Part Deux

Someone to read the Sunday paper with…

That's really all I ever wanted. Somebody to be nerdy with. A place where me and all my lame splendor have a home. I have never been extravagant, or demanding, or high-maintenance, but for whatever reasons, I find it very difficult to get the things I want from a relationship, or 'relationdip'. Well, let me rephrase that…

I was dealing with this guy, who, on so many levels, was perfect for me. I was thinking that, really, this dude…it don't get no better than this. I mean, from religion to sex to children to whatever, we were on the same page. It was a miraculous feeling…

But then, something happened…I don't know what, but something happened and we
just
kinda
fell
off.
Hard.

But yall know how it goes. When one door closes, another one opens…so I could kinda call my present situation 'part deux' of the aforementioned. As much as I tried to fight it, and put platonic wings on it, that connection never ceased to exist. In retrospect, it was bound to happen cause he was just too good. But I swear to you that I never saw it coming. Ever. That Jones came down on me like blustering snow in Chicago. Now this one…woooo….suki suki, now…I don't know, yall. I mean, I aint never been this connected to any man. Ever. Better than I could've ever imagined, and more than I could ever milk. Mounds of pure honey across my butter and toast. Answer to my obvious and oblivious desires. Toe-curling, mind-bending, orgasmic
conversation.
Easy, honest, and pure interaction that never skips a beat. Luscious Louis Vuitton skimmers, and a sweet Balenciaga bag. I said good, yall. So good that, I don't want to wait a minute longer than necessary…

…but see, 'part deux' has a little situation that he needs to tend to before mama can even fathom claiming her golden ticket. That's necessary.

And, really, that's what iggs me, yall. Every time I think I'm getting it…I aint getting shit.

Let's Do Lunch: B. Smith

I have been a B. Smith lover since childhood. Something about this lady was just amazing to me. B. Smith is the Black Martha Stewart...not to throw shade on Martha (cause that's my girl, too) but B. is that deal. If ever I am in Sag Harbor, I will definitely stalk out her house, and invite myself over, lol. I have her books, and I loved her show, B. Smith with Style on TVOne. Although her show no longer airs, B. is still featured in Essence and other publications. B. reigns supreme as a spokesperson for Lawry's and Kraft Foods. B. also has her own Home & Living line at several retailers. She does everything from weddings, to crafts, to decor, to cooking, to (insert action verb here)..now THAT's a bad B.

See some of B.'s goodies @ Shopstyle.

Photos of B.'s NY Restaurant.

Gone Now

But in reality, he was the one that left me.

What I felt was so real. So real that it was surreal. Like I was breathing some of heaven's fresh air. Undeniably, I was invested. A wise woman once told me that you keep the man that wants you, not the man you want.
I waited, debated, anticipated, nursed, prayed, pushed, and shoved and I came out worse than I went in...yet, in some ways, much better. I gave second and third chances when in reality, neither was deserved. We ran our course, and thats that. Thanks for the memories. No need for anything more to be said. Lets not rehash what I already know. I was tired.
A tired woman, she don't have much patience after so long. Every little thing is crucial. Every interaction is a chance for things to go uphill, or sour. Nobody wants to deal with a stream of sour. Like some wrenching suction draining my enthusiasm and energy.
But what happens next is simply a move forward - regardless of the who, the why, and the what for. I don't owe anyone an explanation, and although circumstances are not perfection, this energy is ridiculous. I need that energy.
I am not the one who left; he was gone long ago. I just had the courage to abandon the empty seat beside me.

Jay Illa

Jay Illa is probably my favorite DJ in Chicago...not that others aren't great, its just that, quite frankly, Jay actually plays shit I wanna hear. Consecutively. He never has an "off" night, or a "blah" set. The best thing about Jay is that he never sells out to the crowd. He plays whatever he wants, which alot of DJs cannot attest to. Never, never, never in my experience have I ever seen Jay not rock a venue. And I'm not just saying that cause I know him. Jay is most definitely "Illa Than Most".

One Year Later

One.

Year.

Later.

