Address. Check. Reason for applying? To conquer the word as a writer. Little did she know, that was easier written than done. Eight applications later, she waited. And waited. And waited, for what seemed like a lifetime. Her lifeline lay in the balance of when, where and what if.

It was the beginning of Spring and an all encompassing transition on the horizon; the leaves awakening, the sun peeking through the winter slumber, and the arrival of possibility in the mailbox. Atlanta. San Francisco. San Diego. But it was D.C., the east coast and so far from home in sunny and temperate Southern California, that captured her curiosity and confirmed her road to Howard University.

In fact, that is where we find our anxious, newly acquainted city-girl now: in the throws of change roaming around an unknown jungle where the final moments of the old and the beginning of the new are encroaching. With the end of her first full week in tow, but very much at the start of what is bound to be a wonderful and challenging chapter...

A strangers plea

2011-07-01T23:41:00.000-07:00

Princesa
Im writing this directly from me to you - it couldn't come faster from my heart.
A quasi kindred spirit though we are in every sense so apart.

You dont know me but I feel like I know you.
So innocent yet so battered and blue
This big wide world is trying its best to swallow you
Trap you into a statistic and never nourish you
Keep you longing by a window and never encourage you
and I just want to give you a hug...

I too am a kite that a bad decision had almost hindered my flight. In so few words, I feel for you.

Cry on my shoulder and vent about realities tough love. I could be there to listen.

But you have to know better.
You cant run away from life's reality forever. You cant defeat the inevitable no matter how clever - chasing boys instead of chasing books will leave you on the hook for things bigger than you could have ever imagined. I bet your beginning to grasp the possibilities following such an endless white rabbit down a bottomless hole can have. You dont want to be hopeless, lost in his habitual wonderland...
So many have never come out.

Take this with all the love and concern an absolute stranger can have for another - I do mean well. I have sisters your age and for them to be you, now, makes my tears swell. I wonder where your thoughts are chasing you now... please, just stay. Nothing good has come from tackling the world your way.
It all seemed so cool, Im sure - fleeing in the night, dismissing those who care about your true light to be with one who would leave you should he like. Think: where is he now? Smoking god knows in back alleys, hanging with who knows and they perpetuate the scene. Believe me pobre chica, mama always said nothing good happens after midnight - especially in the streets of Santa Ana. But I think you may see that now...maybe. Maybe.
Princesa. The world is yours; should you want it enough to have it. Take it. Dont let your life and your will be steered by others who want nothing for you...but everything from you. Alas, right now, you may not have anything else to give but the rest of your life to gain. Take it....I only wish you knew your not alone. No. Your simply in a test and I pray you make it to the other side...wheres there is a hope and possibility. Nothing, es impossible. Countless women have trudged to pave your way. Keep pushing. Cry when you need to. And push. Breath when you need to. But push. Fight when you have to push push push to acheive what some may not think is in your future. Princesa...I dont know you and yet I know your boundless. You should too.

And I just want to give you a hug.

Column: Self-Serving Our Way to Becoming Disposable

2011-05-18T21:57:00.000-07:00

In an effort to steadily keep up with the leaps and bounds made by 'The Jones', I found myself buying yet another, even smarter, smart phone. Im already behind on the IPad, still dont narrate a Twitter and downloading songs circa 1997 is my new joy and hobby. The least I could do for my tech-cred is to keep a decent phone. It has all the 'necessities' that come standard with todays smarty pants cells, and then some. In fact, the truth is: its smarter than me. This isn't a new revelation, nor a solo one Im sure; but one I am ready to now say and assert out loud. It thinks, predicts and supplies me with information from an endless app mall that could rival any library - all in the palm of my hand. Except when it pauses, hesitates...slows down for any reason, I spaz like Ive lost my best friend. Such is the case today. Instead of eating at lunch, I headed straight for the ATT store and puppy-eyed them as soon I as walked in the door - 's.o.s, my phone isn't thinking for me'.

EXCEPT - i wasn't met with a person or any form of a real live human being. When they realized my service was cut off for being a DAY late with my bill (that I hadn't known was due - hello, I just got the phone), immediately I was directed to the holy Kiosk - a huge burden of a machine in the middle of the sales floor and the ultimate would-be demise of half the employment in the store. To get help doing almost anything -paying said late bill, checking coverage, getting tech help or adding a line - the Kiosk was my go-to right man. Er, well right Kiosk. In fact, one of the overly paid and unnecessarily employed employes told me that to get actual help it would cost me $5 per transaction. So all in all, Im paying you to do your job....that your already being paid for? Nonsense. However, this is not the only place that is doing this.

For years, self-serve stations, kiosks and registers have poped up everywhere from the grocery store to post offices to international airports, all with the higher goal of efficiency in mind. YOu and I use them regularly and without apprehension; corporations swear customers appreciate the productive and timely service, and employees are free to handle other concerns. But at what cost? While it may not always be a nominal charge, using self-serve help comes at a different price. Lack of catered assistance, personal interaction and continually relying on technology to assist us in the most basic of needs - literally, in need - is a problem to be thought about. As well, the need to consider actual people and their contingent employment based on the usage of these self-service stations versus the employee; lets face it, its cheaper to buy a few machines then to maintain a salaried employee. I for one appreciate the occasional convenience - but it far too often come with mass-tailored questions, roundabout waiting and, my personal pet peeve, entering in your information several times. In such a case, as is the norm far too often, I will take the overly-bubbly far too talkative girl behind the counter who may be a smidgen less efficient than a kiosk, but whom I can engage i a personal interaction with, whilst meandering for the help I need.

Just dont have me pay her $5 extra bucks - thanks.

I Think

2011-05-18T11:59:00.001-07:00

I think...
I think I may have found it, but I don't want to say.
Like a child in play, Im afraid it may be sought after, snatched up, or worse, taken away.
This discovery is made from life's beautiful things...its bliss enrapturing and Im caught in its spellbinding ring. The result leaves me breathlessly smiling.
Time waits for no one and this finding has impeccable timing.

Im ready for something incredible.

I think...
I think he may be right on time. Appearing when there was nothing but lost hopes, sighs and cries. A tackled heart crushed by a crush gone awry...
A doubled-over party hangover from which some life didnt survive.
Yet Ive found he - he, I - here like a silver lining not to save me, but to be by my side and help me shine.

Cautious whispers that say I may [not] find something better one day are uninteresting; Im happy today - who has time to worry what tomorrow may bring?
Complexity rearing its head making its way into my happiness...
After other attempted couplings, you would think this girl would look at past stings and say - don't rush things. Ah,
But don't all great fools rush in? This thing I have found may begin to tinge with the 'what if' its festering in should I not enjoy it, and fully delve in - I don't want to miss what so innocently began as...Hi.

The difference in what I have now from my past demise is profound. Call me jaded but I started to think men like this simply weren't around - maybe I got the last one? Im not looking for anymore to be found. One's all I need.
I think...
I think...
I know I havent known this feeling of adoration in a long time.
I just hope you'll stay awhile.

Limitless

2011-03-19T15:51:00.001-07:00

Life is blazing and Im where I want to be
The heavens are bestowing upon me all my dreams
Here I float, purely on excitment and endless possibility
Slow down world - your making me high
Am I really ready for a topless sky?
Without boundaries and limits and plenty of room to fly
...I don't ever travel below the radar so naturally its only among the stars that I shine.
Previously enraptured by self-doubt but now with confidence in surplus supply
I zoom about the Galaxy of the Best with a rocket befitting one of this quest; just I.
Surprise -
That twinkle in your eye that you saw when you looked at me
wasn't a coincidence or serendipity but rather realization that my destiny
is manifested since day one of time: Greatness...who am I not to comply?

In this moment at this time the world is mine.

A universe of 'I can do anything' simply give me time - to grow and work out the details. Prepping for 'what if ' does not equate 'I may fail'.
Continue to breath in hope and opportunity
And produce results amid progress as I exhale
Walk with intention and stomp with determination...they will always hear me coming. Dont say I didnt warn thee
Live like there is no tomorrow
My now is in this moment and benefiting from the cosmos - lucky me -
see fit to keep me winning
Consider my dreams completly within my grasp and like Fabo... just throw 'em in the bag.

2011-02-22T23:35:00.000-08:00

The Future Belongs to Those Who Believe in the Beauty Of Their Dreams...

Mama May Have

2011-02-15T00:07:00.000-08:00

God bless the child thats got its own...
Running a comb through my hair
I look up and she is solo there
Just my mother, with her longing look and her blank stare
Out the window to where life is moving and shes stuck, feeling trapped in here.
See Ive always known
Her heart loves me so but her head is elsewhere. She deserves to be she,
but shes always mommy to me, daddy too to unrelenting degree -
herself secondary and in return, I am allowed to be free.
Unhinged to the swinging door of single breeding. The cycle is vicious -
Ive learned from her disposition.
Bills on the brain, with{out} a way to maintain - shes solo, you know so
The world is on her shoulders yet shes always trying to keep in the game...
Life is playing {un}fair, but whos to referee?
Papa may have.... his freedom, but he never sees me
Has no idea where I be - lost or alive, {un}loved or treated kind. Hes fucked and out of luck;
his trivial influence to undermine. Im a product completely of her design. Independent.
This cycle of circles, intertwined between haste, exhausting my mother
but for me she has always stayed.
Blessed for me that shes got her own - and from her I have my own.
A women with no silver spoon but here I am, the silver lining.
Everything that she is, I am , and I have it all.
Sometimes, I just have to remember, mama may have
but from her, I have it all.

Column: Im not waiting for Mr. Right- more like Mr. Realistic

2011-02-08T21:45:00.000-08:00

Back in 2009, being single was a mandatory breath of fresh air. I had recently broken up with (or he broke up with me – depending on who you ask) my live-in boyfriend of a year and a half. The same boyfriend whom, at the time, I lucidly saw myself marrying, baby mama-ing and complacently spending the rest of our amazing days together. However I was on the verge of 21, he already encroaching 26, and for one reason or another, the clear picture of my domestic future got beer-goggles once I stepped into the ‘adult’ world of legality. Everything was so exciting and social…we all know how fun life can be once laced with the hypnotic allures of alcohol and freedom. Read: I liked to go out, he liked me home; we broke up.

Since that wonderful learning experience, I have dated/encountered an interesting myriad of boys, men and assholes alike to come to a very real and sound conclusion – there is NO Mr. Right. Perhaps several Mr. Right-nows, Mr. Right-ons, certainly a dash of Mr. He-can-get-me-Right and yes, a fair share of Mr. Wrong’s; but alas, no for sure Mr. Right. Why is that? Simply put, no one is perfect, No one man, woman, anyone will be your ‘everything’, all the time, forever. To be frank, Im not sure if I would want a man like that – seems too good to be true and that’s because it is.
What I have come to realize, however, is that there are Mr. Realistic: men who are not perfect, but encompass several (if not many) traits, qualities or preferences you may like, and more importantly, can deal with dating. And while I am still young, occasionally reaching for those rose-colored beer-goggles to make what isn’t realistic at least convenient and suited for the moment, I can say that what I wish for versus what I cant live without in a person are becoming clearer than they have ever been.

A guy who has the basics

· Like your favorite recipe for chocolate chip cookies, or your moms amazing and irresistible lasagna, a good man like a good meal needs the basics. I call them basics because really, this is where it should all start. While every woman is different, my basics are pretty standard and non-negotiationable: respectful, honest, a sense of personal morals and justice, kind, humble, friendly, and able to be around others without turning into someone else. The last one may not seem so basic, but it has become a necessary staple to have with men I even care to get to know past, “Hi may name is”. Don’t be an asshole, a douche, a womanizing man whore or a liar who can’t even remember his own real name. I will call you out, leave you for ‘dumped’ and never ever look back.

A guy whos both fun, responsible, silly, intense, outgoing but shy…

· Im admittedly full of contradictions and to some degree, I feel a lot of people are as well. Whether they are as readily to admit it as I am is an entirely other story. Regardless, I want someone who doesn’t necessarily ‘fit’ into a type; your not this and your not that. I consider myself boundless – Mr. Realitstic should be too.
A guy who makes me laugh and can laugh with me
· This is a combo request: I thoroughly love to laugh and find so many things either hysterically funny or tragically amusing. Either way there is laughter. I don’t need you to make a production or stand-up routine out of everything, but having an innate sense of humor is key. I like to think of myself as someone who doesn’t take things too seriously, especially when dating someone, and needs a like-minded mate to be on that same page with me. Really, it’s a wonderful page to be on.

A guy who wants to teach me

· As an undercover(s) nerd, I enjoy learning about anything and everything. Im no child prodigy, but I find new facts, information and ideas tantalizing and dare I say it, mad sexy. Teach me something new…Im intrigued. Introduce me to your passion…Im interested. Include me in some of your favorite diversions…Im yours.

A guy who has goals to execute

· This is a bit of a biggie. While I don’t expect you to rule the free world a la Obama, be the next Jay-Zoutselling Madison Square Garden, or even create what would become the ‘computer’ like Bill Gates, I do need you to have a dream. And not only a dream, but a means and plan on how to capture that dream and make it reality. Whether you want to help make the world a greener place (pun possibly intended) or simply be a tycoon, just do it. I, like so many other women, admire the steadfast nature so many men have, but so many men tend to let slip in between their grinding fingers. Women want to help you be the best and most prosperous you; let us. Just promise you’ll be more than a lost dreamer…

A guy who lets me be me…

· When in a relationship, I am the epitome of ‘girlfriend’. Im all about ‘us’ and what ‘we’ can do/see/eat/go/try together. Its in my female nature to want to dote on someone else, and when in a relationship, that someone becomes him. Yet, even in that picturesque mode, it is in my human nature to need to simply be me sometimes. Do things solo, make mistakes despite your warned attempts, engage in new friendships beyond ‘us’ and continually learn about me. Mr. Realistic would be understanding of this need; not feeling ignored or unloved, just realizing this is a ‘Christine’ thing. Equally, he would need time for him and I would insist on it. Its all about space and boundaries.

A guy who has a similar 5, 10, 15 year plans as I do

· I say, “as I do” in jest, since Im not exactly referencing true plans to say “I do”. Beyond simply getting married one day, and yes, settling down one day, I am more so inclined to talk about the events in-between the seminal ones: where we see ourselves living, perhaps traveling, a job, skill, or trade you may be inclined to explore. All the things people end up doing, but may not be aware of the want to do so. In getting to know more about me, I have become aware of the nomadic path I see my future taking and I am very comfortable with having several address, seeing the world from the back of a bus, plane, or train and all the while writing about life, love and this sought after pursuit of happiness. My Mr. Realistic should probably have some of these fantasies as well. Marriage, babies, and picket fences will be par for the course…the latter end of the course.

These things will change, evolve, and improve as will I. But for now, Mr. Realistic...heres what's required.

Vice

2011-01-14T20:00:00.000-08:00

If you listen closely, you can hear them. Trying. Seeping through my walls, under my door, in between my window panes...crawling into my world from right beyond the next.

Them - these - infinite cravings entice me, moaning in the night well into day; well into a deep and desperate unrest. The yearns lull me at times - a habitual lullaby - its rhythmic beating, persistent against so many morals and ethics; despite so many attempts to extinguish its whispers. It cries louder and louder, hungered by the tasty tidbits of the city:
Lights, camera, action....enter, addiction. Onto stage left. Creeping to center stage. Cue the junkies. Them - they - want to be my new friend.

Keep on. Cant you tell its from a place so near...
glamorous ideas of grandeur: pop me, snort me, smoke me, invite me via vein if it means I'm yours. The taunting is never lost and all too readily found, invading my space and calling my name. It knows me by name, by face and try as I may, my head leans toward the the lures at times.
Here, here, I can supply your curiosity's whims if you'd only let me in...
The nights are lonely and any company is sometimes welcome. Even if it may become a monkey on my back.

Nights darkness can cover the illicit affairs. Secret procedures and hazed recoveries. Enjoy and repeat Im told. Sounds like so many played out movies. Like so many played out stars. But its night and any and every star can shine brightly if exposed to the right concoctions. Including me. What once swallowed me into sleep with its breathy temptations now keeps me awake thinking and hints at the endless bounty awaiting me - should I just let them in. Crawling from the world right beyond the next, should I just let them in.

Only hours before the sun kissed dawn and Im alone left to wonder. How bright do I want to shine... Should I just let them in?

Column: The Black Burden

2011-01-05T21:40:00.000-08:00

While watching my nightly indulgence of lighthearted sitcoms on a well-known black network, I was shocked to find myself bombarded with numerous airings of a ridiculous and racist commercial that I couldn’t believe was actually airing; on this station, countless times. It began with your typical surge of public opinion after the narrator asks, “ What is the #1 cause of death of African Americans?” People naturally stated the obvious leaders - HIV/AIDS, gang relations, murder, cancer, and others causes sharing the similar fatal outcome. I, along with those featured, were curious to find out this mystery answer, thinking 'Im black, the people on the ad are black, this is a black network – how educational and opportune of them to inform their viewers of this assumed ‘killer’ on the loose and how I can now be aware and possibly avoid it', right? If only it were that simple.
This “cause of death” – as inaccurately phrased in my opinion – was revealed to be abortions. In fact, they state that black abortions, or abortions performed on black women, make up 35% of all abortions and because of such, has reduced the black population by over 25% since 1973. Bluntly put, “a black baby” – ‘baby’ being an emotional word since no abortion is ever performed on an existing baby – “is three times more likely to be aborted than a white baby”. I will be the first to say that this news is overwhelming. It saddens me, as the double-minority black female they are targeting to hear such facts. It is truly a problematic situation of despair and an extreme lack of preparation or planning that even allows for disheartening statistics like these. And while I have all the sympathy in the world for women, of any color, who have come to this life-altering decision and feel the need to go through with an abortion, I in no way excuse or appreciate this propagandized commercial.
Fueled by blackdignity.com, the ad directly reflects abortion within the black community as not having pride or dignity for our race, and irresponsibly ‘causing’ a sort of genocide within ourselves. The commercial proceeds to show the stunned faces of young black people, like myself and the rest of their targeted fertile and youthful audience watching, hearing the reality that because of abortions, the black community is diminishing, all while loosing our distinction and character. Translation? Having an abortion is wrong. Why? Not wrong because God says so, or because it’s a huge decision that no one should really have to make, not even because of the possible health and emotional trauma one may have. No, its wrong because it’s causing black deaths of a collection of cells that scientifically and biologically, have yet to form anything, let alone an actual child. Moreover, a black child. But I digress…
I feel the strongest point this commercial - fear tactic - lacks in its entire thirty-two seconds of airtime is that truly, in reality, a lack of education to young people, especially women, along with a culture built around glamourous and unsafe sex is the root in this swell of terminations. Often people illustrate the term abortion with literally killing a child and that is far from the case. Abortion, by definition, is a procedure to end pregnancy, yes, but at a safe and humane stage of cell mutation when a fertilized egg is still an embryo. As well, people don’t end pregnancies for no reason, regardless of race and ethnicity; 100% of the time the situation, whatever it may be, is not conducive to bringing a child into the world. Supporting it, loving it and nourishing a soul both financially and emotionally, as society demands are not within capacity for so many people. Reluctantly, one cant hash over the state of abortions now, without reeling where abortions have been. Whether you are pro-life or pro-choice, it is hard to deny the menacing history self-imposed misbirths have been for women, let alone black women, and the humane progress that has been made. We have come from literally poisoning ourselves in hopes of ridding an unwanted fetus, to physically using rusted wire coat hangers to end a shameful pregnancy. Yet in 2011, there is still the humiliation and an unspoken social shun of terminating a pregnancy and because of such, women turn to disastrous methods- including back- alley abortions. All of this is reality, but you didn't see any of this the half-minute guilt trip. Instead, the commercial continued the cycle of disgrace that comes along with abortions and the decision to have one, instead of providing a resource for real dignity, real pride, real self-respect: education. Education is the key to ‘save’ the black culture from its supposed genocide due to abortions. Informing young people about the risks and reprocutions of sex - even if some think its a dead horse issue. With a 3:1 ratio of black abortion, the topic is far from over-discussed. Still no one is doing so – condoms are seen as accessories not necessities, birth control is expensive and not readily available. Ironically, the culture trying to be saved is the same culture that praises rims over responsibility, hood rich instead of soundly wealthy; dough boys instead of doctorates and diplomas. Our deficit in education is the true culprit for the 35% of women who feel they have no choice, know no better, and are forced to stand in the statistical line of women who are branded as being guilty of not only aborted 'babies', but hopes and dreams. That, Im sorry to say, is the true black indignity.

