Phillip's Choice.

Talk about ass holes. Every computer I've worked on in the past two days have co-conspirited against me to ruin my goal. Yesterday, I was two topics away from finishing the blog and the damn computer wouldn't save. I stayed at work for a extra twenty minutes trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong. But, you know me and my ADD. I just didn't have the patience. I went home and knocked out because of course I had to be right back in this bitch a mere eight hours later. What kind of bum ass schedule is that? 6-11 then 7-12? Yeah PM then back eight hours later in the AM. Ain't that about a bitch?

So my friend, P. Barneez, gave me a list of topics today since I have officially ran out of things to write about. It's so frustrating sometimes because I get the sense I'm never going to make it to 100,000 if I don't have anything to say. So in order in which he gave them to me, here it goes.

I can tell the future.
Now I've said this time and time again that I can tell the future but no one seems to believe me. This isn't a trait I've had my whole life, however it is one I've been taught and I have refined over the past few years. It was my freshman year of college and I enrolled in Donald Lee's Fortune Telling class. Now for those of you who do are not familiar with Donald Lee, he is probably the most amazing person I know. He's humble, a real winner on the basketball court, and the best professor I've ever had. So, as I stated earlier, the past few years I've really been refining my skills. Let me take the time to clarify for you. I'm no Raven Baxter, I don't get those half ass visions that always end up being the exact opposite of what I see. Matter of fact, I don't get visions at all. It is just knowledge that jumps in my brain when I am asked a question. Any question. You can ask me anything you want and I'll have the answer, all thanks to Fortt 232. Just yesterday I dropped some knowledge on Phillip. His Kia was having some trouble like Blue, but Blue is back in commission and Kia is not. Phillip says he took Donald Lee's class but he's photoshopping. Because A: I never saw him in there and I know there was only one section, and one class. Period. And B: He didn't see this shit coming. So anyway, the Kia was breaking down or whatever, some sort of battery problem I guess, and he said that because he took it to the shop it was fixed and would never break down again. Please. I knew better than that. I had sharpened my skills so much he didn't even have to ask me a question. i just replied, "That's what you think." Well needless to say I was right. Just one day later, Kia broke down again, just like I said. Oh and get this the day after that, there was a hole in his coolant container thing a ma bob. So yeah, to make a long story short, I was right, but we knew that.

The demise of the Suns.
I’ve been procrastinating for months on writing this piece I guess when you have nothing left to write, you resort to that bank of things you’ve been meaning to write and haven’t. Well this topic just happened to be at the top of the list.

A while back I posted a blog about the infamous Shaq trade and the Pau trade. I had this amazing theory that the Suns were going to maintain the great team they were, and with the addition of Shaq make a legitimate title run. Well needless to say I was wrong. I hate to admit it but I was very wrong. It happens sometimes. Sue me.

I was positive the Shaq trade was the better trade. Positive. All the keys were there. The Suns were a next to perfect team, they ran the perfect offense, for them, and all they were missing was the inside presence. Shaq was supposed to fit the mold perfectly. Perfectly. Let’s just say he would have if I was coaching the team.

Where they went wrong.
It’s not hard to witness what happen to the Suns. They fell the fuck apart. They went thorough a, shall we say, identity crisis? Yes, that is it identity crisis. They thought that just because they have a big man, an aging one at that, they would drop the run and gun play that worked for them and play a half court set. Well, they were wrong.

What I would have done.
That shit is easy. Listen up. It only takes three people to run a successful fast break and anything over that amount is going to do nothing but clog the lanes. What does this mean? Leave Shaq’s big ass at the opposite basket and let him nap a little bit. He doesn’t need to run up and down the floor for them to be effective. His job is at one side of the court or the other, not both.

They lost their identity and that's all there is to it. If they would have remained the team they were prior to the big trade they would have been unstoppable. Shaq was not brought in to score he was brought in to be a 300 pound distraction. Shaq did his job. It was D'Antoni who didn't. And you all wonder why I'm happy he took that Knicks job. Please.

Fourth Graders.
I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. It's like fourth grade is the exact time of loss innocence. It's the grade they give all the girls the period talk at school. (Do they do that anymore?) It's the grade where boys and girls miraculously get cured from the cooties. It's the exact time where baby bad asses turn to big bad asses. I know when I hit fourth grade I started to participate in sports, I had my first boyfriend, and I went from innocent Celia to the most arrogant bitch at Panama Elementary. I was the best thing walking on campus. My socks always matched my outfit and I was the only fourth grade girl beating on the boys in the high jump. Fourth grade was a pivotal moment for my track career. I remember to this day receiving the golden track shoe right alongside my fourth grade boyfriend and walking down the aisle of arrogance together. Getting the golden track shoe is a big fucking deal for those of you who don't know. That means I had more first place than anybody in the whole fourth grade (even though I know I had more points than the fifth and sixth graders too).

But enough about me. Fourth graders today are even worse. Two months ago my cousin was the sweetest thing walking. But yep you guessed it, she graduated from third grade and now she's headed to fourth and her swag is mean. She went from barbie dolls to a boyfriend, listening to Chingy and now a fucking Myspace. I don't think I was doing anything but Oregon Trail when I was in fourth grade.

My mom used to teach the fourth grade so trust me I've done my homework when it comes to 10 year olds. Actually I'm probably over qualified to write on this subject. I was hoping the kids in my moms class would change my mind, but they didn't. Every time I set foot through the door someone is giggling, smirking, or whispering. All of which gets on my nerves by the way. However there was this one kid. He was BAD. Every day I was there he would have his desk all by himself in the room. No group activity for him. He didn't mind. I would always catch him with his desk up looking at a Laker book, staring at the Laker girls. I knew he was down when he said he loved basketball. I thought to myself, this just might be the kid to change my perceptions. Boy was I wrong. One day he asked me, "Do you go to Cal State?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Wow. So do you know some of the guys on the basketball team?" he said.

"Yeah, actually I do. I'm pretty good friends with one of the guys," I responded.

"Zack Grasmic?" he said with awe.

I replied with a valiant, "NO! No I'm not friends with Get Trapped Zack."

He said, "Well why not? He is the best player on the team?"

"No. No he's not," I was almost stuttering I was so mad.

"You don't know ANYTHING about basketball if you don't think Zack is the best player." he muttered.

It took everything in my power not to slap his white ass.

"Look little kid, you are all of ten years old. You don't know a damn thing about basketball. I've got twice the years on you and twice the years in basketball experience as well so you better get on somewhere before you make me mad." I replied.

"Make you mad? You are already mad that I know more about basketball than you. Oh and Micheal Jordan sucks." Then he stuck out his tongue, and hit the tether ball and it swung around the pole and hit me in the back.

I must have chased his little ass down for minutes before I could catch him. After two knee surgeries I can't say I still have those fourth grade golden track shoe worthy legs anymore. Oh but I caught his little ass. And rubbed his face in the dirt until he took back what he said. Needless to say, my mom got fired. Me and white kids just don't get along.

Blank VHS tapes.
So I've decided I am going to be sweding all my stories. [Sweding is from the movie Be Kind Rewind. Jack Black and Mos Def are unlikely friends. Mos Def works at a video store ran by Danny Glover and they only rent VHS tapes. Well, crazy ass Jack Black thinks something is taking over his brain, magnetizes himself, and erases all of the videos in the entire store. In order not to get Mos Def in trouble they start shooting and recording their own versions of the movies and getting the community involved. It starts bringing back business to the store because everyone wants to star in a movie. Anyway a new copy of the movie is called the sweded version. Pronounced ssssss-weed-ed.] I mean, I think my stories are pretty hilarious don't you? Who wouldn't really want to watch a movie of me punching that white broad in the face the other day over that barbecue? Oh and don't even think about saying that previous story about the fourth grader wouldn't be hilarious. Oh and that story about my highlighting co worker. Come on. It would be great. Anybody want to star in one?

Osmosis.
Two words, one concept. Osmosis Jones.
Enough said.

Pajamas.
I am purchasing a pair of pajamas with the feet in them. That's right, I said it. I am purchasing a pair of pajamas with the feet in them. You know the ones with the flap in the back and the zipper all the way up the front. It's my girl's birthday next month and she's having a good old fashioned slumber party for the girls. You know, the works. Pizza, beer, hop Scotch, side walk chalk, scavenger hunt. The works. But to be honest what I'm most excited about is those pajamas with the feet in them. I'm just scared I won't be able to find any to fit me. Has anybody seen any that come in zero extra long?

Diddy. Puff. P.Diddy. Puff Daddy.
No Bitchassness.


P.S. Thank you to Chante and Shanyia for sending me a text asking where's my blog. You are the ones who keep me on top of my game and for you I am grateful. I love you guys!




Until thoughts meet words...

( 20,065 words and counting...)

Still not happy but here it goes... Jigga Man.

Just a reminder that Blue is getting fixed today! I'm going to be back in action for real. And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.

In response.
Now I still haven't finished Fade to Black and I probably won't get to it any time soon because I loaned the movie out to a bigger fan than me. However, after yesterday's comments on my blog about Kingdom Come being a disappointment I am forced to defend what I believe in. So Zach, listen up, or read up rather.

Kingdome Come. (the KING DONE COME back.)
After a three year hiatus the king has come back. In the sense I'm writing this in '06 of course. All the same he's back and with two albums post retirement I can say each of them were works of art. Now we all know I'm not a Lil Wayne fan nor am I a Laker fan so it is safe to assume that I am not some crazy fan that likes everything the guy puts out. I have some rhyme and reason to my madness and frankly I just recognize the truth. I will resume my quest with Reasonable Doubt but I feel it necessary to start with Kingdome Come because of the pure skepticism of it all. So without further ado. Here it goes.

