I Know How I’m Going to Be Murdered

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So, I live in the hood. I don’t care too much for the terminology but I suppose if I had to describe the environment I live in that would be it, so it is what it is. I like where I live very much….it’s off the bus route, there are 3 grocery stores within walking distance and about 8 liquor stores in walking distance. However awesome that sounds, I know I’m going to be murdered here and how and why.

My biggest pet peeve of all is the random black woman attitude. Yes, I myself can be bitchy or rigid if you cross me but for the most part that’s not my normal disposition. Just yesterday I proclaimed that I needed to work on my temper and I feel I’m doing very well because I managed to not punch this woman in the face, thus avoiding an assault and battery charge.

So, I clamber on the bus all disheveled and disoriented as usual because morning. As soon as I pay my fare the bus starts moving– because God forbid the bus driver lose three seconds of travel time waiting for me to sit down–and I swing into a seat next to a sleeping woman. I think I said excuse me but in retrospect I don’t know and don’t really care all that much. Why? Because this particular bus is crowded every single day, especially in the morning so I have no patience for the self-centered assholes who store their bags in the seat beside them OR, in her case, store their bag in between  her and the wall which meant she was sitting well into the middle of a two-seater! Anyway, I swing my ass into the edge of the seat as far as it will go and grumpy bear wakes up complaining in the deepest voice I’ve heard on any woman, “Damn, can I scoot over first?!”  
Me: You sure can.
Her: You didn’t even say excuse me! You just–
Me: OR maybe I did, you just can’t hear me with your headphones on. It’s early in the morning ain’t nobody messin with you! Shit!
Her: *pulls out gun and shoots me in the face*

Ok, the last part obviously didn’t happen, but it will if I don’t learn to curb my smart ass mouth. I thought about just switching seats, but I’m a grown woman—that’s where I wanted to sit so I should be able to sit there. So I sat there, all the while entertaining violent thoughts of just smooshing her stupid head against the window and eating her snacks she had lying on top of her bag. (I don’t know why I would eat her snacks—perhaps that kind of violence makes you hungry, I would imagine…) It’s December 31, I still have some time to turn over a new leaf, and I can only pray I don’t get murdered for being a jerk in the meantime 🙂

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2014 New Year Resolutions

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Resolutions? Hmm, not sure if we have time for them all. When you’re a mess there’s kind of a lot to cover.

  • I want to lose weight go to the gym regularly. I don’t want to be thin, I just want to be hot. If I could flatten my stomach and tone my arms I would be the happiest girl, but the ex-husband dabbled in personal training enough for me to know that weight loss doesn’t exactly work like that. Anyway, to the gym I go—hopefully.

 

  • I want to be better with money because I am absolutely over being poor. I want to be able to pay all of my bills and have the option of eating as well. For the most part my clinical depression manifests itself in my diet and social interactions—but SOME of my fiscal irresponsibility can be accredited to one of my many methods of self-medicating. I don’t know, sometimes it just feels good to BUY! That is, until I  check my account balance and I panic thinking I’m the victim of identity fraud. Nope! That was just me making stupid decisions again. I am actually awesome at creating budgets…I’m just not that good at sticking to them :-/

 

  • I also need to stop giving hot guys a pass. When I feel I have a connection with someone from the opposite sex it’s hard for me to DISconnect, because actually having a bond beyond the physical is so rare nowadays. But I have to be honest with myself and admit that when I feel I’ve connected with someone that gets my nether regions all juicy my bullshit tolerance level goes through the roof! This year, I want to be better at putting my foot down and not accepting half ass texts and dick pics as proper dating courtship.

 

  • I need to write more. I spend a saddening amount of time literally staring into space and doing nothing. Which leads me to the next one:

 

  • I need to try to be more present and focused. Sometimes while driving if I really like a song, I will close my eyes to feel the lyrics. As it turns out, that is not the safest way to go about things while operating a vehicle. I have to stop zoning out and I need to do so by doing things like: engaging, listening to people who are talking to me, and keeping my eyes open while driving, etc. I have to stop disappearing into my own world—even if it’s way more fun there!

