Epiphanies n Shit

Ok, here goes nothing.

I didn't do shit all day because I was too busy throwing myself a weepy-assed pity party. I got no work done and it's a good thing that my boss is also my friend of about 17 years or my ass would have been so fired. I woke up with a stone in my heart. A stone that I created because I was angry about a dude that really just doesn't fucking matter. Wow. How pathetic. If I could only express to you how much brain power has gone into thoughts both wonderful and rediculously evil about one man you'd shit yourself laughing. I've got to admit, I was completely and utterly enamoured and situations beyond anyone's control made me turn all of that emotion into a rock the size of a monolith. Pahfuckinthetic and heavy to boot.

Talking to my mom, I told her I had to walk away for fear of not being able to master my emotions. My mother's response? "Since when have you ever let anyone control you?" Insert a hellishly pregnant pause here before she began to laugh. I whined, "mother I'm serious," she replied, "I know, that's what's so fucking funny..." Pause again. Then I began to laugh and gales of that glorious sound rolled from deep within our bodies and into the sky. Just like that, it was so very gone. Not just him, but I felt the vise grip on constant need to control everything/one slip and that shit was just... gone.

I love my moms. Every once in a while parents remind you just how fucking amazing they are.

Ok back to the main point.... Hate to be all ethereal and shit, but it was... just... gone. In that moment I realized at the end I'm still left with me. The me that the masks of Mala/Little/Pixie/Chameleon/Chick/Kay does not touch. None of my foolishness will ever take away my facination with words and stringing them together. No act of stupidity will ever change my walk or my laugh. No mere mortal will ever change my skewed yet amusing point of view. So here I am. Writing again, because it's the one damn thing that I'm sure of.

I can't control shit besides what comes from my warped brain, travels down my arms, out of my fingertips and assaults your eyes. So I won't try to. Fuck everything else,there is only me and words which have to date, never failed me.

The rest of my day and night was pretty mundane. Malik called me back and I apologized for walking out on his show with some off the cuff insipid excuse. Thankfully he does not know me well enough to know I was blowing a wagonload of smoke up his ass. Still, he's a sweetheart and an amazing bassman. We'll be catching up on Friday to take a gander at Ms. Fly Ass Honeychild Coleman doing her best at CBGB's as well as taking in some random show on Canal street. Sweet. The world keeps turning. And that, my friends, is a great thing.

My room is hot as hell. I am not one of those folks so lucky as to be blessed with an air conditioner, more's the pity. So I took a cold shower as is my wont and then I was inspired. I took my top sheet, soaked it and then lay under the wet coldness, nude as a newborn and slept. Blissfully dreamlessly. I was awakened by a random phonecall from a man with the most beautiful hands on the planet. I had no idea what in the hot hell he was talking about but I was happy to hear his voice since I was most assuredly put out by his inattention over the last few days. (by the way, I'm sitting in Coogan's right now - again... more on that later - and I must say that fat chicks in shoes two sizes too small make me itch... seriously). Control issues gone, it was all about the "hey baby, what's up?" The conversation commenced and according to my piece of shit phone, 1 minute and 42 seconds of conversation left me grinning widely. So the countdown commences again. 4 days. HYSTER!!!! (Ok Johnnie, some times it is the little things...)

The aforementioned Johnnie decided that the fiendishly long ride back to VA was just cause to remain inside for the night and I wholeheartedly concurred. Although I am a pledged Rich Medina fan, Apt would have to see me another time. Instead I kicked my collection of shoes around my bedroom floor, then stripped down to a rather naughty pair of boy shorts & danced around to INXS. My mom called me from downstairs because she was in the area and my uncle had to use the facilities. Poor man trucked up 4 flights of stairs to relieve himself. Life is a bitch sometimes. I had dinner with my family before returning upstairs and disrobing yet again. And I was, yes you guessed it, frighteningly horny.

My libido is a thing with it's own mind, pulse and thoughts. I am a self-professed beast. The only thing that keeps me from being a wanton tart is the fact that I need to connect, on some level, with the person I desire. I want to learn that person's body. To engage until one out of the two of us physically cannot repeat the act again. I've heard men close to me complain about sex. The sexiest of women being dead fish. The lack of enthusiasm. That's a mystery to me. When I choose too, I am so entranced with the feeling of two bodies meeting. The rawness of it, the sheer animalistic quality of it.Well anyway, I didn't fight what I was feeling with my usual frenetic masturbation or cold ass, cold shower. I just let it wash over me. This is who I am, (evidenced by my stride and arched eyebrow or that half lidded look I get when I think that maybe, just maybe, I might rip this fool four ways til Sunday) and with that, the need for the feel and the friction was mercifully gone.

