For some reason I wanted to write this intro for him

I don't know why.


Ladies and Gentlemen,
What you've all been waiting for.
He's what all the girls dreams are made of.
The next in line member of the wolf pack.
Ladies and gentlemen put your hands together for the hottie with the body,

Mister Taylor Lautner


Now the emphasis on the words of this announcement changes from wanting to be ring master to attendee of an awards show. It started as me wanting to introduce him as if I was at the circus. But for some reason that equates male voice to me. Then when I changed it to awards ceremony, it lost it's excitement. Instead it went to sultry, elegant woman. The one with the arched eyebrows and PERFECT makeup. With the former rush some phrases and allow myself to be a tad crude. I get to be loud. With the latter I have to approach the words softly and insert phrases like "for lack of better words." I don't know which one is more fun. I feel an interview coming after both, but still. Ring master garb, or spend the night as an elegant lady? Decisions, decisions.

I do enjoy where my mind takes me.

Hide the kids...the whites are coming!

When I look at my friends and force myself to focus on race, I find that most of them are white. To this I say "So what?" What is the big deal with a girl hanging out with more of the opposite race than her own? Why is there a quota on the amount of black people a black person should hang out with? And why do the select black people have to be a certain type of black to count? These questions were apart of my everyday life. I am a black, dark skinned, oreo, African American, whatever you want to call it...I'm not white. However, most of my friends (best friends) are. I have searched my soul to figure out why. Since everyone else has an opinion about it, it's time I answer the question for myself.


I enjoy the company of my friends. I like being able to laugh at the silliest of things. I love how they keep me grounded. While I am with them I don't have to be anything other than myself. Isn't that what friendship is about? Apparently not...I mean sure you want those qualities in your friends...just in those of the same race and ethnicity. Right?


Let's compare. When I hang out with the "certain" type of black person (the one that counts) I have to act as if I am in to rap music. I'm not. I have to get down with belittling myself and them with ridiculous put downs and terrible language. Don't get me wrong...I can cuss like a sailor at any given point. However in the long run that is not how I want to present myself. Everything I do has an affect on someone or something, whether I realize it or not. I don't want to leave that as a trail behind me. What good does that do?

I have always been a people pleaser. If I am going to be apart of a group I want to be one of the favorite members. It's my nature. When it comes down to the people I surround myself with, I want people to walk away thinking that I can hang with the best of them. Keeping my personal image in mind, that limits those that I want to be associated with.

I have received the same comment on more than one occasion. "Those white people don't care about you." To this I now say, "what do you know? You're blinded by hate." Refusing to accept that different race relationships are proof that people can love anyone. What is in that? Classifying an entire people as not being able to care about me. I don't understand why my crowd was so wrong. My brother and sister had white coaches and they never received that comment. What was so wrong with my friends? I didn't stay out with them until all hours of the night. I never had to sneak out to go see them. We weren't hanging around skipping school, drinking or smoking. Most, if not all, of my close friends were abstaining from sex until marriage. They kept me grounded in life not at home without phone privileges. We were the ones who graduated at the top of our class. They were the ones that had me put a filter on my disrespectful language. But they are the ones that don't care about me? Some of my best and favorite teachers that helped me excel were white. They knew be better than most. They encouraged me, nurtured me...but they don't care? Why are the people I am surrounded by the bad ones? They kept my performance in school top-notch. We enjoyed ourselves without fear that what we were doing would get us in trouble. Why are they're friends favored? The people who were smoking, drinking, having sex, pregnancies and abortions. Those that were being benched do to disrespectful behavior. That's the "certain" kind of black person to which I am supposed flock? That's the person that cares about me? The one who will sooner put me in a bad situation as look at me?That doesn't make any sense to me.


I know that there are some serious stereotypes in here. No particular race has an entire body that is one way. I know that. This is just a comparison of what I have in my life versus what I have been pointed toward. I don't like what I have myself become in order to enjoy myself with a predominantly black crowd. I just cannot find the correct black crowd that would count as black. People who have things in common with me are oreos. I don't get it.

Try to understand

I want to put this out there. So that people will finally get this out so there are no questions. I really hope that people are going to take this tibit of information and store it for future reference.

"Everything I do is NOT up for discussion. I do not have to explain myself. I did it. Deal with it. Just because I tell you about it doesn't mean that we have to discuss it. It doesn't mean that we have to go over how prudent it was or was not for me to have gone down that route. I am an adult and, believe it or not, I know what I am doing. I did it. It's done."

So, in the future, if I change the subject or end the phone conversation it's because of the previous tibit. I do not want to talk about it. No lectures, no discussions, nothing. It's done and over. Leave it alone.

put it all in perspective for you

I wonder if I will be wanting to say this if the situation rises...



exfriend: I slept with your boyfriend.



Friend 1: How could you?!?



exfriend: I'm glad I did it.



