Penance March 25, 2009

Last night, I slept for almost 7 hours.  When I woke up, I was boastful.  I was on some, “Who’s got two thumbs and 7 hours of sleep?! Awwww yeah!”  So tonight, the Sandman showed me who was running shit, and has made me his bitch.

This past week, I have been feeling extra sweet.  I don’t even know why.  I got off the train, and it seems that when I hit the air, I was enveloped by a blanket of sexy.  I go through that from time to time.  Not even for a particular reason.  I’m just feeling myself.  I went out this weekend, nobody was trying to holler, no random compliments on the train, nothing.  But good luck trying to convince me that I don’t have straight up deliciousness going on.

Tonight, the hour became late.  I became restless.  It was too late to eat.  TV seemed boring.  Maybe I could…I mean, I haven’t visited my no-no in quite some time.  For those of you who read me often enough, you know that when I detail my tales of self gratification, they always end in comedy rather than eroticism.  And yes, this visit to my no-no was no exception.  The thing is, my no-no has been really good to me lately.  It’s really been on some, “You don’t bother me, I won’t bother you” shit.  It’s not that I’m devoid of sex drive.  I just keep myself too occupied to think about it – much.

Tonight, my no-no  stood between me and the sweetest of sweet releases like Gandalf in “The Fellowship of the Ring” and shouted, “YOU SHALL NOT PAAAAAAAAASSSSSS!”   Then, my no-no demanded that I bring her a man.  Then she got saucy and said, “And he’d better not be a bullshit muthafucka either.”  Damn no-no.  She’s being  beggar AND a chooser.  Yikes.

And the thing is, there isn’t even a “well, maybe I should get to know him better” guy.  There’s still some baggage I’m getting rid of, and I don’t want to carry those issues into a potential new situation.  I mean, of course I have crushes here and there.  Actually, there’s a guy that I have a fairly healthy sized crush on, and I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m cute, but no more than that.   Plus, I’m fairly certain he’s not digging me like that.  And even if he were, I would refer you back to reason number one.  I think after the Heartbreaker (The Artist Formerly Known As The Chupacabra Hunter) gave me the working definition of the road to hell being paved with good intentions, that cut my appetite for being in a relationship.  Of course, there’s an expiration date on how long i can say he’s the reason for my lack of desire for a relationship.  Once upon a time, I believed that I couldn’t experience deep feelings for a person at all, and he proved that wrong.  I’m sure I’ll meet a brother that will, at least, make me rethink my position and get back on the horse (and other things) again.

I haven’t quite figured out how I will handle the burden of my own sexiness and the impending wrath of my no-no (I think that bitch is making a picket sign), but I don’t intend to let life pass me by while I find out.

“It would be so fine to see your face at my door” November 19, 2008

Autumn, though my favorite season, has also been my most difficult.  For the last few years, I’ve combated the autumn blues tooth and nail.  Sometimes I’m successful, sometimes not.  This is the time of my birthday.  I should be excited.  The thing is, five days before my 18th birthday, 11/19/94, I lost my mother.  Time flies.  It’s difficult to wrap my mind around the fact that my mother has been gone from me for 14 years.

A couple of years ago, I posted about her here. Whenever I think I’ve recounted every lesson she ever taught me, I remember something new. She was good folks. The best cups of coffee I ever had were the ones I shared with my mother. I loved when we got along, because when we did, it was so, so good. She was just such a great friend.

So this morning on the train, I had my iPod on random, and my mom’s favorite song came on.  And right behind that, another one (the opening and closing videos respectively). These were both songs that she used to sing to us all the time.  I almost didn’t blog about her today.  This year has been rough, and since I’m on the up swing, I didn’t want to make myself sad.  But, the thing about my mom is that however keen the pain of losing her is, the memories really take the edge off.

True Story November 13, 2008

I once had a friend who said that he makes “the good the enemy of the perfect.”  This means, he always waited for the perfect moment to do something, only to realize that perfect moment never comes, and time has escaped you.

When I moved into my first place without a roommate, my house was full of hand me down furniture.  A gifted dresser here, my old bed there.  These were all blessings, and in good condition, so I’m not at all complaining.  I happen to be one of those people who believe that if I’m your friend, we can sit on your floor eating fish sticks, corn and Big Shot soda (if you have to ask, you’ll never know), and it will forever rank as one of life’s highlights.  Having new furntire, to me, though moderately superficial, would mean that I was really a grown up.

After months of saving and searching, I went on my quest.  In January of 2005, I told my dad to come meet me at Kirschman’s, because I’d found my sofa and chair.  It was a plush, deep blue number, with huge throw pillows.  It came with a matching chair and ottoman.  The biggest reason I bought it, was because I saw myself in that big cushy chair, under the toastiest of fleece blankets, drinking coffee or pinot noir, and watching my favorite movie.  I dreamed of the perfect moment, when the kids were gone, and I didn’t have homework (I was at UNO at the time), and all the dishes were done, and the laundry was folded.  My reward was going to be to sit in my big cushy chair and relax.

