September 2002 Archives

domino mutha fucka
So in the world of Yahoo Dominoes, jason has already taken his ass whoopin like a man. Anyone else want to step up to the plate?

pranks
Note to self: check food before eating. that mexican hot sauce does not taste good on food from H & H. Also, toilet seats with toothpaste on them are an old trick that you can still fall for if you use other people's toilets in the dark. Some people do not take kindly to you pouring baby oil in their bed. In fact, they might get a little pissed even though they just drowned you with a bucket of water in your sleep the night before. If you smoke a blunt with them they will get over it though.

mother nature
Mother Nature is a cruel mistress. The red river flows and I am not happy about it. Can't I just forego the entire thing since I know I don't want to have kids anyway?

my hair
The ends were totally fried from all the bleach I was using keeping it blonde. My hair is still thick and healthy, but the ends were fried. She had to cut a bit of it off. I didn't get a relaxer because my scalp was still sore from the weave getting taken out. I got it pressed instead. I don't know about me and pressed hair. I sweat in my head a lot, especially during certain activities. This might not work. Hopefully I will be able to get it relaxed by Tuesday or Wednesday because I am not about getting up and curling shit. She didn't cut it into the cut I want because the cut won't work on my hair unless it's relaxed. bla bla bla and more bla. You care, right?

one less bitch i gotta worry about
Yeah, it was cool and everything but you are straight tripping and I don't have time for the Mickey Mouse games. Playtime is over. I was ready, you weren't or aren't or are trying to see how far you can take it but whatever, that shit is not going to work on me so you can have it. It was nice but not so nice I'm going to keep going up and down with you. Not worth my sanity. You enjoy yourself. This train is moving on.

ten will get you in
So Pusha decided to have a smoke party. Ten dollars got you in the door and in on the pot of chronic. Fifteen people showed up in total. When all was said and done we had twenty chronic blunts going at once. I am not exaggerating. Yvette came to the door while we were all sitting there blazing and she said that you could smell it before you even got to the porch. She said smoke was coming out of the windows but I don't believe her.

We smoked and ate tacos cooked by Yvette and watched "The New Guy" and "John Q". It was my first time seeing both movies. The New Guy was pretty funny. I like that DJ Qualls kid from Road Trip. He was just as adorable in this movie.

things that make you think
John Q had high niggas waxing philosophic on whether or not they would take their own life to save the life of a loved one. A question to ponder. Would you be able to do it? Pusha et. al. said while they would not be able to take their own life to save that of a loved one, they would most certainly take a bullet for someone they loved. Interesting.

just me and the homies
As the amount of chronic available to smoke went down the crowd thinned out and pretty soon only Pusha, Slim, Yvette and I were left at the house. The four of us were sitting there smoking our hidden stash when someone banged on the door like the police. We sat there looking at each other for a moment and then the choreography began. Pusha ran to hide the drugs, I lit incense and sprayed and Slim opened the door a crack to see who was there. When we realized it was only Tiny and Teresa, we got pissed off and started cussing them out.

They wanted to get in on the smoke so we made them pay $20 each instead of the $10 everyone else paid. When they protested, they were told to charge it to the game and shut the fuck up.

The six of us sat there smoking and laughing and talking shit. As Teresa got up to use the bathroom, Pusha smacked her as hard as he could on the ass. She turned around to swing on him and Slim grabbed her arm. He was keeping her from being able to hit Pusha back and Pusha was slap-boxing her in the face. You know me and Yvette couldn't let it go down like that so we jumped up and knocked Pusha onto the sofa.

It was men against the women then.

I sat on Pusha's chest so he couldn't get up. Yvette and Teresa tried beating Slim and Tiny up but Slim had Teresa pinned to the couch. I took my cup of water and poured it on Slim.

"My new Fubu shirt? Oh you know you gettin' fucked up now."

He chased me out the front door. Everyone else followed and a huge water fight/brawl ensued. The six of us were in the middle of the street, pushing each other around and dousing each other with water. I felt sixteen years old all over again. It wasn't even that hot out but we didn't care. The water made it more interesting.

An hour later we returned to the house, soaked to the bone and panting.

"Don't sit your cute asses on my couch soaking wet," Pusha said to us girls. We sat down anyway, not really giving a fuck. He gave us towels to dry off with.

"Monique, you hit hard than a mother fucker. I got a bruise on my arm." Slim lifted up his shirt to show me the mark I'd left on him. I laughed.

"That's what you get, punk mutha fucka. Don't ever try to fuck with us again."

"That's ok. We got the whole weekend of you coming around here. I'll get you back."

"Oh, we're gonna start up pranks again?"

"Nigga we can if you want to."

"Oh, you don't want my pranks."

"We'll see nigga, we'll see."

We went back and forth a few more minutes and then shut up and started smoking when Pusha produced 6 freshly rolled chronic blunts. We sat and smoked and the guys left to go get more drinks and cigars. We girls sat laughing at them and all their false machismo. Everyone was starting to wind down. I kicked my shoes off and stretched out on the futon, watching "The Wash" on DVD. I must have fallen asleep on it because I started having a nightmare that I was drowning. I opened my eyes to find Pusha, Slim and Tiny standing over me grinning. I sat up and realized that I was soaking wet. Those bastards had dumped a bucket of water in my face while I was sleeping. They got their jolly laugh and I got up soaking wet, ready to go home. I told them as I left that they would pay.

Yeah. The pranks have begun.

TGIF
The weekend is finally here. Well, not quite. There are those of us that still have to take our asses in to work today. It's payday for me and I plan to let the money burn a hole in my pocket just a little bit.

I'm getting my hair cut tonight. I'm getting it cut and straightened. Yes, yes, I know. I said I wasn't going back but circumstances have caused me to have to do something different with my hair for a while. It will be all right though. I've worn this cut before and I look damn cute with it.

he's justified
I'm surprised that it has taken me this long to see Justin's performance on the VMAs. I had already heard the song but seeing him perform it turned me into a groupie. Plus he got on the radio and admitted that he is a lick-em-low lover. I'm all for it, how about y'all? When the new album drops I will be buying it. He's too cute.

dominoes
Do you know how to slap bones? Are you on Yahoo? If you answered yes to these two questions you need to holler at me.

This was just a quickie because I have to go to work. We can have a longer session later. I promise.

I actually managed to start adding my old blog/journal/whateverthehell entries here this weekend. I got all of January of this year up. I read each entry as I added it. I am amused by the way my mind works. It was only 8 months ago and it seems so hard to believe that I was having some of those thoughts. I wonder what I will think of those same encapsulated memories a year from now. I was impressed by the amount of pictures I took during that month. I was snapping flicks of everything. I feel like singing that Barbara Streisand song now.

Life has been the same day to day. I'm working on being frivolous and not just blowing money. It's still burning a hole in my pocket but I've managed to hold IG Monique in check for a few weeks now and I'm proud. Another thing I've been working on is taking care of me.

That me time is something else. I've actually learned to tell people no when I feel like it. It's been working out to my benefit. I've also realized how much some people actually get on my nerves and I'm learning to distance myself from them and their draining negativity. I have my own negativity to work on. :o)

And I am attempting to work on it. I try and catch myself when I feel like I'm being a snarky bitch and I ask myself if it's really necessary. If it is I continue with it and if not, I stop. Maybe not the best formula but it's at least making me cognizant of it. That's a real start, believe me. I was at the point of just not giving a fuck.

Tangents. I'm still too baffled to discuss it right now.

and now for my take on the meme that is going around:

Ten movies you'd watch over and over:
1. Friday
2. Half Baked
3. Ever After
4. Imitation of Life
5. Color Purple
6. Freeway
7. Grease
8. Titanic
9. Ferris Bueller
10. Dangerous Liasons

Nine people you enjoy the company of:
1. My Mommy
2. My Granny
3. My Cousins
4. My sister
5. the one i call monkey face
6. the homies at the spot
7. myself
8. the one i call chocolate
9. the one i call uncleboy

Eight things you're wearing:
1. a blue lounge dress
2. some blue underwear
3. my glasses
4. my weave
5. a purple scrunchie
6. the ash on my legs
7. some burgundy polish on my toes
8. ...

Seven things on your mind:
1. sleep
2. going to work tomorrow
3. the tv is too loud
4. how corny it is that i said "the ash on my legs" in number 6 above
5. my nails need to be cut
6. i want this weave out of my hair
7. i'm a princess and not meant for 9 to 5 type work

Six objects you touch every day:
1. the computer
2. my glasses
3. coffee
4. my debit card
5. my toothbrush
6. my bed

Five things you do everyday:
1. worry/think too much
2. drink coffee
3. write
4. laugh
5. listen to music

Four bands (etc.) that you couldn't live without:
1. Prince
2. Michael Jackson (shut up)
3. Anything produced by Dre
4. Marvin Gaye

Three of your favorite songs of the moment:
1. Missy - Work It
2. Carmen Mcrae - How Long Has This Been Going On?
3. Grindin' - Clipse

Two people have influenced your life the most:
1. Mom
2. Auntie Harriett (RIP)

One person who you love more than anyone in the world:
1. Me

"You take my cigarettes nigga?"

