Hseventh'blog

OH!My GOD!! My new MacBookPro!!!!

2007-01-08T00:54:00.000-08:00

My new MacBookPro laptop was stolen today from my office at work.
It dawned on me that it was password protected. Upon boot-up and awaking from screen saver or sleep-mode, you need a password to get back in, or it’s useless.
So I’m guessing whoever stole it can’t use it…… or are passwords pretty easy to crack? Mine was a pretty difficult one.
I hope the asshole who stole it winds up returning it….. since he can’t use it or sell it.

get sick

2007-01-06T00:51:00.000-08:00

Well, i dont usually get sick easily lah. but even if i do, i'd be just maybe a minor teensy weensy one. and i'd still be able to run and stuff. but this stupid cold-cum-fever was not only wearing me down but also taking my voice away! i sound horrible okay! i said hello to a friend and she was like "what's wrong with ur voice?" =S weird lah. but aiya forget it.I enjoyed myself pretty much today. we had LITERATURE! my love! yes, and we got into our drama groups for Emily of Emerald Hill. And we wanted this part to act where Richard dies of suicide. (: so fun? and well, THREE groups wanted that. so mr rash suggested an arm wrestle. and guess wad? WE WON. we nominated MAX TAYLOR and he battled against JOSHUA that weakling. HAH. of course we won!
And then there Math. I realised that i had lots of brainjuice today. i did my sums really quickly.except for one which was a star question i had no idea how to do. but the best of all is, MR CHIA was our relief teacher! YAY. i hope i'd be going to his tuition though. mommy and daddy's still considering (: yup. that's bout all of math.
aaahh.. mother tongue! That's the period that i went O_O cuz it was all just dead lah.the whole thing went ___________ lol. just dead. but i manage to understand what she spoke bout. and stuff. could be because i learned them in tuition already. muahaha. (: and then there's SCIENCE. i think all my brainjuice was used in math. science i was rather bored. apart from mr lai's jokes, i didntlaugh at all. i told mysef that i gotta get an Afor science this year. i cant afford another C. im sorry :( im poor in science. really empty inside.so yeah, get ready PEN PAPER. NOTES. :D
LASTLY was D&T. i got to know that mr chan was our teacher. though i much prefer mr juhari, mr chan would do perfectly fine (: he explained instructions rather clearly and let us do most of the work. i sort of despise that wooden ruler he uses to smack the table though. you know? to get people's attention to LOOK? it'll go PIAK PIAK PIAK. and guess wad? he piaks y workbench. :S LOL.
then after school i headed to mac to wait for yonghwei and also to have lunch.
i had an hour to kill. wad i thought was gonna be bo-ring, went out alright (:
because dear siewbin came and decided to keep me company :D so yup, wedid homework together, had lunch together and talked bout the day together. pretty much fun other than the noise around :)

GOOD years!!

2007-01-02T00:43:00.000-08:00

I think what really defines the distinction between relationships is the thing you found in the new relationship that you didn't get in the old. Or even better, something you didn't even know you liked til the new guy starts doin' it. And then you go, you know, like, hey! This rocks!
Coworker: I agree. That happened with me and (insert name here). So what"s something Psuedo does that nobody else did that just does it for you?
Me: (thinking for a very long time) He gives good head.

Yeah, after that all my co-workers looked at me crazy. But that's not exactly what I meant. Maybe I should have actually said, he gives good hair. That's what I meant, lol. It's the first thing that popped into my mind, lol. That damn Mexican always goes straight for my hair. No matter what we're doing, or how we're doing it (heh heh) his damn hands are always in my hair. And dammit if I don't love it! Lol I've always had a thing about people playing in my hair. But he's the only person who has quite literally put me to sleep running his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp. When I'm stressed, that's how he gets me to mellow out. By the same token, the same touch can let me know it's time to light a candle and get the slow jams going, lol. Maybe it's his hands. Or maybe it's just him. But the boy gives good hair, lmao.

pretty impulsive

2006-12-28T00:42:00.000-08:00

I used to be pretty impulsive. Well, that's probably putting it very nicely. Because not only was I impulsive, but I was irrationally impulsive. Which is probably worse. You'll either love and admire my spontaneous nature and wish you could think more like me or you'll hate and resent it because you can't live your life the same way. There is no gray area.

Once I hit college, I calmed down a bit. It was partially because I didn't have the same conditions in my life that caused me to be so impulsive in the first place. It was partially because my sister spent alot of time talking alot of sense into me when I wanted to do alot of craziness when we first got to Howard. And it was partially because I didn't wanna be "that girl" anymore. You know, the one that is reliably unstable? The nomad, the vagabond. I've been called a free spirit more times than I can count.

Booooo Hissssss Christmas

2006-12-25T00:39:00.000-08:00

I realized at work today that it was almost Christmas and I hadn't written my annual "Booooo Hissssss Christmas" post. I tried as long as I could to keep my irritation with this tacky, gaudy holiday in check but everyday my irritation has grown. It started with the house on the corner. Everytime I come home from working retail during the worst possible time of the year, there are new lights SOMEWHERE on this house. First it was the multicolored candy cane lights lining the driveway. Then, the string of white lights that look like they were just thrown at the one bare, sad ass tree in the yard. Then came the snowman. Then santa. As the days went on, more tackiness seemed to just appear from nowhere. Now, it just looks like the whole damn house is on fire. And then there's the customers at my job. Somehow I've gotten to be the person at work who everyone defers the evil customers to. So I've been cussed out AT LEAST 1,385 times. Isn't this goddamn season supposed to be what brings out the best in people?