 

  • I also need to stop fantasizing about sex so much. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, lately. Maybe because I’ve sort of taken a stand against casual sex (I think, I don’t know) I keep thinking about it, which isn’t helpful. I’m considering qualifying touching myself as casual sex since it’s not like I’m following up and trying to nurture a relationship with myself either. I guess I’m just a hit it and quit it type of girl.
  • I need to be more decisive.
  • I need to take better care of my fingernails.
  • I need to shave my body hair more often in between sexual partners.
  • I need to stop using my unclean room as a shield to prevent me from having casual sex.
  • I need to stop being so personal and gross on this blog.
  • I need to work on my temper; and it’s fine to be open an honest but I need to stop being so abrasive.

I Hate People/ Why I Stopped Following Rihanna on Instagram

The truth of the matter is that I hate people. I probably shouldn’t say that—and there really is no way to say that without sounding like a douchebag but I really and truly do. The world is in competition with you whether you like it, or even notice it or not. Driving on the highway every morning is not me commuting to get to work—it is a race with everyone on the freaking Interstate—and it doesn’t seem to matter that we are all going to separate locations.

Perhaps the thing I hate most about people is that I am just like them. I am a people, too. I take the same amount of selfies, I care too much about what others think, I suck up to the boss, I laugh at things that more mean than they are funny, I am judgy, I lie, cheat and steal. Barf—I’m just really not feeling myself these days…or ANYONE for that matter (except maybe the boyfriend because he provides me with sexy time).

Love Yourself

Anyway, the absolute worst enemy to the  low self-esteem, self-hate, phoniness  movement that exists in the millennial world today is: social media. People want you to admire, to be envious, to hate, love, CARE—all of that—and usually I am ok but I can’t help but to find myself caught in a downward spiral of depression about it sometimes. Her abs, his shoes, their relationship, their car, house, dog, cat, hair, job STOP!!!!!! As an empath I find myself desperately wanting to be happy for others and their lives and accomplishments but deep down I’m just like, “Shut. the fuck up.” Do we really have to brag about EVERYTHING? It’s to the point where so many people are always boasting about SOMEthing it makes me only want to share my small wins and moments of happiness with a small and very select group of friends. Happiness is not happiness anymore—it is a competition. Keeping your strategies to yourself is  by far, the best way to “win”.

I’m sick of writing this, though so…to make up for this ramble; here’s a post from a couple of years ago about some other shit I don’t like…

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Look at her– absolutely gorgeous, right? She wears awesome clothes, has a great body and seems super self-assured: FOLLOW.

I made the decision to follow Rihanna on Instagram because of the reasons listed above. I know she’s a celebrity but something about her seems a little trashy and believable so in my book, kinda cool. However, day after day of scrolling down my timeline and seeing various super fun pics with hashtags like “look at you, now look at us” and “my, insert whatever it is here, is better than yours” just left me with a bad taste in my mouth. I hate that we are at the point in this world where we can’t even pretend to have humility! If I had a body like hers I would post a half naked pic of myself on IG every single day– but I would not hashtag it with #sexygirl or #youcanthavethis. With all due respect, shut the fuck up!

It is her instagram and she certainly has the right to put whatever she wants on it, but I don’t understand why looking at YOUR page has to be a humiliating experience for ME. Yes, you are rich and gorgeous. Oh cool, look at all the free stuff big name fashion designers have given you. What’s that? Oh, a pic of your grandpa AND for whatever reason he’s better than my grandpa. Oook, my grandpa is not alive so you win that contest by default but when did it become a competition? Can’t I just see you enjoying your shit without comparing it to mine…we are completely different people!