"Wha-"

"Don't get to stuttering mutha fucka. Did you take my cigarettes?"

Everyone who had been talking in the room up to that point shut up. Pusha was standing in front of Smoka's chair, his fists balled angrily at his sides.

"I didn't take nothing Pusha."

"You lying to me nigga?"

"N-n-no, I'm not lyin'."

"I think he lyin' Pusha," Tiny said. Pusha shot him a look and he shut up. Slim and I were seated on the love seat, closest to Pusha and Smoka. I could see that Smoka was scared; he was shaking like a leaf. No one in the room was saying a word. Someone had muted the television.

"You take my scale nigga?"

"What scale," Smoka asked dumbly. Pusha slapped him with the open palm of his hand.

"What scale nigga? You gonna try to play me now?"

"I ain't take nothin' Pusha." He sounded as if he was begging.

"There were three stones and a hand scale on this table earlier nigga and now they gone. Don't nobody smoke dope but you. So I'ma ask you again, you take my shit nigga?"

Smoka didn't say a word.

"You been gettin high nigga?" He leaned forward and sniffed at Smoka.

"I been smoking sticks."

"Stand yo bitch ass up nigga." Smoka made an attempt to stand and Pusha grabbed him by the coller, yanking him the rest of the way up. With his foot Pusha kicked the chair away. He and Smoka were standing toe to toe. Smoka was attempting to not look afraid, but he was sweating. Pusha looked him up and down, an expression of contempt on his face. "Empty your pockets you punk mutha fucka."

"What?"

"Nigga I said empty your mutha fuckin' pockets. " He took a step towards Smoka. Smoka took a step back and found himself against the living room wall. Pusha stepped forward and grabbed a hold Smoka's pants. He stuck one hand in each front pocket and snatched as hard as he could. The ripping noise was loud in the silent room and the contents of Smoka's pockets scattered on the floor.

Smoka bent down in an attempt to retrieve the lost items, but Pusha shoved him aside. I leaned forward on the love seat to see what had fallen: a smashed pack of Newports, two $20 stones, a metal hand scale, a sherm stick and three lighters. Pusha picked all the items up and spread them out on the living room table.

"Get your ass over here," he commanded. Smoka walked over to the table, his eyes staring down at the floor in shame. Everyone in the room was looking at him - me, Slim, Tiny, Yvette - and he was aware of it. Pusha held the cigarettes in Smoka's face. "Are these my fuckin' cigarette's nigga?"

"I bought them Pusha, Them ain't yours."

"You bought them? Nigga you was just over here an hour ago begging me to sell you a $2 hit. Where you get money for rocks, sticks and cigarettes?"

"I had some money."

"You had some money? So you was trying to hustle me?" He raised his fist.

"No! No. I wasn't trying to hustle you. When I came the first time I didn't have no money. Then I got some. That's how I got the stuff."

"Where you get money from nigga?"

"I washed some cars down at the car wash for some people."

"Nigga, you were only gone for an hour. I'm 'sposed to believe that shit?"

"Pusha!" Yvette had been leaning over the table looking at the contents of Smoka's pockets. Her hands were wrapped around a blue lighter with yellow and white daisies on it. "This my damn lighter! My initial carved in it!"

She held the evidence out to Pusha to investigate. He took it from her and flipped it in his hand so that he could see the "Y" scrawled on one side of the lighter. He looked at the lighter then looked up at Smoka.

"Nigga, you stole the homegirl lighter?"

"I didn't steal nothing Pusha, I found it."

"Where you find it at?"

"Outside on the brick wall." As he said this, Smoka flashed Yvette a pleading look. Yvette rolled her eyes at him and turned to Pusha.

"Pusha, that's my lighter. I may have left it outside, but he didn't have no business taking it. Fucking crackhead." She flopped onto the sofa. Everyone turned their attention to Pusha. He picked up the two stones, the sherm stick and put them in his pocket. He left the lighters on the table and grabbed the smashed package of cigarettes.

"Come outside Smoka." He marched through the front door with Smoka trailing slowly behind him. The rest of us jumped up to follow and watch the action. Pusha paced around smoka in a circle.

"Nigga, don't you never come to my house stealin' again, you understand me?"

Smoka nodded his head. Pusha shoved the package of cigarettes at him.

"Here." Smoka took the cigarettes and, not having any pockets to place them in, held them in his hand.

"Smoka, you gonna get away easy this time. I'm even going to get you high tonight."

The look of relief on Smoka's face quickly turned to one of surprise. He grinned at Pusha and nodded his head gratefully.

"Wait right there," Pusha said and turned towards the house. He walked three paces then turned suddenly and punched Smoka in the jaw. Smoka crumbled to the ground.

The rest of us let out a collective, "Oh shit!"

As Pusha stormed past us and back into the house Tiny said, "Damn. He just dope fiend a dope fiend."

No one laughed.

i'm feeling better
I'm finally starting to shake whatever bug this is that has kept me down for the past few days. People with communicable bugs and diseases should not come to work. I caught this from someone at work. Next time, keep your tail at home.

and i found the inspiration i was looking for
I dug out some old journals and thumbed through them this week. I was looking for details with which to fill up my story. As I read through notebooks that have held my words since the year 2000, I was amazed at the wealth of notes I've taken on my life.

There were some incidents in my past that I had forgotten about, but reading through the old journals made me remember them vividly. The details I used to describe events made them as fresh in my mind as if they had happened the day before.

I'm enjoying this storytelling adventure. The names, locations and some minor details have been changed to protect the not so innocent but all these adventures come from my life. For the longest time I thought my muse was dead. Then I found her, in my closet in notebooks that have tape around the binding to keep them together.

the story will continue
I appreciate all the positive feedback I've been getting on "Adult Conversation". The next parts of the story are being worked on, so stay tuned. I hadn't initially intended for this to be an ongoing saga, but since it's well-received and I am having a lot of fun doing it (not to mention my writing practice is a breeze these days!) I am going to keep at it. Part 3 will be coming soon. In the meantime you can catch up by reading Parts One and Two or the interlude "Relax" to get a feel for what's going on. I feel like I'm working on a television series or something. The problem I'm having now? Deciding which part of the story to let people read next.

the weekend
This weekend is the Silver Dollar Classic. You know what that means. Negroes! We are going to be out and all up in it. I'll see you guys on Monday.

Relax

edit: i added the name of this young man to prevent confusion. this experience is not with Pusha.

English Boy and I were lovers for the better part of two years. Compliments to each other both in bed and in the scene, we had a bond that was like best friends with benefits. Indeed, we had the best of each other. I knew that in his hometown 400 miles from our college town there was a girlfriend he exchanged letters and long distance phone bills with. I didn't mind it so much. When we were together he made me feel like there was no one else but he and I. He pretended to ignore all of my male "friends". We coexisted in our own relationship dynamic and that was all that mattered.

During winter snows that prevented anyone from moving anywhere and held us all captive in our homes, we would turn the heat in the house up high enough to make it summertime and lounge around in our underwear drinking sweet tea, making love in the soft afternoon light like lovers on a honeymoon. It is on these long, comfortable weekends that I loved him most.

We are lying in bed next to each other, he and I. He’s on his back, completely relaxed with his legs stretched straight out. His hands are folded behind his head and his attention is focused on Sportscenter, which is playing on the television. I lay on my side, facing him. One arm is bent under my head and the other rests along my side. As the replays of the day’s greatest moments in sports are filtered through to us, he provides his own personal commentary while I stare at his long eyelashes.

“You have really long eyelashes for a guy.”

“I know. It’s a curse. They always get in my eye.”

As if to punctuate his point, he rubbing his eye.

“See, you jinxed me.”

I lie there and watch him rub first his left eye and then his right, rubbing them until he feels that the foreign body is out. He turns his head towards me.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“I’m not staring at you. I’m thinking about something.”

“What are you thinking about?”

I shrug my shoulders and scoot closer to him, placing my hand on his stomach. His scent is a mixture of bath soap and fabric softener. I lean forward and sniff at him.

"I like the way you smell."

"I like the way you smell, " he says and pinches me on the thigh.

“I like the way your T-shirt smells. Like fresh laundry.”

“That’s snuggle baby.”

We grin at each other. I begin moving my hand in slow circles, rubbing his chest. He lets out a relaxed sigh.

“That feels good.”

“Mm hmm,” I murmur. My eyes are closed and I’m concentrating on the act of relaxing him.

"Are you trying to start something," he asks casually. I open my eyes.

"Nope. I know you're watching Sportscenter. Plus I want to hear the basketball scores."

After a few moments he reaches for the remote and turns the television off.

“Why did you turn it off?”

“Cause it’s distracting.”

I smile at him then because I think it’s cute. He smiles back at me and kisses me softly on the lips. He pulls me closer to him and I end up with my head resting on his shoulder, my hand continuing to rub his chest and his stomach. His stomach makes a noise - not a growl, but one of those weird noises stomachs make when there is no food in them. I reach my hand under his T-shirt and rub his stomach gently.

“Are you hungry?”