Part of me still doesn't believe that Brittnii is gone, and least of all, I feel like its impossible that an entire year went by without her. I woke up at six something this morning, around the time of her passing last year, and I cried. She may have been here, I don't know. Under normal circumstances, I don't wake up at 6am.
We fought like aggravated pitbulls on a bad day, but on a good day, that was my roadie. No matter how much she pinched my nerve, I never left her without. I knew that she relied on me to deliver, and I always did.
Its funny now because, before, she used to try and make us proud. Make us feel good about her and her accomplishments. I now wonder if she looks on me and feel that I did her proud. One thing about Brittnii...she did her. Lived her life to the fullest. I know that I haven't, but I know that I should.
I realized this morning, that I can talk to her. And although she can't talk back, I can talk to her. Sometimes I don't have alot to say, but I know she is listening.
I promise I will do better.

A.D.I.D.A.S.

I don't know what happened. Its like the universe just decided that I should never get any....ever again in life. Maybe I am wearing a chastity belt that only others can see.

I have been going without for a very long time...longer than anyone would ever guess. But since I'm not thirsty, I dont go bending over backwards for every Tom, Dick, and Harry. So, I remain untampered with.

But what do I do when I want to be tampered with??? I just feel like sex is not in my reach. I'm not in a situation where I can just decide I want some, and then get it. Clearly, I have an issue on my hands.
And speaking of hands, thats the advice that my girlfriends give - when you aint got a man, you got a hand. Well, ladies...I dont go injecting my fingers into orifices other than my mouth when its feeding time, so that solution is a dead one. And of course, the rubber, jelly-filled robotic penis is not my forte'. A vibrator does not have hands, lips, and legs, and all that other stuff, like, you know, blood running through its veins, so it cannot satisfy me.
I'm just left feeling wanton for something that I cannot have. I feel like I'm turning into a man, because literally, all day, I am thinking about sex. I wake up thinking about it, and I go to sleep thinking about it. Not a single day passes when I dont think about doing the nasty. I'm not an intensely sexual person, so I dont know where this comes from...but the flames need to be put out, and not simply fanned.

Downbottom

eyes wide shut
living life loose
with
no shield, but several veils
upon her focals
unable to focus
unable to see
without blinders
damned blinders and clipped wings
she dims her own light
something happened to her
self-worth so low
so low
so downlow
inevitably stooped
to this
remnants of what was a woman

of solidarity
now a woman of disparity
a woman with no clarity
a reduction
of
self-love
lost

Porn Can Get You Merked

Not to make light of a serious situation, but this is why people really shouldn't hide stuff from their mate...this is really a message for you downlow dudes...
----------------------------
Porn led to slaying, prosecutors say
By Jason Meisner Tribune staff reporter
1:29 PM CDT, October 3, 2007 ....

A Chicago woman who became enraged after discovering her longtime boyfriend's stash of pornography shot and killed him in their South Side home over the weekend, prosecutors said.Jeanette Strowder, 58, is facing a first-degree murder charge in the Sunday shooting of Jesse Martin, 54, her boyfriend of about 15 years, police said.Strowder and Martin lived together in the 5300 block of South Shields Avenue for the last two years, prosecutors said during a Tuesday hearing where Strowder was ordered held on $600,000 bail. On Sunday night, she found CDs inside the home containing images of nude women and lost control, authorities said.

"The defendant confronted the victim, got a gun and shot him multiple times, including two to the head," said Andy Conklin, a spokesman for the Cook County state's attorney's office.Strowder also went to the garage and smashed the headlights of her boyfriend's motorcycle, smashed out the windows of his car, and scratched the nickname of one of the porn models in the photographs into the side of his car, prosecutors said.Strowder then called the victim's daughter and told her "something had happened to her father," Conklin said. The daughter called police.Officers found Strowder sitting in a chair in the front yard holding a .357-caliber revolver. As they approached, she put the gun to her head, pointed it at police and put it back to her head before dropping it to the ground, prosecutors said. The gun was recovered with six spent cartridges, authorities said.Strowder gave a videotaped confession, according to prosecutors. She has no prior criminal history. Criminal Court Judge Raymond Myles set an Oct. 22 court date for Strowder, Conklin said.
Copyright © 2007, Chicago Tribune

Represent

All this about whats real hip hop, and who is real hip hop is a snoozer. I guess you could say, Im a little on the pharcyde of things. Aint really none of this music thats out hip hop. Nas is right - hip hop is dead. Sorry, it is. And I know Mik can understand this, per her blog from awhile back (which I tried to respond to, but for whatever reason it didnt post, sorry Mik).