A memorable meet

2011-01-02T20:15:00.000-08:00

Arrogance is self inflicted ignorance, not confidence as always referenced. You wear it so well, its weird that you actually got caught up in its spell; its confusion, its desire, its facade. 15 minutes of fame because your submerged in lifes game...until they forget your name when the play doesnt go the winning way. What can I say...you walk the walk and talk the talk but your pride doesnt feed on this scene like it used to...Has no one told you, your better that that? ...I would have assured you.
I must admitt, you do this thing with your cheeks and your grin that might have made me lead to sin had I not remembered what they say and certainly where you've been. Your all too legendary with the female kin. I almost gave in... you almost came down. The high horse you sit atop floating on clouds. The praises they throw that loft you up. I cant lift you that high so here we are stuck. A middle ground unmet and Im disheartened and your stuck up. Dont look now, but I thought the real you was trying to come out. Its sweet and longing, sincere with a drip of earnest. Boy are you sexy when you peek through the spotlight and stand on your own. Cuz I dont believe in shooting stars - fade away dreams or fly by night boys. Empty promises and little kid toys. Then again, you love the flashing lights and how can 1 girl compete with that?

5 a.m on Saturn

2010-12-27T11:35:00.000-08:00

Sunrise, stunned eyes
in the dawn
Its 5 am and Im atop a hill on Saturn drive
Not yet blinded by the sunshine, but peering through the cloaked blinds
Awake from thin lines - alas, reality lies on the other side
Open the door, or be rewarded with a consolation prize
Riddle me this: which door leads to the rest of my life?
Surronded by options but sometimes, I still dont know
Truth is, success and acceptance may actually beget
What I could come to inevitably regret
Question being, should I risk it and go! or retreat, never actually having lept...
I dont know yet
The signs all point to change but thats the part Im anxious to accept.
Opportunity curiously ajar, taunting; truly unopened unless pressed.
Push
Push
Im pushing - it seems heavier than originally guessed.

So Im here, eyes wide open but hiding in my daze
Thin lines making me think past today
How will I acheive what I pray will go my way?
Convince strangers Im all that I say...and more
A student of life and craving to know whats in store.
Teach me please, Im ready to explore
So much to ask, so much to say. I really just need a moment to figure out a way...
Im bored with wishing, dreaming and such
Im ready to rest my hopes, roll up my sleeves and get ready to push
Push
Push for what i want
Im pushing but that may not be enough.
One chance to write my way in...bic in my right hand, ready to pen
Cant change the future without knowing where you've been.

Heres an 'X' to emboss where id like the rest of my life to begin

A new chapter in a book thats yet to be fully written

Lil Miss Brown Sugar

2010-11-07T11:57:00.000-08:00

A curious ascertation, seeding from temptation.

He says 'I bet you taste like godiva and caramel'...

I smile and laugh.

If he only knew my innate cocoa spell

Brown suga babe making your sweet tooth swell

diabetes sweetie,

feigning that your not fiending but you know that thirst all too well.

My mama always called me Lil Miss Brown Suga cuz

I come from the land where the cocoa beans hail

where the rainbow ranges from tan to butter pecan to rich

chocolate mahogany and...

the sun never sets on our melting glow.

You've seen me, so that much you should know. Ah, but to taste:

Imagine cinnamon and chestnut, add some hazelnut if thats not enough,

to your morning coffee when the day starts off rough and surely you can

taste me under your tongue. I can make you come...

hither with a savory sip of my caffeinated skin.

Or maybe youd rather drip your milk right in

to a latte caressed with ice and sweetness in a perfect blend,

melting away and giving sway back to your exhausted lips.

Delish.

Or bite me. Bonbon confection of a bootylicious deity.

Scrumdiddlyumptious like a Wonka fantasy...

the best things in life are free and Im the candy shop - so pour some sugar on me.

Peel back a golden wrapper and be my guest to enter in

a factory full of chocolate delights to fulfill your every whim.

If godiva and caramel is as far as your imagination will propel

Please, let me infuse you with this aphrodisiac bombshell...

La Dolce Vita branded, that should be a tell-tell

If he only knew my innate cocoa spell.

Paradise?

2010-10-25T22:24:00.000-07:00

Gates closed, eyes open - hands hidden. Ashen streets are lined with dust and despair, bottles and binkys, hustlers and the new they hustle. A weekend, yet there is no rest for the impoverished. Its life on the grind and they, them, these streets are always grinding. No gracias. Blanketed with a quilt sewn from the last strings of hope, no light can get through, though the people and this place ache for some rebirthing glow. Its been so, so long since any light has graced this place, its hard to imagine it so. But even as an import, I can see hardship cycling before me, even in the daytimes darkness. Barren people, young and old, wrapped in ponchos and weathered zapatos, blowing with the wind in which ever way the tourist flows. Hasting just to catch up to a lifetime of less than or not enough; food, chance, beauty...life can be a living chore, selling chiclets to the naivete boarding the last bus to los estados unidos. No gracias they attempt to politely mumble. while shooing off the young dealers. And while the language is not the same, countless thoughts echo in unison, There goes another one who cant stand to be here. Yes, here, but not 'here'. No gracias. Where babies cling to the backs of mothers, held on for life and limb by nothing more than a cinched blanket, breaking their spirt to cut you a break. Nimble hands crafted what will be inevitably be translated as a simple trinket vaguely obtained while on 'some vacation somewhere' instead of the lively hood and bread and butter it actually represents.
Not 'here' where bargaining is conversing and your nothing more than time wasting time if your hands dont come from hiding, revealing green el presidentes, of course.
No, never 'here', this place they call the 'cove of all saints' where unsaintly things occur and no one can spare bottled-only water to cleanse their hands...unless your willing to pay for it.
This place reeks of a forgotten beauty, shunned after her peak years and left to wrinkle and gray alone and in the dark.
Closing my eyes cant cover my ears and certainly cant bite my tongue - I see too much and am humbled once again from my veins of vanity and californication of reality. To be grateful and blessed; keen on what i have, in this moment and accepting of what may never be mine. Happiness cant be bought or sold on the side of the street - I know this.
As I board this bus to go back to my seemingly greener grass, one last glimpse breaks me. I lean in, heart and soul giving in, handing out a piece of what Ive been given.
Suddenly, unprompted?, I see some light peaking through the seams.

Waited Too Long

2010-10-03T15:58:00.000-07:00

After all this time, all our time leaves me seething
Your fumbling drunken thumbs texting
No courtship or lingering love beaming
No sunsets, intimacy or fireworks seeing
You see
Just my body; no soul, all that's withstanding.
Regretting this and ever other time feigning understanding
Whatever the fuck that means...instead we settle on pretending
Hot sex, littered with regrets and showers of self-loathing
Physically attempting to rewind a stubborn clock
stuck on our pastimes 'great' thing
A clock pacing between the beginning and never quite reaching the realistic ending
A clock never quite waking me up to what you are as a lackluster and inconsiderate being
Taking my lust for that 'us' and turning it into a resentful memory
Wishing I never opened my heart to a man so neglecting
When i was your girlfriend I bet you never imagined me leaving...
I'm glad we were there but let it rest in the grave its mummifying
Forget my smiles, forget my name
Forget me if you cant remember me
C in my entirety, not a sexual prowess or whatever your fantasies conjour me being
Love me for my brain and my heart, my body, soul; and
mind; dont stiffle it. I'd rather suffocate, but in the meantime...
Let me be if you cant come at me complete.
Im looking for someone to love Christine
I told you before...
Im never settling.

Column: A Cyber Savvy Singles Do[n't] Guide to Online Dating: Part 1

2010-09-12T23:42:00.001-07:00

In my on-going quest for the right 'he' to occupy my right now , I have ventured into the world of online dating. Like real dating , one needs to have confidence, open-mindedness and traditionally a bit of a flirt game. Typically my pick-up line goes something like "Hi, my name is Christine, and I just randomly came across your page. You seem really interesting and I would like to learn more about you...". Yes, I have a pick-up line. Its not sexy, not overly flirtatious but it has an air of intrigue and spontaneity, like 'you seem so great I simply had to write you', while still mellow and not too anxious. And above all, its genuine...I find people through a search engine so saying I 'randomly came across your page' is pretty damn accurate. Yes, you can read into all of that from a 2-line byline... But moving past those revelations, I usually go on to cite and highlight what we may have in common from their description of themselves and end with inviting them to read about me. In my virtual travels of what equates a tipsy free-fall singles bar on any night of the week, I have come across the most bizarre, forward and out of control introductory messages never to be uttered aloud, yet somehow end up in my inbox. After the initial shock and sometimes, blushes, I end up doing one of two things: hitting delete, or hitting delete and then block (the latter, of course, depends on the afore mentioned blushing factor). Here's how to not end up in your computer love's out bin.
DO: Start with your name
I cant tell you how many times I have read an entire online propagandist auto-bio, read the trite message and left my computer like, 'what was his name?'. This especially sucks if I read or find something about the person that I like and really do want to start a conversation - I'm held back by a speed bump of not even knowing how to address you. Think of your message as an actual in-person introduction...give me details and fundamentals.
DO: Mention or address something you two may have in common
As my own profile states, flattering me and yourself with 'were both hot' sentiments will get you no where and I might even toss in an eye-roll just to set the mood. Something genuine is appreciated, like you have similar interests in music, movies or travel. People who are truly looking for 'someone' want to know off the bat how much effort they may have to put into this 'relationship' or if serendipity has brought you to each others attention.
DONT: Make a profile that lacks substance, information and insight into your life
Im not suggesting you write your memoir, but too often people create online profiles that dont have any information at all. The standard site questions, such as age, gender, and location do not count toward your profile details. Keep in mind that this is the only way people will get to know about you until further contact. And if you are the pursuer, then you want a bio that sells all your qualities, not stumbles on your faults and negativities. Be honest, maybe even witty and interesting. Remember you want them to like you not loathe they ever came onto your profile.
DO: Approach a potential dating situation as if you were actually in person
Though online dating is a great venue for the overly shy and reserved, it is also a prime opportunity for the perverse and explicit. You wouldn't approach someone and remark, "Cant wait to meet up and kiss those lips..." would you? So dont do it here. Find the balance between flirty and respectful - be intriguing, alluring, yet leave your reader curious to find out more about you. And just like you would in person, be aware of personal space. DON'T inundate someone's inbox. One message is enough before you start IMing them, poking their profile or even searching out their name on other social networks. It's weird, it's uninvited and I can almost guarantee a "hell no" is your future. State your case, let your interest be known, and leave the cheesy douche bag lines and awkward behavior for the actual bar, where the alcohol content can drown out your lameness.
DO: Publish a realistic and accurate picture of yourself now...
and not who you were 5 years ago, or who you want to be in 10 years. A full face and body picture is always preferred. 'Nuf said.
DONT: Be personally offended or hurt by someone's digital denial
Yes, they may be cute and their profile reads that you two have so many things in common that you've lost track AND they too have a cat named Mandu, but sometimes, they just arent that into you. They dont feel the same vibe your putting out over the web, their schedule isnt open to meeting right now or they simple arent interested - dont let that discourage you from continuing to date online and in person. And though they are rejecting your interest, they arent rejecting you per se...remember they dont really even know you. Ironic since if they got to know you the sparks may fly, but be that as it may, in actual life and behind a key board sometimes people just arent feeling each other and thats totally ok. Rejection is apart of the dating game - Acceptance is the goal so keep looking!
DO: Treat the first meeting as just that...a first meeting
In the online dating world, the substantial difference between actual dating and digital dating is, of course, the lack of physical contact. Whereas in a bar or club you can feel the chemistry sizzle (or fizzle) you cant online. So if and when you meet a perspective date, the first time around should be like an in-person introduction. Maybe even a repeat of a few things you two discussed in your emails and mid-day IM's to reiterate the connection that you think is there or to see if is was a just a match.com mirage. Either way, pick a place central to both of you; good lighting and an agreeable atmosphere (as far as music, clubs, lounges or dinner) and come simply ready to mingle, talk and maybe finally that special someone.

Portifino Train of Thought

2010-08-23T21:33:00.000-07:00

I want to be the dream I see everyone else living
but Im too scared to get in it
Too afraid of a raid on my emotions limits
too afraid of rejection and its ugly hindrance
on my soul
too blind by a future with uninhibited ambitions
I cant control
Yes, Im self aware and though it isnt a bad beginning
it may be the beginning to a never ending self inflicted gimick
'Whats behind door #1?' - I dont know so I dont want to enter it
Im laughing at me and everyone else is so sure of my possibilities?
But they just dont get it
How can I delve into a sea of unsure realities?
'Live your dream' but whos to catch me if I dont land on my feet?
'Life's a bitch' in the same breath they speak - shit...your tellin me! Preach!
Of uncertain concerns and meandering earns - of a place and a space where no one tells me where to turn
How am I to know? There are so many roads to paradise, supposedly, but which way did you go
How did you make your happiness and what made you stop on this road
Trust, I see you
You take life by the wheel and with or without gas your goin all around the world
To places and faces and unfamiliar spaces where people dont know your name and could care less about you fame, supposedly, but to you its all the same
Your cool with this game
Life
And your winning in this level
Here
And your living it to the fullest
Now
My friend- I'd say your living the dream.
But right now...Im just trying to get in it...
Im on a portifino train and next stop is tomorrow
I'll see if I like it when I get there - who knows
I suppose I can keep going until I ride my way through to the otherside
where rainbows glow and my dreams vs realities collide
where happiness is what I make it not just what it seems
where I really am what everyone makes me out to be
C to the utmost and nothing less than supreme
These are just some thoughts I conceive
Wanderlust yearning from my core being
...I should probably stop pretending
Hazed vision of a future stop I think Im seeing
Could it be...maybe...
Always wanderlust yearning from my core being
I want to be the dream I see everyone living
Really, though, I should stop pretending.

And God Created Woman

2010-08-21T00:44:00.001-07:00

On the 6th day
He thought he was through
Created the light sun stars and the heavens too
Created the earth and the sea's, creatures to live and breath
All the in between that crawl walk and flew
And on the 6th day He Created you
In his image he bore you, you grew
Called you Man and told all living things to honor you
He saw you roam- a king with a crown yet lone to carry his soul through
And God created woman in a slumber he succumbed you to.

From the bones that protect your heart, he knew
this is your equal, your other half to pledge your love unto
From the breath you drew, he knew
she would help you breathe life and happiness into all that you do
From the skin your in, he knew
She would shield you from the cold and comfort you too
And God created woman.

From perfection into motion

With life nestled in her burrows and embrace within her grasp

She is the end and He is her all, at last

Apples and sin; through Eden thick and forbidden whims

They were always made to reign...over land, life and love
And that love they both devised intensified
through timeless ages and boundless divides
Until there was you and I, here and now, side by side

Thank God He created woman.

Column: Why the American Mindset of Design should make room for Asian Innovation

2010-08-08T19:25:00.000-07:00

Classic American design is often proudly unmistakable; though cleverly composed and sometimes, reminiscent. We have collected, revolutionized, and surely Americanized worldly ideas and stamped them with our ingenuity and innovative seal of approval. Though we don't always get it right we strive for the best in everything from automobiles to architecture. Our usual M.O to design: big, bigger and biggest.
Escalades, mansions, 50" LCD televisions...even your venti morning coffee - all enormously huge and quintessentially American. Excess. Its a cultural thing, not only limited to design, but ever so encompassing of our ideology and sense of self; it speaks to our inherent mindset that happiness can and is measured...literally. So it's natural to think that, during a recession and a theme of less is more and 'cutting back' echoed internationally, that this blueprint to success would, well, perhaps not be so successful. Insert Asian innovation.
Whether it be from Japan, China or anything in between, Asian engineering and imagination of designs endless possibilities and overlooked abilities have naturally flourished in times such as these. Their ideas are conceived outside the box and instead of vying only for substantial, they instead aim sustainable as well, and more so it seems, size. In a polar culture and point of view from our own, Asian ideology often, if not always, veers for small, rather than seismic. To fit within conformity while still out thinking it. To make space and structure where others would swear there is none.
Modern times have rendered this highly necessary: China, for example, is the worlds most populated county with a million people and then some. The daily realization for a need for space has afforded the Chinese to not only recreate a modern and highly effective new China, but to branch out and reach others....all the way to the West in countless cases. While cities like Los Angeles struggles with daunting traffic and time-wrenching freeways, China has come to the aid of their people, in cities where the traffic of a half-a-million drivers can surely seem paralysing. Introducing the 3D Fast Bus, from the Chinese Shenzhen Hashi Future Parking Company. It has all the components of a triumphant invention suited for the masses, equipped to be effective and slated for a nod to an ingenious imagination. Perhaps its only qualm may lie, not with the bus itself, but with drivers unsuited to glide along with a high-speed Disneyland-esque tram above them. And really, bad drivers seem to be an issue none of us have yet to solve.
If driving seems like too much of a hassle, paddle over to Japan, where anyone can live the high life under a modest roof. With less and less space available for living, Japanese architects have come to commercialize the concept of ultra small homes, or entire homes equivalent to a 2 bed apartment or smaller. Though off the cuff, this seems unbearable, and certainly anything but luxurious, these undersized abodes encompass glamour, functionality and most importantly, living ability. Yasuhiro Yamashita, a lead architect from Tokyo, is among the many who make these houses, homes...while subsequently reimagining the status quo of design, and all the while creating art of minuscule, yet unimaginable proportions.
Perhaps we could take a subtle cue...I mean, were all in a recession, right?

Column: Ring My Bell - The Scientific Synopsis of the Real World Phenomenon knows as the Booty Call

2010-08-05T21:45:00.000-07:00

I ran across an article today, during my hourly news updates at work, which caught me by surprise and titillated my interest. And memory. An article that I can proudly say was on a reputable news site, msnbc.com, but that could have easily been posted on theonion.com as a faux find or even mixed in with tmz's sultry nonsense. Yet, it is based on actual scientific research, from experts in the subject: college students, who else?! The nature vs. nurture ideas about the infamous 'booty call' were up for debate at the University of West Florida, in which psychologist Peter Jonason (clever name in such a study) led a team in researching the late-night invites. Were they strictly sexual in nature, or was there some sort of intimacy inherently involved? And where on the spectrum of human relationships do booty calls lie, with monogamy at one end absolute sexual prowling on the other. I would agree with most of the initial findings of this less-than-diligent online surveys of merely 289 relationship-pendulum students: requests are made by calling or text, it is a convenient hybrid of long-term and one-night stand relationships yet is purely on the side seeking sexual pleasure. As well, it is brief, to the point and steers away from lingering emotion. Sounds about right - but any Hollywood movie could have told you that. In fact, Netflix Booty Call and report back your findings asap. And in particular, one wouldn't need to limit their consulting to college students: booty calls and random acts of sexual satisfaction maintain a scared place within most sexually active people, either currently or from their past. Take a moment and recall Psychology 101: Freud details the animalistic tendencies innate to human existence and relationships. However, I would be interested to know, instead, how the nature of booty calls has changed over time; hopefully evolving, but nonetheless steadfast in getting the craving quenched. Have men and women grown seedier and more desperate? Or have we past a long ago era where men would at least pretend to get to know you, out of respect and decency, before the forthcoming wham-bam? I would venture to say that the only thing that surprised me about the supposed research into this complex, yet sex-savvy field, would be it's position in relation to the other extremes: monogamy and one-night stands. According to Jonason, while all aspects incorporate sex, one-night stands typically have the least amount of sex acts as opposed to booty calls - the idea being that booty calls have consistency and trial-&-error on their side, much like a relationship. On the other hand, one-night stands tend to be more emotional; holding hands, kissing and cuddling, probably because the expectation of impending intimacy allows for a heightened acceptance of outward affection. Lets face it - your only going to be together for a few hours anyway, so the speed of getting to know each other and feeling comfortable makes sense. Then again, repeatedly seeing someone for the utmost of intimate acts, sex, should always abide by that same logic, right? Perhaps, but in reality and science, the fact is that what breaks up most consensual booty calls is the expectation for more; more emotion, time, and heart. In the meantime and between time, before tonight's possible tripe onto the nearest bed, couch or kitchen floor, scientists have decided to invest more "longitudinal work" for the horizontal mambo, and I personally, couldn't be more thrilled with the idea. The only question remains: do they need any extra research done?