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“Well, I can’t concentrate on anything right now because you’re touching me like that.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” He turns over on his side and faces me when he says this. We lie there looking at each other for a moment. He takes his hand and rests it on my hip. His fingertips drum lightly against my skin.

I’m wearing a tee shirt and a pair of granny panties. His fingers trace their way down to the band of my underwear and he rests them there with a curious look on his face.

“Did you start your period?”

“No, why?”

“Cause you usually only wear these when you are on it.”

“It’s laundry day.” I grin at him when I say this and then lean into him, burying my face in his chest.

His fingertips start a slow crawl down my hip and across my thigh. His free arm comes around to encircle me and he rolls us over so that I am on my back and he is lying on top of me. I open my eyes then and look at him; he’s looking back at me. His hands are underneath me; he has a light grip on my backside.

We lie still like that for a minute. The churn of the refrigerator in the kitchen is the only sound in the apartment aside from our breathing. I feel secure and relaxed in his arms. The weight of him on top of me is a familiar, comfortable feeling. He leans down and touches his lips to mine softly. I don’t move. My hands still rest under his shirt, pressed against his chest. He leans down and kisses me again. This time he lets his lips linger a little longer. He traces his tongue slowly over my lips before sucking my bottom lip into his mouth.

"Monique." He whispers it and my ear is filled with his warm breath, sending chills down my spine.

"What?" I whisper it back in a brief moment between kisses.

"Get naked." He doesn't whisper this time. He says it in a low voice then leans down and bites me on the nipple.

I laugh. "Yes sir," I say, saluting him. We both get up and remove what little clothing we are wearing.

I sit on the edge of the bed watching him fumble around in the nightstand for a condom. His butt is right in front of my face and for a brief moment I consider smacking him on it. My heavy hand against his bare ass would make a loud noise in the quiet room. It might hurt more than I intend it to and ruin the mood. I opt to kiss him on his bottom instead.

I do it using my tongue. My lips make contact first and then before I know it I have a section of his right ass cheek in between my teeth. I flick my tongue across it then pull back. It all happens rather quickly. I hear him gasp in surprise and then -

"Woman!"

"Hm?"

"What are you doing?"

"I licked you on the butt."

"You licked me and you bit me. Cut that out."

"You didn't like it?"

"Yeah I liked it. Maybe too much. Stop that."

I laugh. "If you liked it, why should I stop?"

"I dunno, isn't it kinda weird for you to be doing stuff to my butt?"

"Why?"

He stands there for a moment and then shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know."

"You're being silly. Come here." I pull him towards me on the bed. He lies down beside me again and rub him on his chest. "You trust me right?"

"With my life."

"Okay. Turn over." He looks at me for a moment then does as I ask. I start off slow, kissing and licking and nibbling his back, slowly making my way down.

"That feels good."

"Mm hm." When my tongue reaches his ass he sucks in his breath and squirms a little. I don't stop.

"Relax, " I say, using the same combination of kissing and licking and nibbling until I've thoroughly covered both cheeks. He lies still, his hands under the pillow on which he rests his head, his body totally relaxed.

I seize my opportunity. I play my tongue around the hole and a sound I've never heard him make before leaves his throat.

"Should I stop?"

Hesitation. Then, "No."

I start playing with the hole again, this time with my finger. I try slipping it in, a little bit at a time. I feel him tense up.

"Relax baby, " I coax. I distract him by licking his balls and after a moment my finger is in. I can tell when I've hit the right spot because his dick gets rock hard.

We lie there like that - he on his stomach, his legs spread out and me beside him, biting his ass while my finger presses the money spot. He only allows me to stay there for a moment.

"Okay stop."

I do as he asks. He turns over and reveals to me the biggest hard on I have ever seen on him.

As he slips the condom on he says, "You worked for this girl. Come here."

He doesn't give me a chance to move. He grabs my legs and puts them on his shoulders. When he rams into me the first time I let out an involuntary yelp and he knows he's hit the spot. I can tell he's already worked up and once we get going I know it won't be long before he explodes.

And when his body shudders against mine and he whispers in my ear that I did this, that I made him this weak, I don't say a word.

We lie there in darkness, listening to each other breathe. He gets up to dispose of the condom. I go into the bathroom to wash my hands. When I climb back into the bed, he snuggles up against me and puts his arms around my waist. I can feel him hard against me and I giggle.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

"Okay."

Before long his soft snores let me know he's sleeping. His arm is still wrapped protectively around me and his breath is warm on the back of my neck. Whatever he's dreaming about must be pleasant because I can still feel him hard against me.

I smile in the darkness. Then I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

are you scared?

Lesson 2: Gently place the balls into the mouth and hummmmmmmmmmmm - NWA, "She Swallowed it (Just Don't bite It part 2)"

Did you miss part 1?

Pusha and I sit alone at the spot. I'm writing haiku in a notebook and he's playing GTAIII. We've already burned two blunts and our heads are lifted. Every once in a while I will lift my head up and try to help Pusha get through some obstacle on the game. The phone rings, people knock on the door looking for those who aren't there and life goes on all around us as we sit in our green haze.

There's a cd playing. The variety of music at the spot is not that great. We get our fill of gangsta rap over here. On this day we are listening to an old school joint, NWA's "Niggaz4Life". Pusha and I both know all the lyrics so it's our own private NWA concert in the middle of the living room.

"This is NWA's livest album besides that first joint, " Pusha says.

"Agreed. This one had all the cuts on it," I say as the opening to "Automobile" comes on the stereo. I start snapping my fingers and bobbing my head to the song and Pusha takes this as his cue to sing it karaoke style. He grabs the tray to start the process for rolling another blunt, weaving back and forth to the campy piano tune that is the songs track and sings:

You don't have to front on me dear. So why don't you just give that pussy here? If you be good to me, Oooh I'll be good to you and we'll both ride home in my automobile.

All that I want is a little puss
all that i want is just a little head
if you be good to me
ohhh i'll be good to you
and we'll both ride home in my automobile

Before he even gets to the halfway point I'm already on my back laughing my ass off. He doesn't let this stop him and continues singing it until I swat at him. Laughing, he works on rolling the blunt and lets Eazy finish the song on his own.

"Monique, I dedicate that song to you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't have to front on me." He laughs when he says it and gets up to dump the cigar guts in the trash can.

"I don't think I'm the one that's fronting. "

He pauses. "Whatchu mean?"

"Nothing." "Automobile" has finished and leads right into "She Swallowed It". I bob my head and sing the lyrics along with Ren. Pusha is looking at me hard because the lyrics are worse than the ones in the song he just finished and I know them all. Add to that the fact that I've gotten up out of my seat and I'm doing the money dance while I rap the lyrics and there you go. He stops me mid verse.

"Monique, sit your ass down before you get into some trouble over here."

"Some trouble?"

"Mm hmm." He can't properly respond because he's sealing the blunt. I still haven't learned to roll a blunt and I'm watching him do it.

"Pusha, you got some big ass lips."

"Yep. I can wrap them all the way around your big ass titties."

I roll my eyes. "There you go."

"For real. You got some big ones Monique."

"Uh, they are strapped in a holster that I have to wear wrapped around my shoulders and back. I think I know how big they are."

He laughs. "You should just let me see 'em one time."

"What?"

"Yeah, flash me a little skin. Just flip your shirt up real quick."

"Boy, please."

"Come on. Ain't nobody here but us. I ain't gonna try nothin'."

"The last thing I'm concerned with is you trying something."

"Then show me your titties."

"Show me your dick."

"If I take my dick out, we're fucking. If we ain't fucking, I'm not taking my dick out."

"Oh lord. Nevermind."

"You scared?"

"Of what? You're the one demanding I show you my breasts. What do I get for that?"

"I'll kiss them for you."

"Nigga, please. Ok?"

"Monique."

"What?"

"Just show 'em to me. "

"Nigga, fire up the blunt before it dries out."

He fires the blunt up and we smoke for a moment without talking. He takes the NWA cd off and I ask him to put in a Prince cd I brought. When he sits back down on the couch, he reaches out and smacks me on my thigh.

"Don't try to steal touches boy. That's high school shit."

"Oh girl, I was just hitting you on the leg. There wasn't anything behind it. Now if I had reached out like this - "

He palms my left breast. I gasp.

"Oh my god! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What?"

I swat at him and he laughs.

"On the real though. What size bra do you wear?"

"Okay, are you like obsessed with my breasts?"

"No, I just wanna know. How come you ask a million questions and want answers and then a muthafuckah ask you some shit and you get all tight? What's up with that?"

"Okay you got me there, but I'm still not telling you. Ask something else."

"You suck dick?"

"Damn. Straight to the point right?"

"Do you?"

"I have."

"You have? The fuck that mean?"

"It means that I have. Whether or not I still do depends on the person involved." I wink at him.

"Oh. One of them. But you probably expect every dude to go down on you right?"

"Um no. Actually dudes who are quick to want to go down on me scare me. It means they do it to everyone. Do you go putting your mouth on everything you see?"

"Hell naw."

"Okay then. Neither do I."

"Aight then."

"And you lick ass."

"Uhhh..."

"Well you were the one who brought it up before."

"Have you ever licked a girl's ass before?"

"No."

"Liar."

