If I Only Had The Nerve

First, I must thank my dear friend, G-Code for kindly doodling this lovely design on my foot. I've wanted a tattoo on my foot for sometime now but I am too afraid to get one. I know it would hurt like the devil. She (G-Code) has a tattoo on her foot. "It'll make you cry real tears." Those are her words in response to my declaration that I will one day be brave enough to endure the pain and get the tattoo that I have longed for.

I want a series of small tattoos actually. I would love the letter L in cursive for a few reasons. It would represent "Love." and "Latham." Besides, I just think the letter is beautiful. I'd also like the typical rose just because I think they're pretty and feminine. I wouldn't mind a treble clef because I heart music. (Duh.) And of course, there are my maternal grandmother's initials, M.E. She passed way before I was born but for whatever reason, I've always felt connected to her. I miss her despite the fact that I've never known her. This could be a testament to my love for her as well as myself. --Two birds. One tattoo.

I'd love to have that treble clef on the inside of my wrist (the right one for some odd reason). I want that L behind my ear. I'd like to have a rose on my hip (down my side actually) and I'll have "M.E." on the inside of my left ankle to counterbalance the design on my right foot.

But because I am the cowardly lioness, these ideas shall reside in my imagination. Until I grow some knots, I'll wear the temporary designs drawn by friends during moments of boredom at its best and wash them off in the morning.

Colorblock

Yeah, so I took one of those infamous bathroom 'in the mirror' shots. Hey, it was the only way I could get a full shot of my outfit with casual strolling up to my boss and politely asking him to take a picture of today's ensemble for my blog.

I just really loved the way my legs looked in these tights. (I love my legs anyway, for those of you who didn't know.) I love the black shoes with the black tights.

The basic black and the color splash of pink, I also love. I don't usually wear pink (or any color this loud, for that matter) but I had to add something to break up the monotony. I am also head over heels for the skinny belt. I think this is simply because I love anything that accentuates my 'new' waist. (I've recently lost a couple inches. Yay me!)

Nostalgia...Things I Lost Along the Way

I hate when I get like this. There are millions of words racing through my mind. I never know where to begin but I started this blog just so I could get them out. So, please forgive me if this post seems a little jumbled and senseless. These are my thoughts at the moment.

We all have our own family history that shapes us into the people we are. We are affected in one way or another by the things that have happened to us. We all develop various defense mechanisms and coping skills. I avoid with humor or I simply change the subject. These are only short term solutions so these things that I avoid only fester (and manifest in some other way I'm sure). I always find myself searching for meaning. I rarely ever take things at face value. I just always think there's more to the story. I'm not sure why I am this way but...I am. There has got to be a reason that despite the fact that I have all ten fingers and toes, 20/20 vision, hearing (though selective at times), and a few talents, I am not happy.

I talked to my father today. I hadn't talked to him since uh, I don't remember. I'm not sure how to describe our relationship (and I use that term loosely). I don't remember much about my childhood or anything else these days for that matter. That's also a defense mechanism/coping skill (or whatever you want to call it) that I've developed. I tend to forget the unfortunate or force it into "the sea of forgetfulness" as my mother would say. So, I'm not sure if the fact that I don't remember much of what happened to me before middle school means those times were so "unfortunate" that I've blocked them out of my memory or I simply have a bad memory. But when I see little girls with their fathers, I find myself feeling nostalgic. I do remember watching boxing with my dad. He would straddle the piano stool in front of the big screen and eat bologna sandwiches while I sat on the floor at his feet asking questions. I still don't understand the sport but every now and then, I catch myself watching it (boxing) or rather staring at the tv screen in a daze while I reminisce.

I also remember one of the times my (half) brothers came from Connecticut to visit. I don't remember how old I was but I was a young girl. My brothers may have been in high school so I was probably in elementary school (first grade, maybe even kindergarten). Anyway. They rode the bus so my mother and I went to pick them up from the Greyhound station but we couldn't find them once we arrived. I looked out of the bus station window to the Burger King across the street and there they were sitting outside eating burgers. I always seem to remember the most seemingly insignificant things. I drive past that Burger King on my way to work and I think about that moment everyday.