And now, of course, I see my friends doing it and I can’t scroll my IG or Facebook page without making the (-_-) face. I am happy that you are happy and have a lot of stuff. I do not want your fiancé, your new shoes. Ok your daughter is prettier than mine, you have longer hair, your cousin is the best cousin– GOOD FOR YOU!!! I think I’m going to start instagramming my past due utility bills: #poorerthanyou #mycreditscorelowerthanyours. Sighhh, yet another thing in society I really don’t get. The minute I do get it, I’m sure a light will go off in my brain (that is no doubt smarter than yours) and I will decide to “follow” Rihanna again.

Until then,  UNFOLLOW!

I’m Giving Up On You

The last heartbeats of this awful year slow; I can’t wait for it to finally die. I can’t allow myself to think of all the things—the people– I have to leave behind in order to gain sanity and start from the beginning again.

I believe in love and resurrection and rebirth of good things out of something that’s turned to spoil. However, this year I had to make the painful decision and realize that some things will never change. Some people will never rise to the occasion, the potential, the expectation—some people will sacrifice you for them every.single.time. You can never force others to do what’s right, you can only close the door and swear to yourself it will never be opened again.

I give up on you 2013. I no longer trust and believe in you. I know that you have no words to defend yourself; and that you choose to watch things unfold and to let the chips fall where they may. I know that you chose to sit idly by while children were tortured, cities were ruined, lives were ended. I know to you it means nothing, and as you come to an end you won’t right any of your wrongs or clarify any of your mistakes. I know that you have nothing to say of the destruction you’ve left in your wake.

I leave you behind 2013, and begin a new year gaining strength by picking up the pieces you left scattered, frozen by your coldness and shattered by your indifference.

Unreliable, incorrigible, inconsistent, malevolent, and worst of all: silent. While waiting for you to say something I gave up on you…

(Video from:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iC8tP9Oo52Y)

Merry Mother Freakin Christmas

Christmas IS all around and I’m really just not that into it. It’s a frightening time of judgmental family members and random ex ppl you used to sleep with texting holiday greetings with an inviting “…” on the end.  Over it 😦

This morning I woke the kids up and did the standard operating procedure. I felt a pang of guilt that the only gifts they had to open were from an aunt that lives thousands of miles away, that came out of a UPS shipping box and should have been wrapped by me but were not. Fortunately, I got over that guilt real fast. As upfront and honest as I am with this blog, I plan to be the same with my kids. Life is nothing but a build up of hoopla and prettily wrapped gifts that you’ll open and realize whoever gifted them never really knew you at all. I don’t want my kids to believe the hype, I want them to be happy in their realities and to somehow capture that innocent and special thing within them that caused them to happily scream “Box!!!” when I brought the plain cardboard package into the room. They had no clue what was in it, and knowing their mom like they do it very well could have been empty, but it was something new and exciting thrown into their lives and they were willing to take it on with optimism and sheer delight. Whatever the word for that is, I want to bottle it up and sell it to the world.

Merry mother freakin Christmas…

Ready for Love/ Love Interruption

While on hiatus from casual sex I kind of accidentally took a break from dating as well. It’s a shame that in today’s society the two are often one and the same; in my world they are not. I have to force myself to date and HAVE to be around the opposite sex because my mojo is the first to go and I slip back into random awkwardness suddenly and memorably. I ran into the “main dude” I ambiguously dated (or whatever you would call it) and found myself nervous while talking to him. Shakiness, sweaty palms—the whole bit. What THE hell?! The same with this pretty young man with gorgeous long hair I met recently at a party—I had trouble being present and I found myself zoning out and/or saying random things.

I am a grown ass woman, like, kill me now! I can’t let this be my life at 29. I have got to grab hold of this and control it—I cannot go around fearing men and my interactions with them. I already have two children, I don’t want to have to invest in cats as well! I go back and forth between sorrow and shame when it comes to the courting process. If a man looks at me a montage of bullshit runs through my mind and immediately do not want to be bothered with the trouble of being approached by someone who is just going to fuck me over in a couple of weeks. I even find myself getting angry sometimes like, “OMG, of all the chicks on this metro train you’re looking at ME? I still have on old make up I haven’t refreshed since 7am this morning!!! Do better for yourself!”

