Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Seeing With The Heart

I always hated getting ready for things. Anything at all would be this big thing about how the clothes fit, the accessories, too much cleavage (which, with chesticles like mine is a frequent concern) and a myriad of other things that, usually by the time I got to where I was going, didn't matter. It was always an ordeal further stressed by my body issues; stretch marks (are they showing?), scars (are they showing too?) and weight (does it make me look fat?). I'm like every other woman when I put on a pair of jeans and pray that the muffin top doesn't ruin the whole outfit. Or I used to be.

Today I woke up with a purpose; I've got a lot of things going on. I've got to go toss my school like a salad set some things straight with my school and their lack of acknowledgement of anything that needs to be said until the money is due (which is extremely trifling to a jobless college student). I have to turn in a resume or two. I have an impromptu interview with a Sprint manager. I'm kind of about my business right now.

I woke up with bad hair. Now, regular haired, or completely relaxed women can just pop on a hat or a ponytail and call it a day. My hair though, with it's tendrils in some places, curls in others and otherwise lack of cohesion refused to be fully tamed. Instead of freaking out, I let it do what it wanted to do with a few hindrances to mimic a style. It looks great.

I haven't lost weight, but the weight I have seems to be distributing in other places. What I mean is, my stomach, which used to seems so huge to me, has flattened out. My hips though, have spread a bit. My thighs are bigger; the girls too. I've been taking care of myself by eating healthier, and living healthier. Don't get me wrong; I hate to sweat so exercise makes me roll my eyes, but I'm not allergic to walking or lifting. Simple things like taking the stairs instead of the escalator, oranges instead of doughnuts, and stretching while reading have made my body more mine rather than just a thing that holds me.

George and W have been telling me equally that I need to find love for myself; I seem to have such love and acceptance for others, such forgiveness of faults with them, but not for myself. I've been doing a lot of digging to find that little nugget in me; that fearless, confident and fiery piece that I seemed to have lost somewhere along the tumbles of my life. Now that I've found it, nothing is going to take it away. Life's better with confidence and faith; somethings I'm no longer in short supply of.

By learning to take care of myself I learned to appreciate all the good parts of me, almost to the point that the bad no longer matters. I still have stretch marks, and scars, and all those other things, but in the scheme of things, when looking at me, I don't see them much anymore. Instead I see strength, I see femininity, I see flirtatiousness. I see me. And it feels like it took forever to make the connection that the person I see in the mirror is not even half of the person I truly am.

The muffin top maybe under the shirt, but the truth of the matter is, nobody's noticing it; they're too busy admiring my spirit, my cheerful disposition, and all of the other things I have going for me other than my looks.* Sometimes I forget that it's not always what we see but what we feel. Just like with faith in a God, or hope for a better future, what we see in front of us might be bleak or not up to our standards, but that doesn't stop us from believing, it doesn't stop us from seeing something better with our hearts.

Spreading love
Dropping knowledge
Learning in the process <3

*Addendum: That's not an excuse to be sloppy though. Take pride in yourself!*

Sunday, May 29, 2011

(4) A Song to Cry For

I'm a daddy's girl. I can't recall a time where I wasn't considered one by my peers or even my family; it's just a fact. My daddy means the world to me, and anyone who's ever heard me speak of him knows why; he's supportive and encouraging and always has time to listen. He shows me and tells me he loves me all the time, even when I feel like the world's crumbling beneath my feet; he's usually the one to put a magic carpet under my feet that lets me float on a little while longer until I can put my feet on solid ground again.

I couldn't imagine my life without my father; sure, he was a military dad and had to go away a lot, but he always made up for it. Not with things or with promises, but with time. There were many a day we would just sit and talk or play video games. Days where he would teach me how to play basketball, throw a football, and make baked potatoes in an oven. To this day I value the time people give me more than the things they do, most likely because my father taught me that when you love someone, that's what you do; you give them time.

Luther Vandross' "Dance with My Father" always makes me cry. It makes me sad to know that one day I won't be anybody's little girl anymore. I try not to think much about it, but the fact is the older I get, the older he gets too even though in my eyes he's still the same age he's always been. Even now thinking about it puts a little lump in my throat.

I feel this strongly about "Dance with My Father" because I know it's something that I'm one day going to wish for; one more moment, one more dance with my Daddy. All I want to do in the world is make him proud and make him think "Wow, that's my kid," and he tells me all the time that he's always thinking that. He tells me all the time, but one day there's not going to be anymore telling me so. One day I'm just going to have to believe that I made him proud, and so, one song that makes me sad whenever I hear it (or think it) is Luther Vandross' "Dance with My Father."

Spreading Love
Dropping knowledge
Getting sappy <3

Friday, May 27, 2011

The Truth in the Hair

So I've been transitioning into my real hair for a few months now (three or four, I don't remember), and I'm at about an inch and a half new stuff all around, some places longer some shorter. I was over at VSB the other day and the topic was women and the amount of money they spend to be beautiful with the focus on hair. What I found out was that not a lot of women, relaxed or natural, know what's really going on with their hair care products and what the things they use actually do. So, I made a list of things I've learned that I didn't previously know.

1) Most shampoos are made to strip the hair of oils; Black hair needs oils to thrive. See the problem there? The solution is to simply not use shampoos; most conditioners contain less harmful sulfates (the things that make the bubbles) and silicones. If you must use shampoos though, go for the ones low in sulfates and dimethicone; you can tell how much is in the bottle by the ingredients list as it goes in descending order from what's used most to what's used least in the product. If I had to suggest any I'd say Carol's Daughter Ameh Khoret Shampoo, or Kinky-Curly's Clarifying Shampoo.

2) Most things ending with "-cone" are hair coaters and don't help the hair either. Try using your shampoo on it's own one day and wait for your hair to react. Most likely the hair will be dry as straw, but shiny. Shiny hair isn't necessarily healthy as a lot of chemicals can mimic those results, but ultimately harm the hair by making it brittle. Instead, co-wash (natural girl term for conditioner wash); using your fingertips, conditioner and a little friction, your hair will be just as clean as if you use shampoo. Most conditioners do still have cones and sulfates in them; try to avoid the ones with heavy doses of those and try to get the ones with the least amount possible or, better yet, all natural ones. Personally, I use Herbal Essences Totally Twisted (and a bit of baking soda.).

3) Natural hair is no more difficult than relaxed hair. It's all about preference, honestly, and I find that I spend more time on my natural hair than I ever did on my relaxed hair even though the same things I do for my hair now would have logically worked for my hair then. I spend more time because I enjoy my hair now, whereas before I was always so worried about it getting messed up or doing something wrong that I wouldn't experiment with it at all. With my hair now I can try anything and if it doesn't work, I can wash it out and try again or stick to the basics, but just because that works for me doesn't mean that it's the right choice for everyone else.

4) Product junkie tendencies wear out over time. When I first started I was buying everything I read about on the hair blogs; Kinky-Curly, Jessie's, and Carol's Daughter to name a few. After working with my hair and trying a lot of things out, I found what works and what doesn't. There's no need to keep going out and buying more and more things if you already have something that works. Put the curling custard down. And the shampoo too. Now walk away.