I remember dreaming. I went through the entire set of encyclopedias and "dog-earred" every article about whatever musical instrument was on that page. I read them all for enjoyment. I taught myself to play the recorder and harmonica just because--period. No reason. Just because. I don't know what happened and I'm only 23 but sometimes I feel like my life is spent. My dreams have been dreamt. But sometimes...

...if I try hard enough, I can remember...

...happiness.

Sometimes.Always.

The truth is...

i AM...

mean, unrealistic, impossible, and self-centered. sometimes. sensitive, over-protective, passive-aggressive, and sassy. sometimes. difficult, strange, and beyond different. (if you only knew what goes on in my head) sometimes. rude, careless, provocative, and proud of it. sometimes. reserved, laid-back, and bashful but not quite shy. sometimes. foolish, loud, and downright country. sometimes.

but...

i AM...

true to self. always. in love with love. always. acting out of love. always. & this way. always.

Daydreams About When...

So. I was thinking. (I do that from time to time.) I posed a question to myself. What are YOU going to do with this life? I always feel like what I'm doing (and have done) is not enough. I want to do a lot of things but those that could provide the funds to support the habits I've developed and the life I want to live include writing, playing (any one of the several instruments I play with the saxophone being preferred), and practicing law. I am studying for the LSAT and the next test date is in December. I haven't started all of my law school applications. I don't know why. (Procrastination is a beast!) I don't practice much on any of my intstruments because it gets me down. I know that doesn't make much sense at first glance but only one who truly understands how much I've loved music and playing would understand. If music were my guy, I'd say we've been through the wire. We've given up and try-tried again (repeatedly). He just won't do me right! But I can't let him go! So, I don't practice because it reminds me of the good times (and it hurts) but I love him (more than anything else)! Even listening to this jazz now supports my theory. Its kind of like I hear our song every time I turn on the radio but I just can't fight the knee-jerk tendency to turn it up. So, I torture myself with thoughts of what could have and would have...been given up on...the thought of just being a musician. In all honesty and fairness to what is true, all I've ever really desired in life is music. I could play all day, listen all day, and be a musician everyday. ...In my dreams... I wonder if I'm alone in this. Of all the things I have, there is only one I'd trade them for. Freedom and expression. No one can tell me how to play my horn and sing my song. That's why I sing when I think no one's listening and play when I'm home alone.

Listening to: "People That I Love" John Ellis (composer)

Because I wonder, I'll pose the question to you. What are you going to do with this life?

Ruffles & Houndstooth

Statement: Feminine, Structured, & Classy

Although my ring looks brown here, it is actually my favorite shade of red. I know it doesn't matter much but it just bothered me a little bit when I uploaded this picture. It's crimson, not brown.

I guess I thought I was something like a model. (Just kidding.) I admit it. I'm a wee bit vain. There are a few things I don't necessarily heart but I love me some me.

In addition to myself, I love this necklace and my lips. My mom teases me because they point downward resembling a frown but...

The Secret Life of Bees

I try not to cry in the same way I try not to get angry because once the flood gates are opened, it takes more than a little bit to stop the flow. So, I am proud to say that I made it through the entire movie, "The Secret Life of Bees" and did not drop a tear. Plenty gathered but none dropped. However, once the credits rolled, I began to feel like I should have cried. Sounds strange, I know, but it wasn't until this moment that I realized I could actually use a good cry. I really related to "May" (Sophie Okonedo's character). She is very empathic and although I don't burst into tears and song at the drop of a hat the way she does, I often find myself taking on the emotional baggage of others. I'm sure it sounds strange but there are times I enter a room and my heart just becomes heavy. It can be very overwhelming and I often blame myself for being too sensitive.

Because I can feel everything (or so it seems), I want to get involved in everything but the reality is, I am human and I cannot do it all. I'm never satisfied. It's an insatiable hunger and it leaves me undone. I know May's anguish and distress too well. I often disguise my affliction behind humor and sarcasm but those that truly know can see. When it gets to be too much, I retreat...

...and cry.

“Beware of the man who denounces women writers; his penis is tiny and he cannot spell.”
—- Erica Jong.



...Guys please don't take offense. I just kinda thought it was humorous.

