Catching Up Is Fun To Do...

Once again it's time to discuss my favorite topic: Me...

Theme song: Go With The Flow - Queens of the Stone Age

Let's see, where to begin?

As we all know, and if we don't lemme just tell ya, a few weeks ago I committed the heinous act of drunk dialing and had my ass handed to me on a plate. Seriously. The" fuck you" I was presented with was gargantuan. Dude did his thing! Generally I am really unapologetic about things like that because I'm human, I'm not the only one and well, shit happens. I've often said sorry to people after debacles only because I managed to make an idiot of myself in some spectacular fashion or another and was trying to save face. Man listen, the last time I did it though, I was in rare form. I even out-did myself. However, in the ensuing days I've come to be happy it happened because things started falling into place. I don't mean things in the mundane sense of events and people, but in the more quasi-mystical sense of me falling into place. My persona is finally coming into accord with my mind and let me just tell you how beautiful that is.

I have been resoundingly smashed a nominal amount of times since then (the Miss Adventures of Hot Shame and Damn Mess soon to follow) and amazingly enough, even in an alcohol induced stupor, had absolutely no desire for company, to talk to or feel anything other than the sweet, sweet surcease of my own bed. Wow. Finally I can say thanks Saturn, now be the fuck about your business...

I've spent days upon days alone. That, in and of itself is not surprising as I spend most of my time on my own, but generally I am filled with a frantic need. A need to have something or another going on so I head out on a search for adventure in whatever form it may present itself, often to my own detriment. Lately the desire to go/do/see has arisen to a far lesser degree and has been easily fed with other things. I have NEVER been like that before. I am one who didn't give a tuppence for time, and would head out in the wee hours to see what kind of trouble I could get into. Now I head my ass into a book. Or a jog. Or a written tale of my own devising. Or fuck it, a Corona on the back patio with shared silence. It's pretty fucking dope y'all... try it. Revamp, renew and reorganize yourself. The results are amazing. I ain't playing with...:

Dudes.
Y'all motherfuckers amaze me. With the creeping of winter into our bones heralded by the bite of fall, cats have been falling up out the woodwork, crawling from up under rocks, emerging from their hidey-holes and calling me. Not one, not two, not even three, but a whole passel of cats that are either from the past or want to be a part of my future. Verily I say unto thee, "Not this time motherfuckers." Like dude who harrassed my homegirl for an introduction and my number. I gave the ok, she gave him the number and he took 3 days to call. I answer and he says something to the effect of "lets get up tonight." Um. No. Why? As Damn Mess would say, "that's the best you could come up with after 3 days?" She's right. You go hard on getting my digits and not only do you take too long to call, but you don't even have a game plan. Um, all kinds of kiss my entire ass. Then I get lambasted for giving him the old heave-ho. Fuck that shit. I am not an afterthought and if I am, then dude needs to go think about something else. Or what about my baby love who didn't consider the boon that I bestowed upon him. Not counting himself as lucky that I still even utter two words in his general direction, he wanted back in because the onslaught of my legs wrapped around his waist once upon a late night must have addled his brains. Um. No. No more rope for hanging. The line dangling from the gallows is rather short. You fucked up kid and there's no return tickets from the land of the lost. Not anymore. I'm down to forgive, I never will forget and I definitely will forgo. Too often have I allowed myself to revisit situations that are patently bad in the name of "he didn't mean to (insert whatever here)", which was wholely indicative of low self-esteem on my part. Fuck that shit in it's entirety. Anyone who can assess me and find me disposeable is sincerely not worth a farthing. Or how about the ex who "just misses" me? A few years too late. You're kidding me right? And as I bespoke those words he wondered aloud "yo, why are you buggin right now? Why are you acting like you all that?" Terse answer: because I am. I am all that all by my damned self. Able to leap small minds in a single thought. What use do I have for you? Begone!