Stuck on Solo

2010-08-05T20:31:00.000-07:00

So many months and some change, here I remain stuck on solo. Not always alone though, it sometimes feels that way. I must say I've been in neutral gear for some time, not rushing mines just avoiding grime, thinking through my boxed wine, it was just time for me to unwind. Reassess myself and my love life's grind... into the ground. I look around and all I see is..me. Hustle, hustle, rarely pause to breath, let alone allow another emotion to tie down my ease. Doing me in all facades and degrees, albeit soulfully fulfilling, my left hand still lingers free and I think I may finally want someone whos willing... to hold it. With his hands join my future and help me mold it. Be my everything when nothing is enough. Never coddling me too much - see, he knows I like it rough. Console my soul with his relentless heart- he is and always will be a great man, with me right by his side as his number 1 fan. Believe in me when Im my biggest hater -push me toward 'greatness' and I'll escort you to 'greater'. Collect my tears when the grind is too much, dust off my shoulders, tell me to fuck the small stuff and all the while hold my heart in his cuff. He is solely meant for me and no one else; Lord knows I've never been one to share. Still, he cares like I care. Giving of himself when there is little left to spare; he is epic and boundless in all that he desires and as exhausting as this may be when I need anything, he is my supplier. Kisses and hugs, embraces and love...Im waiting for him with my breath held, bottled up. He is sure to leave me breathless. He who is him is unknown at this minute, but being stuck on solo, perhaps I should make room in my present for him it it.

Column: Another Dream Deferred...& A Mili-an Just like It

2010-07-12T21:46:00.000-07:00

A 10-month marriage has come to an end with the somewhat predicted demise between 32-year old mega-producer/singer/song writer The Dream (a.k.a Terius Nash) and singer/actress Christina Milian.
Famous for her younger days as a Disney star and her pop career dippin it low from a.m to p.m, Christina and The Dream, Mr. Yeah if you will, met and quickly fell in 'love', eloping in Las Vegas on September 4th 2009. The two were already expecting their 1st child by then. Shocker. In Violet, who is almost 6 months old and is beautiful "with a definite personality" according to Dream; though she is the 1st for Christina, it is The Dreams 4th child. Yes, 4th - hes has 3 little-dreams from his previous marriage with R&B crooner Nivea (from Dont Mess With My Man fame).
While Im not surprised, I am a tad disheartened by the breakup. Whenever discussing her future with Dream, Christina frequently gushed of their loving life and her role in music and as Mrs. Nash: "I enjoy being happy every day, and hopefully you can hear my happiness in my music. Life is beautiful". Yet here they are separating, apparently since late 2009, even though it wasn't disclosed to the public then to protect their impending daugther (who was born in Feb 2010). Hmmm.
I suppose the signs toward Dooms-ville were all too obvious; frequent trips away, rare coupled sightings, groupies all around ATL. It is all too apparent from a very recent interview The Dream gave to Essence, in which his caviler attitude toward Christina (still his 'wife' as of this interviews date) and his young newborn resonate the polar opposite of the man we swoon to onstage. One would think a supposed veteran father of 3 children would be quite 'the dream' partner to raise a child with, however, it looks like Christina may have simply been dreaming. When asked about his involvement with his new daugther, Mr. Nash bluntly responded,

I don't [get involved] because my "helping out" turns into expectations. I'll get Violet on a late night maybe one or two times, but after that, no. If Christina's tired, call the nanny, call Violet's granny. We got people.

What? You have people? So, I can only assume Dream assumes that because he is an active musician that excludes him from being an active father? He should probably expect to be sterile after a comment like that. The interview proceeds with questions regarding the then-alleged rumors surrounding he and wife Christina with reports they were (gasp) separating:

Whoever thought that blogs would dictate our conversations, [the writers] must be in their bedroom saying "Look what I can do." It's actually sad to have to entertain it. The rumors are not true and it really boils my blood. Christina and I are cool. People keep asking, "Why haven't we seen you guys out together?" I'm working, that's why you haven't seen us. She's at work too in Los Angeles. The women in the pictures are actually legitimate friends of mine. The photo with me in the car with another woman, she's a good friend who's at my house all the time. It's sad, because [the blogs] have humiliated her. She feels bad, I feel bad and you don't know what that [judgement] does to that person. Who takes responsibility for that? I understand freedom of speech but if I made my living spreading rumors about people, my family wouldnt claim me.

Ok so, let me make sure I have this straight: just 2 weeks ago, you and Christina were cool, yet there are pictures of you and your assistant hamming it up in the Caribbean, doin who-knows-what while the cameras flash to capture the infidelious event.Coincidental timing? Nah. Spiteful. Yep. Typical cheater? Yep. Ah, what a nightmare.
I have to ask though, depite how balse he seems about the situation and his public statement of his marriage simply being "unsuccessful", has it occured to Dream that maybe, just maybe, if he didnt flaunt around with other women he might be a successful somewhere other than the music charts? Somewhere like with his family; wife, kids...the whole deal. Talking about family not claiming you! And you lie! Ugh.

In the meantime, we all know how the story goes: she may or may not leave him, he most certainly will sleep his way past her, theres an innocent child he can now add to his payroll rooster to support, another ex-wife to maintain and another statistic to add, multiply and divide by.

When will people learn...

Column: Lions & Tigers & Big Checks, oh my!

2010-06-30T20:58:00.000-07:00

You may not remember what you did last month, last week, or even yesterday.I'm the same way so it’s understandable. But I think its safe to say most of us can selectively remember this past November of 2009: Thanksgiving, Black Friday, the stock markets slight optimistic recovery and, oh yeah, Tiger Woods epic infidelity buffet sprawled out before our eyes. While it was an familiar sight to see, a celebrity marriage dissolving over a matter of days, it was also unbearably salacious and better than any penned reality garbage. Here's a man, a Nike, Gatorade, Tag Huger, Schick man, at yet anther fantastic pinnacle in his career, seemingly unstoppable as the best and dearest golf player ever to grace the game. He's on Wheaties, he's given speeches encouraging the youth and due to his amazing skills and inherent diversity, subsequently changed the color and face of golf forever. There will never be another Tiger Woods. Still his greatness has yet to keep him from being an average typical cheater. Or has it? Admittedly, most don't cheat with upwards of 17 partners during the course of a 5-year marriage. That's impressive Tiger. And most don't diversify their conquests like Tiger; waitress, porn star, overseas and domestically here at home. Though most do get caught (yep, that includes you Mr.Woods), most do not face the consequences and financial heist like Tiger Woods. In 2010, cheating like Tiger will cost you around $100 million and monthly child support in the tens of thousands.
Though the two had a prenup, which destined Ellen Nordegren to at least $20 million if they remain married for a decade, news of the golf greats adultery prompted a slight renegotiation to the initial contract. Still, nothing in the new prenup settles her with an amount like the one she will now be receiving. While it is in exchange for her undying silence on the marriage and his cheating, truly, it is so obvious Tiger is the one getting screwed by his own selfishness. And his wallet will be taking the brunt of the pain.
It's no coincidence that Tiger Woods has quite possibly discovered some the most expensive mistresses ever. Even Heidi Fleiss would be amazed at the tab 17 separate yet countless transgressions can rack up. But like the #1 champion he is, Tiger managed one of the most expensive divorce settlement. Ever. Yes, he's up their with Michael Jordans $157M.
Yet I think, beyond the money and the affairs, is the out come for their two children. When there is a cheater in any relationship (especially one involving children) you cant help but question: While they were away cheating, what did they miss here at home? Maybe a recital, or a science fair display. Maybe a day at the beach, or dinner at home. Maybe even some tears that needed wiping. Who knows? Certainly they don't; its hard to think of the ones you love when your doing things that would break their heart. And for his indiscretions, he will have still less time with his young 1-and-3 year old children: Ellen will have complete custody, with Tiger inserting some input. While I don't blame this custody aspect on Ellen (he did cheat with 17 women for goodness sake) it does sadden me that she had to even do this at all. Kids who need and want their father can't be around him because he is incapable right now of making selfless decisions, in particular, involving his family. In particular, not hurting them or their trust anymore.
Who's to say what Ellen, or any other mistreated, beguiled and heartbroken woman should receive monetarily. For pain and suffering.For embarrassment and exposure. For lost trust and wasted time. With the adultery rate the way it is, it seems a lot of people should be receiving $20M payouts for failed relationships. Yet in reality that doesn't happen. And in reality cheaters still cheat, leaving spouses without their other half. And children are left with monthly paychecks, yet no papa. And in reality, not even $20M can fill that emotional bankruptcy.

Ah, A Great Pretender

2010-06-29T20:20:00.000-07:00

Few people know, but I'm all too aware. So few know, but your secret wont be spared. Little do they know what we all had to live out; Ah, your a great pretender. A cowardly white-lie inventor, changing lives in your weak surrender to the greener grass and forbidden Apples, though you just cant take the blame so you hinder. Blending seamlessly, I'll confess; all the while spreading embers you transgress through lies, deceit and selfish obsesses. Ah, the regrets...but no one knew.
You seemed so...fresh and new. Full of virtues to wholesome to be untrue; family devoted, motive cleverly unbeholden, though lost in a supposed future never meant for you. Silly fool, don't you know your a pretender? A grown diminutive charlatan cloaked like a poor mans emperor with your 'New' clothes; yet everyone knows you cant teach an old dog new tricks. Continue to think you have fooled the masses - the man in the mirror is only fooling you.
Perk up, you are a great pretender, right? So little does anyone know who you really are. I must say, you look so normal but alas your so sub-par...A parental of three never hands-on, always afar, and you shudder to think your mini-me's want nothing to do with you? Cry me a river and drown in it too. Ah, great pretender I see right through you. Your naked without your lies and all anyone can do is pity you. The shell of a being you have become, your even less than a man you were bore from; its so late in this game you may never measure up.
Great pretender, I call your bluff. Your orphaned heart and rogue ways - you've won and finally gotten your way. Solo you are in a city so cold - a metro mecca with out a soul who really knows. But your a great pretender, right? Right. Now pretend your really not alone.

Column: The Lesbian Effect

2010-06-23T20:47:00.000-07:00

Yo, Drizzy sayin' get her Imma get her
I get the kind of money that make a broke bitch bitter

Gon' ahead and deep-throat.
4-chick Foursomes,
Skin colors mocha.
Sally and Sonia put the pussies on my Totem.
Pole.

Cause I'm bout go have a ménage
With this lady and some freaks at the bar
who like fuckin' with a star…
If you fuckin' with me
Really fuckin' with me
Let her put her hands in your pants
Be my little freak

Excuse me little mama
But you could say I'm on duty
I'm lookin' for a cutie
A real big o' ghetto booty
I really like your kitty kat
And if you let me touch her
I know you're not a bluffer
I'll take you to go see Usher

Make a straight girl out of lezzie…
and this bitch I brought with me she be baggin bitches for me
I got a girl named Kima
and Kima like Christina
baby three dont make a crowd it make a sex scene meaner
I just wanna get between her
turn it over scream her
than its one, two, Im through, see ya

3 is the new 2
Baby, bring about your girlfriend when you come through?
A whole lot of freaky little things we gonna do
If that's your fantasy
Then girl im feeling you

If Pink is the new black, then gay is the new straight. Well, lezzie chic at least, and I don’t mean your bi-curious kiss after a kegger during your senior year of undergrad. Sex sells, and in both underground and mainstream music, the fascination with and sexual conquests of female-on-female possibilities has found a highly profitable male niche in a most un-female friendly genre: hip hop. While its true, hip hop circumvents the blase norm and instead delves into the more glamorous, rough, or intoxicated aspects of life, as of late it has taken an increasingly feminine twist, and caught onto a wave of trendy sexual orientation seeping into conventional pop culture. We shall call it, the Lesbian Effect. It has made its way into movies, magazines, award shows, sitcoms, and yes, now music. With the steady flow of introductions of aspiring female rappers; Diamond, Hedonis Da Amazon, Nola Darling and Tiye Phoenix ( to name a few), the game has formally welcomed outspoken lesbian Nicki Minaj to lead the forefront of a ‘Black Barbie’ revolution. And why not? Nicki is exactly what any mass producing hip hop generator would want: she’s unpredictable, confident, sassy, quick witted and sexually appealing to both men and women. Ok, probably mostly men. Unlike her contemporaries, relaying solely on their actual talent, Nicki and her team of Young Money are quick to point our her bark and her bite for both sides of the fence: “I'm lookin' for a cutie, A real big o' ghetto booty…And if you let me touch her I'll take you to go see Usher”. Her lyrics, whether self-professed or cleverly doctored, hint toward her sexuality yet never cross actually confirming it. Is she gay, bisexual, or simply smart for having us talk about it? Only she knows, yet her persona and appeal was created to dramatize a male-centered imagination come-to-life: a bodacious pit bull in a mini-skirt who spits game as well as a guy. But is into girls. Or maybe both? Listening to her lyrics I'm pressed to wonder, are these her own desires or those of a misogynistic society dictating her increasingly sexualized aura to obtain success? Nicki Minaj – 'Minaj' being a reference to “eating” females a la menage a trios – isnt the first or the last female to use her mystic femme fetal to get what they want. And she in particular isn't the source for this sudden Lesbian Effect. Furthermore, her being gay or not really isn't anyone business in the first place. Perhaps, the actual issue lies in the fact that yet again we have stooped creatively – are we actually to the point of commercializing homosexuality to sell rap albums? Its looking that way. We as a hyper sexualized culture have taken something inherently feminine, lesbianism, and turned it out; it has now become a venue for male conquest and profit based on the backbone of female sexuality. Realistically speaking, a large aspect of hip hop and its assumed lifestyle lies in the wealth and abundance of its females. Women are required to look, act and appeal to an ideal – to an ideology. And this appeal extends past the superficial to ones own sexuality. The Lesbian Effect trickling into hip hop, and oozing throughout pop cultural in general, has taken aspects of the increasing female sexual liberation stemming from the 60's and somewhat morphed it into a rather sense of exploitation. Being a lesbian is nothing, seemingly unless it involes a man in some sort; “I got a girl named Kima/ and Kima like Christina/ baby three dont make a crowd/it makes a sex scene meaner”. Or if a man cane profit from it; “My girl's got a girlfriend/ I just found out/but its alright/as long as I can be with her too”. Rarely, I would simplify to say, is the act and preference of being a lesbian solely a female occupation when glorified in today's society. Nicki and her male counterparts are embracing the idea of selling just another fantasy, and we are all to willing to buy it and play along. Hip hop music, it unfortunetly seems, is simply the latest pawn to the oldest game in the book.

Column: AZ, did you forget where you come from?

2010-06-18T22:18:00.000-07:00

Nearly two months ago, on April 23 2010, a controversial and relatively redundant idea was re-introduced to Arizonians and the American people alike. While it is formally titled the Support Our Law Enforcement and Safe Neighborhoods Act of Arizona, opponents have dubbed it the Anti- Immigration Act. And though its origin is rooted in such laws as the Federal Patriot Act (instilled post-9/11) and 2004's Arizona Proposition, the latter of which was vetoed under former Democratic Secretary of State Janet Napolitano, the Act has become the staunchest anti-illegal immigration attempt thus far. To reiterate some of the vital details of this Act, it is imposed upon illegal immigrants in the state of Arizona, in which law enforcement agencies are given legal authority to question a persons citizenship, or lack thereof. Questions and concerns over a persons legality are only to be asked if an officer or such enforcement has "probable cause" to pull over, detain or otherwise hinder any person for any reason. Ambiguity, as one can see, is already an obvious problem. A saving grace: one is supposedly "presumed to not be an alien" if he or she has some sort of governmental or tribal identification card. Moreover, someone found of being an illegal immigrant, or 'alien' in AZ terminology, is charged with a misdemeanor crime accompanied by increasing fees, discretionary jail time and general hassle and molestation, possibly culminating in total deportation.
My initial reaction when hearing and learning of this law was mixed feelings - undecided about how I wanted to approach the obvious and ignorant discrimination, racial profiling and bigotry subliminally in between the legal jargon listed in this Act.
I am an American. Born and raised in this great U.S of A and as far back as I can remember, teachers would always refer to America as the "Great Melting Pot". Both literally and figuratively, we are a nation built on the dreams and backs of countless immigrants ho have pledged their life, and sometimes several generations of lives, to the betterment of this country. We are all, native or not, born from a once upon a time heritage of un-American Americans. While the reasons for their arrival vary from foreign need or want, greed or necessity, or even political wars and genocide, people from countries and crevices around the world have washed onto our shores. Ready, willing and hopeful to capitalise on their golden ticket to opportunity. Already these supposed foreigners are sounding pretty 'American' to me; capitalism, opportunity and cashing in on a combination of both are US trademarks. Our forefathers, though Caucasian and 'English', were immigrants. And good 'ole Chris Columbus audaciously 'discovered' this vast land as, yep, an immigrant. Yet this has rarely been a problem. Like most American ideals and principals, immigrants have served a 'purpose'; whether it be labor for the fields or for the mines, immigrants have built, drilled, mined, picked, toiled, plowed, harvested, bore, invested and yet rarely reaped the fruits of the American Dream they have come to collectively create. Still, they come, and for what? Our principals and fundamentals; those vital phrases placed in feather-penned writing that states "all men are created equal...with certain unalienable Rights...[such as] Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness". Dare I ask, when will these "self-evident" truths start to hold up? Especially for the underdog-types of people they were written for.
Modern times have found immigrants under persecution from every angle; they are often oppressed in their homelands, for whatever reason (war, famine, political corruption, you name it) only to escape to a land that has morphed from a home of the free to a land of bullying. The immigrant has become the school yard wimp, and fellow Americans, we are quickly becoming an ugly bully. We re-create (or rename, depending on how you look at it) a Federal law that is already in full effect (thanks terrorists and your nifty little WMD's), only to further pester an already burdened people, illegal aliens. The name tag alone, aliens, is inherently segregated from the masses in every way,shape, and form. Or is it? We all started as such - learn you history, kids.
Now, don't misinterpret my intentions or my understanding of some of this Acts intentions and allegations, and other Acts and Laws like it. Yes, we have an enormous drug problem that has ironically grown since we Regan-ized it and pledged an unrelenting war against its survival. Safe to say were losing. Yes, most of our imported drugs have come from countries like Mexico, Central and South America.This is American damn it, we want our drugs in bulk and for cheap. Yes, these drugs have caused crimes beyond containment in such a way that its severity is devastating. Yes, we have a growing deficit that can partially be blamed on an out of control immigration flow and emigration trickle. Yes, our jobs, health care, and in part, economy have all taken jabs from countess persons falling in love with our purple mountains of majesty and our even better quality of living. We claim to leave No Child Left Behind, we DARE you to just say no, and whats more, we offer education and opportunity as far as your eyes can see. Of course people are flocking by the thousands to cozy under our American quilt, and since 1776 we have steadily been inviting them. Ms. Liberty holds a light guiding lost souls to our shore and we live with the whispered premise that if you work hard, you too can have this Dream and any others you conjure up.
What I am saying, Americans and especially the blind-sighted constituents of Arizona, don't forget your roots. Harassing and bullying immigrants is not the way to deal with your immigration problem. It is not the way to deal with your drug problem. It is not the way to deal with your fleeting state economy. You need to be looking for drug dealers, not simply people who may make an unrelated mistake that is inevitably magnified because they are immigrants. Immigrants have and will always hold a place in the US, like any developed country. We need the labor resource to thrive and we need the cultural influx. Don't get confused: recession or not, under the table work has been occurring with natives as well as illegals, and chances are you have had work done, labor performed or a service rendered by someone who was not fully on the up and up. I believe our momentary economic downfall would be steepened without immigrants; the labor and services they often provide and that we often need are often only obtainable for the average person through the give and take situation provided by them. We need to assist anyone trying to legally assimilate into our country with a cohesive and affordable way to do that, not intimidate them into fleeing for the next state or ship that will have them. We need to mandate state and/or tribal identification cards so that there is no one roaming without proper Id's (asking them to carry 'papers' is a tad to reminiscent of both post-Emancipation days as well as mid-Hitler conquests with the Jews and their Davids). Raising the immigration fees for incoming applicants will only propel illegal immigration instead of stifle it. There is no reason we cant fix this now, as we always have. We are a county of resolve. Resolutions are our thing and we pride ourselves with the ability and ease of manifesting solutions to modern problems of various social, economic and international proportions. Dare I ask when that will start occurring? Because, as one pop-culture phenom once proclaimed, "It does not say RSVP on the Statue of Liberty"...not now, not ever.

