One of my favorite artists, Christina Aguilera has topped her usual naughtyness! I’m so digging this video. ”Not Myself Tonight,” from her upcoming June 4 album, Bionic, is a visual raunch-fest featuring that gorgeous voice.
Worth me coming out of blogger hibernation for. Enjoy!
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It’s bittersweet to be back.
In the year since my last post, I missed blogging, and the many drafts I began – then abandoned – are my proof. There would be times when I had a thought I’d want to share, and somewhere between work and home, the motivation would be lost (one of the reasons I long for an office with unrestrictive Internet usage). But I’m back, and hopefully for a long while.
The reason I say being back is bittersweet is that a lot transpired in 2009. Family issues took some of my inspiration to write, and I felt as if my mojo had dried up.
While I lost my grandmother in August, the most significant event was the death of my father. I hurts just to put into words how this tragedy has affected me, especially since it’s still fresh. This is the first time I’ve been able to write about it, even to myself, to get those feelings down. He was sick, but we never expected him to go so soon. In the past few months, he was in and out of the hospital, and it was difficult to see the man who had always been my hero become helpless to the cancer taking over his body. To erase those negative images are the memories of him teasing me mercilessly and our long talks at the kitchen table just me and him talking about life. Even now there are times I’ll think about something funny he said (my father loved to make people laugh), or remember his smile, and the tears begin to flow. I cry as I write this now, but every day it’s been getting better – or at least that’s what I tell myself.
Thankfully, with a loving family and my girlfriend, Lebron, I do have a support system. I’ve laid in her arms and shed tear after tear, happy I have her in my corner. Was everything perfect between us in 2009? Not by any means, but we’re still together after three years. I still feel attraction, in love, and like she’s my best friend, yet I know we’re at a crossroad. Three years is a long time, and I ain’t getting any younger. (In fact, shhh, I have a birthday coming up.) As everyone keeps pointing out, to my chagrin, I’m in my 30s with no kids on the horizon; and as I always say, I’m not married yet. I’m not in a rush, because things happen when they’re supposed to.
Last year also proved that my daily grind of a job is makes me wish I was doing something that truly made me happy, as well as paid the bills. The thing that makes me happy: reviewing books. That’s why I run Sistahs on the Shelf. I’m embarking on another adventure in reviewing, and hoping to have it up and running by summer. I’ll post more about it later.
Because I’m back. Sadder, wiser, but full of hope for 2010.
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It was a year ago today that I was involved in a life-profound car accident.
Luckily, or should I say because of a higher power, I made it out an accident scratch-free that most people, including the officer that found me in my car upside down, said I shouldn’t have survived.
I won’t rehash the details, considering it’s still vivid in my mind, but I will say a prayer tonight that I’m still here. It set off a year that wasn’t my best, I can admit. From that accident, I had a lot of financial setbacks, including having to buy a car after living years without car payments. Because of it, I realized that I needed to get my money situation in order.
The accident also reemphasized the importance of family. The night of the accident, I was riding in my car alone, following behind my parents in one car, and my sister’s family in another. Our three cars were headed to a family restaurant, and I remember being upset that no one took into consideration my feelings about riding with them. I had a small twinge of feeling left out, and everything was put into perspective after that night.
I say all this to say that this is a new year, 2009 to be exact. I want to leave all the baggage of 2008 behind me. There are some things I need to do and things I want to try, cause you only live once. I don’t really have any resolutions, per se. I just have this urge to be more involved in my community, and focus on something besides myself, you know.
It all began when I saw Milk a week and a half ago. (The movie was wonderful; you must see it). The film about the first openly gay man to be elected to public office inspired me. It will show you we need people who will stand up for us – and that things really haven’t changed that much when it comes to gay rights. Here we are in the same situation we were 20 years ago, when Proposition 6 was introduced to fire any gay teacher or their supporters in 1978 . Except Prop. 6 was defeated, whereas last year’s Prop. 8 won. Harvey was just getting started politically when he was brutally assassinated. It’s no telling what he could have accomplished.
