Frenzy!

So, I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving Holiday. I know I've been gone for a minute, but I haven't forgotten about my loyal readers. I posted several new items, mostly about random subjects, and I hope you enjoy. More coming soon!

A Friend Like Fawkes

There are some people in this world that will never put full effort into what they do. Some of them are not motivated, some of them are lazy, and others are so talented that if they focused hard enough on a task, it would probably blow-up. I happen to know one such person. She has got to be one of the wisest, funniest, and wonderfully crazy people I know. She understands me, and I her. She brings excellence to everything she does, but I have never really seen her put her all into something, except maybe a couple of drawings I’ve seen her do. I think people like this girl are like phoenixes – rare, talented, useful, and someone you want to have around just for the sheer amazement that they bring. I think she is beautiful, and when I find myself in the dungeon, having been wounded by whatever serpent has decided to rush me at the time, she will always come and lift me up, up, and away. Recently, she saved me from danger like I’ve never experienced before. I was heavy, had been for a long time, but I didn’t want to burden anyone with my cares. With her, I didn’t have to worry about that. Like a real phoenix, my weight is nothing for her, and although she doesn’t cry tears, her words are just as healing. She allows me to be mean, nice, crazy, whatever, whenever. Like I said, I have never seen her put full effort into anything, but being a friend is a task that requires no effort for her. She’s a natural at it. She’s my best friend and I love her.

No homo.

Daddy’s Girl

I love my got damn daddy. Yes, I am definitely a daddy’s girl. And not in the sense that he will give me his credit card for senseless purchases and scare my boyfriends, but in the sense that me and that man will ride or die, because we share more than just a last name. As a disclaimer, let me say that I am not downplaying the fact that I love my mother just as equally, but there’s something that me and my daddy have that I wish all girls could have…I think it would make the world a better place. Hell, it might even repair the Black family structure, lol. But a father’s love is something that you can’t explain. It’s a feeling, a lesson, and an adventure all rolled into one, and I love it! Not that I would ever tell anyone, but I’m a daddy’s girl.

Planters Anyone?

We sat awkwardly in silence, less than five feet from each other. I wished I had a bag of peanuts to feed the elephant in the room. We had grown apart. I wasn’t the same person, and who I was didn’t fit with us anymore. I was sad, because I didn’t notice it happen. It wasn’t all at once, it was a gradual progression over time, and us being apart made that progression even harder to notice. But now, here we were, both looking anywhere but in each other’s eyes. I hadn’t changed on purpose, it just happened from circumstance, and I wondered why the person I was now couldn’t fit with us. A funny thought popped into my head. We had outgrown each other, like children outgrow clothes. But no one is meant to wear the same clothes forever, but these weren’t clothes. They were people. What do you do when you outgrow people? And me, I seem to grow like a weed, so what do I do about it? I think I grow because I’m giant. More giant than most people can handle, so when I get bigger, they tend to get smaller. They get smaller, then they try to look down on me. But how do you look down on a giant? And what if we’re both giants, but we just don’t fit anymore? That’s what was happening here. We were both giants, so neither one of us could look down on the other, but we just didn’t fit anymore. I hoped one day we would grow some more and fit again, but for now, all I could do was sit in silence and wish for a bag of peanuts.

Tortured by Technology

Technology is a motherfucker, ain’t it? Especially for nostalgic-ass females, like me and several others, who also overthink everything that happens between themselves and the male species. See, with this technology shit, you can save text messages, review conversations, go back over them and put emphasis on different things, basically torture yourself. And if that wasn’t enough, you can stalk a niggas Facebook and MySpace page and get mad at every other female he interacts with, as if he belongs to you, you can criticize his girlfriend, and see how much fun he is having without you. You can be his own little RoboCop and he never has to know, all the while you are pouring salt into the wound that Cupid gave you. And I even remember back in the day when you could get a schedule from the attendance office in school and magically run into your beau in the hallways. Sound crazy? I know. I’m actually really laughing as I write this, but the girls who are reading this definitely did it, or at least aided and abetted a friend in doing it. All of us have a little stalker somewhere in us, you just need the right person to make it come out. But back to the point – technology can torture you. If you don’t think so, look at your text messages right now, or watch where you navigate to next time you’re on a social network. Bet five dollars you end up laughing at yourself.

