The phillies are world champs! As if you didn't know already! (you did know...didn't you?) The parade is today, but i'm sure the festivities well continue on well into the weekend, a weekend filled with trademark rudeness(did hear the fans booing the mlb commissioner...and the MAYOR? i shouldnt laugh but lol) in addition to our gastronomic treasury of cheesesteaks, soft pretzels, yuenglings and wooder[sic] ice. The staples of a true philadelphian - we didn't earn the fat rep for nothin! *rubs distended belly*
Have a good one everybody!
The Roots - Do You Want More (philly music is appropriate i think)
(warning: this is one of *those* entries. girlie, harangue-ey and shamelessly lacking substance. You know the routine, read or click the x. Its up to you.)
you'd think that something as trivial as buying clothes would be easy to do right? its not. its an agony to itself, peculiar to women (and an assortment of beau brummells) and should only be attempted when sound of mind, physically confident, and not retaining water. At the moment, im totally neither. In fact i'd venture that the allies had an easier time setting the terms of the treaty of versailles then i have been having shopping for new threads. My punishment for flouting the rules.
As you may not know, my grandparents 60th anniversary is on the horizon. In celebration of this momentous occasion, their children have conspired to throw what is turning out to be a gala event. (i could have said party but gala sounds much more festive wouldn't you agree?)
for the last month I have been dress shopping in preparation for this affair. its been a month of utter disappointment, aggravation, and exasperation. Iced with a dollop of despair. A result of me not being able to find anything to wear.
what fits on top doesn't fit on the bottom.
what fits on the bottom doesn't fit on the top.
it makes me look fat.
it makes me look old.
its too "styled."
its too long.
its too short.
its too revealing(not trying to have cougars see all that titty)
ITS TOO MUCH!
This all bears out the idiocy of procrastination. I knew about this event for months, yea, over a year, and still i waited until the last minute to find something decent to wear. The pressure is high, and if i am being honest, more than a little self imposed. If i had gotten the outfit together before now i wouldn't be having this problem.
On top of everything else i seem to have a latent dromedary gene. Whats that you say? Well I get rid of/minimize fat in one location only to have it appear somewhere else. My lovely lady lumps are no more than fat conduits."Oooh baby, My lipid game is tight!" Is my rallying cry, but really no matter how much i spin it, its still a revolting development. (I'm not sure which of my antecedents i have to thank for this affliction, though i have my suspicions.) While i'm sure this "advantage" would be beneficial in the sahara, its not what's up in the mid atlantic.
Dress code is formal and so far I have found nothing I like that would also be flattering on me. I'm going for a sleek simple look, and the gowns that I find absolutely stunning are those that would look perfect...on a 5'9 120lb woman. I'm 5'3 and my proportions are...dubious. At best. I have um...lots of extra-curricular activities about my person, and as much as I love shopping, its an exercise that brings all my insecurities to the fore. Its as excruciating as it is enjoyable. I mean really, there are so many insecurities to explore and exploit! like how grizzled i look under unforgiving fluorescent lights. Or how my my thighs are "whey" gross. Or why my upper arms are so flabby. The humiliating experience of the rheumy eyed jewish lady, aromatic with the fragrance of shalamar, coming in the dressing room and asking me if everything was ok, and did i need to her to get me a size up? At this last indecency its was a wonder that I didn't run out of Saks, singletary-eyed and screaming like a banshee.
Of course I could wear something I already have, but what's the fun in that? The "ing" in shopping stands for acquiring you know. Why scorn an opportunity to build up my wardrobe? Besides its a pretty big deal this anniversary. There will be attendees from here(where they lived for 40 years) and SC, where they live currently. On such a stage who wants to look fug?
you see I have lots of excuses for buying something new, i just don't have the cojones to face the reality that is me when it come to putting this stuff on. Its like everything blows up in the time it takes to get from my house to the store. I leave my home a size six and arrive at my destination a size sixteen! Then i look in the dressing room mirror, and my reflection is all "why bother?" Bulges heretofore unseen, eroding what what was left of my confidence. Its a cruel world, an unforgiving world. A world that can only to be weathered with mood lighting and foundation garments.
