USE YOUR WORDS!

These words are so confusing. Love vs IN love? Infatuation? Like? Like like (courtesy of Hey Arnold)? I get so confused because I don't see how we tack these rigid four letter words on to insanely abstract emotions. Silly humans. Everyone feels things differently so why do we feel the need to name everything? Is it to categorize it? To express it to other humans? Honestly, I think descriptions would be so much more useful and alot less convoluted and lame. "I love you" is sweet and all..and I believe in it the way that I define it, but it can become so confusing figuring out what you're feeling exactly. For example, if I told a man I loved him, would he know what I was feeling? Probably not. Maybe? I really don't know. But if I said
-When you touch me, I hold my breath so I can hear your hands better.
or
-I wish monsters were real so they could hide in your closet and I could chase them away for you
or
-They should make shirts that feel like your fingertips so I can feel them all day

I think someone would know how I felt. Because I was telling them. Explicitly. Saying "I love you" can mean so many different things. You say the same thing to your mother, your grandma, your friends, the friends you don't like. How can we just use that one word? Is it really the same all around?

I don't think so. I think people need to USE THEIR WORDS..like your mom would tell you when you came home crying with snot running down your face. Use our words. And the next time someone asks how you feel, describe to them the specific feeling. Don't feel obligated to use the word LOVE, IN LOVE, LIKE, its cliche and confusing. I think this would make things a lot clearer and save people thinking you feel things that you don't. TRICK BAG.

Supermarket Temper Tantrums

The thing that I'm learning about this breakup process is that you are likely to feel wildly intense, vastly varied emotions from day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute, thought to thought. You never know when the urge may strike to throw your phone through the car window. Or dump your cheetos on the woman eating lunch next to you, and just look at her. Today, I threw a temper tantrum in the frozen food section of Giant. Hours before, I was telling myself how much better off I was, how it would never have worked cause he hates Zach Braff and eats Doritos before bed. Fuckin jerk. Who the hell hates Scrubs? Its the best show on television. Only losers hate Zach Braff. And Doritos make you smell like Doritos for 12 hours on average. Ha! so silly I wasted my time! I was feeling great....or so I thought....

(In the 3rd grade, there was a boy who had Doritos every day for lunch, and he smelled of Dorito to the point that we could smell him on the way into the classroom. "Where's J_____??" sniff* sniff* "oh here he comes now". We called him Dorito Boy (we were so creative) and i'm sure we scarred him for life. If you're reading this, I'm sorry. Kids are cruel cruel smelly sticky bastards. And I hope you don't smell like Doritos anymore. ew.)

Anyway, As I sauntered the aisles of Giant, I reached the snack aisle. I saw huge bags of Doritos... and an unfamiliar rage started to build in my stomach. I walked past the Triscuts as the anger continued to rise. it felt like i had acid reflux..the kind you get after you gobble down a large pizza by yourself. I laughed at myself and kept pushing my cart. Crossing the cheeze Its and Tostitos, I felt the anger in my temples. The "What the fuck?' thoughts raced through my mind like downtown crackheads holding car radios. At this point in the tantrum, I was thinking about all the time and emotions I wasted. And how empty it left me. At the end of the snack aisle, I stopped in front of the frozen food section and tried furiously to knock over my grocery cart. Unfortunately, one wheel was broken, so it wobbled but didn't fall. Which probably made me look like even more of a douche to the old woman selecting packages of chicken legs (for dinner I assume). After overexerting myself straining to knock over the broken cart, I stopped. Kicked the shopping cart, caught my breath, and walked calmly past the elderly woman clutching a package of poultry to her bosom, staring in fear.

As I got in the car, I realized how crazy it is to pretend to be she-HULK and try and break a wobbly shopping cart in a local super market. It just doesn't really scream "stable well-adjusted woman". But I didn't care.

There's no logical rationalizations or slow motion montage where Zach Braff narrates the message of the episode.
Sometimes heartache makes you into a crazy person.