Notsomuch.

Maybe if I wasn't in Texas isolated from the majority of my family it wouldn't suck so much. Probably not true though.

Sitting in waffle house tonight, I was struck by how much my life has changed in the last year. I'll get into the specifics in a later post, but it's just funny. So much so that I burst out laughing in the middle of eating. Everyone looked at me like I was nuts. It happens.

I know Christmas won't suck forever. Maybe I've never really had a good Christmas but it won't always be this way. I know it'll be up to me to make Christmas a happy and joyous time of year for my own family when I start one.

But I don't have a family.

So until then, excuse me while I try to figure out how to assasinate a mechanical reindeer without getting caught.

Go see World Trade Center immediately

2006-12-19T23:38:00.000-08:00

Go see World Trade Center immediately if you can stomach it. It was really a quite beautiful movie.

Go buy Idlewild IMMEDIATELY, if not sooner.

Please watch the replay of "When the Leeves Broke..." when it replays on HBO August 29th.

Speaking of Spike, if you haven't already, watch She Hate Me.

Did I mention you need to go get Idlewild?

Someone go listen to Beyonce's songs "Freekum Dress" and "Kitty Kat". And then please explain to me how exactly these fall into the catagory of songs about "women empowerment". Anyone?

Also, go get Christina Aguilera's album. No Freakum Dress to be found. Great music though.

Next time you're drinking, mix the new black cherry vanilla Coke with Malibu. It tastes great and you'll be drunk off your ass before you ever even realized you were drinking.

Someone please tell me when HU (Howard, the real HU for all you Hampton readers) homecoming tickets go on sale.

Explain to me why Cassie's album is number 4 in the country. No really. WHY? YOU bought it didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?!?!?

Which is better?

2006-12-18T05:05:00.001-08:00

Which is better? Aerobic training (long distance running, stints on the Stairmaster) or anaerobic training (weight training & short intense conditioning work)

I've been asked this question hundreds if not thousands of times. First I'll give what I think is best and then I will talk about whether what I think is best even matters.

I my own professional opinion and from my experiences I believe a combination of strength training exercises (with free weights, machines, or bodyweight) and high intensity anaerobic exercise (e.g. Sprinting, running up hills, or stairs etc... have yielded the best results for me and the people I've worked with. I'll take it a step further by just looking at what the elite athletes do. The first thing that comes to my mind when it comes to ideal body composition (low body fat levels) and weight loss are long distance runners and sprinters. Marathoners run and workout for what seems like forever. One hour runs 4 to 6 times a week are the norm for many of them. Combine that with strength training (which many won't do because they're too tired and over trained from running) and you're working out almost everyday. Sprinters on the other hand use short intense workouts to build their speed. Many sprint 2 to 4 times a week for about 30-45 minutes and strength train 2-4x a week for about 30-45 minutes. Many times it looks as if they're not even training hard because they rest a while between their sprint sets.

With out getting too far into the details of the workouts of sprinters and marathoners I'll say this: The sprinters get far more in return for what amounts to less time spent working out. Just take a look at an elite marathoner (they look stringy and many times weak and sickly). Now look over at an elite sprinter and they look like an Adonis (It all boils down to what their training offers them. Long distance running will improve your aerobic endurance but at the cost of you overtraining, possibly having more colds, less muscle, you not looking and feeling your best and also leaving less time to do other things you might like. Sprinting and strength training will not give you the endurance to run 2 hours but you will look better, have more muscle, less fat, have more time to do other things. So I guess it's safe to say that I think strength training and anaerobic work wins in my book. Absolutely! Now does what I believe really matter when it comes to finding what works best for you?

Exercise Component

2006-12-18T05:04:00.000-08:00

To make physical improvements, you need to work your body harder than usual. This is referred to as the overload principle. As your body becomes more conditioned, you need to increase the frequency, intensity, or time of your workouts in order to continue improving your fitness level.

Frequency: How often you exercise. For beginners, consider starting with 2-3 sessions per week.
Intensity: How hard you exercise. For example, the pace you walk or run, the amount of weight you lift, or your heart rate count.
Time: How long you perform an activity. "Time" can also refer to the number of sets or repetitions you perform in weight training.

Exercise Component 1: Aerobic Exercise
Aerobic exercise increases the health and function of your heart, lungs, and circulatory system. For maximum effectiveness, aerobic exercise needs to be rhythmic, continuous and involve the large muscle groups (primarily located in the lower part of your body.) Walking, jogging, cycling, aerobic dance, and stair climbing are examples of activities that use large muscle groups. Activities combining upper and lower body movements such as cross-country skiing, rowing, and swimming can lead to even higher levels of aerobic capacity.

Exercise Component 2: Strength Training
Strength training is the process of exercising with progressively heavier resistance to build or retain muscle. Unless you perform regular strength exercise, you will lose up to one-half pound of muscle every year of life after age 25. Muscle is a very active tissue with high energy requirements, even when you are asleep, your muscles are responsible for over 25% of your calorie use. An increase in muscle tissue causes a corresponding increase in the number of calories your body will burn, even at rest.
For more information: Strength Training Basics

Exercise Component 3: Flexibility
Flexibility is a critical element of an exercise program but it is often overlooked. Stretching is important for a number of reasons; increases physical performance, decreases risk of injury, increases blood supply and nutrients to the joints, increases neuromuscular coordination, reduces soreness, improves balance, decreases risk of low back pain, and reduces stress in muscles.

