I'm StiLL Mad!!

FuCK the new year! There isn’t a God-DanG-ThanG new about the year—its just another difficult day on a different calendar. Jerome left me by my lonesome this weekend and I feel so scatter-brained. No one's been able to entertain me, either they’re unavailable or inadequate and maybe I just can’t get over the dramatics of being abandoned the ENTIRE New Years Weekend but its like having an upset stomach—a nausea seeping dark into my tummy thinking about how alone I feel this new years. VomiT!!!! I’m so disappointed in today.

I think this has been the second most shittiest consecutive New Years I’ve had in all my 23+ years of breathing. Last year I upset my family by not coming home and this year I ruined I and my husbands relationship and so he flees the country for the ENTIRE weekend. I’m actually sitting in his apartment right now supposedly getting dressed, supposedly packing my trinkets—I’m suppose to be out of Jerome’s place before he returns tomorrow night, but I haven’t been focused enough to box my shit. I. Am. Mad! Like a growling dog, I am so mad.

I wanted to have sex last night. And as I was looking at the list of prospects I found it easier to stroke my own troubles away, towel dry the remains, and rinse away the residue… and still I’m mad. I didn’t get in the house until about 4 this morning, I had a couple of drinks at a bar with this guy who I met randomly on the street. Of course he thought I was gorgeous—of course he just really wanted to get in my pants. But I appeased him for a few cocktails, sat at the bar to bat my eyes and guzzle free glass after free glass of something frilly and sweet. And I looked at him, this guy, this practically random guy, and I listened to him “marveling” at me and felt him perusing my midsection with his thick palms pressed against me, excusing himself because, as he said, the bar was so crowded, he was being forced against me.

You don’t mind?—he whispered, lips in my ear.

Of course not, I said, shaking my head, ridding my ear of his lips.

Why should I mind? You have no other choice but to run your scaly pudgy black fingers across my FlaT, WashBoard, Usher-brand abs because the bar is too crowded. Why wouldn't I understand SUCH logic!?!? Balderdash!! I should’ve puked all over him and danced the Irish Tango on his forehead stabbing the points of my shoes into his eye! Bullshitter!!

But I kept on sipping free drink after free drink. I had already made it in my mind that it wouldn’t go any further than him offering me drinks and I accepting them with a smile.Though secretly I actually became fond of sitting at the bar being offered up the sauce and fawned over like an Asian dish garnished with Geisha. I’d make a perfect blonde woman; legs crossed at the barstool, no panties, red lipstick, stilettos and a smoke. But I’m still mad.

My father went partying tonight, its actually my parents 26th anniversary and this year they decided not to do anything special. So he hit the streets. This morning, I spent the rest of my morning, after the bar, asleep at my parents in the basement. We, my parents, sisters and Kiwi, my niece, toasted to the occasion. I was already half drunk and drowsy from having just gone to sleep maybe two hours prior, but we all raised our little glasses, Kiwi with her sparkling white grape juice and the rest of us with wine, and cheered for 26 years well done. Kudos, Mom and Dad!

Aaron and I are suppose to be moving in together come this February. We found a place in Pilsen. Kimora suggested it to us, and the place is beautiful, and I am excited but I do have reservations now…. Not about moving in with Aaron but about the apartment. Utilities aren’t included and what I hear/what I fear is that gas is gonna bite us right in the ass. I hear gas could be and extra 300 bucks a month and in the art of trying to rationalize everything and trying to put everything in some sort of financial perspective, because I really do like the place but, I have to worry about the other necessities...i.e. furniture, DSL, American Express, the love card, and the all around economics of being able to maintain the place. I don’t wanna just live in a shell. This move is to help cure both of our issues with completing school . We thought that maybe if we were in the presence of someone with the same mindset; homework, finals, and studying—we could get shit done. But I'm begining to think I’mma need some rent assistance. I'm begining to think I need a second job…


FUCK the New Year!!!...I'm still mad!!

William.Krobert.PhoTography

*pronounced (Crow-Bear) Krobert. Its French...

http://www.flickr.com/photos/williamkrobert/show/

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.

Off on ThurdaY

The Christmas tree in the lobby of Jerome’s building?—looks like somebody new takes a gab at throwing up on it every night. It seems like every night I’ve come in late from work does the layer of tinsel get thicker and the ornaments get more obscure. Chords are everywhere, there’s this thick black electrical wire lagging from the ceiling to the tip of tree, I assume to keep it lit. The tree looks like it was decorated at gunpoint. Pitiful. And of course I still know about this eyesore of a tree because of course I’m still here ( I haven't been kicked out yet).

Mister WomiE-Baby and I are off today, and whereas we decided to spend this time together we didn’t anticipate on WomiE getting sick. I dubbed him the name Mister Baby because of how grouchy he gets when he's sick. There was gonna be sex last night. Today. Tomorrow. Plenty of sex. Sex, in an over abundance of. But now, because he's sick, HE’S gonna spend time on his side of the room as I’m gonna spend time on mine and the only time will we come together is when I decide to “cream” him so that he may drift off to sleep. He complained all last night on how all he wanted to do this morning was sleep, we bought NyQuil, we bought Theraflu, but what better a sleeping pill is there than being masturbated absolutely empty. So we dried each other out…

Not my idea of the type of night I wanted to have, But it was better than drinking the entire bottle of NyQuil. RomiE was out like a light.

