I Get Out {Final Blog of 2008}

2008 is going to end the same way it started, with a kiss of depression and a hug of insomnia. So, while I’m excited for a new year and new possibilities, I am still weary and fear full as any semi-sane person should be. I’m going into 2009 carrying regrets heavy enough to crush me, heavy enough to leave me right where I don’t want to be. This past year has been a struggle, even when I’ve hid it behind witt or drinking, or facebook status updates, most days have been more of a struggle to get out of bed than you will ever understand. I let the world kick my ass. I let whatever was holding me down win. I was not myself this year. I was this complacent person walking around aimlessly pretending not to notice that life was happening. In 2009 this complacency will have to die, and so will this laziness, this defensiveness and this fear of being an amazing smiling person filled to the brim with love of self and the world around. The sad part is, as I sit back and read old postings I saw my world slipping away from me, clear as day, and I did nothing. I lied to myself. I told myself that by pushing forward, I would be ok, that everything would work it self out in the end. I was passive as hell. That has to die as well. I could have stopped this in April, or March, or that day that depression crept down my throat and Boy Scout knotted my stomach into vomit and tears. I could have done something then. I didn’t and I’m pissed at myself. I didn’t have to be here, and I know this is less about fate and more about being proactive. I could have played a bigger role in my own life, I didn’t have to let world dictate what I did or how I did it. I could have been the voice, the force that pushed me out. And I still have to be. I can’t quit. Quitting is death. I’m not there yet. I’m slowly waking up from this coma of complacency. Standing up, Being the adult that I need to be, not the one I pretend to be. 2009 will be the year of accepting responsibility. Fixing all that’s broken and mending it with tears and forgiveness, instead of empty promises and sideways smiles. 2009 will be a year of healing, of new beginnings. Whatever that means… I will not be that person again. He dies. Right here and right now, and tomorrow I will party, dance, drink, cry and hug. And yes when January 1st rolls around I will wake up the same person. This skins, these finger and toe nails, and this stiff ass knee, but I will not think nor walk the same. I cannot sit back and watch opportunity and life sleep right out of my hands. I know it’s easier said than done, so I won’t call these resolutions. I’ll call them things that need to change if I want to survive and I do. I will. I have. I’ve mad it through another year, and I am so thankful for that. I thankful for this chance to reflect on opportunities not taken, and tears not cried, and relationships not mended.

Despite all my sadness and my need to change, there are things about this year that I am quite grateful/thankful for. I am thankful for the progresses I’ve made in of spite all of my short comings. This year I’ve dedicated myself to writing more, and I committed to it, and I’m proud of the out come. The only thing I’ve committed to in years. That’s a lie. I’ve committed myself to my friends and I’ve fell in love with each and every one of them all over again, and to them I owe so much. They’ve allowed me to love unconditionally again, and that’s something I never saw for myself again. I’m grateful for my family even when we refuse to accept our stubbornness, and fight and bicker to no end. I’m grateful to my God because this year, I questions him, and cursed him, and damn near turned my back on him, and through it all he’s kept me. I know he has, and I believe it with every ounce of my soul. I’m still trying to figure this church and spirituality thing out. I’ll get there. And I accept my missing faith as part of some of the challenges that I faced this year. I’m thankful for my unsuspected semester away from school. It’s taught me how much I truly do value the opportunity to learn. It’s showed me the art of a real life adult hustle is more than I can handle right now. I have a greater respect for the people who roll out of bed every morning and go to a job that they hate. I did it for 3 months and hated it, it almost killed me. I cannot wait for this year to throw me head first into a classroom. I will be there. However, my time away from school allowed me to fall in love with reading and the smell of public libraries. I will continue to read as much as I can, whenever I can, because as English major that’s where I fall short, and my comma craziness.

As much as I hate dislike my life, I love it all the same.

If I hold out,

KD

GoodBye 2008. The Shorter Sweeter Version.

I know that last one was kinda lenghty. Read it anyway or if your in a rush. Read this one. Its not as sad and its short…

Dear 2008,

You have gut punched me more than a 3rd grade bully. I’ve let you torment me for months and I’ve stood there taking it, pretending to be stronger than I am. You were relentless and persistent in trying to make me crumble. You damn near succeeded. You have broken me in places I never knew existed, poured salt in wounds I’m still desperate to close, and caused me to cry over things I didn’t know I cared about, but I AM HERE. Despite what you threw at me, despite my lack of faith, despite myself.

2008 I hate you now. 2008 I could hate you forever. I wish I could say I was sad to see you go, but I will gladly help you pack. You can take your extra day and these feelings of darkness and disappear, you will not be missed. I will always carry your memories. In this blog, in a photo album, but you will not be missed.

I will celebrate your departure with all my might. Yes! There will be music. There will de dancing. There will be drinks, and when I awake the next day you will be gone, and new possibilities will be here.

Thank you 2008, because you were so horrible 2009 has no choice but to be amazing.

With love,

KD

Real Soul Sunday On Tuesday…

Just because I was hung over Sunday.

Enjoy,

KD

Question???

How many times can you go out to a bar during the week before you are considered a lush????

Think about it….

Mr. Obama gets FLY…

I did a post about Mrs. Obama’s inauguration attire. I had to do this one because I am all about the OBAMA’s and hot clothes, and parties










I’m really feeling the Sean John design. I’m not a fan of Diddy but I like the slick 30’s feel of it. I also love the black on charcoal. Yeah.

The countdown continues.



KD

Looks better from afar…

So the cardigan I ordered for Christmas. It doesn’t look the same in person. It actually makes me look quite Lame…which isn’t the look I was going for. I was going for a hip hop Gatsby (because he was black). If you don’t know who Gatsby is look it up. Anyway. That’s my biggest problem with internet shopping, and I love internet shopping. I mean the sweater looks like the picture same color, but it looks much more modern in the pictures and thats just not the case. The cable knit is soooo Mr. Rodgers. I mean there isnt a lot that you can do with a cable knit sweater. Its meant for a more mature look, but mature late 20’s mature, not late 60’s. I guess I should know better. I had to order another cardigan because I want one and I can’t just wear that sweater becasue its here.. Its New Years Eve. Freshness is a must.

So this is the new sweater is purple. I’m not a big fan of purple. I think I wore it once to my uncles wedding back in 2005. I looked good it in, but I think I look good in everything. Sometimes. Anyway, I bought this cardigan from the same website and had to pay to have it Overnighted. 30.95…ain’t that some shit. I hope its worth it. There should be any surprises I wear LRG all the time, I know how thier clothes fit and the desing is pretty simple.

I did see a cardigan at Macy’s that I could wear but its hella expensive and I don’t have dough to throw around like that. I wish I did.

Speaking of dough. I finally got my paycheck and no longer have to deal with the crooked ass preacher. Amen!

I’m putting pictures of the new sweater below. I don’t know what I’m going to pair it with but….

Also, excuse the funny looking model with the weird mouth. He’s just really popular on the website that I shop from occasionally.





Fly as I wanna be,



KD

Though its been said, many times, many ways…

Merry Christmas
TO YOU!!!

From the bottom of my soul,

KD

Let me get my Scrooge on for a Second…

I sent my Christmas wishes, now its time for me to complain…



As much as I absolutely love the holiday season I can’t remember one where I didn’t have the stankest of attitudes. This year will be no exception. I still haven’t been paid. The cardigan that I was so excited about getting is too short.



I hate being Tall.



If my torso was like 3 inches shorter I would be in love with the sweater, and one of the damn buttons fell off and I don’t have time to send it back and to get a new one by New Years.



Now I have to re-plan my NYE outfit…



Maybe tomorrow…When I’m around the little children and their good spirits I will be in a better mood. I’m praying.



I remember when Christmas use to hold a different excitement. Waiting around all day for the sun to sent, the oven to be warmed, cookies to be baked, and the thought of Santa’s white ass to give me my shit.



