7 posts tagged “blogging”

Kimora and daughters fashion week 2008

1. Viewing Kimora Lee Simmons' reality show.

I cried.

Last night's (Sunday) episode was a part two to Kimora and her production team staging the Phat Fashions fashion show for New York's Annual Fashion Week. A segment of the show features Kimora giving her oldest daughter, Ming Lee, a pep talk about her hair. Ming Lee, 8,  was about to take part in a rite of passage that all little girls of color (or perhaps any girl) goes through at some point. In prepping for the fashion show, Ming Lee's hair was about to be "blown out" or straightened via the blow dryer. Kimora's pep talk was more of handing out "the law" in how to keep up with such a hair style, plus bumping up Ming Lee's chores around the house - to washing dishes.

After a kiss to seal the hair and chores deal, and Kimora's daughters asking her how old was she when her hair was blown out - to which Kimora responded "at the age of 13 when I was hitting the runways in Paris" - an emotional mommy began to break down and cry. Ironically, I was crying right along with Kimora as she (maybe with a little bit of dramatic overtones) talked through tears of how her babies are growing up before her eyes and it was all too much for her.

I thought about my own daughter. How she is a little over 13 months now. I look at her now and compare pictures I took of her last year when she was a few weeks old. She's definately older. She has her own personality.  She is starting her journey of becoming her own unique spirit.  I'm anxious, scared and happy at the same time to the different rites of passage she will go through - menstrual cycle, first bra, allowed to have boys call her, wearing stockings, wearing high heels, makeup and of course hair permed/straightened.

I was roughly 12 when my hair was processed. My mother was furious. At the time I didn't understand what the big deal was. I just knew I was tired of the hot comb. I had enough war wounds  (hot comb scars) behind my ears to plead my case. My grandmother agreed and "ordered" it done. Aunt P, who worked as a beautician at the time, commenced with the order. PCJ (as it was/is called) or Pressing Comb in a Jar did the trick. Funny thing is, all those years I spent with processed hair, I finally let the chemicals go. It's been eight or nine years as I've returned to my "au natural" roots (which do need some professional work here and there), and began a regime of washing my hair every two weeks and either letting it air dry into a bush or finding the patience of pressing my own hair with the hot comb - only to make it managable to comb and not bone straight.

However, back to Kimora.... 

It was at that moment of her "breakdown" that I truly gained respect for Kimora as a business woman but more importantly as a mother. Though she is demanding and a bit of a diva with her over the top ways, the love she has for her daughters is not for show for the Style Network cameras. It's real. In all that she does, she always makes it a point that no matter what, when her babies need her she is there.

I can only hope that I am doing just the same for my own daughter. I'm always careful to continue to let my passion for writing and all that I want to do drive me, but making sure it doesn't leave my daughter in the dust somewhere. Whatever I achieve in life I want it to be for us - God, my daughter and myself.

Certain Girls: A Novel

Jennifer Weiner

2. Reading Certain Girls

Since I began reading Jennier Weiner's latest novel, I've been happily entralled in Cannie Shapiro's world again AND her daughter, Joy. Ironically, I laugh when I read Joy's thoughts, because like any adolescent in this world what "tween" doesn't think their mother is a little "off." As I've been reading I have noticed that I see myself in both Cannie and Joy this time. Joy represents my "ugly" teen years, but she also represents something new in my life... yes my Snickerdoodle. Though Cannie is a little older than me in this book (she's in her 40's where as in Good In Bed she was right on the bullseye as my current age - late twenties) I still related to her on some level as she flashes back to her twenties to relive some horrid "single mom/writer" moments.

What's funny here.. in keeping with the theme of rite of passages...Joy is obviously about to go through one with her bat mitzvah on the horizon. However, as I keep reading it seems that her rite of passage is coming in another form as well..learning the real truth of how she came to be and beginning to understand her mother's intentions, ways, persona...etc.

