Blogging is for B*tches

That's how ya'll make me feel. When you come through. Read all my dirt. Laugh at all my typos. And don't even leave a lil' comment. If the soccer mom in your neighborhood's mini-van was covered in dust from taking the girl scouts camping, you would write on the back window next to the soccer sticker "Sexy was here." So why not do the same for me (though you don't really have to call yourself sexy.) I see you looking. Alanna. Shara. You say you like the blog but you show me zero love (facebook doesn't count:) The only people who do are Mr. Incredible, Yasmine, and Shani. That's because they know what it feels like to pour your heart out and someone say, "Did you say something?". So if you love me, say it. If you hate me, you can tell by the ego somebody must have to think that someone reads their typo-filled rambles and just doesn't leave comments, that I wouldn't mind hearing that too.

Queen -to- be be be be (the extra be's are the echo from the emptiness of no feedback) lmao.

A week ago was father's day. I read the cynic's blog and felt guilty for not blogging about my own pappy.

I love my daddy. I have always loved my daddy. To the point of when I was little and I ever felt anyone was talking negatively about him, even if it was his mom just saying he called, being the cry baby/tom boy I was, I would run from the room crying "you talking about my daddy."

My parents divorced when I was four. Though the marriage was really over since I was two. I don't have memories of my parents fighting. They broke up before it got that bad. I had a good childhood. Though I would have liked to see my dad more than the twice a year when he was living in LA, but I never once doubted his love for me. But I still feel in my heart him and my mom will never know what it was like for me and my brother since they both grew up in a house with two loving parents who lived out 'till death do us part.' I try not to dwell on the what-ifs of life . . .but sometimes I can't help but wonder what it could have been like had they fought a little harder to make the marriage work. oh well.



My dad got my Father's day card on Monday. He loved it. Just like he loves everything I do now. It wasn't until I was writing this post that I realized I have let go the anger I once had towards him once I realized he was the cause of our happy home breaking up. But now a little older, I have accepted our odd family where he and my baby sister (his daughter) can come spend the night at my house and my mom be fine with it.I laugh at the ludicrous-ness of thoughts I once had to have my mom walk me down the aisle since he wasn't Bill Cosby growing up. I am thankful for his unconditional love now, more than I have ever been. Because he wasn't Heathcliff Huxtable . . .but neither was I Rudy, so I guess we are even. I know he probably will never read this (and I hope not since that would mean he is reading other posts:) but I love you dad and doesn't have to be father's day for me to say so

Queen-to-be-from-a-great-King!

Somebody played a really cruel trick on me!!!

So I really need to tell what happened to me last night. Without telling what happened to me last night. I was invited by someone I stand to learn a lot from to tag along to a movie premiere. I didn't have any concrete plans other than to catch up on much needed sleep after staying out very late the night before party hopping with some buddies (if you are on facebook you can checkout the pics:) and cleaning up my room that looked like my closet and drawers had thrown up all over my bed and the floor.
So I sign on to tag along. Thirty minutes before the event began the person who invited comes and tells me she can't go and if I still can go. I am not excited to go by myself but she really wants someone to go and share what happened so I accept. Then she hands me the email with all the info and I CRINGE!
Like I said, I really don't want to put it all out there, so let's just say there was a guy. A guy I really thought was for me. Who's family had roots with mine Somebody I thought was really for me. I did all I could to make this guy want me, even as I hustled trying to do well in school and all types of other extracurricular. Well, in the end the guy didn't want me. And strangely I felt a freedom through the rejection. It became so clear that this guy really was not for me right now and every thing worked out the way it should. maybe one day . .. but not today. But if you really know me you know who the guy is, and that there really is no guy . . .and why do I bring him up?
Well, the movie was about him! I had to go to this thing. Alone. Surrounded by his family.
Well I arrive. Say why I am there and who I am representing. I hit the open bar with a quickness. It is completely ok to wear jeans to my office. However, I just haven't had the nerve. Not at least until the Friday of my third week. The same day I am invited to this thing. So not only am I alone. Uncomfortable. But I don't even feel fly which is usually my safety emotional net.
After my first drink, calling my mom and friends to share my feelings of frustration which turns into me even more frustrated with my mom trying to explain to her why I can't get one of the world's biggest conglomerate's to speed up my little check.
I go to the bathroom both are full. Which is completely expected in the twilight zone I was in. I didn't even really have to go, just wanted to get my barrings. As I wait, a familiar face comes up. Thankfully its not one of his family members wondering why I am there. It is Celie to me. . . or to the world. Tony -Winning -Actress-Oprah-elbow-rubbing LaChanze from Broadway's 'Color Purple.' The movie is by far one of my favorites. But I am no star-struck girl. I just check her out and am a little jealous of her tight weave that she is rockin the hell out of. And she is doing a dance. Not that I just won a Tony, I am on top of the world jig. But the I really gotta go tango. So we knock on the door, and realize that the ladies in there aren't even using it, just primping. They are ready to reply we are busy, until they see her face and quickly change there tune. They come on out, she looks at me and I tell her to go ahead. All this is in a matter of a two minutes, but it was all I needed to shake off my cloud of funk. After hitting the bathroom, I grab a grey goose cranberry from the bar and let a smile hit the corners of my face. They unveiled a painting of the people instrumental in his birth, and even a direct descendant of those folks spoke. In her old age she was very entertaining and shared some interesting info on her mom. The documentary/with acting was very good. Though I went there thinking someone had played a cruel trick on me, I left feeling like the queen I am. Realizing I was ok with the way things ended between me and him. Though I don't know what the future holds, I really don't want to get with him nor do I ever want him to be able to claim my success for his own. But I guess we will just have to wait and see.