I was always bad at bed time. I can’t do anything when I’m anxious. I would lay in bed in the most unnatural positions so when my mom came to check on me I would appear to be sleeping. She never believed I was. I think the fake snoring noises tipped her off, but when midnight struck and she came back to let me know that Santa left….



I remember being wide eyed trying to scan for all the presents that I asked for and the ones that I didn’t. I loved it. I still do. I would fall asleep right in front of the tree, just incase Santa made a mistake, he wouldn’t be coming to take back shit. Once his fat ass left it, it was mine. No Questions asked.



I remember…



I’m trying to cling to these childhood memories of happier Christmas so that I don’t carry this bad ass Scrooge attitude that I have. I don’t want to ruin anyone else’s holiday day. Then part of me could care less.



Ugghhhh….Sorry for all these depressing ass post, but whatever. It’s my space. My soul. Deal.



That attitude isn’t really meant for you. I’m just bitter about being broke, but having money. FUCK THIS…



I’m going to finish my Gatorade and Vodka…





One more time,



Merry Christmas,



KD

Santa is good all the time…

…and all the time Santa is good. (Please spare me any religious comments.)

Read back earlier post when I asked for a cashmere cardigan.

I GOT ONE, and its the most lovley christmas gift ever!






Don’t you just want to cuddle with it?

I do!

I will! As soon as it gets here in 3 to 5 business days.

Ain’t God good.

Now I have to find the perfect rest of an outfit (<—that makes sense) for NYE.

Any Suggestions???



KD

Real Soul Sunday...

...The Christmas Edition

Act A N***A Part 2 (Trying to let go with Vodka)

How could I lose if I did nothing wrong?

Why am I sitting here drowning my sorrows in vodka and whatever juice we have in this house broke?

This is not how I pictured my day. I just didn’t. I can’t believe such crooked people are allowed to run business, let alone school. I’ll home school my kids, people are going to blame me if they come out fucked up anyway, I might as well go for the fucking gold.

I know I wrote about this earlier and I thought I was done but…Sometimes its just to hard to be the bigger person and let things go. Sometimes you gotta hold on to that anger, just enough to keep you from crashing. That’s what I’m doing right now. This anger and the drinking are the only things keeping me afloat.

Good guys finish last. That’s how the saying goes, but I never pictured myself one of the good guys. I was always a step away from each. I like the grey areas. There is more room for error there. I just can’t understand how I got fucked over. Does the law not mean anything? I spent my entire day on the phone with the department of labor and all they can tell me that is that “Yes, what your boss is doing is wrong but there is nothing we can do at this point”…Bitch what are you good for. GET ME MY MONEY. When the law protects the criminal clergy and struggling college kids go broke, where is the justice? WHERE IS MY MONEY?

As much as I am upset about the money this is about principle. When you say you’re going to do something do it, especially when it comes to dealing with people’s money. No one works for fun. Well, I don’t. People need money. And they except to get paid accordingly, you can’t withhold my money because you don’t agree with how I submitted my resignation. I didn’t have to give you any notice what so ever and the same amount of money would still be owed to me.

I’m just beside myself and no one seems to understand my anger, my frustration, my need to drink, and be alone, and whine, and write. I just need to do this. It’s the only way all of this BULLSHIT will make some type of sense in the morning.

I’m more upset that I spent more than half my day at this very computer screen arguing with a crook…sorry I mean pastor. I want to past emails and school websites but it will do no good. I really want to bomb the fuck out of that place and watch his dreams crumble. I really want to wish the worst for him, and I know it’s not right but I can’t help it. When I’m angry these things happen and I refuse to apologize for them. So… I hope he gets AIDS and cancer for his wife, and that one of his sons are gay, and another gets hep c from using a dirty needle, I hope his little girls gets hit by a car, and I hope it happens all in the same week, so I can drive by the house laughing and throwing broken beer bottles at them…I don’t even care. At this point I don’t.

I’m tired of people fucking with me.



And in the middle of writing this I got this e-mail…

yo i heard pastor did you wrong, don’t take action you gone just have to wait and going to court will cost you alot more and you was right about JR talkin shit when you left (Excuse the spelling mistakes)



and I smiled.



I don’t know why, but I did.



I feel bad again. Maybe those kinds weren’t that bad. Maybe they were just lost. Hell, I’m still lost, in many ways I need to stop and stare. At what I don’t know, but something.



This day has been too long. Too stressful. My entire soul is tired.



Goodnight,



KD

Make me act a N****

Yo…

Why is my boss trying to stick me for my money? Sorry Let me rephrase. Why is my boss not trying to pay me today, like he promised he would at the start of the week?

SOMEONE PLEASE IN FORM THIS NIGGA….

Don’t fuck with my money. Don’t do it!

backtrack…

I sent a letter to him earlier in the week saying when my last day would be. Last night all of a sudden, you are quick to accept my letter of resignation and say your going to mail my last two check to me…NIGGA NO YOU DON’T.

I didn’t mail you my fuckin services. I didn’t make you wait 3 to 5 business days for me to come in and teach and put up with a bunch of other unnecessary bullshit. GIVE ME MY FUCKING MONEY.

I WILL SNAP ON THIS OLD GEEZER. 4 MONTHS OF PENT UP ANGER AND BULLSHIT. I WILL GO THE FUCK OFF.

So, I nicley replied to his email and said some of the aforementiond details, minus the curse words. He replied

Payday is the 20th. I will mail your last two checks. Don’t come here.

I copied and pasted that from the email. NIGGA.

I know when pay day is, but I asked you in person eariler in the week if we would get paid on Friday becasue it was the start of your holiday break. YOU SAID WE WOULD.

WHERE DOES ALL THE FUCKING CONFUSION COME FROM.

AND THEN, YOU TELL ME NOT TO COME THERE.

SAVE YOUR BREATH. AS LONG AS YOU HAVE MY MONEY, I’LL SHOW UP WHEN EVER THE FUCK I LIKE AND WILL ACT A NIGGA IF I FEEL LIKE IT JUST BECASUE YOU HAVE INCONVIENCED ME.

DON’T PLAY WITH PEOPLE’S MONEY. ITS THE DAMN HOLIDAY SEASON. I HAVE BILL AND OTHER OBLIGATIONS THAT RESTED ON THE FACT THAT YOU SAID YOU WOULD PAY ME TODAY. PAY ME TODAY.

I’M SO READY TO FIGHT THIS OLD ASS MAN. YO…

THIS IS THE MOST SPITEFUL SHIT I’VE HEARD OF IN MY LIFE. AND HE HAS THE NEVER TO CALL HIMSELF A PASTOR. NIGGA!

LET ME SHOW UP THERE AND HE TRY NOT TO PAY ME.

IM PISSIN ON THE CARPET AND CALLING SOMEBODY ALL TYPES OF UNCHRISTIAN LIKE NAMES.

I DON’T PLAY GAMES.

NOT WITH MY MONEY.

NOT AT ALL.



IF I DON’T POST FOR A FEW DAYS AFTER THIS ITS BECAUSE I’VE BEEN LOCKED UP,



kd

Indian Giver

Remember all the nice things I said about my kids the other day….I TAKE THAT SHIT BACK!

OH THESE RAT FACED SNOTTY NOSE PIMPLE RIDDLED FUCKERS.

I can’t take. NOT TODAY. I didn’t sleep well and I feel sick again, I will catch a care and plead guilty.

WHY ME????

Did I piss on someone in my former life? I’m just saying. Horrible job after horribler job!

I wonder… how many times I can ram one of their heads into a chalk board before they black out?

How many kicks to the abdomen before bruising starts? How many??

I should call up Mike Jack and R to the Kelly. Let them have a field day in this bitch. Candy Bars and Piss all day.