Sandwiches

I will take the time to buffer this blog entry because I know how annoying it is when I go to check someone's blog, and all they write about is their sappy gay relationship/ lack thereof, or the douchebag that broke their heart. I would have liked to have kept this blog pure of that horrid gay nonsense. But two nights ago I found myself teetering on the edge of the insanity mountain (located in a remote village in my brain), and it was fascinating, scary, humiliating and hilarious all piled on to one crazy sandwich. A breakdown is like a delicious sandwich full of sorrow, confusion, frustration and disdain. and mustard (mine had mambo sauce). yummy yummy heartbreak.

Unrequited love is one of the worst things that can happen to a human. Period. It is like chasing a rabid dog through a field of knives. Or trying to win a stuffed animal out of one of those toy machines with the weak ass claw that they always have in arcades. (whoever thought of that idea, you are a douche and I hope you're lonely and insane. because thats how you feel leaving empty handed after a day of shoving quarters in that got damned machine. Just when you grab the toy with the claw, it drops it. fuck you.) As humiliating and embarrassing as it is, unrequited love happens to everyone at least once. It has happened to me. I realized it had gone too far when I found myself in my car crying, and completely oblivious as to whether the vehicle was in motion or not (luckily i was parked). I had turned the music up all the way because I got tired of hearing myself think. So there I was. sobbing wildly in a baby blue civic outside my house, music buzzing through the entire car. phone ringing. face streaked with mascara and snot and pathetic. head rammed into the steering wheel. bladder full ( i didn't care that I had to pee either). And i looked up and thought..how did i get here?

It easy, i said to myself. You were unrequited. And that can drive anyone to madness. Loving someone takes a great deal of energy and ability to be vulnerable. Choosing to love someone (because it is a choice) is like deciding to stand outside someone's doorstep with flowers. completely naked. and with at least one embarrassing mole shaped like a penis. No one can love with clothes on. It's impossible. Because for someone to know you really, you have to be able to be vulnerable (or ass naked). The problem arises when you are the only one naked and with flowers. And the other person has on a fucking snow suit in the summer time. These one-sided relationships enable one person to give..and give..and give..and one person to take and laugh and take more. and laugh. because you're naked for them, but they're safe inside their clothes. This situation can make both parties complete nutbaskets. the giver gets used to giving and not getting and crying in her blue civic. and the taker gets used to getting without giving (which is also crazy) and using the attention (the "i miss your face" texts, the "i can't be without you" face, the "please don't go" sighs) to feed his/her hungry hungry hippo bastard ego.

it's a trickbag
and I don't wish it on anyone. not even the asshole that made the claw machine.

The most frustrating thing about dealing with a situation where your feelings have not been returned, there isn't much chance for closure that you want. It's difficult for anyone to accept that all the giving was for no reason. Or that he/she just didn't like you enough. Or that all your love was an engagement ring that was sucked down a sink drain. I am in process of letting a person go out of my life, and it is extremely difficult. At first, you feel like you're cutting off a leg. Then you realize you can still walk, so it couldn't have been a leg that you amputated. Then you feel like its an arm. and so on..untill you feel like you just filed your nails down a little because they were way too long.

I haven't gotten to the manicured part of the breakup process as of yet. But i am greatly looking forward to it because my nails have gotten out of control, and I don't want to again have the crackheads on my block peer into my car window and ask me if I needed "sumthn" for the pain.

Prairies and Body Hair Coats

I am on a prairie. Yes. A prairie. HIl CIty, Kansas. There are no cell phone towers here (I called Tmobile, and they laughed at me). But there are mountain lions. It seems like a quiet town, nice people (who point and stare at me for being black) but when it gets dark, I always get the feeling that there will be some sort of chainsaw massacre/ mutant sewer gang activity going down here. The only restaurant is pizza hut (where the sewer mutants dine frequently..the pannormous is popular here). I find myself bored out of my skull, watching reruns of fresh prince, researching insane professions (I figured i could make lots of money as a rodent-whisperer. The city of New York could pay me to speak to their rat and mouse population, and politely ask them to leave and be celibate for a few years), keeping watch for mountain lions, or talking to my feet. I find myself wondering about what I could give my rabbit to make her bite people that smell like ham. Or why male ballet dancers never get boners on stage (they probably do when they're dancing with each other) or how many amphibians it took to make Eddie Murphy's suit for RAW, or WHY ZACH BRAFF LEFT SCRUBS or the movie FUR...