Work last night was rather funky. We got two new temps last week, both women. The latest is four foot, eleven, wears her hair in an up-do, Stephanie Mills look-alike. Well, during her first couple of days, whereas I thought I didn’t like her, primarily because I thought she was too loud and too ghetto and she seemed perturbed by my very homo-electric personality at work—I spoke with her yesterday and though she’s still a little too urban she does have a sense of humor, so I can appreciate her a little more. The other lady feels like she’s been there forever; talks to everybody, laughs with everybody—just like family. But little miss Stephanie is slowly working her way up the ladder.

Work was funky because Yolanda is on vacation for the next two weeks. Yolanda is the lady I ride home with every night after work, either she drives or when her car isn’t available RomiE picks us up in my fathers truck and takes us both home. But she’s gone for two whole weeks, two entire weeks!!— and I’m already beginning to miss my ride-home buddy. Alas… Me, Yolanda, and Tinesha, one of the leads at work, were suppose to have dinner tonight at Cracker Barrel, in commemoration of us all being off, but then someone decided to move the Holiday Party to Thursday/tonight and so Tinesha decided to ditch us and switched out her day off to Friday! PunK! So Cracker Barrel is cancelled unless Yolanda wants to go without her.

Did I mention I hung out with my D-man yesterday and he drove me downtown where I walked and shopped more than my shoes and wallet cared toexercise??? Well I’ll get into that another time. WomiE’s up now, dragging his little sick self around the house. Maybe I could go put my mouth on ‘em.. Maybe he’ll go back to sleep…

Dear Jerome...

Doc Golightly: I love you Lula Mae.

Holly Golightly: I know you do, and that's just the trouble. It's the mistake you always made, Doc, trying to love a wild thing. You were always lugging home wild things. Once it was a hawk with a broken wing... and another time it was a full-grown wildcat with a broken leg. Remember?

Doc Golightly: Lula Mae there's something...

Holly Golightly: You musn't give your heart to a wild thing. The more you do, the stronger they get, until they're strong enough to run into the woods or fly into a tree. And then to a higher tree and then to the sky.



...Well I think my problem has been being too “grand” of a person to understand life isn’t about lilies or made up of sugar. I remember being told that my problem was that I couldn’t accept reality. That I lived disillusioned an until I woke up the world around me will come smashing down on my face. A part of me still holds steady to that list of all the things I think I wanna do, of all the places I think I wanna see, of all the people I think I wanna be with—I don’t feel comfortable with you knowing that there is a list. What’s gonna happen is that I’m going to do everything that I think I want to; break out on my own, be as raunchy and as merciless as in the snap of the word FaG, make all the wrong decisions for myself, do everything I think will make me whole and by the end of that journey feel as vacant as I began. On one side there’s the prospect of Ken and Jerome always being this unit I’ll measure the rest of my life with. I love you because I felt and feel most invincible with you…I love you because seldom to never did I look into my future and see anything that we couldn’t negotiate. What couldn’t Ken and WomiE do….???—stay together??? Its like I can’t turn the faucet off, baby. I never gave up. Never. I’m sitting here now, looking out your window, in the apartment that we planned on making our home, trying to figure out how t’fix it.


I think I make myself physically ill when I think about how negligent I’ve been; how I did this, how I was the one reckless, how I could be so bold as to stare in your face and trick my eyes to say nothing, hoping you knew nothing, thinking if I kept quiet long enough time would cure my sensation for wanting to be “22”. Box myself silent. Anchor down the Phoenix. But I am wild.

If there ever were a soul in the world that should wake up today apologetic—you won’t understand the magnitude to which I love you, Jerome—the amount of love?..is dizzying. I’d cut my wrist and bleed myself dead if I could fix it. All I wanna do it fix it. And now I’m thinking about our children, that we won’t have, or the home, that we won’t buy, and all the other ideas that’ll perish in the holocaust of not knowing what follows a separation. Don’t be nice to me, Jerome…I ruined us!! I think this woulda been easier had you yelled.

But I guess kindness does kill faster...

And I'm Telling You!!!

WomiE: she look a HOT FOOLish MESS

WomiE: sounds great though

Moi: LoL

Moi: i like her hair

WomiE: no you dont baby, no you don't

Moi: LOL! I DO! I do like her hair! Watch how it shakes as she sings

WomiE: that is what I am doing. That is a FOOOOOOLLLLLL.

WomiE: ...and that face she is making... she is not attractive at ALL

Moi: she IS damnit! She just makes ugly faces when she sings, she's one of THOSE kind of singers

WomiE: That last part is Hilarious!!!!!!!!!

WomiE: she sucked all the oxygen out the room

Moi: LOL

Moi: she did

Moi: i thought she belched

WomiE: LMAO

WomiE: I am listening to it again

Moi: ok

YesS I'm StiLL CompLaiNinG!!!

There's actually been several revelations in my pathetic little life. First they finally got enough spunk in their steps to hire me at work. I now have medical coverage. School is out for another semester, and in a haste to fill up my class schedule, FOR the semester, already a week into the SUM of the semester, I wound up taking an ASL class, american sign language, Biology, a Film class, and a specialty writing course, Story and Journal, which translated into 3 projects, 4 papers, 1 presentation and 105 pages worth of written material for the fiction courses, and that doesn’t include exams. The film class???…doubled as an additional Fiction course, and I, of course, am a fiction writing major. If you can only imagine the woes. I got through with just about everything except the 105 pages. I think I might’ve stretched it to 80. But then again, who cares, semester ended.