FUCK EM’

FUCK EM’

FUCK EM’

I’m a really nice person,

KD

Tyler Perry’s Madea Goes To Jail

This time there is no debate to be had. I’m going to see this. MADEA is a muthaF**kin fool. I was a little disappointed with The Family that Preys and I went to see it despite my better judgments. Oh, but I know I will get a good cackle or 50 from this one even if there are 20 million interconnected story lines with 15 plot twist. If it’s half as funny as the play I will be going back to see it at least twice and cop the DVD when it’s released.



Support Black Movies and 6ft men in drag,



KD

A Serious Case of Mid-December’s Writers Block

Friday’s my last day of work and I hate to say it, but it’s a bittersweet feeling. As much as I complained and wanted to shoot these kids in the face, I am going to miss them a tiny bit. Yesterday, I told them I wouldn’t be coming back after the holiday, and for the first time I actually made a real genuine connection with them. I didn’t see them as contributors to my misery. I saw them for what they were, young black men and women with their futures right before them as bright as they wanted to be; just like me in many ways. In that moment I knew that I had to leave them with something, something that would inspire them, that would keep me in their minds and possibly their hearts as they will forever be apart of mine. In the past 3 years they have went through several teachers and from the stories that have been repeated to me the reasons the other teachers left were similar to my own. That made me feel worse, I almost considered staying. I knew/know that I couldn’t, as much as I wish I could be here to teach them and help them the best I know how, I have to move on for my own good. If I was a little more giving, a little more self sacrificing I could have stayed just until the end of the semester, but I’m not there yet. On Friday when I leave here, I will be FREE, or FREER than I’ve felt in the past 5 months. Still, I want to leave them with something. I though about buying them all Christmas present but…nah! I sat and thought for a while. I came to the conclusion that I would write them a letter. A letter filled with advice and perspective, nothing preachy, just my honest outlook on the world and how much it has changed since I was in their shoes almost 5 years ago.



Now I’m having writers block. There is so much to say and to be said, but where do I begin. How do I relay this information to them? How do I make it short and sweet, Lasting and wise?



I need help I only have two days left.



Caring about the kids I want to kill,



KD

End of the Year Survey

This is the only reason I miss Myspace. Anybody have a random survey that they want to send me.


Who’s the man or women that fucked you the best this year?



Well, action has been limited, and by limited I mean all the action I did get was horrible. Dry and gross like oatmeal.

What was the best album?



Ughhh ask me next year. I’m still trying to digest all this years music.


What trend was the wackest this year?



Skinny jeans, and big non-perscription classes. LET THE 80’s DIE.


Best song(s)?

Lion, Tigers, & Bears- Jazmine Sullivan,

IfULeave- Musiq Soulchild,

Chasing Pavement- Adele,

Gnarles Barkley- Going On,

Raheem Devaugh- Customer,

Annie Don’t Wear No Panties- Erykah Badu


Worst song?



Take a bow- Rhianan (THE WORST SONG EVER)

Who should we look out for in 09?



Umm… my return to Higher Education@!!! New Jobs. New Clothes. New Booty. New Me.



Sidebar, I fucking love the New Year. I just like the fact that every 365 I can restart (kinda), even if I can’t, it’s nice to think about it.


What was you most memorable moment in 08?



I went to Atlantic City for the first time. I drank a lot. I saw Jill and Chrisette and Raheem.


Did the recession effect you this year?



What??? YES. Trying finding a job or going to the grocery store and spending less than $40.


How do you think 09 will turnout?



Ummm…I’m not gonna jinx it, but Amazing



Did you do any illegal drugs this year?



What do you mean when you say “illegal drugs” because I have a nightly appointment with some Simply Sleep and that one time I got contact high on the way to that play.

What clothing line did you like best this year?



Artful Dodger and I’m always a fan of LRG, but I’ve been looking more high end even though I can’t afford it.


What website did you log on to the most this year?



Hands down tie between Facebook and wordpress


What blog besides your own did you log on the most?



CleverVixen.org (My wife) and Jia.Tv (cause I love me a sassy black chick.)


Best chronic strain of 08?



I’m so out of the loop. I guess …regular.


Best producer this year?



I going to say the best produces were all the hood rat baby momma of the world. They will be doing a reunion show on New Years Eve.

Cadillac Records {A Round of Applause}

I finally buckled and went to see Cadillac Records. I made up my mind not to see it after I heard Beyonce was in it. I know that seems a bit haterish, but I believe that she is THE WORST ACTRESS EVER!!! I would be a real hater and list all her other flop performances but it’s not necessary.



Somewhere between me not wanting to go and me sitting in the Theater, I got lost and actually enjoyed the movie. I enjoyed the characters even more. So much that I came home and Goodled each and everyone; such complex and amazing black musician. A round of applause is in order for the actors that tackled this roles, I mean…they ate. They all deserve Oscar noms. Stand out performances definitely are…Columbus Short, Mos Def, and Jeffery Wright. I will give an honorable mention to Beyonce because she did do a much better job than past efforts, but how hard could it be to be a sassy sangin’ heroine addict. I’m just say that was one of those “insert black actress here” role, but she worked what she had. She still didn’t out shine her male counterparts. I only wish they kept the original songs with out trying to remake them. There is a simplicity to those original songs that sometimes gets lost when people remake them; maybe I’m just a fan of good ol’ soul music.

At work and hating it,



KD

Ramble: When Crushes Cross the Line…

Last night I was having the dreaded only child conversation with my semi-new crush/fling or whatever you choose to call it. I got the same sigh and the pause where they start to think about all those negative only children qualities that they assume I have all in matter of seconds. It seems harmless, but I know how people’s perception of me changes very quickly right after the big reveal. I’m accustomed to it. I have my standard I’m not spoiled and I know how to share speech all prepared.

I remember during my freshman year of college I would lie and tell people that I had an older sister; which I do. So, it’s not a complete lie but I don’t know her that well and can count on one hand with 2 fingers left over how many times we’ve actually shared the same space. I can’t even tell you her birthday. I know that’s she’s maybe 10 to 12 years older than me, has a husband and two small children, and lives about 20 minuets away from me. That is the start and end of our relationship. I’m fine with that.

Ok, I decided to take the high road and tell my crush/fling/whatever the truth.

Me: Well, I do have a sister. I just don’t know her at all, so I tell people that I’m an only child.
Crush: that’s hella rude.
Me: how so?
Crush: If I had a sister, I would acknowledge her even if I didn’t know her.
Me: What’s the point? She could be the mail lady for all I really know.
Crush: well you should try to get to know her.
Me; Why? I would have time to get to know her if I wasn’t busy trying to get to know you.
Crush: maybe you like the idea of being an only child because it gives you a green light to be an asshole.
Me: Maybe….

Then there was another long drawn out pause, this time it was the one where everyone had an attitude but didn’t want to be the first to hang up. Thank God my best friend was on the other line.

I was upset and said crush/fling/whatever for a second because I was sharing which is a hard thing for me to do in the first place. I wasn’t asking for any advice on my relationship matters. Then I sat and thought (big mistake).

I wondered if denying my sister is my own selfish way of remaining an only child?

It couldn’t be. If I claimed her or not, I would still be my mother’s only child. I don’t get it.

I’ve always wished for siblings but not this way. I think about our age it would be impossible to start a relationship that should have been fostered since birth. I don’t feel responsible for her. Not the way I’ve seen other siblings do it, and I know each relationship is different but even so. We have no roots, no tree, hell we don’t even have dirt, just the same shared genes.

Was my crush right, should I invest in a relationship with my sister?

Or…

Was my crush/fling/whatever being a nosey asshole? Was my way ok because it was working for me? Should I just go on as I am?

I hate when people throw me off my game!

Still at work and hating it and confused,

KD

Holiday Spirit.