I must take a moment for this particular cinematic masterpiece. The film is supposedly about a photographer Diane Albus (played by Nicole Kidman, surprise surprise), and what her life could have been like. In reality, it is about what Diane Albus' life could have been like if everyone in it was a glue-huffing psychopath. This woman has a sexual fixation with body hair, and falls in love with a circus freak covered from head to toe in fur (Robert Downy Jr., another surprise). In his spare time he makes her wigs from the hair on his balls. And she is totally into it. After all, nothing says love like ball hair. The sex scene involves a very erotic shaving sequence and he sews her a fur coat (from his body hair) that she masturbates in.

(thats a real picture from the movie)


I wish i could make up shit that funny. I'm just not that good...yet. They call this movie an imaginary portrait of Diane Arbus. So i figured..why not ponder up an imaginary portrait of my own?

It would go something like this....I was born half zebra in the dunes of the sarenghetti. All my life I was heckled and teased. They called me swirl. I developed a deep seated resentment for my zebra father, who refused to see me and never paid child support. My mother drank heavily and brought horse after horse home, saying they were just friends. But I knew different. As I grew up, I discovered a love for literature, and fell madly in love with Omar Gooding from Wild N Crazy Kids. But after some years, I wasn't pleased unless he wore a sequin cape and a unicorn horn to bed. And our marriage came to bitter end...

This is how crazy Fur was to me. Though I understand how terribly romantic it is for a man to shave his balls and use the hair sew a coat for you, I hardly feel it is fit for anyone to actually view. It was like watching big girl xxx flicks...you don't want to watch, but you're eyes won't look away. Despite this, I want everyone to watch it and feel how uncomfortable it is to watch someone erotically shave someone else.

I can't wait to find a guy who will think...hmm..it's getting crazy down there..time for a coat for Anoa.

Operation Kill Big Bird

(Brought to you by the Letter H (H is for Headless and dead))

I have just finished my undergraduate career. I feel as though costumed midgets and fragrant acrobats should follow me flinging bits of confetti every so often. I haven't written in so long and my brain feels like it was raped (and not the good way). But I am determined to jump back on the horse (that's what she said). The blogging horse that is.

I have recently discovered Kermit the Frog. I knew him as a child, but i came across some of his songs on youtube and I'm afraid to say he melted my panties. Kermit the Frog is a sexy sexy muppet. He sings "It's not east being green" and i just wanted to scoop him up and stick him in my pants (notice is did not say pocket). Kermit is amazing, and think that everyone should take the time to look up his songs and allow him to take them away to a sexy muppet world where there are no problems and everyone is made of sexy felt.

If I lived on sesame street I would have a brownstone and big hair, and all I would do is sit on my stoop and sing rockin covers of awesome songs. I would need a guitar. (note to self. learn to play the guitar.) I would sing with duets with kermit (before doing him of course) and smoke with my man Snuff. Eat lots of icecream and pie. I would kick babies with grouch and perform tap dance numbers with pepe the shrimp. fuck man why can't the world be made of felt? I guess I would get bored on the sesame street. I would start to hate ms. Piggy's thirsty ass schemin on my man. The grouch would blow my life because he wouldn't want to do anything fun or cool (except for kicking babies). And he smells like soiled diapers and homeless man jizz. Big Bird...I'd probably kill Big Bird. He's big and creepy and he lurks. I'd make a thousand chicken quesadillas. Or a mountain of chicken patties. I could feed 3 African villages if I killed Big Bird. It would take a well thought out plan to kill him though. I'd have to gas him or shoot him. Maybe i could get Kermit to distract him with a sultry song while I creep behind him and choke him out. I would need all my sesame neighbors to help me feather him and cook him. I'm going to end this little daydream because plotting to kill Big Bird is probably high crime in sesame street. I'd probably get some years and then i'd be sexually harrassed and assraped by felt penises. Wait, I don't even know if muppets die. And if they do, where do they go after?

The point is that I'm back on the blog horse. Tommorow I will need help with something. THeres a guy on youtube and I can't figure out whether he's a gay or not. Investigation is necessary. Stay tuned love muffins (ew i fuckin hate b scott).

speaking of people I hate, I feel the need to begin a hit list of people I'd shoot if I wouldn't get time.

