Anyway, I can't go on set due to girlsitting issues well beyond my control. So I started to do what I do, which is write about something or the other. Currently, I put Calls From The Brink on hold because I was beginning to think too hard. A story can get really convoluted if you try to include and explain too much. Often, you need to trust that your reader is intelligent enough to figure out the things you allude to. The minute I found myself trying to "over-detail" the piece I left it alone. Instead I went back to The Sea God's Daughter to see if I could takeY'mara any further on her journey to retrieve her father's trident talisman. She has just reached the middle of the desert created by the passing of the thief that stole it from her in a moment of passion. She's gonna kick that dude's ass when she catches him. Word up.
- crap, I gotta run outside. I might finish this later...
Tomorrow night.
Thanks.
LATER
Minor Disaster Averted
What happened:
They say the neighborhood is changing because white folks are moving in. They're full of shit. They aren't on the street every day. What do they know? Who the hell are "they" anyway? Lemme explain. I'm house sitting for my mom while she's on vacay. I grew up on this block most of my younger life. It's always been the same; not too dangerous but nothing to get fucked up with. I remember when my boy James Carroline got shot in the back of the head while walking in the house holding his little girl. My life wasn't the same after he died. He and his family, Dada, Gramma, Crystal, Sharene and Mike were my family. I was 12 and they were the only ones around that listened to metallica and rode dirtbikes. I was crushed. Ok, I'm going off on a tangent. What I'm trying to say is, shit happened but you could still walk the streets at 3 a.m. and not watch your back, well at least not watch your back if you were from these parts.
Back to house sitting. My little cousin came by the house a little earlier to borrow my skateboard. There's a small skate park a few blocks away in Mullaly's. Right when I was about to go blathering off about myself here on blogger, little man knocks on the door and tells me some kid at the park took my board and told him he's too little for a big board. My little cousin Renny is 12. So I called his pops Sink, threw on my new kicks (no I didn't fuck them up) and we walked over to the park. Sure enough, some kid who was all of say, 19 or so, was on my motherfuckin board!!! We stood there until he got off the ramp and as he was walking to the gazebo, I walked up to him and took my board back. I didn't say a word to this kid. Scout's honor. Ya man starts up with the bitch where you going with my board. I still didn't say anything. I just handed it back to my little cousin. This dumb fuck runs up on us still talking shit and Sink straight put him down. I don't care what anyone says but watching anyone get laid out is fucking hilarious. Sink tells him something like "say something else to my son and your ass won't be able to skate at all." I'm laughing fit to choke as we walk out of the park leaving Renny with the board. Chillin.
Renny, just got back to the house. With the board.
The neighborhood ain't changed at all.
On Blogging
I just figured out why I do this shit so often at times. Considering that I'm mouth all mighty, it makes sense that I love to write as much as I love to talk (Although I have become a founding member of The Society of Shut The Fuck Up). The thing about blogging is, I can say whatever I want without interruption, someone else's opinion or having to watch myself. People can read it if they want to, email me if they have something to say or go about their business if they don't. It's also a good way for my friends who don't live here or I don't see often to see what I'm up to. Blogging is the shit. With that said, I don't feel like taling to anyone right now, I'm done doing the run-through of the play with Margie, I don't want to write any projects because my brain is full to the brim and I can't focus so I'm about to write forever about any/everything, toot my own horn (because if I don't do it, who will?), be honest about me and just generally distract myself because tomorrow is making me nervous... Yup
My Walk
I've been complimented on it for as long as I can remember. Even when I was younger I had some kind of strut. Not the 'damn she grown kind' until I got older, but the ladylike kind until I left home. My walk is as natural to me as breathing. I don't even notice myself doing it. Last week I had to meet muMs late one night on Lenox Ave and whenI crossed the street he told me he was getting ready to flip because he thought I was wearing heels just to come meet him. I was wearing chancletas. I can't help the way I walk. Really. I can't. And of course, there's a story behind it.