DK

I usually don't blog about things of the "reality" kind but...I'm glad Diddy booted Aubrey! She needed to be checked. And D. Woods? I liked her in the beginning but have been turned off somewhere along the way. I don't necessarily think she deserved to be kicked out but...she's guilty by association, I suppose. I feel this way because it was becoming very hard for me to take them (Danity Kane) seriously with Aubrey running around looking like the 101st dalmation and D. Woods looking like a clown (that hair cut is just ri-DAMN-diculous)! I love Dawn and Shannon while I'm sort of luke warm about Aundrea. With that being said, I get this sinking feeling that in true "Diddy fashion," Mr. Combs is going to back peddle and let them back into the group for one last season of Making The Band. I can't help being a little disappointed for allowing myself to become so engrossed in this tom-foolery!! Ugh, I hate myself!! JUST KIDDING!! I love me some me! But I could do without Aubrey and D. Woods for a minute!

Caprice

Arbitrary thought. Capricious Being. Random activity. It's all the same. It's all me. These are the moments I love most, the people I love most, and the reasons I love them most.

~The End

Him Crazy...And I Like It

"What do I have to do to make you happy?" he said looking intently into my eyes while waiting for an answer.

I didn't have one but that was the perfect question. He listens attentively and studies my rhythm. He's quietly sexy, perfectly thoughtful, and never raises his voice. He's a bit sarcastic but because of my backwards sense of humor, I think it's funny. He initially avoids the question but later circles back. He's very conscious and I can appreciate that.

He is a man of few words choosing them every so carefully. We stand together in the silence of night staring into the sky until he says, "I adore you." He never looked away from the stars but he smiles and a dimple graces his face.

Dreadhead

She leaned in discreetly. "Um. Do u know him?"

Trying not to look around obviously, I respond, "Where?" while covering my mouth with a fork.

"That table over there." She nodds her head to the right. I hope he didn't see that, I think to myself. He was just out of ear shot but close enough to make his come-hither allure obvious. This would usually be uncomfortable but I actually admired his "balls." I chose to ignore him a little while longer. He's clearly an aggressor. I wanted to see if he'd go further to get my attention and if so, I wanted to know how far. (I was flattered.)

"Damn, do he know you?!" Obviously upset by my admirer, her boyfriend all but screamed,

"Shit!"

"Kareem!" She nudged him and gave him a cold look that could freeze the Pacific. "Be quiet."

"Man, I'm sayin'! He keep starin'! He makin' me uncomfortable! If he see something he like, just come say something." he relaxed and rested his head on the wall. He was slightly inebriated. I thought it was kind of funny so, I ate and giggled a little....

"Gia, are you sure your dress is down?" He was still attentively admiring and my friend had now hypothesized that he's eyeing my lady's place. I admit, my dress was short but I'm a lady. I know how to sit with my knees together and just in case, I'd draped my napkin across my lap. There will be no flashing of Britneys here.

He was leaning on the table with arms folded and an intense stare. Half his locks were pulled back in a rubber hair tie and the rest hung down his back. He was a little lighter than I usually like them but I loved his hair. And he wasn't as tall as I would have liked but there was something reassuring in his eyes.

By this time, we'd all devoured our late night meals and can hardly bare the weight of our heavy eyelids. We rose to leave. I went to move forward but he wouldn't move. My friend looked back at me and gestured towards my dread-full admirer. He beckoned for me. My friends disappeared and I found myself sitting next to the mystery man. Math was exchanged and that was that.

But, I know him somehow. He seems eerily familiar to me. I've seen his face and heard his name before. I just can't quite put my finger on it.

The anxiety was killing me. This had to be the longest ride ever taken by man! Finally, after almost an hour of staring at the trees alongside the interstate, we were there. A night out with the girls and I could hardly wait. We hopped out of the car stretching as if we'd been riding for days and made our way to the door. First stop? The bar.

All eyes were on us (or at least it felt that way) as we made our way through the crowd. Lights are flashing and music is blaring. The beat is pulsating and giving me a rush like no other. The bartender makes my drink just the way I like. I'm leaning on the bar waiting on my girls to get their drinks. I look over my shoulder and it's him. Admirer. His locks are hanging freely and his allure is just as enchanting as before. The room went quiet and everybody paused. We just stared at each other and then,...I snapped out of it.