Who knew John Legend could pull of something so soulful and tacky?

If this doesn’t make you laugh…Heaven help you.

Nutmeg!!!! lls




Oh Christmas,



KD

Real Soul Sunday

Kindred The Family Soul…

Mrs. Obama gets Fly

Mrs. Obama is a well on her way to being an icon….Fashion Icon that is. She has the Industry buzzing about the big “FUCK YOU BUSH/WELCOME OBAMA PARTY” dress. I am a big fan of anything even semi artsy and these sketches by these legendary designers, try to embody the soul of this woman into a single dress for one night. Pretty Fuckin’ Cool.

My personal favorite is the Michael Kors. I’m excited for the inauguration events. I wish I could go but there is no way I’m going all the way to DC to stand a million miles away and snap pictures of a spec. I’ll watch it on CNN with the windows open and pretend.



THE OBAMA’S ARE MOVING TO THE WHITE HOUSE,

KD

Ramble: Because my body aches and I came to work anyway

I don’t feel good. These kids are being extra loud, my neck hurts, there is some thick phlegm shit stuck in the back my throat, and I just want to go home and crawl in bed. I can’t. It sucks. I’m trying to drug myself up, but I’m scared to take anything that may make me too drowsy and fall asleep on the bus, and wake up anywhere besides home. I wish I had a car. Scratch that. Today would be a horrible day for me to try and drive. I can barely make it up these mazes of steps and door ways here at work; traffic is much more difficult.

This is just not a good day. I hate being sick. I that the thought of being sick. I’m such a big baby. I just want my mommy to make me some soup and bring me orange juice with a flexi-straw.

Why won’t these kids shut the hell up!!! Why??? I hope this sickness doesn’t come with a sore throat. I hope it’s gone by Monday. I can’t let this sickness rob me of my big “Fuck you, I’m quitting speech.” I’ve planned it since day three, every since I found out Teaching Assistant meant I would be trapped in this hell because of the damn recession and my lack of a degree.

Who turned the lights up so high? Yesterday you couldn’t pay for an ounce of sunshine; today every single beam seems to be aimed directly in my eyes penetrating the part of my brain that cause a cacophony of ringing noises, that I can only call chaos.

Why me?

Where is my mother, a bowl of chicken noodle soup and darkness and silence? That would make my day so much better. I knew it was going to be horrible when I over slept by a half an hour. I should have stayed in bed. I’m always ignoring the important signals.

There are a 1000 people texting me and are angry that my responses are short un-humorous. I can’t help it. I just don’t feel like me. Lie. I do feel like me, just a me who got ran over by a tractor trailed and infected with the bird flu, but I haven’t eaten chicken in days, and that has no real relevance to what I’m talking about now. Someone save me from me. Save me from whatever sick is resting in the pit of my belly. Tell me that this is not some anxiety ridden disease that has chosen to manifest itself in the form of insomnia and cold symptoms.

I promise, I’ll be better and less anxious and lethargic come the New Years, I have it all mapped out, including my red white and blue skinny tie.

I know I’m rambling, but I can’t sleep like I want to

So, I’ll type until the pain stops, or the medicine kicks in, or its time for me to go home. 

Some people look hotter when they suffer,

KD

Just 3 or 30 more things Santa, I Promise.

I know…I said I would stop with the blackberry. I lied. Sue me.

While Google image searching the cover for Brandy’s new album, I came across a bunch of other albums that are dropping in December that I really want. These don’t even really count as gifts more as stocking stuffers. So, Santa can you hook up?

1. Musiq Soulchild- On my radio
2. Common- Universal Mind Control
3. Maroon 5- Call and Response
4. GhostFace Killa- Ghost Dini The Great
5.Keyshia Cole- A Different Me
6. All American Rejects- When the world comes down

There has to be some sort of sale going on at amazon.com, or Wal-Mart, or iTunes, some shit. Just make sure I get these, and not the bootleg copy.



Thanks in advance Black, White, or Latino Santa…



KD

Real Soul Sunday

The Gospel Edition









**These last two are not full songs or preformances, but are more powerful than any gospel preformance I’ve ever witnessed.**

Maybe Time Heals All Wounds…

…including ugly. When I was little there was no celebrity I found funnier looking than Brandy. She was just blah even to pre-pubescent me. The far apart eyes, the funny sense of style, those dreaded braids made it to hard to find anything attractive about her. Plus the fact that she was squeaky clean. I’m still waiting for her breakdown (even that car accident is minor compared to that of her peers.) Anyway, I’ve been losing my mind over all the new music that’s set to be released this month (another post), and I ran across her new album cover and I must say…

DAMN!!!

Brandy really came into her own. If that’s what motherhood does to you, then I’m going to prescribe that for every funny looking girl I run into, and I’m such a sucker for a chocolate girl. There is nothing else I can say about it…except that it the cover has a super heroine feel to it for it to be called human, although for her to transform like that she may just be SUPERHUMAN, or have a really good Photoshop artist.




PS. Check out her eyebrows. Real SERIOUS. Sorry, I like eyebrows. I notice them.



Crushing Hard,

KD

Dear Santa,

I know that I’ve been pretty good this year, minus those altercations with Ms. Piggy, the bunny face bitch, my family and the new boss, but other than that I’ve been really good. I know I have. So if you could find it in your heart could you please bring me….



I would be greedy and ask for the touch screen but I’m very happy with my service provider, so just this and the cashmere sweater, and a stack of new books. And one more thing…can you fix my credit so I won’t need a co-signer for my school loan????

Please and Thank you,

KD

PREACH…TRUTH

The great decisions of human life usually have far more to do with the instincts and other mysterious unconscious factors than with conscious will and well-meaning reasonableness. The shoe that fits one person pinches another; there is no universal recipe for living. Each of us carries his own life-form within him - an irrational form which no other can outbid.

Seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes

This is me broken
For months you’ve documented this spiral
Downward with flashbulbs and camera rolling
This is me broken
Same body you praised for hourglass
Now ridiculed as ticking time bomb
There will be no explosion
No million dollar video of rage and destruction
This is me broken
Soft disintegration of will and resolve
I am nothing but human
In this moment
Torn
In this moment
weak
In this moment
A girl who seeks ground soft enough
To sink into

This is me broken

If tears were found
Toxic enough to kill
I would gladly sell tickets
To my suicide

This is me broken
Crazy
insane
Scream it neon from headlines
Remove all empathy and compassion
From your tongue
Forget that I am maybe your daughter
Probably your sister
Often the you refused in the mirror
I am reflection of this need to build
And destroy

Maybe, when death comes
I will be remembered for
Something other than these moments
Origami folded into history
Beautiful and delicate
“Here lies Britney. She begged you to love her.”

Maybe then there will be some remorse
Melted and honey sweet in your mouth
Sing me a praise song
The girl who needed love in life
Fashioned it out of outburst
And fishnets
Or maybe, remember me for the boys
The babies I’m in need of too much
Mothering to mother
Remember me more than dismissed trailer trash
Or spoiled child star
More than this cliché of poor little lost rich girl

I am a woman who bleeds so often
I’ve forgotten what healing feels like

this is me broken

So when the end comes
Barreling down on you like
Expectation and disappointment
Remember me beautiful
Change the epitaph let it read:

Here lies Britney…
you used to love her.