"I haven't."

"Okay."

There is a thirty second gap in the conversation and we both sit staring in opposite directions.

"I have before."

"I knew you were a freak!" He says it like he's won money for a discovery. "Have you done it to more than one person?"

"I'm not answering deeply personal or probing questions. Just general ones."

"You like doing it?"

"Well, I'm not going to run out and tape commercials singing it's praises but when I witnessed what it could do for my partner I added it to my repertoire."

"Ugh! You stick your tongue in the ass?"

"I'm not telling you what I do."

"That means yes."

"Do you wanna find out?"

'Do I wanna find out what?"

"What I do when I'm feelin' on yo booty."

'Naw cause if you try to stick something in my ass I'm going to have to dope fiend you."

"Why would you do that?"

"I told you. Ain't nobody stickin' nothing in my ass."

"You think if you like having your ass stimulated that makes you gay?"

"Somethin' like that."

"Do you like sex with men?"

"No."

"So I'm not drawing the correlation here. You'll have to break it down."

"You was talking about sticking a dildo in my ass. "

"Well, I was talking about you letting me fuck you. As opposed to you fucking me."

"You can fuck me. Get on top and ride this dick. I like that shit."

"Not quite the same thing. I'm talking about you letting me fuck you in the ass."

"And you are talking some straight up bullshit."

"We can take baby steps. I can use my fingers first. Get you used to the idea. You've had a finger in your ass before right?"

"Right?"

"That was while she was sucking my dick, I told you."

"Yeah, but you said she licked your ass too. She only has one tongue. That means she had to be licking one thing or the other at a time and you specifically said you liked the ass licking. That means she spent some amount of time licking your ass for you to even have enough of an experience to say you like it."

"So?"

"So if you liked having it licked, and you liked having her finger in there while she was sucking your dick, why wouldn't you let me stick a strap on in there?"

“That’s different. A strap on is a fake dick. I don’t want a dick in my ass. I don’t mind a finger or even a tongue. But as far as a dick no. I don’t want a dick in my ass.”

“Because you think it means you’re gay?”

Before he has a chance to answer there is a knock on the door. I get up and open it. Slim and Tiny stand on the other side waiting to be let in.

"What's up Pusha nigga?"

"Nothin niggas, what's crackin?"

I don't attempt to start the conversation with them there. Instead we have general conversations about sports and music and talk shit over rounds of Knockout Kings on PS2. When it's time for me to, I pull Pusha aside and convince him to give me a gram of chronic for free. He packages it up and walks me to the door. He stands outside, watching me get into my car.

"Monique, you a manipulator."

"What do you mean?"

"You just are."

"How am I manipulating you?"

"I just gave you free weed didn't I?"

"Oh dang nigga. You want $20 dollars?"

"No. I don't need it. I'm just saying."

“You’re just saying what?”

“Nothin’.”

He turns to walk back into the house. I close the car door and start the ignition. As he nears the front door he turns and looks at me one last time, shaking his head.

And I drive away, knowing he wasn't talking about the weed.

did you like it?

We are sitting around the glass table at the spot. Pusha is sitting opposite me rolling a blunt. Carefully, he breaks up the cigar and pours the guts into the small plastic trashcan that sits between his legs. Afroman is sitting on my right with his back to the table. The playstation control rests in his palms and his concentration is on the television screen in front of him. I sit with my notebook, attempting to not let the session turn into an opportunity for procrastination. Missy’s “Work It” is blaring on the radio and we all nod our heads to the music. I sing the chorus each time she gets to it, dancing in my seat.

The song comes to an end and Afroman gets up to put on a new cd. In the brief moments of silence before the cd starts, Afroman begins telling Pusha about an episode he had the night before involving some young thing from around the way. I am half listening to the boy talk, half writing haiku in my notebook and only catch bits and pieces of the conversation as it flies by me.

" ... big ass titties man. I mean dayum! I was lovin' that shit."

"Dayum my nigga, like that?"

"Dog. I'm telling you. Then .... lickin’.... suckin’.... the bomb."

"Word nigga?"

"Word. Then she tried some freaky shit."

'What?"

"My nigga. I was laying on the bed and she was sucking my ... and then she ... and I was like bitch get off my ass!"

They have my attention. I put my pen down and turn to face them.

"Wait, what?"

I slip into the conversation as if I had been there all along. Afroman keeps right on flowing.

"That bitch stuck her tongue in my ass."

"Oh."

I had thought it seemed much worse than that.

I suspect there is more to the story and I prod him to continue.

"And?"

"I just told her to stop."

"You were with some girl who was licking your ass and you told her to stop?"

My disbelief shows in my voice.

"Yeah man."

I probe.

"Why?"

"Because it felt weird."

I probe again.

"Weird like you felt uncomfortable or weird like just a weird feeling overall that gave no pleasure."

"Weird like I didn't want no bitch licking my ass."

Pusha looks at me and I look at him and we grin at each other. Pusha turns the volume down on the stereo and the room grows silent.

"Dog, tell the truth, you didn't like that shit?"

Pusha is looking at his homeboy in disbelief. Afroman doesn't answer. Pusha turns to me.

"Monique, you like getting licked on your ass?"

"Nigga do you?"

I say it quickly, deflecting off me to him.

He volleys back to me.

"I'm asking you."

I give in.

"Yeah, I like it."

He laughs knowingly.

“I knew you did. Monique, you ain’t nothing but a big ole freak. I bet you like kinky sex.”

I start laughing. This isn’t the first time Pusha has tried to engage me in a conversation like this. Call it feeling out the territory. He’s propositioned me more than once. We've talked shit with each other before and I know that he is interested in a round or two with me. I know this and I use this knowledge to my advantage because it works for me in certain situations. I know that he thinks sex between the two of us is inevitable. Call it the wearing down factor. He’s under the impression that if he continues talking to me about it and drawing me out I will fall out of my panties.

“Don’t laugh girl. Answer the question.”

"You didn't ask one."

"He said are you a freak."

Afroman has found his tongue. Apparently he was going to try and turn the conversation on me. I recognize this move and I don't let him get away with it. Pusha is way ahead of me and cuts in before I can get my retort out.

"Aww nigga, you scared to admit you like it when a bitch lick your ass."

He says it and stares at Afroman, daring him to open his mouth again. Afroman sits silently for a moment, stewing. Pusha gives me a look that says, he's gonna get mad and leave and I silently nod my head in agreement. Afroman has gotten up from the table and is busy changing disks on the PS2.

I grin and glance over at Pusha. His eyes are focused on the blunt he’s rolling but a huge grin is spread across his face. It becomes apparent that we are both trying to hold in our laughter. I look at Afroman again and I can feel him squirming under the weight of the question in the air.

“What?”

He says it in an exasperated tone, like he wants us to let the subject die. We do for the time being. I turn my attention away from Afroman and towards the blunt that Pusha is rolling. He's putting the finishing touches on it and I'm ready to blaze it. As he digs in his pockets for a lighter, his attention is focused on me again. I get nervous; I can tell from the look on his face that he's up to no good. I do my best to feign a look of innocence as I turn to watch Afroman play NBA Street.

"Monique."

I hear Pusha call my name but I try and pretend that the music is too loud and the PS2 is too loud and I don't hear him. He says it again, this time louder.

"Monique."

A giggle escapes my lips and my cover is blown. I turn my head toward him and give him a look of exasperation.

"What Pusha?"

He doesn't miss a beat.

“Are you a freak?”

“Define freak.”

“You don’t know what a freak is?”

“I know what I consider to be freaky, but that might not match with what you consider to be freaky.”

‘How do you like your sex?”

I start laughing again.

“In a bed mostly,” I say to him matter-of-factly.

“I think you likes to get down.”

I grin, he grins and we are sitting there like co-conspirators, cheesing at each other.

Afroman is playing PS2 and trying to pretend he's not listening.

“Where’s the lighter,” Pusha asks after a moment.

I dig through my purse and produce one, passing it to him to light the blunt. He places the blunt in his mouth, flicks the lighter and holds the flame to the end of the blunt, all without taking his eyes off me. I know this because I am not taking my eyes off him. The stare down has begun.

"So whatchu like?"

He asks it in a voice that is straining from the effort of him trying to hold all the smoke in his lungs and talk to me at the same time. It's that airless rasp that comes with the strain of trying to prevent your lungs from expelling a foreign gas (smoke?) out of them.

"What do I like?"

I ask it even though I know exactly what he means. I'm stalling and he can tell. He starts laughing again and takes another hit of the blunt before passing it to me.

"What's your favorite position?"

I manage to let that one hit me without causing me to choke on the smoke I'm inhaling. I look at him and twist my lips into a grin without opening my mouth. My attention returns to the blunt. I take two more hits then pass the blunt back to him. I take my time blowing out the smoke I'm holding.

"My favorite position? Probably doggy style."

"I knew it."

He nods his head and passes the blunt to Afroman. Afroman takes it without looking at him and continues to play PS2. He wants no part of this conversation.

"You knew what?" I say it and make eye contact with him. He’s looking back at me.

"I knew you liked to get hit from the back." He says it with authority, taking the blunt from Afroman and passing it to me.

