My Friends Ain't Shit

My homie--who lives with a baby momma he cannot stand at all--responded to my request, asking for a ride to the airport tomorrow, like so:

Reckon i cain't seein how massa say Iysa gonna b in de hotbox all week onna counta I came in real late last nite, and imma doit again 2nite...

I just wanted y'all to know I'm not the only one in my circle that's missing a few marbles.

*smooches...appreciating my empty bed tonight*
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there but for the grace of Obama go I...

Lost In Translation: The Don Lemon Disaster

So as I understand it, Black Twitter has ousted CNN personality Don Lemon from The Club because of some recent comments that have deemed him an Uncle Tom (a diss I don't fully understand because I never read the book. I've currently pulled it off the shelf at work. I might read it unless one of you can give me the Cliff's Notes.). At first I cared not even one little bit. Not even a smidgen. I used to have a crush on Lemon but as soon as he came out as gay I moved on. I don't believe in fighting that fight, y'all. I know how good penis can be; there's no way to turn a man who likes penis.

But everyone and their momma kept talking about it (even created a hastag on the Twitter--Don Lemon Logic--about it) which made me finally read an article about Lemon's comments to see what was so bad about it. In a nutshell, Lemon agreed with something that Bill O'Reilly said about "...high levels of crime in 'black precincts'" and the "'disintegration of the African-American family'" and also discussed "...the 'gansta culture' pushed by the entertainment industry." Specifically, Lemon listed five ways we, as black people, could do better in life:

• Respect our communities
• Finish school
• Pulling up sagging pants
• Eliminating the n-word
• Addressing the issue of absentee fathers [source: The Daily Caller]

Honestly, folks, this isn't a bad list. If I have to see another young man's underwear without my consent, I'm going to scream. If I have to see another couple get pregnant accidentally on purpose and not take responsibility for the life they create, I'm going to hurt someone. But these things aren't only in the black community, so maybe that's why y'all are mad at Lemon?

I mean, that list is a very good start to fixing a bunch of serious issues within many black communities. Where I think maybe Ol' Don lost y'all was in laying this out as THE plan to fix everything, without addressing certain facts of modern life that are designed to keep the same groups down in the muck so that those with power ALWAYS have power.

I don't know; I'm not seeing why his remarks lit y'all all the way up, is what I'm saying. Maybe y'all didn't understand what he meant or he didn't express it properly? There just seems to be a communication breakdown somewhere, because I can see where he's going with this and let me tell ya- it's not a bad place.

Feel free to tell me I'm wrong so I can ignore you in the comments.

*smooches...ready to beat his ass if it's warranted*
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y'all know I'm all Black Panther-y now. just say the word and that jive turkey's ass is grass!

Lianne & I Had A Date On Saturday In The Park

And it was everything I imagined it would be and more. She's amazing.



On July 13, I was on a bus headed home from taking K to orientation at college, and I kept Lianne in my ear on repeat. Just let her soothe me after a nice weekend of family time and introducing my child to her future. Then I received a bunch of texts about that damned verdict and my chill turned to sorrow.



I hate that Lianne is associated with that terrible day. But seeing her live...I can only imagine this is what communion is like for the faithful. She's not that verdict, after all. We shared a moment, and in that moment I was truly happy.



This concert reminded me why I write, why I create art. It takes people away from the misery and the bullshit, and instead shows them the beauty and the possibilities.



How was your weekend?

*smooches...still in a groove*
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no one has moved me this much in a while

Working On My Shit

Shortly after writing a small paragraph on how writer's block is nothing more than me seeking an excuse for my procrastination, I decided to keep procrastinating. On EVERYTHING. And it made me sick to my stomach.

I've been meeting with friends recently about plans for our future, stuff we want to accomplish, and let me tell you- it's not going to happen while watching "Orange Is the New Black" on Netflix until I pass out (although that show is really good and maybe you should check it out).

But I need to take advantage of this time: K is about to be out of the house, N is super busy with sports, music and Algebra. Now is when I should be plotting the next phase of my life in preparation for her departure in five years. And there are so many awesome things on my list, whittled down from a GINORMOUS tome that used to include Become A Health & Fitness Expert/Advocate (fuck the fatties!) and Have A Baby With My JHS Crush (my uterus said NO), and it's exciting.

I'm all about that hustle & grind right now: who can I connect with to get to that next level? Where else can I get a byline? Oh look- computers are for more than just watching twerk videos at three in the morning!

I shall be the Queen of Everything Literary, and you will all bow down to my word prowess like the peons that you are.



Or, you know, come visit and say hi.

Make sure you're using your time wisely, folks. Chase your dream everyday in every way. Act like the rent is due (which it is, on Thursday!) and you're still short by ALL OF IT. Light that fire under your ass and invest in yourself before you wreck yourself...

Did that make sense? Whatever, my brain is too busy planning moves. MOVES, SON!

*smooches...getting this work*
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yes, I'm currently obsessed with this song. and so is N. so what!

One Angry Duck!

Donald tried to kill me!

So I had this dream this morning, during my 7AM nap, that N and I found this dying duck outside our door. But it wasn't really our door as this whole dream took place in a cross between my old apartment on Stuyvesant Ave and Halsey Street and my grandmother's old railroad apartment on Patchen Avenue in Brooklyn.

So this duck was nearly dead, y'all! Its feathers were replaced with this leathery skin and its breathing was labored, so with 15 seasons of ER under my belt, I assessed that the duck was dehydrated and needed to be put in water ASAP. We grabbed a white painter's bucket, filled it with water and yes, put a grown ass duck in the bucket. The effects were immediate. Feathers seemed to reappear and the duck was breathing better and even frolicking in the water. I felt confident enough to leave N in charge of its care while I went off to do some dream-like things.

Cut to N running into the room to inform me that the duck escaped. So I ran around the house looking for it with her, because all of a sudden it was so important we find it. And when we spotted it in the kitchen, IT ATTACKED US. As we tried to coax it back into the bucket it pecked at us and tried to bite us and was flapping its wings angrily at us. I was all, "What the fuck? I just saved your fucking life!"

But this duck would not let up, and my dream self yelled at my real self to wake the hell up; this bird was coming for blood and I wanted out! And then I woke up, relieved.

What the hell, y'all? I haven't eaten duck in nearly two years. Why was this thing trying to cut my throat up with its beak?

UPDATE: So I shared this dream with my co-worker and we decided that K is the duck. So much to think about right now...

*smooches...resolved to never eat almonds before bed again*
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I mean, what else could it have been?