We made our way to the dance floor and found a spot right in the center. There were parties going on all around us but we had one all our own. Oh, yes, it's ladies' night and the feeling's right! Oh, what a night! We danced in a circle as the guys tried their hardest to find a place. Some tried a little harder than others, some hung around a while providing us with great laughs (and stories to tell), and others took the hint and moved on. But the ones that were particularly persistent afforded us the best times of the night!

I asked, "What's your name?" He'd been standing in my peripheral for about three or four songs now and he looked familiar. (I guess I just think I know everybody.)

He moved in. I could practically feel his breath on my neck. "B.J. You from around here?"

"Yeah, something like that. What's B.J. stand for?"

His lips touched my ear lobe. "Big Johnson." I couldn't help laughing. By this time, B.J. had made himself right at home pressing up against me with his arms around my waist and Admirer was looking. So, I threw my head (resting it on his shoulder). I figured if he was going to watch, I might as well give him something to look at. I decided to take B.J. along for the ride and he didn't seem to mind.

A few provocative dances, drinks, Admirer's stares, and hours later, it was last call. I lost Big Johnson, threw away my cup, and made my way to the edge of the stage to relax my feet with the girls. Admirer was still holding down his spot at the back of the stage. During the night, he'd only departed every now and then to shake his dreads to the beat of the songs that moved him.

"Watch this." I said to my girl before I turned to Admirer who was being ambushed by a couple of girls that weren't remotely threatening to me. They saw something they wanted and...He didn't seem too interested in their conversation which made them look a bit lame because it seemed they were giving him their best. All the while, he was engaged in my glare. They tried and tried to jolt him but he remained unmoved and our magnetism only intensified. He eventually grew tired of their relentless efforts and broke the perimeter they'd made around him leaving them mystified.

He squated and leaned over. His locks tickled my back. In my ear, he said, "You're lucky I'm not the jealous type." His daring tone resonated. His lips rested against my face and my mind went blank--again. I looked up at him while searching for the words. I never found them.

Him Crazy

This is the knot I made with the ends of my hair. I know it may not look like much but I love the mess I made. Yeah, I'm prototypin' on my hair right now. Just in case, you didn't get that reference. I think I'm in love again. Let's do something out of the ordinary like catch a matinee'. Get it?

This is today's French braid. It's kind of crooked (intentionally) and the ends are wrapped and tucked as usual (I can't stand the way they stick out and just look like strays). I'm not sure where my sudden love affair with braids began but...This guy is strange, true, and different. He confuses me. I'm flattered by his candid outbursts. He tells me things I don't necessarily wanna know but at least he communicates well. His timing is time-LESS but I think it's kinda funny. In the middle of the story about his recent car accident, he blurts out,...well nevermind. That just might be t.m.i. I'm still stuck on that text message from yesterday. He says there's something about my voice and I love hearing that. He kinda blows up my phone but I revel in the attention. But every now and then, I wonder. Him might be crazy. He swears he tried to befriend me in high school and I blew him off. I don't remember any of this. I barely remember him--period. It disturbs me a little how well he seems to remember this seeing as how we graduated five years ago. I guess this could be considered a confidence booster but the analyst in me won't let me rest until I uncover the mystery. Obviously (well maybe not to you but trust me, Stevie Wonder wouldn't wonder), he wants to "know" me but...Either this is some of the best "G" I've ever heard OR him crazy! Or maybe I crazy. My top may not be screwed extremely tight but I don't think that's the matter here. I could be just so used to jibberish and jive.

Hair Today...Gone Tomorrow?

My hair has always been long and thick. It's been much longer in the past but I keep cutting it. I've been telling myself that I am not going to cut it again and I plan to keep that promise I made. But I didn't write to discuss past hair cuts. The last relaxer I applied did not take very well because (as I always do when I do my own perm) I did not leave it on long enough. So for the last few days, I've been suffering from 'My Hair Just Won't Do Right' Syndrome. I've tried to be creative in hiding my failed retouch by pinning up my hair in funky left field ways. This is the result of my mission impossible today. Although it's kind of hard to tell, I braided my hair into two "French" braids. I wrapped the ends together and pinned them at the nape of my neck. I wasn't really sure what look I was going for but I'm pretty pleased with the outcome. The front was blah but the back was my idea of a beautiful birds' nest. It looks messy yet, loosely structured. I love to try new things with my hair. I added a golden hair pin on either side to accentuate my earrings. They're oblong chandeliers with a single gold feather dangling inside. I despised them a little when I first got them. They were a gift from my aunt and they've kind of grown on me.