1. Big Bird
2. B. Scott
3. Plies
4. NV 69 (this would be a mercy murder)
5. Miss J from Tyra's Show
6. Tyra
8. Tyra's Show

I have more and I'll finish the list tomorrow. Im tired! night

Flashing: A Gender Stratified and Male Dominated Artform/Crime



I was reminded of my childhood today when my little brother put on my dad's creepy khaki trench coat. Interestingly, Flasher was the first thing to come to mind. When I was in Jr High at Alice Deal JHS, we were fortunate enough to have suffered a hilarious phenomena. There was a flasher lurking in the bushes nearby waiting till school's end each day to expose himself to unexpecting passersby (the flasher was also caught eating berries from the trees planted in front of the school, and I once saw him at a pta meeting). I recieved several serious pamphlets and brochures to take home to my parents concerning the flasher that was haunting the school pathway, and what to do if your child had been exposed to his genetalia. I thought this was funny when I was the 7th grade. And I think it's funny now..in the 16th grade. the humor is undeniable...Flasher- exhibitionist: someone with a compulsive desire to expose the genitals...My issues are not with the flashing itself (I think its great). My gripe with flashing lies in that it is a male dominated occupation. I wonder why there are so few females with the compulsive desire to expose the genitals. Is it because people wouldn't really be that offended? If i flashed my breasts to unsuspecting 7th graders, I'm sure they would be startled initially (especially if I screamed "how do you like THIS?!" mid-flash)... but I don't think it would be soo terrible that the parents and school would have sent home brochures and alerted the counselors. Flashing a vag isn't all that terrifying or fantastic either (unless the public hair were cornrowed or died green..that'd at least be creative). Penises are just so amazingly external and dangly. They're spooky and mysterious. Like a cloaked gargoyle.

ALSO, people see breasts on TV all the time. There's no mystery or wonder! There is soft porn on almost every channel after 2am, and if not on the actual program, then the very tasteful EXTENDZ penis enlarging commercial (woman: ever since he started using extendz *giggles*, I decided not to stop sexing his brother so often. thanks extendz *smiles*). I think this is a fucking crime. Lady goods are so overexposed that we can't even flash anyone and get a real scream! People are desensitized to the female form, which can sometimes be quite frightening. And rightfully so. But noooo penises are always a shocker. Mystifying scary penises. UNFAIR.

I also think its unfair that the only women that would get screams for flashing would be overweight. If Barbara Dean (from the Food Channel) or Star Jones (then and now) woke up one day with a pressing urge to expose their genetalia, their cascading mammories might get screams. But people would be more upset later than traumatized. (I do recall a homeless woman on Georgia Ave. lifting her loin flap to be and being very bothered by it.) But it just isnt fair. In a perfect world, I could walk to the nearest train station (with my trench coat of course), saunter up to an unsuspecting couple, and open my jacket to them. In a perfect world they would yell and run. But in this stupid unfair world, no one would care. They would just yawn, check the time and have me chased by the metro police. I'm pretty fast in my reboks though, so the chase might be really good.

I encourage everyone to take a really good look at this injustice. Thinking about flashing has me ready to lace up my reboks, grab the trench and head to a museum (I know its sick but somehow I think that when kids are flashed its funnier).

sugar and spice and e.v.o.o.

I feel like the legs of an elderly paraplegic man. Lame...and squishy. And its not like I don't have shit to do (I have an entire thesis to write)...Its just that nothing really really excites me anymore. Nothing gives me that thrill in my pants. (And things used to really excite me...**watches butterfly float away like egg from zoloft commercial, then wobbles away**)

I think getting bad news is like ramming a sledgehammer into your excitement bone. My excitement bone is broken and i have a cast on...its humiliating wearing a cast when your excitement bone gets broken, because the excitement bone is so close to your pubic bone, it looks like your wearing a paper mache diaper. And no one will date you when you have a diaper cast on because people will think you're an asshole..in a diaper cast.