- Bassey Ikpi

This poem is the only thing I could think of after watching the Britney Spears documentary. It was written a while ago, but it always stuck out me. I think it’s the story. I’ve never seen the picture it was written about but I imagine it invokes a feeling of pity. It was the first time anyone made Britney more than just a thing, more than just the walk to class laugh, more than the “did you see what that crazy bitch did?” I read and I wanted to care, then I watched and I wanted to cry for her. I wanted to reach out to her and give her a hug. I wanted to be her friend, a confidant so all the hurt and lonely she had bottled up would be released in a healthy and productive way. Watching the documentary made me want Britney to win. I wanted to be in her corner; her cheering section. Now, I am by no means a fan of Britney’s music, and I don’t think that I will be inclined to listen, because I think it will save her sanity. This is not about the performer. This is about person and our overly judgmental society. It’s easy to point the finger and dictate what’s right and wrong and how things should be done, when you’re standing on the outside. Its also easy to do when the people who lift you up become your harshest critics and take the last bit of humanity and sanity you have. Its easy, when you’re standing on the outside, and I’m still on the outside, way outside.. It’s quite possible that I many never be close enough to that inner circle to make a difference. I’m ok with that actually, I’m quite glad. Britney doesn’t need my support, but I’m pretty sure there is a girl closer to me feeling almost the exact same way. The blues creeping their way around her neck, choking all the life from her, coercing her to do something drastic and irrational. I can be in her corner, her cheering section, her confidant and friend. hopefully, I can catch the bow before it breaks and save her months of years or pain and depression.

I guess all of this is to say, we have a responsibility to each other to look past circumstance and personal prejudices to see our common humanity, to see that we all just want to love and be loved without exception. Because in some strange way I think we are all one or two steps or bad relationships away from being Britney.

Your words become your actions,

KD

Social Activism and the Buzzing BlackBerry

Today is World Aids Day. Yup, December 1, 2008. I am urging all my readers (all 5 of you),my friends and family members that are sexually active to go out and get tested, and do it regularly, not just once a year when they have huge sings and give away free shit. It’s your life, take responsibility for it. I DID and it didn’t even hurt.

And if you want to know…I passed J …or I don’t have HIV or AIDS.

http://www.worldaidscampaign.org/static/en/

That ends the PSA portion of today’s post. Sorry for the double post today. Sorry for all the sappiness. I promise to get back to the old me (whatever that means) in a few short moments….

Ok…

So, I was talking to someone over the summer. Or more like they kept making dates and I kept breaking them. To be completely honest, I just wasn’t interested, and just needed someone to txt when I was bored. Mission Accomplished. When we stopped talking, I was pretty sure that was the end of it. For all they knew I was going back to NC for school and they were staying here to do whatever the hell it was that they did, but as life a is crafty bitch, I didn’t go back. And I’ve been REALLY SINGLE this entire time. Not lonely (maybe a little), but REALLY SINGLE. Not even a prospective booty call. Then I get this random ass Thanksgiving text that I just had to respond to, and now I’m getting textstalked by this LOONEY!!! WHY ME??? Like I was being nice, even though I’m still not extremely attracted to them at all, I respond to text messages when I receive them, but I never initiate; NEVER. I’m cool with texting. There is no harm. But GOD DAMNIT, If I don’t respond to one text message that doesn’t mean blow up my inbox with a bunch of stupid shit. I AM TO ORANGE FOR THAT!!! I don’t need you to stress me. I don’t like you enough for you to stress me! And yes, my motives for entertaining you are a bit selfish, but is this really the price I have to pay. BEING STALKED???REALLY??? If it is, return to sender, and I’ll spend my time updating my facebook status. At least I’m good at that.



IRKED,



KD

You shot my pinky toe…

All I see is Della Resse in “Harlem Nights”.”This muthafuck shot my pinky toe!!!!”

Geesh, out of all the coonery shooting accidents I’ve heard of this by far is the cooniest.



Now I wonder…How the hell do you shoot your self in the leg? I mean I’m sure there are tons of possibilities but when you make 35 million dollars using your legs, I would be a little more careful. Shit, Tina Turner has her legs insured for how much? And you’re running around playing Cowboys and Indians with a damn pistol. Grow UP!!! Somebody should call Eddie Murphy, pay him to get dressed up in a zoot suit, and shoot yo ass. At least that way when people hear the story they don’t go…WHAT THE HELL??? PLEXICO BURRESS…you should be shamed.

Still, I pray you recover fully. I’m not a huge Giants Fan or anything of the kind, but your human, and I’m trying to be kind. DUMBASS!



Sunday Morning,



KD

Real Soul Sunday

I’m Thankful for My BlackBerry…

Happy Thanksgiving. Feliz el dia de gracia. Fuckin’ Turkey Day.

However you celebrate, I hope you spend it with people who truly love you or the people who tolerate you during major holidays.

I am not a big fan of any holiday where all my family is smushed into one room. It’s not because I don’t love them. I do. My family holds parts of me that are off limits to the rest of the world. Its just that we are too much a like to co-exist without someone having an attitude that last until the next holiday. That person is usually me. I had to be the mouthy one. The rebel. The almost outsider. I’m ok with that, sometimes. Sometimes I just wish I could find my way into the middle of the conversation with out trying my damndest. I wish I could just go with their flow. I can’t. I don’t flow that way. But either way I love them. Even if I’m nervous about what dirty stares or arguments today will bring.

But before I get to that I want to make a list of what I am truly thankful for. I know that my list is pretty materialistic. I’m working on it, but if I didn’t share I wouldn’t be vulnerable and opening myself up, like I promised I would.

Things I Am Thankful For:

My Mother

My Friends – All of them without exception

Family- All most all without exception

My blackberry

My Pea coat

My imagination

My library card

Breakfast sandwiches

Orange Juice

BREATHING

OBAMA

Cosby Show Re-Runs

Neo-Soul

New-Clothes

Memories

Chap stick

My Barber

Learinng

The Freedom to Fall

Happy Hour



Yeah…What are you thankful for this holiday? You have to be thankful for something no matter how trivial or stupid other people may think it is.



Fasting till 5,



KD

Lessons in Editing and Why Spencer Pratt has Women Beater Tendencies

Im anti-editing. I don’t like to edit. Its my least favorite part of the writing process. I have a tendency to over edit and miss all the important stuff. I know as an English major, I should be more conscious of these things, but I’m working on it. My blogger wife has forced me to up my vocabulary game, and start to look at my work to see if I am effectively getting my point across. What good is this blog if I’m the only one who can understand it? My tthoughts should be clear, not cryptic. I’m going to start editing as I go along. I hope it’s working. My fear is that if I edit I will snatch some of that Cayenne pepper feeling out of my writing. I normally write on an emotional whim, just like I live my life. I will find a healthy balance between the two. Hopefully, the blogs that follow will be just as emotional, just as thoughtful, edited, and written as if I had taken several upper level English courses. Which I have, and passed, successfully. I know its hard to believe.

On to more pressing issues.

THE HILLS

I have always though that Spencer Pratt was a bit off. Before I thought he might like little girl twat. There was something about that beard ,that screamed dusty constructing van, timberland work boots, and penny candies. But I changed my mind, he’s not a pedophile, He is a woman beater! A master of domestic violence. Yes. Look at the signs.

1. He’s super possessive

2. He’s succeeded in isolating his victim from her family.

3. He made her give up her life. i.e. Job and apartment

4.He emotionally gut punches her on the regular.

Should I wait for the bruises or the crack pipe to surface in the routine traffic stop. I’m just saying. I’ve seen it happen trust me.



Getting Better,



KD

An open letter to my younger cousin…

I woke up this morning all groggy. I didn’t feel very productive so I channel surfed for a while. I ended up watching that Black List Volume 1 documentary on HBO again. It’s the third time I’ve watched it. Its powerful. I sit hoping that it will never end, it always does. But when it does I have this neck stretching, back straightening, head held high sense of pride and I just want to get up and change the world. These brown faces on my television screen all successful, all different, all human, and tangible. Today, it got me thinking about the boys in my family; the younger ones, who really have their entire lives ahead of them, the ones who subconsciously look up to me, because I am the eldest responsible male in the family. I started thinking, what was my responsibility to them? How was I going to teach them about the world and being a man? What being a man really meant? And what being black meant? And because of these thoughts you have this letter. It’s nothing amazing. I didn’t edit. I never edit. But I felt and believed every word that I wrote. Maybe someday I will share with them like I’m sharing it with you.