It’ll be my luck someone tries to fail me, or worse, give me a C minus, WHICH, I found out by speaking with my Advisor, is like failing anyway because you don’t get graduation credit for the classes you recieve below a C in if the class is congruent with your major. Balderdash! So I'm a lackluster student?? So heads may have to role. But here’s my excuse….

Jerome and I have been on the verge of moving ALL semester. Apartments had to be viewed, calls had to be made, we spent several nights calculating our finances, we even went on spending diets, i.e, I had to give of Jamba Juice and he surrendered Starbucks. If anyone can relate to the stresses associated with having to move; finding the movers, gathering supplies, boxing your shit, letting SBC know where to reroute the services; I was burdened ALL semester LONG. Give me a break (WHICH is the bullshit I’mma tell my teachers, whence they try to fail me: Give me a BREAK). And not only did Jerome and I forge forth in pursuit of Love and the respect of loving, but going to work became taxing. There were several layoffs, a few people quit, a lot of temps got cancelled and before I could rub the dust outta my eye, our crew of 16 people got spliced in two and receding yet still. Talk about overtime. Days when I would normally get off no later than 10 in the evening, I’m lucky now to get off at 12 in the morning. AND DON’T Let there be another hostage/suicide-takeover situation happen in our building (did you hear about that???). I didn’t get off until 2 thirty Saturday morning having started work 4 o’clock Friday evening. The buses stop running, getting home becomes a concern and class is always less than eight hours away. Don’t you need 8 hours to sleep??? I digress. You can’t call off—I’m a new hire, I’m on probation until January 10th, there was no vacation time—they hired me too late in the year!! What am I suppose to do but go to work and go to school. I need assistance…I need to call Oprah.

So the move happened the weekend of Dec. 16th, this past weekend, which just so happened to be finals week AND the week everyone went on vacation at work. Here am I on Monday having survived it all, slept barely a wink and scheduled to be at work tonight. YaY to da Me!

I’m adjusting my major, I believe. I’m adding Marketing as a minor. I hear its gonna set me back and extra semester of schooling, which I figure to be okay provided I get what I need out of the program. I bought my camera, I bought my laptop, I finally saw Keith’s new apartment, Jerome and I broke up, I’m in the market for my own place, Kimora refuses to speak to me, Dreamgirls, starring Jennifer Hudson, will soon be out in theaters, I don’t wanna go to work tonight, I believe I’m in need of a shave.

Ciao!!!

My allergies kicked in. It happens about every year around the same time when the summer dips into fall do my eyes tend to get itchy and I wake up with my sinuses in a frenzy. So now I’m like this sneezing wheezing ball of mucus-bagina. WomiE like the word Bagina…it rhymes with vagina. VomiT!!! It’s sort of dizzying being this ill. There’s a ringing that happens in my ear, I’m sensitive to the air conditioner and my nose is stuffy but always running. I don’t get it.

WomiE insisted I take a Tylenol last night to help me sleep but sleeping with allergies has never been the issue…waking up with them has. So maybe I should take a Tylenol now. WomiE, take care of me…

Keith is scheduled to move the weekend of September 9.


Mark your calendars for Sept. 9-10. It is the official move weekendand I am requesting.......HELP!You all know me and know that moving pushes me to the brink ofinsanity. Some would argue that a big push is not needed for that.We will be working along with professional movers, but I am onlyhaving them move large items (yeah the TV), but if they go a secondover the two hour limit. err well hmm.Thank you in advance!!You are not required to do both days.


So I’ve marked my calendar for that. School starts the 5th of September and I have everything squared away except for my classes. I need to register. But, financially, SallieMae and I shook hands on another loan, so I’m set. They ARE gonna hire me at work. Josephine, the BosS, asked me late last week and we went over some of the paper work together. I’m not as enthused as I should probably be but maybe when the benefits kick in my attitude’ll change.

Secretly I'm Oprah: the Science of JuiceoLogy

My goal for today was to wake early this morning, make it downtown, go to the Gap, run over to Bally’s and visit my RomiE at work…but it’s so dreary outside—it’s still raining. What a drab!

It stormed pretty damn good last night. I got drenched walking from the bus stop to my doorstep. No fun.

D-man’s been acting cynical lately. McLyte is coming to town this weekend and so his little antennas are pointed an erect. He’s cautioned everyone NOT to include him in any plans for Saturday because his Babe (McLyte) is coming to town. VomiT!!!

—Capt’n, I did wanna mention that I didn’t want you going to Jamba Juice without me. Because there are lot of serious decisions that MUST be made in order to create the perfect smoothie, a lot of mistakes can happen. Not that you would make mistakes, your intelligence has been breathtaking, but there does exist a science to Jamba Juice that most are unaware of. JuiceoLogy.

First, deflowerment cannot happen at all Jamba Juices, such atrocities can lead to travesties and first impressions are hard to recant. I’d hate for you to be displeased. The shops at 20 North Michigan, The Hancock Center, or the 190 west Madison Shop are always pleasant enough to stroll into. NEVER, if you can help it, dine at the Jamba Juice in the Citicorp Metra Station. Talk about HOLE in the WALL.


Second, some smoothies aren’t fit for First Timers. Please VOID all drinks under Menu Category, All Fruit Smoothies. You’re NOT ready yet [Sidebar: The WORLD wasn’t ready yet]. Stick with their Functional Flavors; their Orange Dream Machine, their Mighty Cherry Charger, or their Acai Supercharger (which is one of my favorites). Jamba Classics are also very friendly for your first time; their Mango-A-Go-Go is a good one—RomiE often orders that— their Caribbean Passion is rather mellow, or if you’re looking to play it extremely safe, one normally can’t go wrong ordering a Strawberries Wild. In fact if it wasn’t so telling as a beginner’s Drink, I’d insist. But then you’d be recognized as a virgin…and castrated. I didn't want that on my conscious.