Instead of trying to beat the dead horse, we need to just embrace it and say, okay, the hip hop era is dead, as is the jazz era, the swing era, and the other eras that have passed. It was a time and place where 'being hip hop' was where it was at (about '91 til I would say about '99). There are some that try to keep the tempo going, but to me, thats more like hip hope - they hope that someone (probably me) will still feel what their doing. I miss hip hop, because when I first discovered it, I was truly enthralled. I was in sixth grade and my homegirl's brother used to play that 106.3 when it was ONLY basement music like Common, Pharcyde, Aceyalone, and Roots and shit. I was like, man, I love this music...it was different. I knew that I liked De La and all that, but something about when you put them all together...it was just different. It wasn't until eighth grade that, at my high school visitation, that I realized, wow, these people are like me. It was a whole school of them. At my grade school, my main buddy and I were kinda outcasted because of the way we dress, and the kinds of music and shit we were into. If it wasn't Tupac, they werent having it.
At any rate, I was madly, truly, deeply hip hop 'til the casket drops...
But what blows me is people who claim they are die hard, yet know nothing. I started crushing in '92, and fell head-first in '94. Those who are premies in the game have the nerve to step up with non-credible, new age bullshit. Well call me, To Sir, With Love because I'mma school the masses (and teach them some manners). Firstly, hip hop is a culture. Its not just music; its a way of life. I once heard someone compare it to being a Rastafarian, in the sense that, its a whole implementation of a subculture. The four major elements of hip hop are: the art of dance and/or expression through dance (i.e breaking, capoeira), emceeing (i.e. rhyming, poetry), art/visual expression (i.e. graphing, tagging), and deejaying. I could go a little deeper, but this is just for surface purposes.
Now, there were alot of naysayers that would (some still will) try to petition my authenticity, and question my devotion to this culture and everything that it consists of for various reasons: permed hair (at the time), makeup (which I dont really wear, just lip gloss and maybe, maybe, currently, mascara), and probably because I didnt break or really rhyme. I guess because I didnt change my name to Shakeelah Sunflower, I wasnt really 'down' for the cause. But the irony of it all is that, the main chicks (or dudes in some cases) that would try to label us 'toys' are the same people today who you never see or hear actually supporting hip hop. And some of the ones that 'represent hard', are straight up fake. I had a girl write me recently, "Oh I didn't know you were a 'b-gyrl'. That used to be my steelo back in high school..." Now this blew me because, even though she is cool, its people like her, that would've tried to test me way back when. If its something that is truly representative of you, then wouldn't be a passing phase. And if its a passing phase, then its really not representative of you. You are not hip hop. Young Jeezy is not hip hop. Nelly is not hip hop. D4L is not hip hop. These artists, and I use that term loosely, may make you want to shake a tailfeather in the club, but the reality is that, they do not represent hip hop.

I'm not saying that I epitomize the culture, but I feel that I still represent hip hop; just more refined. As an adult, I know that I dont have to 'prove' myself by saying peace to the gods and the earth after every sentence, and wearing clothes that are twice my size - compared to high school, where, you made it point to show dedication at any given expense. I am still the same person that will rock the Adidas track suit, or play "Itsoweezee" in the car. Im not embarassed to share my musical tastes and day that yes, I do listen to Tribe, but I also listen to Brandy. And I can see this same characteristic in my peers that rolled in the same circles as I did (all you people that I see at D'Vine that used to frequent the Point, this includes you too) - yeah it was cool back then, but now, we're grown, so we do us, like grown folk do. What blows me the most is the people that will wear their garbs and locks, and go on stage in the smoky, boho club and speak some words off their lips that 'flow like water', and still, to this day, claim they are realer than me because I dont represent in the same way they do - but when, no, really, WHEN did they fall in love with hip hop? Probably yesterday.

S.I.S.T.E.R. Dearest

My Dearest KP,
I never thought I would have go through this, especially not right now. When I heard you were sick, I thought that illness was just another hurdle that you would eventually conquer. I guess I didnt want to believe you were sick....probably like how you didnt want to believe you were sick. I picture Danny, and I picture Jonny and Jac, and I cant imagine their lives without you. Our big S.I.S.T.E.R. in the truest form, you were always there to remind us what was important versus what was not (and what was bullshit, and what was not). What would that organization have been like without you? KP, you were there, at the table, with me, just nine months ago when this same thing happen with Brittnii. Now, you, KP...I just dont know what to say, or how to be, when the time comes again, to be at the table, and it is you that we have lost. It hurts, but I know that you wouldnt want no parade, no horns, or no plasmas TVs or nothing, so, I will make this short - KP, my dearest S.I.S.T.E.R., you will truly be missed.