Unconditional

2010-06-14T22:22:00.000-07:00

He calls her his word but she is only his whisper. Beckoned when needed, never wanted, her soul withered. Loveless she thought, but this is the love that once made her quiver - earth shaking romance and timeless butterfly jitters. Dolled up dates and bright-light adventure. He used to say i love you in epic moments together. Sharing together was her pledge to his offer of forever. Now todays have halted in body and soul conquers.
He says I love you with a fist that swings and sways so loud, she could no longer confuse his actions with his vocal sounds. The bruises, she maintained, were chosen love notes. An i love you here and I need you there, her body tweaked from all his care and at times she thought his love would be the death of her. And he found time to write her daily, over dinner mishaps and misinterpreted sayings; his ego and pride co-authored his behavior. Love notes, she pleaded, so others wouldn't try to save her.
He calls her his word but she is only his whisper. In a dark corner in his mind he replays how he hits her. To ease his conscious over what once made him quiver - childhood screams from a mother jilted by jitters; a man who hit to make her come hither. He all too well remembers that abuse growing up- an emotional cycle he thought had made him tough. Yet he circled that same cycle to cover up the bad stuff. The pain and cries from his fathers 'unconditional' love..what always smothered his mother with scars and yet she never had enough. Love, he knew, was supposed to be rough.
He called her his word but she barely screamed or whispered. When he loved her too much and couldnt contain his temper. He flalled with his heart and struck with his furor. She whimpered to get away but he insisted on he wanted to love her. And teach her for good that his way was for better; the better of she, he and their warped forever.Yet his best was simply a burst of too much versus her enough. Not the eternity her little girl dreams were made of. And with that he sufficated the life of their together. She was unable to make it through his past, his hurt, his cycle of its never...enough. Love, he knew, was supposed to be too much.

Another Maybe

2010-06-09T23:24:00.000-07:00

Maybe theres another way. Another chance. Maybe time has confused the present and the past,let them overlap and grasp at another hope. Another point of view into what was may blend and reshape itself into what may be. Maybe. Can you see what I see? A once upon a one time thing morphed into a full time swing and then crumbled into never-again-will-that-be-happening. Or will it? Maybe its different this time. The cosmos predict a greater incline and if ever, nows not that the time to resign on what may be. Maybe? Or...maybe Im readig my aquarial assessment all wrong. Conveniently placing you in my maybe future when you have been 'gone' all along. Off on your own may be and yet without me tagging along. Maybe you have forgotten our sentimental secrets...our memorable keepsakes...our unspoken ethos. Our effortless bliss. Maybe where greatness once stood lies a greater good in our solo stints. You vs. I in less of a competition but more of a cry for what was, but never realized and now we are back to synthesize the original errors made by both sides. Maybe? Though our mindsets and situations are worlds away, Im wondering maybe,just maybe, your closer now than ever before to being more than an eternal maybe...

Sandman

2010-06-09T16:33:00.000-07:00

♥'s flirting with sleep so much - he's amazing. All day he teases me with hints of whats to come and I often yawn heavy and breathless in anticipation; every night we cuddle inbetween the covers while I lay blissfully in his seduction. Hours pass and moments lapse and I fall for his warmth while he eases my soul from the daily grind and I love him all the more for it; as if there were a love more necessary and sincere than this one. I need him, maybe more now than ever, and he needs me to need him. Thing is, how do you committ to a man who cant committ? Like clockwork, hes gone by sunrise to lull someone else all the way around the world,coddle their dreams and count their sheep, and Im left, drowsy through my day and wishing on shooting stars for his return. I guess its just beautiful as it is now - hes mine for a few hours and I'll take it. We whisper zzz's and smile sleepily and simply are..fleeting as it may be. I already know I wont last long with a man that cant last long...
Sandman, babe... I'll see you again soon

Mixed Media Girls.

2010-06-05T16:47:00.000-07:00

Mixed Media Girls.

At the moment

2010-06-05T15:31:00.000-07:00

The scene is set to once again exit this chaotic labyrinth I'm in
Beautiful concrete whispers that hypnotize my skin, I tingle
Lights. Laugther. Love. Life
and deeper I'm lured.
Again I attempt to defend my sanity waning against the whimsical whims of this hasty sour apple to pleasure my senses and my curiosity beyond belief
but,
I fail and I flee for the nearest bridge to hurl to some sort of sanctuary...yet with all that is surrounding me, I'm still deep in my solitude from this city. Surrounded by water, an exit can be tricky. Millions of beings but I'm everlastingly empty. Hungry for someplace or something that fits me. A boroughed re-entry into my dreamed fantasy...
Until then, lost in my mental mystery of this mecca on an island, where all roads lead to crayon paths of confusion, I'll retreat to keep wanderin. Searching, searching for the nearest exit back to reality.

A Free Negress of Remarkable Talent

2010-06-05T15:24:00.000-07:00

Im a free negress of remarkable talent. At least thats what they tell me. They say Im boundless. I may just have to consent to agree. I am boundless. Eclipsing even myself to surround success and pounce without a moment to hesitate...yet I digress. They tell me Im free to be whoever I please... me, myself and I simply want to be FREE. Unattached to orthodox and uninhibited by regularity. Without race, gender or reverting to simply appeasing thee. You dont like it? Take a hint and recede to the masses of 'us' - where conformists and naysayers find their way among the judgmental musk. Rank and reclusive with your swaying finger in my face, yet never face me in the same space. You speak of what you must - but I say Im free. Not held within some box or quota stagged by others or myself. Partially belonging to a society with its sovereignty, all the while my soul and intentions go rogue; I physically rest in between... a consistent tug-of-war. I speak and write deliberately; Dont ask about me if your not ready to receive all my ideas and thoughts; wrong or right they are mine to hold. Secrets and sadness, potential schemes untold all uniquely molded to me. I am boundless. One in a billion and you can count on this. There will never be another I who can make you laugh or make you cry - hold your tears while you learn to fly, and all the while you miss me. Miss the talent I possess or the sass thats clever and jest or the independence that I carry within every breath. This is me. Good or bad, with varying degrees for indecisiveness and subliminal uncertainty. I think I am, I think I am has surely transformed to YES!, I is she and she is boundless. A free negress of remarkable talent, that is.

Call me a revolutionary

2010-05-16T00:23:00.000-07:00

Call me a revolutionary, call me a dreamer; but really, Im just waiting for the world to change. Waiting for the masses mindset to rearrange - for the bottom to be the top and for the top to be untamed. Endless,boundless and blissfully reclaimed by the better thoughts and ideas that float around us, subtly dubbed insane. Great madness and whimsy from rational minds to persuade the big and the restless to do what's humane. To do for others as you would do for yourself - no more more no less and anything selfless would be success. Longing for the hearts to do what they can and take the stress of cruelty off of man; I is not we and truly we is the apart of a bigger plan. People stare in recluse, thinking this impossibility is surely the thoughts of a madman. The novice words of a free-man, sans reality, in a world where the average is caged in. And thats fine. Maybe they arent meant to be, at this time and place in our current and history. But I'll tell you what - you can always find me, waiting for the world to change...

Yesterday I had a test...

2010-04-14T23:11:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had a test.
A test of faith, resilliance, and struggle;a test of will,if you will, to keep going. To keep believeing in myself against the doubt of others and my own deepest fears. He gave me a lesson in not succeding, a swift pop quiz in life's aches when your not acheiving. Dissapointment so raw and so real, I have to keep maintaining and breathing. And keep steady - 'this is a test Christine, are you ready?'. To hear 'no' when it sounds like a million doors closing over and over and over again. No (slam) we simply can't let you in. No (slam) we cant let you in. Slam,slam...no matter what I cant win.
But that was yesterday, so felt is more appropriate I should say. The lesson I learned spoke of the past and the difference between tomorrow. Let those past feelings die and not shape tomorrow's unknown. Trying hard to remember today is a blessed struggle, one that I should welcome with open arms and an open mind. But I cant accept today while always looking behind. Cant accept my future if these tests I do not pass; if I truly dont learn from them and make that lesson last. For life. God gives me these tests to help guide my way and guide my star...he means no harm. I would be the same 'ole same 'ole if my everyday went unchanged. He knows best that I cant wait to be better and his tests help to stregthen my endevor. And prepare me for a future so bright I will need him to lead my way - by the light and his Might I will never falter in my days. Lord knows, I need Him to help me always.

Yesterday I had a test. And today is another. But I will make it. Amen.

Thank You For Reminding Me Why

2010-04-14T22:46:00.000-07:00

You remind me of the mistake I keep repeating. The cycle of has been's that would have been had we kept meeting. The sly lines and deep voice that left me heavily breathing. The suspect grin and spontaneous sins that at once made things interesting. Who know you were so much of my love deja vu that I should have known the ending before we ever had a beginning.
This is cause for a redo. Rewind the clock, set me back in my spot and let life continue...sans meeting you.Minus meeting the him and the him before too. And you can keep the like that are bound to ensue - those simply passing the time by passing through. My soul is long overdue for something real and renewed, and I realize now I would rather be empty than lifelessly filled with all of your untruths. Anyone who reincarnates my past mishaps I want nothing to do.
But I suppose Im not empty after all. My dignity and self-worth stand mountains tall. Above you and our make belief infatuation...love is was not, thats not mistaking. I am more than the labels you put before my name. I should always be first and foremost me. And I'm full of myself so please, let me be. Let me feast on this experience and gain some relief that I am once again smarter than the last mofo who met me. I simply continue to live and thrive and most of all survive...thank you for reminding me of why.

They may hear us

2010-04-08T23:11:00.000-07:00

Shh, they may hear us. Whispering, though its so loud in this supreme quiet it is deafening. Speaking of things that are, but shouldn't be; reality as it is, as we see. A revolution in its infancy - a war of words against the tyranny of silence. This is slow coming. Never mind us, yet, we are simply conversing - getting the word out about the obvious but unnoticed things.
The serial killer aimlessly roaming, cloaked in a falice and vaginal clothing. Walking with legs of ignorance and steadily growing; killing and killing with all of us knowing. An acronym of an assumed death sentence with letters otherwise...A.I.D.S might as well spell lies. Not taking heed or taking aim is unjustly wasting time. but,
Shhh, they may hear we. Speaking in a back alley to a desperate mother of three. She wants to abort her growth, but do so dangerously. Little does she know of the education to prevent such seeds, under negligent governments neglecting, to protect herself and future offspring. She listens intently to the hope we are hissing...no one has ever given her the facts about this Pill we speak. She is beyond intrigued. A sheath for his weapon before entering? She admits shes never seen such a thing; men with knowledge never share anything worth sharing.
Shhh,they may hear me. Speaking boldly about chance and opportunity. Giving light to the dark and hopeless beings...the grass is greener when you believe in actually seeing. Books, knowledge and power are there if you are given the drive to begin seeking. The world is in the palm of your hand little one, don't be shy to take it. And run. Because others are out there who want to keep you from ever taking action. Want to keep you tied to the ground; better yet, bury you beneath it. Want your body and soul to wither having forever been barren.
This is a verbal revolution for the people. Those who are undereducated, unknowing and separate and unequal. Theres no need to stand in the outfields. Silence is the best promoter of silence...so speak. Let your voice be heard; never shun at the sound of your own audacity to ask, seek, find the means to become a better being. Never settle for less than inhumanity ceasing; whats mines is yours and yours for the keeping. Let them hear you preaching that you have the right to touch any light you are reaching. Stars are closer than they seem, especially when the sky begins so dark.

Just a little thought...

2010-04-04T18:15:00.000-07:00

Irony is a paradox in which we all play. We mind fuck ourselves to keep a little sane. To at least try to maintain...to at least decipher the thoughts going on in our brain. Least I have to truly explain, this world is crazy. You think your a player one minute and the next your on the wrong team not even playing. Getting tossed an evolving situation with no words to say anything. With no breath to keep defending. With no heart left to keep mending.
How ironic - weren't we all at one point winning? When did the referee of life come in to confuse the game; to make matters more insane; to drown any drain we have left to filter the good from the bad? How can I tell what I should and should not have? What to keep persuing and what to finally leave in the past? I for one hope this irony doesnt last. Ironically enough, I know it always will. I'll never have all the answers, I suppose thats part of lifes thrill. I'll always be Alice with my bottle and my pill; take a sip here, pop a tab there. Too big, too small; Irony, Im to the point where I dont care. Your Wonderland of 'what if's' and 'maybe I can' have me spinning - unraveling my sanity down a hole never ending. Ironically enough, I know this is just the beginning; Im too young to simply have this as my ending. I'll faithfully follow this mysterious white rabbit hoping my future is bright enough to light the dark tunnel Im entering, because I may be here awhile. Wondering and wandering, walking miles and miles. Solo on this trip down lifes nile. And unaided by a map or a crazy mofo hatter. Still without help, I'll make it - I suppose how doesn't matter. I couldnt begin to figure it out if i wanted to. And I do but I dont. Im simply the driver and passenger, along for the ride, in the ride of my life. And truly, isn't that ironic; don't ya think?

Let me stop laughing long enough to write this...

2010-04-04T18:00:00.000-07:00

Thank you; thank you; thank you - your far to kind. Givin me a shout out in the mirror *bust out a Halle Berry*- dont press stop, nah nigga lets rewind. The last thing I would post is my insecurity? The first step in confidence starts with C, so where exactly is your point E? You lost me...seriously. Apparently when you were lying and being civil with she, u never truly saw me...cuz I dont play games, I play for keeps. Well, when its worth keeping - I peeped your game, turns out afterall you werent worth peeping. I never come second, in anything I do...first born, first place, first to cum, first to spot your shit a mile away. And land hoe captin - your shit is LAME. I told you what you were gonna do before you even had the thought to do it; your a puppet in this life, I thought you knew this? Surprise, and here you are thinking you outgrew it. What else you got to throw with? Ive been 3000 miles away, on the coast where the sun forever plays, whats new in this situation that I didnt already say? oh that you love me and want me to play wife one day. Ha ha, no way. Like I said, I am ALL about mine. 24/7 365...theres no room for you and your trival ny redevous. Running into ex's in LITERALLY the biggest city in the world...please, houdini, how do you magically manage that? She knows your puppet strings as well as I; hustle, hustle, hustle, barely get by, write a word here write a word there, sigh. REPEAT. Something told me you werent a man about yours, but silly me, did I listen. That body for days had me distracted from this west coast distance. Your lulleyby's cuddled me at night when I really should have just had someone complete by my side. But lovey your right, I did wake up. That sun and shine hit my face so abrupt...and wow I see the light. Your not worth the fight. I look in the mirror, worried your maddness may have caused me to loose sight. Nah, dont fret my pet, Im still bomb as ever. Dont love me, save that for heather...or sarah, or whoever the fuck comes next. Maybe they wont will hear your game and wont see you lame, and so wont object. I hope for your sake that happens. Until then, go about your life and I will mos def go about mine. Keep hatin from where the sun dont shine. I have worlds to conquer. You may keep gaming, cuz well, lovely you have the time.

Touche and Ta Ta

2010-04-02T08:45:00.001-07:00

In the blink of an eye forever was decapitated. It’s head on the floor, its loveline too heavily jaded. Stumbling into the street, confused by dreams constintly evaded. Wooda coulda shoulda’s nicknamed from consistantly being complacent. Dealing with ‘this’ and your femme obession has me exasperated. She win? That can be highly debated; I gave you up. A drug habit, I got my fix, and now my high is up. Ink and lines do me so much better you and tired lies. A month and some change but any longer would have been wasted time. You couldnt wait to get played – looks like you just made it. I realeased you, didnt I? Shes already on your page; Im sure glanced across your mind. Thats fine. I gave you up. Theres little room in my life for a manic dreamer. Come back down friend and get your shit together. Ive already seen you falter…lil boy dont think I dont know you called her. You miss her. And are there any leftovers? That must be you. Your the creme de la creme of the bottom barrel busters too; desperate, needy and wanting more than whats due to you. Thats why I gave you up. Thanks for my out by the way,that part was sort of tough. This is hard and This is tough… Commence with your life and slumming with whats rough; whats weathered and tethered and used up, ya know, from way too much ‘love’. Gem my ass; more more like a diamond in the dump. Coincidence you live so close? Nope, I think not. Knowing you, your gonna come back with lines and aquareal attacks – I know you. And thats koo. But know this…I’ll always be the one who played you at your game boo

Something ...and its about time.

2010-03-23T18:49:00.000-07:00

I feel creatively frustrated. Mentally stagnated, verbally constipated, lyrically unmotivated. My senses are jaded and for far too long now I cant seem to shake it. Unstimulated by the happenings in the world, the madness being debated, Im lacking the passion to get words copulating; forming sentences and ideas, stanzas laced with pronouns and adjectives conjugating. Instead Im listless, adhering to academic and employment obligations – cant they see I just want to write?! Day and night I struggle with the internal fight to leave everything alone and do as I like – but instantly my bohemian fantasies take flight, and Im back to being blanker than the paper before me. This poetically challenged haze Im in has me feeling inebriated - only Im not drunk off ink or high on lines. Im pacing back and forth with cranial thoughts unsigned. I wait patiently for them to come out, a rockstar groupie of my own mind, but true to form they decline. Fleeting anxieties whisper to me that I need to work for mine...somehow this is new news to me. My poetic ecstasy used to come so easily, do it’s thing, then exit the scene gracefully – a beck and call greatness with no signs of vacating. Yet here I am, pen in hand, breathless and waiting. Like a true junkie, I need more from me to take thee to the depths and heights I now have to squint to see. To take me to the top like I plan to be; to make me truly great like the writers now I read. I have to plant that seed. There’s no room to sow a future of immobility. I gotta keep it pushin. Always, always – gotta keep it pushin.

I look down, and I see theres ink dancing on the page. Even when I loose my way, my pen never roams astray...always,always gotta keep it pushin.