I CAN'T SWEAT OUT

2006-12-18T00:45:00.000-08:00

this is like so sad lah. im stuck at home on the third day of good good school.
i hope i'd be able to go GB tom. see those cute little sec onies. LOL.
well, it's 12.05pm right now. 2Eians should be having HISTORY right now.
ahhh. i'm really missing out the great great fun. (awww)
And here i am in my room blogging. thanks to DR CHUA yesterday, i managed to sweat and aint havin' fever no more. :D but now, I SOUND LIKE A MAN. -.-
my voice is so deep okay! seriously. well, yah. it IS.
yesterday, while watching those music stuff in the hall in school, iwas practically half dead alright! My eyes were almost closing. they were so heavy. I think it was theflu medicine i took in the morn. well, then i went to take my temp at the office and realised that my fever had risen to 39.3 and i was like oh dear.
So i called home and daddy answered. he asked me if i was alright and i told him to ask mommy to fetch me home after school at 1.15pm and he said okay.
But halfway during English (my fave sub) an office lady came to get me down and said mommy was waiting fer me downstairs. uhoh. so embaressing lah.
so i packed my bag and said bye to poor yonghwei who had to do the group work with joshua and boonkiat all by herself. (i'm sorry!)
and i went to eat lunch with mommy while waiting for our turn at the clinic.
Doc said that i had something called the Bromentitis or something like that. the symptoms or so called sickness you would have are on and off fever, sore throat (cough) and runny nose.
so no prob lah, im strong. i can take it. :) and so i went home at 2 like that and slept til 6. hahaha.
and i got messages from yonghwei and joey. yonghwei said that they took down notes for geog and that she'd let me copy them on monday. well, i was thinking if she would not mind staying back and help me catch up with my stuff. anw i've got guitar lessons inthe evenin at yamaha so yeah, might as well stay at tamp? ah i dunno.
and joey said she couldnt tuition on wednesday because she have drill practices and she also asked if im coming on saturday cause she got a consent form for me on leadership conference. well, i dunno wad's that. haha. but i noe it's important.
and then after i slept enough i woke up and had dinner and watched tv all the way. i had messages from my beloved SENIORS! baohui and basia. they wished me GET WELL SOON!
well, thanks guys! ;D that helped.
and today, i'm feeling so much better. my fever's gone, my sore throat's gone. but i still have cough and flu. (awww) but nvm.

My days feel thrown off

2006-12-15T00:40:00.000-08:00

My days feel thrown off. Everything is a little to the left. It's a strange feeling because I've just never felt it I don't guess. But I feel unplugged. Kinda... off. My days just don't seem to flow together right.

And it's all because Psuedo is outta town.

Usually when he leaves DC and travels to destinations hereto referred to as "Away", it's always difficult to keep in touch because he's doing the family thing and I'm convinced everyone he knows lives in a swamp because his cell signal gets pretty nonexistent. It drives me crazy when he's away because until then I never really realize how much of an effort we make to include each other in our day to day lives even though he's in DC and I'm in Godforsaken Redneckland. (Lol!) To not get a message from him when I wake up in the morning feels strange. To not get a text in the middle of the day just because makes the day plod along so awkwardly. I just feel so... off.

The funny thing is I hate being clocked. I hate it. Hate checking in. HATE. Maybe I'm just too independant, too stubborn, too whatever but I can't stand to feel like I'm being controlled or clocked. But he's got me doing it. And it's crazy, because I never have before. And NOT being able to do it now while he's away is like... it's got me feeling fuzzy around the edges.

But at the same time I have to fight with myself. Part of me goes, "do you really wanna feel this way forever? Do you really like being this wrapped up in someone? Why don't you have a back up plan?" But then another part of me goes, "girl you'd be the dumbest broad alive to mess this up. Get it together." I guess the good news is, I'm fighting. The bad news is that I even have to.

absolutely no end

2006-11-26T23:57:00.000-08:00

To absolutely no end. I recognize that many of the things I find utterly disrespectful, other people simply shrug off. And that's fine.

But let me tell you what isn't...

Disrespecting someone you claim to love, no matter how minor.

I'm one of those people that if I'm with you, I'm WITH you. At the risk of this post coming at you in high definition ghetto, I am the quintessiental ride or die chick. You'll never find anyone more loyal than me. Point blank period. Maybe this is why so many have described me as "wifey material" so often that when I meet friends of friends they go, "oh YOU'RE the one."

Yes. More often than not, I am THE ONE.

I recognize that the things people find disrespectful will vary. Case and point, I'm kinda involved with someone now. Lets call him Psuedo. (By the way Psuedo is short for PsuedoBoyfriendTypeIndividual and was the subject of Parts 1-7.) Me and Psuedo hardly ever fight, but when we do its crazy. He's crazy, I'm crazy, he threatens to shake me like a yoohoo, I say mean and hurtful things. However, one thing that even sporadic fighting with Psuedo has taught me is to respect other peoples boundaries. When I fight, I can be mean, downright cruel actually. However, some of the things he finds infinitely disrespectful, I'd never think twice about. But I've learned (the hard way) that it generally doesn't matter whether or not I agree. It's about respect for him and how he feels about a situation, how he feels about me.

So anyway, I digress.

There are things, as a woman, I'd never do to anyone, let alone my man. There are things that, if a man did them to me, I'd beat his ass in the streets and leave him lying there for his boys to see. (See the high definition ghetto?) Because I will not be disrespected. Under any circumstances.

This weekend, I witnessed some shit that was SO FUCKIN DISRESPECTFUL it made my skin crawl. And it wasn't even directed at me. Didn't even really affect me. As a matter of fact, if I was a differnt kinda woman, I woulda been kinda proud. But I wasn't. I found it kinda sickening. All from a man I've grown to admire and respect. I saw behavior that, if it were done to me... well see above description of beating him down.