Part of Cannie's past deals with a book she wrote that was based on her life. However, she fictionalized it with a hyper/over sexed heroine as she told a tale of how she over came some of her issues with the men in her life; a father that didn't want her and a boyfriend that was a pile of....shit.  Not to mention a mother that eventually admitted that she was a lesbian. Naturally Joy ends up reading the book and at the moment is seeking answers, on her own, about her mom and dad's relationship and her existence.

When I initally started blogging (in 2002) and decided that what I wrote would eventually end up in a manuscript or book form, a lot of it did sound like a broken record. That was because it was during the time when I was in my depression and part of my solace or my comfort zone at the time was through sex.  As I began to put the pages together, I didn't like what I saw. Granted it was my truth. That shit hurt. Still, I always worried about who would eventually read my truth if in fact it did get as far as being published. Who would it help? Who would it hurt?

My manuscript has been changed so many times because

1) I'm never going to be happy with it until my brain can finally say "STOP!" That's just the writer perfectionist in me.

2) Though I did fictionalized it, those who are close to me will know it's about me. So what will my mother think, especially in some of the mother vs. daughter scenes?

3) Since becoming a mother, I now feel it's my duty to use it (or perhaps anything I write) as a tool to teach my daughter a (few) lessons in life.. for when she is older and is able to comprehend what I went through.

In reading about Cannie and Joy, it's also bringing up a couple of the same issues I had.. umm HAVE... with my mom.... the over protectiveness and the broken communication line. Where I am currently in the story I do feel as if the crap is about to hit the fan. I'm just anxious to read about it and see where the two Shapiro ladies will go from there.

Another rite of passage...being able to face your truths, the whole truths so help you God.  

Pic By Natalie Dee

Dear Reader,

It's very rare that I address something specifically for you. Depending on how long you have stuck with me through my twisted true life tales, you know by now that normally I shoot off my thoughts without even thinking about you. Writing has always been some form of self medicated therapy and when I became a blog whore....

WHOA NELLY!

Needless to say, when I caught on to you I was taken aback that you would be so interested in my little corner of the world. However, I came to a (perhaps) sad realization yesterday. While I continuosly write entry after entry and you are compelled to give me your feedback, I don't necessarily do the same for you.

I suck. This I know.

Satire photo take @ The Newseum circa 1998

It's not that I don't care or appreciate you. It's just that.. honestly... I'm too wrapped up in my own world right now.  Between the recent death of my cousin, connecting with relatives on both sides of my family, chasing after a one year old, writing and embracing the next phase in my life I'm pretty much on the go.  I try to journey to your thoughts every now and then, but hey.. I've developed Adult ADD in the last few months.  

Ever wonder how left handed people drive stick shifts in America?

Sorry.. see.. thoughts are jumping

Oh crapola I need to do a dry run to this place in Falls Church

Seeeeeee... there it goes again.

okay.. so what I am trying to say is..

I know how some readers are sensitive to the fact that they read and comment in your blog. Then they turn around and write in their own and expect you to do the same for them and some will get hopping mad if you don't... as if you are ignoring them.

Okay some can't lie.. they are stalkers. Ew!

Oh My Gawd! I found my old journal via Blogger ->>>>>>>>>> Komplex Phemale

Seee.. There goes that ADD again...

Anyways... gotta go.

To my reader(s)... Thanks you are still appreciated. I'll stop by soon.

I was looking for a Natalie Dee comic to coincide with my random thoughts for today. Needless to say I stumbled along something in her archives that just made me choke on my own saliva; a drawing of her husband "murdering" Michael Jackson's Billie Jean.

Misternataliedee by Natalie Dee

Random Thought # 1

I'm waaaay overdue for a Pap test.  Being a woman seems so inconvient and disturbing when you think about a visit to the OBGYN.

Any man out here wanna take my piping and my OBGYN? 

Random Thought #2

I pondered last night if I'm too much of the world to make a full connection with my spirituality. Well maybe not too much of the world...I'm just... I don't know what is the word or phrase I'm looking for. Hmmm. I'm not an atheist. I'm a bit quirky. I try to see beauty in everything. While I don't glamorize illegal drug use, I can sympathize and perhaps understand a bit why someone would abuse it.  A large part of me wants to break free from anything and just totally let go of any inhibitions I have. While I do attend church, it's only on the Sundays when I feel the need to or just basically when I feel up to it 

Was I over churched as a kid; especially in attending religious schools all my life?