I know you may be wondering why I bothered to post this picture. I found myself wondering the same thing while typing but I simply love this wavy mess of hair on my head! Sorry if you don't share my enthusiasm. Now that I think about it, I'm a little obsessive about my hair. I don't let anyone else style it because I have a style all my own. Besides, I figure, 'Why pay someone else to do what I can do myself?' So, if it can't be done between me and my mom, it just won't be done to this "head of hair." That's what she [my mom] calls it. I'm clearly just rambling now while I wait for him to call me back. Yeah, that's right. I said him. I've got a new one. I won't call him my muse or T.O.N.Y. yet but the text he sent me today still has me pondering.

When we met, I thought heaven must have lost an angel 'cause I could see it pointing at me thru ur blouse.

Boggled is my mind. I'm not quite sure what that means and I think that's what intrigues me. I know they say curiousity killed the cat but the funny thing is, I was wearing a dress!!

Prototype

I'm sitting on a tall stool in a cafe' wearing a flowing, umpire-waisted strapless dress in coral that sweeps the floor. Two messy french braids meet at the nape of my neck and my nose is so far in a book that I'm completely oblivious to the world around me.

This is my Saturday morning in the city.

There are lots of things to do and even more being done. But none of this matters to me. I'm at the best part of my newest obsession, I mean, book. I love books and reading them even more. You can find me resting here, reading here, and writing here--religiously. This window seat allows for just enough light to illuminate the pages perfectly and just enough cover from prying eyes. It's almost romantic.

Diggin’ this energy and well aware that this will never stay between just you and me because I can barely contain myself. Here I am, head over heels, heels over head, and nose wide open. Mine prefers your scent over any other. But you’re unavailable right now so I’ll leave this message after the tone-- yours deep, rich, and resonating through the drums in my ear. The cadence heavy on the 808 and careful not to bust the tweeter--yet.
**Beep** I know you hear me calling, the inflection in my voice rising and falling. Intonation. Articulation. Modulation.
You study my instrumental melody. There are no words even close to my lips. But the sudden dip in my hips sends you to the next bar. This sixteen just as euphonious as the first. Almost reaching the pinnacle but not yet. Pause. Run the tape back, flip it, and turn up the treble.
This message is getting long. Let the machine stop. There’s no need for its technology. My voice coming through crystal clear and almost loud enough for the neighbors to hear--you playing my song. Tune’s stuck in my head--over and over again. No words. Just sound. Pounding the speakers and I’m riding the beat.
Far from ignorant of bliss like this and hooked on your refrain….

Nikki Wright (also known as "Ms Write"). Oh, how I absolutely adore her candor and lyricism! As a matter of fact, I was so in love, I hadn't noticed the waiter waiting on me.

"Looks like someone loves poetry." he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you. 'Voicemail' is my favorite." I uttered while holding open my captivator for him to see. I hated being interrupted but he was only doing his job so, I decided to keep my, 'Go away! Can't you see I'm reading?' expression to myself.

"Would you mind if I take a seat?" (Insert raised eyebrow here.) "I mean, unless you're waiting for someone. Are you? I can leave. I should just leave, shouldn't I?" He stumbled all over himself.

"Someone sure asks a lot of questions. Don't you work here?" I managed to get in between his questioning and second guessing.

"No. I just..." I missed a little because I was too busy feeling a bit like a dunce for assuming that because of his disheveled hair and all black attire, he was a waiter. "...You come here a lot?"

"Maybe." I didn't want to divulge too much. I don't know this guy. He could be, well, let's just say this IS the city.

"You must think I'm some kind of..." Almost an hour later, I managed to break away from his blue-green eyed stare and smooth but sort of raspy tone to realize. I think I'm in love...AGAIN!