But on to the real topic of this post. And the real reason I've finally mentioned Psuedo after so much time. Have you ever had one man in your life do something so mean and dirty that it completely changed your views of another man in your life? I try never to compare people, but there are times when the similarities, and in this case, the vast differences, are glaringly obvious and you must comment. I was talking to Yoj about this situation this weekend, and the more I talked to her the more I realized some things I never realized. (More of that to come in the post about my ah ha moment back during homecoming.) I've never had a man so effortlessly drive me into someone else's arms.

I have never met someone so dedicated to bullshit

2006-11-15T00:19:00.000-08:00

"I have never met someone so dedicated to bullshit. I've never SEEN someone so committed to being unhappy." Psuedo says this to me midway through what will be the third real fight we've ever had in our otherwise happy time of knowing each other. It stops me cold. Is this how he sees me? Is that really what he thinks? He's still talking.
"You catch yourself doing bullshit and you know it. You KNOW IT. Its like you keep waiting for something to go wrong all the time." Is he serious? This is how I am?
Wait. This is how I am? Seriously? Wow.
I'd never heard it put that way before. I was literally speechless. Like, literally. Speechless. And ladies and gents it takes alot to render La speechless. Even now, thinking back on the conversation, I find myself rapidly losing the words I planned to type. I... well, damn. I didn't know it was this bad.
I let Psuedo know he was right in hopes that maybe he'll let up because, truthfully, hearing this man that I've wanted to be with happy with for so long say that to me really hurt my feelings.
He didn't stop of course. Didn't back down a bit.
And that's why he's great, lol. He's always exactly what I need even when I don't wanna hear it.
So this is for you Pseudo. I hope that for once I can say all the things I've never been able to say to you, even when you ask, even when we fight. I hope you can see that despite what I'm used to, I really do wanna be happy with you.

When I drive

2006-11-08T00:18:00.000-08:00

When I drive, or when he drives, he holds my pinkie finger with his while our hands rest on the gear shift. (Why we both drive with our hands there is beyond me seeing as how we both drive automatics, lol.) He says my name differently than he says everything else and he came up with hands down the cutest nickname I've ever had. I told him that I didn't know he did it but I love when he watches me sleep. When I'm half awake and I feel him watching me, it makes me feel cherished. He lets me watch what I wanna watch on tv. When we're in his car and I absentmindedly touch his buttons on his radio, he doesn't slap my hand away, although I know it's a cardinal Man Sin to let any woman who touches your radio go unpunished, lol. He asks me about my day. Not everyday, just enough for me to know that he really wants to know, not because it's routine. I'm the first person he talks to when he wakes up and the last one he talks to before he goes to sleep. He lets me know when he's thinking about me. He asks me how Joy is doing because he loves her. He gets upset when I tell him he can't meet my daddy. He offered to teach me how to fish just because I said I wanted to try it. He makes me slow down and act my age. He reminds me not to think so damn much. He started a list of all the things we need to do together so he wouldn't forget. (Football games, fixing me BBQ with his grandaddy's secret recipe.) He held me while I cried over another man. When I tell him about things he does that bother me, he makes an effort to ammend them. He plays in my hair when I can't sleep. He makes me feel valuable. He does other things to me to put me to sleep when I can't get to sleep after playing in my hair doesn't work, lol. He makes an effort to talk to me and tell me what he's thinking, even though he's not all that good at it. If any person on this earth caused me any kind of harm, I know God himself would have to part the clouds and come down just to keep him from doing something that would cause us to be fugitives for forever. He makes me feel safe and protected. When I'm sick, he feels bad when he's not around to take care of me. When I'm happy, his whole face lights up at just seeing me content. When I shut down on him, he knows when to call me on it and when to let it ride.

He tells racist jokes. Which are, like, the best kind. He loves children and one day I hope I'm lucky enough to watch him while he teaches his kids the finer points of football. (Both genders. Our kids would have no choice but to be sports fanatics.) He remembers tiny little things I mention off hand. He admits when he's wrong. He plays the Favorites Game with me when I've had a bad day. He tells me I'm cute when I complain. He doesn't judge me. He doesn't try to change me but he doesn't flinch at telling my my faults either. He thinks I'm pretty first thing in the morning even when I'm hungover or sick, lol. He's honest. Even when it's gonna hurt, he's honest with me. And that's all I ever wanted anyway.

He's talented. So talented that sometimes I have to step back and remind myself that he's a tangible person sitting in front of me. He's loyal. He's kind, though he'd never admit it. He's so intelligent that he even startles me with his insights sometimes. He tells me I'm full of shit. He offers to help me even though he knows I probably won't accept. And he doesn't get mad at me for it. (All the time.)

He tells me I'm beautiful. He gives me strange compliments. Not strange in an uncomfotable way, but moreso in a no-one-ever-bothered-to-notice-that kinda way. He gets angry with me but we never fight just to be mean. We always argue to a resolution. And then it's done. He rubs my feet when we're sitting on the couch. He wakes up with me when I have to go to work early in the morning even though I won't do it for him. (He understand I'm not a morning person, lol) He sends me cute messages for no reason. Not typical sweet stuff, but things that are very us. We have our own way of talking. He showers me with attention. He sends me pictures of himself for no reason. He tells me he misses me and wishes I was a part of whatever he's doing at that particular moment. He makes me feel important. When he tells me he loves me, he's lethally serious and wouldn't never tell me he didn't even jokingly. When we shower together, he never makes me stand out of the water in the cold. He gave me my own side of the bed. He thinks it's cute when I get jealous of the groupies that are drawn to him. Somehow he makes me check in without making me feel like I'm being clocked. When I get a little neurotic, he lets me be crazy for a second. And then he helps me not to be. He's blunt and to the point. No bullshit, no sugar coating. We have random conversations about nothing that can last easily til 5am. We still have honeymoon sex. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. On the rare occassions that I do get brave enough to mention the future I envision for us, he never turns away. He handles me with care. When I do something I shouldn't, he gives me the chance to explain myself rather than jumping to conclusions which I can admit I don't always do for him. He makes me a priority. And he makes us a priority.