The bottom line is I’m scared shitless waiting for the other shoe to drop. Someone please sweep into my life, wine me, dine me, make me adore you—then shoot me in the face flip me over and stab me in the back. Clearly, I’m ready to fall in love…

Video from: http://www.youtube.com/user/JackWhiteVEVO?feature=watch

I Can’t Stop

I climbed the steep escalator stairs at my metro stop today, instead of lazily leaning against the rail relying on its movement to propel me forward. I desperately wanted to take a break– I felt like I deserved one! But I can’t stop. I can’t break, I can’t stop writing these posts and getting these things off my brain and chest. I can’t stop functioning as a human and allowing my mind to zone out into oblivion.

I stood on the metro tracks today and my thoughts, only very briefly, visited the thought of jumping onto the tracks. I’m no psychiatrist but I’m sure this is regression. I have to wake the fuck up! Fast forwarding into the New Year I know I’m going to lose a lot, friends and habits alike. I’m growing and I’m changing and I realize I have to take more of a solid stand on the things that are most important to me. I can’t stop and I can’t lose focus which is easy to do during this time of year. The last few weeks have been a doozy and I realize that I’m tired of letting the moods and thoughts of others tear me down. And I’m tired of writing about how tired I am of being tired of letting others affect my mood. This shit is boring, I’m bored and complacent and lazy and depressed—something new has to happen. I have to start living life, or I’m just a waste of space.

I was hanging out with my brother and his friends in my pajamas on a Friday night. There was a lull in the conversation and I was asked, “Why are you home? Why aren’t you out on a date or something?” Of course all my blog readers know the answer: dating sucks, men suck so I’m taking a hiatus. Still, that doesn’t quite answer the question as to why I was IN MY PAJAMAS ON A FRIDAY NIGHT! The real answer is: I’m lazy. I’ve been waiting around for dudes to act right, for money to fall into place and for life to get overall awesome. At one point I was trying but I STOPPED, and stopping is a luxury I cannot afford. I’m not allowing myself a hiatus or a break. It is in those moments of pause where I am most susceptible to getting stuck. I can’t stop writing, or thinking, or trying. Like this morning on the escalator, I couldn’t stop moving. I found the energy within myself to propel me forward and once I got my sluggish ass going I couldn’t stop. I need to mimic that in my lifestyle and not allow myself to continue to fall into these emotional ruts.

I cannot fucking stop!

Video from: http://www.youtube.com/user/robTorturewright

Fraud: The Photo Shoot Aftershock

Apparently, my little ass cheeks are causing quite the controversy. I write this post cheekily (pun intended) because I don’t know what the hell else to do. Something I was compelled to do artistically has caused a bit of a stir– which is to be expected, I suppose– and I was not prepared for the backlash. So, I’m a whore now? Ok, cool. Buuuut, someone felt the need to share and point this post out to my Dad. Say it with me guys, Awkwaaaaard!

I don’t share this post to blast the person who did it—but to put myself on blast and display. This 29 year old woman spent the entire night bawling her little eyes out and seriously contemplating taking down the previous post. It’s not that I am ashamed of the picture (the final pic of the photo shoot spread)– it’s the fact that someone felt the need to point it out to my FATHER! My honest thought process is that you would see the same amount of skin on me if I had a wedgie at the beach, but I don’t go with my dad or my family to the beach. We are pretty damned modest around each other and I didn’t want him to see it because he’s my dad and he’s not going to read what I’m saying and try to feel me or connect with my soul, he’s going to say, “Crap, I messed up—my daughter’s a whore!” I think the rule of Dads is that if your daughter’s ass is on the internet you’ve failed as a father. I respect that, rules is rules :-/

I’m kind of laughing about this now because this is how I handle all obstacles in life. Underneath it all I understand the implications of what’s taking place. I have considered taking the picture down, but I can’t let go of what it represents. It will remain, and the art of it and the accompanying post will speak for itself. For those that called me courageous, please take it back. I am a wimp and I care way too much about what others think of me. As a result of the negative feedback, I almost immediately crawled back into that box that I am expected to live in and returned to my “good girl” status. Enduring the consequences of this post is not going to be easy but I will try to fight through it. Sorry to disappoint those who thought they knew me, but just know: even if I’ve gone completely crazy—I’m happy here.