And since, it being one of my favorite places on the planet, I’ve grown accustomed to treating all of my referred-Jamba-cliental-prospects. Nurturing their first visit is what tenderizes m'soul. Check the résumé. I've deflowered:

• Aaron
• my Tannis
• Gakaa, the Lesbian
• Willy
• Wally
• Dontae
• Christina
• and WomiE
  

Secretly I’m Oprah. But someone has to oversee this event and engage you in a toast. So why can't it be me, Capt'n??? Bottoms Up!!

Cheers!!!

P.S. Sweet Pea Keith was approved for the apartment today. He signs the Lease tomorrow. Congrats!

I've been humming this ALL day and I can't get over how cute this tune is. EnJoy!

Peachy...peachy apples

Have you ever cooked naked over grease???

Well… yes, I burnt my penis. But RomiE went to the store this past weekend and bought fruit. I’m just not too sure what kind of fruit it is. They look like peaches but taste similar to apples…Papples, maybe?—peachy apples.

The very next day after swearing off Jamba Juice for LIFE, I Had another smoothie; a Power SiZe Peanut Butter Mood with a double shot of Protein, no bananas, thank you. Deeeeelishhh!

—Kimora what was meant by referencing RomiE’s and my finances as “ours” is simply that. One plus one has always equaled two.

—Capt’n, thank you for your suggestion. That is something I shall slowly put into practice, but put into practice nevertheless.

—and Jason B, it was OUR pleasure. Thank you for inviting lil ol’ us. What should be in the works is a plan for us to someday, soon, do it again.

Other than that I’m speechless. I feel really blasé today—like vanilla. Last night I prepped a 191 at work, and did I mention that they’re thinking about hiring me. SHHHHHHHH!!! Keep your fingers crossed!! I’m not suppose to know. Damon and Sharonda told me. FALSE: actually Damon took the liberty of shaking my hand one day and saying Between you and me, Congratulations. I didn’t know what congratulations meant or what he was shaking my hand for, I was just excited to be touching 'em. But by the end of last week, the BosS went on Vacation, and Sharonda, one of the leads, told me, that Jossie, the BosS is looking at me to hire, she’s gonna ask you when she returns from her vacation, she said. In two weeks. I could be fired between now and two weeks. But we shall wait and we shall see. Praise be to Jehovah.

But RomiE’s been thinking about going to school. He wants to further pursue his education and snatch himself up a degree at Roosevelt University, quit his job and submerge himself in the college atmosphere of downtown Chicago. So between completing his FaFsa, and between swimming, and buying Papples, RomiE’s been worrying himself thin over the whats and hows of his essay. What should I say? How should I say it!

Calm down, WomiE. Relax.

What I’ve asked him to do is get his first thoughts out on paper, and what he’s done is just that; he’s such a good listener. But by scratching your thoughts out like that you make yourself a clay to sculpt into the perfect essay.

After completing his first draft which involves more than just a response to the essay prompt, he’s sequestered a few opinions from coworkers and has decided to sail into a totally new direction for the essay, which is fine, but brings us back to square one; the Worrying Square. I just hope that material he’s mustered for his first attempt doesn’t get forgotten and fall by the waste side because it was obvious how urgent he felt the need to write what he wrote after I read it. Peachy...peachy apples.

The Essay, Draft One

February of that year my mother/best friend died of cancer after a vicious battle. My mother taught me In the late winter of 1996 the biggest disappointment of my life to date occurred. In that I could do anything if I applied myself. After her death, I lost this lesson and it has taken 10 years to get it back. Fear and ignorance have kept me from attaining my ultimate goal—a college degree. Fear of failure and ignorance to the fact that failure is part of life.

In 1997 Saint Martin de Porres, my high school, closed to very little fanfare. The one and only time that a Catholic School education was a hindrance was about to present itself. The Chicago Public Schools stepped in after the closing of SMDP and opened Southside College Preparatory on the sprawling campus. One problem—my knowledge of religious history did not translate into CPS credits. After a summer school stint and a US Postal Service Graduation in 1998—it was time for some searching. These searches lead me to Champaign-Urbana on my father’s dime. He was sure my immersion into the “college scene” would make me snap out of my two year funk. No such luck. Living in ChamBana taught me one thing and one thing only, how to get to “C-Street”; the only gay club in the area.

Jerome Harper, Sr. or Dee Dee, as he was called, was born in 1953 on the

“Low End” of Chicago’s South Side. He served in the Army during the Vietnam War, owned a business in the 1980’s and was great at real estate investments. Until I moved back to Chicago in 1999 from downstate partying, this is all I really knew about my father. We were close, he seemed rational and he loved me—that was enough right?

I once read in a, National Geographic, the results to a contest they sponsored. The contest, “Pitch the greatest invention of all time”, had entrants from around the world. The winner was from Any City, USA and his invention, Hindsight Correction Lenses, would have been instrumental in my life. Those lenses would have stopped me from thinking that Jerome, Sr. would have been “okay” with my coming out the closet. Those lenses would have stopped me from being disowned. They would have ensured I had a place to live, food to eat and money to pay for school. But it was only a contest to pitch the invention.