The other thing I’ve toyed with is writing erotica. It’s been on my mind for a minute. I have a vivid imagination, and I should be putting this stuff down on paper. I hope to have a few pieces published this year, at least that’s my goal. I’ve been reading everything I can get my hands on to give me a little inspiration. Maybe Lebron can give me a little motivation, as well 
Oh, I want to lose weight. Just though I’d throw that in for good measure.
I see many good things occurring this year. And I want to be the one to make it happen.
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The past few days have been a blur for me. Today was co-worker’s retirement party, one I had been in charge of planning for the past month and a half. The hectic scramble of trying to get everything taken care of (my boss is very detail-oriented) and combined with work has had me a little drained. I think it’s finally starting to hit me how tired I am. And you know it doesn’t take much to make me exhausted.
The effort was worth it, as the co-worker had over 35 years with my company and was highly respected. When I first began working there, he was my first supervisor, and I will have very fond memories of him. The party went swimmingly, if do say so myself, and everyone had a good time.
Thirty-five years is a long time to be with one company. Hell, nowadays when I tell folks I’ve been there 8 years myself, they’re pleasantly amazed. When I began, I had no idea how long I would be there or how much of an impact it would have on my life. I applied for the job only a month or so after graduating college, with the impression that it would be a part-time gig while I attended graduate school. It was when I arrived for the interview I was quickly informed that this was a full-time, 40-hour position.
In my naivety, I prayed over the next couple of days not to get it. I hoped the phone wouldn’t ring, cause honestly, I was enjoying my freedom of being a undergrad, not having to wake up before 10 a.m., rolling out of bed, going to class and hanging out with my friends. Working an 8 to 5 was not in my vocabulary – or in my blood. The jobs I did have when I was in college were just enough to pay my eating out and miscellaneous items, nothing too major.
When the phone rang about weeks later, I knew I had gotten it. And because I needed the experience and could use the money to support my after-hour activities, I took it.
The job wasn’t all that strenuous. In fact, there were days I could finish a book or surf the Internet to my heart’s content (boy, how times have changed). The work was cyclic, meaning certain times of the month meant more work. There were days I was really busy, and some days where I didn’t have thing to do. At first, I didn’t like the repetitiveness of it. There were a couple days I shed a tear in the restroom thinking, I can’t stand this. But I knew there was a reason I was there.
Being one of the first of my friends to have a regular, full-time job (most of us delayed the inevitable) was the catalyst to my growing up. I learned, and still am, about people, the responsibility and having to support myself. I can honestly say the job I never wanted was the job I was meant to have. Since then, I’ve gotten a few promotions and proved how much I could accomplish.
Reading Alix’s post about Sweet Hill made me think of time when I pondered becoming a housewife, being taken care of by some stud and birthing babies. Now, I can’t even imagine. I would have been bored out of my mind.
Working everyday taught me that.
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It’s not good to get out a groove for blogging, which is like sleep – the more you sleep, the more you want to sleep, and then you never get anything done.
I’ve been enjoying myself since Thanksgivingdinner. I was lucky enough to have two dinners to attend, one with my family and one with Lebron’s family. I dined on enough turkey, dressing and mac and cheese to choke a horse, and have a little laughter with Lebron’s mom and relatives, who always manage kill me with their homespun wisdom. It’s always great to be with people who keep it real and believe in the simple things in life.
Other than that, I did manage to attend a couple of Black Friday sales, first at Office Depot, then at Best Buy (a hot mess!). Since I got there two hours after the doors open, of course I was left with nothing. I was attempting to buy a laptop, and with sales of $349, that seemed right up my alley. Instead I was told that I needed to be there at 4 in the morning to get those sacred deals. Needless to say, my shopping visit was in vain. I probably won’t look again until after Christmas, when things might be a little less hectic and a little more financial friendly for my wallet.
