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!