Florida Evans

I think today was the day that I truly came into my womanhood. No, I didn't start my period. That happened so many years ago that I cant count – but I did come to a real grown woman decision today, and that, I owe to my desires for a better life. And, my love for the luxe.

Even as a child, my mother would always say that I had expensive tastes. Anytime we would shop for things (I mean anything from curtains to clothes), I would always pick out the most expensive things, without even knowing their costs. My mother would be like, "put that shit down, and lets go over the the bargain bin…" Because of this, I was motivated to start working at age 15. When I started getting my own money, my mother didn't really have any control over what I got and she wouldn't scold me for going to The Lark, or Fields and buying a $60 Nautica polo (I think that stage was the worst period of adjustment for her…well, her wallet anyway). Since then, I have always made a way for me to get what I want, without going overboard with it. I realized that $60 was waaaaaay too much for a fad. I learned to invest wisely, and search for cheap treasures. I still have champagne taste, with champipple funds - only not visible to naked eye, though. I like to have alot, but not for alot. I can pinch a penny until another little baby penny pops out, and then I will pinch that little heffer too. Trust.

Knowing this, I specifically sought out for myself a career that would allow me to make enough money so that I could still enjoy myself and take care of myself at the same time. Fact is, I love to shop, OK. I like to eat. I like to kick it. But I like to do them all in moderation (and I am like my mama with them bargains, so I dont pay full price for hardly anything). But even that moderate lifestyle is proving costly in this city of wind. I came back to Chicago with the idea that, if I could just maintain (with some slight comeuppance) the lifestyle the had whilst living in the cornucopia (pun intended) of Dekalb, I would be OK. Key word: maintain.

I currently work for a big name, downtown, semi-upscale social service corporation in my field (say some thing now, Kanye!?!), so I feel fulfilled in a way that proves to me that I didn't go to college for nothing. My job is pretty cool. When I take into consideration what the company is built on (comprehensive psychological service), I am happy that I landed there…

But when I look at my damn check, I am nearly comatose. I feel like Florida Evans.

Clutch the pearls! A negra is borderline poor.

I came at a crossroads last week, based on info that I received about my newfound employer, and I was really thinking about my current and future financial security. I was weighing pros and cons, and then I found myself thinking about shit that would have never crossed my mind last year, or the year before:

-my job insurance is too high, and if I plan on being here long-term these rates will increase

-my job does not offer medical leave, so if I get pregnant I don't get paid. As many kids as I want, I am looking at about a loss of 2+ years without pay

-my job does not offer financial assistance for employees' continuing education. I'm starting school real soon, so just shit on me…

-my savings account is depressing and my whole goal for moving in with a roomie was to save, and this job does not allow me to do much of that

-I am constantly worried about money and whether or not I can afford to do even the smallest things in life, and as a person with champagne tastes, that's pretty darn wack. I don't want to be worried all day about that damn dollar I spent on my green tea this morning

-the average rate for annual pay increase is 4% (compared to organizations of its kind, the rate is low…as hell)

I have a laundry list of other things, but you get what Im saying here. Im getting grown, and I need to (wo)man up and do whats best for me. I am still young, and I think I deserve to do me for as long as I can until I have a husband and 4.5 children to feed and clean up after. And although it was a pair of Marc Jacobs sunglasses that I couldnt afford that really got me to thinking about my monies, regardless, I know my earning potential is much more than what Im doing. I never would have really thought about this kinda stuff before, but unless I marry rich (Lord willing, lol….Im just playing…a little) I need to care about these things. So I felt like, hey, I need to make some choices. So today, I decided that Im gonna leave my job. Not this very day, but soon.