It's ok; I'm just a slave to words

2010-02-27T23:03:00.000-08:00

I live among workers and mass producers. Chronic caffeine abusers and nicotine doers...Glass ceiling movers and pencil eraser chewers. Those who clock in and out of work to live but are never really living at all. How can you even breathe when your running so fast to catch your breath?
I live among workers and mass producers. "Yes sir and ma'am" procurers, and paper shoving mules. Less human and more clone, always doing what they are told; walk now vs. don't go, stay in line and don't mess up the flow. How do you claim to think when others tell you what you should know?
I live among workers and mass producers. Taxi cab whores and underdog lords...no time off because they can't afford; no real life because they cant endure. Reality is limited to their clipboards, a 9-5 hustle to seek monetary rewards...How can anyone pay you for missing what your future may have had in store?
I'm no ones worker, employee or user. No ones bi-monthly paycheck pursuers, no ones overtime doer. I live for me. Im my best and worst boss - I give it my all and the rewards outweigh the costs. I have no paycheck; the world pays me in always reading and appreciating, hanging on my last work and breathlessly waiting...greatness comes on no ones clock. Theres no 401k, no pension plan, as if those worked; How do you retire from the reason you were born? You don't, you can't, so I wont. I'm no ones worker, employee or user. Shit, this writing thing is my lifetime job. And it's ok; I'm just a slave to words.

Lovestoned

2010-02-27T15:31:00.001-08:00

We hardly sleep, but he keeps me dreaming

Eyes wide shut, lovestoned thoughts keep my lids from fleeting

He and I in the city where Angels keep conceiving

The best of the best - no wonder this is where were meeting.

Bicoastal fantasies grow into reality by the minute

You make us more complete with every doubter you've threatened

Successful ambition you carry is definitely your deadliest weapon

Keep my heart in your hands, our feelings now will stay golden

Your ink caught me - hook, line and sinker

It writes the rest to make my whole, yet still my feelings go deeper

A web full of the unknown but I run to hurry and enter

A never ending story with you and 'us' is all I can picture

He lets me believe in the impossible

Love actually found in a world where no one else is able

Hearts stretched across the states so my wishes stay hopeful

Of the two morphing to one - God forever I'll be grateful

I before she

2010-02-24T23:03:00.000-08:00

I before she, especailly after we - this X factor is a game and I play for keeps. Do you a favor, dont try to compete. Mama putting X's to shame is my speciality. Im the best of the best, capital C...have you even noticed your name comes after me? Don't trouble your weave, dont think too deep, it's really not that hard to see - once upon a time there was you, until he got bored and got through, and along came me; stepping on your tracks, onto the exit you proceed. Boo's off to manifest his destiny, right minded star-blinded fun in the sun sexy, dreams grow beastly, moi on his side beaming. Its a We thing - of which you know nothing. Yes you cry and you plead, beg for a 2nd, all while on your knees...but the truth of the matter is lames like you need to take heed- I dont play with little girls, nah , grown chicks play for keeps. Im not tryin to be nice so dont look for a please. This aint no junior high shit, theres no box marked with no or maybe. Your antics slay me; you only ask him that I look better than you? Trick have you seen me?? Oh, of course you have - I'm all over your screen; when you stalk his page its me you see smiling keen. You call incessently while its me hes keeping. I know your seething. Real chicks know your bitchy ass tricks and for sure your hating. It's ok, i dont blame you, but remember what I keep saying: I play for keeps so give up the gaming.

A Daily Truth

2010-02-20T18:58:00.000-08:00

Im sitting next to the Truth and its not pretty.
Right next to me on the 2, high-speed railing into the City.
This Truth is cold and gritty, defeated and shitty, hustlin to make it like some borough gypsy
A Truth, soulless and empty, degrading its essence for mere dimes and pennies, pride willing, always hoping the next stop is humanity and empathy...but this train doesn't stop for pity.
The Truth is awakening me; poetry and song from all cornors of reality, from all degrees of 'needing', from a world so far from the one Im adept to seeing.
But Im sitting next to the Truth and its shamefully enticing; I cant look away, but its painful what Im seeing. I look into the eyes of a life trying to do the right thing, stuck in the dirt, grinding, on this train publicly seeking a better truth but never finding. The sight is paralyzing and I feel tears crying, heartfelt aches for this raw Truth staring back at me. I want to get off and flee this intense scene but nah, theres no escaping. The Truth sees through me, through the mayballine, and sees my soul shaking; my lips want to say theres hope, but whats the use in faking. We both know this world is cold and truth is, theres no help waiting.
We jerk to a halt and part, the Truth and I, the silence saying an unspoken goodbye. The Truth to find another hustle, another way, and me to continue to get by. But now i know the truth, I cant ever deny, and the grim of the City never lies...its cold in this concrete jungle, the Truth can testify.

I'll always be the first and last one listening

2010-02-06T11:03:00.000-08:00

Say something. Say something to me. Say something to distract me from reality...anything worth me listening. I want to be lost in your whimsical oratory; verbs and adjectives spoken with glory. Please recite your story directly to me. Word for word, turn history into poetry.

Speak. But speak off key, off the record, say something dirty to me. Feel free to let your voice run its words all over and roam free..find anyplace interesting? Tell all, everything, exactly what your thinking. No hesitation, no braking.
Tell me. But tell me earnestly. Tell me something I can see. Let your words build the promises you seek; Mountain high challenges you conquer with a mic and a sheath. Let your lips illustrate for me your goals and dreams. I can't wait to hear what you already see.
Whisper. Whisper something secret to me. Treasured secrets you thought you'd never repeat. Memories you keep only between the heaven and seas, share them with me. It's ok - I'm trustworthy.
And when there are no more words, no more praise to preach, write to me. Invent words and ways to tell me whatever it is you dare not even speak. Capture your love and pain with black and blue ink. Let every trouble you've reached die off at the tip of the pen where ink meets the lined brink.

And now, don't say anything at all. The paper can take it from here. If others want to hear, let them wait, let them read. Save your words, your voice, your lips and your breath for me. Don't give the last of it away - save it for we. And when the day is over and done, while the suns last rays are sinking, know that Im here. I'll always be the first and last one listening. As long as you say something to me.

Fill in the City

2010-02-03T21:57:00.000-08:00

Im watching Time and its almost to the point that I cant take it. Don't tease, don't fake it. Tick faster for goodness sake - You don't think I'll make it? Waiting and pacing, staring you down like prey I've been chasing..this is two years in the making. Panting though I've stayed in one place, its my heart that's doing all the long distance racing. Breathless - I need a NY minute to cease this anticipating. Time, your taking your time and killing me softly. All I'm consumed with is beautiful ambitions drifting my heart to heights like a marquee; now showing 'strangers in the city' starring he and me. Soon is better than later, if Time is on the right speed. Faster faster, strike us like lighting; I want to see him, the lights and the city. Wrap me up in chaos so fitting to meet the one person who may be my beginning and ending. But Time, please don't rush the middle or skip anything Im missing . Let he and I enjoy endless days of 'we'...feelings of time standing still at the Empire and hearts both soaring. Exploring the world on an island and burros worth burrowing - dig deep, I want to see everything you can show me. Reckless with words til all the stars are glowing. And underneath it is us. Graffiti the night with a purple haze and candid verse...no more implied lust. Teach me everything, I'm willing. Speechless...but grinning. Knowing that truly this is the beginning. An epic saga with no decided ending...til we pick up a pen and fill in the City.

2 Carry-on's

2010-01-31T19:25:00.000-08:00

I'll be leaving soon, on a jet plane, and I cant take you with me. But thats not to say I havent tried. There is simply no more room in my luggage to fit you and our past inside.
This jet plane only allows two carry-on's: My present and my possibilities. And between me and you, its my future that's too big for these medium-sized bags. See traveling is something we had planned to do, 50/50; pack light, just write, and only leave the room involuntarily. But you missed the plane, missed the plan, and soon, I'll be leaving. Solo and excess baggage-free.
Im off to see the world from a me point of view. Everything I need is in these two bags, more C sans you. Sans Pariasian tables for two, and dual his-and-her towels; scratch the couples retreat, and the midnight love sounds. Oh, the sexy days of we...
My luggage is stuffed and Im not tryin to pay the extra fee to include you and our dirty drama in the plans Ive planned for me. Im going to get the best rooms because for me, I can afford it. Stay in Hong Kong or Rome, drink fine teas and roam, all because I adore it. I look forward to this but, you'd never be for it. Bohemian swag is not your thing after all....
I'll be leaving soon, and really, I cant take you with me. All those sexy days of we have finally produced an ending...let your closure mend me. I came from feelin so empty to now, forgiving myself for wasting time sniffling...and crying over the past and the baggage I cant take into forever. I need to find that place when I was happier then ever-I feel it nearing. But it's not to say I didnt try.

On my last day...

2010-01-25T23:58:00.000-08:00

Today is my last day as the former me.
My last day as the golden age, yet my light is far from dimming.
The old me was fun but the party has just gotten started;
I'm past the bitsy mistakes and the advice ill forgotten
Over the trivial rivalries and the minor madness
Done with the drama of yesterday - literally- and the misunderstood sadness.
Ive since ceased my craving for all things juvenile, all the while
Keeping myself young at heart in a curious sort of style
I'm all about progress and the gaining thereof; success and finesse
Broadening my horizons and exchanging haters for the best
In love with life and how far Ive come
Now its really time for me to take reign of my kingdom:
Allow me to introduce myself because you've never met me before
Say I look familiar? Nope, i think your confused immensely, but Im willing to do another encore
Bubbly I may still be but dont mistake the curls for ditzy
Dewy eyed and cheeks dimply, nice to meet you; Im the 22 Christine
Ambition ceaseless - never ending - my blaze is bright; allow me to apply you with sunscreen
2010 Im on the scene, bringing more of me than you've ever seen...stay awake, let me grap you extra strength codine.
Take a seat inbetween...
the past and the future, the present is quite comfy
yes, allow me to blow whats left of you verbally
Onto the next one, that new ish, follow me...

Dirty Clarity

2010-01-23T23:14:00.000-08:00

Everything surrounding me is dirty. Feels dirty, looks dirty, is tainted with filth. The smell in the air reeks of disgust and shame and the odor gets stronger and stronger with every second that passes by in this motionless place. I feel vulnerable to suffocation; even my air is polluted with the debris from the past, some how floating to the surface amongst the crude and scandal . So much mire hazes my morality, so I stumble, and suddenly the smut is on me. One smear that lingers and tarnishes my unsoiled name. A name that has transcended place after place without grazing the impure and yet it is here where your word vomit lands on my precious name. My identity. On me.
These are fighting words, and my gloves are on. But it hits me that to fight would be to touch you, and to risk more spillage of your spite on my hands...my chest...on me. I cant take that risk. One smear is enough and it alone will take time to repair. So surrounded by the loathsome fiction you preach and publish as fact, I step back. Not too far though; I just want to get a good look at you before you turn to the absolute shit that you are. I want to remember you this way; stinking and lying, leaving mounds of nonsense behind you. You have an unusual fetish for drama and complication; that too is rotting away at your character. So to you and yours, those like you and those who I have yet to meet that whisper tall tales with a false breath, I now and forever bid you adieu. I see now that Im too good for this place, to good for this mess, and when you aren't lying, I can actually hear the outside; its raining amnesty.
Hard, heavy and steady its graceful cascades turn to violent showers, gushing every ounce of clarity and purity it has onto any who seek it. I do. As it barely trickles onto you, I feel gallons on my head, my arms, my hands...cleaning away any sin and stumble I may have had for the sake of experience. For the sake of getting older, getting better, and one day not ever needing this mercy rain. One day I want to be everything you are not: I want to be wiser.

Mistaken for an Atlas of Love

2010-01-14T22:11:00.000-08:00

Born simply of body and soul, I bear the burden of the world
Loves lost wages on my shoulder blades, I sigh
a million sighs from a million broken restless hearts
longing for a half that is steadily growing further apart
My burden is that of great Atlas, but heavier and more enchanted. Unable to break free from a punishment I never asked to be granted;
there was no clash of the gods, but rather pride had a fierce war of words.
My emotions clearly lost and the load of the latter is upon my back heaving
heavy...at times I feel like I've stopped breathing.
Yet Atlas was made for such a Herculean task, not I
with my own heartbreaking. Keeping apart not the Earth and the Sky
but instead Love and the Loveless. It's not something I'm not built
for -Im no god...
I feel what all beings do and that is lonely.
And any who has been lonely knows the cure all is indeed Love
but here I am, sentenced, like Atlas, to keep two belonging entities apart.
Doomed to be miserable unless they are together
Doomed to be miserable unless my other half is connected to it's whole. Still the future of Love is a task weighing heavy on me but one I can't abjur
I do it for myself, for the Loveless and all the hearts thereafter.
On the edge of hope I'll wait for the He to rescue me from it's rapture
To unload my hinderance, pull me from the edge and live like true lovers
happily ever after.

Celebrity

2010-01-09T14:44:00.000-08:00

Pose, smile, pause for the camera.... I laugh.
They want scandal, but don't let them through, don't let them pass.
I'm a celebrity - your whispers are all about me
Look at my life through a screen like Im on TV
or silver screen, pretending like you know all just from what you see from afar. I'm bigger than life, don't try you can never be me; trick Ima star.
My name is in your mouth and you cant handle how tasty I be
Drama is what you seek; but my life is good, drama-free - I leave you empty.
Yearning for 411 on where I am or who I'm with, who said what or callin' me a bitch
But its ok cuz I'm a celebrity.
High on my horse because that's where you put me
You yourself hoisted me up when I was fine simply being C, yet still legendary
Never wanted this famed title, still you gave it and with me its fancy
My business is mine but for you it's all apart of the nosey industry
Chatter talk about what you heard; filling the blanks with fantasy
But now I'm tired of being your evening news at 6
Find another beauty who's life you can tell tales and mimic
Shift through my dirty laundry and find nonsense to nitpick
Like I said, my life ain't cha bi-ness
See me with bestsellers and columns with comments
Read about me in the papers when I write ish

Buy my books so I can sign this: To you, from me
xoxo Celebrity

Fresh

2010-01-05T19:23:00.000-08:00

Your shadow over me looms heavy. Its overbearing
My hand shakes; it aint steady. Im not caring
about what you think or how you feel -
my grip is armed with steel; it's pet name is bic and I'm aimed to kill

Your hustlin your gums and I'm mentally running...across these lines
Smart like einstein, fierce like a feline, trust my fire isn't benign
I heard through the grapevine your nothin but a typical canine who's only aimin for my waistline
so in between my words and my jawline you get trapped. Your lustful offers imma decline

Me before may have quinched your thirst
Let you run game, pretend I never got hurt
Said all the right things and buried the real C in a hearst
Dimmed my light so that your supposed fight went heard
but...

Didn't they tell you? I want more now than your weak dollar signs
and those tired lines - independent woman with her own I can't be outshined
Your bling and obnoxious sheen don't make you beam in my eyes
Instead I'm squinting, turning my view to other allies

Do me a favor -don't do me no favors
Hold down your own, do your thing, I'll get at you later
Bring more to my plate than stank leftovers you remainder
I'm deep in success...let me live and let me savor

Hallmark Sentiments

2009-12-28T00:33:00.000-08:00

You reveal depth to me like hallmark sentiments
through unwritten words, you talk of being more intimate
Rewinding time and trying all of this again
Since when did our this become ridiculously complicated?

I listen to you, astute, hanging on every word
your long distance neediness sounds cleverly doctored
Regale me with a few lies and promises so conjured
out of thin air; rare to see game this haggard.

Does she know about your suto confessional?
or how we both met; more or less professional
Think she would appreciate your late night unfaithful
This generic sincerity is exhibit A, counsel

Your just as fake as your hallmark sentiments
mass produced, reused, sealed and licked; send it again
Deprive me of your washed up oral remnents
The best thing for you to do now, friend, is subscribe to silence.

Sending an S.O.S

2009-12-24T00:20:00.000-08:00

I dont think Im done crying over you. I tried though -believe me. Sucked it up and put up a front - quite deceiving. I tried to shed every last tear because 'we' as we knew us is no longer here. Maybe not forever gone, but no longer near. I fear my emotions are a facade. I have oceans left and my eyes are consistently on the brink of flooding over. I'm sending an s.o.s your way...but I think our pride may let me sink way too deep. We both know I can't loose myself again...but Im feeling that feeling creep.

Yesterday was your birthday and strangely, it was me left wishing, blowing out the candles. Your no longer my light. I wish for you hopelessly. My lamenting lulls me at night. I want you happy but without 'us' it doesn't seem right. How can either be happy when their soulmate is out of sight? s.o.s...
Like Bonnie and Clyde we had a master plan. You with ambition of dollar signs in the sand. Me, with you on my left, and writing gripping my right hand. One day getting hitched, finding a niche, sans babies unplanned. Southern bohemians. When did our life idea get canned?
We talked about forever. Staying so high on love and coming down never. Not for anyone or anything ever. Forever Young and always together. Forever, it seems, was more temporary than our original endeavor. It's much more tragic than clever. Im sending an s.o.s your way...please reply. Let me know your on the same page as I; not now, but not never. What was once granted forever but truely now, there's no rush, just a worthy wait. I can wait. You let we know when.

Language, And I'm the Messenger

2009-12-21T22:57:00.000-08:00

Language belongs to us. It always has.
They can't handle it.
Can't take it away; no, they can't touch
They can't manage it.
It's not manageable. Not tangible.
So don't try to man handle it.
Persuade it to cater to your whims; nah, we're not havin it.
See, every word you've ever read belongs to me,myself,and I.
My trilogy of infamy won't let language go -won't let her die.
We let you borrow it, breathe it. Now exhale - your permit to write has been denied.
See, I sleep with it, go deep with it, like a fantasy I've always dreamed.
Full of passion and promise; letters flowing together so clean.
Language belongs to us. It always has.
Tells me what to write - I tell the world, present and past.
I'm the messenger, translating a muddled alphabet soup into something the masses can feast on. My pen forces feeds them. Shit, its like they've never eaten, the way my pen keeps them.I feel blessed. To be this messenger and chosen with few rest.
I'm full and literate - in love with language like the true gift she is. She makes me feel

... mischievous; hiding secrets and undeciphered thoughts yet to be formally introduced to my pen. They are deep from within. Language is our liaison. We rendezvous whenever she calls. And I'm happy to take part in her ploy. I'm the messenger.
Language, what should I write for the world today?

1214

2009-12-15T23:03:00.000-08:00

Countless tomorrow's have culminated into today. The moment has arrived. A title of victor awaits at bay. The question is, which will thrive. Tireless they fight. Restless day and night. The skies have turned an unsettling shade of livid. The look among us all is timid. I stare. Where once doves roamed freely, frolicking in the calm breeze of peace between both realities...now, they flee. Unable to keep flight in the tormented abyss..I stare. Looking up I feel an even colder chill in the air. Back up has arrived. From the north, a heavy rain has been contrived. From my seat, a purple reign can be described. Though not for the grayish side. I see you sun- commander in chief in his army of a united one. You are the guiding star to freedom in this darking Battle of the Light.

The water approaches, like a well rehearsed ensemble, ready to play the old freedom spiritual through its assault. The true war has begun. Of battles before, no one has ever won the war. Not anymore. The sun coyly follows suit behind the rain and the massacre that is bound to ensue. First one, then two. Drip drip,bloop bloop. Heaving from the heavens, like canons do; massive attacks of water seeping through. My panaramic view looks like a civil war gone askew. The symphony of rain sings its freedom song, from verse one and steadily unto. Truly in sync, without mistake or redo. The assault is vicious. Safe in my haven underneath I grimace. Puff's of cloud attemp to regroup to take vengence, but its far past that wish of a finish. This war has been claimed by the sun and his troupe but the scene is still a menace. The lead cadet and his calamity of clouds slowly diminish, wiped clean from the forefront. Who knew clouds would lay to rest by too much dew.