5) I make my own staples out of things I have in the house. For instance, I mix baking soda with my conditioner (Herbal Essences Totally Twisted) to clarify my hair (natural term for: get out the dirt and product build-up). In my spritz bottle which I use to moisturize on hot, dry days I have extra virgin olive oil, sweet almond oil and water (an orange oil, which I had to buy at a specialty store). At one point I used paprika for something. I forget what. In any case, it doesn't take a lot of premade chemical mixtures to make your hair behave. Quite the contrary, with what little I use, my hair's healthier and easier to manage than it's ever been.

6) It's your hair, you don't have to explain anything to anybody. When I see people who used to know me in high school their eyes go from my eyes to my hair and back. They ask what I'm doing. I say going natural and keep it moving. The few times I have explained why (the last relaxer incident) I get that sketpical "mmhm" or a "girl, pain is beauty." No, it actually isn't. Pain is pain, that's why people call it that. I get the nappy conversation from people, I get the "you don't know what you're doing" conversation from people, but at the end of the day, I know what I'm doing is right for me. There may be days when it doesn't look it, but my decision is actually for the best.

7) Prove them wrong. My grandmother is adamantly against my natural hair and she hasn't even seen it yet. She thinks that it's this afro of tightly coiled, matted hair. In actuality, because I'm transitioning, I have about 5-6 inches of straight hair and 1-2 inches of curly hair. I mix the textures by twisting and then deriving styles from that texture. My hair is soft, it's easily manageable (yes, even from the roots) and in a few months when she sees me, she's going to know that it's beautiful just like I know it's beautiful.

Hope this helps the girls out there struggling with their folicles :)

Spreading love
Dropping knowedge
Educating the masses <3

Thursday, May 26, 2011

(3) Two Songs That Make Me Happy

Yo, tell me fellas have you seen her? It was about five minutes ago...
Once upon a time in the early 2000's there was this new kid out named Chris Brown. Now when I saw him I thought he had to be the most adorable dude I'd ever seen. He had this kind of buck-toothed grin and big expressive eyes. And then he sang. And oh boy did I melt.

"Yo (Excuse Me Miss)" can, to this day, make me break out in a grin. It was the cutest and oddly open song I'd heard in awhile in a sea of disappointing R&B and pop. He was crooning ever-so sweetly about approaching a girl the right way and what's not to love about that? My favorite part would have to be the break down; I literally melt. The music gets soft and frames his voice so beautifully. And the harmony? It cuts to the core and ruins my "tough girl" image.

Around the same time another lanky country boy hit the scene by the name of Trey Songz. I remember I was in the car with my mother and "Gotta Make It" came on. I didn't know who this dude was, but wow was he saying something endearing and his voice was warm and different; he sounded like home.

Shawty, all I got is a dollar and a dream is you gonna roll with me?
From the first line I absolutely loved it. Most of the other songs out at the time were talking about women in an objectifying sort of way, but Trey went right to the heart, asking his woman if she was down to make their dreams come true because with her, he was determined to make it. As a woman, not only does it do my heart some good to know that there are guys out there who get it (we as women aren't trying to crush your dreams, we're trying to be a part of them) and the fact that he sang with such conviction gives a girl like me hope for a bright future for my own dreams with or without someone to roll with for the moment.

These two songs always turn my day around. They speak to that romantic, youthful and hopeful part of my spirit that sometimes gets dragged into the harsher realities of life while ignoring the beautiful ones. They give me hope, and make me want to fall in love and for that, these two songs make me the happiest.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Trouble Don't Last Always

But man, when it rains it pours. I've been having a really tough time this month for a myriad of reasons; I can't seem to get any great interviews for jobs, I can't seem to get any call backs either, and even if I did, my phone's busted now so there's really no point. Also, Mother got a job at a place I've been calling for weeks which puts her at two jobs to my 0. Embarrassing? Entirely. Depressing? You have no idea...

I think the wet phone was the final straw. I mean, I'm a year off of teenager-dom so this might sound a bit dramatic, but my phone is literally a third of my life (the others are internet and music of course :) ). The four people I love most in the world contact me on that phone on a daily or weekly basis. Those are the people that encourage and uplift me in my funk to see that all it takes is a little more hard work. Potential employers could be trying to call me at this very moment, though given my current history I doubt it.

I had a job interview yesterday that I didn't tell Mother about. I feel like when I tell her she just rolls her eyes and does that "mmhm" that means "yep, whatever." Again, this may just be what I hear in my head, but I always think that she doesn't have much faith in me, so I try not to tell her these things until/unless I get the job. I took the bus, changed into professional clothes (and hair) in the restroom and then proceeded to wait twenty minutes to be interviewed with five or six other people. Their resumes were extensive; all I had was a two page long diddy about the two jobs I managed to work and my recommendations from them as well as a few teachers. I got the sympathetic smile and the "we'll let you know." I don't think I got it.

Later this same day, my phone slipped into a sink full of water and Listerine where I was soaking my retainers. While I was in the shower. For about twenty minutes. It turns on still after a night in rice, but nothing else. How am I going to afford a new phone? I'm basically a squatter as it is right now, and I hate having to ask my parents for money. I'm old enough to vote for heaven's sake and I can't even...*sigh*

Even though I want to really give up right now, I'm reminded of something George said to me the other day. He said that he hates when I don't reach my full potential and when I don't think I'm good enough, because he knows I'm good enough. He told me that moments like right now, when I feel like just lying face down and waiting for the Rapture, are when I should kick into a higher gear and put all my faith in God and myself. The man is a little looney sometimes, but I can't help but thinking he's right this time.

So what I'm going to do is register for the fall semester at my school, fix my face, and find solutions where I can. If I give up, then everything is going to pile on, but if I fight this drowning feeling, most likely I'll learn to swim. I like those odds.

Sometimes I forget that just because things seem bad now it doesn't mean they always will. With determination, hope, and a little faith, I think I can power through all this and finally find my track in life. Wish me luck :)

Spreading love
Dropping knowledge
Seeing the light <3

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

(2) Least Favorite Song

Just like with favorites, it's hard to name least favorites...okay I'm lying. It's easier. Mostly because there are artists who I don't respect, making silly music that makes me nauseous, and who are easily discernible by the public as they don't have talent, but their marketing team surely does. So, let's make a list:

1) Pink Friday (the whole freakin' album)- Nicki Minaj: Why is it that an artist would go ham on any and every song featured on, but not on their own album. I understand diversity. I understand pleasing the masses. What I don't understand is how anything from her album sounds excruciatingly different (and ultimately entirely too soft from the demeanor she was presenting) from her features. It makes me think someone writes for her and her merits are based solely on her ass persona.