Must be 18 to ride this ride

Do you know why adults can’t go back to childhood? I’ll tell you why – it’s because they would take all their adult knowledge with them, and they wouldn’t fit into the child stage of life. When you are at a certain stage in life, everything fits – in elementary, you’re learning, expending energy at recess, eating properly at lunch so you can grow. In college, you have classes, but you have a lot of free time to learn to discipline yourself, with which you’ll ultimately be drunk most of the time and learn your lessons the hard way. As an elder, you have wisdom from all your previous years, but most likely you will tell younger people in a roundabout way what they should be doing because you’re also wise enough to know that no matter what you tell them, they have to experience certain things for themselves to be able to understand them.

Although all this is true, and adults can’t go back to being children, they can always take the spirit of a child with them. They can learn, and grow, and even grow-up, but they can be childlike at anytime they choose. Most often it pops out in the rarest of moments, and usually one person unleashing their inner child will allow others to do the same. You can see it in the way adults interact and joke with each other, and even in the petty ways they hold grudges and compete with each other.

Me, I’ll never fully grow up, and I like it that way. I’ve been an adult for most of my life, so when I get the chance to be a kid, I seize it, no questions asked. I’ve had to grow up in ways that other children haven’t had to, and I’m not bitter about that at all, but don’t judge me when you see my younger version. When you look at me, you see a young adult, driven and purposeful, trying to make something out of herself, take care of her family, please her friends. However, if you look a little closer, the glimmer in my eye reveals the sunshine on the playground, the night light by which I read many chapter books, the smile of the first boy I ever had a crush on. The young me keeps the older me from losing sight of the joys sometimes. She keeps me innocent and fun-loving. It is that glimmer that fights off the shadows of the adult world.

M.I.A. = Missing Invokes Anger

Missing people is a funny thing. A lot of people get sad about missing someone that they care for, but most of the people that I know get mad. I mean really outraged. And what’s so crazy about it is that they can justify their feelings and actions. One friend of mine spewed profanity that I had never heard matched together before when his granny got sick, and he wasn’t cursing about her, he was cursing at her! My own family has been missing me because we are not as close as we used to be, so instead if getting all mushy and telling me they miss me, they find ways to fight with me. I recently visited them, and they were so angry that I hadn’t been home sooner that they took to ignoring me. Nuts. When I told them I was leaving the next day, they immediately fussed at me! So now I was confused. They wanted me there, but they wanted to be mad at me, but they didn’t want me to leave…nuts. Missing people is a funny thing, I tell you.

I miss one of my very best friends who is not with me anymore. I find myself scribbling his name on scraps of paper at the most random times. Certain things that happen, certain smells, certain places, remind me of him. I’m truly pissed at him too. I don’t understand why he’s not here with me. I can’t process it in my brain…he was always there, and then he wasn’t. True, we took each other for granted, and if he was here right now, we’d probably still be having a contest to see who would call first (he always won), but now that he’s not here…I don’t know. And yes, I’m mad at him. It’s his fault. Totally. Damnit, I know he couldn’t control what happened to him, and no one chooses not to be here anymore, but he’s gone, and I don’t have anyone else to blame. I miss him.

And one of the worst ways to miss people is when they’re within your reach. Seeing someone go on without you when they were always with you before should be considered cruel and unusual punishment. And usually you don’t get an explanation as to why things change, they just do. And it sucks, and you question yourself, and you question your past, and ultimately you end up mad at that person. Denise and Robert were always together. Now you never see them in the same place at the same time, and if you do, Denise is being so mean and inconsistent that it confuses Robert, almost scares him. But she misses him, and she doesn’t know how else to react. Missing people is a curious feeling, especially when they’re right in front of you.

Missing people altogether is a funny thing.

You Can't Erase Ink

Once ink spills onto it's surface, paper skin, your heart, it's there forever. And ironically enough, I was told to never write anything down that you don't want someone to read - for that very reason. But what if I didn't write it? What if someone took a page out of my book of life, made their mark on it, then slipped it back inside the book? Well, they did.

I want to forget him. I want to erase him from my memory, erase him from my life, get that page back in my book. A lot of people can do it, too. They can erase a person from their lives and pretend like nothing ever happened with them. I, unfortunately, am not one of those people. So this entry is for him. Maybe if I put this ink here, it will come off of my mind and my heart.