?mark asylum - Hey look away ( the swan song of the fug :P)
(I usually don't blog during the day, since i have to focus on my work my mind being in too many places for me to string coherent thoughts together, but since its friday i decided i can bend the(self imposed) rules a bit. )
So i'm usually immune and/or ignorant of cultural phenomena. Especially with regards to television, since i don't watch it much, and what i do watch tends to be educational. Not that i have high standards or anything. In fact my threshold for sub standard tv is pretty high, as evidenced by my reality tv addiction. In a shameful display of my gaucherie, i bought season one of newlyweds on dvd.("chicken of the sea? fish or chicken?") I also plan on buying the kardashians (that kim is SOOO ca-uuuute!) and the hills(ooh that spencer pratt is such a douche!)No, its not because i have standards. Just for reasons unknown, most shows that took/take the general public by storm I haven't seen.
I missed the whole "the wire" thing, I've never watched heroes or lost(they always seemed like the same show to me), have never seen more than 20 mins of sex and the city, and -im pleased to announce - I've never once watched flavor of love, or any of its spin offs. Now that is one show that i refuse to watch, low standards or no. The idea of a show featuring flavOR flav as some sort of lothario offended every one of my sensibilities. And the spectre of witnessing him slobbing down a woman at any time was just too much. No thanks. I decline. Speaking of which, is it me or does "New York" look like that muppet janice? And whats up with that show with bret michaels? "Rock of flavor of i love new york" or...something. Never seen any of them. In fact, "the office" is the only "new" show of recent memory that i actively follow. I love the office. By the way i hate that the writers got pam and jim together, it ruined the tension. But other than that and the sprinkling of the reality shows that are my weakness, I'm not up on whats happening in the world of TV.
But mad men sounds interesting. Interesting and promising given that i've only i've heard and read glowing reviews about it. But those glowing reviews are enough so that i feel almost compelled to see what all the fuss is about. I have no idea what the storyline is (they're men...who're mad?) but I do know that I love the 1950s inspired attire. I mean really, can you deny the appeal of men and women who dressed, not just for special occasions - but all the time? Thats partially the reason i love old movies so much, its a visual respite from the nonsense i see today, where people seem to take pride in looking as unkempt as possible. Anyway, the plan is to go online later on and see if i can find a few episodes and learn whats up. Brylcreem and bad boys. Yumm.
So i finally decided to send a caption for the New Yorker's weekly "caption this" contest. I've been a subscriber to the New Yorker for a minute, and ever since they instituted the "caption this" segment, i've toyed with the idea of making a submission. However my insecurity at not being funny or abstract enough would usually prevail, and i'd change my mind at the last minute. This time i decided to follow through. There isn't a monetary prize, but you do get the signed picture with your caption - and of course your name in the New Yorker. This could be my big break! lol Send out positive vibes for me will ya?
In other news the man Stephen Hawking will be retiring from his post as lucasian professor of mathematics at Cambridge. Let us take a minute to absorb this information. Do you know what this means? This means he'll be free. This means he'll have a lot more time on his hands. This means, that i need to stop playing and begin composition of a billet doux - such as the world has never seen - and state my affections, lest some piece of fast baggage get him. Special shout out to my homie Rashad for doing me the ultimate solid and apprising me of this information.
Happiness is... five different crayons catching a firefly
setting him free
- Happiness; You're a good man Charlie Brown
Can it be that it was all so simple then?
So, I was in Chubb's blog earlier reading this entry.
It struck a chord within me.
I haven't been happy in a long time. No wait. Strike that. That's NOT what i mean. I have been happy. There have been moments of utter euphoria that if it was possible to bottle them up i would - just so that i could keep them forever. Take them out, pet them, polish them, make them as new as they day they came into existence.