2) Trapped in the Closet - Aruh Kelly: The whole. Freaking. Series. Really doe? Really? It was like Tyler Perry sat down somewhere and wrote up an entire script of off-hand, ridiculous sh*t and thought "Hmm...I wonder what would happen if I set this whole thing to music." It irritated me. And the fact that every week was another episode? *sigh*

3) "Motivation" - Kelly Rowland: I ain't motivated. At all. Even Wayne couldn't save it for me. Something about her "almost but not quite there" vocals and the extreme left field lyrics (since when was Kelly raunchy-sexy?) just turned me all the way down. (Although usually I'm not a Wayne fan, his ad-libs and bars in the track were pretty good. Meh.)

4) "Pretty Girl Rock" - Keri Hilson: Maybe nobody else was listening the same way, but what I heard is, "I'm pretty. Ask your man, he's been looking. You're not pretty. I'm fly. You're jealous. Because, you know...I'm pretty." Not because she's smart, not because she's doing anything for herself. Course not, but she's pretty. Maybe it's the fact every woman was running around singing it like it was the new empowerment track. Maybe it's the fact that Keri Hilson is a better song-writer/producer than an actual talent (because she produced fire tracks with The Clutch). Whatever it is...I wasn't feeling it.

5) "S&M" - Rihanna: I'm just gonna throw it out there. I think it's tacky to be talmbout how you like it rough (like it, like it in fact) and like to be a little roughed up...but your ex-boyfriend is to this day being dragged across hot coals as "Beat Her Down" Brown. Yes, I understand there's a difference between love taps and getting that a** beat, however when you've been in that situation I would think the last thing you'd want to do is talk about someone putting their hands on you, or you putting your hands on them, in an even slightly violent light. It was tacky, and foolish. Simple as that.

Honorable Mention: I may get flack for this as a hip-hop head, but PM Dawn's "Set Adrift?" *smh*. I'm more partial to the original. Which is by a man-group by the name of Spandau Ballet. The beat was perfect, but they're rhymes just weren't hitting it for me. Do I still get to keep my hip-hop membership card?

So...what's your least favorite? Or do you just have a least favorite artist...genre...album?

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Early Life Crisis

I've been feeling really down lately. Could you tell? I just feel like I have all these thought and dreams and ideas that just can't happen. Is that what a mid-life crisis feels like? Because as it stands now I feel like I am in crisis mode: I don't eat much, I sleep too much, and I don't feel like doing much of anything. I spend most of my days alone, which isn't unusual, but I'm finding now that I get lonely more than I feel accepting of my own presence.

Maybe it's because I think everything I've been told is a lie. You work hard in school, you focus and get good grades, you do better than other people academically you'll be set up to handle the world. Maybe it's because the world's changed but the lies haven't. I should go to school, get a degree in something liberal and hope to get a job doing something that has at least a little to do with it. The reality is nobody my age is getting those jobs. Those jobs go to the folks with families and debt and desperation in their eyes when I know I have too much pride to ever let anyone know how desperate I am. But it's like a friend once told me, you can't eat pride.

All the college commercials on TV tell the same lies; be a nurse, be a dental assistant, be a technical engineer, those jobs are recession proof and on the rise. Basic economics says that the more something floods the market (techs, nurses, dental assistants) the less valuable it becomes. All the studies showing those rises are a few years old at the least; the boom seems non-existant now.

It's not all about jobs and what I want to do with my life, even though I know I don't want to still be in the room I was in in high school a few years from now. It's about me and my lack of faith in anything lately; I'm not even sure I have faith in myself anymore. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know what I'm doing. All I know is that none of it is working.

I was sitting in the car the other day at a gas station a few miles from home shedding tears and wishing I could just keep driving. Just drive and drive until I'm some place where I feel like I'm not so trapped and that I can breathe. I always feel like I'm gasping, like there's not enough air for me and like no matter what I do, whether I make moves here or stay secluded at home it'll all end up the same and I still won't be breathing.

Yeah, I think this is crisis mode. Hopefully I can think my way out of it or at least find something to motivate myself forward because as it stands, you could be reading the words of an American tragedy or an American triumph. The fact that I can't tell the difference between the two means I have a lot of thinking to do.

Spreading love
Dropping knowledge
Being open <3

Friday, May 20, 2011


This morning I was woken up by a doorbell. Ten inch high natural hair, shorts and an over sized sweater later I'm standing face to face with a guy who I vaguely remember helping my mother a few weeks ago.  Ten or so minutes later, he's giving me his number and I'm struck with a sudden sadness and hollowness.

I would guess it's disappointment that I always get that kind of attention from the ones I don't desire. Does that make me shallow? Ungrateful? I feel like I should appreciate everything I get; my mind is wired in a way that makes me think anything good is supposed to be followed by something that'll hurt and so I always appreciate the good before the bad. I realize that that isn't always the truth in life, but the fact that I'm so afraid of being hurt keeps me from acting on the fact that I know it isn't always true.

Fear. I never thought it would be such a large part of who I am, to be so afraid all the time. I often try to deny the fact that I have anxiety issues by helping other people through their own or at the very least burying myself in things that take my mind off of how terrified I always feel at the littlest of things. Going out and meeting people. Hanging out with people I know. Going some place different. Doing something different. Being myself.

I remember a time when I wasn't afraid, but it seems like it was such a long time ago. Maybe it was. I was a different girl back then, before my parents got divorced and I realized that security is a facade, a nice one, but a facade no less that most of us seek out in vain. What's secure in this world? Nothing. Everything can be taken at the drop of a hat and knowing that makes me seek solace in the wrong people and the wrong things instead of seeking it in myself.

Seeking security in myself is just as shifty; my mind sometimes turns on me and makes me think I'm nothing in the scheme of things. Sometimes it's more cruel than anything I could ever think of encountering in the world and yet most times I turn to it anyway only to draw deeper within myself. Maybe that's the problem.

I'm not a person who thinks that I need help; I'm the one always helping. I'm not the person that needs to be the center of attention, but sometimes I do wish that people would see the real me, even though I know that with the mask I put on it's difficult.

I think that's why the attention so early this morning got to me; I hate being confronted with the truth about myself because it makes me feel like a weak person. I take everything internally and analyze it until I can not be associated with it anymore, but it never works with the fear. Even though I know it's holding me back, and even though I know most of what it's telling me isn't true, I can't ever convince myself to take the leap, and I find that it's never more relevant than when I'm confronted with propositions from men.

"Don't believe the lies/Look me in my eyes..." - Drake

Spreading Love
Dropping knowledge
Venting <3

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

30 Day Song Challenge

Before you even go there, I know. I didn't finish the last 30 day challenge. You want the truth? It got repetitive. Boring. Predictable. If you know me or have an inkling of how and what I think, you know how I am about boring, repetitive routine type sh*t. Now, with this one :), it's music. I never give up on music not even when it's given up on me (which is a blog for another time). And so, let the challenge commence!

I don't have a favorite song because my whole life is music. There isn't a picture with me in it from maybe six years old to now where I don't have an iPod/cd player/tape player on my person. That being said, I have a crazy music memory (including memory of samples, and producers) and a profound love for knowing things about songs, artists, and genres I like. I have no favorites; I love them all the same. So to answer this, I'll refer to the iPod.