I always had homework.  When you have two children, the laundry is never done; sometimes that fleece blanket is one of the things in the dirty clothes.  There’s always another dish to be washed.  We went from Martin Luther King, Jr. Day to Mardi Gras; from Mardi Gras to Easter; Easter to Memorial Day, Memorial Day to the Fourth of July.  Still I longed for the perfect moment.  August of that year, I drove to my sister’s house in Shreveport, never having sat in that chair.

When I returned, I was on vacation, had no homework, my dishes were all done, and all of my laundry was cleaned.  But that place was no longer my home, and my chair no longer existed.

It makes me wonder why I bothered to get it in the first place.

PB& J Chronicles November 2, 2008

Am I the only person that thinks PB&J on honey wheat toast is timeless?  I was sitting here trying to think what I would write next, and then I took a PB&J break.  *sigh* Wonderful.

Conference rooms should have a Spartan death pit, right?  I mean, as soon as someone gets out of order, a well placed foot to the chest.  I honestly believe it would increase productivity.  I also believe that there should be one at family reunions too keep the crack/meth heads in line.

It’s like the world will not be satisfied until little girls are abject whores.  There’s a toy called Tini Puppini and it’s kind of like Bratz meets dogs meets, uh Magic City?  I am SO not the uptight mom, but in the commercial, they have the dog poking its ass out saying “I love how my tail looks in these jeans.”  THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!!!

In a rare move yesterday, I was watching part of “Sex in the City.”  (Is it “Sex & the City?”  I can never remember.)  Anyway, the reason I kept watching it was because the main character was being hit on by this guy and she truly wasn’t intersting.  She said something to the effect of how it was usually flattering, but that time, it was just exhausting.  I probably wouldn’t have watched for as long as I did if I couldn’t COMPLETELY relate.  I’d dealt with a simlar experience just this past week, and while polite, I would have much rather watched paint dry.  I’m just going through that phase where “Paper Thin” is set on repeat in my mental playlist.  I figure if I want orgasms and support, I’ll just rely on my vibrator and a good bra for the time being.

I’ve gotta be at 4,000 words by the end of the night.  I’ve taken Monday and Tuesday off, so  the plan is to dedicate 4 hours each day to writing.  I’m thinking I’ll exceed my 2,000 wpd goal.  Wish me luck lambs.

just b

“Your kisses are as wicked as an M16…” October 28, 2008

This is a very teriffic song, and I think this will make up for my not posting yesterday.  I’ve got about ten drafts, so hopefully I’ll finish one of them today.  I’ve been a little selfish and doing some work on my own projects, because, one of my wise friends recently told me, “If I were you, I would be taking myself very seriously right about now.”  I think I’m paraphrasing, but you get the point.

Amethyst October 25, 2008

That pic defines me to a tee – all purple, and fiery at the center.  Four weeks to go until my 32nd throw-down.  I’ve got the hot outfit and the HAWTER shoes.  My daughter is very excited about me going out and having fun.  Partially because she’s going to spend the night at my coworker’s house (whom she loves) and partially because, “You know, you need to make sure you have fun mommy.”  I kind of take that to mean that I’ve been a good mother; but that also means, I’ve been a bad self.  I need to have some grown up fun too.  There are times I feel so much older than 31.  For me to have a memory in my life where I wasn’t taking care of someone, I would literally have to go back to kindergarten.  So, cheers to me for living like a young woman…even if it’s just for the night…a month from now.

I wanted to take my darlings to the Pumpkin Festival today, but it’s going to rain like the Dickens.  If worst comes to worst, I’ll take them to see “High School Musical 3″…and die a little inside.

I’m working on my weekend “MUST-Do” list, and it’s looking like no joke.  Busy weekends like this, I wish I had family close by…or at least a washer and dryer in my home.  Plus, I’m one of the slowest moving people you will ever meet.  My life’s cruise control is set on “Louisiana Country Pace” and the Fourth of July has to go off under my ass for me to get out of that.

I’m pretty sure I’m going to be taking a leisurely nap.  Then I plan to wake up, make a pot roast for dinner, and hang out with my homegirl Stella Artois.  I also think I’m going to watch Reservoir Dogs.  I’m not sure how long I’ve had the DVD, but I’ve never watched the movie.  Don’t judge me.  I feel sort of weird about not having posted yesterday, but ah well, I’m sure I’ll make up for it today.

Excogitations of a Post Modern Maverick October 22, 2008

I had a post all planned out.  It was a little morose, because I had a HELLACIOUS morning.  Life’s clusterfucks should not be allowed to rear their ugly heads prior to 10:45.  So I was roaming around, feeling all blue about this that and the third.  (I had only gotten to positive visualization #2 before the morning went to shit.)  So I sat at this very computer, and composed the most beautifully worded tale of woe typed by human fingers.  Were I able to detach myself from myself, I probably would have given myself some ass after reading it.  Such a tender soul is truly deserving of the utmost affection, right?  And yet, just as I was about to click “Publish”, I paused and said, “Bitch, you are NOT about to post this shit.”  Yes.  I call myself a bitch in my inner monologue.  I decided to wait until after I ate, and if I was still feeling the same after lunch, I would post it.  Thank God for sauteed spinach and grilled chicken.