I am now humbled at how many families were willing to take me in and let me sleep on a sofa or crash in an empty bedroom. I jumped around for a year or so—settling in with my first partner. This living situation led me to look for work that would ensure I was away from home as often as possible. Late in 1999, I became a flight attendant with United Airlines. That job and that relationship lasted about a year. As short lived as it was, it reminded me of what my mother tried to instill in me—all things were possible through me. While I was reminded of my mother’s thoughts, it took four or so more years for me to really get it.

In 2003 at the age of twenty-three I was licensed to sell real estate in the State of Illinois for a brokerage firm. I had managed the technology in for the previous three years. I sold one house, a 500k townhouse to my sister and brother-in-law. That sale took over four months to complete and when the math was done I made less than $20 an hour. I soon opened my eyes and saw that the agents in the office were miserable. To be successful they had to work 60, 70 and 80 hours a week. The price they paid was too high for me—I lost interest. I felt that in order to make “real money” and have a quality of living I needed an education to back up the license—you know, “work smart not hard”.

At the time I was at Century 21 I was taken under the wing of one of the founders of our 30 year old firm. He suggested I look into Roosevelt University; I did. Roosevelt impressed me immensely. At my age I was elated to see a university with an adult learning program with majors I was interested in. In addition there was a graduate program in Real Estate furthering my interest. I took the first step and began to think about how to pay for this new endeavor. I filled out the FASFA and soon realized I was in trouble, the government wanted my estranged fathers tax information. Upon seeing this I gave up—there was no way I would approach him and ask for his 1040.

Soon afterwards I left Century 21, my job for over four years, to find something that would allow me to grow more. I joined the throngs of unemployed Chicagoans and hit the pavement. With my background in Real Estate, my agency placed me at the John Buck Company. This placement made me realize I wanted something other than real estate. After that assignment ended I was placed at an “obscure” organization called, The Chicago Community Trust. After the assignment I was asked to interview for a full-time position at “The Trust”. While working in philanthropic services I was introduced to forms of philanthropy and community involvement. This introduction led me to entertain community involvement. This year I was invited to the local board of directors for the Chicago Youth Centers in South Shore. Since my election to the board I have been named the Chair of the development committee. Involvement in the community in which I live, is of the utmost importance.

Attending Roosevelt University will allow me to sharpen my current skill set and develop more. Formal education is the piece of the puzzle that I am missing—vertical mobility is not possible for me without it. The program offered in organizational leadership is especially on task with my goals for my life.

Peaks and Valleys

I said good-bye to Jamba Juice yesterday. RomiE and I have been tracking our expenses in an attempt to save money—its time to think about loan repayments, the business, the building, a huge house, preferably in Evanston—and we arose at the conclusion that the majority of our money is exchanged for take out and what that translated from my spending, among a list of other purchased nonsense, was an excess in Jamba Juice. I go to Jamba Juice twice a day almost, and my drink is always Power Sized with extra boosts of energy or protein, or if I haven’t eaten anything all day, fiber—10 dollars a drink. Then there are those weekends when I’ve eaten one too many roast beef sammiches or RomiE’s sat up in the kitchen all night broiling pork steaks and my guts, then after, feel grungy, I go to Jamba Juice to purge my system with a 2ounce shot of wheatgrass and Acai Supercharger…power size please. But, alas…no more.

The class that I Failed last semester…?—No longer no more!!! I called Polly, I emailed Polly, I harassed Polly and FINALLY Polly changed my grade!

Ken:

I submitted a grade change form on Friday. It could take a
while to process through. I changed the grade from an F to a C. I
wrote comments on your full movement, which is available with your folder in the
Fiction Writing Department.

Polly

Junior Year, watch OUT! Not to mention yesterday was my Last day of summer classes of which I passed yet another class which only puts me further in the running for becoming America's Next Top Model. YaY me. So I’m excited! All my little erogenous zones are blushing. Maybe I should masturbate.

Sweet Pea Keith is moving yet again. This would be like the fourth move in 3 years. He said he found himself an apartment on Jarvis which is just about where he lives now, so I’m hoping the haul won’t be so bad.

Several things have been going on between Mister Brown and I…outside of regulating our financing, but we took our first trip outta town the other week to Benton Harbor, Michigan where we visited Camp Rosenthal and canoed with the children. We spent the rest of that weekend with Jason B. of Chicago at the Venetian Festival and on our way home, RomiE and I detoured to Michigan City where we shopped. I found myself a fabulously fitting Pea Coat, which was necessary for the wardrobe, and RomiE picked himself up a pair of TimZ, size 14.

A week after that we worked each others nerves and this week we’re kissing. The peaks and valleys of love, my people, the peaks and valleys of love.

DaRRyL is that YOU...!?!?!

IN Response to DaRRyL's Comment Look who I found in the middle of Hyde Park stopping traffic.

I Found my KeYsS!!!

...And my Lesbian, Gakaa, officially turned 22 today. Congratulations Lesbian!! WeLcome to Club 22.

My little sister, Karen, aka Nappy Head bka Booty Meat, was asleep when I got home today. Yesterday I spent the night at my parents house with the intentions of finding my keys, because that’s where I lost them, and didn’t. I left the house for class early the next morning to return later in the afternoon after class to search again for my keys and Karen was still asleep.

She lost her job last week. She use to scoop ice cream like I use to scoop ice cream, day in and unfortunately day out until one glorious day, December First, in the year of Lord 2o-o5, I broke FREE from the shackles and emancipated myself—I quit! And as life progressed, I now work at the Money Factory **ken winks***

But Karen looks so weakened by her time off. It doesn’t feel natural with her always in the house, always in bed, always asleep. I’m actually beginning to get jealous. She told me the other day that she’s going to enjoy her vacation; finish a few puzzles, complete a couple of books, and worry about finding new work next week. Sounds innocent enough. I just wish her the greatest of fortune.