Any who...I have been pondering what would make me excited again so that my life will stop feeling like a hairy useless leg. Again, I will suspend my imagination because mortal human earthy life is so restricting...like kanye's i'm so gay (but i'll never tellllllll) pants.

example...







anyway, Here goes:

Things that would spice up my bland bland white people food life

1. Chasing after the mailman while barking with toothpaste frothing from the edges of my mouth
2. Knocking door to door dancing for small donations to save the "last village of black gypsies"..dressed in a Walmart Jasmine (from Aladin) costume and my '99 new balances.
3. Setting off on a voyage to the underworld to collect my baby teeth back from the tooth fairy. (Yes, the toothfairy lives in the underworld because she is a lying sneaky thief. And its sick that she steals baby teeth..and makes jewelry out of it. How far is that from the Chainsaw Massacre mutant stealing peoples' faces and wearing them around? Not far, I say..not far enough)
4. Forging a ring of power from the smoldering lava of Mordor
5. Watching a toothless man gum someone angrily and with all his might
6. Smacking Rachel Ray in the face with a hot greasy herb-crusted chicken breast. (She's so fucking smiley all the got damn time with her unnecessarily gay acronyms (Add some E.V.OO!! vomit)).
7. Having a hot steamy awkward affair with Cedric Yarbrough.

I have to stop the list right now to properly express how much I love Cedric Yarbrough. For those that are lame, Cedric Yarbrough is the fine black guy from Reno 911. I know I sound creepy and weird but I don't care. I hear Alecia Keys "You don't know my name" in my head every time I watch Reno...Sometimes at night I pretend that we're on the phone saying sweet things to each other. (totally kidding.....) His humor makes my panties shimmy with glee.



DAMN DAMN DAMNIT ALL TO HADES!! I just found out he has a woman and she looks to be of caucasian persuasion. what the fuck (we will definitely have this talk later)

I want to erase what I wrote about loving him, but I'll keep it up cause I'm the bigger person.

Also: I am a big fan of the sexy affair..(would you like to make sexy time with me?)...but I have also seen it go horribly horribly awry. Good sex is wonderful...Great sex can land you in worlds of trouble. That shit will have you twitchin' and feindin like a fuckn basehead before you can say methlab. Your family will have to hide the electronics from you and feed you through the slit under the door to your room...and no matter who you are..it is not a good look. Beware.

I know Im supposed to be continuing my list, but I need to block normal programming in order to offer you the conversation I had with my older brother today...

Problem at hand: Black Women being "too independent for normal relationships" ?

Are some Black women too independent to maintain healthy relationships? I approached this question very carefully because as a black woman, I am painfully aware that there are many many types of black women (short, thick, sweet, psychotic (lets be honest)). After much thought, I answered the question, yes. There are some. I think that black women are socialized in different ways, some of us are socialized to rely almost entirely on a man and that man's wealth and status. There are mothers who tell their little brown girls to go out and find a rich man that will take care of you...love is a perk. On the contrary, some of us to taught never to rely on a man becaue he will always neglect us. Life has taught too many black women that the only one they can rely on is themselves. Our men are many times unable to love us properly (due to a range of other things i'll talk about later) and/or unavailable to our needs (also because of a lot of historical damage). Being left and neglected (or watching your mother be left and neglected) is enough to make a pact to do for self. The problem arises when a man that wants to do for that woman comes along. It is extremely difficult to break down barriers that you have spent a lifetime building brick by brick, tear by tear, restraining order by restraining order. When my heart is broken, I tend to turn inward and work on myself because thats the only thing positive I can think to do (stalking, slitting tires, and leaving consecutive messages are not really my thing)...I develop my independence. That's how we cope sometimes. Because what we learn while dating is-relying on him will probably get you hurt. I think that if we don't know how to take down the walls some for a good man though, we will be crushed under a pile of Zane novels, running through a maze of self fulfilling prophecies or soaking in a sad green-with-algae pool of loneliness. All of the above suck ass.

I know that no-one can "asshole-proof" their love lives...but if I could, I would. I would spackle, shrink wrap, cement, shelaq, plaster, nail, and jettison all the assholes out of my life for ever and ever amen..But unfortunately I can't. And I guess that's fine with me..because loving the way I have has built me (awesome brick by awesome brick) into the woman I am now.

Now all I need is a little spice and some e.v.o.o...

I hate rachel ray (whose name doesn't deserve to be in caps)