What is really going on with me spiritually?

Random Thought #3

I really do hurt for some men out here. The ones who have been taken for granted and are really top picks of the liter. In talking with Papi and other male friends, none have ever felt appreciated or even had partners that took the time to pamper or cater to them for at least a day. They were always the givers, and eventually got took some kind of a way. As a giver (and there are some of us ladies who give) I have felt the sting as well of being taken for granted. That was mainly due to a bad choice on my part to give to someone who didn't deserve it. Yet, when I asked my friends and Papi would they know what they want if given the opportunity to be treated for a day in and outside of the bedroom, no one could fully answer. One guy even asked me for suggestions of what she should look/ask for. 

Have we females become so jaded about love or who we are "dating/seeing" that we feel we are entitled to being the receiver constantly?

Random Thought #4

Out of a lil boredom and tired of being referred to as the anti-socialable MySpace Nazi, I revamped my MySpace page a bit. I will say, the song I selected kicks arse! (opps! Irish accent slipped)

But seriously, who really pays attention to me on MySpace anyways?

Random Thought #5

After.................. (okay I can't think of the exact number) of year with my online writing group, I'm thinking about leaving. The group doesn't "feed" my anymore. There are more "off topics," posted than anything pertaining to writing. I've been thinking about it for a while. I don't feel "at home" anymore. It is one of the rare online communities that I have found to be drama free, but sometimes I wonder.  I probably won't leave altogether, just change my membership to receive a digest of the latest happenings.

Speaking to self right now ----> Honestly, are you still benefiting from the group?

Show us what you want, but can't have.

Pink-blackberry-pearl

Curse the day I left Verizon Wireless and went to T-Mobile. Though both companies have been good to me - despite T-Mobile's lazy reception on my residential block and complete refusal to "live" underground in the subway system - I'm stuck with T-Mobile for a while. Therefore, I'm missing out on the Pink Blackberry Pearl. The Pink Pearl is exclusive to Verizon Wireless. Meanwhile, over at the T-Mobile factory standard colors blue, black, and white are churched out along with gold and ruby red. I believe when I have some extra cushion to splurge, I'll upgrade to the Ruby Pearl.

Right now I'm stuck with my (now) unsexy Samsung Slider that I've had for two years.

Hard to believe, me - a snail in the hi-tech digital world - wants a Blackberry. Could it be that my life as grown this "complicated" and or too "busy" to keep up with using an old fashion bound date book/agenda and a simple digital cell phone that happens to have a camera attached to it?

Maybe I'm just lusting after the color?

I think there is a lot to be said when the only sanity I've been able to find lately are moments alone with my daughter and sitting down to write (blog, novel, short stoary, whatever)

For the past few days I've been FA & FO - or as I've been calling it.....

Fucking Annoyed & Frankly Offended

My 'TUDE started late Tuesday evening, when I received a phone call from a DC Government Agency - namely the Dept. of Health. It was in regards to some business with some health benefits for my daughter... yadda yadda.

I could live with the business aspect of the call, but the rude or uncalled for comments from the lady on the other end of the phone set me off completely.  Hence, why I fired off an Open Letter and posted it on all my blogs and on Craigslist. Needless to say, the responses have been interesting and disappointing, leaving me to feel even more FA & FO.

Today, as I helped my aunt take care of her business, I was even more FA & FO at the fact that today was a waste of time.... her time and the other people that had to be pulled into today's event.

I don't even really want to get into that.

Right now, I know... my head hurts and my cramps are kicking... making me even MORE FA & FO. My patience is short for a lot of things going on with me directly and indirectly right now.

I'm just done.

I'm done with ignorant people

I'm done with half assed help

I'm done with utter bull shit

I'm done with game, scams...whatever you want to call it.