A happy and free Queen-to-be

It must have been rough growing up.

That's what someone said to me today after complimenting me on how pretty my dark skin and features were to her. I wasn't insulted or even shocked. Just dumbstruck. But because she already made up her mind, didn't even really wait for a reply and just shook her head, I realized she couldn't have been further from the truth. But her 'where are you from?' questions to rationalize why I looked the way I did really stuck with me. I try not to put people in a box but sometimes we are all are guilty sometimes. She tried to explain my identity so she could understand why I looked the way I did. I have to force myself not feel sorry for disabled people who are completely fine with themselves.
However, her saying 'You must have had it rough growing up' comment showed me how her experiences in life must have been pretty tough if she couldn't comprehend a little dark, round girl having a childhood were she felt pretty and loved. I didn't have the urge to tell her my story of how I now look at pictures of my ponytails and thick glasses and cringe, but then I felt like the prettiest girl in the world with my day-after-Easter hair do's and white stirrups. I just wanted to hear her story and get a better view of life through her eyes. Thanks mom for telling me from the beginning I was a beautiful somebody. I just think about the little brown girls around the world who in 2007 still face people who think there is a thing of being 'too black.' Guess we have to fight it the only way we have so far. Manage to be beautiful and brown all at the same time.

*The pic is of me (the rollered alfafa in the middle) and my cousins. They are sisters - same mom and dad. And just like me and my brother show the beauty of our techno-colored family and break the mode of the complexion obsession of some.

That Girl Has My Face

Ok. maybe it's not that extreme as the line from 'Sister Sister' when Tia and Tamera first meet. But sometimes it is very odd yet comforting to see someone who looks or acts like you and makes you feel you may not be so unique after all, and maybe understand what it feels like to be you. Now I'm not talking about those people who somebody you look 'just like' only to find out they are a Cyclops and leave you wondering, "is that really what you think I look like?"
But first when I was watching 'Guess Who' with my roommate, I thought Zoe Saldana's sister reminded me of myself. Even though she doesn't look like me I though I would have said and I know if I was watching the movie with my mom she would definitely keep saying how that girl acted like me. It was refreshing to see that my quirkness may be shared by many others on this Earth.
Yesterday as I was checking out the pictures from the best party I have ever been to it happened again. Last Thursday my homie Zenitra invited me to her every Thursday spot and I quickly saw why she went. Everybody was so chill, all the dudes dressed real nice and Im not talking a Sean John button up, jeans, and baseball cap. Im talking straight from work,I-have-a-got-my-life-together-how-bout-you attire and I was enjoying being in that crowd. As soon as we left the bar for our first drink two photographers within minutes of each other came and asked if they could take a pic. The night was so much fun, I met some really chill guys including one who went to Morehouse and I think was feeling me as we did the Motorcycle dance to Yung Joc, and we had so much fun workin the crowd as I helped Z promote for this artists that she is volunteering to help out with.
So anyway as I go to look at the websites to see if they posted our picture. I find it. And then as Im scrolling through, I see another pic I stare at for like a whole minute trying to figure out is it me. Maybe I was just vain b/c she was pretty and fly, but in my head I really thought she was me. Looking back I laugh. But I guess I am growing up because there was a time when I didn't like the thought of someone looking like me . . .I mean I know I have always been one who has enjoyed attention.I knew very quickly I wouldn't last in my renown high school marching band -I wasn't giving up my social life to be 1 in 600. But now I love it to see someone remind me of myself whether it be physical or personality wise. I always love to see gorgeous, dark skinned girls and since no one in my family really looks like me, maybe one day I'll bump into one who I really can say "that girl has my face" . . .

Queen-to-be (or is this her twin:)

The Queen Lives!!!!!!!

Okay. Maybe Im just naive. Or have friends who have maybe believe my own hype just a little,but I hope that my not blogging in like two weeks has been noticed:) A lot has happened since I last blogged. I have started more post than I care to admit but none seem to have made there way to being posted. I mean since I last blogged. I have partied hard in Las Vegas (so hard in fact my cousin and her friend I went with stayed an extra day), given my grandma a pedicure - and I don't mean just polishing her toes - but using a knife to file down her toe nails and getting maybe ten years of dead skin off her feet and loving every minute of it as she smiled and looked on, somehow managed to fly to New York with 4 overweight bag, one holding my computer, and went to the office where I will be working for the summer. Therein lies the problem. The magazine program kicked off with three days of speakers me and my roommates all agreed we would pay to see. And the issue of blogging came up. The message was clear: don't blog about your job!!! That same day coming back to the dorm from a day of inspiration and hearing the EIC of Jane Mag speak (She was amazing and Jane is def my new FAVORITE mag:) I grab a free New York Times Classified Newspaper and one of the five articles in the thing talked about blogging and how it is a big 'no-no' for the job. I mean I knew this already. And with the whole 'Jole in NYC' catastrophe last year, I wondered why someone would think they wouldn't get caught giving up all the goods on the company. A magazine staff is a family, so to betray that trust is serious - its only a matter of time bitter vibes. So to prevent me ever being in a compromising situation I wont be giving all the details of my summer at work, but dont be disappointed, I will be sharing everything else. I have realized I should treat this blog like a website not a journal online. Mr. Incredible said something that stuck: don't say anything on a blog you wouldn't say in person. I haven't been living by that I start today. So I wont be telling all my personal rants because this is not the place for that. And Im trying to get a job somewhere when I graduate and I don't want 'Queen' coming back to haunt me. But I can't resist . . .baby voices kill me!

same-old-Queen-to-be

* The pic was taking at the Met in the Egyptian exhibit. It was definitely my favorite part of the museum and a great way to spend a rainy Saturday in the City