My most played song is Love Ultra by Dwele. It's in the playlist over there -> if you haven't heard it here yet. I've played it five hundred and eighty-five times. To put it in perspective, I usually only keep a song on my iPod as long as I keep playing it. My iPod is 8 GBs and holds roughly 1200 songs. I have roughly 3500 songs on my computer. Can't carry 'em all (at least not yet) so I cycle out old ones, but Love Ultra? Never. Gets. Old.

The guitar that kicks it off is just so mellow. The melody is simple, sweet and soulful. It makes me remember the day I first heard it. A guy admirerer had similar taste in music and sent me an MP3 of it to play. I was doing yoga (or something like it) and stretched out in a patch of sunlight on my floor. As soon as the song came on I just lay in that patch of sunlight and felt warm inside.

The words aren't too deep and are actually a little disjointed in places; the lyrics are kind of like the thoughts that go through your head when you're thinking of the one you love. They don't make sense to other people, as they are wrapped in those obscure but harmonious moments between the two of you that don't really have to make sense. My favorite line is "Love ain't up to me, but leave it up to me, I love you."

C'mon son. You have to admit that's smooth. And if it's anything a girl like me desires from a potential suitor it's simplicity, smoothness and warmth. It's a song that gives me hope, a song that eases my mind, and a song that, in a strange way, soothes my restlessly seeking spirit.

Here's the Challenge, so you can join up if you wanna.

But most importantly because now I'm curious how do you pick a favorite song? And if you have one, what is it?

My Problem with Games...

I am friends with a lot of dudes. More dudes than females actually (my best friend ratio is 2:1, favor males), which I think is weird because I'm mostly a girl's girl. They say it's because I'm not on some "girly sh*t" and I always speak truth (is that really all it takes?). In any case, it's a fact that I'm their girl. I'm short so when we roll out I'm always in the middle or the front like a bawse, I'm always the one they come to for advice like a bawse, and I'm usually the one getting picked up, patted or tossed like a...no, wait, not this time. I am cool with the weirder sex, however, some things entirely annoy me about them.

George and I have known each other a year and some change. Recently we had a fight, and even more recently we made up. A few weeks ago I decided to speak what I wanted into existence (on some "Loving You No More" type sh*t) and roll with it. Turns out, it actually worked and I no longer harbored those deep, love-poem inducing feelings. It took all of a few hours to figure out why it wasn't worth it and it just suddenly clicked that I wasn't feeling it. Not. At. All.

However, a few nights ago we are talking politics, religion, family and all of a sudden he's on some "Yo...you turnin' me on right now," type sh*t. Really doe? We're talking bout Gawd. Jesus. Obama. And he wants get all "yeah that's cool...so what are you wearing?" on me. I doesn't make sense rationally to me, but it makes all the sense in the world emotionally and strategically.

When you love someone, but are not in love with them, the list of things you'd do for them is immediately cut down. He wanted to be treated like a brother, not a lover, and so that's what happened and now all of a sudden, he's realizing he ain't got no options. My thing is, in knowing that, why play games? Why try to even make it go there once the offer is clearly off the table? Strategically speaking, the beloved has most of the power of the lover and if dudes love anything more than free food and sometimes more than lady bits, it's power. But why play powering tripping games with a girl who's already turned her console clean off? What's the point?

Maybe this is the reason all my friends (and people who meet me at bus stops) think I'm supposed to be with an older guy (or Jewish guy, which, you know, I kinda dig Jewish guys... :) ); I don't like games unless we're talking Sega or Xbox then I kicks some ass, I like being treated like a person, not a priority, not an option (Hey, hey, hey.). I'm too old for that "I like you today and maybe I'll like you tomorrow, but I didn't like you yesterday" middle school stuff. We're grown now. That doesn't work for me anymore.

The thing is, it always happens to me this way. I'm not sure if it's something I do or say, or a culmination of my actions that makes these guys think that it should be easy to just pick up a controller and play the game after putting it on pause (or even turning it clean off). Is it the fact that it works for other girls and they don't see me differently? Or is it the fact it doesn't work with other girls, but they think I"m stupid and it'll work on me? Thoughts, suggestions, gripes? I'm all ears.

Spreading love
Dropping knowledge
Lettin off steam <3

Monday, May 16, 2011

My Faith and Lack of Religion

My father thinks I'm an atheist. My aunt thinks I'm a head wrap away from Islam. My friends think I'll marry a Jewish man. Personally, I want a necklace with a cross, The Star of David, and the Star and Cresent of Islam; not because I want to "co-exist" but because I don't think we're all as different as everyone tells us we are. Whenever I'm asked my religion, I ask instead "What religion is God?" Do these opinions say something about my beliefs or the narrow way people define faith? Do my personal convictions paint me as a hypocrite in "genre" faiths or in the minds of theological purists??

God is my religion. I look at the world, trees, water, insects and all and wonder, "If not Him, how?" The world is a beautiful, but tough place and I can't imagine it being here on it's own accord. Someone would've had to taken time to think these things out. I believe God put down a cell on this planet of His and took His time to watch it become what we've become now. I don't think however that God is a genie we can ask for things, nor do I think if we pray hard enough He will change the landscapes of our lives. This is His plan; He's made it as such for His own specific reason (or by complete accident and He's just a-rolling with it). In any case, you can't reach into the middle of an experiment and change things, as it would change the outcome of every experiment, every specimen and every answer afterwards. And that's just selfish.

The people who hear me talk to God think I'm disrespectful; I don't come shouting His praises or touting His horn. Lord of Lords, King of Kings....He knows who He is; superlatives aside, what can I really say to Him in the way of awesome adjectives that He hasn't heard or know is true for Himself? Instead, I speak to Him like I would a mentor, not censoring myself on the basis that He's God and He'll smite me at any minute for saying a curse word in my frustration with the world or my own spirit. He knows who I am; He created me this way for a reason, and as such, how I speak to Him is nobody's business but mine and His. He knows I'm like that and sh*t.

I don't ask for things for myself. I think that's the reason people trump up so many adjectives for God because they want to make Him feel good before they lay into their Christmas list of things they want, need, or wish for. When I ask God for things, I don't ask him for things. I ask for understanding, I ask for patience, and I ask for strength. I ask for grace when I feel like He's put in me in a place where I have no idea what I'm doing, and I ask for love so that I feel confident in myself to do what He's placed me here for and on very rare occasions I ask for a good man (which He doesn't apparently take seriously) :). And I always say thank you, as that's just polite whether He "came through" or not for even bothering to listen to me.

I believe the God all religions worship is the same by different name. In the Eskimo language there are hundreds of words for snow. Does that mean the snow is different? Does it mean it comes in different forms? Nope, and in my opinion, neither does God.

I get upset with most "orthodox" Christians and the extremists. They quote the holy text and sing all the gospels but still don't understand the simple principle that God is love; out of love, in order to be more like God, we should treat everyone with love and respect. When I see Christians picketing funerals, outside of abortion clinics, and outside of strip clubs I just wonder what God they think they're serving by yelling cruel things to people. I wonder if they know that God is weeping for the person they're mistreating just as He would weep for them.