Biggest Loser

So, I had this spiff with somebody about how sometimes a person aint their type's type. Of course, in the argument, I was deemed wrong, and most importantly out of order. My argument stemmed from the fact that although I loves me a fat dude, fat dudes dont neccessarily love the kid.
I can count on one hand how many hefty dudes I've gotten with, and more specifically, how many have liked me. But in a heartbeat, its that bean thread, pole-sized, apple-on-a-stick dude that falls madly in love with this girthesque figure. Now dont get me wrong - aint nothing wrong with a slender brother loving a voluptuous woman such as myself, but like, ok, when are the fat dudes gonna start showing me some love? Realistically, maybe like five guys a week try to get at me. And out of that five, there are no fat daddies. I can't tell you the last time a Rick Ross tried to get him some me. The bony chick will get my fat daddy faster than me on any given day. These skinny bitches are evil, and they are taking my men. Im just playing...well, not really.

I feel like out of all the different types of people, big girls have it the hardest. A not-so-attractive chick can get some weave, lipglass, and French tip, and somebody will be illusioned into thinking she's a catch. For us, its different. We can't completely disguise the fact that were meaty. And on top of that, not too many guys will actually admit that they like a woman with more to love, or its always some shit like, you're cute for a fat girl...

Like most women, I am insecure about my body, but not to the point where I blame my figure for everything that goes wrong in my love life. Like, its because Im fat, isnt it?? But this here is a truism. I can speak from experience because, HELLO, I am a fellow fatty. A gorgeous one, nonetheless. I think its kinda funny that the big dudes dont date me. How can you discriminate? Youre big. I once heard that bigger guys like smaller women because she/he/they can do much more sexually. My thought is, what makes you so sure? I know some full-figured women that will make it bankhead for a pimp. But thats a different blog for a different day.

If the Fabolouses of the world could just gain 100 pounds...

Flightplan

A day of reckoning at its finest...

Yesterday, I got hit with some real self-reflection shit, and it was so true. I checked myself, as I often do, because I needed to be checked. I realized that, in most things in life, I am flighty. Not flighty in a way that one might think (as in I'm not in it for the long haul or I am buzzing from flower to flower with no consistency), I mean flighty, like, whenever someone does something to me, or in reference to me, that I dont neccessarily approve of, I bounce. In my original thought process, I always felt like that was what I was supposed to do. I mean, it makes sense to me, still. But I realized that, damn, maybe that aint right. Something can make perfect sense and still not be right.

I had a homegirl who was a bogus liar, and she let her competitive and sneaky ways ruin our friendship. In retrospect (hindsight is golden, isnt it?), I feel like I didnt handle that situation right. See, this is what I do: I confront the person about the issue, then I say my piece, listen for a response, and if its not the appropriate response that I want to hear, then I'm out. So thats what I did with her, and although I loved her dearly as a sister, I took flight before there could be a mending.

More currently, concerning matters of the heart, I am compelled to take flight any time the predicament isnt going the way I think it should. I'm a fighter, and I know that love of any kind aint perfect. In a minute, I will fight for love until it wears me out. But in the midst of that fight, I leave...and probably leave again. True story: Someone that I care dearly for has not given me the time of day to discuss plans that we were to carry out in a matter of days. We had scheduled some time together, and yet, we have not spoken about anything of the nature. I have asked, and asked, and asked and I get nothing. So naturally, Im going to want to bail on this dude, once again. In my head, it all makes sense - I can spend my time spooning and caking and doing whatever with whomever, but I am making a slot in my time specifically for you, and you are being an asshole. My brain says that because I am not getting the desired response in a manner that I prefer, I must go. And if I dont hear from son soon, I'm certain that even after yesterday's epiphany, I will still take flight...

The first step is acknowledging...and I am not quite ready to proceed with a second step...

For me, to remove oneself from a situation has always been the instant and immediate thing to do, but truth is, I wind up regretting my decision to do that, and end up apologizing for it (or wishing I could). But anyway, I dont need kudos or nothing, I just thought that I would share something I learned whilst re-tracing my path to self-discovery.

Somebody Already

I could never find words to say this but I see that somebody has already done it for me:

love forgives all things
after every argument
or should I should I say disagreement,
we make up
then backtrack to pick up
where we left off.
not necessarily starting anew,
just forgetting the wrong
that we both sometimes do.
being careful never again
to cross the line of no return,
the line where apologies fail
and are no longer able
to reach the sentimental chambers
of the heart
where love accepts
and speaks the words,
"I forgive you."
-Tawana Moore-Cedeno

S.A.R.A.H. [Someone as Real as Him]