Christmasthis year, shopping wise, plans to be short and sweet. I’m only buying gifts for my parents, three-year-old nephew, and two teen nieces. Other grown folks can fend for themselves. I went shopping with my brother last weekend, him in search of a bicycle and a cell phone for his daughters. We went to three Wal-marts in the city. Talk about tired.
It still hasn’t made me get in the Christmas spirit yet. Considering I’m a last-minute, procrastinating shopper, it’ll probably be the day before Christmas eve before I even finish what’s on my list.
Is it beginning to look a lot like Christmas where you are?
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There used to be a time I wanted a thug. Yes, that Timbaland wearin’, jersey-sportin’, jean-saggin’, swagger-havin’ stud that would just scoop me up and give it to me rough and sweet. (I drew the line at gold teeth. Yuck!) The perfect example: Felicia “Snoop” Pearson from The Wire. I used to have a small crush her – until I heard her talk. It was all over.I’ve dated a couple of these women, ones who grew up rough around the edges but could hold a sistah down.
One such stud, “Redd,” was my first thug-stud. Really, she was my first everything: first lover, first real adult relationship. I shouldn’t say Redd was a bad boy, just that her growing up was far from a white-picket fence existence, and it hardened her attitude to the world. Redd was always in survival-mode from being ejected from her home as a teen for being gay, so she had that street-smart swagger that made her seem dangerous almost. When one of my friends first told me about her (as a set-up), I asked what Redd looked like.
Her words I would never forget: “Well, she looks like the kind of woman no one would mess with.”
And she did. With her muscled arms and stocky body, Redd gave off that “don’t fuck with me” vibe. That was until you got to know her, because then she would do anything for you. Especially me. With me, she could let her guard down and open up about the things she had been through. Redd was my my protector, I felt safe. Where I was more book smart, Redd was head smart, and it made for a great combination – at least until it ended. (That’s another story for another day).
The second and last bad boy was a stud I’d label “Nate Dogg.” Nate was a woman I met online, when I was going through a dating dry spell. Exchanging short emails, we got a good vibe going on the phone, talking about life and our past relationships. Although we hit it off, we were opposites in our backgrounds. Nate was a smoker, with hardly much education, and later I discovered, a convicted felon. A dark-skinned homegirl with blonde (yes, blonde) close-cropped hair, she wasn’t what I thought once we met, appearance-wise. But nonetheless we hung out frequently, not doing too much other than chillin’ at her apartment. She worked from paycheck to paycheck and her resources were tight since she had recently relocated to my town.
While there were a few spaghetti dinners here, and a few nightcaps there, we never really defined what we were doing. We weren’t exclusive, as I could tell by the inconspicuous phone calls she got. And, truth be told, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted a relationship with her. The felon thing freaked me out at first (although once she explained, it didn’t seemso bad; a white-collar crime). But the way she looked in her wifebeater and low-riding jeans with just a peak at what was underneath her boxers had me all flustered.
It was no-strings fun. Then after a while, it kind of fizzled out. The calls and text messages slowed down. She had told me she was planning to move again, and I just figured she followed through on her move. It was confirmed when she texted me one day.
“Deepdiva, this Nate. I’ moving to Georgia today. Ive transferred my job.”
We lost touch after this point. Then a month or so later, Nate called me, and explained the real reason she left. Apparently, Nate had been cultivating a relationship with another woman while seeing me. She moved in with this new chick and her houseful of kids. However, Nate’s bad boy persona had met her match when things went horribly wrong after a month - the girl pulled out a butcher knife on Nate during an argument, chasing and threatening to kill her. She was then forced to relocate again (her third city in six months), and now that that drama was out of her life, she was blowing up my phone. Nate wanted me to visit her. I declined.
By then, I had gotten those bad boys out of my system, and was looking forward to a new relationship with my soft-stud Lebron. I didn’t have time to go backward. I haven’t looked back since.
