Guess I Was Mad (Old Post)


May I have your attention please.

Texting me out of the blue to talk about sex, or dreaming about sexing or straight wanting to sex me is ultimately a major turn OFF.

You ratty ass negroes act like you didn’t know I was raised a lady.

And in being a lady…maybe you should take me out on a date or two before you start talking explicitly.

Ok, it’s not like I expect you to say, l had a dream about holding your hand and giving you butterfly kisses.
I just thought you might notice some of my other great attributes. I guess a great personality, crazy genius, and frightening potential isn’t sexy to you.

I’m really tired. Tired of niggas who would get into my pants in a heartbeat, so long as they don’t have to buy me a movie ticket or treat me like a real man should.

Or maybe they’d love to fuck you and keep their girlfriend?


I don’t take you jokes seriously, but I shouldn’t even entertain you. You’re a waste of the worth God blessed me with.

I don’t know whats worse: you niggas or the ones who call me only to inquire about my work discount.  Fuck off.


There’s something irreplaceable about a man who fights for you.

He knows when to work for your smile, but also when to give you space.
His greatest frustration is your tears, just as your missed dreams are his fears.
No journey is too far for him to get to you because your presence is worth traveling a lifetime for.
Talking to you is never a pain because he lives to feel connected to you.
Ask him for anything and he’ll find a way to give it to you or die trying.
Pleasing you pleases him, so giving 150% of himself becomes him giving 150% to himself.
He makes promises and keeps them.
He never lies, never abuses, never leaves you feeling unappreciated.
In fact, he wants to tell the world you’re his and he’s never letting you go.
This is the man I dream of. And because I’m an irreplaceable chick I deserve him.

Downtown Cleveland At Dusk

To me, photography is an art of observation. It’s about finding something interesting in an ordinary place… I’ve found it has little to do with the things you see and everything to do with the way you see them. 

Elliott Erwitt

As I have practiced it, photography produces pleasure by simplicity. I see something special and show it to the camera. A picture is produced. The moment is held until someone sees it. Then it is theirs.

Sam Abell 

Now it is yours.

Warning: If You Don’t Believe in Prayer, Buzz Off

Right now, in this very moment you have the ability to change everything about your future. You already knew that, though thanks to the theory of determinism. All your future actions will be the result of previous actions. Cool, now let me share the really enlightening information.

Atheists will think I’m being sarcastic when I proclaim that the only way to get anything meaningful done is to pray. I guess it will help if you know something about me: I’m not atheist.

I’m a believer who, like the majority of believers, occasionally becomes a nimrod and goes astray.

Surprisingly, since I found God I’ve never had a reason to question his existence. It seems a large number of people go through rough stuff and then start playing “the blame game” or give the outcry “Why would God let bad things happen?”I don’t necessarily have an answer for the former question I’m just contented in knowing everything happens for a reason.

You know how death sucks so much? And how there are constantly new ways to die despite all the shit we cure? Sometimes I tell myself, “If people stopped dying there wouldn’t be any room for the new lives being created and that’s not fair.” Doesn’t mean I want to die though…

I digress.

When I go astray I sometimes I forget to acknowledge the role God has in my life. He’s way back there, back in the back of my distracted mind. I’m getting overwhelmed by all this crap outside my control and just sit on it.

Not really productive.

But as always, I eventually get fed up and remember to pray. I suggest you too spend one less second carrying bull and a couple more praying.

My personal testimony: relationships worth building liven up, questions get answers, inspiration finds you, and beautiful stuff in general starts to happen. A couple prayers and days later I’m really feeling this stuff. Better than cocaine. (Not that I would know what cocaine feels like.)


Should this post be about the anger, the heartbreak or the madness
maybe I should write about the struggle that’s removed by the gladness
or the sadness
I refuse
to sit in a muse
dazed and amazed because my heart got confused
see everything that changes me is a change that a choose
and I’m choosing right even if you somehow missed the news
I’m much more than a bitty pity girl with the blues
sitting home upset because my emotions get abused
Everyone gets in a rut, act like you see
but the cool thing about me is where I get to be
Prayerful, mayorful, did you think I wasn’t growing though
I hit rock bottom, but I hit the ground running though
I admit sometimes it looks like I may be running slow
but everyone has a time and maybe I just missed the blow
the bomb? I hope so. I hope I go only when its my time to go
so respect my humanity and also my insanity
I gotta be me, only me and I run this show
one day I’m gonna be the queen of my own damn carnival
looking back at the hard times like damn, cuz u didn’t know?
fuck yeah, I got it
so believe me when I say that you don’t have to worry bout it
see im not here to live by anyone else’s measure of my wealth
aside from God my joy here is a direct creation of my self
they always say stressing out is bad for your health
feel free to keep your opinions because to me they’re on a shelf
trust, I got this.