An overview of the album.
Jay-Z went out on the top of his game. The critically acclaimed Black Album is and always will be held at a high regard in fans and non believers alike. There are so many things that were right on that album and most importantly, it was fitting of the time in which it was made. How can anybody not say the same for Kingdom Come? I am more than sure people forget what was going on during those three years in between solo studio albums they refuse to recognize and accept Jay changed during that time. He grew older, he grew wiser, and he grew money. With more time on his hands jumpstarting careers of people with the likes of Rihanna and attempting to re launch the careers of people like Ludacris and LL Cool J, all of which are on Def Jam, he had more time to fine tune who he is or was and go through a much needed maturation process. For eight years prior he made a studio album every summer and released it in the winter, it was like clock work. So I am more than sure a break was needed. However, I do not believe that he knew at the time he was just taking "a break." With everything that someone is passionate, it is almost impossible to step away from something you love. Look at Michael Jordan and Michael Jackson. Even though they departed at the top of their game, when they see a void is missing it is their duty to fill it, as did Jay-Z. I guess what I'm getting at is there is no way Jay could have come back rapping about the same things he was before because he was in a different place in his life. The album was produced well, and I don't hear many people arguing with that, but what I do hear is many so called fans disappointed with his lyrics and his style when if they really studied this growth there would be no refutation. Jay-Z could not put out another Black Album. That was out of the question.

The Prelude.
Is there a better way to start a come back album? I think not. He's answering each and every one of your questions. He's explaining in a few hundred words the exact reason he's back. No, he doesn't necessarily want to be there. He makes it perfectly clear he's over it. [I've been through with this bullshit game but I never quit] But as I stated earlier, when it’s something you love, it's impossible to stay away. Let alone when what has become of it, is satisfactory at best. The set up is very reminiscent of Dear Summer. I always knew that song was the prequel to an album that wasn't released yet. Now I have my proof. Without saying it in so many words, Jay is talking to rap, to rappers, to the audience, explaining in a more aggressive way why he left and why he's back and why he doesn't really have to be here in the first place. On this track his flow is every different than anything on the Black Album. He is more aggressive than I've seen him in a very long time. This song represents the table of contents. It is laying out the frame work of what is to come next. I looked at each track on this album as chapters, some that he is revisiting and some that are new and he is trying to share with us.

Favorite Line: So I would write it if y'all could get it/Bein' intricate'll get you wood, critic/On the internet, they like you should spit it/I'm like you should buy it, nigga that's good business.

Oh My God.
I don't love this song, but I like it. I think it fits well in the composition of the rest of the tracks. I like the hook and the beat to the song. The hook is reminiscent of the Hovi baby remix, the girl’s voice anyway. Just another chapter of the book he is writing. It's typical Jay-Z. Rise through the trap game to what he is now. How he hopes he'll never go back. And how he's saying sorry to his mom for all the pain he may have caused her during the rough times. Then of course he resorts right back to who he is and how you can't deny his greatness. As I said typical Jay-Z. I really like the play on words in the last verse with the CNN ESPN line.

Favorite Line: Now I'm knee-deep in the concrete/Like the streets made of quicksand beyond deep/I got a chemical romance, two left feet/So I dance with the devil, please G.O.D/Save me from the black parade release me.

Kingdom Come.
Call me corny, but I liked this song. It has the perfect super hero beat, it was well thought out and clever. I think the beat sounding like a super hero's theme song paired with the super hero lines at the end of each verse was genius. There is not much else to say that you can't figure out by listening.

Favorite Line: Just when they thought it was all over/I put the whole world on my back and broad shoulders/The War-Hova, but who you know took over tracks like that/Guess what New York, New York - we back.

Show me what you got.
There isn't a better first single to release than this. The drums are ridiculous. The flow is ridiculous. The video is ridiculous. It's exactly what it should have been, classic grown up Jay with a twist. I just don't understand how someone could not like this song. Not only that, but say it's not Jay-Z enough. Like I said before dude was in a total different place in his life during this album and the last, if he was rapping like Reasonable Doubt people would say it’s forced. So here he is rapping about what he knows, what his life is like right now, vaca's and shit, and he gets the disappointment card.

Favorite Line: Give the drummer some/already gave the summer some/It’s the winter’s turn/Hovi Hov is the coldest/I’m just getting better with time/I’m like Opus…

Lost One.
I really love this song. This might be tied for my favorite on the album. It’s very sentimental and taps into a part of Jay we don't see too often. In the first verse he really told the story of the issues between him, Dame, and Biggs. He gave a good bye to what was and looked forward to what is without them. He was heartfelt but at the same time there was not a single time he let his guard down. In the second verse, he speaks about B. Who knows what was going on in his personal life during that point but it was a very grown up way to word it. The last verse is probably the most heartfelt of them all. Speaking to his deceased nephew in verse three really touched me because that's not something you hear him speak on often. I'm not so sure I would have released this as a single but either way you slice it, it works. Oh, and Chrisette Michelle did wonders on the hook.

Favorite Line: Close my eyes and squeeze, try to block that thought/Place any burden on me, but please, not that lord/Time don't go back, it go forward/Can't run from the pain, go towards it.

Do you wanna ride?
This is another one of those I didn't want to like at first but it grew on me. The narraration of the song can almost be missed if you don't listen to it enough. Never once does he stray from the conversation at hand. He is playing the main character and the narrator all at the same time. He has a clever way of creating ties at home by talking to Emory and boasting about his riches and new opportunities. Well done.

Favorite Line:Comin up though we thought slingin raw/was the end all be all of bein rich didn't we/Little did I know my mo' potent delivery/would deliver me, kingpin of the inkpen.

30 Something.
I am almost positive the only reason I like this song is because I saw him perform it live. Other than that he could have cut the album without it. It does send a much needed message to let people know he's not getting old and he's certainly not losing it. However, I still won't play this on repeat.

Favorite Line: I’m a bully with the bucks/don't let the paten leather shoes fool you young'n, I got the fully in the tux/that was my past now I'm so grown up/I don't got one gun army, got a slum army/to hire a gun army, get you spun like laundry/and I'll be somewhere under palm trees calmly.

Hollywood.
Hated it. Hated it, hated it, and hated it. But, it grew on me. When I first bought the album I listened to this song and was very upset. However, due to a few trips to the city with my girls, this song was obviously made for me and that moment. I can't listen to Hollywood anymore without reminiscing about that trip and those times. So do I mind if you don't like this one? No what's one out of fifteen?

Favorite Line: When your fame starts/It's a chain reaction/Locomotion like when the train departs/Stranger/Things have happened/Rapping/Stacking/Platinum plaquin'/Born in Brooklyn got a place in Manhattan/Going back to Brooklyn/To escape the madness.

Trouble.
Wow. This is another tie for my favorites on the album. This really taps into that "beef" that was going on around the time of the album's release and recording. He is telling all these dudes to step back, he's back. Not only is he speaking directly at them, he is using such metaphoric language. It's easy to spend hours and hours writing things down, but all of this comes off the top of his head. Metaphorically speaking, I think it’s his best since Meet the Parents. I don't know how anyone could not appreciate the art and thought that was put into a song about some bums that don't even matter. The scary part is this was effortless.

Favorite line: The whole song.

Dig A hole.
Another tied for my favorite. Actually it is possibly inching out the others for first. I think what people fail to realize is all of the singles he put out were about fluff and girls and cars and money. However there are more than enough songs on this album that tap into who he was pre Black Album. He is really dedicating numerous songs to let people know he's not coming back to play he's coming back to work. He showed the growth with the singles and kept old fans with songs like this one. This is just like trouble. Get at 'em Jay.

Favorite Line: The whole song.

Anything.
Of course he must have one club type track on each record and this is it. It’s very catchy as always, and I'm more than positive would have done well if released as an early single. Usher did his job and Jay did his job. What more can I say? (No pun intended.)

Favorite Line: Red light,TLC, through the Left Eye, my P.O.V./ On the ichat, how's that for computer love?/ She rolled her eyes back, I'm like Ooo, you so nasty/You turned my Maybach back seat in to the Hotel de Paris.

I made it.
It's corny. I didn't like it at all. I mean it speaks to a lot of people, young black men, who are rising above the adversity and paying homage to the stable figure in the black community the mother. I know a few cats that hold this song dear to their heart because of their situation. I personally can't relate. I'm a woman, and I haven't really had much adversity to fight through to be honest. I skip this track.

Favorite Line: Hooray, it's the underdog now, my feat under desk/I'm the presidential favorite/ can’t believe I got away with my earlier stages/ to being on stages, havin my way with the world.

Minority Report.
This was a much needed record in the light of the catastrophic events in the South. He used this time as an attempt to apologize and reconcile what happened (you'll see in my favorite line). Don't think I would have gone with Neo on this one, only because I can't stand his ass (Sorry Shanyia!! =/). Although this is not my favorite song on the album, it is the one that is most needed and plays the largest part outside of the record. He was very blunt and very real as always. But hey, what can you expect?

Favorite Line: Sure I ponied up a mill, but I didn't give my time So in reality I didn't give a dime, or a damn I just put my monies in the hands of the same people that left my people stranded. (Really I couldn't pick one. I just picked this one for Gary Payton.)

Beach Chair.
My favorite. This is my absolute favorite. This song is second on my all time favorite songs my Shawn Jay-Z Carter. If you really listen to what he's saying in this song he makes himself vulnerable. Now we all know that is not something Jay does. He is such a private person I'm surprised I know as much about him as I do. Please if you do not read another word I write, listen to Beach Chair and learn something. Learn what being humble means. This was the perfect ending to the album. He spends all this time telling a story amongst all the tracks starting with the most arrogant of them all, the prelude, and finishing with what I deem as a humble ending.

Favorite Line: The whole song.

P.S. No I didn’t count the Jay lines.