It would be easy to hate these people, as they give the "unorthodox/in-betweens" ones like me a bad rap, but the truth is, I can't feel anything but sadness for them. I was watching an episode of Grey's Anatomy awhile ago and Dr. Bailey said that people hadn't caught up to God yet in the way they treat other people. The "Christian" fans got all in a tizzy about it, not realizing they were proving her point by the way they band-wagon'd onto the words and not the meaning. I'm sad that they don't know that God isn't who and what they think He is. He doesn't want us to hate and tear down one another, but to lift each other up and make each other better.

We haven't caught up to God. If our faith is so easily swayed and narrowly defined by what we read and what we are told by our pastors instead of what we see, know and feel in our hearts, perhaps we never will. But the day we as a people fail to try, is most certainly the day when I lose my religion whatever that might be.

Spreading love
Dropping knowledge
Speaking from the heart <3

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Celebrity (and Why I Don't Ever Want To Be One)

Every child has that idea, that dream, of being famous for something. I was a little different, but not by much. First I wanted to be a teacher (so I could boss people around) and then I decided I wanted to be a singing diva (for pretty much the same reason, but more money). Over time though, I leaned more towards the normal than the celebrity but until recently I didn't wonder why that was.

My father is a music man. As such my first memory of living was sitting next to a sub woofer and being amazed at the bass and the way air moved through the big box with holes in it from the music player. I was in choir for all of my school years, and even dabbled in drama onstage, not off. Everyone in my choir classes were concerned with moving up to "Cantante" which was basically high school rock star status. Everybody in my class moved up or tried to. Everyone but me. I was propositioned by the director, pleaded with by the students, and even by some weird rule required to audition. I chose, however, to stay behind and usher in every new class of choir girls until I graduated. They still remember me and the littlest things I did with and for them.

I think that's what my life is: it's not about being the best, or being the biggest, greatest star. It's about touching people, one by one, with something that makes them feel comfortable enough to be themselves, if only for a little while and by doing that, I do become one of the best, biggest and greatest. It's about making a difference. And though I think fame is a great avenue for that, it comes at a great cost and often misses the mark entirely.

We often see celebrities smiling for the cameras, happy to sign autograph after autograph, doing interview after interview. You know what we don't see? Them enjoying themselves with their real friends. We don't see them at an "intimate" romantic dinner with a new potential significant other (because there are cameras literally everywhere), we don't see them having actual fun with their family (because there are cameras literally everywhere). What we do see of them are posed pictures, and awkward, off-guard smiles that never reach the eyes as they're being encroached up on.

This past week I was watching a lot of interview videos of my favorite artists and the one that stood out the most was Drake. Yes, we all know I have a huge crush on Drake :), but what I loved about him in a particular documentary (Better Than Good Enough) is that I felt I got to see him. Behind the fame, behind the rapping, behind the wheel-chair Degrassi reference he is a guy who's learning he's obligated to his fame and realizing that fame doesn't make a person happy.

He's obligated to his fame, not for himself or the love of his music, but for the people who depend on him. Obligated to his mother and making her proud. Obligated to all these people who've put money on his career to win (or fail). With that obligation comes a kind of lacking in other areas. He often raps that he doesn't have too many real friends. Girls he likes seem to think he's always sleeping with groupies and never fully trust him. There are chasms in his family life that weren't there before. A line that he said that stuck out to me was that "Everybody is happy...I can't be the reason all that ends," and in my mind I ask what I think anyone who cares about people as people would ask; "But are you happy?"

We see these celebrities and uplift them but do we really see them? In the seconds before the camera cuts away do we notice the sadness in their eyes or the gleam off their diamond chain? Fame takes away your identity and makes it something to market, so people can become just like you. Most people, fans,  don't love you for you, but rather the idea of you and what you could ultimately do for them. Is that what makes a person happy? Is that what makes a person feel like they're living?

I sometimes forget that our brightest stars often die young or in obscurity, sometimes by reckless behaviors brought on to make people care or numb the pain, but ultimately from giving everything and still not quite receiving the love they so desperately need back; the genuine kind not hinged upon how they look, how much they make or what they do but who they are as people. Appreciate them, but treat them like human beings, not like dreams to be toyed with or items to be bought. Stop worshipping them; they are just like us, and most times, ultimately weaker than we are.

Spreading love
Dropping knowledge
Respectfully appreciating talent <3

Friday, May 13, 2011

"Doing You"

 I hate routines. I hate taking vitamins everyday. I hate waking up at the same time everyday. I hate going to the same places. That being said, I love twisting my hair while stretching my legs every night, around 11:15. The fact that I've sort of fallen into this natural hair thing denotes my tendency in life; I think about it for awhile, then one day out of the blue I just decide to do it. At first I was determined; I was reading every hair blog, reading every product's full list of ingredients, and wondering how much of everything to buy. Two months in, I've learned one major thing that's been incorporated throughout my life. You ready? Here it goes.

Nobody can tell you how to do you.

It seems so simple, but the fact is, it's always so much harder. From a really early age we learn to emulate those around us to receive acceptance and attention, and I don't think that ever changes. However, once you get older and start looking around at all these people who are like you, but not like you, you start to wonder "Who am I really?" When the question first comes up we feel fear; we've spent all this time playing pretend and now, what? We're not who we think we are?

I learned at an early age to adapt to absolutely everything. The real me didn't come to a head until my 20th year (yep, this very year). I learned to try and think and fend for myself (which is also, so much harder than the other adults make it look) and make my own decisions. A lot of times, just like with cooking, I just made a mess and things blew up in my face. But every now and then, a new piece of who I am would be revealed and make me want to keep trying, and keep going.

As for my hair, I learned very quickly what it likes (Shea butter, 100% olive and sweet almond oil, and a little orange oil) and what it doesn't (shampoos and gels). I may try new techniques on it, or things I've heard, but I never stray far from what makes my hair feel like a cloud and smell like sunshine as that's what my hair is.

In life, I think, we're all so determined to be liked for who we are, not realizing we have to like ourselves first. We all want people to accept us for who we are, not knowing that their acceptance comes first from our accepting ourselves. Be proud enough of who you are to be you, and do you, all the time, not just when you think it won't matter, because actually, it always does, and you (the real you) always does too.

Spreading love
Dropping knowledge
Accepting you for you <3

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Musing (4)

Beauty is defined as something that gives pleasures to the senses or is an exemplary example of it’s kind. I’ve been thinking a lot about beauty since that stranger told me I was beautiful; I wonder what it is that makes some people’s beauty so easy to distinguish and other’s so easy to extinguish.

 I was never the beautiful girl. High school was just me giving into feeling below average in baggy jeans and over-sized hoodies. I had braces, bad acne and even worse acne scars which I still have to this day, they just get fainter and fainter as time goes on. I wasn’t, however, a quiet girl. Very opinionated, and very head-strong, I would never back down from a debate, and would frequently tell people to move when they saw me coming. I was a plain-looking firecracker.