HAHAHA my friends are silly

2006-11-07T23:43:00.000-08:00

HAHAHA my friends are silly, a lil racist... and oddly insightful. Reminds me of why I'm happy to be off-white. LOL

pizo2205: Dangling is what I'm doing
sandman: lol what's wrong?
pizo2205: At the UPS line or whatever, they waiting for the truck with my package to come in. Fuck the fact that they was supposed to be here at 8, and that I live a short field goal away from the fucking store. Niggas. We're not even in a store, we're standing in line outside a fucking warehouse like welfare babies waiting on free cheese and peanut butter
sandman: u cant get right LMAO!
pizo2205: Not jiffy, but the hard ass peanut butter that breaks plastic knives
sandman: oooh the kind with the lumps in it?
pizo2205: And not velveeta, but the hard ass cheese you gotta hold down like you cutting thru a fire log. This is bullshit
sandman: if it makes you feel better, u are entertaining the hell outta me right now
pizo2205: Niggas can't do shit right. Nothing
sandman: when is the truck supposed to get there?
pizo2205: He said 8
pizo2205: He said 8:15
pizo2205: Now he checking again
pizo2205: Tell a nigga sneeze, he cough. Tell a nigga jump, he fall. Tell a nigga get money, he quit his job to work on the block slanging rocks for less money, longer hours, no insurance, and more math
sandman: but if he's lucky, he's got a chick that loves him enough to cook his shit for him (this comes from a earlier conversation about the lack of romance in rap music. It is directly related to a Rick Ross song where he says he cooks his chick lobster tails and she cook his crack. You know, old fashioned romance)
pizo2205: If he's lucky. And chances are the lazy hoe can't cook shit else
sandman: ay if you can cook crack what else do you need to be able to cook? Niggas is greedy
pizo2205: You get a package, you deliver packag. If I go home, you give it back to ups store closest to my house you fucking idiot. How hard is that? It's a very simple ass concept but niggas will find a way
pizo2205: Only niggas build a country under forced labor, get free, get rights and then say fuck it. Fucking lazy ass no work doing complaining all the damn time living at home with my grandma while pushing a Range Rover on 26's to Magic City every night talking bout I'm balling but I don't pay rent and hoes on your broke ass dick cause of your rims ass fucking people. Fucking waste I tell you. Waste. Let these crackers take our music, our culture and put out whatever the fuck they like. Fucking Chingy, fucking 36 Mafia winnin' Oscars. Did annnnnnybody see Malcom X!?! Aaaaanybody see Glory?!?
sandman: I LOVE glory... I sense that this is not the point
pizo2205: Hard out here for a pimp was the funniest song ever, I thought the movie was a comedy, crackers on the other hand wait for ignorant shit to come out so they can pigeonhole us as the ignant ass niggas in the movie. That nigga couldn't rap, pimp, or sell drugs that good, now he's successful, and that's the Oscar winning shit we get. Ya think Idlewild gonna win anything ya fucking crazy. Ain't enough pimpin' and hoeing or all around cooning for that shit. They actually resemble black people. I need a blog, I'd write this shit. And smack anybody that wants to disagree. I've never seen a people that know we're at a disadvantage and still do less work then other mufuckas. The Mexicans will suck shit out your ass with a straw for $3 per hour. Niggas will quit a temp job the first day cause they don't get smoke breaks and blame the boss

the trees are turning

2006-11-05T23:55:00.000-08:00

I can tell I'm getting closer because the trees are turning. In Texas, the trees are still bright green and healthy, even in these early days of November. But the closer I get the more the trees change. First, slight hints of yellow creep into the folliage at the top. Then bright bursts of orange are scattered further down, until eventually there are whole trees, brilliant crimson, majestically standing guard by the side of the highway. I smile. I've always loved fall because of the trees.

I'm getting anxious. I know I'm getting close. With every mile that is tread under the wheels of the Chevy, I am simultaneously excited and calmed. I can't believe I stayed away so long.

I hit the state line and blow the horn two times as we pass the 'Welcome to Georgia' sign. It's a looming blue sign with a peach on it, "Georgia on my mind" scrawled in cursive across the bottom. The interchangeable part at the bottom says Sony Purdue is the mayor. I remember when it said Andrew Jackson. "I need some Atl music," I announce to the car and slip T.I. in the CD player. My foot pushes the pedal to the floor.

Driving up 85 I come upon my favorite view of the city. Leaving the south side of the city and passing Turner Field you can see the skyline perfectly. It's lit up, the lights bouncing off the buildings, the headlights from the cars moving swiftly past and blending into the lumination of the city. Tears start to sting behind my eyes as I struggle rapidly to blink them back. I love this city. I can't believe I've been gone so long.

Atlanta is very different than all the other cities I've ever lived in. It has a soul all its own, a distinct rhythm that you probably misinterpret if you're not from here.
But I am from here. So I feel it very deeply.