(18,044 words and counting... almost 20% of the way there!! =])

Speaking of ___________

Congrats to the Celts.
Wow. They pulled it off. I was a little nervous after game five but they went home and handled their business. I'm happy for them. More than anything I'm happy the Lakers didn't win. Not because I don't like them, but because I'm convinced they are going to win it for the next four seasons to come. I wanted someone to get one in first. Next year can be their year, but obviously not now.

Speaking of basketball...
I don't know what I'm going to do with no games to watch. For the past eight months I've had something to watch or some game to attend. Summer is here which means SayNo games will be starting soon. And Blue is getting fixed tomorrow which means I'll be attending those games. Oh and the Olympics is this summer! Which means there will be just a few more televised games for me to enjoy. After that I'll just be sad for the next few months. So please, do me a favor and don't mention anything about basketball to me for while. I just might cry.

Speaking of Blue getting fixed!
I'm more than happy my car is getting fixed tomorrow. At 1:20pm I will be the happiest person alive. I've been so hindered with my car being bummy I didn't know what to do with myself. I might take a trip to LA tomorrow just because I can. Okay, maybe not. But still. I want to. I guess just knowing I have the power to now is enough. It's going to run me my whole economic stimulus check. But hey, shit happens.

Speaking of LA.
For those of you who do not know my little brother just signed his national letter of intent to Cal State Northridge. I'm so happy for him. He is so excited, as am I. He will do nothing but grow while he's out there and let me be the first to say he has a lot of that to do. I figured since he's graduated from high school now and will be leaving in a few months I would take him on a trip to LA with me. Since I really like this girl he's into I decided she could come to, since they are both attending Northridge in the fall. We will head to "the city" and I'll show them around the spots I used to go to. I'm thinking we'll head to Venice for a bit, have lunch at El Unico, and maybe cap off the night with a movie at The Bridge. It should be a fun time. Just my little bro and me. Oh and that chick. Just kidding Lauren! You know I love you! =]

Speaking of Venice...
I think it's time I got another tattoo. I already have one but I'm more than sure it's about time for another. Venice is probably the best place to get one because of the atmosphere. I had so much fun when I got my first. I was living in the dorms at the time and decided today was the day for a tattoo. I drove over to a place in town and decided it was a bad idea. Just getting my first tattoo in Bakersfield didn't seem like the best thing to do. So, in the middle of the day I just took off to Venice. I had no clue what tattoo shop to go to so I just walked right into the first one I saw and handed him my picture. Less than ten minutes later I was lying down on the bed getting inked up. So exciting. Thirty minutes passed and I had crossed over from good girl to bonafide badass. Now beat that.

Speaking of tattoos...
Okay this one is a stretch but bear with me. I was watching television a little while ago and I happened to be flipping through the channels. Well I stumbled upon the history channel and it was one of those specials on body mutilation. You know the ones with the people who tattoo their body to look like a cheetah or add all those weird piercing to look even weirder than their personality is in the first place. Well for whatever reason this captured my attention. So as I pick up the remote and get ready to turn the channel this commercial comes on for some new show they are having titled The Girl with Eight Limbs. I kid you not. This girl looks like a fucking octopus. I know its wrong of me to bag or to laugh. But that shit was hilarious. It was almost as funny as midgets are to me. Something about deformities is hilarious. Well when I don't see them in real life anyway. Because I know a few guys who are missing fingers and what not and that shit scares me half to death.

Speaking of midgets...
I also had the pleasure of watching a show on the WE network called the secret lives of Women. I guess it takes these women who have double lives and exposes them. I've never seen it before but it was kind of interesting. For this particular episode they were exploring the secret lives of extremely tall, extremely short, and extremely big women. The girl who was "extremely tall" was only six five. I guess I say only six five because I am so consumed in basketball that six five is nothing major. I'm used to seeing a whole bunch of big bitches on the court. The extremely big women were extremely big and that's all I have to say about that. Where the show got hilarious was with the extremely short women. They were documenting a few midgets and their lifestyle. They showed them in their house and pretty much their day-to-day activities. Well I'm talking on the phone as I'm watching this and I was saying how every midget uses the elevator because there is no way they can walk up the stairs. I've never seen it happen before I don't think it exists. Well as I'm saying this, the midget happened to be standing in front of a two-story house. After I said that Phillip asks if that's her house. I said yes. He said well how do you think she gets up the stairs in her own house. Of course maintaining my theory to the death I simply stated that there has to be an elevator in there, that or she's never been on the second story of her house. He says midgets can't afford elevators. I say sure they can, every midget I know is an entertainer. They are always in movies and TV shows. If they can afford a two-story house they can afford an elevator. Phillip not ever wanting to be wrong says something along the lines of elevators are not allowed to be in brick houses and his uncle is architect and that's how he knows. Well fuck you and your uncle because I've seen plenty of brick mansions with elevators in them. Plenty. Well I was pretty confident in my argument until they cut to the last scene of the show. They showed the midget walking up the stairs to what I think was her house. It was hilarious that she waddled up the stairs but I was mad my theory was busted. Well almost. Anytime I find myself in a bind I always have a secret weapon. I am more than convinced they photo shopped that scene and she never walked up those stairs. The things people will do for television now days.

Speaking of phone conversations...
I received a phone call from my friend Chante. She is by far one of the most hilarious people I know. I promise you there is never a dull moment with this girl. Well anyway during our short phone conversation we got a lot accomplished. Of course being an avid basketball fan she called to talk about the game. She wanted to let me know everyone on myspace was posting all these bulletins about the Celtics winning and boo Lakers and what not. Here's a quote from the conversation, "All these mutha fuckas posting these damn boo Laker bulletins and shit. These mutha fuckas know they haven't watched a game in their damn life. They just heard from somebody they know and want to post a fuckin bulletin." I kid you not. The girl is hilarious. And to be honest she's right. All these bandwagon fans can kiss my ass. Shout out to Chante for being a realistic Laker fan. I miss you!

Speaking of missing...
I'm missing some sleep right now so I'm going to go one ahead and get some. Today was better than yesterday but still worse than the day before. It happens. Like Zach said, I don't want to get too comfortable with my writing. Shout out to Zach for that good advice and being a Jay fan. Oh by the way, I'm sure you are reading this I will be responding to your Kingdom Come comment tomorrow. Stay tuned.

Until thoughts meet words… I'm out.

(15,902 words and counting… Lefty I already caught your ass.)

It's another one of those days. One's where I follow up something I loved with something I hate. I haven't even started yet and I can already tell I'm not going to be very pleased with what I write. Might as well jump right into it.

Bridezillas.
Man this show is fucking hilarious. I just want to know when it went from a white show to a black show. I'm not kidding. The last five or six episodes I've seen were nothing but super ghetto black people.

On this particular episode there is this big, ashy, dark skinned girl with a gap. However, she is not the bride. She is the wedding planner. I guess she is one of the bride's friends that is trying to become a wedding planner, so she offered to plan the wedding for free to gain some much needed experience. The bride is soooo hoooooood! (in the t-pain voice) She is from Houston and every time she opens her mouth there are captions that show up at the bottom of the screen. I find that to be hilarious and racist. Just because they have an accent doesn't mean they have to add the captions on the bottom of the screen for everyone to read. I don't see them doing that for the slew of English host for just about every damn show on television. I can't understand a fucking word that bitch says on "So you think you can dance?" Anyway, the hood ass bride is arguing with her dark ass wedding planner for just about the entire episode. I'm pretty sure they get in a shoving match at some point.

The reception is nothing I've always dreamed mine to be, but I can't say I even have a vision. So the thirty minutes is up and thankfully the next episode continues with yet another super ghetto black bride and finishes up with Kenya and Roland. Kenya's wedding dress has cut outs on the side like those girls from LA's prom dresses. You know the ones I’m talking about. Thank the lord she doesn’t have waterfall curls or banana peels on top of her head. Every scene in this episode Kenya has a new weave from dirty nappy ponytails to long silky and a blonde. Look kids if you don’t purposely tan, do not color your hair blonde. Roland has to be my favorite of the night. He is wearing a Kangol hat and all white. Did I tell you guys I hate seeing guys in all white at a wedding? I mean its bad enough half these hos walking down the aisle are wearing white but you know his ass isn't a virgin. I am almost positive he's Mexican but trying to pass for black. Maybe he's Puerto Rican. They're black right? Anyway he's sagging his pants and he bought his shirt from the big and tall store and dude is all of five six on a good day, with heels on. Speaking of which, this dude has on the most hood Stacy Adams I've ever seen. They have a little baby heel on the back to make him a little taller than Kenya. He didn't bother to conceal his tear drop tattoos on the corner of his eye, but I guess I wouldn’t either if I knew who was attending the reception. The place they are having their reception looks like the YMCA. There are five or six tables, people shooting dice in the corner, and a guy with a 2X tall white-t on. There is a big woman in a jean skirt and jean jacket and the wedding planner is getting ashier by the moment.

By the end of the show Kenya is crying and just wants to go home and Roland is happy he came up on some money during the dice game. Roland’s brother ended the show by giving a toast. Whoever has the job of writing the captions didn’t know what the hell Roland’s brother was saying because underneath every phrase was question marks. I guess I'm kind of mad that I'm watching this because its stereotypical black people doing what they do best, acting ignorant. But it’s something like a train wreck you don't want to watch but you can't keep your eyes off it.

On writing late.
I've noticed that after each post I'm happy with I tend to just run out of gas. I can't ever write two blogs back to back I'm happy with. It’s really frustrating but I'm sure that will come with time. Another thing I've noticed is whenever I don’t have anything great to say I'm always up late forcing something out. I'm not even home right now, writing on my phone forcing something out. Because I know, the minute I get home I'm going to try and "rest my eyes" and we all know that doesn’t work. I'll fall asleep and then BAM! 8:30. No post.