Now that the high school stage is over for the most part, I feel myself growing into this new person. I always felt I had to speak up to be seen and be cheeky to be noticed. However, now I find that my words and voice can be soft as long as what I say has meaning and has merit to me. There are days I don’t speak at all as sometimes there’s nothing to say or no need to say it. This person I’m becoming isn’t necessarily more muted, but rather cultivated by time and knowledge, joys and pains, to be a perfect amalgamation of what and who I was.

My friends always describe me as a pretty girl with an ugly girl complex. What they mean is that I look pretty, sometimes even gorgeous, but in my mind I’m seeing something different. I see fat, I see scars, I see stretch marks, and any compliment I get I deflect on the basis that “They’re just being polite.” Over time, and a lot of pep-talks, I’ve learned to look at myself as what I am, not what I was or want to be. What I am, actually, is quite beautiful, in a Russian doll sort of way. What I mean is, the bigger part of me is ornate and vivid, but the deeper you get, the smaller the pieces of me are, and the more intimate and personal, and ultimately stunning, they become until you’re left with my soul, which is the most beautiful of all.

How do you describe beauty? Is it something you can see or touch, or is it just a feeling that makes you think “wow, that’s beautiful?” Why do you think it takes so long to acknowledge what’s good in ourselves, especially when it seems so easy for most of us to acknowledge it in others?

Spreading love
Dropping Knowledge
Finding the beauty <3

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Where's the Chase?

As I've been saying all week, I've been listening to a lot of Drake. I'm talking a lot of Drake. I ran across this from his Room For Improvement mixtape and have been waxing philosophic on it.*

The song though made me wonder if it was true; is the thrill of the chill gone? Admittedly, the last time I hung out with a dude uno-a-uno (nearly a year ago) we played video games and watched horror movies fully clothed and no funny stuff until I got tired and went home. He and I are still good friends, but sometimes I do wonder what it would've been to date him. He's all sorts of awesome (and his new girlfriend can attest to that), but I wonder if other dudes are like him. Do they just hang out with girls with low expectations?

Personally, I find that when I have time to open up to a dude, I fall for him. If I'm being rushed, hurried or otherwise fussed along, I never wind up feeling it and end up pulling a Houdini. But those patient men? The ones who listen and take their time to know me? Chile...I think of them more when they let me be me, even when that means being quiet and watching them play games, write, or whatever it is they do. On occasion I'll speak up, we'll converse, and lapse back into that comfortable, chill quiet. Any dude who doesn't feel awkward with that, is a dude after my own heart.

What was I saying? Right. The thrill of the chill. Where is it? Lately it's all "what's your email? I'll Tweet you," "what's your Facebook? I'll add you," and less and less, "what's your number so I can call you later." Plus, when did men become texters? Really though? You'd rather type to me than speak to me? I understand in some situations a person can't text but c'mon son...if it ain't work, church, or a dinner with your Nana, texting is not what's hood in the streets.

When did it happen that a girl who goes slowly is the minority? Girls who wait to feel something get the shorter end of the stick in the short term (so I hear) but reap spoils in the long term. That's all fine and good for the future me. The me now? So not satisfied with that. So what's a girl learning to live to do?

After another euphoric epiphany (doesn't that sound like it should be a perfume or a store?) I decided to just live. Just do. Make mistakes. Go out. Try life. I've been exisisting for a long time and now that I'm learning there's so much more to life than reading, writing and school that made me sound like such a nerd, right? I want to try it all. Does that mean I'll be dancing on bars soon? Not alone Not really; it just means it's time to find the thrill for myself and let the chill come later, with the right person of course.

*Sidenote: Everybody's saying he's "changed," to which I think, "Not really;" he talked about what he was going through back then...and he's talking about what he's going through now. Two different states of life. Although, admittedly I dig everything from Room to So Far Gone but not so much Thank Me. #kanyeshrug

Spreading love
Dropping knowledge
Living life <3

Monday, May 9, 2011


This morning I woke up and perused my closet. I usually don't even step into my closet, as I have most of my clothes in bins and a cabinet near my bed which is why my mother thinks I live like a vagabond/homeless person. I found this really awesome, kind of low-cut yellow shirt. Color looks good on me, so I tried it on and found it fit perfectly. I put on some shorts that were not too short, and some flats. Pulled my hair back with a hair band and put on some large hoops. I looked good. I felt better.

So I'm walking around campus after my final final, iPod thumping something heavy when I hear some dude calling. I pull out my buds and look up to him smiling at me. He tells me he had to stop me and tell me I looked beautiful. After a shocked thank you, he smiled and went on about his day and I went on about mine, feeling a little more uplifted.

After class I went to scavenge for jobs at the local outlet mall. I ran into an old friend from high school, Roxie. Now Roxie is the Myspace model type and she knows this. Upon seeing me, her face went from assessing to acknowledgement. She came over to me and said hello. She thought I looked different or was different; she also thought I was looking quite skanky.

I wonder if it's pettiness that drives women to find things wrong with each other. Was she the only woman all day to give me that look? Of course not; I'm a big up top type girl and the shirt is a tad risque but in a classy way. Those other women, upon seeing me see them, would smile or nod except this one rude lady at the bookstore who looked at me as if I gave her visual herpes. I know they're doing what I sometimes do; they're wondering about my character, about my lifestyle, about my respect for myself. They always say don't judge books by their covers, but now-a-days, who really reads books? We're so used to getting our synopses quickly, instantly even, that we don't take the time out to even read a page of the actual book.

Men are so much easier to decipher in this situation: they're usually genuine. And when they're not, they just want to sleep with you. Either way, a woman can derive a compliment from that. I wonder if that guy had it in his mind to make my day, or if he thought I got that same phrase all the time. I wish I could've told him how much it means to me to be called beautiful; I don't get it often and I feel it even less. I hope that more men take a page from him; he spoke his piece and let me marinate on it, and now, I know definitely the next time I see him, I'll be the one approaching.

Was I beautiful to him because I was "skankily clad" or was it my content spirit shining through me that made me so? And was Roxie right? Was I technically skanky by what I was wearing, with or without prior knowledge of who I am? Do you think superficially beautiful women try to intentionally tear at the internally beautiful ones? Am I the only one who takes joy in proving people who thought they knew you, really don't?

Spreading love
Dropping knowledge
Sharing beauty <3

Sunday, May 8, 2011


I love to eat. Seriously, everybody does, but I don't think many people savor their food like I do. I like the textures, the tastes, the weight, all of that goes through my mind with every bite that's not weird, right? However, I'm often times too impatient to cook. So I end up microwaving some noodles, ordering out, or eating something quick for dinner like a fruit salad that takes maybe 2 minutes to make. I think that's the problem with a lot of people my age when it comes to life and love.

We're a microwave generation. We're used to instant meals to make us feel full when all we really crave is a home-cooked meal, something made with time and love. We don't cook because we weren't taught to. A lot of us (especially only-kids and oldest kids of teen parents) learned very quickly to do for ourselves (and our siblings) the safest best way we knew how. Nobody ever came in later to say "Hey, you want to learn how to make XYZ? Here's how." If we wanted to eat it, we had to learn to make it for ourselves. I think that translates into our society now as we want to do great things, but we want them to be in an instant, or at most three and a half minutes, not realizing, or realizing all too well but not giving three damns, that anything worth having is worth working for and waiting on.