In Other News:

I spent the night with Mister Baby last night and as I was leaving, this morning, for cLasS… AGAIN (I need to find a new morning activity, I’m always going to cLasS) there was this school bus of boys parked right in front of the building. I took one step onto the pavement and they went BaLListiC!!!

—He a Fag!
—Look at ‘em!—He gay!
—Did you see the way he closed that door?
—Oh my GOD he gay!

And I’m all like, well, damn, could I at least make it across the street before m’day goes bad? So these little boys keep at it, and the way they bus was parked I had to walk the length of the bus to pass them. So I’m walkin’, they bashin’, I’m walkin’, they bashin’, and its not like they were trying to be discreet. I’m sure they’re not the first person(s) to see me on the street and instantly think FaG, I’m sure when I wear my high-heeled boots with the classically pointed toe nuns run for their wimples, but damn, have some decorum. So finally one of the little boys must’ve, either, said it too loud or too much: He GaY, and as I detoured to his window, killing him would’ve been to obvious, I looked at all their little dirt black faces in dingy white T’s and realized they’re not even Lower middle class. Killing them would have only made me tardy for school. Had I’d been some ritzy-titzy, embellished, finger poppin’ sissy, I woulda snatch out one of m’hairpins, castrated them, killed them and wrote the shit off on my taxes.


But,

because I’m SomeOne Greater than Love (LoL, was that overkill???) I merely corrected the little
monster:


Extremely Gay, Bitch!!

SomeOne Greater than LoVe???

Amazing it is to love!!

—and you shall fall underneath my rainbow

in cowering cold,

and, I, your heart, will bid you no harm,

keep you from harm,

harm protect you from—

that I may one day roam the earth with you

‘til the stars buckle from that amazing quake of

the feelings that I do feel for you.

You my light. My northern star.

I wish there was a list, a score, even, that gets detailed and tallied and given, from god, to every individual, as a reminder or memento of all the beautiful things that have been said of our efforts during our lifetime.

I’ve been emotional since I woke up and RaVeD last Thursday about how horrific my day went. Last night, at work, was just as bad. I had to reset my passwords AGAIN, which took forever, they made me stand up all night an open the envelopes, which is totally degrading of a chore, and when it came to actually prepping, I was thrown off balance with having to do everything else; the password resetting, the opening, the worrying about making rate, IF I could possibly still make rate. When the Leads came by to pass out the work EVERY ATM they gave me was fat with cash. And to a Prepper, which is what I am at work, too many cash envelopes can destroy your rate and slow you down. I prepped about a 160. VomiT!

I’ve been seriously involved with 3 men….*cough*, *cough*…ahem…I’ve been serious about 3 men (which is the more honest of statements); one of whom I don’t speak of, another of whom I won’t speak of and then…there’s RomiE, who I articulate everyday. What I would like to say in homage to Jerome is that, after my Second husband, who I won’t speak of, I toast my glass in Rome’s favor being it that I didn’t believe I could ever be loved as much by any man again… and to my surprise my Brown Baby has Loved me something awful! Thank you.

But, onward and upward!

My D-man, and I didn’t mean to make this post out about love, but out of love my D-man, who is unfathomably infatuated with McLyte renamed me, in her honor, SunLyte. That was DaRRyL’s way I saying, I Love Ken.

The prettiest thing that I believe I’ve ever heard, and there’s been an adequate enough list to choose from—husband two, actually, was in the lead for a long time running with his suave voice and talent for making everything vocal sound beautiful, I remember one time in particular, him, husband number two, staring at me, and we were face to face, close proximity, maybe on the couch, I was probably in his arms, and as if the epiphany had just lit the bulb over his head, he looks at me and admits to say, Ken, you are one Beautiful Black Boy.

There’s this other guy, who has remained, for years…(several), on my list of Favorite People to Sleep With, that invited me to spend the night at his place after not being able to see each other in ages. We were all roached up in the bed watching a movie and we start roughhousing, tickling each other, popping pillows across the room; the preludes to sex. But he grabs my arms and draws me in for a hug. A serious hug. An “I miss you” hug. He’s kissing me on the ear and in between kisses he says, Do you, kiss, know, kiss, what I missed about you? kiss—and I’m not taking him seriously, I laugh a little, I figured he was gonna something kosher like my crotch so to appease him I ask what, what could you possibly miss about me?—and in a very serious, very solemn tone, he kissed me again and said your energy.

I was strumming through the net the other day haphazardly fishing through blogs and I came across a friend of mine’s page that I didn’t know existed. I didn’t know because he didn’t tell me. On his Blog he links to several different sites all of which he is fond of, as well as feature two links in his BlogRoLL entitled, The Faces of Loves. Since I hadn’t clue that this page was even alive, I didn’t expect much when I clicked the links in the RoLL; first link:

• Soy Sauce & Pork Rinds: A Man’s Voyage of Self which belonged to Walter Kimora Lee White and the second:
• SomeOne Greater than Love belonged to me.

It makes me wonder what other beautiful things are out there that I haven’t heard or won’t find because its not linked to anyone’s page. It begs the question, Really, someone greater than love???...Me?