Dear Brown Boy,

I have spent a better portion of my adult life trying to make manhood a tangible concept. One that I could wear proudly around my neck, smile and say “this is the way, brown boy.” A concept that I could plant firmly into ground, deep enough for you to follow, deep enough for you to fall, pick yourself up, dust your knees, and keep pressing forward. I’m trying to find that for you. For me. This manhood. This strong sense of blackness, where all the cracks and bends meet, leaves me the one who showed you the way. I wish I had more time. You’re growing so fast, soaking every word and ray of sunshine, and its becoming oblivious you have questions. The ones I’ve prepared myself for. The ones I don’t have the answers to, and the ones that would be easier if you asked your father. I know we are not afforded that luxury. I take the charge. I will carry you, unanswered questions and all, because it’s the right thing to do. Because I wish someone did the same for me. The world is no place for you to wander with no hand to fall into when it backs you into the corner. I want to be your hand. So many brown boys lose their way, and stumble into a cycle of “I didn’t know any better.” You don’t need to stumble. I have stumbled enough for the both of us. I know that stumbling is necessary and though I can’t catch you every time, I know that you will learn how to cushion for your fall, find my words stuck to your ribs, and find the strength to persevere. I know that you will, but still I worry. I have seen so many times eyes beaming, God like with potential become dull and complacent. I will not let your dreams shrivel and die. I won’t let you or anyone else kill it. Even at the risk of us not being the best of friends. You are more, stubborn, wise, and joyful. More like me that you will ever know, and more than I can admit. You may hate me at times, but I promise you will thank me later. I just hope that in my journey to find whatever it is I am destined to do, I don’t taint or bruise you badly. I can only offer you this view of manhood that I’ve slowly stringed together over the years. I won’t be the one to talk sport, car, or blood sport video games with. I can pretend my best. Its not me. I’m sorry. I can’t be there then. But I can teach you responsibility, compassion, respect, and love. I can show you a gentleman always holds the door and always walk closest to the street. I can teach you to iron and how to separate the colors from the whites, how to pick a lock (only for emergencies). I can show you that plaids and stripes don’t mix and maybe we can learn from each other how to tie a tie. I can open your eyes to the great expanse of world that surrounds us, and teach the reality you know is not the only one that exist.. I can keep you; make sure you hold on to your imagination, your childlike laughter, make sure you don’t rush into adulthood. Steady. Give me a few more years to figure this life shit out. Let me press a few more footprints into the ground. Let me make a few more mistakes, read a few more books, let me see how the world will change. Then I will be ready to show you.

I promise in all of my short comings that I will love you that much more. I will talk louder and stand taller, with all my cracks and bends. So that you never will never have an excuse to fail; that you will always have a reason to succeed. Always have someone in your corner. Always cheering you on.

Your mentor in training,



KD

Real Soul Sunday

Ledisi…has one of those voices that just reeks so much of authentic soul. Any one want to go see her at BB Kings in NYC in mid December?

Let me know…

KD

I still love…

….Whitney Port.

Jungle Fever. I don’t give a shit. You just don’t understand what she does to my life. The only people I love more are my mother and Kerri Washington.



That’s All,



KD

A Perfect life….

This is the best news ever. I know I said I was in love with True Blood, but that was only because nip/tuck was on a hiatus.



This made my life….

Dr. Middle Eastern Dunkin Doughnuts Employee,

…Please stop trying to kill me. Seriously! If I did something to offend you let me know and I will apologize immediately. Did I accidentally cut you off in traffic? Call you Osama Bin Laden? What is it? I just can’t understand why you try everyday to slowly poison me. At first I thought it was because your English was bad, but then I heard you humming some song while you dilly dallied around the coffee machine. You speak well enough. Then I thought that I wasn’t being loud enough or maybe you were hard of hearing, then I semi-yelled at you and we made eye contact, and that goofy head nod. And still…You try to kill me. All I asked for was a large cup of hot tea with sugar. Light sugar, maybe a teaspoon or two packets. Not diabetes in a Styrofoam cup. I knew I wasn’t crazy. Yesterday after I ordered I watched you make it. I saw you slip into the little corner and fill a quarter of the damn cup with sugar and then water and the generic tea bag labeled “regular”. What the hell is wrong with you? Do you not know that I am working on my healthiness and not trying to die at 41? Do you not know that the “Sugar” is a real disease? They call it the “Sugar” for a reason. Or didn’t you know this already? Is this some sort of back handed racial slur. I see how nervous you get when your store is flooded with brown faces. Then the whispers in your native tongue, and giggling, and eye pointing, I see you. Well Abu, ALL BLACK PEOPLE DON’T LIKE THEIR DRINKS OVERLOADED WITH SUGAR. I don’t even drink Kool-aid. I just want to drink my tea and not go into fuckin sugar shock. Can you just make my shit like I asked you to? HOT TEA, 2 sugars. No more. No less. I just want my afternoon caffeine fix, but I don’t want to die for it.



Sincerly,



KD

Is it christmas yet…

becasue I already know what I want. I want a cardigan can someone buy me one for Christmas. Preferably cashmere and expensive.





PLEASE,



KD

The strangest things pull me in…

I am a Kanye West fan. I can admit that. He makes good music. Good enough for me to play while I clean, or take my miserable commute to work. I think more than the music I like the person, the style, the fearlessness, the fact that he was a momma’s boy (I is one), the attitude. Kanye West is a realist person. Egotistical and self centered. Any who, I’m not a fan of his new song “Love Lockdown”. Its to much on the hippy/techno/rave/trance music scene and the whole T-pain (Flying Monkey from the Wizard of Oz) voice thing. And because I didn’t like the song, I wasn’t going to buy the album. Not even “steal it”. Then I saw the album cover….




I was sold after that point. I want this picture. On my wall, BlackBerry background. Anywhere else I can show it off. Something about that heart is eerie/inviting/hypnotizing/just the hottest shit. I don’t even care if the cd sucks. I will probably like it because, I like the cover so damn much.

It always happens like this. There is always that one thing that pulls me in. Like a movie that sucks only has to have 1 funny part or line or one really attractive character and I’ll watch the movie over and over again. Prime example, The Long Kiss Goodnight, with Sam Jackson and Geena Davis. The only part of that movie I care for is the part when they are in that hella cheesy hotel room in Atlantic City and Sam Jackson says “The last time I got blowed candy bars cost a nickel”….meaningless dialogue…Then Davis responds “True love, shut the fuck up.” I was sold. That is hands down my favorite movie. Just like this will hands down be my favorite album cover.

Off to avoid the cold,



KD

Home sweet…Wherever your not.

I’m writing this to avoid getting ready for the job I hate with every ounce of my SOUL. Yes, soul has to be in all caps but I won’t spend much time on that. I have much more urgent things to write about. This is about my “vacation” back to the school that sent me packing because of a few thousand duckets.

1. Never vacation to a place where you know the people. Its never escape an escape from the shitty reality that you know. It’s only asking to walk face first into a death trap of gossip, car accidents, and memories you wish not to relive. I wish someone wrote this before I did. I think I read it somewhere once. Maybe in Walden or Self-Reliance. You can’t runaway from your problems. They still exist. I only returned from my stressful vacation to my stressful life and drinking and laughter is the only pleasant memory I have.



2. Everyone is selfish, self-centered, and a tad bit conceited. If you ever forget that you are only asking to be heartbroken or stranded in Rocky Mount, North Carolina wondering how you’re going to get home with out depleting your savings.