I see you sun. Though weak and weary you've finally won. This moment was waiting for you. A star. Complete with rays of light that blind from wherever you are. But I stare. I want to feel your warmth; I smell fresh victory in the air. Kudos to your persistence. True valiance has a right to insistance...and others must succumb. The battle of the light is over and done.

Yet another day in my western paradise, the sun has overcome.

Would he?

2009-12-13T10:00:00.000-08:00

I'm living my book, but its missing some chapters. A co-author with meaning, not some rehearsed Shakespearean actor. One who refills ink with tribulations and sweat - like I do. Jots mental stanzas and can never forget - like I do. A dream team. Would he? He would be a queens lost king. A writer penning romance that spans centuries unseen. I need his pen in between my pages. Continue writing your verses that linger on life's lost graces. I'm reading.
Would he? He would enjoy my candor. Appreciate my humor and sarcastic grandeur. The hard covers act as my stage and you, my best audience. You always want an encore. I'm always wanting to give more. Would he? He would inspire me to dream bigger than before. Silly me, I once imagined there stood walls or doors. I'm surely mistaken. He shows me the world, says its mine for the taking. I'll take it. Don't tease, don't fake it. Would he? I'm thinking. He would write off the universe if suggested. Steal all the words from all the world wherever they rested. Language belongs to us. It always has. We live and digest it. Daily. We both crave it. Would he? He would finish the book I'm living. Insert my blank pages with chapters doused in chivalry never ending. Cure my ails with ink so mending. Be willing to bend the future if it means us in it. My book is on hold for a minute. I'm thinking. I want the right he to help finish it.

1211

2009-12-12T17:43:00.000-08:00

I step outside.

The boding heavens are gray and ominous. Like they are foreshadowing an undecided future. They are trying to tell me something. I feel a storm a'coming. It is early in the noon yet the sun is strugglin'. Desperately trying to be seen, be heard, be known as more than nothin'. I see you sun.
Battling for the forefront, it is so many clouds against one star. So many near against one so far. So many surfs against one true czar.A dim attempt at an eclipse, they want a coup, and one in particular steps in to hide the growing glow. Ashen and bleak, like it has fought this war before; a hazed and once triumphant solider in the Battle of the Light.
This is an aerial plight and from underneath I have the best seat. Out of reach, but ever so clearly, I see the combat. Slow and calculating, waiting, debating the odds of success. The infantry gathers behind their leading cadet. My romantic western sky becomes a timeless standoff between good and bad while the world ponders the outcome.
Bashfully, the sun hesitates. To shine or not to shine, that is the internal conflict. Yet there is no time for hesitation, No time to spare. The air is biting colder and colder, viciously taking sides in a standoff that seems so outnumbered. Hopeless without a star to shine in the damp darkness.
I stare.The noon is dying and still no clear heir. One has to succumb for the other to stay there. My money is on the sun.
Shine with all your light and let there be none. Over your doubt and release your burden. Open the gates of heaven with your sol so that others will believe. I see you sun. Even if others don't. I won't despair and I pray that you won't. Let your glow defeat those who can't see past the clouds. The battle of the light is forever and defeat is not allowed. Today may not be yours but tomorrow is anew. One is more than many if hope holds true. Victory is there; it is simply waiting for you. I see you sun. Tomorrow, they may too.

Downtown Download

2009-12-10T19:02:00.000-08:00

Behind the brazen screen and gleam your a beast held captive by a machine. Your modern vice is vernacular but luckily the keyboard provides the relief you seek.You sought me. The whole wide world is your web and you've caught me. My left hand over my mouth, the least I'm doing is talking. I'm tangled, entrapped in your verse and candor meandering between the lines of abbreviations and digital confessions.

Your I.M's on my M.A.C are keeping me M.I.A from reality.

It's boldly tempting...to say what I may actually never, but am always thinking. Sincerely, its interesting. But i like it. And I respond, adding fuel to the fire; your fingertips simmer as they touch the keys and your modem. This is an illicit adventure. Desire on the verge of overwhelming intensity...still i hit enter. The thrill of sending keeps me. I just know your thinking, waiting, enjoying me on the edge of my seat. Only for so long. This exchange can keep me only for so long before I want what's real. Yes; the intentions are a done deal but moreover something I can feel. The cursor is flashing, beckoning to be typed by the keys your teasing. Grazing over the buttons, the temptation is seething. It softly taunts me.Yearning in its purest form, don't worry, my viral protection is on; I'm ready. Panting and anxious for it. And it comes.

The screen filters the flames and once again,

were safe at either end.

I, She, and all the Motivation Inbetween

2009-12-08T21:09:00.000-08:00

I wont surrender. Won't give in. Refuse to fulfill the unforgiving legacy left for me. My course is destined and I manifest my own destiny. I don't own a white flag. I don't know what "cant" means. I keep hearing it; echoing like surround sound, reverberating off of the haters and procrastinators that cling to my boots as i climb to the top. But it sounds foreign. I don't speak as being content. My vocabulary produces results; I'm just fluent in success. My mind is made up so don't try to steer me off the road. Don't bother planting your ideas for me; my future has already been sowed. And I water it on the regular- with school and promise and increased fervor. I get excited to be me at my prime, and then I remember; my prime is yet to come, still my focus is forever. I want to reach the top, dust it off and place a book there. A book I wrote and dare another to compare - beware. My bark and my bite are equally vicious. I want this to much. My desire is ridiculous. I'm too anxious, too fearless. I've got nothing to loose but blank pages and laziness. A past cycle that bore me to shepherd this flock; I'm Christine Columbus and the 'top' is Plymouth Rock. Don't get left behind or you will wind up empty- I'm the light at the end of life's tunnel and She is the pilot that lit me. Whether I'm 5 years or 50, it is her. She motivates my will and strive; my ambition and stride to keep it pushing. Always. I want to embody all that she couldn't. Traverse the unknown, not cuz she wouldn't, but because I was too prudent. Placed things aside once I was born. All her thoughts ideas worries and cares took a back seat as I rode up front. Sacrifices were made and her going without was the brunt. This is no game to me, no make believe day at the park. The buck stops here - I'm leaving my mark. A mark that says if I can so can you. She taught me how, and I just promise to follow through. She didn't get a chance like mine but repentance I plan to do. By writing my life down and everything I see. By making myself happy and succeeding in who I am supposed to be. I got plans. Taking over the world if the pen in my right hand so demands. And never looking back so don't call after me. I inhale letters and exhale eloquently. My motivation is clear & set. Not succeeding would be blasphemy.

transgressions of indiscretion

2009-12-04T22:15:00.000-08:00

Liaison, liaison; I simply cant stop at one
My transgressions of indiscretion has left me hurting some
but liaison, dear liaison; the naughty is half the fun
The other half is between the sheets
and if I try to run;

You grab my hand and lead me in
the bedroom; lights off - its done.
But in the morning when its time to face the music of the sun
Im ashamed; lust is to blame
I've yet again hurt my plus 1.

The sorries in all the world cant make up for what I've done
And all the rubber in between those sheets cant rationalize the sum

but im sorry

and I worry

that your forgiveness is left at none.
Don't look at me with disgust and
please don't think all is lost
I want to change, I really do; hope isn't so far off
Hope; that I can keep my meandering eyes at bay
Hope that your love is all I need to faithfully make it through the day.
And I pray that you will still love me for who I really am
Not the me that's hurt you or the one that didn't give a damn.
But more the me that is caring when your day has given you enough
or the me that is vigilant when its time to get tough
The me that is always tardy and tries to make it up
The me that is in love with you and is sorry I made the road rough

Please allow that me to show you the 'think and thin' I pledged
This cant be it; it isn't the end; I'll mend our widening wedge
This road were on was never made from gilded fools gold
Still shame on me, I did not see, that what doesn't glitter...

is still worth everything I hold.Everything I am. And everything I aim to be.

Forever yours

Untitled

2009-12-01T20:12:00.000-08:00

Long lost and no where to be found

Not 6 ft under but still 'underground'

Scraping up your things to high tail it out of town

Your running so that you don't drown.

Anywhere but here is where you tell him to go

No other way to make money so you decide to hoe

steal...

cheat...

lie to get by on the low.

Dirty and disgusted as you look in the mirror

under your nose and you sniff; it looks vaguely familiar

Deeper and deeper down the hole you spiral

sex

drugs

rock and roll...your

Out of control and the destination is viral

Climbing up the walls you cling to get out

Soundless your seem yet you scream and shout

Desperation takes hold and your loosing your grip

This seedy seduction has found in you a niche

In a city filled with sin the gray has made you cold and numb

What happened to the 'dream' of having so much fun?

The illusion of grandeur that seduced you to succumb

Was quickly dispelled - in its place it left you with none

Now you have to run from the person you have become

Nameless

2009-11-25T16:15:00.000-08:00

I see you. And your everything, but nothing at all.
Your Parisian flair & your hair down to there
Your supple lips and your tiny hips
...Tease me
I want to be like you. Not you you
But the you that is shiny and brand new on the cover.
With your waif delicacy entangled in diamonds and glamour
And your legions of fans that all flock and clamor
To see you.
Not the you that is like me
Trivial, broken and bashful
Bloating with insecurity and add a handful
Of anxieties.
Sometimes I feel nameless.
No, not that you.
I want the you that is pampered and adored by millions.
They love you and seek you out
Listen to you every word and stay true and devout
Take pictures with zoom lenses
Through your walls, high gates and fences.
Whatever you wear flies off the shelves
People want what they see on you on themselves.
Your waif entangled in pop and disaster
Is this the you that I’m after?
Your that girl. Your her. Quintessential ‘it’.
But you’re nothing at all. You’re nameless.
Im no it girl, no girl like you. But it turns out
…I have a name.

We’re not fam, we’re related

2009-11-24T23:01:00.000-08:00

We’re not fam, we’re related

Ya dig?

We’re not fam, remember?

I'm ‘barely your kid’.

Don’t let convenience guise your sorted past

Don’t let me being grown let you forget you never wiped my ass

Never read me a prayer

Never braided my hair

Never were you ever there.

Yet you return with a blank stare.

Your absence didn’t make my young heart grow fonder

I'm still sittin here, like I'm 3 again, wonderin’...

Who you are?

And where I came from

And why you left

And why now you want to come back.

To the mess you made that She cleaned up

For 21 years and now you pop up so abrupt

Wasn't my birthday enough for a call?

Wasn't my stumble enough for you to catch my fall? No, huh?

Well catch my drift...

I've made it thus far, with the door to my life ajar

and you slowly shut it.

Now my growth is complete and surprise, you want to meet.

See my family you say? Nah, we're just related.

Im not your bitch,hoe, slut, dime piece or anything your lame ass 'swag' decides to dub me

2009-11-22T22:13:00.000-08:00

Im tired of being referenced to as anything less than a Queen over a dope beat and a fresh hook.
Im tired of hearing all the masagonestic venacular that one man can think up while holding a blunt and smackin ass.
Im tired of being rated on my ass at all.

Im not your trophy dime piece. Your future wifey. Your bitter baby mama. Your bottom bitch. Your ghetto hoodrat. Contrary to popular belief, Im not tryin to be your golddigger.

My name is Christine; whats good?

I have more to offer than a pretty face and a rumpshaka. I have more to say than "yes" and "I can go lower". I have more ambitions that to simply belong to you...

The misconceptions that I, or any of my fellow Queens, are here to "have a baby by you and be a millionaire" are ridiculous. My future is blinding with possibility and, shockingly, it extends past your sperm.

Let me repeat - having a baby is possibly the slowest way ever to be a millionaire. So thanks, but no thanks, broke ass lame ass tryin-to-put-rimes-on-your-caddy mofo.

And try as you may to believe it, Im not tryin to "tie you down", "be a groupie hoe" or keep you from livin your 'great life'.

Trust when I tell you, things only get better from the moment you meet me, and it will be YOU not I tryin to make me settle; in more ways than one.

Im past wanting the joke of a dream I see in videos. I dont want to be your video vixen. I dont want to be the girl over the hood of your bently. I dont want to be on my knees, waiting in line with the 'others'...

Im not asking for much, but the caliber of my Queens has weined. Right now, I will restart the revolution.

I demand respect for me. My mind, my body, my thoughts, my ideas, my opinions, my spirit, my goals, my ambitions, my desires, my cravings, my urges, my hopes, and my dreams.

Sometimes I may want to be your fiesty girl, and if I ever choose to, it will be because I choose to; because I know you appreciate and respect me for what I am and what I offer and not for some plaything you want in the moment. Dont underestimate my willful 'sin'; i can be your 'naugthy girl' when I want to.

Dont think you can ever buy me - its never going to be that easy. If you dont want to put in work, step aside and let the next man apply. Because this job needs filling. And its a position for life.

My name is Christine, and yes, that is exactly what you can call me.

Dear Kate Moss

2009-11-22T22:04:00.000-08:00

~While I am not a huge fan of yours overall, I FULLY support your comment that "Nothing taste's as good as skinny feels". No where in that self-imposed maxim did you suggest, imply or condone anorexia, bulimia, diarrhea or any other -ia that folks use to curb their figure.
Sorry - i call bullshit on the media.
And any woman worth her weight in honesty will subtly agree that there has NEVER, in the history of food, been anything as delicious as fitting into a pair of skinny jeans or into a top and looking FAB! Without tugging or pulling, or sacrificing breathing to fit into your clothes. Without using the mirror to offer reassurance, but instead using the mirror like a play thing because you know you look that good. 'Don't tease me', you think...
We all have our forbidden food rules that regulate our guilt vs our gluttony and this just so happen to be the motto of an international supermodel.
So KUDOS to you Kate, for saying what women have always mumbled to themselves when pining over the last cake, cookie, or carb of any form....

Infatuation

2009-11-08T22:56:00.000-08:00

Suddenly, I wonder how I never knew you.
How I have managed to come this far in life...
do this much...
be this happy....
without having you by my side.
This is infatuation and I cant think with my head. Insomnia from
Not seeing the rest of you is causing me to lose sleep
lose hope
lose sight
of what it was that I did before I met you.
Was there a 'before I met you'?
Presumably so. But this is infatuation. and true to cliche, I have to have more.
Of your smile. and your lips. of your laugh and your jib. More of your swagger and your sin. More. Always more.
This is infatuation and sensibility has left the building.
I feel overwhelmed by the underwhelmed thoughts of me sans you.
Sans my girly giggles and giddy fantasies.
My inhibitions flee for cover and me, raw and real, finds you waiting...
anticipating my arrival. Ready.
We do what we want and whenever the urge overpowers, when we want.
This is infatuation and bad ideas have taken hold.
But I'm with you and truly, fuck the world because we are here.

S.O.S: No strings attached...

2009-09-28T21:32:00.000-07:00

I have a theory. It isn't proven in any journal or acclaimed anywhere, but it is a tried and true sort of 'Murphy's Law'. And truly,that's all the proof I need.

Dating is fun - until it stops. And in it's place, settles drama.

I don't mean to insinuate that all dating leads to drama, but I will contend that any sort of relationship, friend or otherwise, has the ability to lead to drama. And that, includes dating.

I have experienced such of the like recently, and lucky me, from a few different point of views.
And as I scratch my head like, huh?, I always land on the same question:

When did this get so complicated?

No strings attached? I don't know.
I mean...
Our times are punctuated by reality way too often, still, I cant stay out of a daze with you

... so at a lost for words with each other, I don't know how we've ever spoken at all.

Flirting on the edge of possibility and curiosity; I dare you not to miss me. But please don't call my bluff.

When did this get so complicated? I don't know.
But I'm willing to work it through.

It vs. Me

2009-09-19T11:47:00.000-07:00

You tick...
And I run for the hills. I ask, 'how high?' and 'can I do it faster?' Where would you like me; it? Here? How about here? Is this better?
I think I can, I think I can...
Go faster, further, harder, stronger,. It can always be done better.
Why? Because
You tock...
And my anxiety builds. I feel your second's hand on my neck, down my back,breathing heavy
heavier
heaving in my right ear. Go; don't stop, 'til the end. But it never comes. My hands hold a vicious fever and both are burning a pyro's dream set ablaze with midnight oil and a wick burning from both ends. My eyes are weary from the heat as I look up. Another
Tick...
There is never enough of you and yet all I do is crave more. Always more-don't deny me. But you do. Our tumultuous rendezvous keep me, controlling my right hand and all it's mass production. I stare and look for you incessantly; needing your approval and acceptance, cringing at the thoughtof your shame. The slender fingers of your grip teasing me to continue amidst the countdown, when it comes.
Tock...

The pressure heightens and my burden increases. Working with less and expecting more; always more. The pen can't move across fast enough, left to right left to right, and the fever hits a dangerous peak. I feign exhaustion, begging for the relief only you can provide. But you don't. We both know I can't, I wont; neither of us will allow the buzzer to time me out.

Go; don't stop 'til the end...but it never comes.

Sipology Illusions

2009-09-11T19:18:00.000-07:00

The ever eclipsing moon is high in the sky above where I sit; silent, but restless.
Just waiting.
For what I am not exactly sure - yet I will know it when I see it. Feel it. Hear it.
I've been here longing for what seems like a lifetime -twenty one years- and while alot has caught my eye, very rare have things caused me to turn my head.

As I sit tonight, a man, small and frail, but full of hope and belief, passes through the doorway of my perched spot. Even as he hesitantly walks, I feel his positive optimism; not because he is overtly so, but because it is so genuine and suprisingly unjaded. He is older, 60's perhaps, and it is apparent to any who look that he has be directed down the rubble-ridden road of life; the fortunate ones, like myself, have been given the guided tour thus far. My guides? Chance, destiny, opportunity or simply the distant idea of luck that have kept me kept. But not for him.

He smiles to the blase strangers who instanly give him the defensive death eye and force him away with their ignorance. He hasent had the necessary dose of societal conformaty's to be out and about with people who thrive on such things. To him, no words are spoken as he shuffles his feet away, and although they know better, words would actually be useless; he is deaf. He feels their shuns, and turns - only to turn back around and graciously hand them a worn, consequently weatherd, note in the same classic cursive most older people use.
The kind that has written years of letters and correspondence; in this case, mercy pleas.
His note reads of being deaf his whole life and uneducated, assuring them he is of the best intentions and simply would like to know if they have anything to spare. Albeit they cannot read over the blinders of naivete.
Shunned again, and again, and again...
he spiritually picks himself up and smiles his seemingly signiture facade to the last strangers, and proceeds to the doorway he came through. The doorway that brought him into my view.

He passes and in doing so, his note wistfully slips from his meak hands and lands on the wooden slates next to my feet. It is now, under this eclipsed moon, that I turn my head...

Intruige

2009-09-01T21:48:00.000-07:00

Things have become muddy. Fast.

Faster than most may have predicted given the laiseez faire persona we both candidly embody.
'Between the sheets' evolved to the lofty sweet nothings whispered in my ear as we lay...

unable to sleep until all was quenched.

We quickly forgoed the customary public renouncement; silently choosing instead to slip gentle hellos and secretive smiles amist the unspoken ethos that surronds us.

What occurs after dusk is long erased from our composure by dawn, but the smirks alone are enough to prosecute us as truly guilty.

Yet our enjoyable lucidity has been jaded by confusion, dilusion, and mistaken ideas of grandeur, which at best is presumptuous; worst, "dissapointing". The natural inclination to aspire to something, albeit, truly wanting nothing but enjoyment and security to fully dive in....

Alas, our playing fields of preference are off the richter and there seems to be no mutual ground for reconsideration.

The Perks of Living in a City: Random bar hopping, conversation, and things of that nature

2009-08-17T00:44:00.000-07:00

Even though I have lived in my new-ish apartment for a little over a month now, I can't seem to find the time, or the proper 'company' to accompany me out on discovery adventures, frequently known as "good and random local bar quest(s)'. Why would I always want company? You know, for the quintessential conversation and/or people watching, and mandatory subsequent laugther.

Tonight that problem was solved.