Friends.
Oh man, like I said before, people's egos are wearing me thin. I had a homegirl ask me for a favor the other day which in and of it's self is not a bad thing, well at least were it not for the fact that I had to inconvenience myself to do said favor. That led to a whole plethora of problems and internal debate. I have intense guilt issues. So many people have done for me that I feel the need to help where I can even if it causes me major discomfort. Also I have this thing about being a paragon of bad manners and a veritable dervish whirling in the land of Fuck Up, which leaves me with the desire to be good to others and bend over backwards as a form of penance for every mean, spiteful and downright wrong thing I've ever done. So I stepped out of my zone and ended up hating myself for it. Anger suffused my body in such a way that it emanated from my skin in palpable waves. I thought I was mad at the asker but I was in truth angry at myself for giving control of my actions to someone else because of perceived flaws within my being. Flaws my ass. We are all the best we can be at each moment of our lives doing the best we can with the tools we have and as such are perfect in each second as we grow. So I forgave myself for letting a motherfucker pull me up out my zone. By the way, when you ask for help, you don't inconvenience someone else as if you are doing them a favor. That shit is fucking ungrateful and RUDE. After working through these issues as fast as my quick mind would let me, I decided summarily that I just needed to not fuck with this person for a bit. They're not bad people but they don't bring out anything good in me at the moment, so why should I detract from all the hard work I am doing righting the fallen end-tables in my mind for them and their issues? Very honestly I said to this person that "right now I'm in a different space and I can't fuck with you. Nothing personal, I just can't. It's not you, it's me and this is how I need to be." To whit they responded that I was being mean. Mean? Mean is me telling you to go fuck yourself on a high mountain. Imagine someone telling you that doing what is best for your own sanity is mean. Say it with me now people: Fucking selfish. Um. No. I live in my cluttered head, not you and as of right now I am not allowing anything to cloud the clarity. Joy in repitition: Begone! Which led to another person lecturing me (damn people ain't feeling the Kid these days) about how I come off. "Yo Mala man, you gotta understand that your face says it all. When you come through with the ice grill people feel it and it fucks them up. You gotta learn to control that shit because you make people feel bad." Dude, you can't be fucking serious. I don't MAKE anyone feel shit. We're all grown. People feel what they feel. If I were to hold myself responsible for the feelings of the world at large then surely my head would cave in from the sheer weight of the responsibility. Take a fucking pill would you? I can only be responsible for my feelings. If I have an ice grill and I tell you it's nothing personal, I'm on some me shit, do yourself a favor and don't fucking take it personally. The wonder of life is the bounty of options we have and anyone can most surely choose not to deal with me when I am not exhibiting an emotion pleasing to the palate. Get thee behind me, thou drainers of energy. Or what about the friend who, in the midst of discussing something so simple as me getting a haircut exhorted "you need to not be stunning for a while. You need to be regular. You know, not be noticed." Forsooth! I nearly shat myself laughing while ruminating on that one. Tell me, just how does that work? In all of my formative years even until this moment, I have never not been noticed. I don't even understand the concept even as I don't truly understand why I am looked upon (albeit sometimes laciviously and that's just tiring). It's just a fact. Not crowing about my attributes in any sense. It's just a fucking fact. Even when it is not brought to my attention, I get attention. Period. Full stop. How I dress is an extension of my thoughts. I wear what I feel because it makes me feel good. I am no fashionista seeking to gain acclaim and set trends. I like to wear pretty things. It's as simple as that. As for my hair, long have I changed it. From those that remember me with that blazingly awful, sprayed to kingdom come flattop, to the different colors that have peacocked my dome, I have been forever flighty with my tresses. Now it is the lack thereof. And the bald head is the move. Not for how it looks but for the sense of freedom it affords me. The pleasure of stroking my skull and feeling my mind tingle in response. The joy of rolling out of bed and hurtling headlong into my day. The satisfaction of veiwing myself unfettered by the agonies of my bangs not falling just so. This is a freedom I will not easily surrender, especially not so I can "not be stunning." Ut si! Toot toot goes my horn because the only way I would not be stunning would be if I were swathed in batting from head to toe like some modern day mummy and even then I would probably still cut a fine figure. Sheesh.

Relationships.
Oh my sisters, STAND UP. How many translations can I give you for what cavorts from the mouths and minds of men? If we spent more time caring about ourselves and less time worrying about them we would find this road easier to walk. Fix you first and you will find, as I discover daily, that everything else will fall into place, slowly but surely.. Gone will be the nights of wondering why he didn't call (he didn't want to honey), or if he's thinking about you (he's probably not), does he want to see you (well if he didn't bother to call, there's your answer) and does he want you (do you really need me to translate this one?). It's not easy. I have found my thoughts slipping back into never-ever land, wondering why am I so spectacularly single. I mean, honestly, I'm rather dashing, easy on the eyes, possess a plump posterior, have a hellraising stride and an indomitable brain. My sense of humor, while villainous at times, is ragingly wicked, my range of knowledge is vast and ever expanding, my grasp of vocabulary and nuances can be frightening and I'm more fun than a dozen drunk crabs in a bucket. Sure I can be daft, prone to actions that are more devilish than not, and I may have a penchant for violence but still, all around it's a hell of a ride. Oh yeah TOOT TOOT, I'm sexy too. Why oh saints why am I single? Quite simply because I am supposed to be. I have way too much shit to work on with me to even honestly begin working on being with someone else. My sense of self until now has to the outside world been strong and relentless, while within been a simpering waif, lost and directionless. With so much lack of love of self it would be nigh impossible for anyone to love me. Until now. In my own mental Utopia I am finding that in the midst of falling into an intense love affair with Mala, the need for others to love Mala dwindles and fades, winking out in the twilight like a dying star. It will come when it comes, when it's supposed to come and finally in that time I will be able to accept it. The greatest sum is the knowledge that within loving myself, the desperate need for companionship pales in comparison to the companionship that I provide myself each time I engage in the act of being my own best friend. Believe me, it is by far not easy, but plummeting into despair because of rejection from some man or other that I sought out for company was no easier and this is definitely more fun.