Dear You,

Yes. I had, no have feelings for you. I couldn't say it before because I was scared, but now it doesn't even matter. If I was to be totally honest, I wish we could have a chance to be together. I wish we could cut the games and try this out. But games is all we know, you have tunnel vision, and I'm not anywhere in the tunnel. I don't know why I feel for you, I mean, I hardly know you, but what I do know fits. I would like to honestly get the chance to know you better. Even though I am attracted to you, I just want to be friends, because friends is safe. It's not messy, it's not too unpredictable, it's just right. There's a lot about me I wish you knew. And I hate to sound desperate (which I'm probably doing right now) but these feelings won't go away, and so I have to put them here. Inevitably, when I move on from you, you will see how beautiful I am, you will see what it meant for me to feel for you, but that time is not now. I am hoping to become ice cold like you. I want to be cooler than cool, and I want the cool back that you stole from me. These feelings may never go away, but at least if I freeze them, they'll stop bothering me. I'll see you soon, and I'll act indifferent like I always do, and we'll go on like we've been doing. I did that before, and it didn't work out too well, so I feel like I want to seize the moment with you, only you and I don't have the same mindframe. Sad, but true...I still feel for you. So I'm putting this pen to paper, rather these keys to the page, hoping and praying that these feelings will goaway.

Love,
Me

Freeflow 4

"Pain is love."

I guess so, because it really hurts when you have feelings for someone and they just don't feel the same way. I used to be able to complain about it, and I could be the victim all I wanted to, but no more. I have to apolgize to the young man that I hurt, that I am continually hurting, because I don't feel the way about him that he does about me. And it hurts because I am hurting him, and it hurts because the same way he feels about me, I feel about someone else. Remember that scene in the Wedding Planner where Mary is explaining to Mossimo about love and he says, "You long for him the way I long for you"? It feels just like that. On the one hand, I feel betrayed by love every time I think about how I accepted the treatment of an asshole because I liked him so much. On the other hand, I realize that I'm an asshole to someone else, so that takes the drama away from being abused by love.

I feel pain for the one that I like who doesn't like me back, I feel pain for the one that likes me, I'm just getting it on all sides. And I keep telling myself I'm not a bad person, I just don't reciprocate his feelings. Sometimes he gets on my nerves, and I wish he would just stop trying. There's nothing wrong with him except for the fact that I don't want him. Perfectly fine man, just not for me. Then I stop being mean because I realize that someone else could possibly think of me that way. Love hurts.

A Day for Mr. Rogers

Today really was a beautiful day in the neighborhood. It was nice outside, I woke up early this morning, the day started on a good note, and I'm getting this accomplished. This is a definite turnaround from the funk I've been feeling lately, and I hope it stays awhile.

In the meantime, I'd just like to say that I feel pumped. I feel like I should be a revolutionary. The more I learn about things and witness other things for myself, I feel like I should be doing things for my community, especially the black community. I think I'm going to do a documentary soon. I'm going to plan out some ideas for it and see what happens.

And in other news, Thanksgiving is almost here! Yay! I love this holiday. I'm extraordinarily excited about Christmas, but I can smell my grandmother's ham with pineapple glaze like I'm there now. I can taste the warm cornbread dressing, and my mother's sweet potato and pecan pies. If there's a prize for eating, I think I'm going to win it this year.

Furious and Frustrated

Ultimately, this blog is a reflection of my feelings, and lately I've been in a serious funk. I know the reason why, but I haven't quite figured out how to escape where I am now. Once I do, I'll post paragraphs full of sunshine and rainbows, but I thought I should put a disclaimer out there that right now I'm furious and frustrated...

Scrabble

I've wanted to write this piece for a long time. Now, even as the black letters dance across the white background of this word processor, I'm not so sure that I can explain this with the grace that it has when the thoughts bounce around in my head, but I'll try. Everyone is not meant to be friends with everyone else. There are different strokes for different folks, and the world is just not designed for everyone to get along. That's just how it works. When I first approached this subject, I thought of certain people as puzzle pieces, they fit into several puzzles, but didn't really have a puzzle that they fit into at all - everything was more like a mirage than reality.