 

Embrace the Crazy, Body and Soul

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After surviving the terror of high school I came haughtily into my twenties arrogant and convinced that I knew who I was and had life all figured out. I wasn’t waiting for happiness to find me, I was walking straight up to it, grabbing it by the balls and taking it home with me to reside. However, my twenties turned out to be one giant snowball of disaster until I was forced to discover that I didn’t know jack shit about life. I wish I had gone on some enlightening trip to Tibet or had an epiphany from God in a vivid dream, but I learned the truth about my life and it’s direction from the most boring and vacuous source of all: heartbreak.

Marrying at the ripe old age of 21 slowly brought out the worst of my depression and shined a spotlight on the fact that I not only had no idea who the hell I was, but I was also waking up to someone who was even less familiar to me. I lost pieces of my soul everyday, but in spite of it all I believed I would emerge from the fire like a phoenix with a singed but glistening wedding band still on my finger. As everyone knows, the marriage fell apart and so did most of my resolve and sanity. I wasn’t just a stranger trapped in my own body, I was a depressed woman discovering the absolute worst about life and my own limitations.

Image In hindsight, I probably just needed some time to recover, but my raw heart needed healing fast and I sought refuge in a man more broken than I was. Because we were so fragile, disillusioned by life and so monumentally fucked up all we managed to do was devastate each other and irrevocably bind our separate dysfunctions together for life. This isn’t Shakespearean times, star-crossed lovers no longer drink of the poison and escape the reality of love that can’t be. Instead, we are forced to be adults and we look that person in the eye everyday if we need to…and we hide our love away. The end of my marriage was a fracture, an aching—something that time and God could eventually heal. The second thing was a shattering of all the bones in my body, a holocaust of everything that I was made of and because of how these events were juxtaposed the damage was enormous and I truly have no idea as to whether I will emerge from this ok. But I’m trying…

I’m not a doctor and I don’t like to self-diagnose but I know how I struggle. I think that more time will reveal my absolute truth as to whether melancholia is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life, or if it’s been triggered by a series of events that I can’t shake. Whatever the case may be, I have made the personal decision to steer clear of mood-altering medications and to make life my drug of choice. To quote my favorite artist, Salvador Dali, “I don’t do drugs, I AM drugs!” Throughout my twenties I feel I’ve been constantly struggling with identity, cocking my head toward whoever was whispering in my ear telling me who I was supposed to be. I no longer want others to define me or my truth—not even my family. These very personal and intimate heartbreaks I’ve experienced have taught me secret things about myself and now no one can say they know me and know what’s best for me.

In my quest for healing, I only know that I want to be free. I want to laugh loudly, dance awkwardly, give freely and love openly. Just as I fear my emotions being muted by anti-depressants, I fear my heart being muted by tainted love. The concept of Embracing the Crazy is simply that; having no fear of love in any of its forms. I know that I’m a little unconventional, maybe self-absorbed, maybe abrasive but I am choosing to love myself at the bottom in a last ditch effort to rise to my full potential. I’m embracing myself as I am and trying to take life as it comes. In spite of pain and hardship I laugh and have learned to just BE and enjoy myself anyway. A few jobs, several quarrels with family and friends, countless eviction notices and many many tears later, I still feel the happiest I’ve been in a very long time.