I’m giving myself 12 months to get it together.  So, in honor of my birthday, one of my presents to myself is…myself.  I’m giving myself my undivided attention.  That includes celibacy, which means, by extension in 2008, I probably won’t be dating.  (Mark, I swear if you make one comment, I’m going to hunt you down and make you eat your underwear.)  For those who have scoffed, I successfully did this a few years back.  I met, and exceeded the allotted time (because, let’s be honest, after you’ve been keeping it to yourself for a year, when that time has elapsed, you don’t exactly fling it off the back of a truck).  I remember dating a charming guy during that time, who graciously said, “I respect what you’re doing, and that’s cool, as long as I’m not the only one you’re not giving it to.”  That lasted for a couple of weeks.  (I’ll give you guys credit.  Sometimes, you start out with some really good intentions.)

Today, I finished reading a book that really had me going, until I got to the end.  I’m sure I will be quoting it in the coming months, but it kind of took the wind out of my sails.  I was really pulling for her, because I drew so much from my own experience.  But the end sort of said, “You’re fooling yourself kid.  Every chick wants that, and the more you try to pull away from it, the more you’ll want it to.  Stop wasting your time.”  Eventually, I’ll post something that will make sense of this paragraph.  In theory, I could now, but I’m tired of blogging.  And I have to pee.

just b

And it begins October 20, 2008

Ah, being in my 30s.  I’m not 30.  I’m in my 30s.  Wow.  This means that I’m just young enough to still have my whole life ahead of me, and just old enough to rationally take stock of what’s behind me.  For the last few months, I’ve been in the midst of an existential not-quite-crisis, and I’ve been trying to collect myself.  Not monumental, right?  People do that all the time.  Life seems topsy-turvy, and you put the pieces back together.  I started doing that, and came to the realization that I want to change the arrangement of some of the pieces.  Other pieces, I want to scrap altogether.

My inner self has been telling me, “Chica, you’re going about this all wrong.”  So the big question is, “How do I go about it?”

Yeah…no clue.  But I’ll get there.

“Spaceships don’t come equipped with rearview mirrors” October 14, 2008

I’ve been pondering the meaning of the dream I shared in a recent post.  In my heart, I know that there’s happiness in my future.  However, that can’t take place without me being happy in my present.  And I can’t do that, without letting go of my past.  In order to effect that, I have to continue to be me, but different.  Better.  I look at it like I’m editing my horoscope.

Today, I made the determination to give EVERYONE a clean slate.  This does not mean that my thoughts will not be guided by knowledge and wisdom, but I can’t hold onto it anymore.

Another promise I have made to myself is to stop looking at being a single parent as an obstacle I have to overcome.  I AM a single parent.  I can’t “overcome” my existence.  I think they call that, uh, death?  Plus, I still baby my kids to an extent, but they are NOT babies.  Finge is almost 10, and ‘Bug will be eight in less than 6 months. The vision really needs to be so much bigger at this stage in the game.

I was in the store yesterday, and I saw a black family.  I don’t just mean “Check race:  black.”  I mean, I stood next to three of the most melanin rich people I had ever seen.  A mother, with her son and daughter.  They were so beautiful, I found myself staring.  Their skin was deeper than the darkest wood or the richest chocolate.  The little boy had eyelashes like Finge.  The girl was at once gangly and graceful like ‘Bug.  The mother seemed tired as hell, like me.  They were both fighting.  I stood there, transfixed thinking to myself, “I want to go to a place where people are just like me, except everyone’s skin is deeper than the darkest wood and the richest chocolate.”  And you know what myself said?

“Why not?”

Soñar October 12, 2008

I am naked.  I am in water.  It’s warm, and I can hear that there are people all around me.  I crouch down, because I don’t want anyone to notice me.  I turn around and notice that not only are the people around me, but they’re waiting for me.  They’re all different ages; some of the faces i know, some I don’t.  An old Indian lady with a kind face motions for me to come toward her.  I don’t want anyone to see me in my state, and I tell her so.  She says, “No one will mind.  They all understand.”  If I don’t come to her, not only will she get wet, but so will the clothes that she has waiting for me.

The walk toward the bank is not painful.  Everyone is looking at me, but they are looking at my eyes.  After I dry off, and dust off sand, the indian lady clothes me in a beautiful sari of red, purple, orange and gold.  She embraces me and says, “You should have come to India sooner.  She’s been waiting for you.”  She turns me around.  A golden woman in a white shift has her back to me.  She has no hair, she’s wearing plenty of bangles, rings and earrings.  She has a small, yet familiar scar just above her left ankle.  She turns and I see my face; older, but still, my face.

She holds up her left hand to show me that it is bare.  She says, “If you spend too long thinking about that, you’ve missed the entire point.”  Children run up to my golden self.  She says, “Your grandchildren are adventurers too.”

I can’t remember how much more happens during this dream.  I’m not even really sure what this dream means, but it does have me thinking, “India.  Why not?”