I've managed to take a minute to separate myself from my usual indulgences: designer shoes, TiVo, food...and precious little infants. Yes, I have gone bonkers over babies. I'll admit it - I have baby fever. Rubber baby buggy bumpers. I never could do that thing. Anyway, I think I've been watching entirely too much TLC's A Baby Story...
Anywho, I had a strange turn of events happen over the course of a few days. A guy that I've known for quite sometime has recently been trying to come back into my life, particularly as my gentleman caller (LOL). Its weird because, he's genuinely feeling me. And I've known this for quite sometime. And although there are mutual feelings of interest, he just doesnt have that umph. I like him, but like, thats it. I've never really experienced anything like this before. It feels like I should really like him alot, but I just don't. Like there is some sort of magnetic force that is pulling my interest in conflicting directions. My mama says that when somebody aint got that umph, they just aint got it, and more than likely, in your eyes, they never will. Im not certain, but I have a nudge that the umph rests in the truth that we don't have alot in common. If commonality was a percentage, we'd be at, like, 10%.

We're about as different as a Mormon and a whoremonger.

He cringes at the thought of going to a bookstore to read and sip Chai. He has absolutely no idea who George Benson is. He laughs at the fact that I tape reruns of Living Single (yes mofo, while people are paying $50 for boxsets, I will be watching for free).

Me and my homegirls were discussing attending an art exhibit for a high school friend of ours, and in reference to her boyfriend, my homegirl says, I need to invite him to something like this so that he can know that this is what I like to do. And that made me think of the importance of compatibility.

Granted, during and after my last relationship, I went through some sh*t that made me realize what I like, and certainly what I do not like. Some things are a given (i.e. communication, sincerity, effort, etc.), but other components such as personal interests are no less important. I used to think that as long as we embraced and accepted one another's interests and lifestyle, then it would be easy to be involved with someone thats different from you. Well, thats wrong.

I know that I am a weirdo, and I'm cool with that. But, the key is forming a romantically cohesive relation with another f*cking weirdo, such as myself. How important is it that we share similar tastes in music? How important is it that we share a love for literature? Art? Movies? Lifestyle? Or even style of dress? Actually, the question is more like, how important should it be? Really important, kinda important, or not important at all? I don't see it possible for me to be involved with someone that sees shopping at Nordstrom Rack as 'rich folk' activity, or feels like Three Six Mafia deserves that Oscar. Or maybe I'm putting too much emphasis on the matter.

All bullshit aside, I feel like I won't settle for less than S.A.R.A.H. I dont want to settle for 'good enough'. Im waiting on that authenticity that comes with nothing other then real compatibility, real connection, and real attraction. That umph. S.A.R.A.H. will have that umph. Until I meet him...

Standby

Everybody has a trusty standby. Someone that, you know, no matter what happens in life, you can always retreat to this person. You can have a baby by his brother, marry his best friend, but then like clockwork, you two will end up connected again. Not necessarily because you love each other, but just because, well, thats the way it has always been. When you're really missing the one you love, when you just got out of a bad breakup, or when you gained 30 lbs., you can always get at old faithful. No problem.
So, my old faithful? Lets call him Pusha T. I have known Pusha T for about 10 years now, and he has never stopped pursuing me. We can go a year or more without speaking, and somehow he never misses a beat. Granted, Pusha is attractive, smart, family-oriented, and many other things I desire but Pusha and I just dont have that it. I think somewhere in the beginning when I learned of Pusha's street involvement, I immediately put him in box and aint never really allowed myself to see beyond that box.
Pusha has alot of wrongness going on in his life. Im not God and I try not to judge, but I think its pretty safe to say that a 27 year-old man, should not be gangbanging. Pusha, why you still hanging out with Jimbo and Ray Ray? He say they don't 'gangbang', but listen, I aint stupid. Im from 47th near King Drive, and if anybody knows where that is, then you have to know that my ghetto pass is still active. I know he aint doing drivebys (hmm...maybe), or walking up to people like in the 90s asking "what set you claim??", but you're hanging with the same crowd and doing the same shit as if was 1997, and you haven't evolved as a person. Smoking weed and dranking in Anton and them basement. On some Menace II Society, and beating up chicks baby daddies cause they aint claiming their kid. Riding around with Boogie, when you know he keep a strap in the car. Its played out to be this irresponsible.
Obviously, Im calling him Pusha for a reason. To make matters worse, Pusha is a narcotic specialist. Not that he has never had a legit thing going, but for him, working the the block prevails. He tried to convince me that he sells cigarettes, like my name is Dumbo, or George Bush. And if he is selling cigarettes, my argument stands even stronger. You're a grown man and your main hustle is selling cigarettes?
I always said that if he decides to change, then maybe I would see him in a different light, and perhaps things between he and I could be different. And so he calls. Telling me that he might be getting a job with the transit authority and that he actually wants to start school again. He wants to change because he is not comfortable with where his money comes from. Oh really? Thats interesting. Great news. Pusha wants to take me out on Friday, maybe get some dinner or something. Really?? Havent done that in three years. Sure, lets do it. Now this story wouldnt have my signature flair on it if I didn't report that I never went on that date. So I guess, in a way, I was stood up...by my standby? Gross. Friday came and went. He forgot. What did he do? Hang out in the basement. Lots of red cups. Lots of Top paper. You know the rest.