No Beats Lost Here

When I start reminiscing on love

music becomes my mirror.
Let me be clearer.
My heart isn’t heavy
just slowly drifting like snowflakes or Timberlakes.
See the vacancy known as you apart from me 
cannot be filled by a memory
so I reach for mellow sounds. 
Trey takes me back to a day where you lit my soul afire.
Sometimes yearning can be distracted by desire.
for smoldering lips, moving hips, a man who wants me to arch my back just like this.
Even Miguel does it well and gets me lost.
That can only do so much for me though,
Even lust comes at a cost.
Lust can’t replace love
so it only reminds me that it’s been displaced.
Only Erykah -a New Amerykah- can fill this space.
20 feet tall and all, she ain’t afraid to admit she trip
but damn she never fall
or else he’s gonna have to make that call
and I dig that…
but I don’t feel that until she goes out her mind.
Just in time I reach a new place.
Where my heart is filled with Stone
And Angie done changed the tone
Misfortune is just a sorry outlook
and pity a fool’s sinking ship
I grab onto some Soul Insurance and
then my mind gets hip
and then my heart won’t skip…
No beats lost here. 

SPP (Skinny People Problems)

One of my facebook friends has inspired me to be on some bullshit this evening and discuss the plight of the skinny female. Yes, plight!

I don’t want to put her out there but since she did I’ll go ahead and share:

It is so hard being a tall, skinny twig in a country where the typical body type is that of a hobbit. They make no clothes for tall, skinny women in America! It’s ridiculous!!! I have been given the task of finding Khaki pants with a 36 inch inseam and a 27 inch waist for work. They might as well have asked me to herd cats through a waterfall because this shit is gonna be damn near impossible!!! (Btw, if you make angry comment on this status, it’s because your fat. In other words, no angry comments fat people. I’m skinny and frustrated. Let me vent.)

I instantly became weak and grateful! Yes, first I laughed, then I sighed in appreciation. Part of my enjoyment was the rudeness of her status – she basically called average women hobbits. But the biggest part was the realization that everybody has their own problems and despite the fact that being overweight is stigmatized and her status is blatantly offensive to a large portion of the population, she has a valid point.

I was in the salon the other day and chicks were slamming skinny girls. As in: “Fuck them Forever 21 shopping bitches.” I was like damn, Torrid has some fly shit, too…but I digress. They too had a valid point.

There is no right or wrong in frustration. Women of all sizes complain that they can’t find clothes that fit their body type: jeans for big asses and tiny waists, jeans that reach your ankles, knee high boots that flatter skinny legs, tops that are sold in a size large. So why do we hate each other?

I know why. Because someone decided that one was better than the other. Someone decided that being skinny should be advertised over being average weight.

But to be fair, I should be allowed to talk about my food belly without pissing somebody off. I got rights too!

Ya’ll gon’ think I’m on some bullshit for sure…


“Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. And if I die before I wake I thank the Lord for strawberry shortcake. I mean damn I outdid myself today! And I am so very grateful because it was your grace that carried the ingredients in the right proportions and kept my timer in working order! But I digress. Today was a hard day for an old lady. No harder than to be expected of an old lady my age, I guess. For that I’m grateful. But I just have so many questions. Like how do you pick who gets diabetes? My neighbor’s son just got diagnosed with diabetes and somehow I just think that’s damn unfair. Damn unfair…I miss when it was only for the old people. I mean after a certain age everyone dreads the things to come, but when you’re young and full of life you ought to have the chance to really enjoy it, ya know? Seems a shame Little Dave can’t eat my strawberry shortcake without risking a convulsion or whatever it is that makes diabetics avoid my sweets like the plague. And why can’t we ship all this excess food and all this clean water to Africa-or at least water filters for heaven’s sake. I’m sorry to be getting a bit huffy with you Lord, I just don’t get why a big, old body of salt water and some desert like conditions has to separate the spoiled little brats from the dirty water drinks. No…that’s not right. Someone at least save us from the sight of emaciated little African boys and girls struggling down long winding roads to get a gulp of mud water and skipping out on their education. Lord I’m tired. And since I’ve got no little babies to pray for I’m gonna haul on out of here. But seriously, thank you for that shortcake. Mmm mmm mm.”

Musings, Mishaps, & Mysteries: One.

People just like to share all their business. Just put it all out there for the world to judge ’em and misuse it. You won’t know half of the shit that’s barked in my backyard. But Sissy for example, that fool up and told everybody that she woulda killed that damn executive herself!

Now such things are often considered harmless. Until they’re used in a court of law against you.

Don’t go getting riled up! She’s fine. She’s probably in that big old house down the street right now arguing her people down about putting her in a nursing home and having people do the things she learned to do at two years old for twice the cost of living. I’m just saying, sensible people should say sensible things. I warned her about that loose mouth of hers across a tray of cupcakes.

“Oh, hush you nag.” She said. She’s a huffy bitch, coming in my house calling me names…

I admit, one thing everybody knows about me is how well I make my cupcakes. They’re special cupcakes, but not everybody gets to have them. I guess that’s one of the things that makes ’em special. German chocolate, lemon merengue, red velvet. I pick a different one for the weekly community black womens’ meetings I host.

Community black women’s meetings yes. It’s like a sorority, book club thing Eddie suggested. I think he just wanted an out: if I schedule discussion time with other like minded individuals, he wouldn’t have to hear my rants himself as he’s watering things and moseying about.