But. Even in my most ecstatic moments there is a hint of dolor; my feelings on the daily more of contentment than true happiness. At least happiness as i think it to be.There is always something in the back of my mind - a concern, an issue, - that doesn't allow me to fully enjoy andbe. Even in my most blissful moments.
One friday afternoon, when I about 11 years old, my parents surprised me and my brother with Nintendo. Not only Nintendo, but the power pad AND the gun! After months of begging and pleading and accusing our parents of wanting us to be laughing stocks of the community(because everybody else had one. typical ploy of a child) we finally got our wish! My brother and I screamed -well, i screamed, he just smiled really hard. (boys) - when my parents presented us with the bounty. And to top it all off, they uncharacteristically allowed us to sit in front of the TV and play till our heart's content.( i think i got up to level 5 of super mario bros that night.) Their gift was so unexpected, so generous, so fantastic - that we were continually pinching ourselves, in reassurance that it wasn't all a dream. For the remainder of the weekend I walked around with a smile on my face. My spirit one of joy. I was happy.
That's the happiness I'm talking about. That's the happiness I haven't experienced in too long.
Happiness not accompanied by caveats and codicils. Happiness not burdened with worries and fears. Happiness that isn't borne of relief that the worst hasn't happened. Happiness that is only because the alternative is not an option.
Does that kind of happiness -happiness in its purest form - only exist in the psyche of the child? The other day i was walking to the local bodega, and the children from the nearby daycare were out playing. There was so much laughter and squeals of joy that i stopped in my tracks on the way home to watch them for a moment.(no pedo) They were the cutest things! Their giddiness rubbed off on me and i smiled the rest of the way.
Is it silly to think that as an adult I could experience that kind of carefree exuberance once more? When I think about those children playing and my own moments of boundless joy - those experienced as a child and young adult, its makes what I now call happy seem so hollow in comparison.
Part of pilates - and yoga too i assume - is breathing. In general most humans are shallow breathers. These shallow breaths keep us alive, but not in optimal health. Our lungs have a far greater capacity for taking in air than most of us realize. It is the instructors desire to not only get you in shape physically, but to get you to utilize your lungs to the greatest extent. Breathing correctly also gives you the added bonus of being able to perform the exercises better. Funny that learning how to breathe was more difficult than the exercise itself. Breathing, an activity i do all day, everyday, as involuntary as blinking and swallowing - was a challenge. (there's a message in there somewhere i'm sure.)It felt strange, these deep deliberate breaths. but once i had it down, i realized exactly how beneficial it was. My thoughts were clear, i had a greater attention span, i was better able to focus. Immediately i began to wonder how in the world i was functioning before.
And so it is with my happiness quotient. I have a greater capacity to experience than happiness i use. My joie de vivre has suffered from my shallow "breaths." Is it possible to get the magic back?
Since I embarked on this wild and wonderful world of blogging(btw my yr anniversary was in june and i totally missed it. was I supposed to celebrate? Whats one year? paper? I'll buy myself a new moleskine), I noticed one thing - well actually I noticed a lot of things, but I'm doing my best to stay on topic - and that one thing is that i really enjoy the comments.
There is nothing more rewarding (hyperbole abounds. there are quite a few things more rewarding) than haphazardly piecing a few of my raggedy and sometimes ghettoe(with an e because i'm fancy) thoughts together, hitting publish, and coming back a few hours or days later to find that somebody( or bodies), decided that the subject was interesting enough for them to take the time and not only read it, but leave some feedback! Its teh awesome! I really appreciate it. I don't think I've ever said it before and that's remiss of me.
(Special shouts out to Rashad who's read and endured my tripe from the beginning, and jazz brew who continues to indulge my quirky didacticism lol. if not for him I'd still be bound by the bonds of brevity. yall rock!)
Its like, I know that basically I blog for myself, but you guys are so insightful and witty that it makes the comments just as important as whatever it is im yammering about.