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Not that it comes as any surprise to me, but Wanda Sykes has recently come out. She says because of the recent passing of Proposition 8, she had to speak out by proclaiming herself as a lesbian.
“Now, I gotta get in their face,” she said. “I’m proud to be a woman. I’m proud to be a black woman, and I’m proud to be gay.”
She was at a gay rights rally in Las Vegas on Saturday, where she told the crowd, “You know, I don’t really talk about my sexual orientation. I didn’t feel like I had to. I was just living my life, not necessarily in the closet, but I was living my life. Everybody that knows me personally they know I’m gay. But that’s the way people should be able to live their lives.”
I am proud of Wanda. My gaydar was way high on this one, coupled with the fact you never saw her in dating men. I’m also glad that she opened herself up to her fans. Maybe that will inspire other black gay celebrities to come out. Hmm…Queen Latifah, anyone.
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This morning, I’m doing my weekend routine of sitting in my favorite bookstore, Borders, reading magazines, drinking iced coffee and enjoying the beauty of being around readers like me who just enjoy a good book. Call me a nerd, but it’s comforting. I love ambiance of a bookstore and reading has been a passion of mine since I was an 8-year-old spending her entire allowance on paperbacks at $2 (yeah, remember when they were that cheap?). I remember reading such classics as The Baby-Sitters Club, Just as Long as We’re Together (Judy Blume is the bomb!), and Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry. Now, the paperbacks are $15 and even more for hardbacks. Books aren’t cheap but totally worth the enjoyment they give me.
People-watching is one of the things I also enjoy. It’s interesting to see the different walks of life, from students armed with laptops and iPods to retirees lounging reading the newspaper without a care in the world. It’s even better when I spot a girl like me, a rare occasion. Spotting them with my gaydar, it’s so sexy to see an intelligent sistah getting her studying on. A few years back, there was a girl I noticed reading Curve and chatting it up on her Yahoo messenger. Single at the time, I found her to be attractive and even more so that she seemed to be playing on my team. But alas, I never approached her. I can be shy when it comes to those situations, and usually, I need an encouraging sign to approach a woman in public. You never know about those kinds of encounters.
But I digress. So today, I have picked out the following magazines to read: Essence (with Will & Jada Smith on the cover), Sister 2 Sister (simply to get my black gossip on), US Weekly (to get my mainstream gossip-on), and The Advocate (to read for gay issues). Every one offers something different, and knowledge is definitely power. I begin with The Advocate, which has a column about a woman’s struggle with money living in the high-ass city of San Francisco, an article about the recent approval of gay marriage in Connecticut (yeah! ), and an interview with E. Patrick Johnson, who wrote the book Sweet Tea about gay men living in the South. I need to pick that one up. I love reading about our stories, from self-acceptance to coming out to being in love. I guess that’s why I’ve been absolutely drawn to the women on my blogroll. We all have being a lesbian in common, but each have our own stories and journeys that make us different. I love it, and can’t get enough.
The gossip mags, Sister 2 Sister and Us Weekly, offer the same ole thing, but Essence is one of my favorites. The article about Will and Jada is just beautiful, wherein they interview each other about love, marriage and children. The way they interact is just real and refreshing. Listen to this quote from Will to Jada:
“Well, the truth about life is that we’re all alone. But when somebody loves you, right, that experience is shared. Love is the only real connective tissue that allows you to not live and die by yourself. It gives you purpose beyond you. You don’t necessarily have to get married have that, but I’ve always wanted to be married. I knew you were that person for me because you’re loyal, to a fault…”
That’s deep. And considering the fallout from the defeat of gay marriage in California and Florida, it seems to be right on time, and leads me to think of something I read recently about gay marriage. Elton John, that flamboyantly gay icon, said he thinks gays had it wrong when it came to California’s Proposition 8. He believes it was a mistake to go strictly for gay marriage, suggesting that maybe they should have asked for civil unions instead – a move that would have been easier for the mainstream to swallow. I do understand where he’s coming from, considering England approved civil partnerships four years ago and gays have the same rights and benefits as married couples. Maybe it would have been easier for straights to accept us having civil unions, but who says they should be the only one to have the privilege of marriage. They aren’t respecting the institution of marriage any better, so why can’t I have the right to marry my lover?
