I know what girls like

damn I haven't been here in a long time.  I left off on a really depressing entry.  thank god I don't still feel like that shit.  that shit sucked.

I can't keep myself committed to this vox stuff - I am just not disciplined enough with my time!  I don't know what it is.  I don't even call people back on the telephone much less keep up with a weblog.  but 2008 will be different.  I'm thinkin about going back to thatbitch.com and relaunching something totally new there.  still a weblog but...with a twist.  not just "here is what I did today" type shit.

seriously, in the two years (wow) since I shut down my site bloggers have become celebs in their own right.  maybe it's time for me to start doing what I do best again and get some shine of my own. 

or am I supposed to say that I want to open my site back up to like...better myself and shit?

that's bah humbug.  you know what betters me these days?  money.

anybody got any thoughts on what you'd like to see me do with thatbitch.com?  I know a few of you were fans (and I love you for that).

happy holidays

Rehab

I've been feeling pretty bad about myself lately which, given my enormous ego, is harder to deal with then it would be for say...ugly people who have been feeling bad about themselves for their entire lives.

snicker.

some wise kat once said "out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars".  word?  whoever wrote that was depressed.  I know right now tonight, at this late hour, at this very minute, in this dark, suffocating moment, that I am destroyed.  and yet I am still ridiculous enough to think up a cheestastic reference to fraggle rock and something about doozers living behind my chestplate, building and fixing my heart in yellow construction hats...reassembling all the bloody bits that have been scattered throughout my body.  I really don't have time to be seared by the stings that would've melted me before.  not when I have work to do and clients and please and a child to raise and a body to take better care of and an apartment to clean and a bed to assemble and draws to wash.  weight to lose.  direction to find. 

I wanna date again, one day...but right now I have nothing to give and quite frankly I'd devastate anybody that cared anything about me...I've done it before.  I need so much more then I did when I was in my early twenties.  I need grown shit...trips out of town, dinners in restaurants with dress codes, little gifts just cause it's wednesday.  talk is very sweet, and it goes far...but I am a woman of action, ultimately...I need fuel and fire...not a conversation about it.  and until I learn to trust again, I'm rolling completely solo cause quite frankly, I don't know if what I want even matters to anybody else at this point...I don't know that it should matter so much to me.  but I'm past the point in my life where I'd be willing to date for recreation.  that shit is lame.  I broke up with the man I thought I'd marry ten months ago but for whatever reason it didn't feel real until tonight.  it would've been mad easier if we could've exited each other's lives as much as possible but for several reasons that wasn't realistic...mainly because we are parents together and nothing was more important then maintaining a level of cordiality for the sake of our daughter who wants nothing else in life except dora the explorer, french fries with ketchup, and her mama and dada to love each other.   and in all my grown woman idealism somewhere deep inside I started letting myself wonder if maybe it might work out one day.  maybe I might forgive, maybe if he got deep enough inside of me I could release, maybe he might do something...something big and special and secret...to wake me up inside again and crumble the walls of self preservation I built subconsciously and thankfully.  I waited.  and I was wrong for that, kids, cause you can't wait for someone else to give you your life...shit ain't fair to you or the other person.  he's cold to me, now...he felt led on and all the jill scott concerts and alex p. keaton for president t-shirts and sex I gave couldn't erase the rejection...on either end.  wasted fucking time.

so now I'm another year older and I'm alone and I have to give myself pep talks to even open my eyes in the morning but I will be fine - I always am.  I'll bury myself in work, stack chips, and on the other side of this I will be a whole person again, better for having been broken so thoroughly.  all I really need, to live anyway, is the love of my daughter.  the kind that doesn't have an expiration date.

I rode for you and studied the architecture of your features as you slept and wept as I buried my head in the sand...I mean your shirt
and smelled you
and let your scent demagnetize my veins
...I beat on your chest to ressurect you in vain

favewrites said in the comments of my last post that I have swagger.  I definitely agree.  even during one of the worst weeks of my entire life I still strut - orange creme frappachino in one hand, coach bag in the other, work this blue mascara I thought was black when I bought it but still sport it anyway, and pop my fucking proverbial collar cause I just don't know how to be anything less then who the fuck I am.  I'm all the way live and I drip swaggerliciousness even on my darkest day.  even when I can't breathe and I can't see I'm just too indignant to be delicate and destroyed.  even earlier yesterday as I walked down the street daring someone to look at me wrong, bump me, whistle at me, try to holla at me so I could lose my shit and flip out to comedic levels I still thought up a new idea for my new business I am working with raquel on.  that's the life of a hustler for you.  I.will.not.lose.  my next post will be dedicated to swagger...I know this because huny knows this.

thanks, that reminds me...what does tyler durden say in fight club...that he felt like destroying something beautiful?  but there is no real beauty in humans, not fully...no beautiful and unique snowflakes, right?  how much can you know about yourself if you've never been in a fight, right?  I don't wanna die without any scars...right?

hit me before I lose my nerve.

I am fairly certain think that I'm becoming stupider.

it's true.