I remember, of course, the reasons why I left, the things I was running from. I remember saying to myself that once I left I'd never come back, that there was nothing left in this city for me. I can't believe how wrong I was. Now that the majority of the issues and people I was trying to get away from have fallen by the wayside, my vision is no longer clouded by pain. I love this city. And I love everything about the person I've become due to its influence. I love the street that my grandmother has lived on all my life that's right down the street from the stadium where her beloved Braves play. I love the south side of the city, on the streets of East Point, College Park, the S.W.A.T.S. where I did most of my growing up. I love passing by my high school and remembering cheering at football games, the entire sky lit up for miles from the Friday night lights. I love sliding through the back streets of Decatur that I know like a lover I've had forever, tiny roads that wind through all so many different neighborhoods you'd think it was a different city all together. Now that I am farther removed from the things I suffered before I left, I can see unbiasedly places I've been, the streets I've driven, the places I love to eat that you'd never know about unless you lived here, the landmarks I love, the corners I've stood on, the secret places that are dear to me, each holding their own special memory. As I drive, the memories wash over me and coat me like a second skin. Atlanta is who I am.

I turn on the radio just because I want to hear music that does something to me, hear people who talk like me. Each time I answer my phone to friends demanding to know if I've arrived yet, my old accent creeps back in and I realize how much I've missed it while I was making an effort to cut down the amount of times someone asked me "Huh?!?!" in a conversation. I roll the windows down and let the air roll over me. Its cold. It smells like maple syrup and pine. It's fall. It's home.

I still know why I left, why I vowed I'd never come back. And I won't negate those reasons. But I just can't believe I've been gone so long. I can't believe I ever thought I could stay away. I miss being here so much my heart hurts, even my skin crawls with the need to get out and reconnect with the streets I know, relearn my shortcuts through alleys and backstreets. The Chevy hugs the curves of 285 now as I look up at the clear night sky. I. Missed. This.

The one thing you never learn until the day you finally learn it is that you can always come home. It may look different, it may change in some superficial ways, but it will always feel the same. No matter what made you leave, good, bad or indifferent, you always belong somewhere if you still love it. You can always rebuild a life there if you desire it. No matter what happens and where life carries you, you can always come home.

I'm driving but I'm watching the trees. The moonlight streams through the branches, illuminating the vibrant fall colors. The wind rustles the leaves and knocks a few free. I watch them as they flutter to the ground. Four years ago when I left, I remember being melancholy when the fall hit, feeling sad for the leaves that died and fell from the trees. Now that I'm older, wiser, and far more settled in my skin, I look at the leaves and feel at peace with their earthly tumble. I know that even though they fall, they are part of a process. They'll be recycled, turned back into the earth that they are apart of. Renewed and replenished in another form. Still a part of the process, still a part of the city from which they came. I, like the leaves, get thrown and scattered, but I know now, unlike I did then, that I am still part of the scenery. No matter where I fall, I can always return home.

The funny thing

2006-11-02T00:16:00.000-08:00

The funny thing about lies is it creates a false sense of power, a false sense of comfort. The only truly powerful one, is the one who has the most knowledge the one that, with just a few place words, could destroy it all.

I read something tonight, and it made me shake my head because I knew it was false. I wanted to laugh, I wanted to cry. Mostly because I knew it was half truths mixed with lies that needed so badly to be accepted and believed. I wanted to speak my truth. I know I have the most powerful weapon because I have more knowledge. The player that knows the game the best is usually the one that wins. But sometimes it's not about playing your cards right. Sometimes, it's not about playing at all. Sometimes the best player is the player that holds the hand that they know could wipe out the whole table, but folds anyway. It's not always about winning. Sometimes it's about folding gracefully and walking away from the table.

Today was one of those days that it seemed like winter was in remission

2006-10-23T00:21:00.000-07:00

Today was one of those days that it seemed like winter was in remission. It felt like fall outside. And while I was driving and enjoying the sun with the sunroof in Marley open, I remembered that I needed to call my daddy back.
From 3 days ago.
"Hey Lauren Ashleigh," he says jovially as his phone flips. He is the only person who can call me Lauren Ashleigh without it feeling like scolding. Most of our conversation consists of laughter and the sounds I make to answer his questions kinda like:
Daddy: So how you liking Texas?
Me: Meh.
Daddy: It can't be that bad. I know work is driving you nuts and you're probably needing your own space but it's not so bad. You have to learn to not be alone so much.

He got all that from, "meh."

We talk for the better part of an hour and finally get around to the enevitable conversation of me living in Atl. He tells me my brother was looking forward to me moving back after graduation. I think back to how much fun he and I had when I was home for his birthday and the guilt makes my stomach fall to the floor.
Me: Well Daddy that was my plan, to be in Atlanta. I dunno if it's where I'll stay but it's where I wanna be right now. I was looking forward to it.
Daddy: I know you were baby. Me too.

The backs of my eyeballs sting with tears I won't let fall because I'm driving. He's got That Voice. You know the one big tough daddies use when they're trying to tell someone something emotional. I smile on the inside. And then I laugh to myself. I may look and sound like my mama, but I've got my daddy's temperment. It's hilarious to me.

We talk some more and I realize that somehow he manages to talk to me like I'm an adult, not his only daughter, and that, for some reason makes me feel like I'm about 10 years old, still poking him in his sides to make him wake up and cook me breakfast. I say very little as I'm accustomed to doing, but he gets it. He knows what I'm feeling or thinking even when I fail to articulate it. I don't think he realizes how comforted it makes me feel. I know that it must be strange for him to watch his little girl grow up, I know it must be hard for me to be so independent when all he wants to do is be my daddy. He manages it gracefully though.