That's pretty cool.
What precipitated this? Well i'm on cloud seveneight nine because the phillies won this evening(could this be the year philly gets a championship?), and i have the sneaking suspicion that this saccharine laced entry is a byproduct of the endorphin rush that comes with (proxy)winning. So probably i'll be doing the walk of shame through these internets tomorrow cursing myself for letting my soft side out. It was supposed to be an exhibition! :)
But thats okay.
The endorphins will be gone by the morning, but the gratitude will remain. Thank you.
So apparently i'm some sort of weirdo deviant. I seem to be one of only a handful of bipeds alive who is able to enjoy both smooth "jazz" and classic jazz. Or at least, admit it. :P
Mention smooth "jazz" in a room of aficionados and something happens. The air crackles with electricity. Hackles raise. Jaws clench. Somebody starts crying, and everybody starts Wynton-ing.
For example, i was in the car with my friend, flipping radio stations.
"ugh" I said, hurriedly skipping past another station with the 'urban' format. a funkmaster flex clone was yelling about shopping at city blue(a local chain of stores where you can buy mark ecko, baby phat and stuff) "i hate radio."
"yeah it sucks. look through my cds and find something."
I began flipping thru his cd holder still fruitlessly hitting the tuner button for some decent music.
...never leave/'cause i believe/i'm in love/sweet love
"this is my jam!" I said, content to release the button while I sang along w/ anita.
he didn't respond but his head nod along with his drumming on the steering wheel signified he agreed.
I warbled along for a few stanzas when he interrupted me.
"what station is this?"
I glanced down @ the tuner's digital readout.
"oh its wjjz" (the local smooth jazz station)he wrinkled his nose in disdain.
"man...turn away. I hate smooth jazz"
"what? don't you like this song?"
"yeah I like it."
"well what's the problem?"
"woman you know how I feel abt smooth jazz. it sucks that's the problem"
"give me a break. you were just enjoying the song until you heard what station it was on. let me finish hearing it and then i'll turn."
Anita's voice faded with her love me sweetly babys. I had my finger poised to change the station when the familiar strain of "she's gone" came through the speakers, daryl hall's voice filling the car.
everybody's high on consolation/everybody's trynna tell me/what is right for me/i need a drink and a quick decision
I looked over at him, smiling. A reluctant grin appeared on his face.
"should I change it?" I asked innocently. he loves hall and oates.
"naw b."
"but this is smooth jazz" I couldn't resist.
he sighs."this aint no smooth jazz. this is blue eyed soul."
"and anita baker?"
"jazz influenced r&b. come on lexy you know this."
"I know. but this is what they play on smooth jazz. and you like it...so...you DON'T hate smooth jazz."
"i like blue eyed soul and I like r&b. period."
"ok well what about grover washington?"
"what about him?"
"um they play him on smooth jazz all the time. In fact i daresay he's the o-rig-i-na-tor" (in my best jaz-o voice)
"grover is an exception."
"is he? why? the man was smooth jazz incarnate."
"he was jazz funk."
"jazz funk? are we sub genre-ing a sub genre now?"
"no but he was way different from these cats you hear on smooth jazz"
"like who? Steely Dan? Bob james?(of nautilus fame) ronny jordan? come on now."
"dude..."
i'm passionate.
"what about herbie? or weather report? brubeck? george benson? jaco?(ok i never heard him on smooth jazz but he didn't know that lol) miles?
"human nature does NOT count. You ever heard any of 'brew on smooth jazz?"
"miles is miles. you're splitting hairs."
"whats your point?"
"my point is these are all musicians you respect. and they play them on smooth jazz radio."
"ok they have a handful of decent artists, but what about the rest? smooth jazz has eviscerated the soul and life from jazz. Don't tell me thats not true."
as if to prove his point, "she's gone" goes off and is replaced with the treacle known as kenny g. I hurriedly flip the station before "silhouette" begins in earnest.
He smirks.