Let me explain some more. The puzzle piece analogy works to get my point across, but it doesn't really express what I want to say. Some people, like me, are chameleons. We get along with a lot of people, people tend to know something about us, and we are basically, friendly, cordial type people. However, sometimes, when we go to sleep at night, we wake up with tear-stained pillows, and we turn the bathroom sink on full blast as we brush our teeth to drown out the sound of our tears. We don't want to hear those tears, we don't want to see them, we don't want to feel their warmth as they roll slowly down our cheeks, reminding us that we may not have a place in social society. It would be easy for me to say we don't have a place in this world, but we do. We are the busy ones, the calm, relaxed mediators, the problem solvers, or maybe some of us just don't do shit. But when we lay our heads down at night, until the time when are teeth are sparkling clean in the morning, we realize that we have countless associates, maybe even a few friends, but who really can we call our aces?

I thought again and I realized the analogy that fit better with this situation was Scrabble. Everyone in this world is a letter. And you can group letters together to form words, just like you can group people together to form friendships or other relationships. But in every scrabble game, there are blank tiles. Special tiles that can be anything you want them to be. And have you ever noticed how those tiles can be really important when you want to make a word, but they don't carry any point value on the board? Peculiar. They can fit with any word, which makes them unique, but they have no real identity of their own, which makes them...I don't know. I don't know what those blank tiles are, but sometimes I feel blank. I feel like no one really knows who I am, no one really cares what I am feeling, but everyone cares about me. About me. Everyone knows about me, no one knows me. And then again, maybe I'm just talking about nothing. Maybe this isn't even worth a post. But just in case there is someone out there who feels blank sometimes too, just know, you are not alone. You are special, unique, and you are just like me, so hey, maybe we can group together.

Wifey Material

"All married women are not wives."

Boy, did he mess up. I had already suspected the exact words that came out of his mouth in a druken slur. "See her? All that fly shit that you try on other girls won't work with her. Unh-unh. You either wife her, or leave her alone. But you wanna know what's fucked up? Niggas like us ain't ready for no wife!" Had truer words ever been spoken? Okay, most likely yes, but to hear them from such a clear (ok, druken but clear) perspective, the perspective of the male species was rare and exciting and depressing as fuck! So yes, I've been labeled wifey material. And you want to know what? I had this epiphany last Monday! Talk about a coincidence...or not. The problem with all of this is, and as my druken gentlemen friend more strongly put it, young men are not looking for wives. And I'm not looking for a husband, but I've been blackballed from the dating community because I'm too good?? Wait, I'm a little confused here.

I would appreciate an explanation if anyone happens to have one, becase why should girls who are wifey material be punished for being who they are? As I walked by somewhere, another man loudly suggested that 98% of women are no good. So, according to his calculations, what about the 2% of us who are doing our best? Are we doomed to live in solitude until a so-called, and I do mean so-called Prince Charming decides he's done sowing his royal oats and wants to grace us with a ring? I think not. But maybe what I think doesn't matter, because like Jasmine, I'm a princess who's supposed to mary a prince. Unlike her, I haven't had many suitors come to call. You can't accept what no one is offering, so I guess you have to accept the lonely but blessed, but crazy situation of being worthy of marriage.

Wifey material is something rare. I hope I am what I've been labeled, a good woman, but if I am, then where's my good man?

Freeflow 3

{DD} officially has 100 visitors! Thank you to everyone who has stopped by the page to take in some of what I put here. I appreciate the love. ♥

Ironically enough, it would be on this slightly momentus occasion that I'd have writer's block. I wanted to tap these keys and create something noteworthy, but I can't, because I'm not in the mood, and you can't force these things. The mood I'm in now is a kind of fuck-the-world-and-everything-in-it type feeling, but I can't quite feel that all the way, because I'm too blessed to curse the world that my God created, so I kind of feel like I can't have any feelings, otherwise I might explode, so I guess my mood is indifferent. I'm just in one of those periods where something bad happens, then something else bad happens, and it all snowballs into a big pile of BS that is chasing you like the big ball that was chasing after Indiana Jones. Family and friends trippin', finances looking bleak, and I don't even feel like partying to melt my cares away. And to top it all off, love is stinging me hard, like a bee on crack. I'm just getting it from all sides. But the good news is, the present will soon be the past, and every breath I breathe is hope for something new.

Until a better mood, thanks for visiting Delicious Diary.

P.A.S.T.

"There is only one real tragedy in a woman's life. The fact that her past is always her lover, and her future invariably her husband."