You: I'm sure you are. Sleeping with him has always been a dream of yours, right? Tell me, did he bother to take off all of his clothes while he was doing you? You were the temporary solution to hurt feelings. So, you know what that makes you, uh besides easy? That's makes you a thought that can be forgotten as soon as it came up. We allow one mistake each in our relationship. You were his. I hope he enjoyed you. It doesn't make him any less mine, or you any more his. You hold on to that kiss on the cheek that I'm sure he gave you, 'cause that's all you have left.



This is all oozing with dramatic looks and feeling being hurt. Then followed with a great dramatic exit. Riiight.

Suicide...emotional, at least.

Love...irritating. From watching it to participating in it. All of it, from the love of hobbies and animals to the love of family. From the love of friends to the passionate love of a significant lover. Irritating. That is the way that I feel about it and therefore I am a glutton for punishment, for I continue to base my pleasures in life on the works of love.

When I was in middle school I made my first assertion on why I was afraid of falling in love. From the depths of my twelve or thirteen year old mind I pulled some of my first philosophical workings...or so I like to think.


"Falling in love is like jumping off of a cliff into the ocean. I'm afraid that I am going to make that jump and while I'm falling I'll find that there is no water to catch me. Instead all that is there is the ground." -younger me.


That was how I felt of love. How I still feel, only with more things accompanying. Love is amazingly self-serving and stupid. What a ridiculous concept to destroy yourself as you are (no matter how content) to add another set of opinions and objections. All of this while knowing that there is really no way to please the both of you (with compromise comes the inability to reach one's true happiness, so to live a life based on compromise is depressing). Yet, as a human we want someone to be there and support us. To have someone in our corner to understand and show us that we are not alone. We are willing to reach for this fairy tale companion ship and to receive every forthcoming nightmare that rides on the prospect of idea of being in this "next" stage of life.


The next "stage," a new "level." The insanity of it is absolutely preposterous. Nothing is able to stay the same. From mannerisms to ideas of life. The paths that one had once decided to walk upon are all of sudden unimportant. The rules of the society forces upon us the notion that one must forget themselves and take to this other. But what happens if the only one forgetting is you? What happens if your attempts to do as much are disregarded? If you chose because society said you should...and now your choice is proving to be the biggest trial and error of your life? What then? Pick up and go again? Find the self you abandoned to be who you are now? Or just find that there are no rebates, that you are stuck with where you are and what you've got?


We do all this for love. Endure change, sacrifice, all for the hope that it is worth it...not guarantee, hope. There isn't much left in the world that we would do that for, especially in today's instant gratification society. What a thing to waste life on, to fear, to partake in. How do I know this? I might not have been in love, but I have loved to the point of obsession. I chase love. Chase it to beyond the point of logic. Even when I know that it isn't good for me, espectially when it isn't good for me. The obsession, the want to be with them, for them, plan my entire life around them regardless the lack of good that will do for me. I've been there. With friends, with family. I can only imagine what will come of me when the love that "One" is what's driving me. Everything I loathe, everything I resent will be exactly the path I walk down because of love. I may not have been "in love" but I have loved and the whole concept is stupid.


Love is emotional suicide.

How many of me...

A few years back I went to Howmanyofme.com to see how many people have my name. Well, I was told that there were two. Just two. And I was excited to hear it. I mean, with my spelling it's more unique...with the last name not being hispanic.

My best friend is the first thing that comes up when you type his name in Google. I wanted to see exactly what came up when I google'd me. I am very dissapointed to find that there are at least four other people with my name. Go figure. Between this site, Facebook.com and Myspace I am doing more than dabbling in the internet...how ever the only thing that comes up of me is an article in the city newspaper that mentioned me. Something about some play I did when I was in high school (don't get me wrong, it is one of my shining moments). It's the seventh thing that comes up. What I find funniest is that a sublink to one of my friend's facebook page comes up but not mine.

I guess it makes me happy that I am not that easily tracked down...not that anyone is looking.

I stand corrected...

but this will probably be the only time, so the percentage of this occurrence is just about non-existent.

I prefer the movie The Devil Wears Prada over the book. This has never happened to me. I am the first to contest to the book always being better. Always. However, even though the drama was jam-packed with amazing adventures - things that could not have been portrayed on the big screen without boring the audience to tears - the shortened and tweaked story line of the movie is slightly more enjoyable.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the book. It's just that a story about people not supporting your fight for success, a best friend developing into a raging alcoholic, and everyone everywhere swearing that they understand but refuse to lighten the guilt trips is borderline un-enjoyable in book format. I will give the writer kudos to the scene where Andrea quits. Actually saying "Fuck you, Miranda. Fuck you." followed by stating that she was done and topping it off with Miranda's famous, "That's all." Fan-freaking-tanstic! I do enjoy the book showing a slight companionship between Andrea and Emily, more detail on the ridiculous tasks Miranda assigns, and better look into Andrea's personal life. Though the movie wins me over in the end with an absence of Andrea's smoking habit, more Nigel, less friend drama, Christian being a debonair saint and less of an arrogant jerk, Miranda's job not being threatened, and Andrea learning how to dress herself (she never quite figured that out in the book).

In the end - and I can't believe I'm saying it - the movie wins.