Those of us who do cook learned from observation, trial-and-error, or we followed direct instructions. Over time, it became second nature, but to those around us, we make it look easy. From a woman who's always cooking up something, whether thoughts, college papers or whatever, listen closely: It. Ain't. Easy. It takes forethought, it takes planning, it takes following instructions, and most of all, it takes knowing who you (or the people you're cooking for) are and what you (or they) are about. I get it wrong a lot more than I get it right, but when I do get it right, I feel like it's the best thing I've ever made and I log it away for another time. Take that. Apply it to life. Works the same.

On occasion I'll throw down Southern Slam style in a kitchen. But then afterwards I look at the mess and think about everything else I have to do and I feel like "Yeah, this'll last me for awhile," and we all know left overs, even of a good meal, are still left overs. Sometimes I set out the ingredients but think about all the instructions and all the time it'll take and just put them back for another day. Sometimes I'll just keep going back to the fridge hoping a real meal will be there every time I look. As my mother always says "A fool is one who keeps doing the same thing but expecting different results."

Sometimes I forget that you have to enjoy cooking as much as you enjoy eating. Sometimes you have to enjoy the journey of life as much you enjoy living it. I also forget that things take time. If I want it, I should work towards it, and not get discouraged with the detours as they'll make me a better version of myself. A tastier dish ;).

Spreading the love
Dropping the knowledge
And making you hawngry :P

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Musings (3)

I've been watching a lot of Drake today. I find that he speaks to a deeper part of who I am and want to be with what he says. Albeit, not when he's with his Young Money "contemporaries," but rather when he's in interviews or in his pre-signed days when he was just Aubrey Drake or Wheel-Chair Jimmy. I listened closely to what he said about women and what he thought of them and a lot of it tied into respect for a woman as a being that turns into an admiration that then (possibly) turns into more. It got me thinking of myself as Mrs. Aubrey Drake Graham.

I often talk about love and respect as if the two are mutually inclusive, not realizing that on occasion they can be separated. Where there is a thin line between peace and war, love and hate, respect ties heavily into a person's nourishment or a person's detriment; respect is the thing that tilts the scale and maybe that's why it's always an egg timer in the back of my mind. I'd prefer that love and respect weren't so easily separated for some people, because if respect is as easy to come by as it is for me, then love wouldn't be such a weighty, emotional topic.

More often than not, I'm not the "pretty" girl. I'm the intelligent one. The quiet one. The sweet one. The respectable one. That last one though, is a bitter-sweet tonic to drink. I can often be heard saying "Yes, you respect me, but would you date me?" or, "That's exactly what every little girl dreams of at night; growing up to be respected." It's like that phrase your mother or grandmother uses; "He's such a nice young man! Such a respectable boy!" Makes you cringe a little inside just reading it, doesn't it?

Respect has recently become a sour word on my tongue. After years and years of being upheld to this standard of respect that not a lot of other girls reach, I'm noticing it's a lonely pedestal to be on. On the one hand, so many people admire that girl for what she does (or does not) say or do; they admire the strength with which she holds her convictions and morals in this Sodom and Gomorrah world we live in where everything you think of yourself can be turned to a pillar of salt with a glance. Then on the other...nobody's dating this girl. Nobody's really close friends with this girl. Nobody knows this girl. But they respect the sh*t out of her though.

I would guess I'm feeling bitter; a long line of potential suitors have thrown the word "respect" around as an adjective to their rejection of me. Female friends have left me by the wayside when they find I don't do this or that to fit in with what they or their suitors want me to do. Respect, to me, has become a dirty word, a word used before the sting of either rejection, taunting, or some other hurt that leaves me wondering if it's worth it at all.

I'm reminded of a quote I heard while watching The Tudors awhile ago (If you haven't watched it, you should. It turns history into something sexy and interesting, albeit, not actually factual) where King Henry said it was better for him, in his position to be feared and not loved, as fear served his purpose more. I wonder if it's better to be respected and not loved, or visa versa. Can respect turn into love? Logically speaking, can a man love you, but not respect you?

Spreading love
Dropping knowledge thoughts

Thursday, May 5, 2011


Letting things go is never easy, especially if it's something you really wanted. Even when you let go of the thing, there's always residuals, and the residuals are always harder to get rid of.

When I was falling in love with George, the Captain (who you'll recognize if you've been reading me long) got in the way. He was supposed to be a mild distraction while I got myself in order enough to handle possibly talking to and getting to know George. George was the "prize", Captain was a pre-test. The Captain then blitzed me and took my attention away from the prize. He then proceeded to rip my heart from my chest and make it into a smoothie.

I spent almost a year being mad. Mad at him, mad at me, mad at W for not warning me hard enough against it. Anger was the residual, the thing left behind by the loss of something. Once I was done with the anger, regret took it's place, and now, slowly, acceptance. I accept that I did a stupid thing by trying to play a game with life. I accept that I got hurt. Acceptance is a good residual.

My anger, which took so much time to get rid of, was like a tough stain on a white pair of pants. I think it was so hard to get rid of because it was always so misplaced. One minute I was mad at Captain for being a douche. One minute I was mad at me for being so naive. Once I finally figured out that my anger was a choice I was making (and one I could unmake), I asked myself if it was worth it to be angry all the time, was it worth it to keep a pair of stained, white pants? I did what most people do in that situation; cleaned closet and threw out those pants.

The residuals of being in love though, are so much tougher than anger. The love residuals...damn if they don't stick with you. I'm not talking the kiddy, "I think I may...I think I might" love, I'm talking the thing that make you notice life. The thing that takes you over and makes you want to be better than you are for yourself, but also, for this other person. Why is it so hard to let the love residuals go? Even though nothing is becoming of them, even though they aren't necessarily being used...what's the point of keeping them?

Sharing the love
Dropping the knowledge

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Some Things Just Pass You By

My best friend George has known me a year (and some change). In my mind I'm thinking, "It hasn't been that long," and in his mind he's thinking "Wow, you really don't remember?" So, a year ago today I officially met George. That means a year (and some change) and two weeks ago was the day I first saw him and consequently became a blubbering, bashful idiot.

I had just met W a few classes before and as she and I were walking out this really tall, lanky kind of dude goes by totally unassuming. Except he was smiling and wow-y wowzers. I was struck. Didn't know his name. Didn't know anything about him. I did however know his friend and was going to use him to get an in. Got totally side-tracked. By the time I came around to feeling comfortable enough in his presence to speak, he basically told me he and I weren't going down that way. I was so relieved; I wasn't ready. Here's this guy that's literally everything I never knew I wanted sitting across from me being all understanding and sh*t. And here I was, this short, insecure girl faced with either putting up or shutting up. I shut up. And I regret it almost every time I talk to him.

After being shipped going back to Texas, he actually got with W. It broke my heart. I didn't tell her that though; I wanted her to find happiness as she hadn't had a lucky streak with guys back then and George was a great guy. So their relationship is going and one day, he calls me. Consequently, they broke up (to this day I'm not sure if that was my fault or not, as I wasn't doing anything technically off-hand) and I've maintained great friendships with the both of them. Hell, W is still trying to convince me to go for it, which makes me feel kind of skanky.