3. There will always be that one person who is a walking smiling scumbag. This will be the person that you are most inclined to trust. The one who listens openly and whole-heartedly. That is until you realize that they have no heart. This is the person who will hold and twist and taint every pure thing you’ve told them, despite them knowing how difficult it is for you to trust. And no matter how many times they trick you, you always fall back into their wet wide eyed and weeping bullshit. They are the asshole and you are the fool.



4. Men can accessories and well. No bangles and bags, but ties, scarves, and hats. Can you believe I wore a hat? In Public! And I’m always self conscious about hats because I have this dip in the middle of my head. I think someone dropped me when I was smaller. When I find out who it was, I will be seeking reparations. Barack is president now. I think I can do that. Either way. A hat, a scarf and a tie can expand your wardrobe tremendously. Check my facebook. Ask my pea coat.



5. Drinking liquor for 12 hours straight with no water and no food is not a good idea. Trying to go into a hot club after that, an even worse Idea. Drink water people. Be like Nemo.



6. Never respond to text messages that involve you searching a club for someone selling zanex. Not a good look.



7. Never leave booty calls hanging. They get upset. Although I don’t understand why. If you’re a booty call you can’t get mad after I don’t call. I never placed an order. Please calm down. It’s not that deep. Maybe if I talked to you more often, but since I wasn’t horny ,and I didn’t call you ,get out of my face.



8. A hug from someone you haven’t seen in months can end a grudge. Even if you are stubborn.



9. It’s nice to know that people care for you. Truly Care. Not that fake kind of I miss you that I dread but the kind of missing that is a big hug with a running start. The kind that screams your name from a 4th story window. The kind of missing that opens a door and welcomes your barefoot and broke.



10. Open your eyes! Never think that your experience is the only one that matters. But it’s definitely worth sharing. Its why I blog.

Everybody Knows…

This is quite possibly the best break up/ getting over someone song ever.

Let this take you to church. Just reflect for a few seconds. Get wrapped up in the lyrics. The voice. The melody. The sincerity of it all. Tell me it doesnt feel like something you’ve known before. Tell me you dont want to call your ex and say some real smoot shit. Like good luck…Don’t think about it that much.




…and Evolver is a great cd from start to finish, not dry and one note like Once Again. Evolver is healthy mix of the John we first met on Get Lifted whatever he was trying to do with Once Aging.

Please support your local singer/song writer. They are a dying breed.

I wish you the best…I guess…



KD

Buckey Nekit ness

I might be late but…..




Where did this come from? What magazine is this from? Why did no one send me a message?



JILL IS ASS NEKIT!!! Looking all mother earthly and loving and…SEXY



CAN I GET ONE,



KD

Why I am voting for Barack Obama

My good friend Jackie is an over all amazing person. She posted this to her facebook this morning and I needed to share. I know there’s been alot of politics stuff latley, but thats just where Im at…read and enjoy.



“It’s 5:00am, Election Day. If the rest of the day turns out to be as nervewracking as dawn, I’m in for a long day. Waking up in a cold sweat brought me to the computer to attempt to explain why I’ll march in a few hours to 31 Chambers to pull the lever a second time for Barack Obama. I don’t mean for this to be persuasive – as I think (or would hope) everyone on the reception has made up their minds by now. I just owe it to myself to [relatively briefly] explain my fascination with the history that will be written today. There are a hundred reasons why I am supporting Obama, but I’d like to share the most pressing pieces. If you want to read any or all of this, go for it. If you want to share your stories, go for it (as long as they don’t end up in another Facebook fiasco). I’d rather no one read/respond than for this to turn into a meaningless debate. Whether it’s to share momentum with Obama supporters or share a point-of-view with everyone else, I’m glad we have the liberty of engaging such an interesting period.

I do not pretend I know all there is to know about politics. I’m pretty sure the same is true for most of you. We try to be as informed as we can, but we’re never going to know it all. And our incessant need to prove our knowledge and win an argument is almost always an inhibitor of real conversation, real solutions (as so greatly put by Amanda Ferrandino at one point back in the day!). Now more than ever is a time to drop the BS.

Here are some of my reasons, sans some of the givens.

Focus: What once worried me about Obama’s campaign for president is now a source of pride. In terms of traditional presidential candidate experience, Obama is young. But I gave up on that argument when I saw his perseverance in correcting misconceptions, offering policy solutions, picking a running mate, and listening to the advice of great minds across the country and the world. Obama’s odds were high, as Hillary and then McCain attempted to spew enough garbage to convince people that he strays too far from the course. But it’s his leadership and the people’s willingness to reconsider the status quo that has allowed him to prevail. Obama was able to stand up to his peers that were beaten into a haze of American ideology and oppose the Iraq war from its inception. He has been able to do more than dissociate himself from party leaders; he is a true visionary who does not rest on his laurels. McCain told Obama in a debate that he should’ve run against Bush in the past if he wanted to take on Bush’s policies. He didn’t have to. However “young and untested” Obama may be, he has proved himself from day one. Before his ridiculous choice for VP, John McCain liked to count the years of experience he had on Obama. But if time spent in a broken system truly mattered, we wouldn’t be here right now. While surrounding himself with bright minds from across the spectrum, Obama commands respect in a completely unfounded way – as long-time political commentators and observers like Joe Klein of Time magazine (with regard to Obama’s relationship with General Patraeus) have reflected on.

Belief in synergy: I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but I do know “that one” will not embark on a divisive march forward like his opponents will. McCain likes to say he can “reach across the aisle” in the Senate, but has shown little effort to reach across the broader aisle of the American spectrum (other than claiming everyone as “my friends” about 900x/day). Obama’s acknowledgment of the United States – not defined by geographic area, psychographic, social or ethnic group – has empowered and inspired the world. He champions a mix of individual and collective responsibility as JFK did. Obama knows an “all hands on deck” approach is necessary to combat issues such as global warming. Meanwhile, John McCain’s own party has acknowledged that he cannot command at large. Obama has engaged normal people in the political process, and will spark a heightened engagement in the way America operates from all sides.

Belief in the bigger picture: John McCain knows better than to manipulate fragile American minds into thinking Obama is a socialist (among other things). Yet, his campaign has been less about the issues and more about blowing phrases like “spread the wealth around” out of context to induce fear in the minds of Americans who can’t think on their own. Despite the many attacks from McCain-Palin and their supporters, Obama has remained focused on resolving the economic crisis and other real issues.

True representation: Barack Obama and Joe Biden do not position themselves as representatives of certain groups as McCain and Palin do. So far I know McCain and Palin stand for veterans and people who do not like government and the clichéd characters of the campaign trail that bear no repeating. While McCain rallies a small portion of veterans, he neglects America’s largest group of square pegs in round holes: the youth generation. Barack Obama acknowledges the role that young Americans play and provides tools of empowerment for young people, and it is clear in his platform. A part of all of us is represented in Obama’s remarkable journey. He is not a product of a legacy; he is the embodiment of the American Dream.

The world’s response: Understandably, Republicans talk a lot about national security. In this election, you don’t have to look far and wide to understand how Obama will effortlessly boost national security and America’s standing in the world. Five minutes of research will point you to numerous facts about how highly the world views Obama as a representative for a country that is now thought of as more tyrannical than North Korea across the world. Time to take a hint.

I could go on, but I have said more than enough. I won’t even go into social issues, but above all, I’m tired of privileged people having the most to say about things that do not affect them. I hope we can all begin the process of putting ego aside and working together towards writing a new chapter. No matter the outcome, I believe in my country that has given me so much. And I will continue to believe in the energy that the Obama campaign has sparked within so many of us.

I wish everyone a happy election day…and thank everyone for what has been an amazing year (ish) of commentary and involvement.”

If U Leave

Stay Encouraged…

This has been my blackberry background for some weeks now. I’ve sent it to friends as picture messages and with the election just 2 days away I feel it necessary to post this to the blog. I am my dream. Scars and all. Become Yours. Save it somewhere and remember you are never that far from your dream…




…And no I did not take this picture. I got it from one of my good friends. She took it over the summer in NYC. She is just like this picture…simple and profound.