I am so caught up right now, revelling in the distinct pleasure of being uniquely me. Sure I am bragging and crowing about it right now, but this is my fucking blog and I say what I want. But for the most part I have been silently going about the business of healing the wounds that I have inflicted upon myself over the years by my blatant lack of respect for my being. The universe created us all to be uniquely who we are. Not to live up to the measure of anyone else's standards. We were meant to be the addition to the lives of others, not the completion. In seeking to have a man make us whole, we will forever be unfulfilled and lacking. STAND UP. Complete yourselves. I asked a sistergirl what she enjoys doing. She named for me no less than 20, if not more activities. I then asked how many of those things she regularly engaged in and she could give me no more than two. When I asked why she denied herself the pleasure, she said it was because she was lonely. Huh? You don't paint because you're lonely? You're not fucking serious. You mean to tell me that you would trade the joy you get putting brush to canvas for a mere man? Nuh-uh! You joking, right? So I told her (like I have all of the answers, ha! But the ones I have I'm gonna share), next time you feel lonely pick up a fucking brush. She called me 3 days later, still lonely but no longer despondant about it, positively gushing about a painting I just "had to see" that she created while waiting for him to call. And get this, when he did call, she was busy doing her so he was put on the back burner. Spoke to her yesterday, lo and behold, that unintentional dose of act right has him doing just that. In a scant few days she has tempered her need for companionship with a healthy dose of doing her and other shit fell into place. QUAKE IN FEAR BITCHES!!! The message is being heard. So I struggle on, with a few kick-ass friends, primarily alone but ok and dealing with it because I got shit to do. I mean, all them damn books ain't gonna read themselves. Them thar stories that I tap out during the witching hours will not manifest without my keystrokes. The best part of this particular trip into Mala land is trusting something that Damn Mess said "the journey is the destination" or something to that effect. I thought I would be fixed with my first dawning realization and boy was I wrong. I have since accepted that this is the way. The daily war to be waged. A fight I can actually win each time because the only way to win it is to be me, love me and devil take the hindmost. Even accepting that there will be hard days ( awful but true) has it's own rewards. It ain't always gonna be sunshine and rainbows but hey, have you ever seen my bare legs on a rainy day? Delightful! Onwards, bitches and thank God for that drunk dial. I've tried to see the forest for the trees before and it's never been so clear.

And on to my Miss Adventures

I have long since forgottenwhere I left off, and I haven't been out much lately so I'll just start with the latest foray into nighlife. The Coup D'etat party at Lotus.

Hi, my name is Hot Shame and I will soon introduce you to my partner in grime, Damn Mess.