"Thats what i'm talking about. Kenny G man?"
"I never said kenny g was good."
"But he's smooth jazz."
I feel myself getting irritated.
"____(his name), we both know kenny g sucks."
"yes, and so does smooth jazz."
I won't bore you with the rest, but our conversation continued along the same vein, ending with me agreeing to respect his right to his opinion - no matter how wrong it might have been - and calling him a dork. (a signature move lol) :)
His feelings are echoed by most jazz heads. Smooth jazz is a an abscess. Smooth jazz has no soul, no artistry. Smooth jazz is too polished. Smooth jazz is gross. My thing is - for the most part, i agree with them. Its just that im not quite as adamant. Its not that i can't and don't appreciate those sublime blue notes and harmonic sevenths. Please. Ju don't know? I'm not going to put smooth above classic anytime soon. However - and label me a hapless dilettante if you like - i'm willing to admit that smooth "jazz" does have its redeeming qualities. So there!
Anyway.
Let me share with you guys what ive been playing in the morning: Jill Scott - Gotta Get up
This morning i was awakened by the gentle snoring of Old Man Winter. (i think he wants to be my boyfriend.)
Somehow between 12 and 6 am, the weather had turned from cool but temperate to butt booty frigid. I had been curled up in fetal position when i woke up. When i stretched, OH EM GEE. My sheets were like the frozen tundra of greenland. Not cool. Or rather, too cool. Needless to say, i was not a happy camper. I'm one of those people who doesn't like to sleep with clothes on(not nekkid tho, i'm scared that there'll be a fire and when the firemen come to rescue me - *pladow*) and the trek from bed to the chair where my heavy terry cloth robe was thrown seemed of interminable length. Throwing it on i scurried downstairs to see exactly how cold it was.
54 degrees.
*blink*
>:-<
Thats right, my house was a balmy fifty four degrees.
Why so cold? Well for one, it was 38 degrees outside. And for two? Well i've been putting off turning on the heat. Heating my house costs an arm, a leg, and like one buttcheek. And i was trying to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. Not to mention, its only Oct 20th! Not December 20th. Not January 20th. We're still in the early part of fall, what the funk are these cold mornings about? I'm so not ready for winter. Cold weather makes me want to hibernate. It was all i could do not to get back in bed, pull the covers up to my nose, and go back to sleep. *sigh* Its going to be a long winter. Are you guys ready? I'm not.
I've been on an oldies kick all day. I shouldn't be surprised though. Growing up, the soundtrack of Sunday was oldies. Music ran the gamut; pop, soul, r&b, rock, funk(my dad's specialty) folk, and easy listening. Different types of music, but consistent in that it was OLD. At least to me. lol. I wanted to hear some of the new hip stuff that my dad unceremoniously labeled "trash". My mom, while not as scathing in her commentary, asserted that she just couldn't bear the insistent repetitive beat @ the moment. And so it was. Cooking, cleaning and LPs. The smell of Sunday dinner was redolent as my mom puttered around the house shining, sweeping, mopping and laundering. Dad would be in their bedroom watching sports or sleeping, while his beloved hi-fi provided aural ambiance.
I can still hear my mom humming along to Barbra Streisand's and Barry Gibb's guilty (a favorite by the way).Sometimes her choice would leave me cold, and it wouldn't be until adulthood that i'd fully appreciate it(simon and garfunkel) and then there were occasions where'd she put on EWF and Stevie and Marvin. That was the best. We'd jam so hard, singing into broomsticks and choreographing impromptu dance routines. Sometimes the sibs and I would get a little too rambunctious and *skip* the record would jump, prompting my dad to come flying out of his bedroom.
"who is jumping? yall better not destroy my records!"
Followed by:
"Matter of fact get up here and clean these rooms. I don't know why i have to keep telling yall!"