There are times though when I'm talking to him and he puts his mannish voice on and that bashful, insecure girl comes out of nowhere and blind-sides me with this feeling of  "How could you not be in love with him?" or my other favorite "You were so dumb to let him pass by."

I'm learning though, that to love someone you don't have to necessarily be in love with them even if they are amazing and have you writing the best love poems you've written in your life; to love them is to care about them to the same caliber you'd care for yourself. That doesn't mean anything fancy like, just means you're always there for them. I'm also learning, sometimes, things you were looking for pass you by, and you have to learn to deal somehow. I haven't learned yet how to deal, but I'm always open for suggestions.

Sharing the love and dropping the knowledge. <3

Musing (2)

So...there's this guy. I've known him a few years. We're off and on type friends; family friends too. We run in entirely different circles. If you saw us standing next to each other you'd think we didn't even know each other, much less for long. He looks good though. He's got a little cockiness about him that I dig, and even though I rarely ask his advice, when I do, he gives it to me straight with no niceties. Sometimes, he even cusses me out when he thinks I'm not living up to my potential.

He's a guilty pleasure; an idea that I toy around with on warm summer nights while mulling over calling him or not. And on days like today when my hormones are all out of balance I have to remind myself that there's a distinct difference between a need and a want. Don't let the angelic face fool you, cause I surely do want.

Cravings are usually for things that aren't typically healthy. You know, sugar, super salty, fried things. Think fried chicken with macaroni and cheese followed by fried Snickers bars in a candy coated cake. Cravings are for things you typically don't have but have been known to partake of. My question is...how do you curb them?

I know. Yesterday I was all "power to the virgins!" and now I'm all hot under the collar. Don't misunderstand, I'm not saying it's a sucky gig; it's a lot less things for me to worry about as a virgin than a non-virgin. What I am saying is it gets confusing and tough when I feel this way. Confusing because I don't understand how my body's telling me to go out and try something I've never tried and just hope for the best and tough because this is not the first, nor the last time I'm going to feel this way and knowing that makes me just want to lie prostrate on a cool floor for a long time. What's a girl to do on such days (or nights) when all this crazy hormone-induced salaciousness takes over? How do you deny it?

 Lord, be a chastity belt. <3

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

The Plight of the Advanced Virgin

I'm feeling some kinda way today...I would attribute it to this being that after I heard it all I can think about is...going to get some body work done. :) In any case, the plight is real ya'll, real and annoying. As time goes on, I learn to just sigh and shake my head at all the assumptions but, for the sake of blogging, let me explain some things about me.

I'm a sensual person, however, sensual doesn't equal sexual per se. The thing is, the people who know me especially the men, can't tell the difference immediately. They hear my music (my iPod is nearly 75% baby-makers), they read my poetry, they hear me speak, and immediately their mind goes "Whoa!" and for the men "I'd hit." They would if they could, but most of them can't. Because I'm too particular, too picky and too saddity (apparently) to even give some dudes a shot, much less the money shot.

I'm open. I'm one of those people if you ask me a question (and I realize that my honesty won't hurt your feelings) I'll answer it immediately with little to no thought. That being said, as the only virgin in my group of immediate friends, the sex questions just keep on coming. I find myself often times giving advice about sex with the disclaimer that no, I don't know what I'm talking about, however if I were in that situation I would... But then comes the other questions: How would I know what I like? How would I know how it feels? How would I know what I'm into? Simply because I know who I am, and I know what I like outside of sex; the same things would have to logically apply.

In my younger days, I was literally trying to give it away. I thought that my body was the best way to receive love from people boys my age. Over time and many failed attempts with very respectable boys who turned me down, I came to realize that what I had to give was more than my body. That was maybe when I was 17. Three years later, I still get the bugged eyes and the incredulous "You?!' Flattering though it is that they think, whether by how I look or sound, that there's no way I could be intact, it gets old, as their disbelief almost never wears off (at least not until they get to know more about me).

My thing is though...it's not as much as a burden as everyone assumes it is. It does get frustrating, being a sensual being and not having someone to do those kinds of things with, but not to the point where I'm ripping my clothes off in the middle of the street (I really don't think it'll ever get that bad). I guess what I'm saying is, as a spokesperson for the advanced virgins...it's really not that serious, and we are not the only one you know. Us openly out virgins are the brave ones, as there are a lot of girls (and guys) who haven't but watch a lot of pr0n and can fake the funk. Us "out" ones? We don't fake it.

It's not because we're ugly, it's not because we're prudes, it's not because we're religious fanatics (most of us), we just haven't found the right person and it's not our time yet. You can respect that right? I mean, if you could go back, wouldn't you wait for the right person?

Sharing the love and dropping the knowledge. <3

Monday, May 2, 2011

People Need to be Seen

I often think that people know who I am. They know what I think, they know my values, but I often wonder if they really know me at all. Do any of us really know the people we're closest to? Do we see them as they are, or how we need them to be?

I am a champion for my friends. I am their collective moral conscious. I am their sounding board. I am whatever they need me to be for them, and I suppose for the most part, it's a pretty easy gig. However, I know so much about them, their little intricate idiosyncrasies and who they are when the rest of the world isn't looking, but rarely do I think they see me.

There are nights, bad nights I call them, where I just cry and cry until I sleep, but so few of them know about that. There are days when my mind is a million miles away, trying like hell to keep up this veneer of strength while giving them what it is they need from me at that moment. And then they smile, thank me and walk away, and I always wonder, "Do they see it? Do they see me?"

The bad nights started happening after my parents' divorce. Usually it would be the middle of the night, and I would sneak out and sit on the staircase of our old apartment and, once I was able to collect myself, go back in, prepare for school, and go to bed. I buried it under the need of others, that great sadness, until it would just erupt and I'd have to deal. That's been eight years, and I've been doing it ever since.

Usually, admittedly, it's something trivial, like a minor heartbreak or feeling inadequate that brings it on. This time though, I had completed the previous blog and the usual problems had dissipated; I'm so comfortable with how I look right now, and I have no real love interests to be worried about. It was creeping into my heart though, during conversations with my friends, and normal interactions with other people until finally, I just waited until the night and let it all out. "They don't even see you," it kept saying. "They don't see you at all."

I don't think too many people know about my bad nights (well, they didn't before now) and if they do, they simply ignore it or try to cheer me up not realizing how deep rooted the feelings are. Not realizing that I have to shake them on my own or else they'll just keep pulling me under. Should more people know? I'm pretty sure they should, but the fact is, I feel weak when I have to explain these depressive moods to people so I simply don't.

I guess my message today is this: show someone kindness. Show them that you see them, even if they don't think you do. I know life moves fast, and you've got so much on your own mind, but there's a person out there just screaming in their heart for someone to notice them, to ask them how they're doing with a genuine smile. You could be the difference between a good night, and a bad night.

Be the difference, ya'll. <3