"Ok, how would you know something like that?"

"You can just look at you and tell."

I roll my eyes to the top of my head.

"You ever had a nigga tell you he need his tennis shoes on to fuck you from behind?"

"Uh ... no, what the fuck?" I say this as flashbacks of "She's Gotta Have It" play in my head.

"That nigga ain't hittin' it right then."

I laugh.

"What do you mean?"

"When a nigga is hittin' it from behind, do you just sit there and take it or do you throw that ass back at him?"

I laugh hard.

"I help him out a bit."

"Exactly. Nigga, I'ma tell you to scoot to the edge of the bed. I'ma put my tennis shoes on and stand behind you and hit it like that. My shoes are gonna provide traction so when you get ready to throw that ass back, I ain't going nowhere."

I lose it at this point and begin laughing so hard I can hardly catch my breath.

"I ain't lyin. I'm serious than a muthafuckah."

"And for some reason, I believe you."

I turn the stereo back up in an effort to steer the conversation in another direction. He turns it back down and looks at me again.

"You ever been with a girl Monique?"

“What the fuck? Did we suddenly engage ourselves in a game of 20 questions?”

“Just answer the question.”

"Damn, you are getting all extra personal, ain't you?"

He laughs.

"Naw, I'm not. I’m just trying to find out what you like. You can tell that you are into sex. The norm probably doesn't get it for you. I want to know what does."

"Ohhh. Okay." I make the sarcasm apparent when I say it.

"What?"

He gives me a confused look.

"Nothing." I say it and shrug my shoulders, picking my pen up again.

"What?" He uses the same exasperated tone Afroman used earlier.

"How can you tell that I'm into sex?"

"So you are?"

"I'm not saying that. I'm asking what that looks like to you."

"I mean, just from conversations we've had before and just how you act sometimes, I can tell you a freak."

I laugh.

"Okay Pusha."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

"Damn negro, nothing. Just tripping off you and your questions.”

"I'm just asking. Have you been with a girl before? Shit, if you have, ain't nothing wrong with it. "

"Oh, I know nothing is wrong with it. I just wanna know why you want to know."

"Cause, damn we homies. I'm just asking. Besides, I might be trying to hook you up with some freaky shit, you never know."

“So now you think I’m a freak?”

"Shit, it's a good thing. The downest broads I been with have been freaks. They like to have the most fun and they are the ones that don't get hung up. The ones that's not freaky - that's into "makin' love" - they ain't down for a lot of freak shit cause they don't want you to think they a ho."

"I wouldn't call myself a freak. I would just say that I'm a sexual person. I like sex, I enjoy having it and I think it should be uninhibited and an enjoyable experience for both parties."

"Damn. You broke that shit down, all textbook style and shit."

I laugh.

"That's just how it is for me. I mean, what do you consider a freak? What's freaky?"

"You ever been with a girl that was like a dude?"

"You mean one that looks like a dude?"

“No. I mean one that likes to play the part. Strap on and everything.”

“No.”

“But you have been with a girl before?”

“Yeah.”

"So what did y'all do? Just lick on each other?"

"Damn, I'm not gonna tell all of that. Next question."

"Would you ever use a strap on?"

"Yeah."

"You would? I mean would you use it to fuck another girl?"

"Hell yeah I would."

He finds this amusing and starts laughing.

"You would beat it up Monique?" Both he and Afroman laugh at this. Afroman pauses the PS2 so that he can turn and face us. The conversation is getting deeper.

"Why nigga, you want to watch?"

"Hell yeah. I wanna be there and maybe join in on the action." He and Afroman give each other high fives.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Hm."

"What?"

"Would you let me strap on for you?"

"Whatchu mean?"

"I mean could I use it on you?"

"Hell naw!"

"Why not?"

"Look here."

His face has a serious look, no smile, not even a glimmer of a grin. I try to look at him just as seriously as he is looking at me.

"Why not?" I ask it again.

"Cause I'm a real nigga."

"What?"

"I'm a real nigga. I ain't no fag."

"Um ... I'm not a man."

"Yeah, but you want to stick a dick in my ass."

"Ok ..."

"Any man that wants anything stuck up his ass is gay."

"Oh really?"

"Man. I ain't lettin' nobody stick nothin up my ass,” Afroman interjects.

“Have you fucked a girl up her ass before?" I ignore Afroman and continue grilling Pusha.

"Of course."

"Ok and? It's ok for you to fuck a girl up her ass but not okay for a girl to fuck you up your ass? I don't understand. If a girl likes to take it in the butt does that make her a homosexual male?"

"That’s different. I ain't lettin' nobody do nothing with my ass."

"Mm hmm."

"What?"

"Have you ever had a rim job?"

"A wha-"

"Nigga don't try to play it off like you don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. Have you ever had a woman lick your ass, yes or no?"

"Yeah."

“Ugh cuzz, you did that shit?” Afroman is looking at Pusha likes he’s on crack. Pusha and I ignore him again. I continue questioning.

"Did you like it?"

"Man. She was sucking my dick too though. That was different."

"It was different because she sucked your dick?"

"Yeah. She licked my balls and I guess just kept going with her tongue."

"And you liked it, right?"

"Yeah, I liked it. But that don't mean I want nobody fucking me in the ass."

"Mm hmm."

"What?"

"Have you ever had a girl stick her fingers up your butt during a blowjob?"

"What the fuck kind of question is that?"

"Oh. My bad. I thought you were a freak."

"I am."

"And you've never had a girl stick her fingers up your ass during a blow job."

Although it is a question, I say it like a declarative statement, almost as if he is on trial and I am cross-examining.

"Yeah I have."

"That was something being stuck up your ass."

"It was a finger though. Small, a female's finger. That's different than a fake dick."

"I have a little one." I laugh at my own joke, but he doesn't find it funny.

"Why do you think that would make you gay?"

"Man, I just ain't letting nobody stick no dick in my ass. Fake or real."

"You must be scared you are gonna like it."

"You let anybody fuck in the ass?"

"I have before.”

“Did you like it?”

“We aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you and your homophobic view of sex.”

“I’m not homophobic. I don’t care if a nigga is gay, so long as he knows I ain’t.”

“Liking the feeling of having your prostate stimulated does not make you gay Pusha.”

"Well whatever, I'm not sticking nothing in my ass."

"Cause you're a real nigga."

"Exactly."

“Word,” Afroman adds and resumes playing PS2.

Pusha starts to roll another blunt, and begins a conversation about the weed we are smoking. Both men speak animatedly about the quality of the weed but I can tell something deeper is on their mind. They both know I’m not going to let the conversation die. I’ll let it rest for now, but it’s far from over.

to be continued...

I wanted to relay a story and make a point so I started writing it today, exactly as I remembered it. My goal was to get it all down and try to make some sense out of it. 2500 words later I am still not done getting the whole story out. Something about writing what's in your head though. That's the biggest burst of thought I've had in a long time.

It's funny the way the words form themselves in my head now. They are all there, popping up and waiting to be shared. It was relaxing too. I felt like I was doing something with purpose. On occasion I still find myself fighting the internal editor. That is the biggest obstacle I have to overcome, my need to constantly correct and reword as I go along. Does anyone else have trouble with this?

It still felt good to write tonight. I even forgot about my sore throat for a while.

Scene 1
The morning commute. I'm driving and Ms Stella is riding in the passenger seat. I'm trying to make a left hand turn out of a driveway, across four lanes of traffic. There is traffic flying in both directions.

Me: I should just pull out there. If someone hits me I'll just go to the Pay 'n Spray to get the car fixed.

Ms Stella: (silence)

Later on in the same ride we find ourselves facing a Brinks truck in traffic.

Me: Ooh. A money truck. I know how to steal one of those.

Ms Stella: What? How?

Me: You just keep ramming into it with your car and the driver of the truck will get scared and get out running. Then you just get in and take it.

Ms Stella: (rolling eyes) Oh my god.

Me: You can steal fire trucks and ambulances too.

Ms Stella: (silence)

Scene 2
Pusha and I are driving in my car to meet someone who has what we want. We arrive at the designated meeting spot and I notice that I have turned into the wrong driveway. In order to get out I will be required to drive through the drive thru of a fast food restaurant because there is no other way out of where I've turned. A curb and a small bit of gravel island are the only things that separate me from my intended lot.

Me: Pusha.

Pusha: What's up?

Me: Sometimes when you are driving in the car, don't you wish you could do shit you do on GTA to get around obstacles?

Pusha: (laughing)

Me: Seriously. Like right now, if I knew it wouldn't fuck up the car, I would just drive over this island.

Pusha: (cracking up) Hell yeah!

Me: Like when cars are in my way, I feel like driving down the wrong side of the street. Especially when it's clear.

Pusha: Dayum! I was just thinking this shit the other day. I said it to Lil Man. We was riding in the car and I saw the police and I felt like bumping the bumper of their car.

Me: (laughing)

Pusha: Lil Man was lookin' at me like I was on dope.

Me: He doesn't understand.

Pusha: Nope, cause he don't play the game enough. Muhfuckahs who don't play that shit don't understand the mentality.