His terse words and baleful glance would end our party and we'd spend the rest of the afternoon "cleaning". Cleaning in quotes as our rooms only gave the illusion of being tidy. In reality we had only moved the junk from one area to another. Houdini would have been proud. Of course he caught on when he checked the closet or under the bed, and we'd have dates with the belt. My brothers would usually go first, and i'd be sitting in my room unsuccessfully trying to do some ex post facto cleaning before he got to me. lol. Ahh Memories. Its funny how childhood drama can be looked upon so fondly once all grown up. Give me another 10 years and i'll remember spankings as fun. Three cheers for the patina of time!
Anyway, I like to think that i'm carrying over that tradition from those halycon days. Oldies make me feel so young and cozy and carefree. Its a time when Mommy and Daddy could fix everything, and a pretty dress and clear complexion were enough to vanquish fate.
The Miracles: I'll try Something New
(this song makes me feel all romantic and stuff. Who knew right?)
It never fails. My "best" work happens when i'm nowhere near a keyboard or any other writing instrument.(pens and pencils - remember them?) Pulitzer prize winning-newberry award worthy(madeleine l'engle watch out!)- new york times bestseller blogs. One time i swear i wrote the great american novel during a particularly intense mall excursion. All in my head mind you, but that thing was good.
Tonight, during my workout i had tons of thoughts just flying through my head, thoughts i wanted to jot down, flesh out and maybe publish for anyone else who may want to read.
But now as i sit here, bathed in the liquid crystal glow, i find myself suffering from an all too familiar malady:
And Shane Victorino? In the immortal words of Solange Knowles: I decided you are the one for me. And whatever lola lexy wants lola lexy gets. Or something like that. Call me when the season is over mmkay?
Yummyness.
Oh but where was I? Ah yes.
GO PHILS! Lets take this all the way!
(regular blogging tomorrow, i'm too hype to type anything coherent now.)
P.S. jazzbrew i know im up past my bedtime but it was for a good cause so don't you judge me! lol
The lovely chubbs has given me yet another feat of strength. This time i am to list some of my quirks, so the blogging community @ large can laugh and point and judge. At least, that's what i do. :) I thought that this would be easy, being that i am the embodiment of quirk, but it was actually pretty difficult coming up with these. I guess i'm so used to my eccentricities that i'd forgotten what they were! Anyway, after some serious introspection, i was finally able to pin down a few, and whats more, i came to the conclusion that i really am weird. lol. Thanks chubbs! :)
Here are the rules:
1. Link back to the person who tagged you 2. Mention the rules on your blog 3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours 4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking to them 5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged bloggers blogs letting them know they've been tagged 6. You can now display this charming dalek image i created when tagged! And without further ado:
1. I read magazines from back to front. I have no idea when i started doing this, and i doubt i would even have noticed it until a classmate ('nissa 10th grade section 304) asked me "why you always read your magazines backwards". (i would sneak and read ym or seventeen in homeroom every morning.) Without getting into why she was studying me so hard, i'll admit her question made me think. "why am i reading it this way?" I had no answer for her then, and i have no answer for you now. Its just something that i do. Shutty.
2. I like water with my cake, pie, or cookies. You know how some people live by the milk and _____ (insert snack of your choice here) rule? Well i don't. Milk is gross. Save for things that its cooked in, i can't see the purpose for it. Especially as a drink. With all the good tasting things in the world? Why would anyone choose to drink milk? *gag* I refuse to sully a perfectly good cookie (or slice of pie, or piece of cake) with the opaque substance. Give me water to wash down the sweet. Call me weird if you want, but just call me.
3. I wipe off my feet before i go to bed. Always.
4. I pat my head when it itches. Sometimes. A holdover from my relaxer days when i couldn't scratch before my touch ups or else my scalp would burn like atlanta after sherman got through with it. I'd have to go through that first post-touch up week with scabs galore on my scalp. Combing my hair and combing up scabs. *shudders* Well the perm is long gone but i still give light thwacks on my dome on occasion. Its unwitting, and i don't realize i'm doing it until a concerned citizen approaches me and is like "lady! why are you slapping your head??" :(
5. I'm obsessive about eyebrows. The shape, the thickness, the everything. I love a pretty brow (on a woman, men i'm more forgiving) and i get quite dismayed when i see a woman do janky things to her eyebrows. FYI the rainbow shaped eyebrow is never flattering. EVER.