On accomplishing goals.
Obviously I am going to do exactly what I set out to do, but day by day it seems as if it gets harder and harder. A goal of 100,000 words is ambitious but 100,000 words about something you haven’t even thought up yet is hard. I don’t think I can handle too many more of these bummy blogs if I want to improve. It feels like two steps forward and two steps back. I just hope I can end up all the way around the track by summers end. Shout out to my friend for setting a goal for himself too. He’s trying to make 35,000 shots this summer. I think he said he was at 562. I’ll keep you guys posted on his success. I told him about my goal and he said that was easy. When we got off the phone he asked me what my total was. I told him around 13,000 he said, “Cool. So by the time I call you back I’ll have that many a’s on a page. You said words right?” I offered to rebound for him for five hundred makes. He better help me out with some of these damn topics.

On Jay-Z.
I’m very surprised that 10 post in and still no Jigga Man. I’ve actually started writing about him but couldn’t keep it because it just wasn’t right. It’s kind of like writing about basketball for me. I don’t ever want to half step. But isn’t that with everything? I watched half of Fade to Black today. Once I actually finish the movie I will definitely get started on my why Jay-Z matters segment. I’m actually pretty excited about it. I haven’t seen the movie in a very long time so it just reminded me why I love Jay so much, and why that’s still one of my favorite movies. I am almost positive I’m going to start with Reasonable Doubt. You know, explain the significance, and run down some difficult lines, the whole nine. So keep a look out.

2:14 am.
I’m heading to bed now. With maybe 1,200 words today, and each of them worthless, I refuse to waste any more time and words. I guess since today was bad tomorrow will be great.

Until thoughts meet words…
(I’m doing away with the Peace and Love, too cliché)

(14,372 words and counting... )

A list of 1-11.

Today is the first day I've actually printed out my post and proof read it. I hope it reads better than the previous days.

Bricks for Breakfast.

It's 7am and I'm at work. For you new readers, I love my job because I can read and write here with little interruption. But at the same time, I hate my job because no matter what it is everyday someone is cussing me out. For instance, I've only been here for about 20 minutes and I have already been yelled at about some syrup. Syrup. I wish I was making this up. But I'm not. There is guy standing right in front of me, staring me down and waiting for someone to bring him some syrup. I'm sure the greatest skill I ever learned was to type without looking because now I am enjoying this moment. I'm enjoying looking his punk ass in the face with the most sinister smirk I am able to concoct, while he's stuck there eating a dry ass waffle. Have you ever had a waffle with no butter and no syrup? That shit is like a brick. It's just like biting into a big red brick. I almost feel bad for the dude. Or not. I just took the walkie and radioed whoever is the syrup lady for today. Little does he know i never pushed the button. He'll finish that brick before anyone will know the syrup is missing.

The Irritation Crayon

It seems as if I am easily irritated. There is just something in my genetic make up that makes just about everything everyone does, irritate the fuck out of me. I am trying to work on this and they say the first step to recovery is to recognize the problem. So 11,000 words in and with seven frosties under my belt here's the crayon I never wanted. Irritation.

I imagine Irritation to be one of the ugliest crayons in the box. Maybe some cross between maize and forest green. There is no need for a color like that in life, so I found that description to be fitting. Let's run down a list of things that irritate me.

1. Hard boiled eggs.
I cannot stand hard boiled eggs. Really, what is the point of them? They smell like shit. I'm sure they taste like shit (no I've never had one). And to be honest they just plain annoy me. It's not the egg itself that annoys me because I am a firm believer in two eggs scrambled hard with cheese. It is simply the way its prepared and the people who eat them. They are so irrational. Who told them hard boiled eggs were a "carry around" snack? As most of you should know my brother was in the California State Meet. Well being the supportive sister I was, I sat in those hard ass concrete bleachers to cheer him on (Most of the time too loud and too often.) Let me be the first to tell you I have no ass what so ever so trust me it was a big deal to sit there for hours on end. Well anyway, to make matters worse, there is this old ass black woman sitting next to me yelling for Long Beach Poly. "POLY! POLY!" she'd scream. That's not even the worst part. In between her rants and raves she busted out a clear sandwich bag full of hard boiled eggs. Eww. I was praying she'd finish that bag before the 4x1 started but God must have been on a break. The race started and she wasn't even half way through that cloudy bag. I was already gaging just by the smell of the least appetizing snack on earth. I guess she was mad at me because my kicks were clean she decided to yell POLY with the eggs present in her mouth. Yes, in her mouth. I'm sitting next to her mad as shit, wondering what I did to deserve this. She must have had her hearing aid up on maximum volume because as I'm whispering to my mom about how mad I am this old bitch was eating hard boiled eggs all in my nose, I turn around to find her staring at me. I look up at her and she takes a big bite, yolk and all. Then while she has her beatty eyes fixated on me, she starts yelling "POLY! POLY!" again but this time some of her egg flew out of her mouth and onto my jacket. It took everything in my power not to knock this old bitch out. My mom had to physically restrain me. I know she purposely spit those eggs on me. If not but ten minutes later there was this guy throwing up gang signs rooting for Poly, I would have clocked her ass.

2. Dirty sneaks.
"Yo those are 10's. But I keep 'em clean tho."
No, that quote does not have anything to do with sneakers. But, let's be honest, that's the way we all should think. By no means am I stating you need the tip top of the line shoes because I know most cannot afford them. However, whether you buy your shoes from Footlocker or Payless, keep them clean. There is nothing less attractive about a guy, or a girl for that matter who continuously wears dirty kicks. I mean have you ever met that someone in a club that is just perfect. The conversation is there, what you can hear of it anyway, the outfit is there, nice shirt, nice jeans, then BAM! Fucked up kicks. That is a deal breaker for me. There's no way in hell I'm dating you if you have some busted ass sneakers. The way I see it is this, I don't spend all the time I do to make sure my kicks are clean to talk to you with some muddy ass sneaks. I just don't do it. A few months back I did a survey amongst my friends. You know, one of those "would you rathers?" I asked them would you rather date a guy/girl with a lisp or busted ass kicks? No you can't buy them any shoes and no there is no cure for his/her lisp. I had a overwhelming response of people who said the shoes was a deal breaker. My explanation for it all was this: If you saw me and my man walking through the mall you wouldn't be able to tell he had a lisp, but you sure would notice those busted ass shoes.

3. People who hand me balled up money
Oh God. I can't stand when people hand me balled up money. Unfortunately for me, for the past six years I've worked a job that required taking money from people. Just today I encountered that problem. There are a slew of Jehovah's Witness that are staying in my hotel. A slew of them. (Side note: I didn't know Jehovah's Witness had such a high black population. I mean I've never see them on the bikes or knocking at my door. Go figure).Well there was this black woman named LouAnne who had the nastiest weave/wig I've ever seen. LouAnne looked like Thelma from Good Times but shorter, and a bit thinner. She was a bit older too. Well LouAnne wanted to pay cash for four rooms she was paying for. I gave her the total on each individual room and she proceed to count out the cash she owed me. I know with age your skills decline, but it took her about seven minutes to count out the correct amount of money and she had mostly big bills. After she finally came up with the proper amount, and I woke up from my nap, she presented me with a soggy wad of wrinkled bills. I didn't even want to touch the money it was so nasty. Now to me, money is gross by itself. No amount of moisture is needed to gross me out. I had to untangle the bills, recount them, and give her her proper change. Talk about sad day. That's already two people to piss me off and its not even nine yet.


4. Children that walk on their toes.
I remember when I first went to swimming lessons. I may have been about four or five, maybe even younger than that. My mom couldn't swim so she obviously couldn't teach me. So I was forced to attend swimming lessons with Calves McGee. Now of course that was not her real name but I'm sure she acquired it by the age of six. I hated this girl. Everything about her drove me nuts. From her round stomach protruding out of her one piece to her strappy sandals that still bother me to this day. You know the one's middle aged white men wear with a crisp pair of khakis? I may have been all of forty pounds back then and she was fat with calves, something I've always lusted for. The calves by the way, does anybody really lust after being fat? So anyway, I found out much later why this young girl had such perfectly shaped calves, for what I thought was a nuisance, turned out to be why she had the best legs in the whole third grade. She walked on her toes. She bounced when she walked and she walked on her toes. The heel of her shoe never made contact with the ground. I looked. I flipped her little sandal over and looked. It looked like a strength shoe. Dirty at the top and pristine at the bottom. I hated it. I still hate it.

5. Being put on hold.
I hate to be put on hold. I'm almost positive it's my ADD that will not allow me to be patient enough to wait for people when they place me on hold. It's so selfish of me though because I tend to put people on hold often and for lengthy amounts of time as well. When I'm at work, I don't even say hold on. I just set the phone down and go on about my business. I'm thankful for those who are patient with me. However, I do not see my patience growing in the future.

6. People mis-pronouncing my name.
I touched on this a bit yesterday but its not even eleven yet and my name has been butchered quite a few times. Let me run down the list of names you should never call me if you don't want to get karate chopped in the throat:
1. Celica
2. Cecelia
3. Priscilla
4. Julia
5. Stacy
6. Silly
7. Cece

Yes, I put Cece on there. I've come to the conclusion I do not like that name anymore and would like to never be called that again. Ceese is fine. I like that. I even like Kyle. That is probably my favorite. However, just plain Celia will do.