Me: Word.

a few moments go by

Pusha: It would be cool though if you could do some of that shit.

Me: This is why they don't want to sell those kinds of games to kids.

Last night I dreamed that I was in L.A. I was conscious of it being Sunday. I was also aware that I had to be at work the next day, but it was late at night and I still hadn't left to go back to Vegas. I was still trying to squeeze some time in with D, who was moving into a new apartment. In the dream I guess I just said fuck it, cause the last thing I remember (I should have written this earlier while the details were fresh. procrastination!) is that I was trying to think of a good excuse for not being at work.

Heh.

A while back, I purchased a Franklin Planner to try and help myself stay organized. Of course I procrastinated and didn't begin using it right away because the act of putting the thing together (there are a lot of parts) was something I was not ready to spend hours doing. This week when I decided to actively pursue organization I pulled it out and began using it.

One of the things I noticed right away about this planner is that it has a quote on the top of each daily page. I bought the "Simplicity" set with my planner. Each month has a theme and on the top of each daily page is a quote that deals with that theme. The theme for September is "Seek". The quotes from the past three days have had a special meaning for me.

9/12:

"the best answers are the ones you discover within yourself"
- margaret smoot

9/13:

"everything in life that we really accept undergoes a change."
- katherine mansfield

9/14:

"opportunities are usually disguised as hard work, so most people don't recognize them."
- ann landers

I am actively seeking myself. I have been doing a lot of soul searching the past few days and a lot of what I am seeing in myself are things that I consider ugly and dislike in other people. These are things that I want to change within myself.

All week people have been coming up to me and asking for my opinion or advice on this or that. I realized the other day that I can't help anyone until I help myself first. The spring cleaning starts at home, and by home I mean within me. Everything else is secondary. So I'm still working on it.

I don't expect that I am suddenly going to change overnight into the world's most polite, neat and organized person but the small steps I accomplish which lead to the bigger goals will keep me happy in the meantime.

I've been making lists of all the things I don't want to do anymore. Each day I am trying to take small steps to eliminate bad behaviors. Each day I am growing stronger as a person.

As EJ says, back at it y'all.

Do I create my own opportunities for procrastination? I do. I find ways of avoiding tasks that I’m either not disciplined enough to complete or generally unexcited about completing. I realize this behavior in myself and have not done anything to correct it. Yes, I’ve even procrastinated on self-help.

Sometimes when I’m sitting down trying to focus on writing, I’ll become distracted by the act of looking something up that I’m referencing or something on the television which may lead to a long string of tangential distractions and ultimately I never return to the task or I end up losing interest in whatever it was I was going to write about in the first place. Tons of writing of ideas don't come to fruition because I don't follow through. This procrastinating tactic is called lack of discipline.

I admit my laziness too. I wear it like a badge of honor. When someone asks me why I have tons of clothes all over my room I tell them it’s because I’m too lazy to gather up the ones that should go to Goodwill or a friend or one of my cousins. When someone questions why I paid to get my hair done like this just to pull it back in a ponytail I let them know it’s because styling it up the way it’s supposed to be worn is too much work for a pussycat like me who stays up all night and can’t be bothered with something so trivial as hair when there’s extra sleep I could be getting in the morning. This procrastination tactic is called laziness.

I’m know procrastination had led to me missing some keen opportunities. I acknowledge these missed chances to divert off the boring, working drone path and brush it off by saying, “Oh well, if it were meant to be it would have happened.” I never admit that it didn’t happen because I didn’t make it happen. I procrastinate by making excuses like about things that I have to accomplish first before I work towards what I call my main goal. This is the worst kind of procrastination. It’s called fear.

I’m thinking about all of this because of a discussion that I had with Jason last night. We talked about more than just this, but I’ll get to the rest of it later. This portion of the conversation got me thinking long and hard about all the things I procrastinate on. I thought about all the things I complain about in my life and I broke them down like geometry proofs. Procrastination has led to a lot of the situations that I complain about.

I refuse to create my own opportunities for procrastination any longer.

Note: someone sent me that graphic two days after the post was originally presented but I thought it would be a cute addition to the entry anyway so I added it.

Sometimes I rhyme slow
sometimes I rhyme quick.
Sometimes I lick pussy.
Sometimes I suck dick.

Sometimes I talk shit.
I’ll back that shit up.
So if you step to me
better ‘buck’ the fuck up.

Sometimes I like coffee
sometimes I like tea
sometimes I wanna be with you
and sometimes i just wanna be with me

sometimes i smoke dank
sometimes i drink beer
sometimes i dress trendy
sometimes i dress queer

sometimes i wear weave
sometimes i wear a fro
sometimes i tie scarves around my head
cause i just wanna get up and go

sometimes i write long
sometimes i write short
don’t worry mother fucker
this skill i won’t abort

sometimes i eat healthy
sometimes i eat like a pig
sometimes i even get a craving for
malboro light 100 cigs

sometimes i rock jeans
sometimes i rock skirts
capri pants in the summer
cause i don’t like my legs in shorts

Sometimes I am submissive
sometimes I am the boss
sometimes i want sweet loving
sometimes i want to get tossed.

Sometimes I am sweet.
Sometimes I am a bitch.
I Fully expect you to know
which one is which.

This poem is still raw. It may be changed later. I just wrote out what came to mind based on the subject matter of a discussion I was having with Jason.

Evan Endicott's "Under The Radar" talks about hip hop being dead and the emergence of a new underground scene that is trying to resurrect a dying art by using "vintage vinyl, digital software and live instruments to
create new classics."

Everywhere you turn, the secret is being whispered. In the aisles of independent record stores, where groove lovers congregate among dust-covered slabs of vinyl; in the neighborhoods of New York and Los Angeles, where hip hop has shaped two generations of youth; on college radio and in cyberspace, the words are heard and seen.

'Hip hop is dead.'

How can this be? After all, hip hop, a 'fad' born in
the Bronx two decades ago, has weathered the media's
ceaseless attacks to become the dominant form of pop
music. Rap's mainstream acceptance, enabled by multi-
platinum pretenders MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice, created
a cottage industry that comprises not only albums, but
stadium tours, film franchises and fashion imprints.

Yet the secret persists, winding its way through smoky
nightclubs and streetcorner ciphers. Hip hop remains
alive in name only-a brand like any other. As a voice
of dissent against 'Amerikkkan' culture, it has ceased
to function. These days, P. Diddy proclaims, 'Don't
worry if I write rhymes / I write checks,' and
listeners nod their heads in agreement.

I'll admit to loving that line in "Bad Boy for Life" but it does speak volumes about where so-called hip hop heads are these days. Are we so wrapped up in the bling bling lifestyle that we've lost the sense of what hip hop truly is and what it can do?

The article goes on to say:

But for every action, there is an equal and opposite
reaction. Hip hop's underground, much maligned after
years of in-fighting and self-obsession, is showing
signs of renewed vitality. The first element of this
renaissance is musical. While Eminem recycles Aerosmith
tunes and Jay-Z squeezes the last drops of soul out of
Bobby Bland, innovative 'undie' producers are employing
vintage vinyl, digital software and live instruments to
create new classics.

Am I the only one tired of hearing the same samples over and over again? I am in the mood for some new music. Something I've never heard before. Something that is going to thrill me.

Although I do like some of the bling bling raps, I don't like that they are in such heavy rotation. I'm missing hip hop with a message and hip hop with a conscience. I'm looking for people with something to say. I'm as materialistic as the next person but I don't need my head filled with that 24/7. Address some issues. Use your position to lift the heads of those around you, those that might not get the message otherwise because they are too busy bling blinging, on the grind and playing PS2 all day long.

Apparently the voices are out there, but they aren't going to get any mainstream radio play.

Many underground MCs focus on fixing hip hop because they lack the vision to address the bigger picture. Fortunately, J-Live's eyes are wide open. Above is a State of the Union Address, delivered with more candor and heart than any president could muster. On 'Satisfied,' J-Live rhymes: 'The poor get worked / The rich get richer / The world gets worse / Do you get the picture?' Addressing America's recent adoption of patriotism as fashion statement, he observes, 'Now it's all about NYPD caps and Pentagon bumper stickers / But yo, you still a nigger.'

A coast away, Blackalicious draw similar conclusions on
their major label debut Blazing Arrow. From the
blackest streets to the Whitest House in the land, MC
Gift of Gab captures the fall of the American Empire in
chilling detail: 'Liquor stores upon every corner and
younger people done accepted defeat / In the melting
pot the lava's seeping and the hood is all the mind can
conceive / … The cops is the Klan and the planet's run
by a government of genocidal thieves.'

Fortunately, Blackalicious and J-Live buttress these
dark treatises with bouncy, sun-soaked songs that
celebrate life's pleasures-friends, family and hip hop
itself. Less optimistic, but no less funky, is
Oakland's The Coup, a pair of Marxist revolutionaries
who drop communist theory over rump-shaking
instrumentals.

On '5 Million Ways to Kill a CEO,' (from the LP Party
Music) MC Boots Riley sums up America's captains of
industry in three brilliant lines: 'They own sweats
shops, pet cops and fields of cola / Murder babies with
they molars on the areola / Control the Pope, Dalai
Lama, Holy Rollers and the Ayatollah.'