The night commenced and I received a call from a rather aggravated Black who was down at Coogan's hitting on some thick chick. After admonishing me for not calling in days, he requested my prescence and met me in front of the building clad in riding gear. So with board in hand we were foolish down Riverside drive with me falling more than I rode. He got a "business" phonecall and left me once again at my door with cash and instructions to meet him at Coogan's again in a while. So I changed out of my sore-used camo into a skirt and shirt and went down to wait. In the meantime I began writing this, met Andy in attendance with a few of his drunk friends and wondered more than once who told these big broads that the shit they were wearing was ok. Black never made it back to Coogan's and my second glass of wine accompanied by Nirvana's Love Buzz was over sooner than it began so I made my way home.
Phone.
Rings.
I went back downstairs and we took a walk around the block and I was privy to some dude getting his ass whipped. Poor kid. Bob and weave. Either that or pay the people you owe. Choose one because Black is not having it. And I found out who the crazy email came from. Negro loco. "It was me stupid." It's nice to know that someone thinks that I am absolutely beautiful... especially since they aren't saying it as a segue to getting in my drawers.

So here I am y'all. Pitifully unsure. Scared. Counting stories that I have begun. Rereading the dreams I have recorded. Drowning in the words that I love. Reveling in my ability to still be willing to try even though I've been beaten by the horrid stick. Wanting to hold those beautiful hands. Waiting to see what will happen next. Knowing that one day there will be another someone who can keep up with me seated on a barstool sans panties. Enjoying each and every word that I am in command of. And accepting the blatant fact that I don't control shit... at least I don't control shit that does not come from my fingertips.

- & I'm feeling good... no recess

Ok no recess but dudes is straight lunchin. Why in the fuck would you text a broad at the ass crack of dawn to tell her to stay cool by getting in the shower? Um, hi, my name is Mala and I sometimes have insomnia. I fell asleep somewhere around 6 am. Thanks for waking me up at 8:30. Sugarface... have you taken leave of your mind or are you really that fuckin bored? The only person that is allowed to contact me at the crack of dawn is my kid... well maybe my mama too - if her skirt is on fire and her ass is catching next..Neither of us has a 9-5 so why would you think it's ok to hit me that early? I can't even forgive you because we aren't boinking so I can't make the "he just wanted to let me know he was thinking of me but even in that case a dude still out his motherfucking mind" excuse... hell, I'd be angry if the man I am getting sweaty with called me this early, but at least he'd have a fuckin reason. Seeing as you didn't have a reason for that dumb shit, you now have no reason to contact me at all. Honey lose my number. Word up.

Now I'm wide the fuckety fuck awake thinking random dumb shit like: what do girls without asses grab when they are bored (I only stopped long enough to type this). Rose McGowan is one ugly bitch when she cries. A lot of those people who advocate working from home are hella fat.... maybe they need to work elsewhere than their abodes if for no other reason than to get some modicum of exercise in their day. Why in the hell did I set the auto alarm on my tv to channel 11? Somebody is gonna find out that Charmed is my guilty a.m. pleasure and my reputation will be shot to shit. Oop. Chalk up one reputation. Alyssa and Rose have great fuckin racks as evidenced by the fact that the wardrobe department can't seem to find suitable bras formidable enough to control their dirty pillows. Dirty Pillows. Ha. Carrie was a hellafied movie. Couldn't give me telekinetic powers... I'd pants everyone. I wonder if actors in really bad shows feel as stupid as they look - I bet they do, well, at least until they get that fat ass royalty check. They got $10 Levis at Kmart. Strauss is spinning in his grave. Right. Now. Matthew Perry is in one of those cracka saves the ghetto children movies. Ugh. Cuz you know ghetto kids can't work their way out without the benevolence of some pasty faced dude who just wants to "make a difference in their lives." For fuck's sake. I'm naaaaaaaaaaaked. Naaaaaaaaked (and someone thinks I'm crazy for singing that shit). This laptop is hot as hell. I'm listening to the Thong Song. Somebody... put me out of my effin misery. Please. Thanks. Orange soda kicks tushy. Kool Aid singles, a little bit of the hood in a convenient travel sized package... geeze. Brian Krause is one funny lookin cat. I've got to try to remember to collect my change before I go to bed, there's another quarter stuck to my ass. I wonder if my kerplunkity turns into a slot machine when I am asleep. Grope, grope, grope. Marykateashley is the antichrist. I smell really good. I can do 35 squats in a row. Yeah buddy.

You see? Do you see what happens after less than 3 hours of sleep? Fucking guy... I'd kick you in the nuts but I'm a kinder, gentler Mala, or some bullshit like that. I'm gonna go fondle my behind and hope I can get a scootch more sleep in before I try to to get some work done.

Muuuuch later: A quick walk in the rain is always refreshing and DAMN!!! I am a sexy motherfucker.... Ahahahahahhahhaha.
Yup.