6. My lips and hands must be moisturized. Like chubbs, i cannot be without a lip balm. In the fifth grade I had a classmate with tyrone biggums lips. (Terrence S i see you!) Scarred me for life. He'd stay licking his lips and the ash would go away, but come back five minutes later even more virulent. And he liked me, so he'd always be up in my face with them grey lips. He had the perpetual "i just ate a powdered doughnut" mouthpiece. It was repulsive, and i swore to myself that this would never be my fate. Not to mention that my lips are as big as crap so its important that i stay on top of my situation. My weapon of choice is carmex. I don't like applying gloss or lipstick without it as a base. As far as my hands are concerned, i always keep a mini jar of vaseline in my purse. I hate washing my hands and not having something moisturizing immediately available, lest a grey-ish cast set in between my fingers. If i happen to be out of vaseline, i always carry a tube of lotion for such an emergency. And yes, it is an emergency.
Remember when you were a child and you were told to go to bed by your parents, how you'd find everything under the sun to do to prolong the bedtime process? There would be drinks of water, which led to a few trips to the bathroom, a few more kisses and hugs(mom could never resist) and sometimes i even employed the "i forgot to finish this one assignment!" gambit. My parents would scold but, they'd let me stay up - the important thing. That mutated into "i have to stay up late to watch the news!" maneuver of my preteen years. This added information provided exposition on not just why(assignment) but what(news).
My lies truth(iness) served a purpose, as the parentals thought a 10 o'clock bedtime was perfectly acceptable for a 12 yr old. Can you imagine? Of course they were wrong. I couldn't tell them that because well, i value my extremities. In order to circumvent the delicate issue of their flawed logic i'd concoct elaborate schemes. I actually did have to keep abreast of the news - every morning was current events and my teacher would embarrass me if i was lacking - but i had done that earlier in the evening. Nevertheless, i'd absentmindedly watch it again at 11, but when it went off @ 11:30 i'd get as quiet as a mouse. What i really wanted to do was watch Arseniooooooo Hall. He had all the fab guests, and seeing who appeared on his show was just as important as anything happening in the world at large. I refused to be the only one at the lunch table who hadn't seen whatever cutting edge artist was on his show the previous night. Or learning who the "people sitting over *there*" were. I remember once sitting in the kitchen(family room was too risky), talking on the phone with my homegirl D(also sneaking lol), and just thrilling over the fact that JODECI was on. She wanted dalvin, i took devante(it was the eyes) and we were content with our equitable agreement. Eyes dilated, we came of age as their gyrations sent sparks through our coaxial cables. All was going well until i turned around and saw my dad's looming figure in the doorway.
*draws curtain of charity over scene*
Well the years have gone by, i'm older, and (allegedly) wiser. I don't have ma and pa around telling me when to go to bed, but i really could use their stern reprimands right now. You see, I'm being a bit of a rebel. Its 11:45 and i should have been in bed 45 mins ago. I've been making a concerted effort of getting more sleep @ night, (i've been looking rough lately and i figure its due to lack of zzzzz's)but i can feel it in my bones that tonight is one big FAIL. I'm finding everything but sleep to do. I just finished NOT eating a pumpkin spice muffin. (applaud me. shouldn't have bought it in the first place but i wanted a treat for my bfast tomorrow)I just finished ordering some shoes. I just finished on-demand-ing scooby doo. I just finished painting my toes and making my feet look all pretty. I'm not going to wear sandals tomorrow so it was sort of pointless, but sleepytime evasion comes @ a cost. Actually now, i'm getting kind of tired, so i guess it was a good thing that i wrote this blog. Its an electronic lullaby. Mmm. Bed sounds good now.