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Body

ImageI’ve opened up about a lot of really personal things on this blog, so it’s really a shame that this topic makes me most uncomfortable. I don’t have a self-esteem issue per se, but lately I realized that there is something not quite right about how I see myself. When it comes to attraction and the opposite sex I learned early on that looks aren’t even the half of it. A lot of it has more to do with the vibe you give off and a rockin’ ass body doesn’t hurt for some people. Because of my strangeness I’ve never had a problem attracting the opposite sex, but the older I get the more I see the importance of wanting to be able to look in the mirror and seeing myself as appealing and pretty. When men refer to my sexuality or my weirdness I get that, but once I hear the word “beautiful” or “pretty” I tune it out as random flattery. My nose is too big, one of my eyes is smaller than the other and I think my lips are too small. But you know, I’m not that into plastic surgery nor do I have the funds, so I simply work with what God gave me.

It was all fun and games until I started comparing myself to other women. I am normally not the jealous type but lately as I’ve been Imagestruggling with my weight, and dating again, and emerging from my own world and back on social media I’ve been exposed to hot bitches everywhere! I didn’t know that so many of my friends were models, or had such tight abs and fat asses! Here I am dorking it out on my computer, writing these posts and hoping it gets one comment or one “like” from someone who understands or is moved—meanwhile, a hot chick changes her profile pic and instantly gets 100 “likes”—well damn! This made me livid—honestly, fuck these vapid bitches for bringing nothing to the table but hot bodies and the Valencia filter. I am about so much more! Then I have to laugh at myself and get a grip when I’ve realized I’ve posted just as many selfies, I just didn’t get any likes :-/. What is this? This need or want to be desired by others and for others to approve and validate me?

There is nothing wrong with my desire to be attractive, but it’s hard to want other people to perceive you in a way that you don’t even Imagesee yourself. I don’t think I was ever at a point where I truly appreciated my looks or my body (especially since I can’t keep up with it as much as my weight fluctuates). Right now I’m just at the point where it’s no longer that big of a deal to adversely trigger more depression. I know what I want to fix, I just need to fix it and that’s all there is to it. If I died tomorrow I wouldn’t want to die hating myself over something as superficial as body type and looks. I don’t want to have to wait to love myself until I achieve my personal goals—I get enough of that from external sources—I want to love myself NOW. At the end of the day I just want to be pretty, look good in clothes and look good naked and that’s all vanity anyway. My body may change but my smile will always be the same—so I may as well smile and accept how I look through all stages in life.

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Soul

There’s a song on the radio now called “Purple Yellow Red and Blue” by Portugal. The Man, that’s super catchy, and I find myself singing it in my head because I think of it as me, personified. “All I wanna do is live in ecstasy, I know what’s best for me.” Whenever I hear it I turn it up because I do believe I know what’s best for me compared to other people. That is the kind of life I am trying to live. Then one day, I listened more closely to the lyrics and realized that the full lyrics were “All I wanna do is live in ecstasy, I know what’s best for me–I just want to be evil.”  Whoa! Pump the brakes—that is NOT what I want for my life. To desire a free soul treads on dangerous ground because it opens you up to all sorts of potentially dark things—if you seek and wander aimlessly. I don’t want to be a child’s helium balloon that detaches from the small hand and drifts into the sky without clear path or direction. I wish to be more like a kite that gets to experience the freedom of the wind but can be reeled in by a stronger force when necessary.

Though my religious friends probably think I’ve gone completely mad with my language, revealing pics and outrageous stories about casual sex; I have not. I have a relationship with the God I worship and I’m building on it throughout this journey and I feel safe and loved in it. My soul quests for freedom but not to run amok and to seek self-serving opportunities. My ties to God is what allows me to bounce back, what allows me to forgive and what allows me not to feel so alone when I’m lying awake at night tears streaming down my face and contemplating the worst. For me, a free soul is to break away from the mold of “single mother” “Christian” “young black woman” and just be what I am most comfortable being at the end of a long day. I just want to live in ecstasy, I know what’s best for me—I just want my freedom.

I share my story so that maybe even one person can find freedom in it, and know that they aren’t alone in their efforts navigating through life while embracing all the crazy that comes along with it…

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