7. Mexicans allowing their children to run rapid and bother other patrons.
I kind of touched on this a few post back. I am sure there is more than one race of people who allow their children to run all over the place. But, I haven't seen it. I haven't had the privilege of witnessing anyone other than Mexican running children. I just got back from lunch and today unlike others I chose to sit inside Carl's Jr. and eat. I hate Carl's Jr. I cannot bring it upon myself to respect any fast food restaurant that serves a Captain Crunch milkshake (No joke, check the menu.) Anyway, so I was sitting down attempting to enjoy my western cheese burger on sourdough while reading Sex Drugs and Cocoa Puffs when I was rudely interrupted by a little Mexican with no shoes on and ketchup all over his face and hands. This little bastard had on a soccer jersey and a diaper. First of all he was way to big to be wearing a diaper. If you can walk, fuck that, if you can run, you don't need to be in anybodies pampers. Real talk. Well, he took his little grubby fingers and rubbed them on my leg. I stared him down and then looked at his parents and said,"What is your problem? Aren't you going to get him." I know they heard me but they didn't say a thing. They didn't even bother to look up from their criss cut fries. I almost kidnapped his little ass and threw him in the back of my hot ass trunk. But I figured they'd never miss him. Would they even know that he was gone? They have a lot of about 50 of them waiting in the wings. One goes missing the other is there for the replacement. Can I have the stand in for little Jose meet me at center stage?

8. Losing at anything.
I hate to lose. I think losing is for chumps and we all know I'm not that. I'm so competitive it's ridiculous. I am halfway sure I was so mad for not writing 350 words the other day because I don't want Phillip to beat me to 100 thou. I want to get their first. I stood in line for hours with my mom for the iPhone because I had to be the first one to get it. I've been playing Guitar Hero night in and night out over and over again until I get one hundred percent on all the songs. When I play any game, be it dominoes, checkers or cards, I will not leave wherever I'm at until I've won. That's just my nature to always want to be the best. I've ended friendships with people because I couldn't beat them. When I was a freshman in high school I played BHS in a basketball game that went into four overtimes. I single handily forced four overtimes. We lost. You know what I did? I said fuck this I'm not losing anymore, and transferred my happy ass to the school. If you can't beat them, join them, either that or just stop being friends. Lefty if you beat me, guard that neck because I'm coming for the Adam's apple.

9. Jelly Sandwiches
Jelly Sandwiches don't exist. I've never had one but I know a few people who swear by them. Its toast. It's two pieces of toast with jelly in the middle. That is not a sandwich. Jelly sandwiches, or the lack there of, really work my nerves. I'm tired of people telling me they exist and they are sooooo good. They're not. Lefty keeps telling me I have to try one and I'll never know if its good or not if I've never tried it before. Well let me tell you, I've never been punched in the face but I know its going to hurt. I don't have to taste everything to know it won't suit me. Get off my jock. Please and thanks.

10. People who aren't passionate.
Be passionate about something. It doesn't matter what it is. It could be socks for all I care. But people with no passion have no more room in my life. I am constantly exerting unnecessary frustration on people who have no passion because they cannot fathom why I am so passionate about the things I do. Those who lack passion lack drive and determination and therefore are destined for meritocracy. Do us all a favor and find something you are passionate about. If everybody had a passion and they all strive for it, there would be a lot more successful people walking around.

11. Laker Loving Lil' Wayne Fans.
You almost never see one without the other. If they're a Laker fan they love Weezy. If they love Weezy they love the Lakers. They go together like peanut butter and jelly, but I wish they were more like those non existent jelly sandwiches I love so much. Being a Jay fan and a Chicago fan I don't see the logic in either. Laker loving Wayne fans are just stuck on some guys dick. Whether it be Kobe or Weezy F. Baby himself, they don't see the big picture. Weezy fans are the epitome of bandwagon. They are just as bandwagon as anybody who puts on a "Beat LA" shirt today. These new school Laker fans are bandwagon too. They joined when Kobe came, or rather when that nigga got good. These 08' Laker fans are the same guys who were big fans of Chicago in the 90's. Same goes for Wayne. Most of these Wayne fans are fans now because Jay retired and it's popular to like the dread head now. People will do anything to be popular now a days. Well I'll tell you what. Being the original Bulls loving Jay fan, we don't need you. If you're ready to jump ship that fast, you weren't down in the first place. So kick rocks. Barefoot.

Peace and Love

P.S. Happy Father's day Dad!! =]

(2,819 words today kids... Lefty I'm comin' for that ass =] 13,153 and counting...)

Reaching 10,000

Today was a bad day for blogging.

Let me warn you now that today wasn’t my best. I was too distracted to even force something out. As always there are bits and pieces I love. But more than anything, I’m just happy to get some words out. Also, I’m very impressed with the feedback on my last blog. Thank you again to all those who are the support I need. Anyway… happy reading. =]

Celia.

I don’t want to change my name, any more than I want people to pronounce it correctly. I consider myself to be one who enunciates her words, but if that’s the case then why does Celia turn in to Julia, or Priscilla? Cece turns into Stacey. Some people’s listening skills are beyond me.

Guitar Hero and Migraines.

I’ve come to the realization that Guitar Hero is probably what is causing my migraines. I did not have one, or even a headache for that matter, until I started playing the game. I’ve been a bit addicted and those songs last for way to long. I find myself looking away from the screen and my vision is causing whatever I’ve fixed my eyes on to sway. Maybe it’s a combination of writing everyday, thus I’m staring at a screen for a couple of hours, and playing immense amounts of video games. Oh what ya’ll didn’t know? I’m a gamer. So that must be it. Guitar Hero and writing. I only have one choice. I’m giving up writing. SIKE!

Borrowing words.

Have you seen the movie Finding Forrester? I have. And let me tell you, it’s my favorite movie of all time. It combines my life right now, basketball and writing, minus the old white man as a mentor. Well, one of my favorite scenes in the movie is when Jamal, the Black basketball player turned genius writer, is going through a case of writer’s block. Forrester, his very old white mentor, gives him an essay of his and says to just start typing. Start copying his words until they become his own. I thought this would be a great idea to do so I asked Phillip to start something for me and I’ll do the same for him. Well, I’m a little impatient and I found something I loved and want to start with it. So here it goes. (Oh and of course I’m not counting those words!)

Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the 8-color boxes, but what you're really looking for are the 64-color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64-color box, though I've got a few missing. It's ok though, because I've got some more vibrant colors like periwinkle at my disposal. I have a bit of a problem though in that I can only meet the 8-color boxes. Does anyone else have that problem? I mean there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation... so when I meet someone who's an 8-color type... I'm like, hey girl, magenta! And she's like, oh, you mean purple! And she goes off on her purple thing, and I'm like, no - I want magenta!

Life is exactly like a box of crayons and had I not been nosey enough to snoop through a conversation between two of my cousins I would have never even thought about the analogy. I definitely consider myself at this point a sixty-four box with the sharpener in the back, but I think the difference between me and most is I’m striving to be that 120 box. I need some more colors in my repertoire. I look at each different color as a personality trait, a skill, or a piece of knowledge. However not every box is the same. We could both be on a sixty-four box level but what’s in my box may be very different from yours.

I have found that over the past few days I’ve been yelling Magenta at people and they always shout back purple and in some cases they shout back blue, those are those four box kids with the big fat ass crayons you use in kindergarten. Everyone is different and I cannot blame them for that. However, I’ve found that during the course of the summer, I’m going to stop fucking with four and eight box folk and get me some sixty-four colored people on my team. I need people I can learn from, someone who can show me colors like cerulean and robin’s egg blue. I need someone to trade me for the colors I do not need or do not use for something they have. I need someone to be my buddy sitting side by side on a coloring book, each helping each other out on the pages. I need someone to teach me about the colors I don’t know or might not like and allow me to do the same.Life is exactly like a box of crayons and all I want is magenta.

The Problem with Black youth.

Do you want to know what the problem is with our Black youth? It’s the lack of great black sitcoms. Today, all we have is College Hill and Everybody Hates Chris (I know College Hill is not a sitcom but it might as well be scripted), and needless to say, both of those shows are a straight up waste of space. I mean, I really like Everybody Hates Chris. That show is hilarious. But there are so many typical black stereotypes and racial undertones it’s ridiculous. The older black shows consisted of the same. However, there was always a message behind each show.I do intend on writing a deeper piece on the effect quality black sitcoms had on black America. But for right now, I just want to teach you a lesson I was taught yesterday…

Life Lessons with Martin Payne.

It is summer time. And that means I have all the time in the world to reminisce over a few seasons of martin. That’s right all sixty episodes of the first and second season. I plan on purchasing the rest by the end of summer.

Well in this particular episode Martin and Gina open up their first joint bank account together since becoming engaged. Gina, being the woman she is, is obviously more excited than Martin. Martin asks Gina how they will divide up the money. Gina says, “its no more mine and yours, it’s ours.” That’s the last thing she needed to say.

Lesson number 1: Do not ever say ours… about anything.

I’m not in a relationship and the reason is most likely due to my selfish ways of thinking. However, until I am married to anybody, what’s mine is mine and what’s yours is yours. There is and never will be any ours. I’m not saying don’t unselfish acts, like buy gifts or offer to pay every once in a while, because that is the right thing to do. There should be an obvious balance. But, what I am saying is don’t give anyone free reign. In order to control the spending, you must be the one doing the spending. There is a big difference between offering and taking.

Now in case you guys are not familiar with the show Martin, Gina is this big ad exec at her job and Martin makes next to no money working as a radio DJ for WZUP radio in Detroit. Well, Martin and his boys, Tommy and Cole, go to a electronics store to purchase a television. When they walk in Martin says his budget is $400 nothing more nothing less. However, once inside they spot the Hoshitoshi 2000, the biggest big screen TV. allowed by law. This Arabic salesman is hustling Martin into buying the Hoshitoshi 2000. There is the typical devil and angel story with Cole being the devil telling Martin all the reasons why he should buy it, and Tommy being the angel telling Martin he's being hustled. Bickering happens and to make a long story short, Martin walks out with the Hoshitoshi and says, "It's not half mine or half hers, it's all mine."

Life Lesson 2: See?