That's what I'm talking about man.

I've decided to go ahead and put the layout up. I am still working on things, but what website is not constantly under construction? Besides, looking at that plain white layout was starting to get on my nerves. Especially after I had spent hours working on this one. So here goes.

There are still more things I'd like to add. My main goal is to try and get all of the things I want to include on a website into a maintainable set of stylesheet elements. That will make future changes to my website easier.

In the meantime, have a good time peeking around and please be sure to let me know if you find anything broken.

I sat here for a few hours trying to figure out how to do something in the archive templates of my new layout. I was working hard, using trial and error to figure out how to get the output that I wanted. There were moments when I almost had exactly what I wanted but one piece was missing or wrong. I didn't allow myself to get frustrated. Suddenly, it became a challenge. I was determined to learn how to make this feature in MT work. Nothing I was doing was working. Finally, I decided to take a trip the the MT Support Forums.

And there was the answer to my question. One little snippet of code needed to be removed. I had removed it a few times too, so I'm not sure if maybe it was a combination of the other tags I had in there or what. Whatever it was, it's fixed now and the layout is moving right along.

I keep talking about this layout because it's the first time I've done one without tables. I've tried to make CSS layouts before without tables but I always end up frustrated and give up. This time I am sticking it out and it's well worth it. From here I will be able to do even more things with CSS and I'm both proud and pleased with that.

Sometimes I think about all the things that I've learned about web page development since I started a blog. I marvel at how far I've come as far as design concepts and layouts are concerned. I feel excited anticipating how much more I can learn.

Oh my god. I'm a geek.

mmmmkay?

This is going to sound hella corny but I am having a blast working on my new layout. I mentioned before that I am trying to set everything up without using tables and the way it's turning out so far has me grinning from ear to ear. I figured out how to configure my server so I can use server side includes without having to use .shtml extensions on the files.

Mostly what I did tonight is work on the sidebar items. It's looking so cool! I wish I could share more but I don't want to give it away. You'll have to wait and see. I am learning to organize my content with CSS though and that is a very cool thing. I'm impressed with myself. As I realize what new element I want, I add it in and voila! Everything looks the way I want it to look.

Tomorrow I am going to be working on the main blog portion (template tags, etc.). Once that is done I'll be ready to install my new version of MT and get rolling.

I found out tonight that the reason I can't import all my old entries is because I don't still have greymatter installed to be able to export from and i deleted my blogger powered blog from Blogger's website when I moved over to Greymatter. Waaa. So I actually will have to enter all the old blog entries by hand. Sheesh.

Tonight has been full, as was today. I was given stock options for my company today at work as a reward for my performance. Woo hoo right? I also learned that if you let someone borrow a dollar one day, they will most likely come back to you repeatedly always asking for change or a dollar. By the time the month is over, they are into you for about $20 or $30 bucks. I normally wouldn't make a big deal, but when it's the same people over and over again, I start to get annoyed.

That's all I think.

EDIT: So I should add that whenever I am having an html/php/css/any kind of web related problem I can always go to Anil and he always has the answer. Last night I was having problems with the comments on the blogs that are included on the new index page. As soon as I showed him the html, he had the answer. That just freaking rocks to me.

After reading this excerpt on Rebecca's site, I am convinced that I need to buy her book. I will admit that I was strongly opposed to any book on weblogging because I thought they were self-serving. My opinion is slowly changing thanks to things like this.

The rule that stands out to me the most is number 4:

4. Write each entry as if it could not be changed; add to, but do not rewrite or delete, any entry. Post deliberately. If you invest each entry with intent, you will ensure your personal and professional integrity.

Changing or deleting entries destroys the integrity of the network. The Web is designed to be connected; indeed, the weblog permalink is an invitation for others to link. Anyone who comments on or cites a document on the Web relies on that document (or entry) to remain unchanged. A prominent addendum is the preferred way to correct any information anywhere on the Web. If an addendum is impractical, as in the case of an essay that contains numerous inaccuracies, changes must be noted with the date and a brief description of the nature of the change.

If you think this is overly scrupulous, consider the case of the writer who points to an online document in support of an assertion. If this document changes or disappears--and especially if the change is not noted--her argument may be rendered nonsensical. Books do not change; journals are static. On paper, new versions are always denoted as such.

The network of shared knowledge we are building will never be more than a novelty unless we protect its integrity by creating permanent records of our publications. The network benefits when even entries that are rendered irrelevant by changing circumstance are left as a historical record. As an example: A weblogger complains about inaccuracies in an online article; the writer corrects those inaccuracies (and notes them!); the weblogger's entry is therefore meaningless--or is it? Deleting the entry somehow asserts that the whole incident simply didn't happen--but it did. The record is more accurate and history is better served if the weblogger notes beneath the original entry that the writer has made the corrections and the article is now, to the weblogger's knowledge, accurate.

History can be rewritten, but it cannot be undone. Changing or deleting words is possible on the Web, but possibility does not always make good policy. Think before you publish and stand behind what you write. If you later decide you were wrong about something, make a note of it and move on.

I make a point never to post anything I am not willing to stand behind even if I later disagree. I work to be thoughtful and accurate, no matter how angry or excited I am about a particular topic. If I change my opinion in a day or two, I just note the change. If I need to apologize for something I've said, I do so.

If you discover that you have posted erroneous information, you must note this publicly on your weblog. Deleting the offending entry will do nothing to correct the misinformation your readers have already absorbed. Taking the additional step of adding a correction to the original entry will ensure that Google broadcasts accurate information into the future.

The only exception to this rule is when you inadvertently reveal personal information about someone else. If you discover that you have violated a confidence or made an acquaintance uncomfortable by mentioning him, it is only fair to remove the offending entry altogether, but note that you have done so.

Everytime I have redesigned this site or uploaded a new version of MT I have lost some entries because I'm too lazy to figure out how to import on MT. Some entries I deleted because I didn't like the google response they were getting. Lately I've wanted to have all those entries back simply because it shows the history of my growth both on this site and on the web. I'm in the process of reinstalling all of them.

I agree with what Rebecca is saying here. We have the opportunity to build this network of information that keeps people informed of what's going on without having to worry about media bias and news outlets with political interests in mind. This point has been brought home to me time and again in the past few weeks with all the discussions that have been going on regarding race and racism. Jason said it best when he told me that it's up to us to leave our telling of history so that there are different perspectives of our times for the generations to come. I am determined to prevent a one-sided telling of history. What we are writing/seeing/doing here now will be a reflection of our generation in the years to come. For as much as I complain about the "media" am I doing anything to improve the storytelling?

The saga continues ...

I've been diligently working on my tableless layout. Fear me and TopStyle 2.5 with our mighty CSS skills. There are still some parts I'm having trouble with but for the most part I'm working it out. Patience is its own reward.

Today I worked hard trying to focus on positive thoughts. It worked for the most part. My next mission is to work on my foul mouth. I realize that I curse a lot. I realize how ugly it sounds. I could use better words. I guess it's pretty ignorant sounding too on occasion.

One Life To Live is on. I'm going to go poison my brain with bad storylines that drag on and on and on.

I know people hate these but deal. I thought this one was exceptionally cute.

Which Princess Bride Character are You?
this quiz was made by mysti

wow. and i was just browsing weblogs.com cause i'm bored. i found this neat idea on defective yeti. i'm always looking for ways to build my vocabulary. in my every day life i use a lot of slang and i'm always pausing to think of what word i could have used in place of a euphemism.

and then i went through a few of his categories and found this hilarious gem.

i didn't disappear
What's up people? Yet another weekend upon us. What are you doing? I'm working on my sanity. I'm working on some other things too. And I have so much to catch up on. This was a rough week at work but I made it through. I'm ready to get it started ...

what the hell is wrong with y'all?
Why is everyone all over that Tupac/Biggie C-O-N-spiracy story like it's real news? The entire thing is based on rumor and conjecture and they should just drop it until they get some real evidence. Not just hearsay cause my baby daddy's lil cousin was hanging with a dude that knows Biggie and fight night and even though no one has ever heard this story before suddenly it's very public knowledge that Biggie and Puffy were in Vegas on the night Tupac got shot. Be for real.

further proof that mefi is going down
So Jason tries to bring up a valid point on MeFi and the people over there label him a troll and try to call into question his motives for making the post. Anyone notice how they simply try to breeze over what he is saying. I hate that the point is most often lost on people who think they know it all. Their minds are so closed they can't see anything around their hands-covering-the-eyes-and-ears-will-make-it-go-away routine.

side note
why is it that most people want to push race talk under the rug? anything that discusses any type of racial injustice or inequality is dismissed as being combative. it's like they want to pretend it doesn't exist and if it doesn't exist in their world then it damn sure doesn't exist in your world so shut your dark ass up, mmmkay?

cause the shit is real ok?
meanwhile, in the land where nothing racist ever happens, a town's black adult population is wiped out in an undercover drug operation. yeah, cause you know how easy it is to sell dope in a town of 5,000 people where no one has money and most people are on some form of government aid.

keep on trying to lift the awareness my people.

some domain/hosting issues
Gus, I read your post. If you are running into any problems getting in to your ftp, please let me know. i'm making some changes in the background to keep everyone's files separate and organized and i may have made a boo boo or two. nothing that can't be fixed, i just need to be made aware of any problems you are encountering. Anyone else having problems let me know as well please. I suppose I should send an email ...

some changes of my own
How long have I been saying I'm going to redesign? You know what happens? Everytime I sit down and start, I don't get to finish all the pieces and then when i sit down to it four or five days later, the look is no longer cute to me. So I started on something else late yesterday and I'm rather pleased with the way it's coming out. I am aiming for rolling it out this week. I'm also upgrading to the latest MT so I can have trackback. I am still planning on adding all the old entries from yesteryear to the site as well so look for all of that before the end of September. Man, we are almost to the halfway point now and the year is almost up? Is it just me or is time flying?