I think he’d be especially grateful he didn’t have to hear about Miss Leona. See, Leona had a temper much like Sissy’s. Difference, Sissy married rich and ran her husband into the ground. Miss Leona was a hard working women who just got fed up. Now she’s known as the “angry black woman”, and no young black man really likes that let alone a young, friendly white fellow.

“Leona Miles indicted for Murder.” Chris, short for Christine, read the headline through the lenses sitting low on the bridge of her nose the way old ladies tend to do.

Louise, ever the dramatic one, sucked her breathe in real sharp, and I continued stirring my Earl Grey.

“A shame.” Chris followed. Meanwhile, Sissy stamped her foot. Unsurprisingly she had read the article earlier that morning and had formed a rigid opinion on the matter, breathlessly awaiting the moment she’d get tuned up.

“Do you even know what that man did?” Sissy was livid. Louise, simpered from behind a cupcake wrapper. Sissy leaned in and began to taunt her.

“Have you ever had someone get so far into your skin, I mean say something so offending that you wanted to lean in close and stick a knife in his jugular? I mean, really just…just…”

“Nuke him?” I added drily. “Yes, I’m sure everyone here -but Louise- has had that experience, but somehow none are so animated as you.”

Sissy remained unoffended. Instead, her body straightened. Peacock-like. “It’s because I knew him.” It was meant to be a shocker.

“What CEO in Northern Atlanta haven’t you met?” I like Chris. She has kind of a dry personality, but in a way she only says what’s absolutely necessary. Or amusing.

“Richard Anderson.”

I tuned them out for a while to allow them the opportunity to digress which was expected of each meeting. I caught the obligatory reference to Delta, Sissy’s favorite word, and “What a shame” intermingled with sighs.

Then Louise quietly brought us back after she had skimmed over the article. Poor dear, the assisted living community drained her expenses until she couldn’t afford a daily paper at her door. Maybe it’s God’s sinister timing because no more than ten minutes after Sissy and Chris had drifted off, she brought us back with her curiosity.

“I don’t get why she was so angry.”Sissy turned, aggravated at the interruption, and then infuriated at the suggestion. This is the point where Chris sends a larger percentage of her attention to her saucer and cup.

“Then I guess I have to reassert the serious nature of this gentleman’s crime. This CEO, this Chief Executive Officer worked with this intelligent, overworked, under appreciated black woman, and his black ass did nothing but disrespect her.”

Now disrespect here is an interesting word. It has many shades. Most people without realizing it pick a shade to associate with disrespect. A obscure, slate grey that is even confused with blackness itself for those who see it as something sharp and pronounced like racism. A cool, lackluster grey for those who see it in bad little kids, and bourgeoisie rich people. Sissy and I see it as a bright, silver grey that exists in everyone, even the friendliest and most beautiful; in the person with the kindest smile but the harshest thoughts. Such was this CEO.

According to my own research Leona worked with the man for thirty five years and worked under for three. That in itself is a problem. It’s one thing to one to work for an asshole, it’s another for the asshole to get promoted.

“By disrespect did you mean how she recalls he, ‘Complained little to her face but was heard expressing his distaste for her unprofessionally positive demeanor at board meetings.’ And how she says he once joked to her male peers that her mother, ‘Didn’t teach her to let a man open the door.'”

Ding. Ding ding. I almost spit my tea up at Louise’s distressed expression. She really hadn’t a clue.

“The chauvinistic pig!” Sissy exclaimed.

Chris finally found something of interest. “That reminds me of when my ex-fiance told me I “talked well for a black woman. I corrected his ass quick. ‘It’s spoke, not talked’.” She mocked herself with a smirk and then mimicked brushing him off.

I calmly explained to Louise that the victim was the kind of man who looked down his nose at women of any level of distinction. He gave all his fraternity brothers preference over established, experienced professionals such as Leona. When he did reluctantly have to offer a higher level position to Leona he changed her original title so that he could justify paying her less. And on more than one occasion he shared chauvinistic comments in a completely inappropriate fashion while behaving passive aggressively toward her in private settings.

Louise reread the final paragraph. ” ‘Leona confessed to going insane with hatred for her former boss. She admitted to the authorities last saturday that she had in fact blacked out with anger while discussing her progress on a construction project that was outside the realm of her role. He shuffled through his mail with disinterest inducing her to grab his envelope opener and jab it into his throat.’ Do you ladies truly believe the means justified the end?”

“Heck yeah.”

“I would have plotted his coup d’etat,” Chris said.

Louise just shook her head.

Notice none of the ladies mentioned quitting. We black women don’t quit. Or at least we know that at the end of the day a job has to be done and no man is going to mess up our money. Or at least not the reputation we have for being strong black women. Which is what sometimes makes us crazy.

After a moment of pause all the women looked at me. They like watching me last like I’ve got the map to a goldmine or something. But I’m unremarkable, really. I just have a kind old lady face with a mean streak. So I just said:

“I would have killed him myself, except I don’t like anybody in my business.”