See what I mean? Gina got taken advantage of. Martin went from spending the allotted amount of $400 to $2,300 on a TV that won't even fit in his living room. If Gina would have listened to me in the first place none of this would have happened. If she wanted to purchase that TV for her man, so be it. But she didn’t even get the chance. The minute it went from mine to ours, it went to none.

The story progresses with Gina stopping the check on the TV and making Martin buy a new little one called the Bitch 200. It was pink and had a little heart on the antenna. It was too girly for me let alone a man’s apartment where men tend to hang. Martin is obviously fed up and goes to Gina’s apartment to find that she is not there. When Gina arrives she’s pulling in this big plastic bag muttering about bread. Come to find out, Gina bought a $300 bread maker. Martin and Gina have yet another fight and Martin tells her to take it back.

Lesson number 3: Two can play that game.

Martin was a fool to think it was just him up to trouble. Gina did the same thing so she has little to no room to be mad. It happens, more often than not. So a little advice, don’t go doing things you don’t want done to you. Because it will happen, and usually it’s tenfold.

The episode ends just as it should. Martin and Gina hug kiss and make up. They both end up going back to their respective stores and buying the bread maker and TV for each other. However, right after they exchange the gifts there’s a knock at the door. There’s a delivery man dropping off the Hoshitoshi 2000 for Martin. He was smart and bought both.

Lesson 4: Do what’s right and do what you want.

If you don’t take anything from this edition of Life Lessons with Martin Payne, take this, do what you want. Do exactly what you want to do. If that means appease the person you are in love with, so be it. But if it means doing for them and doing for yourself, that’s fine too. Selfish? Of course. But that doesn’t mean a damn thing. Martin did what was right, whatever the fuck he wanted to do.

Peace and Love

(10% of the way there… 10,324 words and counting.)

Coming back better than before.

This is a little deviaton from what you’re used to reading from me, but me nonetheless. I am feeling as if my emotions are running rampid and I need to grab a hold on them. Maybe this will be the outlet I need.

Frustration.

I am frustrated. I am beyond frustrated. I am the epitome of frustration. I am scared. I am nervous. I am angry. I can no longer leave the house until I write. I assumed last night after the game was over I’d have plenty of time and energy to put the words on paper to accomplish my goal. But who would have foreseen that I was to come down with a migraine, and my first at that. It was like a pain I’ve never felt before. My brain was literally hurting. I could feel the muscle swelling and touching the sensitive part of the inside of my skull. I was unable to even open my eyes. Not only was the severe pain of my head killing me I was feeling sick to my stomach. I wrote those fifty words after crawling to the computer with my eyes closed. I could not even bring myself to look at the screen. After I was done I tried so hard to open my eyes and it was physically impossible. I was so exhausted from the pain I laid on the floor with no pillow no blanket. The cold tile on my warm body left me feeling with just a small amount of relief. Going back and forth from hovering over my new ceramic love and resting my head on the ice cold tile did just enough to get me going in the morning. As I finally rested my eyes and my mind I was awoke by my phone’s alarm at seven, realizing it was only half past an hour when I actually fell asleep.

I know that it is not only the lingering pain I am feeling right now but also the ever present frustration of not getting in my 350 words. I feel like shit. I feel like I let myself down. I feel as if I’ve learned a lesson to never procrastinate again. I do not know how to feel after a day like yesterday. How does one feel knowing they’ve let themselves down? A minor setback? Sure. Because you better believe I was coming back today better than ever. But the mere fact I even have to mention it makes me feel ashamed. Not many people can relate. Not those who I tend to call my friends. Because out of the handful I call friends there is only a pinch who I know is passionate about something. Most of them, if they even take the time to read my words, will see this as an over reaction. A minor setback. But to me, it is more major than most can ever imagine. I set a goal for myself to accomplish that to me is bigger than most things I’ve ever done in my life. So for them, or you for that matter, to not understand how I feel, we must not have anything in common. And I question my friendship with you in the first place. It’s so hard for me to understand how these people can just overlook something that means so much to me. Brush off what defines me as a person. But I’m sure that’s another post, most likely entitle, refining friendships, or the lack there of.

Why wait?

I’m not going to wait to call people out. Why wait when I have something like 16 hundred words to make up from yesterday. Call this a letter to my friends.

Dear Friends,

Is your day that jam packed you cannot take out the five or ten minutes it takes to read my words? (It’s funny because I’m almost positive the one’s I’m talking to won’t even read this.) My day isn’t too packed to do the little things you ask me to do. From calling you back to talk about some guy I could care less about, to meeting you for dinner at some restaurant I don’t even like eating at. I write these things for me. But, I still want someone to read them. I just hope that something I say will spark something in them to chase their dreams. I understand half the things I usually write about may have no interest at all to you. But shouldn’t your main job as a friend be to support me? When you call me with drama about some guy I don’t even think you should be talking to in the first place, I drop what I’m doing to listen to you cry on the other end. There are people that have never met me who read every single word I write. My question to you is why? Or better, what? What is it that you do that is so important you cannot support me? Sure you’ve read something here or there every once in a while, but I had to twist your arm and remind you time in and time out. Out of the thousands of words I’ve written what you’ve read is next to none. Minuscule. It’s about support. I don’t need you to support me because I can do that by myself. I just feel as if it’s your job to support me. It’s your job as my friend to no matter what it is I’m doing you support me. You love to support the bad things in life. Drinking, partying, who knows what else. But all that I ask is now that I’m doing something good, no something great, support me like you expect me to support you. During the course of writing this letter I’ve realized I have a laundry list of those who are supposed to be my friends but are failing at their job and to me the scripts the same. I could do one of two things, stop supporting you and see how you like it. Or just stop talking to you all together. Which would you prefer? I’ll be a nice enough friend and let you chose. But will you even know I’m asking if you don’t read my words?

I firmly believe opposites attract, otherwise I wouldn’t be friends with more than half of the people I am friends with now. However, I think there comes a point in your life where you stop wanting to get to know people. You know? You just want to be in a comfort zone and there is nothing wrong with that. Why spend time doing things you don’t want to do to satisfy someone who won’t do the same for you? I’m at the point now where I’m willing to give up the efforts that I am constantly putting forth for the betterment of myself. Selfish? Maybe. But I’m not here for you anymore. None of you are here for me, and I’m just now getting old enough to realize it. So when I stop answering your calls or I’m just “too busy,” know that I’m not, I just am sick and tired of you doing the same. I’m past my breaking point and I’ve used the words I’ve been begging you to read to tell you. Consider this a break up letter. Dear John.

For the friends I’m not breaking up with.

Thank you for your support. Thank you for doing everything the others are not. Thank you to those I’ve never met and to those I vow to meet over and over again. For those who give me encouraging words when I cannot find them myself and to those who know nothing about me other than what they read. I am grateful for your love, respect, and support. I am grateful to those I can call more than friends, but family. I will make a promise to you that I will be there always. I will always return the same love, respect, and support you’ve given me.

Peace And Love.
(8,689 words and counting...)

It's 1am....

So I'm here, and it's not 1am. Go figure. But guess what it might as well be. I' m sick and am tired and honestly I couldn't count past fifty words even if I tried. I'm here writing now to put words on paper not just to fulfil my daily quota. So now I will see you all soon for more madness and mayhem.

That shit is wild.

It is 1:13am and I am just now starting this post. Now I know, most of you would say I'm supposed to be blogging daily, which I am. I just know between when I woke up today and now, 24 hours haven't elapsed, and I have yet to even close my eyes. Maybe I do my best work in the wee hours when I'm supposed to be resting my eyes. Maybe not. I guess I'll let you be the judge. Today's post will be much like yesterdays as far as format goes. However, nothing like the content. As I said yesterday, six must be better than five, so aaahhhh here it goes. (Kel's voice from Kenan and Kel).

Happy Birthday Blue.

Today is Blue’s fifth birthday. Oh by the way, Blue is my car. And I just named him. Seeing as how today is Blue’s birthday that means my tags are due. And if my tags are due that means I’m broke. Because I drive around with opened alcohol in my car way too often to give the Johnny’s any reason to pull me over. So, happy birthday Blue and goodnight bank account.

Shooter.

I’ve accomplished a goal today. I watched one of the hundreds of DVD’s I own. Well I don’t technically own them because I can only recall two that I purchased with my own money. However, seeing as how I am mooching off my parents while I’m still trying to find myself in college we’ll just assume what’s theirs is mine. So for the first movie of my theatrical journey I chose Shooter, a movie I have already seen before. But, I do not regret watching it again what so ever. It has a lot of guns, a lot of blood, and a lot of men, and to me that’s my kind of movie. The main character, Johnny Swagger, is played by Mark Walberg. When I first turned on the movie I said to myself, “Is that dude an ex Beastie Boy?” Well I was wrong. No he’s not. He is a current New Kid on the Block. Oh what, you didn’t hear? The New Kids are releasing a new album. Excited? Well anyway, old ass Danny Glover is in the movie. He sure isn’t using Fixodent because I could see his teeth lifting from his gums. Man, it feels like yesterday he was in Angels in the Outfield, and now today, his teeth are falling out of his mouth. Other than praying the camera man, the editor, and the producer, allowed a scene to slip in where Dan the Man’s teeth fell out, the rest of the movie was okay for most. Like I said, it’s perfect for a girl like me, who loves guns, blood, guts, and glory. That’s my kind of movie. Today was the first day I watched the previews on that movie. It probably had everything to do with me not having a remote to my DVD player; otherwise I’m sure I wouldn’t have taken the time. Well Sam Jackson was in one of the previews for the movie Black Snake Moan. Has anybody seen it? I haven’t so trust it was hilarious. I don’t think I’m allowed to not laugh every time I see Sam after re watching that scene of him falling down the stairs in Unbreakable. “Unbreakable what you thought they called me Mr. Glass”-Kanye West. Yeah that was dope. Don’t front. I’m starting to write how I speak. Ouch. Anyway, the premise of that movie is Sam rescues a half naked beat the fuck up Christina Something or other. I don’t remember her last name. I just know she was the one dating Marilyn Manson and had her ass out at the MTV awards a few years back. Ricci, that’s it. It’s Christina Ricci. Anyway, this bitch is beat the fuck up and Sam Jackson picks her ass up out of the street. He chains her with this big ass medieval chain and lock to the couch. He says something along the lines of God put you here so you’re staying until you can learn to not be a ho. And I’m pretty sure I remember some line about steak. The funniest part about the preview was David Banner with this nasty gold grill. He kind of looked like Jerome from Martin. Wait that was not the funniest part, it was when Christina the Ho Ricci tried to run away with the big ass heavy duty chain on and the pan back to Sam pulling the chain back and she falls smack dab on her back. Man, I might rent that. Make the goal something like some hundreds and one.