I'm done with those who are recognized for their writing talent, folks who are out there, when I'm just as good (or better) and still can't get any "air -time" (maybe this one is on me)

I'm done with these elections

I'm done with Black vs. White, Man vs. Woman

I'm done with this whole Barak Obama "The Choosen One, Rock Star, Hip Hop Movement" SHIT!

I'm done with folks who discredit (Hill) Clinton with her accomplishments - especially when she (like her husban) fought for rights, lobbied for issues for the common man.

I'm done with John McCain's tired ass.

I'm done with "Dubya" fucking up this country abroad and domestically

I'm done with broads who have good men by their sides but still aren't satisfied and go to "greener" grass, when that other grass is really brunt to the crisp.

I'm done with divorces

I'm done with people who try to "1-up!" me - what the fuck for?

I'm done with my next door neighbor's turbo engine in his Mitshibishi that shakes the whole house

I'm done with Sunday drivers

I'm done with tears

I'm done with being a woman

I'm done with being this fucking talented without a unique niche

I'm done with this post.

Today seemed like a bust.

Errands to run

Scribblings, reflections, mumblings to write

But feelings of "stuck" literally rained over me.

Curse mother nature for teasing me with spring-like weather this morning

Only to snatch it away

Bring in the cold

Bring in the rain.

Yet, even me in all my inner strength, can't fight the forces of nature.

So instead, I hunkered down. Surrounded myself with quietness

Well.. just the laughter and fussiness of my daughter nearby and my music library qued on Itunes in shuffle mode.

From Floetry, to Snooze, to Zero 7 to Lauryn Hill, to Stevie Wonder, to Mos Def, To Billie Holiday, to.............

While the Snickerdoodle plays, I clean.

Old files.. old diary.. blog files.

I laugh at a (now corny) peice of poetry I've ever written.

I can't believe my driving force behind it was a young man I met at some point in my life who turned out to be a "bust" as well.

Chiiiiiiiiiiiiiile, I thought he was the shit. Turns out he was full of shit.

Yet he spoke the same language I did at the time... poetry.

When I wrote about him I called him Pretty Brown Eyes.

Always socially, politically aware. But he also had his own theories of the ways and whys of the world.

Some things he said did make sense... while most of the time... it became clear he was full of himself.

Yet, I didn't realize that until much later... way after I had written this....

Making Love
By Mahoganie aka Blackvelveteen (D-X)
Date: June 8, 2003

He makes love to me throughout the day by kissing and softly caressing me with the qouted scriptures of the Bible and his heart.  

East of The River (majority of SE,DC) Is Just As Historic

Note: Most likely this will be a VERY random entry.

Honey I'm home.

We make it back into town today safe and sound. Though I miss the serenity of the mountains, I do ache to be back home. More than likely the achy feeling was me just wanting to get home in time to unpack and unwind.

I love going away, but I hate the packing, the move, hauling, unpacking, the rush... it's stressful to be honest.

Traveling along Interstate 66 going and coming, I realize that I too .. like most minorities.. have this fear of police. Virginia state troopers are notorious for hiding in unmarked sudans (guess this is one reason why it's easy to impersonate them?) or in their crusiers...waiting to catch a speeder or a violator of HOV restrictions.  It wasn't bad leaving town as it was around Thanksgiving. They were everywhere on 66 and maybe one or two on Interstate 81 (the highway that 66 turns into after a certain point). Today on the way home.... ok I won't lie.. I did comfortable cruise at 80.. and the speed limit for the most part is 65. I know... Baaaaaad girl.  However, I do have common sense. I did the speed limit once I got closer to the DC area, because sure enough what did I see coming up around the town of Gainsville and into Manassas, VA?

Yep!

A trooper in an unmarked car.