Daylight savings time sucks,



KD

Fat Girl Confessions

I wrote this today, its really rough but I liked it enough to share. Read and comment.



I can feel myself gaining weight. I can feel the fat forming between my thighs and around my biceps and triceps. I can feel my skin stretching. I can feel it pull and fold over itself trying to make room and make it slightly comfortable. I can see my waist line expanding. What use to fit loosely in a size 4 now struggles to find room for the curves in an 8, and I refuse to buy anything bigger. I can feel the fat taking over my face, pushing up and making it harder to keep my eyes open. I am not Asian! I can feel the skin getting loser and dropping and making my chin so heavy that it has to create a new one just to support the highness of what use to be my cheek bones, now resembles Dizzy Gillespie’s cheeks mid way through a performance of Summertime.

This is sad. and my oily skins makes it look like I’m dripping in sweat and makes it look as though I just ran a 5k marathon, when I only walked to the elevator. I can feel my self getting fat. It’s the strange stare of the cashier at the supermarket or Dunkin doughnuts or at the McDonalds drive through window. When did it become criminal to order a tea and a plain bagel or a salad? I know how people think. Though my size 4 jeans rest in the bottom of some 4.99 target storage container, I still have my size 4 vogue sample sale mentality. I see the fat girls. Kankles! Moose Knuckle. Their food stains and their too small bras and the dimples that show when they wear stretch clothes. I use to love going to the gym, but I don’t have to leave the house to eat. It’s less judgmental. I don’t have to subject myself to the stares and the whispers of the thin girls on the treadmill whispering about my 180 failed diet attempts.

They don’t know me. The me who could wear anything to the beach, The me that made men crawl on their knees, that had 8 marriage proposals before the age of 22, the me who earned state gymnastics champion 3 years in a row. How could they? They probably see some suburban mom with 3 kids and a husband who no longer finds me attractive. I wish. At least then I would have a reason smile. I wouldn’t come home to the apartment and the cat that I hate but don’t have the balls to drown.

Its just me in this one bedroom the clothes I desperately want to fit into again and the bags of elastic waist band pants that leave my cheeks wet and my eyes puffy every morning. I don’t even bother to put on make up. Why would I want to draw more attention to my disappearing neck. I have the cutest turtleneck sweater dress that probably has enough elastic to look slightly decent on my enlarged frame, but damn that neck, or what use to be my neck. And I would have to wear a thong, and no one has seen me naked since size 6. There is Martin from the train, but I know he’s a chubby chaser. I remember back when I could find my size anywhere he would comment on how I should eat more. I am not that desperate to have a man in my bed to subject myself to his ham hock fantasy. I’d rather stick to my vibrator, and even that is becoming a bit of a work out.

Now, on the train, I choose not to talk to anyone. I stuff my face in a novels that I have sent to my house because the isles of the corner bookstore are to narrow for me to fit down. They lady who runs the store is nice to me. She calls me every Tuesday and tells me what new releases are coming in. This week I’m reading a 10 day diet book. I always order hard cover. That way I can hide. There is nothing worse than a fat lady with a diet book. To the rest of the world Im reading Jane’s love and sex something or another.

I do really want to be healthy. I want to be a size 4 again. I want a reason to smile. I guess somewhere down the line I forgot how to live and eating became the next best option. I want to blame him. And blame her too. I can’t. I can’t blame them for the elastic of my panties cutting of my circulation and leaving unsightly lines in my once bragged on thighs. He loved them would kiss them gently before he ran his finger and tongue between them. He’d spend hours down there, telling me to wrap my legs around him tighter. Then run his hands across my abdomen and continuing until he found a nipple to rub between his thumb and forefinger. There is nothing worse than a fat woman with small tits. My tits were perfect against my size 4 body. They now look like I need a training bra. June apples my mom used to call them.

I use to be cute and loved and popular. Other fat girls urge me to join there packs. I refuse. They find comfort in their size. I don’t. I won’t and will never. They splash on make up, and go to bars. They are fashionable, but not sample sale fashionable. Fat girl’s fashions are always a season late and never in flattering colors. I stick with basic black and white. I am a fat girl nun. Not apart of the world. I’m just a passer by. The other fat girls smell my fear. They try to console me. I don’t want their sympathy. I don’t want to be in the herd of cows in the buffet line trying to down our sorrows in gravy. I want a martini and I want a cute guy to buy it, one with a name that I won’t care to remember in the morning. The last guy to buy size 8 me a drink was 47 and married and only wanted to fuck me on Wednesday nights at my place when we was supposed to be bowling with co-workers. Size 4 me would never get such a horrible offer. Size 4 me got the job and the apartment and the Birkin bag and the Choo’s and Prada luggage set. Damn that Prada Luggage set. He brought it for the honeymoon, along with the Michael Kors bathing suite. The bathing suit I was going to be afraid to wear because of the heartbeat growing inside of me that he had nothing to do with.

The heartbeat, that selfish size 4 me created in a afternoon romp with one of my co-workers. Size 4 me loved him, but didn’t love the idea of being tied down to someone who on a scale of 1 to 10 was average. Size 4 me was a 10 on any scale. My co-worker was a 10. He worked in the mail room, but his face screamed upper management and I screamed and he had his way with me 3 times a week for 3 months. Condoms at first, that was a must, but then it became so passion filled that I threw caution and protection in the wind.

The heartbeat was created on a Tuesday. I remember. I had just gotten my hair cut the day before, and on that Wednesday he was fired for stealing. Maybe his face didn’t scream CEO. Maybe it was just a cute face and a huge cock with a slight bend to the left that touched and crushed my g-spot ever time he let me get on top. I blame him. I can’t even remember his name, but I know that he used to call me Lola, which was insane because my name was Cindy, size 4 Cindy, with the glowing chocolate skin. He used to call me Cici, but he was only a 5.

He loved me though. I can say that without an ounce of hesitation. I loved that he love me, and he loved me right until I started showing. He cancelled the wedding and offered to pay for the abortion. He couldn’t raise a child that wasn’t his. How could two beatufiul brown skin people raise a half white baby. I wouldn’t have any of that. The baby was mine. Mistake or not, I was going to love it. So he left.

I lost the baby in my third trimester. Some strange complications that I care not to talk about. No one was there the day I came home from the hospital with only one heartbeat. No one has been here since. My parents refuse to talk to me and my dad only sends chain letter emails because he doesn’t know how to remove me from his mailing list, but I know they are ok. My mother is a bitch just like me. She would hate to see me like this. She would hate to see me period.

So I hide, in my apartment. My room full of shit I can’t fit and bags full of plus size black pants and white blouses.

My only friend is food and an occasional bottle of wine.

I miss him. He now dates a Brazilian size 2. I bet she’s satisfied with him being a 5, hell, he looks like an 8 since my ranking dropped. I still think I’m find my self attractive on some days. Like, right after I just get my hair done and my eyebrows waxed. I bet he still loves me and wants to fuck…I mean make love to me even though I’m sure the journey from my thighs to my nipped is less desirable and more of a challenge now.

I saw him the other day. He didn’t recognize me and I’m glad he didn’t. He looked good. Still only an 8. I’ve dated 10’s, had them ready to pledge their lives to me. Ha! The good ol’ days, when being a bitch made everyday more exciting, now, when I’m bitchy I’m just the angry fat girl. My office at work used to be filled with pictures of me out on the town with girls. I took them down when I started buying bigger clothes. I didn’t want to hear “Wow, you were so thin back then”. I doesn’t matter. I’m still size 4 Cindy on the inside. Even if the outside is a size 8 and it will stay size 8, because if I reach 10 I’m jumping out the fucking window, and I haven’t given my self enough fat to cushion even that fall.