Actually, California surprised me by opposing gay marriage. Considering how metropolitan the urban areas are, like Los Angeles and San Francisco are, I didn’t see that one coming. Florida, yeah. We’re so conservative as a whole that it was just expected to say Yes to Amendment 2. Considering the protest I saw in front of the Capitol building, and how muddled the language was on the issue, I didn’t have much hope for it to pass. The protests this weekend should show the public just how disappointed we are, and we’re not going away.
Also on my Borders reading pile is Hiding in Hip-Hop by Terrance Dean. It’s an interesting look at the gay world of entertainment from the eyes of an insider. He gives you the skinny on how gay men deal with being on the down-low to achieve further success in Hollywood. There isn’t much name dropping, unless you count pseudonyms he gives actors, singers and rappers to shield their identities. Some of them I’ve been able to figure out, like Ne-Yo (surprise, surprise), but others are like a riddle. I’m excited trying to figure it out. Terrance portrays his life in an honest fashion, from growing feeling abandoned to trying to make heads or tails of his sexuality. You should check it out.
Well, back to my reading. Essence awaits…
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I must preface this post by saying I like Beyonce. I’m very impressed with her, uhh, assets. She is a beautiful woman and can sing her ass off (no pun here).
But let me tell you something. As stimulating as it is to she her shake her, uhh, assets, I’m tired of seeing her shake ‘em in a video. Single Ladies, her newest, is her in a bathing suit, popping and dropping and shaking what Tina Knowles gave her. I love the song; it’s catchy and gives trifling men fair warning about taking women for granted. While it does a lesbian’s heart good to see this, it’s tiresome that she can’t make a video without her trademark ass-twirling.
Have you seen this? What do you think?
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Domesticity has become us. Us meaning me and my lover of two years, Lebron. After a year of living together, the mystery is gone. Perhaps this has happened to you; maybe the sweet nothings have taken a back seat to the day-to-day duties of running your household.
It’s not that you don’t love each other. Lebron and I still have fun as a couple, still laugh at the silliest things, still love being around each other. Our favorite pastime is laying in bed together, talking about our dreams and our childhoods, in that easy way we always had since first becoming friends almost six years ago. Or at dinnertime, when we catch up on our day and watch our favorite shows (which if it’s Saturday usually means college football).
But here’s the thing: We’re comfortable. I know that can seem like the kiss of death, one or two steps away from the dreaded lesbian death bed (thank God we’re not at that stage). That sounds bad, I know. Without children, it’s just the two of us, and the same things we did in the beginning of our blissful honeymoon stage, we ain’t doing now.
For instance:
Don’t get me wrong, I love our life. It’s times when Lebron looks so sexy cooking dinner, I have to contain myself. And we still give each other knowing looks that speak more volumes that the love notes she used to email me. I guess after a while, all couples hit the old married stage, the one where you love each other, couldn’t imagine life without one another, but get used to each other’s daily habits.
Like Lebron’s routine of leaving the door open after a No. 2 session. Or my habit of leaving my clothes lying around the house. Or hers of eating and leaving crumbs everywhere (even on our beige-colored couch.) Or mine of leaving the toilet roll empty after using the last of the tissue paper.
It’s just one of those things that come over time. As much as I complain, it’s good between us. I feel a coziness I haven’t felt with anyone as I do her. I can let my guard down, and she can, too. That’s not to say we don’t have our moments. It’s times I want to choke a bitch from the annoying things she does, but when it’s good, it’s beautiful.
Except for that damn No. 2. Now that’s some damn shit.
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