Honey Black

I wrote this a long time ago, my sophomore year of college, when the B.R.O.T.H.E.R.S. Organization held a contest to see what 'Black Love' means to Black students on campus....so I wrote this, in less than five minutes.
(I think this might've been the illest shit I ever wrote...)

---------------------------------------------------------------





Black Love is unity
Black Love is creativity
Black Love is keeping our heads above water
Black love is loving hard
Black Love is hymn sangin' during slavery
Black Love is my community
Black Love is being true to self
Black Love is Love of all shades
Black Love is support
Black Love is music
Black Love is a free Nelson Mandela
Black Love is my fist in the air
Black Love is his brown skin against mine
Black Love is Ahkenaton, my unborn sun
Black Love is poetry
Black Love is overcoming stereotypes
Black Love is making a statement

Black Love is crowning a King in my Queendom
Black Love is soul food
Black Love is a treasure
Black Love is hope
Black Love is water from the Nile
Black Love is change
Black Love brown hands caressing my face
Black Love is cornrows
Black Love is Yaa Asantewaa and Makeda
Black Love is freedom ringing
Black Love is teaching
Black Love is giving birth to my daughters
Black Love is manifestation
Black Love is breakdancing and Capoeira
Black Love is the ankh
Black Love is his lips enveloping mine
Black Love is Mother Africa
Black Love is communication
Black Love is respect
Black Love is our ancestors
Black Love is you, me, we
Black Love is us
Black Love is life

At what point do you have put your foot down and put a man in his place? I have only been in this relationship for, hmm, two weeks (and barely that) and already, I have a problem with this negro. He is sweet and caring, genuinely affectionate, sincere, smart, chivalrous, a "man's man"...yeah, yeah, yeah. Despite all these things and how great of a person he is, he has managed to disrespect and take advantage of me (like most men) in ways that are just simply not cool...

...and to think, he isnt even MY boyfriend.....he is my homegirl's man.

I just got acquainted with this guy on some "oh-youre-my-girl's-guy" type shit a couple weeks ago. He did me a major favor, and for that, I thank him tremendously. Since I dont have a man to do manly things for me, I was grateful for the fact that he helped me move. Moving is a big deal, so it was truly a blessing to have his help. To show my thanks, I allowed him to drive my rental to handle some business of his that could not have handled otherwise without my help. He knew that the rental needed to be returned the next day by 11:30a, and claimed to be on top of it. He said that he would make sure the gas was straight, the mileage was straight, and to do no damage. I trusted this because, remember, all he was doing was picking up...and then dropping off. So the bill comes through on the AmEx and, wow, like magic, my bill is now $141 more than it shouldve been. I confronted him about it (very tactfully, of course) and he said that he can claim about $60 of that due to mileage, and keeping it one extra day. Alright. Good boy. So my beef is now with the rental company, and not my good friend's man, right?

Comes to find out that he went over the mileage, kept it an extra two days, and didnt fill up the tank.

I am so tired of being taken advantage of, and more specifically, being taken advantage of by a man that isnt even my own to claim. I feel like he is now our man, and now we have to go check our man about his bullshit. You know youre in some shit when youre getting done wrong by a man that aint even yours.

I want my money, and I want my money now.

I called myself being nice, and doing a good and moral thing, but as usual, I am the person who gets the shitpie smashed in her face. I never truly feel appreciated in all the good that I do.

You give people an inch and they take a mile, an extra day, and an entire tank of gas.