Blind Date.

No I did not go on one. Do I look like the type to go on blind dates. I think not. I’m pretty sure I am more than capable of finding a date I’ve seen before. Damn. Actually when I started this post I was watching the last few minutes of the show Blind Date, and I completely forgot how funny the show was.

There is this woman named Ashley* on a date with this guy named Bob*. Well needless to say Ashley is a ho just like every broad on this show. And Bob, he just wants to get a piece and drive the rent a car SUV to the second part of the date. Ashley is dressed horribly, and has the nerve to have an attitude. And Bob has on the traditional Hawaiian shirt and kaki shorts. They both look a mess and if you ask me, they belong together. I only caught the last part of the date. You know the part, when the ride in that big taxi van home and the guy makes his last attempt to get laid. Well here’s the conversation. No adlibs.

Bob: When did this date go wrong?

Ashley: Your mouth opened that’s where it went wrong. I have more class in my finger nail than you.

Bob: Well you are a stripper so your class is kind of lowered down.

Ashley: No I’m actually a stripper try that on for size.

Bob: Can I?

Ashley: NO!

Bob: Damn.

Talk about a rough night. Hawaiian Bob is not getting any and Ashley the Slor got called a ho. Ouch.

*The names Bob and Ashley have been changed to protect their identity. Nawww I just forgot. =]

Paternity Test.

I’m still a bit confused why people choose to humiliate themselves on national television. We all know how it goes. The proverbial (that’s my new favorite word by the way) question is asked. “Are you one hundred percent sure he is the father of your children.” Of course they answer with something outlandish like “one hundred and ten percent.” First off no one is one hundred and ten percent sure about anything, especially the paternity of their bastard. So stop embarrassing yourself and my race for a free plane ticket to Chicago and a meal allowance. Your child is not going to want to look you up on youtube in a few years so do us all a favor. That’s not even the worse part about it. Some of these bitches are on the show like nine times. No I’m serious. I saw a girl on Maury who had tested NINE guys. What kind of shit is that? How long does it take to get pregnant? Now we all know I’m not pregnant and probably never will be ever if I play my cards right so I don’t really know. But let’s be honest, you were fuckin’ nine guys in a month span? I don’t know. That just seems like a whole lot to me. Maybe it’s not a whole lot to some. But It’s a whole lot to everyone when you blast yourself on national television. Welp, it happens. And as long as it does I’ll keep watching that shit. YOU are NOT the father… girl runs and screams. You knew that. Stop frontin’. Next.

ADD.

I have attention deficit disorder. Actually I’ve been diagnosed with attention deficit hyper active disorder, but they don’t call it that anymore. I was so embarrassed when I was tested for it. Wait oh wait a minute, this is starting to sound like one of those herpes commercials. Let’s take a step back and remember what I’m talking about, ADD kids, ADD. I was so embarrassed I did not want any of my friends to know. They were calling me asking me to hang out and I kept telling them I had doctors’ appointments. I didn’t want to say, “Hey I’m failing my classes because I can not sit still and I leave early.” So instead I made them all believe I was pregnant. Pregnant? Me? No. One of my friends sat me down and said, “Cece, are you pregnant? Its okay I understand, I just want to be there for you.” Of course I laughed. All I was doing was going to get some meds and these people thought I was pregnant. They must think I’m trying to kill myself or move away. Because both of those outcomes would come true the minute some lame impregnates me. Move. Murder.

A little more on ADD.

Let me take the time to explain my disorder. I cannot concentrate for longer than, I don’t know, 45 minutes without my medicine. The medicine I take everyday is supposed to last for 12 hours. But, let me be the first to tell you that is a lie. I end up having to pop another around noon when I took one at eight just to get me through the day. The most annoying part about the whole thing is having ADD effects your memory. You forget to do simple things like pay a bill, do your homework, and charge your phone, things that could easily become a huge nuisance. So for someone who constantly forgets things, don’t you think it’s kind of ironic that they must remember to take a pill everyday to help them remember? Well if you don’t, I do. I can never remember to take it on time. I literally have to keep it on me at all hours because I’ll notice I’m not doing what I’m supposed to and then BAM pill time.

Now that I’ve grown up I don’t have a problem talking about it. Matter of fact I told someone I should have probably kept it a secret to because now everyday he asks me if I’ve taken my medicine. He can’t wait to catch me without it so I can get angry, frustrated, or just plain distracted. If ever I’m acting out of character, here he comes with this ADD talk. Actually now that I think about it, that’s what he calls me sometimes. My new nickname from him is ADD. Damn.

It’s two o’ clock and we’re still rollin. I can’t help it. Somethin’ Somethin’.

The way you do what you’re doin’, keeps me comin back for more. Keep it rollin baaabbyyy. Okay that was the Isley Brother’s in case you didn’t know. The somethin’ somethin’ wasn’t in the actual song but I couldn’t remember the lines. Well with six post under my belt, I’m finally headed to bed. No more late nights for me. Yeah right. I’ll see you tomorrow at 1. In the AM that is.


Peace and Love.

(Man... 7,347 words and four frosties... ummm feels good don't it.)

Relapse.

Damn. I'm running around in circles over here. I almost feel drunk. I am four post in and about to stab myself in the eye because I feel like this post will be trash in comparison to yesterday. But, I have to remember that I don't have to be emo to feel accomplished. This is a learning process. So if five is worse than four that's fine. Just as long as six is better than five. No relapsing around here. This ain't no drug habit.

So this is actually my third post I’ve started today. I'll end up finishing the others later. Just know that the first line of one is, "You can go ahead and kiss my ass now if you think Kobe is the next Mike." Yeah I know it needs a little work. I just don't have the time or the patience to really write something I would be happy with at the moment.Today's post is not going to have any direction what so ever. So these are just my thoughts.

Gilly Heads.

Assuming you all don't know, let me in form you now. My favorite player currently playing in the NBA is Gilbert Arenas, also known to me as Gilly (he hates that name by the way). Well, it’s kind of funny because by the time I'll get to see Gil in person I should be about 150-175 blogs in and about that many words in the thousands. What is funny about that is he is really the reason why I'm blogging now. He has been blogging for two years through the NBA's Fan Voice. (You should really make a point to read them they're hilarious.) Well anyway, I have some big plans to market myself and my blog for next season. I am going to attend every basketball game Gilbert plays in California permitting he is not playing for a California team, in which then I'll be going to more than four but less than 46. I will see him twice in LA, once in the Bay Area, and once in Sacramento. I am planning on going to every game with a I love Gilbert shirt on and a BIG ASS GILLY HEAD. I don't know how many of you watch basketball consistently but the New Orleans Hornets had a genius idea to market Peja. They have these guys running up and down the aisles with huge cardboard cut outs of Peja's head. Well my head is going to be a little different. I will just sit in the stands with a four foot tall gilly head but on the back its going to say "Blog About Me (http://www.betterthanyourbetter.blogspot.com/)" I am going to be mentioned in Gilbert's blog next year and when I do I'll be sure to send you the link.

I do not like Kobe Bryant or the Lakers.

However, that does not mean I'm crazy enough to say they are not great. I was born and raised a Chicago Bulls fan and in case you don't know me I'm 22 years old. This means most of my “growing up years” were in the 90’s when Chicago ran the NBA. So when I say I am a Chicago fan that means I'm still a Chicago fan, Joakim Noah and all. So for those of you who still cannot fathom why it is okay for someone like me to not be a Lakers fan let me further explain. I will preserve the legacy of my favorite player of all time for the remainder of my natural life. So when some kid comes in the league dominating I do not feel as if they should just start slapping labels on him, calling him the next Michael Jordan and what not. No. So for that reason I cannot bring myself to "like" Kobe Bryant. Ever since he came in the league all I can remember is the comparison talk I hate so much. Kobe will never be Michael Jordan but I will touch on that more later. So, by default I would dislike any team Kobe was on. He could have stayed with Charlotte and I would have disliked the Hornets. It does not matter to me. I don't dislike Kobe because he allegedly raped that white girl. I don't dislike Kobe because he is a raw scorer. I don't dislike Kobe because he has a fucked up attitude and he's selfish. I dislike Kobe for one reason only, and it’s not even his fault. But really, is it ever?

Why Kobe will never be Mike.