And I think what knowing or hearing or seeing these random acts do is reinforce the positive, reinforce the light. There are people who like me, there are people who love me. I don’t think I would’ve considered myself as someone greater than love; I have too many bad days at work, I shit too much. Someone greater than love in my mind doesn’t shit. But I’m honored that my mind doesn’t supply the majority.

The poem above was written under the dynasty of my “first husband”, whom I don’t speak of…he doesn’t know it exist.

A caLL to the Front of the Courts!!!

So last night at work was a bust. My IDs and passwords, to my computer, didn’t work, I forgot cash in an envelop the night before which ruined production fro the previous night, and last night they held a half-hour STAFF meeting, to scold me, in my honor.They moved my seat last night AND I prepped an extremely low 130. They’re not going to hire me. I was on the verge of tears.

When I was in the basic training; Military Branch: the Marine Corps, and when something would go awry, which was everyday, I would break ranks, crawl in a corner, cover my ears and sing His eye on the Sparrow to myself. I can’t sing, which probably provoked the ear-covering but if we are life size representations of our own collective efforts—the decisions we make, the movies we watch, the beers we drink, the friends we entertain, the industrial endeavors, etcetera…I’m thinking music is as profound of an influence as anything else in my life. If I were to consider Ken my own nation, His Eye on the Sparrow would be Ken’s anthem. Coolbean Green is the color that represents Ken and a Dove would be the national symbol.

A caLL to the front of the Courts!! What I think needs to happen or what I hope to happen is to solicit a tiny but genuine request from Omar. HI OmmiE! I, like most, saw your clip on Jamal’s blog and because we’re all fixtures in this Gay Black BloGGeRViLLe Community, I would like you to be the voice of my Anthem. I was thinking your next YouTube debut would be of His Eye on the Sparrow, if that’s an okay enough request. Please feel as free to comment.

I stumbled over a few more prophetically-appealing, thought provokingily auspicious, everlasting, ever-growing words to add to the Good Word List. I bet they thought they escaped! Ha!

• Glitch
• Incredible
• Grave
• Louse
• Allegiance
• Cringe
• Perpetuated
• Prevalent
• Propel
• Discretion
• Flounder
• Privilege
• Animosity
• Charisma
• Armada
• Segue
• Flinch
• Lows
• Discrepancy
• Ailment

Let 'em RavE!!!!

Ever feel conspired against? Like there was some sorta strange energy in the cosmos working to ruin you? Like there was this prophetically blue being, with eyes the size of jelly beans and brains as big as Canada, floating on this whiff of smoke, managing you like a limited edition Voodoo Barbie and your day like chess. Sabotage!!!.....Checkmate!

Well funny that I mentioned it, but I woke up this morning feeling like something just needed to be shattered—a collarbone, a cell phone, a walnut, a window…something. I needed to shout! And I didn’t necessarily understand what the feeling was until I managed to leave the house for class this morning on time for the bus to only watch the buss pull off without me…

But why, you ask. Why would you get up so early in the morning, fight with your sister for the bathroom, shower, masturbate, fall asleep, and wake back up to leave the house on time, which is a rarity for you, to make it to the bus stop for class and watch the bus pull off without you?

Because my bus card was no longer in my pocket…

From what my memory serves me of this morning, and it usually serves me well, as I locked the door to my parents house in pursuit of the bus stop, I slid my bus pass in my pocket. My right pocket. I remember because I’m righted and my right hand is where I held my keys, the keys that I locked my parents front door with, and the card. I remember because I was fighting to manage both my keys and my card with locking the door and to prevent furthering the argument, that’s when I slipped the card into my pocket.

So why, you ask, if indeed you pocketed your card, why wasn’t it in your pocket when you went to retrieve it?

I have no idea. The bus came. Creeked. Stopped. And zoomed off. I was still left on the corner. Someone pLEASE check the cosmos!!

I eventually made it to class. Footlocker still hasn’t come off my shoes yet, and because the buses are rerouted downtown, catching them is a bitch. I’m hungry, I’m sleepy…I’m cranky. It’s nobody’s day today. PMS?—maybe…but I doubt it.

I’m thinking if Damon doesn’t show up for work tonight today would’ve been a wreck of a day.

I fear for the people at work.

But I found my phone yesterday, and I’mma attempt to spend the night with my Brown Baby tonight. Cash put me on his BlogRoLL, so this is my SHOUT OUT to Cash, and MISS Walter Lee White agreed to dinner!...but we are NOT going to Fogo da Meat-Rack!

The venue is till pending.

Dear Mrs. White...

Aside from losing my cell phone and keys this weekend it was one of those family reunion type gigs—one of those annual picnics in the Dan Ryan Woods that if it were not my obligation to attend I would not have gone. I invited my RomiE as a means for him to understand the logistics of my family; to show him why, when I refer to them or don’t refer to them enough, why I don’t. I invited Aaron because Aaron Garrett Popcorn enjoyed accompanying me last year when I had forced him to tag along and be my guide. You wouldn’t have liked it, Walter, I didn’t like it. The food was parched and the Doritos were stale. I sat at your tent and gobbled up your goodies because you offered up your love through well slaughtered and bar-b-qued meats, and we, fat bitches, MUST eat. To accept your invitation and engage one polish to the next was my way of accepting and showing you that I indeed love you back. You would have come to my family picnic and wretched at how many Marlboro’s got smoked, at how many children there were, and at how all those children had the same loud-mouthed mother. You weren’t invited because in NO way, form or fashion was the Williams and Hale’s Family Picnic of Walter Kimora Lee White prestige. I didn’t invite you because I love you.