I think forward to the day I'll introduce him to Psuedo, and I giggle because I can already see them getting along. I think backward to all the mornings I went to work with him, riding shotgun in his old Celica, eating donuts and talking to my daddy about anything that came to mind. I can see him walking me down the aisle and holding his grandchildren in his big calloused hands. Hearing his voice on the phone makes me imagine I can almost feel one of his big bear hugs whenever I get home. He lets me be me. And somehow he still manages to be my daddy too.

When I was a little girl, I'd follow him around the house, we'd wrestle and laugh, I'd jump on his head while he was in bed, sit on the floor of the kitchen while he cooked. But my favorite thing to do was climb up on his lap, and curl up in a tight little ball, my head resting in the crook of his arm. I remember crawling up there many times when I was sick or sad or just wanting to. Hell if I was in Atlanta, I'd probably do it now.

But since I'm not, I just talk to my daddy and hope that if he's somehow found peace with the woman I've become, then I can too.

And I hate it for whoever I end up with because they're gonna have it rough trying to fill my daddy's shoes.

50/50 is priceless

2006-10-17T23:54:00.000-07:00

I look back over things in my life, people I've known, and the 50/50 is priceless. I can't believe I didn't see some things that I can see now. I can't believe there were people I didn't see for who they are. I can't believe there are people I allowed to tell me who I am in their eyes. People I allowed close to me when in the back of my mind I knew I shouldn't. Can't believe I let things get so outta control just so it wouldn't seem like I couldn't have faith, couldn't believe.

I'm just rambling of course. But I'm still surprised. At myself. At the sheer audacity of people and the way they've treated me. At myself and the people I've allowed in my life, at how I've allowed myself to be perceived.

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2006-10-10T06:10:00.000-07:00

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literally sick

2006-10-03T23:53:00.000-07:00

I'm sick. Like, physically, literally sick. I can't shake this feeling in the pit of my stomach. I feel nervous, all the time. And not butterflies-in-my-stomach-oh-god-there-goes my-crush-he's-so-cute nervous. Like absolutely-sick-something-awful-is-happening-and-I-can't-do-anything-about-it-but-get-an ulcer nervous. I've been throwing up all day to the point that now it's just liquid coming and my stomach feels like I've been stabbed with heated metal. I'm distracted, distant, trying not to dissolve into tears at work.

Lying on the tile in the bathroom I can't help but wonder what's wrong with me, where along the line I lost control so terribly so. I can't possibly continue to feel this way. I can't survive like this. It isn't supposed to be like this.

I'm anxious. I'm contemplating my next step forward but I can't get off the floor. I'm so tired. Last nite I tossed and turned all night, running things over in my head, trying to tie up the loose ends so they fit nicely over a box I'd like to put up on the shelf now and forget. I'd get hot. I'd toss my covers away. Chills would attack my body. I'd huddle under the covers. Back and forth. Hot and cold.

In and out.

I can't believe I've let myself feel this way. Over what? For what? I pull myself halfway off the floor. My heart isn't in it. I lean heavily against the wall. My heart and my head are somewhere down south, my head forming images my heart can't take. I'm seeing it, hearing it, smelling it, tasting it. I start to take in short rapid breaths. I feel like I'm suffocating, like someone is wrapping a warm blanket around my head. I close my eyes. I can still see it. I gasp for breath as the edges of my vision blur to black. I can't be the girl who died on the bathroom floor at work.

I launch myself at the toilet again and barely make it. I can't live like this. My stomach is in knots. My legs are trembling. My body is so tense I can't open my hands. Sweat drips down my spine. It feels like kisses. Its almost erotic the feel of the cold trail down my skin. I see it again. I hear their words, feel their touches, and the knife goes through my stomach. Back to the toilet.

I sink down on the floor, my back against the cool tile. They starts silently, the tears, and I let them slip easily into my hair. I lay perfectly still. I open my eyes so wide they hurt and make myself watch the movie playing in my mind projected across the ceiling. I watch it. I study it. I don't even blink.

After it's over I peel myself in layers off the floor and put myself together. My skin feels hot but I'm cold from inside. So cold I can't even shiver. I can't open my hands. I can't feel my heart. I open the door and walk out as though nothing has happened. I feel the rhythm of it in each of my footsteps. I know it so well, felt it so many times. I smile but my heart isn't in it. My heart is somewhere down south, breaking, because my mind can see what my heart doesn't want to hear.

I'm in this funny place

2006-09-27T23:41:00.000-07:00

I'm in this funny place. Not funny like haha, funny like I don't know what else to call it. I'm searching for the words but I'm not doing so well. I find myself in a state of polarity; I want a hug but I don't want to be touched. I want someone to call me, but I don't wanna talk. I hate being alone but I can't stand meaningless company. I wanna smile but I'm so tired.

I'm in my head alot. Which I guess could explain my current disgust with words that don't work. Walking around inside my head among the disconnected thoughts, thinking about things I haven't thought of in years. I'm excavating old disaster sites, trying to see if there's anything salvageable among the ruins. My soul is unsettled.

I can't think of much more to say. I feel as though I brought this state on myself. So I, logically should be the one to get me out. This is my fault, I guess.I keep thinking to myself that I don't know who I've turned into. I can't navigate the distance between who people think I am and who I see. I am caught between the couldas, wouldas, shouldas.