I used to read voraciously, now I can hardly get through a couple paragraphs without it turning into what looks like lorem ipsum…I wanna study more and gain a better knowledge of self and the earth, the world, culture, but I keep thinking to myself that I'll start "tomorrow when I'm not so sleepy and busy".  tomorrow never comes when today there's shit I needed to finish by yesterday.  I'm just a drone at this point...a robot...a sexy robot...but a robot nonetheless...and not even a productive robot (alice from the jestons)...moreso a lazy pointless robot (bender from futurama).  my brain has stopped pulsating...unless I'm trying to think of famous robots.  my daughter, on the other hand, literally learns hundreds of new things every single day, many of them related to how she can get over on me or her father...what expressions heed the best results...how long she can scream and cry in public before I give in to her demands.  she makes me want to be a smarter person so I can dream up new and inventive ways to tell her no.  jesus my daughter is just like me, yo...if she can't tantrum you into becoming her slave, she just puts her hands behind your head and gazes and giggles at you until you can't resist.  when you're two, it's adorable.  when you're a grown ass woman it's...it's actually brilliant isn't it?

summer used to be the time of year in which I was the most active.  something about the heat made me giddy, restless, sexy.  this summer has flew by.  here's my half-year review: I got braids.  I went to work most of the time.  ordered a lot of sushi and turkey burgers while at work.  hated work.  bought a couch.  took out my braids.  watched the entire third season of entourage in one sitting.  ate at BBQ's in times square at least twice.  played pool...badly.  $140  = the number of dollars automatically withdrawn from my checking account for two months of membership to the new york sports club.  0 = the number of times I've gone.  so it was all very mundane for the most part but there were some good things in there as well.  I visited blue in DC for her housewarming, for one thing...but stupidly partook of a blunt before the bulk of the invitees arrived and got more lifted then I think I ever have in my life.  I never smoke weed anymore...I don't really have any weedhead friends, nor would I ever smoke around my kid.  so it might as well have been the first time ever cause my chest felt all fuckin tight, I forgot who people were seconds after giving them dap...felt mad paranoid.  then these fucking lesbians wanted to play taboo.  that game is difficult enough when you're actually ALERT.  I've never had so much difficulty thinking before.  so now a select group of girls in DC think I'm some space cadet pothead who sucks at taboo.

I think for the second half of 2007 I'll try to enjoy myself more.  I think I'll actually go to all these dope ass restaurants along madison ave that I pass everyday on the bus ride home.  I think I'll finish furnishing my apartment.  and I think I'll wear more skirts.  something about wearing skirts makes me happy to be a female...like, the idea that one ill thought out position or unexpected gust of wind could unwittingly put my ass on deck makes me feel devious an shit.  I think I'll wear more freakum shoes, as well, a.k.a slut pumps a.k.a whore kicks (I'm just making shit up now).  ain't nothing like a big curvy amazonian sort of babydoll like myself strutting down madison ave in nice heels.  I think ridiculously slutacious shoes are okay to wear like at anytime during the summer...it's damn near expected if you're as fine as I am.  I'm just kidding...I'm all about the humility.  I said that deadpan for real.  you had to be here for the delivery. 

I'm saying.

all in all I like having a pussy.

I do. I dunno what I would do if I had a dick.  pee standing up, smash lots of girls, play xbox.   which...doesn't sound half bad actually...perhaps dick has it's privileges, son.

in closing, I leave you with my summer sex tape playlist:

smudge your mascara and sweat your perm out to this shit.  if you're looking for typical makin baby music, go download some brian mcknight or some shit.

in some ways writing scares me.

I used to be really good at it...it was effortless and relaxing and cathartic.  then my life got really complicated, I had a child, my relationship ebbed and flowed in a way that was too complex to share with strangers.  my interest in playing out my life in the pseudo-public world of the innernets waned.  I lost friends over dumb shit and I can't really say I miss most of them.  I thought having a child would make me soft and pink - which is basically what my BFF blue calls weak fools - and for awhile it did but now I'm worse then I was before in a 'if you cut me the wrong way even once I'll dead you like you never existed' sort of way.

sounds bad ass, no?  like I'm a desperado.  that's a sexy look.

so today I'm single, my perfect size 10 feet have inexplicably elongated into a 10 ½ a.k.a. a size that doesn't exist even in payless, I'm at least twenty pounds overweight, I would rather smell rotten poultry or listen to rihanna sing live or something torturous on guantanamo bay levels then come to work.  my rent is one thousand seven hundred and fitty dollars and I don't even have a fireplace or a balcony or gold plated appliances.  my life is not the one I envisioned - it's dry, eventless, tasteless, bland, milky transluscent, passion-lacking and plain - and I could blame that mostly on my impossibly lofty goals and ambitions.  you know how the pope travels in a big, bullet proof plexiglass-ish box (did I make that up?) so he can see everyone and be seen but not touched?  that's how I travel through everyday these days...looked at, fawned over, but untouched, unaffected, unpenetrated.

BUT.  I'm still fabulous, my daughter is beautiful and intelligent and just like me, sex makes me sweat where I didn't even know pores existed, I make good money, my nails look hot, and my ass is still the G.O.A.T.  I'm feeling kinda grown and sexy in a way that is nowhere near "girlish" but very very warm and womanly.

so it's like this...I am writing again, in public, for the time being.  thatbitch.com is dead but I'm alive...just barely breathing, heart beating slightly.