...
Crap! I can't go to bed though because my toes haven't fully dried. I'll give them another half. Maybe the night can still be salvaged. Who am i kidding. I'm totally going to regret this tomorrow.
Today encompasses everything thats right with the fall season. Its warm but not stultifying, the humidity is low which makes the air breathable, and the leaves have begun to turn pretty colors, giving the horizon accents of yellow, orange and red. I'm feeling crazy spry and uplifted, my spirits are high despite having a rather wack and uneventful week. Its like springyard zone, only with less enemies and stuff. :)
Friday was my favorite day of the week back in the days of elementary school, and it still is. Then, there was the excitement and anticipation of having the entire weekend ahead of me. Now, well, the weekend doesn't seem quite as long, and there's not as much to anticipate(food shopping, house cleaning and laundry doesn't have quite the appeal of lounging in draws watching cartoons all day)but there is much to be said for the 48hr respite from the previous week's rigors.
Anyway, to complement the dopeness that is today, i give you the song that i had blasting on repeat this morning(its a great song to get fly to):
BGK has released two tracks from her new album "I Am". I find them to be wack, plus they suck. That particular line is the refrain from "single ladies." I heard it this morning, and since then that one line has been repeating over and over in my head all day. Since 10 A.M. Yep, so pretty much forever. Brutal and annoying, to say the least. Of course Beyonce's songs have a way of growing on me so i know it won't be long before i assimilate with the groove and embark on the shameless delight that is shaking my money maker. Beat me daddy eight to the bar and all that jazz. It'll be the redux of the get me bodied extravaganza of '07. Pat your weave ladies.
Anyway, I kind of wanted to get all verbose and wax poetic on how i feel about the sentiment of said song, but i'm not feeling exceptionally pithy tonight, perhaps another time.
Meanwhile i'll leave you with this because i'm a psycho and couldn't resist :P
(don't judge me harshly please! For some odd reason this both validates and ameliorates. i c u laughing @ me chubbs!)
I cried when they shot Medgar Evers Tears ran down my spine And I cried when they shot Mr. Kennedy As though I'd lost a father of mine But Malcolm X got what was coming He got what he asked for this time So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal
I go to the civil rights rallies And I put down the old D.A.R. I love Harry and Sidney and Sammy I hope every colored boy becomes a star But don't talk about revolution That's going a little bit too far So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal
I cheered when Humphrey was chosen My faith in the system restored And I'm glad that the commies were thrown out From the A.F.L. C.I.O. board And I love Puerto Ricans and Negros As long as they don't move next door So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal
Ah, the people of old Mississippi Should all hang their heads in shame Now I can't understand how their minds work What's the matter don't they watch Les Crain? But if you ask me to bus my children I hope the cops take down your name So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal
Yes, I read New Republic and Nation I've learned to take every view You know, I've memorized Lerner and Golden I feel like I'm almost a Jew But when it comes to times like Korea There's no one more red, white and blue So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal
I vote for the democratic party They want the U.N. to be strong I attend all the Pete Seeger concerts He sure gets me singing those songs And I'll send all the money you ask for But don't ask me to come on along So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal
Sure, once I was young and impulsive I wore every conceivable pin Even went to socialist meetings Learned all the old union hymns Ah, but I've grown older and wiser And that's why I'm turning you in So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal
In a moment full of whimsy and not-hardly-serious-ness, a gentleman friend and I agreed that if neither of us were wed by 2020, we would marry each other. This gives us twelve years to grow accustomed to the idea of settling. Yes!
You may be thinking that im a bit capricious, but what can i say? Thats just how i roll. I'm like the wind baby. A delightful spring zephyr.
Anyway, you gents can exhale(or inhale, your choice) because you still have a decade and some change to make an impression. :P
Meanwhile, i won't be *completely* lying when responding to the random hollers from thugs, dirty old men, the "look so good but not ready" contigent, et al., with a flippant:
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