After securing not only the ambition, time and suto perfect company, I explored the eatery's and theaters at The Pike, slowly paced the way to a trendy neighborhood near Ocean - had coffee and beers and chatted like we couldn't stop the wave of convenient and entertaining conversation.

All on the same few blocks...placed so perfectly clandestine in a hobo corner of my downtown mecca and all its public wonders.

Three new places in one night and I feel closer and closer to my new home; as it drops the prefaced title of new and simply becomes, home.

One of those classic "WTF" moments

2009-08-12T22:46:00.000-07:00

Anyone that knows me (and I suppose after writing this, the 'secret; will really be out) knows I love kids. I think they are fun, creative, imaginative and with three younger siblings under my wings, I find myself in the wonderful position of 'spoiler' and not disciplinary. Yes!
Still...
this love of children has its place and while I cant wait to have my own one day
I realize that this is very much
one day.

Leave it to the lovely toy industry to help young girls - like 5,6,7- capture one of the beautiful duties of motherhood in the midst of thier own youth: breastfeeding.

Kindly insert a very necessary "WTF?!"

Yes, Berjuan, a Spanish toymaker introduced to the world the 'gluttonous baby', also known as the Bebe Gloton, a doll that is specially made for breastfeeding.

Not so wierd, you think? I mean, they already have dolls that cry and pee and burp and all those fun absolutely disgusting things that kids do that only a mother would dare to take care of.

For me, the issues are out of control:
Society puts a ridiculous amount of pressure on girls and women of all ages and this is simply another ploy in the making. From day one, females, young girls especially, are told to be young and innocent; look pretty and always be agreeable. Don't make waves. Then, at a magical phase sometimes known as puberty, we hear these loud voices from magazines and TV and (oh fun) the Internet, to be sexy and fearless and desirable. Just don't make waves. Fast forward past the presumably unavoidable 'Brittney/Lindsey/Miley' years, and its demanded that we be professional career-minded women with independent tendencies and Samantha-a la SATC-esque cravings. And about those waves...get a few years older and poof - your a cougar who's been done in and turned out from the stress of men, children and a lifetime of assumed 'roles'.

Simply put - its exhausting.

What is so wrong with little girls just being little girls? Enjoying pig tails, and melting ice cream, trying on mom's earrings and writing notes on fun paper with those cute little stickers. Good times, good times.

The point is:
periods and boobs, leg hair and mood swings come soon enough as it is. We don't need our little girls with yet another burden of adulthood.

S.O.S: An Unexpected Vegas Reunion

2009-08-04T19:38:00.000-07:00

Several days ago, I wrote about my up-coming voyage to Vegas.

Think: Jennifer and myself, in an air-conditioned Corolla, 108 degree weather outside and the open deserted desert at our feet.

While the trip itself was low-key relaxation, the play by play leading up to the trip and during it is PRETTY much epic:

Thursday
After hastily packing just about EVERYTHING I own, I make my way south to Irvine where Jen lives. The plan is to leave bright and early the next day. Even on vacation, I seem to manage a 6am wake up call – go figure. As were prepping for Fridays take off, I get an 11pm call from a 714-number and instantly recognize those all too familiar digits. It’s my ex.

We ended up talking for 3 hours. About what? Everything. Single life, our families, the weather, old memories, my new place and his new roommate. It was strange at first; strange to feel so at ease with a person whom I haven’t had a laughable or enjoyable conversation with in over 3 months. Wow – 3 months.

Friday
In the car at 645 am, and onto the 55, the 91, & the 15 to Sin City. We arrive around noon, are graciously given rooms hours before obliged on the itinerary and make our way to the shops. We meet up with our company for dinner, do 5 rounds on Patron shots and taste every wine the cute waiter hands me.

In the meantime – the texts are flooding in. He wants pictures: of the hotel, of the casino and mostly of me. I oblige. He asks how the trip is going; the trip he was supposed to be on pre-break up and move out. Its great, I let him know. I wish he were here, I hesitantly add at the end, hoping for a miracle in my liquor filled haze. In all the places miracles could happen, I got mine in the middle of a casino restaurant.

Saturday
After 3 hours sleep, Im up. We He and I spoke into the wee hours and now Im anxiously awaiting his arrival.

What are we going to say, how are we going to act, what will other say about us?
We, us, our? I really need to stop doing that.

We spent our day sleeping, talking, swimming, socializing and smiling. Grinning ear to ear, it seems we both forgot were not really together together, just ‘a couple for the weekend’. Sometime this moderate thought entered my mind and I would kiss him like in the movies to shake my doubts.

Sunday
Jen and I reunite after seemingly being apart for forever. We inhale breakfast and parts ways to pack and exit our humble abode at the Four Seasons. I’ve never dreaded going home so much. Yes home is where the heart is, but right now Im still in my liquor haze and being in love isn’t helping me sober up. He leaves around noon since he has to work and our good-byes are turned into see you later; he asks to see my new place when I get home.

Jen and I have a tumultuous 7-hour saga home and 10:30 pm encroaches as I find parking in front of my duplex.

He comes around 1130 and we are simply happy again. No drama, no fighting, no nonsense- just happy in the moment and silently wondering, what’s next? Yet neither he nor I ask and perhaps that’s a good thing.

We’re both asleep in our fantasy when he’s beckoned back to reality and the night shift. Quiet, sad and naïve I walk him to the door and finally say good-bye. No see you later this time because the weekend is over. But again, the question of what’s next looms over us, as we stand sheepishly fixated in the hallway of my building. I don’t know – I don’t want to know.

Im just grateful for the weekend.

D.O.A a la the French

2009-07-28T20:56:00.000-07:00

Lately- I would say the last 10 years - there has been a slow mutiny from the norm emerging in the mainstream music world that includes a certain electronic instrument, if you will. Auto tunes, or the proprietary auto processor, has become a clutch and escape for sub par vocalists to dodge real talent and real talent to dodge getting boring.

Read: A gimmick.

We all know (and have shaken our ass to) T-Pain. He's in Love with a Stripper, Sprung, Chopped N Skrewed, and I Can't Believe It, he wants to Buy You A Drink. All of which he has done with the joys of auto tune. Successful? Heck yes! Actual talent? Meh. Although I will give him undeniable props for making so many absolute hits; you want a #1, put T-Pain on it.

While I too have been guilty of enjoying the 'hits' that come from this axis of evil, I will take a genuine cope out and proclaim it is not entirely my fault. Not when every other song on the radio has been filtered through this magic box and perfected to a T with great pitch and vocals.

In fact, Kanye West-the latest leader in the sans bellicose revolution-asked T-Pain to mentor him in his attempts at auto tune on his recent 808's & Heartbreak. Definitely a success: Heartless, Amazing and Robocop (the live version preferably) is simply sincere poetry put to music and shifted through auto tunes to get all the loose sediments and rubble out of the way.

Still, with all the hits and #1's on the whoevers-couting-the-hits-and-#1's-list, I am excited about the impending slow D.O.A. Maybe a gruesome beheading a la the feisty French in their
equally important revolution? And if not for the total demise of auto tunes, then I will gladly settle for a less concentrated dosage of the magic box- too much has given me the plague.

Certainly Jay-Z -Hova if I may- has had enough: he kindly pronounced the time of death on June 6 and stands that "The guys who did it, did it great," but that's where it ends. "They got their little niche, lets move on. That's just my opinion. I don't know if everybody feels the same way"

We do.

And now, a moment of silence...

The Perks of Living in a City: Hole Mole!

2009-07-26T15:28:00.001-07:00

Its Sunday.
The weekend has been favorable toward me.
Except last night.

Fast forward 6 hours: West Hollywood, herbal,cheap vodka, and a chaser of drama.

So I awake today at 2 in the noon. Starving and lethargic, thinking where am I going to get food?

Thn I remembered one of the Perks of Living in a City:

1. Corner fast food.

My prescription - Hole Mole on 4th.

:-)!!!!

S.O.S: Just Having Fun

2009-07-24T21:13:00.000-07:00

As a preemptive strike to the chaos that is bound to ensue in Vegas, I have been causing my own ruckus around town.

Ok so my ‘town’ is nothing like Vegas and my ‘ruckus’ has all been sober-driven BUT a little exaggeration never killed anyone.

I’ve spent most of my dating years love stoned with some boy or other, and have never really enjoyed the process of single-girl dating; ‘prowling’ as our empowered species is inclined to say.

Alas, thanks to the cosmic wonders (and my science classes being over!) I have some highly coveted time in my life to pull a Dora the Explorer and seek out some men.

First up: the Professional. I met him in a, err um, office setting and he’s quite the career minded individual. While I have known of him for over a year, we didn’t actually click until recently (convenient no?) and all is well. He has this arrogant sense of knowing everything and being entitled to whatever he wants. Greed? No. Confidence? Too much. Yet still, he is playful, sarcastic and ready. Sometimes, that’s just what the doctor ordered.

Then, I have my Rock Star. With blue eyes and dark hair a la Tyson Ritter, he’s awesome: sincere, intense, fun, spontaneous and yes – he’ s really in a band. He’s resides in the City of Angeles and is usually calling me for all the right reasons, which I love. Still, the con of all cons seems to be time and how we can steal some. He’s off doing local shows in Venice and Im home sleeping so I can get up for The Man who signs my checks. Sigh – how I’d love to

rock n’ roll all night.

And to wonderfully round things out, there’s my tried and true NY import. He’s in the OC via the East Coast and how I love to get a quick visit of the Big Apple whenever I can. Five years and counting have put us through some major times and yet we find ourselves always on good terms and having fun. But I wonder, should something pop off finally or let the wheels (on his sexy Audi) roll where they may?

Oh girls we just want to have fun…that’s all we really want.

I will let the Cosmos work things out. In the meantime, and largely in-between time, I am adjusting to me, and what it is that I want. What I want this second, and what I want later when the timing is right. I think they call this stage rebounding?

Viva Las Vegas!

2009-07-22T21:54:00.000-07:00

It's about that time again...

Yes - time to go crazy and have no shame in Vegas. Do believe: I plan to do just that.

Next week is my annual company trip to Sin City with a luxurious stay at the Four Seasons. But that's not all folks!

We will also have an open bar all weekend, prime seats for the Cris Angel Mindfreak show, lasar tag, a wonderful Four Season Spa facial, a 5-course meal with accentuating wines and last but not least, shopping.

Exhausted just thinking about it...stay tuned for details and pics!

In the meantime...a little taste of last year:

S.O.S: In the midst of a bad decision; Pt 1?

2009-07-20T22:31:00.000-07:00

60-day 'he-tox' my ass!

I made it 2 weeks and, sigh; I gave in like an old IKEA futon at a frathouse.

To my credit, it was not a blatant giving in . I didn't do what I did with the intention of doing it. Ugh, here I go, beating around the bush and trying, even with Internet strangers, to rationalize my naughty behavior.

I called/text/visited my ex.
Yes all three cardinal sins at once; I'm just asking for a heart attack,right!?

Here's how it went down: Legitimately, I had to go to my old town to pick upa school assignment a nice classmate offered to proof read. And, I threatened myself with no food for a week if I also didn't go to a gym before heading home. Equally legit, days after moving, I realized I had actually left a few things in the old apartment that I would need to go back for and soon; one of the things I left was luggage I would need for an up-coming Vegas trip. So here I am, in-between the gym and my old co-op dream apartment; like a moth to a flame my wheels turned toward the latter. Without a pre-emptive call or text or evencourtesy smoke signals I just drove up.

Seeing his shiny black car with it's signiture plate must have shocked me into reality that oh shit he's really home. I don't know what I was expecting if he wasn't? Perhaps just to linger and reminisce a bit...Anyway he was home, so assumingly typical of all ex-girlfriends-who-accidentally-become-stalkers, I panicked a bit. As I backed my car out of any view of the apartment, I wondered if I should call,or what to say if I did, or if he would answer.

I called; no answer.
Sigh I text; "Hey. I would like to know if I could come to the apt to get somethings I left please." Simple. To the point. Right? Right. Hold back any evidence of a partial break down that was on the brink of occurring.
He replied: "No, I will be home tomorrow."Hmm. His car was here so...oh no! Days of reading over analyzed man-blogs from magazines were catching up with me. What does that mean? He¹s here now?! I could feel dramatic anxiety building up and I quickly hated myself for even doing this.
I text back: I am close by, are you unavailable?" Survey says: "No I am unavailable." Looking back I concluded that there are a few possible reasons he could claim unavailability.
1. He has been chilling around the house and sans a shower, did not want to see me post-break up and smelly. Of course I did...
2. He had guests (*insert a silent prayer that it was not a female*) and having me over, especially with friends who knew of 'us' would be beyond awkward. Especially unannounced.
3. He really was unavailable: getting ready for work, or had prior plans.
Although, simply picking up a few things would take mere moments.

As I descended into reality, all my thumbs could fumble was "Ok thank you."

Like all crazy freaks of nature, I am still wondering what made me do this.Why would I subject myself to the anguish, anxiety and anticipation of whatis bound to be a blow to the uphill battle of getting over him? Why, when I know that, love him or not, I should have kept my distance and simply asked him to place in at the front door? Unattached to 'our' old home, 'our' old memories and most dangerously, to him?
Why? Because Im a girl in love and like most things that are pure acts of chance and destiny, I cant explain my actions.

Im just still in love.

S.O.S: Rehab

2009-07-13T23:26:00.000-07:00

Monday's are double ball buster's lately because your's truly has a four hour class for Speech. *insert synchrinized shuttering*
On the bright side, what better block of time to catch up on my 'sex & love' reading on Glamour.com. Today's juicy discovery: "he-tox".
To put it in it's fitting context, the short article was the opinion of authors G. & A.R Behrendt, who gracfully wrote "It's Called a Breakup Because It's Broken: The Smart Girl's Breakup Buddy." In it, the duo boasts of the 60-day "he-tox" in which a girl must keep her distance from her ex-boo for at least 60-days.

EEK- I thought. 60 days!

Then again, that's simply two months. Looking back, my ex and I broke up once in late summer and didn't start 'talking' until November. Well over 60-days.
Sign Even with our seminal anniversary in October.
So...
perhaps this "he-tox" is possible.

S.O.S: A tardy independence day

2009-07-12T20:06:00.000-07:00

While the rest of America was celebrating our continental Independence from the cheeky boys overseas, I was claiming my own domestic stake in the whole ordeal.
On July 4th 2009, I moved into my first place.
More officially, today is the culmination of my first week as a quasi home 'owner' and of my single mindset. My solo living, table for one, uno pizza all day, every day.
As some scoff at my endeavor -"Congrats" I can hear them sarcastically mumbling as they read this - I am all too pleased with my moderately young success and freedom. To think, this all began as a 'rebellious' 17 year old with a 1994 Taurus...
I digress
This week has been very interesting and not without its customary challenges:
After 'deep-cleaning" my renovated turn-of-the-century apt, I happily moved all of my things in and began getting settled. By getting settled,I mean building my bed and promptly sleeping on it. Monday arrived with a seemingly smooth drive into work; a meager 25 minute drive from my front door to the employee parking garage. Every day has pretty much been the same as far as traffic. In addition to moving residences, I took on 2 more classes, math and speech, and those in conjunction with my biology and geography classes, I'm pretty much whipped. Daily. However, the latter two are ending soon, to my enjoyment. The week ended unceremoniously, as most of them do, with a basketball game and some herbal social gatherings.
Still, even with my excitement and starting anew, I have had a moment or two of missing 'it'. It is relative, I suppose, to the varying people who find themselves missing some. For me, 'it' is my old kitchen and bathroom, my old window that looked onto the pool and large trees; the breeze that escaped through those tress and snuck into my room for comfort and hospitality. As I open my new front door, with its white symmetrical squares and gold handle, 'it' longingly reaches for the old door; green and inviting with a silver modern and simplistic touch. The same door that we opened March 22 and closed May 18. Short yet truly sweet.
I digress
'It' has come and gone, and while I am sure that my nostalgic memories will cease to fail me and instead rehash those Utopias times, I find myself here in my apartment, enjoying the silence in my home and the city lights outside my window, the breeze filled with salt and ocean. I look forward to hanging more pictures, building more Swedish goods, and finding me outside of everything 'it' was 'we' had. Making sure I am something without having to add a 'him' to make me a whole. One part creativity, two parts sincerity, and three parts happiness. For me, 'it' should always end with happiness...

?

2009-06-28T00:33:00.000-07:00

Confusion is setting in. Deep.
Like the weather recently - with it's ominous clouds in the morning before the pm sun awakens - I am in a gloom.
Typically, I am not the person who reads their horoscope and actually believes it. That's like going to eat Chinese take out at midnight in downtown, and expecting the generic fortune cookie to describe your life. Not going to happen. However, even my cookie cutter astrological reading wouldn't have been more accurate if I had Diane Warwick and Ms. Cleo reading my sign personally.
Are the Aquarius's' under attack or is my life just really that under siege?
Regardless...things need to be cleared. My confusion and strained emotions and mental capacity really need rest. I need my afternoon sun - my mornings have been far to gray this late in June. I know what I want and its my cake with a huge fork to eat it too. I want my past and my future. Just not necessarily where they meet in the present. Can we have both? Can anyone truly have both, or am I, like others kidding myself with a cloud-less existence?

The Hills Are Alive

2009-06-16T18:40:00.000-07:00

As an aspiring writer myself, I find it amazing when people accomplish their artistic goals. Sometimes they are seemingly intangible and so far from your reality, yet when you finally touch it, see it, or bear witness to the endearing fruits of your labor, it is a magical moment. Even my small and relatively insignificant triumphs have made me giddy with the possibility for more and my ears, eyes and hands are open like a 4 year old child wanting her Halloween candy. Gimmie, gimmie.
I want to be a writer.

On the flip side, it is a bit irritating and dare I say it, unfair, that people are given what so many others work for. What they work tirelessly for and sadly, may never achieve. Yes- I know this is the way of the world. Yes-"nobody said life is fair". Yes -life is what you make it, it's a box of chocolates and all that good stuff. A scenario like this where one is literally handed every prospect makes me think of Lauren Conrad and her Hills-saga of fortune and opportunity.

We all met the shy Cali-girl via Laguna Beach almost 5 years ago. Through MTV, we saw her life ravel and unravel on the shores and off the cliffs ofthe beautiful backdrops in her hometown, Laguna Beach. We were introduced to her boyfriends and her 'frenemies' and all the lovely people who filled up airtime on the reality show between vying for Stephan Colletti's attention and having immense drama with the young sassy Kristin Cavallai. Good times, good times.

We have stayed tune to her grow into a San Francesco College drop out, to a FEMA drop out, and to a fashion designer, um, in progress. Through it all, she has been resilient and young and continues to try things out until one of them is successful.One of those 'trys' is apparently being a writer. Excuse me, author. Recently she has released a book titled "L.A Candy" and is on a tour promoting her newest venture. Uninterestingly enough, it's about her. Or should I say, it's about a girl from out of town who moves to LA to be a fashion designer and ends up living her life on a reality show. Uh, hmmm...

Not only do I think this is super lame, but I feel like L.C (as all her BFF's and America affectionately call her) can really do better. I mean, she lives in one of the most interestingly seedy Mecca's in the US. I can imagine the endless scandals she has witnessed, the coked-out Hollywood starlets she's bumped into in the ladies room, or the hot guys who have made her their unsuccessful one-night stand target. Who slept with whom, who is a bitch in real life, and who is really as awesome as they appear. Earth to Lauren: THIS people will read.

Exhibit A: Superhead and her Video Vixen duo of revelations.

While this is in no way a knock to her trying and I would love to stand corrected if her books go flying off the shelves and into the laps of the NY Times Bestsellers List. However, I feel like this won't happen. If not for the simple fact that it is essentially about her and the gift and the curse of being a reality-based celebrity is that we know everything about you. Atl east enough not to have to read a fake book based on real life based on a weekly reality series based on fake scenarios and blank stares. I can't forget the epic blank stares. Good times, good times.