That's it for now. Stay up.

I was wallowing in a pool of self-pity. I wanted nothing more than to be alone with my negative thoughts and feel sorry for myself, blaming the world and everyone in it for the things that were going wrong with me. It's a funny feeling. I can actually build up anger and everything. I can feel righteous indignation at some trivial transgression at the hand of a well-meaning friend.

Yesterday it boiled up into me being a bitch on wheels. I was in a foul mood and I wanted to be left alone to stew. Said stewing resulted in a very quiet me. Noticing that I was not my usual gregarious self, people began coming up to me throughout the day and asking if I was all right. The first few times I was able to manage a weak smile, a half nod and a thin, "Yes, I'm fine." Most people who know me well enough knew that I was anything but.

This mood persisted throughout the day. At certain points I found myself drawn inward to where all the crazy thoughts in my head commingled and I would feel the tear dam giving way as the betrayal of my mean mug began. I wanted to cry so many times but I fought the tears and held my ground. There was no way I was going to let anyone at work see me in tears. No way in hell.

I got through the day and when it was time to go home I bolted from the building. The ride home was quiet. When I got home I tried to take my mind off things by playing PS2. I got a phone call on the cell and a friend from 3000 miles away was able to help me snap out of it. She engaged me in a conversation about my weekend, which led me to start thinking about all the things that are good in my life right now. I started thinking about the places where I seek improvement in my life. Later that night, I thought more about the things that I do that are counterproductive to my personal growth and I realized I wanted to move away from them. I see where I've been, I'm figuring out where I want to be so that I can know where I am going. It's hard work. I have to be ready for me before I can ready me for anyone else. So now is a time of introspection.

Me time if you will. I have to focus on the things that matter, the things that count. I started to realize yesterday how much I really sweat the small stuff. I hate that in myself. It's probably the ugliest part of me right now. I have a bad temper and there are times when it doesn't take much to set me off. I bitch and moan and whine and generally act like superbitch when things don't go my way. Sometimes I go off. Badly. I have had the occasional temper tantrum that resulted in a room torn apart or a broken cell phone or the destruction of some other place or item that I later regretted. Sometimes I think I need Anger Management classes.

Or maybe, instead of waiting for some over paid air bag to tell me what's wrong and how to fix it, maybe I can look within myself to find the strength to do it on my own. Isn't it high time I began accepting responsibility for me? Isn't time I started taking care of me?

I thought so too.

To be continued...

The revolution is starting. Are you ready for it?

I spent this weekend with a cornucopia of emotions - some good, some not so good and some that just moved me to want to change things from the way that they are in my life right now. I enjoyed being home in L.A. and around my people. It was good for the mind, heart and soul.

On Friday I took my younger cousin shopping at the Beverly Center. She’s only been there a few times and watching her react to the people watching was amusing. She spotted several celebrities. Each time she did she would grab my arm and do that excited little squeal that only fifteen year-old girls getting ready to enter their tenth grade year of high school can do. I laughed so much. My entire family calls her “Little Monique” and I call her “Mini-me” because she’s so much like I was at that age, smart as a whip and not afraid to speak her mind to anyone. Too bad she hasn’t picked up my shopping habit. Or I guess in this case that would be a good thing since she didn’t break me. She only wanted one pair of shoes. I also took her to Pink’s, but she wasn’t interested in hot dogs.

From there we went to pick up her mom and the three of us went out to City Walk. We went to Jillians so my aunt and I could have a drink and Nikita could try to play Dance Dance Revolution while we watched. It was hilarious. I had considered getting my old ass on there, but once I saw that even my fifteen year-old, able-bodied cousin couldn’t do it I knew there was no way I was going to get up there and embarrass myself. We wandered around City Walk, bought candy in the candy store and then decided that we’d had enough of the crowds up there. We dropped my aunt off and I took Nikita to visit our other cousin Sharmayne.

Sharmayne and I always have heart to heart conversations with Nikita about everything we know teenagers go through. It was here that we gave her the third degree about boys, sex and all the things that are/were wandering through her mind. I was proud to see that my cousin is able to follow her own mind. She’s watched a few of her friends have babies and is against being a teen pregnancy statistic. She asked my aunt and grandmother to check her out of her school in the neighborhood and have her bussed to one in the valley where she will have a greater opportunity to take the classes that will get her into college. She makes me proud.

On Saturday I drove to Camarillo with D. We went shopping at the outlets and stayed overnight to make the weekend a little longer. I had a nice time. I got away with buying only one pair of shoes the whole weekend! Our room was beautiful, the gazebo outside of it even better and the drive up 101 was pretty. Dinner at Marie Callendars was good and spending the night with someone that I loved with all my heart when I was twenty-one years old was bittersweet. He still has the same quirky habits, still drives me crazy with mood swings and can still make my heart skip beats all at the same time. He kept thanking me for getting him out of the city and silently I was thanking him for helping me make up my mind about a few things.

On Sunday when I got back, my grandmother, my aunt, Nikita and I went to South Bay Galleria to go shopping. I didn’t see anything I wanted but my grandmother bought tons of perfume. It smells good on her, but we all laughed when she bought it. My grandmother still has a huge bottle of Charlie sitting on her dresser that my father gave her when he first started dating my mother. I know that the new perfume she bought is going to do the same dust collecting on that dresser that all the other bottles are doing, but it’s all good.

My grandmother doesn’t do well in malls and the like and after a while she was tired so we brought her back home. L.A. was scorching hot like Vegas this weekend and I couldn’t take sitting cooped up in the house any longer so Nikita and I decided to go see a movie. She wanted to go to the theaters in South Bay Galleria, but I decided she needed an outing outside of her normal haunts and took her to Westwood. She’d never been there before either and once she got there her head was turning every which way as she tried to soak it all in. We ate tacos and burritos at Baja Fresh and I showed her all the places I used to hang out in when I was her age wandering the streets of Westwood. Everything is still pretty much the same now except for all the Starbucks and Coffee Beans on every corner.

When we got back to my grandmother’s house it was a little after ten. There was a barbecue up the street that was still going on and Nikita said she wanted to go. I didn’t feel like it, but since her friend was going to walk with her to the corner I didn’t see any harm in letting her go. She ran out of the house and was gone for about thirty minutes before I heard the gunshots. I jumped up and went into my grandmother’s living room to look out the window. I didn’t see anyone standing on the street and it was hard to tell where the gunshots had come from. A few minutes later, Nikita comes running into the house to tell me that they had all been standing at Lucy’s (across the street from Southwest College) when some guys in a car rode by and starting spraying a parking lot full of teenagers. Luckily everyone managed to get inside safely and no one was hurt. I told Nikita it would probably be best for her to keep her ass in the house after that.

Yesterday morning when we woke up, the neighborhood was buzzing with talk about the gunshots. Big Mike, who lives next door to my grandmother, told us that some dude had been getting chased and was shot at the Burger King on Imperial and Western but didn’t go down. He ran across Western and through the Mobile Gas station, up the embankment and into the parking lot of Lucy’s. It was here that his assailants caught up to him and started shooting again. In a crowded parking lot full of teenagers. A discussion then started about whether or not my cousin is allowed too much freedom to roam my grandmother’s deteriorating neighborhood. I don’t think there is much any of us can do to protect her from the streets except keep her locked in the house and that wouldn’t be very healthy would it?

My uncle came over my grandmother‘s house yesterday and we had a good old fashioned Labor Day barbecue. Hot links, ribs, hamburgers, chicken, hot dogs, sausages - you name it, he grilled it. Even corn. The food was so good and with all my other cousins, aunts and uncles showing up we had a blast in that way that only my family knows how. We are all so ghetto fabulous. We are the loudest people on the block and we sat in front of my grandmother’s house and kept up so much noise. Neighbors kept stopping by because they could tell we were having a good time. I got a lot of nice pictures of the New Years Day ham aka my baby cousin Mark Jr (or MJ as we call him). He turned eight months old this weekend and he is still as adorable as ever. He has three teeth on the bottom now and I actually got him to show them to me for a few pictures.

I hung out at the barbecue until about 7:30 and then I decided it was time to kiss my granny goodbye and get my ass on the road back to Vegas. The drive was long as hell cause I was sleepy as hell but I made it back in one piece.

And now I have to go to work. How was your weekend?