P.A.S.T. = Putting Away Special Times

The future is unknown, it is mysterious and unpredictable. The present is mediocre. It might be great, but it will never be all that because it is not the past. The past is romantic. It is full of nostalgia and wonderful memories. We can re-write the past, focus on the best parts of a memory, and no matter what we're doing, we can always go back to the past. The past will be special, because we can control the past. We can get lost in it, chose not to remember it, or use it to fuel our future.

In relationships, women attach emotions to a lot of things. We're a very nostalgic people, which explains why the past is our lover. The future is our husband because we don't know what he looks like, we don't know when he will come, but we know that inevitably, we will end up with him. Take Stephen. We don't have much history together, but my friends and I have hyped up our few moments together to the fullest. I put myself out there for him, and when he didn't respond, I buried him with the things I didn't want to rememeber. I chose, instead, to focus on those few hyped-up moments. When I see him now, I try to remember the bad things so that I won't feel for him, but the good memories just make me feel so romantic that I get caught up in the same trap every time. Evidently I like that trap. That trap is safe, and warm, and I get 3 squares a day. It's like jail - you know you're being punished, but after awhile it starts looking like a good thing. You find the positives.

I also use the past to help me create my future. The good memories will keep me company when I'm lonely, and the bad ones will remind me that being alone is better than being abused. I wonder what he remembers of us. I wonder what memories men take with them on their journey. Because invariably, for men, the present is their wife, but the future is their seductive mistress, leading them on.

Catalyst

She's a catalyst. By definition, she is the person that makes a reaction occur, but in the process of that reaction, she is unchanged. She doesn't get to be a part of the sizzle, smoke, boom! bam! of the experiment, she just gets to do the work. She makes things happen. Always has, always will. But she wants to be a part, she wants to be the smoke, or the sizzle, not the catalyst...but that is what she is. After the reaction, she is removed from one experiment and used in the next one. It's her duty, and she cannot slack off on her responsibilities. No one cares about the catalyst, they are mesmerized my the sights and sounds that she has produced, but no one takes time to notice her. She tires of her job sometimes, actually, a lot of times, but she accepts her place. She is a go-getter, she makes moves and moves people. And it's not all bad. Sometimes the reactions bring her joy. But when they don't, she wishes someone would see her, feel her feelings, know what it's like. But alas, she is enveloped in smoke and the sound of the sizzle drowns out the voice that she makes hoarse trying to be heard. She is who she is, it won't change. She is a catalyst, and she's not allowed to react.

Sexually Silent

"Let's talk about sex baby. Let's talk about you and me. Let's talk about all the good things and the bad things that could be. Let's talk about sex, Let's talk about sex."

Men are encouraged to be sexual. It's a part of the passage into manhood. Women however, better be able to wear white at their wedding, or they get whispered about as they walk down the aisle. But here's the question: If all these young men are having sex, who are they doing it with? Girls, silly. Girls who can't express themselves sexually because they will be labeled as promiscuous. Girls who are afraid to tell their friends what's going on, but if they actually talked to each other they might find out they're all going through the same thing. Guys are so surprised when they find a girl who is willing to talk about sex, but it's a conversation that needs to be had. You don't get anywhere with secrets and silence. And besides, whatever you thought was secret definitely got talked about, just not with you.

I think men and women should be able to have open, honest conversations about sex. It might alleviate a lot of pressure, help build reasonable expectations, and it would help dissolve some of the male-female double standard stereotypes that exist. And honestly, we should all be exploring this with our partners. Be inventive, creative, passionate, sensual, in love, whatever, but most of all...BE INFORMED. A little knowledge can go a long way. Whether it's in the way of contraceptives, new things to try, family planning (don't look stunned, be prepared!) or talking just to be talking, it helps.

Women need to talk about what pleases them, because brotha is gonna get his and he'll be happy regardless. Men need to do the same, because a little spice might make the relationship last longer. Talk to your woman before you decide to move on to the next. Teach each other. You learn something new everyday, so it might as well be something useful!
Talk about sex!

My President is Black!

...my lambo is blue, and I'll be got damn if my rims ain't too!!

So, it's time for me to address the epic win from last night. The 44th President of the U.S. is none other than (drumroll please) Barack Obama! I don't think black people have ever been so proud, so energized, so excited!! I don't even have the heart right now to address all the negativity, and I have many thoughts about Obama, but these things are soon to come. Right now, all I want to say is CONGRATULATIONS BARACK OBAMA!!