My moms is type stush. It means that she doesn't exactly think she's better than anyone but she thinks very highly of herself. And she raised us in her image. There's a certain way that she feels a girl/woman should express her femininity and walking is one of them. When I was a wee tadpole, I wore saddleshoes and mary jane's to church. I always wanted to wear the the shoes with the little heel so I could be more like the grown ups. My mother’s edict? If you can’t walk in them you can’t wear them. I was 8 or so. So I learned how to walk in what I thought was heels. And the heels became higher as I aged. It became second nature and that’s why I walk the way I do now. I’m not trying to be sexy, no matter how it comes off. I’m not trying to emulate a model. It’s just me. My walk changes by degrees based on what I am feeling but it’s intrinsically the same. So um, when you said to me “Damn, your walk is so fierce, I just want to bite you,” I want you to know it wasn’t for your personal benefit. I dig you but don’t flatter yourself too much… you hold your head too high up in the air you might just walk into a wall. My walk is as me as my penchant for fucking cussing up a motherfucking storm. Yup.
The Youngsters
I have hung out with those much younger than me quite a bit as they are the future and lord, if this is the future, we are in DEEP SHIT. It's not that they are dumb or unaware, they're just not as here as I think they should be. I guess I have a fucked up gauge. I left home at 14 so I had to be grown , like fast. Most of the 20 somethings I have come into contact recently with were going through teenage angst at an age where I was already playing house. It's not good or bad. Innocence is a wonderful thing but they still aren't as street-smart, as savvy, as quick or as thorough as most of us were at their age. I'm not saying all of them, just most of them. I was out a few days ago with a "worldly" 22 year old who has seen much and done more. Still she seemed dull and vapid to me. Then I realized that at 22 I had come home, was having my girl, was looking for a new crib and shit wasn't sweet. Between 14 - 22 I had done and seen so much my brain had long since out-aged my body. Don't get me wrong, my story isn't the only one like that, I'm not special, I'm just saying. It's nothing to be ashamed of, not thing to be proud of but please understand, it's nothing to fuck with either. I am only 32 but sometimes my brain feels ancient. I guess that's why I am so intractable. It wasn't all bad, I'd be lying if I said that. It wasn't always good, and that taught me to survive. It was definitely something. So I had to step back as I was out with this young woman and accept that there was no way our conversations would connect unless I sort of 'dumbed-down' a notch and spoke to her on the level that she was on. While we all share many of the same thoughts, hopes and even dreams, the way we process them is quite different based on sheer experience. If nothing else, the experience of these budding women I call children cannot touch mine or the folks that came up with me. They talk about not fitting in with others of a mold so they made their own clique. Imagine not fitting in with life period. For me, I've never fit in anywhere except Crazyville. Hence being a Chameleon. And I am not the only one. Not by a longshot. It was even stranger to realize that had we actually have been the same age, I would have still been older than her. Her summer of 22 was nothing like mine. All I can say is yeah Ed, shit ain't the same for gangstas, lol (I hate that acronym but I'm actually chuckling out loud).
Dancing Queen
There's a reason why I tend to dance by myself when I go out... it's because most motherfuckers can't dance. At all. Nope. They surely can't. Also, I tend to like to dance rather closely as I like the feeling of two bodies connecting. It's very sensual, sexy and just damn well fun. I also tend to dance in a very psuedo-burlesque manner. Since I do like to dance close and sexy and men tend to get hard if a cool breeze blows, I often dance alone. I don't want every Peter, Paul, Ringo and John rubbing their ding dong on my fleshy parts.
Either way, grinding on someone who can't even do that properly irritates me like .99 cent store deoderant. I danced with this kid I know (who will probably be offend by this but oh well) last weekend who wanted the contact and I since I was feeling generous, I said why the hell not? However when my waist went left, his waist went to Taiwan. I thought for a second that we were dancing to two different songs. Um, hi dude, my body is over here. Thanks. It's really frustrating and it's not like it was house music. It was reggae. I'm pretty dang good at dancing to reggae. As a matter of fact, if you're a man in good possession of your senses, you can just stand there and sway, I'll take care of the rest. I really miss dancing with people who can at least grasp the concept of the two step if they know they can't get fancy.
I might come back but for now I'm gonna go eat something.
No comments:
Post a Comment