I'm just... tired.

having a roundtable preparing

2006-09-22T23:47:00.000-07:00

I wrote this like 5 years ago. I was having a roundtable preparing for a role in a play I was doing and we were talking about love. After telling someone that I didn't want to get married, the question was posed to me as to what it would take for me to fall completely in love, what it would take for me to want to spend the rest of my life with someone. And this is what I wrote:

I want someone I can be bare with. I want someone who puts my soul at ease & my mind at rest. I want someone who excites my spirit and stirs my intellect. I want someone who knows me, inside out, completely and totally and never uses my flaws against me. I want someone who loves me for me. Someone who can make me laugh, and make me cry, someone with whom the very attempt at trying to articulate what I feel for them reduces me to tears. I want someone who loves me completely, not fractionally or marginally, just as much as I love them. No more, no less. I want someone who is intelligent, with whom every conversation is just as free flowing, just as inspiring and as the one before. Even when it is about nothing. I want to still be able to talk to him when we are 80, to have conversations even better than the ones we had in the late nights of the adolescence of our relationship. I want someone who isn't just funny, but is hilarious, who makes me laugh in my darkest hours, and who knows when I don't need to laugh. Someone who knows when I need to be alone in those dark places and doesn't judge or feel misplaced in my life due to my need to care for myself. I want someone who inspires me to poetry, someone who I cannot capture with words on a page, for whom I have to tear up a million pieces of paper because the words I've written do his elegance no justice. I want someone who moves me to sing and makes me finally understand the words to every love song I've ever heard. I want someone with whom every kiss still feels like the first time, still makes my heart speed and my barriers melt. I want someone who is patient of me when my head conflicts with my heart and I can't find the medium between the two forces. I want someone who encourages me to be deeper, stronger, better. I want someone who needs me, who understands if I don't always quite know how to need him. I want someone adventurous, someone who wants to go with me wherever my heart may take us and isn't afraid to let me lead. I want someone who is honest with me, is laid open to me in an intimate way that can only be achieved by carefully built trust. I want someone who will strip me down, but will love me just as much, if not more, when the decorations are few, the distractions are fleeting, and all that's left is who I am and who I hope loving him will make me be.

It's a funny thing

2006-09-14T23:37:00.000-07:00

It's a funny thing about poison, you only need very little of it to kill you. Once you ingest it, once it's in you, in your blood stream, it's very hard to rid yourself of it's affects. Sometimes you have to let it run it's course.
The only thing is, you don't know if it'll make you sick or if it'll kill you.

I feel like I'm being poisoned here. All the hard work I've done on myself the last four years seems like it's being erased in favor of the tools of survival I adopted a long time ago. And.

62 Reasons Why biking is better than rollerblading

2006-09-08T00:52:00.000-07:00

We don’t break our wrists as often.
Bikes have been refined over more than 100 years.
Blades are trendy.
We can ride over bumps without slowing down.
We don’t grab onto the nearest person while falling down.
Faster.
More precise steering.
We can stop.
We can ride over bladers without slowing down.
Can’t strap 32 ounces of water to roller blades.
Can’t strap 40 ounces of beer to roller-bladers.
Never need to buy 8 new wheels.
We can sit down.
We were here first.
Don’t need to change shoes after getting somewhere.
Never rack our nuts on a stair-rail.
Can get more air.
No need to swing arms, aimlessly.
We can go farther.
You can lock a bike to a lightpost.
You can lock a bike to a tree.
You can lock a bike to a parking meter.
You can lock a bike to a sign.
You can carry a lock on a bike.
We look much cooler.
We don’t have to see a big, fat blader ass in spandex pass us.
We can change gears.
Nothing special about blading “no handed”.
Never see bikers riding along, holding hands, taking up the whole damn road.
Never see bikers pretending to be ice skating.
Never see bikers riding backwards, oblivious to oncoming traffic.
If we wreck, we are not strapped into the bike.
Never forget how to ride a bike.
1 word, suspension.
Nobody has ever bladed across America.
Bikers have raised millions of dollars for charity.
There are several magazines devoted to bikers.
There are several books on bikers.
There are several movies about bikers.
Can’t do a “wheelie” on blades.
Easier to see a biker during the day because we are bigger.
Easier to see a biker at night because of reflectors.
People who ride bikes in public, already know how to ride a bike.
There are no famous roller-bladers.
If a blader and a biker run into each other, the blader will be hurt more.
Bikes come in more colors.
Can’t ride roller-blades on the beach.
Can’t roller-blade (if you want to stop) in rain.
Nobody ever rode a bike to disco music.
You can still ride a bike that isn’t your size.
Chrome roller blades would be stupid.
There are no plastic bikes.
Bikers outnumber roller-bladers.
Riding roller-blades in the street is a bad idea.
Can’t roller-blade on the highway.
No such thing as roller-blade cops.
Bikes don’t smell like sweaty feet.
Bikes last longer.
Some bikes actually appreciate in value.
There are no roller-blades in museums.
There are no roller-blader bars.
Chicks don’t flash roller bladers.

Here's the thing

2006-09-07T23:33:00.000-07:00

Here's the thing...
There's alot going on in my life right now. ALOT. Way more than I wish there was. And I can't take further complication. And I would think that the people that knew me best, understood me, knew my circumstance would be understanding of the horrible job I'm doing of balancing everything in my life and would be careful to not make it even harder on me.
Only, notsomuch.

That's not what I get. I get added stress.

I don't need complications. Especially not ones outside myself. Especially not ones that I have control over, that I don't have to add to. I need no drama. I'm too old, spiritually, to still be doing the same things I did as a child.

So I won't.

So let me tell you all this, if you can't bring me positivity, solutions, understanding, insane amounts of patience, simplicity, I don't need you. I have no use for you.

Call me callous, call me cold, cruel and distant. That's fine.