It is refreshing to see that L.C, after over 5 years on camera, has steeped out of the red flashing light of reality TV and is now available to make her own way in the world through her talent, good nature and trademark blonde waves and winged eyeliner. Simply my opinion, but I would say leave the "about me" endeavors behind and work on pioneering some new media to takeover. Give us 'aspiring' people a little bit of dream-room please.

Lets keep this short and sweet

2009-06-08T18:34:00.000-07:00

I want to get right to the point. Right to the heart of the matter. All up in the nitty gritty of the situation:

I'm OVER Twitter.

Now I say this with personal experience, and thus first hand disdain for the 'social network'.

I first 'tweaked' as just a way to be in-the-know with the latest Facebook/Myspace trilogy. Alas, it exhausted me and I felt like I had obtained another full-time job. Like a Giga-pet or Tamaguchi - don't pretend like you didn't have one. Basically, Twitter = maintenance.

And, i don't know about you...
But I don't particularly care about what Tila Tequila, or John Mayer, or Joe Blow from up the street or across the world is doing. At every moment of the day.

Not really.

Yes; chances are their life may be way different from your own. More exciting, more glamorous, more enticing. Maybe.

Because I don't know about you...
But how exciting, glamorous or enticing is it to be sitting in front of a computer waiting to be doing something so that you can update others on that something that you may - or may not - actually be doing. Worse yet...to wait for others to do something so that in turn, you will have something for yourself to do by reading about what they did?

Obviously I have thought this through.
There are undeniable pros: keeping really really in touch, trying to syncrinize your watches, or to finally learn if Lindsey Lohan is straight, bi or just plain crazy.

"I'll take just-plain-crazy for $500 Trebek."

Moral of the story: I don't have time to share, or time to care. Time is money and as usual, there's never enough of either.

Just a little thought...

2009-06-05T15:03:00.000-07:00

I don't make this up.

Desmond Hatchett, a man from Tennessee, has been hauled to court this week to face his 11 baby mommas.

And his 21 children.
At the ripe age of, oh, 29 years old, he has been able to on average, produce 4 children a year with these delusional women who for the most part knew of his other 'baby momma drama' and claimed they just "deal with it"? While he is employed, he works a minimum wage job. Since the State of TN can only force him to pay 50% of his gross wages, each mother typically makes out with barely a fraction of the actual costs of raising a child.
Or 2 or 3 or 4 of his children.
Its ok though; "usually when I ask he gives it to me" states one of the mothers when discussing how she makes do with so little, or sometimes no support at all. Whew!

Desmond claims he knows all the names and ages and birthdays of his large family that "just happened" and is avid that he will not be having any more children.

Although I am shocked, disgusted, and threw up a little in my mouth, I am not surprised by this. Ok I was a little, then the idea settled and now I think, 'Eh, typical'. I too come from an unplanned blessing and have discovered that this reality is not so uncommon. Nor are men who viciously and deliberately continue to have unprotected 'relations' with countless women. They create beautiful little beings only to (surprise!) realize that they neither afford financially or emotionally or mentally to care for them. Cue the classless epidemic of single motherhood. Cue the welfare lines and the children who will grow up asking "where's daddy?".

Don't get me wrong; I do not only blame him. Yes he is a sad excuse for a man and yes, society will continue to simply slap him on his wrist for the lifetime of damage to his children's self-worth, psyche and financial stability. Still, these women were no Mary's. How idiotic, ignorant and daft of these females to have SO many children with a man who can not provide? A man who is so busy just procreating that I find it hard to believe they ever saw him past ejaculation and his exit out the front door.

Did I mention he has a criminal history that spans 14 pages? So I stand corrected he had to squeeze in jail time too in-between all his babies.While I personally have no children, I cant help but to feel that it is in our female survival instincts to want to procreate with a man who is dreamy,and fun and appears to be great man, thus a great father. Oh yes, and have a decent job, a fabulous skill or useful hobby. Something they can bring to the table (or bedroom) besides endless supplies of sperm. Apparently I am asking too much. It says a lot about the self esteem of these women, and Desmond for that matter, that they continually brought these children into the world without a clue as to how or with what they planned to raise these kids. With such a blatant audacity as to state that since Desmond is incapable of 'providing' for his offspring, the state of TN should, how do you say, pick up the slack? For supporting 21 children through adulthood? Suppose they want to pursue college?

What does that say about our society that men find it manly and 'dominate' to have elaborate amounts of unprotected sex and nut up (no pun intended) when the obvious occurs? And how low have our feminine ideals become when we 'just deal' with a man who is no good, has nothing to offer in terms of love or commitment, and allow him to have children with us and 10 other women down the road? Unfortunately, the real losers in this situation are the children who will go without ballerina lessons or that field trip to the museum or a new pair of shoes when the old ones become worn because sufficient planning for their survival never occurred. They will become disadvantaged, beyond financially,when only mom is there to tame their curiosity or to teach them right from wrong, and how to be a good man and a respectable woman. They will learn the harsh realities of poverty and 'going without' and thinking they don't deserve the best simply because they cant afford it. They will perpetually ask "Where's daddy" and the unspoken truth that dad, and mom, made some bad choices and will be forced to leave that answer to cycle in the circle that has been continued with single parented children.

isn't it ironic...dont you think?

2009-05-30T21:32:00.000-07:00

The media strikes again.

I read today that some Americans (and the GOP cough cough) are upset that President Obama kept his promise to his wife to take her to a Broadway play once the Presidential race was over.

First, let me preface these following thoughts with the fact that I think marriage can be a beautiful and magical ideal and when done right, can make the world a better place through it's love.
Yet we live in a country where marriage only survives (yes, survives, like it's on the reality show in the middle of the Amazonian rainforest) 50% of the time. When that half does actually make it, they are rarely the picturesque love-filled, glowing blossom of light that Ive always dreamed of. Ive always seen on TV in those 80's and 90's sitcoms. In the way my parents were not.

True, reality does set in and makes 'being in love' more difficult than anyone can predict. It makes doing the little things for your other half unimportant and uneventful. It makes figuring out how to pay a bill on a wish and a prayer more of a priority than the person you pledged yourself to for rich or for poor. It makes us come home and cuddle with the couch and our cell phone and our big TVs and our laptops and our ridiculous gadgets, instead of making love and letting your problems just sit for a bit. They aren't going anywhere fast.

Still, that is no excuse for us; as people who love and want to be in love and want to give love and want to see love and want to feel loved. That is no excuse for the way we systematically ignore the welcomed duty of love. Especially making promises to your partner, supporting your partner and reflecting your happiness and bliss back onto your children, onto strangers,onto the world.

So why is it that when our President, who has continually displayed his undying love for his wife, goes out for a "date night" to NY does he get so much slack? Because GM is going bankrupt? Because our country can't balance a check book?

According to some groups, it was a waste of time and energy and focus for Obama to go to NY to have dinner and see a show as he promised to his wife, when the country is in financial turmoil. We've been going bankrupt, been in financial dissaray, been stuck without a pot to piss in. Obama having a night off to spend with the person he pledged his life to under God will not somehow deter him from guiding the free world. Why is it that the first President, in a very long time, who shows affection for his family and actually embodies what we Americans see our 'way' of family and life, gets ridiculed?

It didn't make Clinton loose focus (and we all know that was not his wifey)...

An Ode to Lil Boys

2009-05-27T21:53:00.000-07:00

Typically, I enjoy writing about current events. Whats in the news, whats going on in the world or here at home behind the Orange Curtain. However, today, I would like to do something special. Something that has been on my mind and is becoming quite acceptable. I would like to write An Ode to Lil Boys...

No, no. I did not spell that wrong. No, no. You dont need to re-read it.
I meant Lil boys, not little boys.

See - there is a difference.

A BIG difference.

I should know - I have a Lil Boy.

Oddly enough, he is very tall. 6'1 in fact and seemingly grown in stature.
Hmmm.

So it is safe that one understand it isn't his size that makes him Lil.

No, no.

Rather, it is his mindset. His goals. (or lack thereof). His juvinile tendencies to throw tantrums and pout.

Yes, yes. Pout.

His inclination to hold out conversation when things dont go his way. His need to be needy, to be clingy, to want you to stifle your everything for his whims. His fault of unrecepricle attention.

Poor Lil Boys....

See - I am not a mother. Nor a full-time babysitter. And most certainly, I am not a grown-man sitter, whatever that is.

Yet I seem to have attracted a Lil Boy to my side...

I dont know what to do to send this Lil Boy home. Back where he came from. Back out of my life. Back to his momma...hopefully. Im sure she misses him dearly.

Maybe leave him a note: "Dear Lil Boy, We need to talk. I think you should go home."

Maybe text him: "Hey L.B - We nd 2 tlk 4 sure"

Maybe I will just call him: ring...ring...ring. "Hi, you've reached me. I'm not here right now..."

Not here. Not answering. Not responding. Not conversating.

Lil Boy, we need to have an adult conversation right away.

Dont misunderstand; I have fallen in love with my Lil Boy. He is sweet and charming. I adore his humor, his smile, and marvel at his gentle touch. There is a ton about him that is amazing.
Except he's changed...and

It's just...sometimes I think...

What I wouldn't do to trade this Lil Boy in for a Big Kid. For a Big Boy. For a Real Grown Man.
One who cares about me. Wants to truly protect and provide for me like he claims and most importantly, doesn't disrespect me.

Yes, yes. Not listening and caring IS disrespect.

And I would be there for him. I would love to take care of him, to cook him dinner and make him lunch. To leave him notes when he gets home that just say I Love You, and heres a reminder so you never forget. To fold his socks and find the one missing to complete the pair that has been M.I.A for weeks. To suprise him in nothing but a grin...

Sigh.
You can't expect these things from a Lil Boy...and I can't do these things for a Lil Boy.
So the search continues.

In the meantime - I will leave flyers and signs and pass out waivers to anyone I see looking lonely and in need of a playdate...
pssst.
I have a Lil Boy for sale.

Greatness!

2009-05-13T23:45:00.001-07:00

This SNL skit with Justin Timerlake and Cast regular Adam is amazing. Creativity like this should be shared...enjoy!

Video Recaps | Full Episodes | Webisodes

Moving On Up

2009-05-10T11:17:00.000-07:00

I was reading a blog today from a woman who was asking, when, if ever, are you ready to move in with your significant other. The headline itself caught my eye, seeing that recently I (and my (significant other) have made that life changing decision.The article proposed the question of timing, how to deal with family concerns and if pursued, how do you not stagger in that level, but instead progress,perhaps into marriage, a family, etc. While I hadn't thought about all of these things to the extent the author had, they got me thinking about what did occur to me when my beau and I started to call the same place home.It sort of came as a proposition and ingenious idea all wrapped up in a hesitant question. After a year and a half of me driving to his place,living out of my large purses and slowly but steadily taking over the topright drawer of his dresser, we had become very very close and enamored witheach others company. In my own life I had moved 4 times throughout our relationship and always the helpful boyfriend, he thought all the moving wasinsane. True it was. After my family relocated to the east coast, I quickly moved out and in with one roommate near my family home. Things didn't workour and my roommate ended up relocated back up north, so of course, I had tomove. Fast forward 2 other roommates, and an increasingly annoying situationwith my then-current self-proclaimed 'mother' of a roommate and I was just about ready to trudge once more in my nomadic routine. We were sitting together one night, watching Family Guy and sprawled out along the couch when I was discussing the new room for rent sign I had seen earlier. The 'why are you moving again' look crept over his face and I took a deep breathe and prepped myself for the highly rehearsed, but very true, rote speech about how none of the places I had been living felt like a real home.Since my family left, I had never found a place that I felt could be my home and I could feel comfortable roaming around or inviting people over or even cook in the kitchen. Yes my most recent roommate would not allow me to use the oven or the dishwasher and instead banished me to a circa 1900¹s toaster oven that would spark from the outlet when it became too hot any temperature over 375 would do it. He would always see my plight and appease me by simply agreeing and urging me to move. After my one-woman monologue,we both sat in silence for a bit watching TV, and lying atop of his leg, I could feel him flinch. In my boyfriend, this is the sign of an emmerging idea. I have him a second, and like clockwork, he took a big gasp of air,and proceed with, "What do you think about living...together?". I was surprised. Elated, nervous, speechless, and excited also. This seemed right. The timing alone was perfect - he himself was in the infancy stages oflooking for a new place, without his messy roommate, since their lease was coming to a close. We both wanted to split expenses and have a cool,'grown-up' place to chill and hang out...why not live together? We left the conversation both pondering the what if's and why not's, but agreed that we would seriously consider the downside and even seek outside counselfriends- for real life testimony. This was in January. By the middle of February, we were spending every other weekend looking at housing and weighing the pro's and con's of living in Huntington Beach vs. Irvine. We hadn't even fully committed to 'doing it' but it just sort of happened. I moved out of my kitchen-less living situation at the end of February and moved in with him the whole month of March. We found a place and set a moving date for the beginning of April. The place is great bright, airy,tons of space and 2 bedrooms. Yes 2 rooms; dual masters actually. This, I believe, is such a must and a luxury at the same time. We knew we wanted to be together and live together, but seeing as how I like to do my nails in bed while watching reruns of countless reality shows, while he dreams of basketball games in his boxers with cereal by his side, sharing a room for an indefinite period seemed overwhelming. I think it is the best thing for us. Our own space, own sanity, yet his 11 steps away (I have counted) and I'm next to him, in his bed, enjoying our home and us.So to answer the question of WHEN it is a good time to move in with your significant other I don't know. After my whole speech, I still don't know. I do know that this is how it worked out for us and has been going well so far. Just be honest and open about how you live and the expectations you have for the whoever you leave with. Be patient and willing to give each other space. If you cant see yourself falling more in love with this person or wanting to know more and more about them, then moving in maybe a no go for you. Or as my mother told me, "its only a lease 6-2 months tops. You don't like it, move out".

Im Sorry To Say

2009-03-03T20:45:00.000-08:00

I have turned against the media. Not a full turn away from it, but in this moment, I no longer view it like the idol I once did. I say this because of the current events in the news. The saddening events. The news of Rihanna and how her life has been put on display for all of us to judge and scold as we see fit. Excuse me while I step off my own pedestal, because I am no one to judge anyone, if for no other reason than I am not perfect myself. Yet, because of her status as a 'pop princess' and 'fashion icon', the title of 'domestic victim' has also been stamped on her forehead more prominently that her own name. And by no fault of her own - no one truly knows what happened that night in Chris Browns rented silver Lamborghini, but the marks and bruises evident on her early February face say enough. Assaulted, victimized, beaten and manhandled all come into play when her picture was splashed onto TMZ's infamous website. I myself gasped; horribly amazed at the damage he did to the woman he has claimed was his girlfriend for over a year. Regardless of exactly what happened to have put both of them in the disappointing situation of violence and public scorn, she, it appears, is now the only bad guy. Yes, he did wrong. Yes, he obviously hurt her. But how awful of her to take him back. What a bad example of a woman to take a beater back into her life. Ugh she must not have learned. Really?! Is that what we do to victims? We suddenly make them the criminal and allow the true culprit, Brown, to escape the backlash he has brought upon himself? Understandably, I sympathize with Rihanna and absolutely wish her the very best under the circumstances and with everything she pursues; I believe this is also the intent of the public at large. Still, there are those who disguise their 'goodwill' under judgemental pretenses. Perhaps Rihanna should consider what truly occurred that night, assuming what it looks like happened actually happened, and let some time help heal her heart. Perhaps she should seek another outlet to give her space from her once-upon-a-time ex. Perhaps she could even let him suffer the physical consequences he has caused, and then some, and decided, based on his behavior and maturity, if he has grown and deserves her back. Perhaps. But this is her life...shes just living her life...and I personally wish people would just give her the space to do so. Thousands of abused women return to their alleged or convicted attackers, for various reasons, and while it hurts to see it happen, they never have thousands of perfect strangers telling them its wrong. Telling them they made a mistake. Telling them they must not have learned.How hurtful to someone who's already been hurt enough.

So Much To Do

2009-02-20T00:08:00.000-08:00

Dear Blogging Gods -

Please forgive me for I have sinned. I have ignored my self-inflicted responsibility to keep 'you' in the know, and for that I am internally sorry. But, alas, let me make it up to you:

Life is in transition for me right now. Transition meaning, if I don't find a way to keep of with it, I will surely be left in the dust and that's no bueno at all. Between school, work, moving twice and saving, I am aghast at how the next 33 days will pan out and yet utterly excited to begin this really amazing point in my life. Or at least I hope it is. It could be on of those 'amazing points in peoples lives' that actually turns to bite them on their ass. But not me - I cant focus on that and for sure that ass biting sounds harsh. The next month or so will encompass several things: a mini vacation, moving twice (I'll explain), saving lots and lots of money (hmmm), going to a Broadway play, and all the while keeping the dueling balance of school 3 times a week, daily 9-5 work and a wonderful boyfriend (unless he runs for the hills before I do :-).

I am a persistent and evolving nomad by nature. It really isn't my fault, still, I haven't exactly tried to tone down my roaming tendencies. I currently have a roommate, who by all means, is a frugal tyrant. Eh, not so Fidel Castro, but if the position suddenly becomes open, she has my nomination. While she is a mother and living on subsidized income (a.k.a my rent is subsidizing her income), she insists on viewing me as a child comparable to her own 5-year old and not the (ahem) 21 yr old independent woman that I am. Insert 'the problem'. In light of that information, I have been looking for a new place to live since early December. Combine my nomadic ways with her...ways, and that equals a move to me. After a few interesting attempts, reliable sources close to me simply put it this way, "Stop moving in with strangers and try to live with someone you actually know". Insert 'novel idea'. My boyfriend was also looking for a place to escape the roommate sagas he was experiencing and thought we should simply move in together. We decided to do so and have finally found an apartment worth paying for, hence the saving. When I happily alerted my roommate, she was OK with the news; I would be moving at the end of March, so this was here 60+ days notice. Until 3 days later, she upped the ante by asking me to move in 30 days, at the end of February. UGH. So the first stage of this transition I am in involves moving a month earlier than planned in with my boyfriend, storing 90% of my belongings in storage, only to have to move again mid-March to our new, amazing Mecca some would simply call home.

Keeping all this in mind, my boyfriend is a twin. His brother and his girlfriend, who live in Atlanta, would like to come to Las Vegas with my beau and I when we go next week :-). This was all planned before the move(s) and will actually provide a good distraction from the intense relocating process. They are so much fun, and when my boyfriend and his brother are together...watch out because here comes the party. Thank goodness they are VERY taken men or I would fear for Las Vegas and their female residents. While the traveling couple is on the West Coast, we are going to see the Broadway hit, RENT, which I have permanently embedded in my

memory and if, for any reason, they too suddenly need to fill a position, I will nominate myself. So this is perhaps stage 2 in the transition and that's not necessarily where it ends.

Until May, I will be in my Spring semester of college. Until I'm 65 (HA-75 with this economy) I will be working a full-time job. Bleak outlook, I know, but reality. As I am writing this blog, I am ignoring at least 2 assignments that would be beneficial to my education. Supposedly. Actually, I find blogging quite educational and inspirational to my learning process; did I mention one of the assignments is in my online math class? UGH. While at work, I successfully manage to use that block of time to do what I'm not doing now, which is my homework. Clever, I know. It worked last semester; 4.0 (honest). However, it is a juggle and usually, I am mundanely taking notes while answering a 5-line phone I will soon be calling "my best friend" if our daily entourages keep up they way they are. Oh how I long for Fall of 2010 when I can transfer to Cal State LB and have even more work that I too will put off for blogging.
And so you see, Blogging Gods, how insanely busy I have been and will continue to be...but will duly make the strongest effort to do even less homework and instead, write, write and write. Until the keyboard runs for the hills too.

Amen