Right Now

"I pull your ponytails because hurting you is easier

Than suffering the possiblity that you

Don't want to share my coloring book

So I angrily scribble

in yours.

Passionate response from you

in any direction

matching mine

Would be a relief. A comfort to know

I don't burn alone. "

-E. Eryn (Def Poet)

OK. We may now continue with our regularly scheduled blog.

Mean Sleep

Hey slacker get it movin. Write something in there, lady.

- Shervon Ratcliff


Actually, I have nothing to say. However, a writing teacher once told me that even if I don't have a damn thing to say, that I should write anyway...and what I mean to say will eventually find it's way onto the page. Even if it's bullshit.

So here it goes. (You guys can thank Shervon for riding me to get something on the page. See above quote.)


Sigh..OK. So I managed to do anything I could think of...except what I was supposed to do.
(Not one word...not one.)

Here are a few things I decided to do INSTEAD of taking my permit test. Ready?

1)Learn guitar. (Yes, I have one. My fingers are numb.)
2)Take a stripper class. (In which the instructor exclaimed,"You've done this before." Um...I'll just take it as a compliment. No Ma...I didn't. Just to be clear...)
3)Make my neices cry. (In a good way. They didn't want me to leave. Awww...)
4)Quit smoking. for good this time. (A bitch is CRANKY. Stay away. I'm warning you.)
5)Self Wax. (Won't do that again. I'm forced to suppress the "I want to slap the shit out of you" response when I'm ripping hair out of my OWN body.)


Actually doing all these things are a complete distraction, and I fully admit this.
And I fear few things. Few. But at some point...some point, life is supposed to begin. This is where The Wiz comes in. (insert collective groan here..)

Yes...yes. It's The Wiz again.

At some point I was walking down 125th street and here comes this tornado see...(yeah...I know. Just go with me,OK?) and the next thing I know I'm surrounded by kids who popped out of graffiti with hoola hoops, and soon, this numbers runner tells me to see the Wiz in order to get back home. I run into Michael Jackson with a Reeses Peanut Butter cup nose, Nipsey Russell who keeps snivling over a fat woman named "Teeny", and a Lion named "Fleet". (Don't test me...it's gospel.)
So anyway...we're happily skipping along, I'm on my way "home" with my three friends, pretty shoes and in the meantime, I run a 5K. After that, I'm not only ease'n on down the road, I'm jogging at a nice ten mile pace.

...then I hit the Posion Poppy feild...(get it? Poison Poppy? You do? Damn. Why didn't I get this when I was a kid?) Anyway, they look like 1970 Pussy Cat Dolls and keep blowing glitter-shit in my face...I fall right asleep...and get the munchies like you wouldn't believe. (ha ha.)

So busy in the field...I completely fucking forgot what "home" was, why I'm trying to get there, and that I have a KILLER solo to close out with. Oh..and you know what? Your feet KILL after running in silver slippers. (Yes, silver. This is The Wiz, not the other one. Just trust me, OK. I have it tattooed for a reason.)

So I think I've been asleep for a minute. At least for the month of December.

But don't worry...I just yawned and I'm rubbing my eyes. I'm up now...I'm up.

But wow. I had a mean sleep...( Download the song if you've never heard of it. It's hot. Cree Summer/Lenny Kravitz's version. Not Van Hunt/Nikka Costa. Love for Nikka and Van, however, I love fried plantains and strawberry ice-cream and they should NEVER get together either.)

So all that said, I'm sorta back on track.

Sorta.

I mean, I can play India Arie's "Good Mouring"...so all that sleeping wasn't wasted. Right?

OK... I really meant to say... I'm afraid to drive in New York.
Whew. There...I said it. Now. While I analyze and figure out WHY this thing is crippling me...here's an excerpt from a book I plan to read very soon.
Some DAMN good advice but it doesn't say shit about driving in New York City...unfortunatley.

I Feel Bad About My Neck
-Nora Ephron


What I Wish I’d Known

People have only one way to be.

Buy, don’t rent.

Never marry a man you wouldn’t want to be divorced
from.

Don’t cover a couch with anything that isn’t more or
less beige.

Don’t buy anything that is 100 percent wool even if it
seems to be very soft and not particularly itchy when
you try it on in the store.

You can’t be friends with people who call after 11 p.m.

Block everyone on your instant mail.

The world’s greatest babysitter burns out after two and
a half years.

You never know.

The last four years of psychoanalysis are a waste of
money.

The plane is not going to crash.

Anything you think is wrong with your body at the age
of thirty-five you will be nostalgic for at the age of forty-
five.

At the age of fifty-five you will get a saggy roll just
above your waist even if you are painfully thin.

This saggy roll just above your waist will be especially
visible from the back and will force you to reevaluate
half the clothes in your closet, especially the white
shirts.

Write everything down.

Keep a journal.

Take more pictures.

The empty nest is underrated.

You can order more than one dessert.

You can’t own too many black turtleneck sweaters.

If the shoe doesn’t fit in the shoe store, it’s never going
to fit.

When your children are teenagers, it’s important to have
a dog so that someone in the house is happy to see you.

Back up your files.

Overinsure everything.

Whenever someone says the words “Our friendship is
more important than this,” watch out, because it almost
never is.

There’s no point in making piecrust from scratch.

The reason you’re waking up in the middle of the night
is the second glass of wine.

The minute you decide to get divorced, go see a lawyer
and file the papers.

Overtip.

Never let them know.

If only one third of your clothes are mistakes, you’re
ahead of the game.

If friends ask you to be their child’s guardian in case
they die in a plane crash, you can say no.

There are no secrets.



Church Nora.

See you guys in a bit.

-Nye