Be it may. We have some unfinished business to tend to. I and my RomiE owe you dinner, do we not? Good dinner. Last I saw you, you were two oriental whiskers shy of being whisper thin and I’m thinking I want a bounty worth of food. I’m craving to see you eat. And what I’m thinking, tell me if you object, is that I would like for us to go to Koi’s, in Evanston, for sushi. To do this I’m also thinking we need to know your schedule; when is the GREAT Walter White available for cocktails and croissants? I presume it would have to be a weekend, I work evenings during the week, and it can’t be the weekend after next, RomiE and I will be outta town. But this weekend is fine for me and the weekend after next would be perfect—but what feels right for you? Talk to me, Walter, let’s get this here in rotation before we start collecting social security.

Ken

P.S

How was the weekend? I believe you had a birthday. Congrats!

Friday Morning

I haven’t seen RomiE since Pride, which feels like forever, but has only been a couple of days…I got to smooch him last night. After work last night I came running over bouncing from bus to bus and smooched him square on his noggin…more than once, actually… and in the vicinity of everywhere.

Actually being that it is Friday morning, I have the morning off from school and he has a half of day at work.

Summer school started on the 7^th. I’m taking one class; Sociology 201—3 credit hours; Monday, Wednesday and Thursday mornings. I'm working to get some of these Gen.Ed's out the way. As of today I’m believe I’m fairing rather well; there was a paper, done—a presentation, presented, and a midterm, passed. Plus the teacher likes me. Which shouldn’t fraction into deciphering my grade, but having the teacher like you tends to make their grading quill a tad bit more lenient. Praise God.

But RomiE should be on his way home…with pizza. Giordano’s deep dish.

I invited RomiE to my family picnic on the fourth with my dad my brothers and all their relatives who are VERY straight. My Sweet Pea, Aaron Garrett Popcorn, is tagging along with me this year too. I invited him last year and he seemed to enjoy himself well enough I thought what the hay, it won’t be fun without Aaron this year, so he’s coming. My lesbian is going to be there. She’s like family anyway, so it’s more mandatory that she goes, esp since my VERY straight brothers are exceptionally fascinated by that whole woman-kiss-coochie thing, they insist that she come. Pussy is way too extreme of a body part for me.

And talking about extremes, Brownberry, the bread people, have this whole wheat bread that Jerome and I bought in bulk January, and it’s been sitting on top of the microwave ever since. Well just last night as I came scampering from across town to view my Brown Baby, I was hungry. There wasn’t too much in the fridge and the options even lessened in the cabinets but we had eggs and there was that bread. Two months ago, when I came to my RomiE’s hungry I looked at that bread and said it HAD to be spoiled. But when I opened it there wasn’t moldy spore in sight. So I ate it. Last night when I saw it sitting there, unmoved from the last time I had moved it, I KNEW it had to have sprouted fur and became a liquid…but it hadn’t. Quite the contrary, it was still wheat bread. So I ate it.

But I wonder, and this is probably a question I should pester the folks at BrownBerry with: How is your bread doing that?

I looked to see whether or not the bread had been doped up preservatives…but it hadn’t. Or at least the packages didn’t admit so. And I would like to believe Mister BrownBerry wouldn’t falsify such information. I would sue. Maybe BrownBerry is really what wheat bread should be like. Maybe REAL wheat doesn’t spoil….EVER! I guess the only creatures evolved enough to survive a nuclear bombing are roaches and BrownBerry wheat bread. This is something I definitely have to look into. I’m curious. It’s been half a year and That bread is still standing.

RomiE's home...

Not your Hair, huh?

What she'd be better off humming is: I'm not this album.
Has anyone heard India.Arie’s newest CD, Testimony: Vol. 1, Life & Relationship?

It has been “tradition”, as farfetched as I can stretch that word, tradition, to buy and support India’s work since her debut in 2001. In fact, a little Ken trivia for ya, India.Arie’s Voyage to India was the very first album I ever purchased—Acoustic Soul was burned. But the objective was that I had THEM. I was collecting them. Like trinkets, I was savoring them…for posterity…for my grandchildren. Alas.

My sister, who loves me, but could never bring herself to admit it, Karen, bought me the CD. It was on sale at Circuit City. And after reviewing Testimony: Vol. 1, Life & Relationship featuring the hit single, I am Not my Hair, lets just say….India, please, kick it up a notch! Even the title is wordy. VomiT!

But in the weather today, on the home front, my lesbian is going to teach me how to swim this summer. Supossidly I’ll be taking my first dive into the pool at Ridge Park this Sunday but there’s been debacle about going to the Taste of Chicago and Rainbow Beach in the spirit of gayness on Sunday. The park’s opening hours cascade with the other events. Alas. I haven’t purchased a pair of swimming trunks yet, so If by Sunday swimming is till up for debate we’ll just reassign Lesson 1 for next week.

But in the weather today, on the personal front, I did go shopping as I promised myself. We (as in myself) bought shoes, T’s, socks and drawz…so far. I shelled out 300 bucks for 7 pair of jeans and 3 pair of khakis…4 pair of which didn’t fit/and or I didn’t care for the style, at Gap.com, so they MUST go back; and FootLocker, where I, of course, purchase some foot gear, stiffed me twice on a pair of Sketchers I’m itching to sneak my feet into—they’ll be arriving Tuesday.

As for the underwear, the collection is starting off small and modest. Very modest. As of now I don’t own a fancy pair of anything yet, everything’s still boxer brief-ish. I’m still getting warmed up.