I passed him as he was returning to his vehicle after issuing a ticket. My heart actually started to thump faster than normal. My hands actually started to shake a little. I even cut down my music some.. (ha!) I don't know where this nervousness comes from. I don't think I ever had a bad exprience with an officer of the law. Not even when I was speeding in Oxford, NC and was pulled over by a NC state trooper.  Only negative experiences that sorta comes to mind are two things;

1) When I was about 10 or 11, I was with my family as we were coming from a bowling league night on Bolling AFB.  TWICE my father was pulled over at "random" for no reason. The second time was the last straw at they ordered us out the car as a dog sniffed through it. The reasons we were told "Just routine." However, car after car went by and no one else was pulled over. Just use, twice in one month. My father, being a high ranking officer in the National Gaurd, put his power to use.  He spoke to whatever general or commander he needed to, and the matter was cleared in a matter of a few days. I believe an apology was issued on behalf of whatever branch of the miltary that was represent at the gate those nights.

2) Around the time when I just got my first car (a moment of silence for the V-dub Jetta) I was driving around in a shopping center parking.. in Alexandria, VA (VA kills me.. oye!) I didn't look into my blind spot and see that a car was coming at me from the side as I pulled out of an aisle. What I do know is that an Alexandria City police officer saw me pull out and thought that I was intentionally driving wrecklessly. So he felt the need to be this tough cop.. picture Dwayne aka The Rock as that tough guy in that flick Walk Talk. What was sorta comical (only when I think back) is the fact that he yelled and scoled me from inside his car. He blew his horn, yelled at me to roll down my window and proceded to yell, scold and sceam at me some words... I don't even remember what he said, because at the time I was scared out of my wits and was ready to piss on myself.

Having that flashback makes me want to laugh but shudder at the same time.

Speaking of HOV restrictions (go up a few paragraphs) are babies considered a passenger during HOV times?

Speaking of babies, the Snickerdoodle is starting to form (somewhat) clear syllables. Right now we're at the stage where she wants to try to repeat some things I say. Though it still comes out as that baby "gobbly gook" she tries and tries until it at least sounds like a word.

What's erie though is this word she says "Nang." She says it was strong clarity.

Nang was a nickname my late grandfather gave to me from birth. He claimed that when I was babbling, all I ever said was "nang nang nang nang nang nang" So.. he called me Nang. He hardly ever called by my actual name.. unless I was in serious trouble, but even still he's only called me this maybe twice or three times EVER. My grandfather even had a wooden coathanger made for me with the nickname fixed atop in wooden letters. When he was alive, some of my family called me Nang.. just to be funny, but I retired the name after his death. Maybe in a way he was the only one I would really allow to call me that.

I never thought I would ever hear that name again until my daughter started speaking it only a couple of days ago. The facinating thing about it is, she looks me dead in the eyes and goes "Nang." My mother brought it to my attention the other, but even more so today as we were buzzing around the kitchen. As we were puttnig groceries away and getting the snickerdoodle's dinner together, the snickerdoodle cried her heart out. In the midst of her cries she went "Naaaaaaaaaang, nang!"

"She's calling for you," my mother said to me. "That's what you are. That's what's she's calling you."

I guess I'll always and forever will be "Nang."

In the meantime, as the household as settled down a bit, I still have some things to do. Thankfully I've already unpacked the suitcases of clothes.There's still a matter of downloading my photos onto Flickr (Thanksgiving and Christmas), posting offline journal entries onto my blog, more writing (something new), renew NABJ membership, follow up on important emails/phone calls -

Mental Note to Self - Call Mr. Sigma..he's been trying to get through since Thanksgiving - End Mental Note.

Right now I don't feel like doing Jack Boogie. I wanna do like the Snickerdoodle is doing now...

Sleep.

Instead I'm writing a blog while reading my snail mail and finding amusment amongst my pile of bills and late Christmas cards, I have a birthday card. The end of the year is only a few days away, but Feburary is a whole month and few days away. Yet, my health care provider felt the need to beat the birthday rush and send me a "greeting" all the while reminding me to have regular check ups....

Damnit!

I knew I forgot to do something this month...

Receive my annual Vaginal Probe... the PAP Smear.

Mental Note to Self - call OBGYN - End Mental Note.

I think my "goodies" just got scared.