Heavy...Had to Get It Out

I'm so flustered the words won't come out. No one understands but I can't clarify. Even I don't get it. He asked me why I sound so down, I had no explanation, and I didn't even realize I sounded that way. I go through this EVERY week. This is not healthy. Could the timing have been any worse? I was just beginning to accept what life had become. Why can't I focus? Distractions, distractions, distractions. This makes no sense. I just want to disappear for a second--tie up the nikes and run. I just want to go away. This is the first time I've ever actually wished I had no musical inclination. I resent the gift. (I feel so ungrateful for saying that but...) I feel like I've been mollywhopped with a brick. I didn't even see it coming. I just wanted to play-- nothing more, nothing less. I'm not even sure I want to do that anymore. It's never enough. If I do this, I'll have to do that and that leads to more of this. This cause effects me negatively. Everytime. I let the devil steal my joy. It used to be such joy. It was my hiding place but I've been exposed. I HATE ROLLERCOASTERS. I don't want to ride. I want off!!!

Shooter

Dates a rapper b/c he plays with words but chooses the drummer b/c he beats it up and stays in pocket.

Insufficient Funds

I love Charlie. Lord knows it's true but has been a thorn on my rose and I don't know what to do. He's aging and going through the realization of past mistakes. I wonder how he's handling this but don't have the whatever it takes to call and listen to his moans and groans. This is partially because I tend to take on the problems of those I love (and I don't think I could bare the weight of his) but mostly because I just don't want to hear it. I know that sounds harsh and uncaring but I am at a place now where I'm trying to surround myself with positivity and encouragement. I am not accepting anything else. And as I've said before, I love him dearly but if that includes my father, so be it.

But I can't help but wonder if I'm wrong in my way of thinking. I mean, he's my father.

Affairs of the Heart

Honey, I love...
These are my thoughts on love. I believe in love-- nothing more and nothing less. After all, God is love.
I love every day and every breath. For it is a blessing, God's gift, and I am thankful.
Love is a verb. Just do it!

Dictionary.com

The condition of being unmarried is considered celibacy according to my favorite reference websites. I find this to be very interesting because when most hear the word, they automatically think--no sex. It's as simple as that. To others it is abstinence from sex for religious reasons. My pledge to celibacy may be a combination of all these things. I am unmarried and upon reaffirmation of my religious beliefs, I abstain. Furthermore, allowing another into your existence is complex enough without further complicating things with the desires of the flesh. It is easy to slip but we must remember the purpose. I know we've all heard it before. Sex was meant to be shared between a man and woman after making a lifelong commitment to each other through marriage. However, nowadays, marriage is no more than an excuse to wig out and wear white after labor day. Ask yourself. What is commitment and what commitment have I made?...I asked. Although it has been months now that I have gone without, I recommit to the vows I have taken. I serve one God to the best of my ability in the absence of perfection. I promise to love, honor, and obey-- in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer 'til death do us part. With this ring, I thee wed; in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Ventilation

How come? I often wonder if this is what I've been asking for. After some soul searching and several nasty moods swings, I've discovered that it is--maybe. I've got to be more careful and specific in my asking. I asked to use my musical talent and I've been blessed to do so (just not in the capacity that I'd hoped for). They say God has a sense of humor and I'm almost sure He just might be trying to be funny. Only problem is, I'm not laughing. I turned to my trusty dusty mirror, looked under my nose, and I couldn't find the humor. Mirror, Mirror, on the wall who's the greatest of them all? I'm blessed and I know I can. I just don't want to. It always comes back to this. Everyone wants to project their expectations and add their two but I cannot stand imposition. When I need your advice, I will ask for it. That's how I feel about it. Just because I can doesn't mean I will. I can jump off a bridge but you can be sure that I won't be taking any leaps any time soon. So, just get off my back and let me be-- what I want.

To...With Love

Sometimes you only think you're helping. I'm not talking because you're not listening. I wish I felt like someone understood. Instead it feels like foreign language and time is too precious to waste. So, I'll preserve what I have. I can show you better than I can tell you anyway. That is all. Don't hear me. I tried to tell you. Look around and don't see me. You've been shown.