There will never be another Michael Jordan again, ever. Just like there will never be another Larry Bird, another Magic Johnson, another Charles Barkley, another Domonique Wilks, another Julius Earving, I mean, these guys are legends because they were themselves. They were a unprecedented commodity that blessed the NBA with years of talent and rivalries. I know there will never be another Kobe Bryant, another LeBron James, another Gilbert Arenas (had to throw that in there). Let's not waste time comparing the two and let dude be who he is, Kobe mutha fuckin Bryant. The guy who scored 81 points. The guy who will always be the most raw scorer in the history of the NBA. No one can take that away from him. No one. So why does everyone consistently want to take Mike's accomplishments away from him? I was reading the USA Today this morning and on the front of the sports section there was a article about how Kobe Bryant has matched Jordan's skills but he will never match his likeability. Who gives a fuck? Really. What Kobe does off the court, sexing up 19 year old front desk clerks, ratting his teammates out, demanding trades, that is none of our business. Let the man do as he pleases and stop judging him. No he is not a role model for your children, you are. No he is not the one who should be setting examples for your children, you are. So stop being so hard on him. All he wants is to be an individual who stands alone on his accomplishments. I know there are things that you or I may not like about him, but why tarnish his God given talents for that. Kobe deserved the MVP award this season, and I'm happy he received it. Had he not after a season like this, I know he would never receive one. Ever. In my opinion, Mike and KB don't even remotely play the same style of game. They just play the same position, and for that they are constantly compared. Let Michael’s legacy stand and let Kobe create his own. I feel sorry for the kid that comes in the league in five years because every thing he does will be compared to Kobe Bryant. His likeability, his style of play, and his choices off the court will all play a role in his success. I would love to say we’ll move forward from this comparison game. However, I know we will not, and you know what? That is a damn shame.

It’s 1am.

It took me forever to write today. A little here and a little there, but no words that just flowed from my fingertips like on a good day. I'm forcing words now. Everything I wrote earlier is forced, but I can't bring myself to stop yet. If I am going to reach 100,000 words by the end of the summer I cannot have many more days like this. The problem is I do not just want 100,000 forced words. I do not want just a whole bunch of rubbish. I want 100,000 words I am going to want to read again. Today I told my mom about my goal and how I have been slacking on my writing today. She said, “It is okay. You don’t have to write everyday. Who knows, tomorrow you just might write 5,000 words.” I doubt it. But, I hope something will flow tomorrow, well today. =/

Being their support.

I had someone thank me for supporting them today. But little do they know they support me way more than I ever could them. I know for a fact I would not be up this late writing had it not been for those encouraging words I receive every day on their behalf. Friendships are crazy sometimes. You meet someone and never know that even years later you will be the best of friends. You never know you will have so much in common. People are placed in your life for a reason, a season, or a life time. And I always shoot for two of the three. And in this special friendship I am lucky to have that. I know I would not be here today, writing 1,300 words shooting for 100,000 had I not had someone to share it with. So for your support, your friendship, and just being you, I thank you.

Doing things everyday.

I am setting a goal to finish my DVD library this summer. I will be spending a better part of my blogs explaining what I loved about the movie and what I hated about it. Not really a synopsis, but more of a review. I’m still on my frosty kick. I’m three frosties into my summer. It’s funny because I’m going to start relating time to words and frosties. “Oh you know 10,000 words and 8 frosties ago.” Damn. Also, this is my usual time to get my work out on. I do not work out at all for nine months of the year. I mean at all at all. But everyday of summer I swim at least 30 minutes. I always feel good in the summer and I know this is why. There is just something about working out everyday. I can wake up earlier in the morning. I tend to eat better. I am just in a better mood all around. I’m sure this will have a positive effect on my writing.

It’s 2am.

I need to rest my head, my mind, and my fingertips. I’m sorry to disappoint. This was 1,700 words of pure garbage. However, tomorrow is a new day, and like I said six will be better than five.

Peace and Love.

(5,449 words and counting...)

P.S. I did not count Kanye's words from the song yesterday. I forgot to make that known. Oh and hundred thou... here we come.

I wonder.

Blog number four. Frosty number two. Emotion number one.

For the majority of my life I used basketball to help me through any and every emotion. If I was happy, I played basketball. If I was sad I played basketball. Stressed, basketball. Angry, basketball. Each day the end result was the same. I was a little better than I was before. I don't have that anymore. I don't have the time or the desire to just pick up a ball and go shoot like I did when I was young. Its been eight years since my first knee surgery and this year will be four for the second. I can count on my hands how many times I've picked up a ball since then. Lucky for me, I found a new way to deal.

From time to time I find a song that really tells the tale of my life at the moment. I love to listen to it over and over and analyze each line in relation to my life. There are days when I know the song was written for me, for this moment. Well, welcome to my life. Welcome to this moment.

I wonder by Kanye West.

Find your dreams come true.
And I wonder if you know.
What it means, what it means.

And I wonder if you know.
What it means, what it means.
To find your dreams.

Wow. Dreams. We all have them. Be it big or small, we all have them. Some of us want to be doctors, lawyers, college professors. Some of us just want to be a wife or a husband, have a family. None of those satisfy me and sometimes that scares me. Are my ambitions to big to obtain? No. At least that's what I keep telling myself. I always sit and wonder why I am the way I am and what makes me tick. Instead of trying to figure other people out, I try to analyze myself. I am so sick and tired of people telling me what they think I want or who they think I am. Nobody knows me if I don't know myself, so please just stop trying. I know who I am and I know where I'm going, but if I haven't even figured out what makes me me, then what makes you think you could? Do you know why I don't honestly give a fuck about you, why I run through friends like socks, why I push away every single person who has done nothing but good for me? No? Me neither. Do you see? Do you see what I'm trying to say? Don't judge me. Allow me to be myself and grow and just appreciate the fact, as taboo as it may sound, I just might be different than you. I have goals and dreams too. It just may take me a little longer than you to accomplish them. You want to know my dream? I want someone to pay for something I wrote, and think it was amazing. I want to be the most arrogant bitch around because I know I've perfected my craft, not because I know I will be. Think about your dreams before you go analyzing mine, because I know you didn't think I was going to write that.

I've been waiting on this my whole life.
These dreams be wakin' me up at night.
You say I think I'm never wrong.
You know what, maybe you're right, aight?

And I wonder if you know.
What it means, what it means.
And I wonder if you know.
What it means to find your dreams.

I have been waiting for this moment. Waiting for the day when I found exactly what defined me. Basketball always defined me, and that's fine. No, its better than fine, its great. I love that game more than I love my friends because even through the bad times it never let me down. I blew out both of my knees, I was layed up in the bed for months, I've been bitter for days about losses I didn't even play in. A lot of people don't get that. They just can't comprehend why I am so consumed by something as minor as sports. Well you know what? Those people don't know what its like to be passionate about something. My gears have switched but they are the same nonetheless. I am still always going to be passionate about basketball, but now, I've found a way to share my passion with the world. And more importantly, people who would appreciate it.

You say I think I'm never wrong. You know what you are right, aight. I know I'm never wrong. I know that whatever I write, whatever I say is right even when its wrong. It takes a strong person to be like me. I very strong person. I am fascinated with people who don't take shit from anyone. They know what they want and they go get it. There is nothing wrong with being arrogant and frankly, I hate it has such a negative connotation. Being arrogant is hard. But look at all the arrogant people you know, with the exception of me, they all have money, they are happy, and they have perfected their craft. Let me quote one of my new favorite people, NFL star Chad Johnson aka Ocho Cinco, "In order to have fun you have to be cocky and arrogant. But swagger comes from confidence and confidence comes from hard work." So with that, you see why its so important for me to write everyday, sacrifice my time that I would be spending having fun, to work hard. To improve on my gift as he has improved on his own.

You say he gets on your fuckin' nerves.
You hope that he gets what he deserves.

Do you even remember what the issue is?
You just tryna find where the tissue is.
You can still be who you wish you is.
It ain't happened yet that's what the intuition is.

You hop back in the car, drive back to the crib
Run back to they arms.
The smokescreens, the chokes and the screams.
Do you ever wonder what they all really mean?

And I wonder if you know.
What it means, what it means.
And I wonder if you know.
What it means, to find your dreams.

I did say that. Those words spewed from my mouth. And ever since they left I knew I was wrong. But being who I am I know I can't come back from that. I'm too stubborn. I'm always right, even when I'm wrong. But is this the price you pay for knowing that you're right? Do you continue to run from what could have been great because you're stubborn? No. You don't run. You stop and you think and you evaluate. You listen to your mind and your heart and what they have to say. Not your boys or your girls because they don't have a damn thing to say you don't already know. And let's be honest, you aren't going to listen to them anyway. I do not remember what the issue is. But I'm a big girl so no more tears here. All I can do now is wait and see if I still have time to be who I wish is. Or if that is even what is supposed to happen.

I hopped back in the car. Drove back to the crib. Ran back to they arms. But this time those arms weren't there. They had closed to me and opened to someone else. You invest so much time and grow together to both come out great for someone else? Is that how life is supposed to go? You groom each other to not reap the benefits of a better, older, wiser person? Sometimes yes. Most of the time yes. All of the time yes. It sucks but sometimes it just happens that way. "The smoke screens the chokes and the screams/do you ever wonder what they all really mean?" All the time. I wonder.

And I'm back on my grind.
A psychic read my lifeline.
Told me in my life time.
My name would help light up the Chicago skyline

And that's why I'm
Seven o'clock that's prime time.
Heaven'll watch God's callin' me from the hotlines.
Why he keep givin' me the hotlines?
I'm a star how could I not shine?

I am back on my grind, in life and in love. I don't need a psychic to tell me I'm going to shine. I make my future and its looking bright enough to outshine Yeezy and his skyline. Sky's the limit for people like me and in due time all you naysayers will see. I don't have time to listen to your analyzations, your lies, your predictions. I am me. And I am the only one who can determine my future (It was not my intention for that to rhyme by the way).

Where's all the ladies in the house?
Where's all the ladies in the house without a spouse?
Somethin' in your blouse got me feelin' so aroused. What you about?

On that independent shit.
Trade it all for a husband and some kids.
You ever wonder what it all really means?
You wonder if you'll ever find your dreams?

I always wonder what it all really means, but now I never wonder if I'm going to find my dreams.

Peace and Love

(3,732 words, and counting...)

Oh and I have a new goal. I'm not going to stop writing everyday until I get to 1,000,000 words. That's right a millie. Stay tuned.