The outfit for the night was a pair of scandalously tight pants with a drop front hoody held in place by extra-strength topstick and faith. Of course plenty of costume jewelry was involved as is my wont and on a whole it was a pretty good look, considering my lack of ta-tas. I went to meet DM at Vig bar to start off our night. That was a trip. I foolishly attempted to take the A train to a spot closer to Bowery than it was to 6th Ave and ended up in a cab going crosstown and the crossing was thwarted by a streetfair forcing me to put stilettos to concrete and promptly get lost. Well not so much lost as standing on the wrong side of the street searching in vain for a bar that was cattycorner to where I stood. Thank God for cell phones or I would have stood there all damned night. One drink down and a few jokes were exchanged with Ron, bartender extrodinaire once king of the now defunct Rivertown Lounge. Then it was off to Joe's Pub to be blessed by the sounds of Imani Uzuri. She is positively inspiring. We gathered in the front and shouted at the soundguy (fucking sound guys, sheesh) to turn down the bass and turn up her mic. If you haven't seen Imani yet, get up off your ever-flattening ass and hop to it. The woman is incredible. After enjoying the awesome Imani, DM and yours truly chilled out in the back for a bit, gushing like a faucet about the great show, before heading over to Lotus where I did not deign to sit down once. I danced my little behind off, more's the pity. Losing my gluteous was well worth the trouble. Dj Soul was phenomenal and hearing 93 til Infinity was just what the doctor ordered. Daoud and crew held down the dance circle something fierce and I can't wait for them to throw another shindig. I will be there with bells on. I chilled with Kelsey for a hot second and danced with DM til I thought my body would give out from simple exhaustion. Now, if you've never seen me dance, that night would have been the night. I was in the ZONE. Judging by the faces of the onlookers, it must have been a hell of a zone at that. Too bad no one was up to the challenge. Cowards. Either way, DM and I had a great time being a force unto ourselves, ignoring everyone else in the room. They practically had to throw us out of the spot which led to further Miss Adventures as we attempted to attend a non-existant afterparty. Bouncer's edict? Not tonight people. So taxi it was, with Hot Shame and Damn Mess sandwiched between Neil and some french guy on our way to Harlem to get up with Daryll or Dwayne or whatever the hell his name was, to chill in the crib, talk shit and continue the night/morning's festivities. We got there first and hilarity ensued. You see, D forgot to mention that he was new to his abode and his roommate did not take kindly to late night vistors. Not to mention it was a good 8 of us, 2 of which had slunk off to the store for provisions. We crept into D's house, looking for all the world like truant children cutting class only to awaken the aforementioned roommate who did not gad about when it came to asking us to leave. Whoops. Exit, door right, sans time check. We giggled like recalcitrant children as we walked up Manhattan Avenue in search of yet another vehicle made for transporting the drunk and disorderly. Enter Washington Heights and the ever-open Malecon for eats. So we discussed the the previous fiasco over eggs, bacon, coffee and a full meal of pollo accompanied by rice and beans. Then Neil got a call from D asking where we had got to in so short an amount of time. Neil told him and D came, on a hunt for more adventure than one should be able to shake a baby at with 2 heinekens in tow. Only 2? Damn you D. After very little eating and much hemming and hawing, DM and I decided to break south to my crib because the sun was coming up and this was just too much. As we sauntered down the block a cab pulled up holding Neil et al and we struggled with a decision. Here's something I learned, when you make up your mind to go home,GO, don't get in the damn car. Alas, we graced the leather seats with our bottoms and so ended up at my crib. Unfortunately for them, mi abuelito was stirring and there was no way in hot hell I was letting all of these people in my pad. Um. No. And er. Fuck that shit in it's entirety. We stepped outside to wait for mi familia to blow the spot and stood in front of Gristede's, yet another cup of coffee in hand, replendent in chancletas before I made the executive decision. I, for all intents and purposes, had had enough. When asked "well what are we supposed to do?" answered,"I don't know, that shit sounds real personal. I'm going home..." and proceeded to do so with Damn Mess close on my heels. Hot Shame that I am, I didn't even bother to look back. It was 7:20 in the morning, they were grown. I'm sure they worked it out. You ever stay up so damn long that even though you are tired you can't sleep? Ah to be Hot Shame and Damn Mess that morning. We giggled about our traipsing well into the afternoon before falling asleep, bellies full of pasta from Metro.

The rest of the week was quite basic. It involved much yoga of the Vinyasa variety, food and intermittent voyages into self-discovery for yours truly. I also met the gentleman from the next building that plays a mean concerto. He actually owns a finely tuned Steinway. Booyah! His house is nothing short of a music shop and he let me bang the drum rapidly trying to ape the cadence of Go With The Flow (hence the theme song and yeah, I can't play drums for shit...). He attempted futilely to fix my amp so I could go back making horrid sounds with Abbadon (my guitar) but his efforts were in vain. I need a new amp. Fuck. And sheesh.

Continuing, I had talked about signing up for another writing class because while the story and words are assuredly well situated in my mind, my structure is lacking. I understand what I'm saying for the most part, now it's time to put things together in a way that others will as well. First class on Thursday. Wish me luck.

Not following any particular sequence, Saturday I took a quick jaunt to the local bodega for victuals and libations before returning to the house. I ravished 3 novels in less time than it took to blink, organized my cd, dvd, shoe and tank-top collection (ocd HOLLA), then hung out with Negro, sliding through the streets on Baby and for once riding a lot more then I fell. I need to have Baby regripped though, there's no traction on him and each rock in the road sends me skittering to a halt.

Last Friday we performed St. Juste Got Dropped yet again. That shit was a comedy of errors that I won't even go into for fear that it will once again give rise to ire of gigantic proportions. Suffice to say, somehow we pulled it off. However, the end of the night was not so hot. It involved a copious amount of bullshit amongst "peoples" which caused me to lose track of Ed (who is probably quite wroth with me at the moment). I had to give up on finding him and Kelsey at some point and head out to Williesburg for DM's open-air party. If it were not for Haz's humor, DM's company, the chick that was doing the damn thing in that full-length dress, Simone's smile, running into Ramsey and Cory and that juicy cheddar burger I would have been angry 'cause dammit it was COLD. I was freezing my tootsies off. I swear, my nipples were about to abdicate my chest in search of warmer climes. DM and I spent the larger portion of the night sitting in the attached diner in an attempt to stay warm. Traffic was a mess so the night began thin but it filled up eventually. 5 of the most amazing female Djs spun that shit that makes your heart leap. Shout out to Djs Reborn and Mony in particular who held it down until everyone else made it over the river and through the hood. I wish I could have danced that night but stilettos on concrete is not conducive to cutting a rug. Instead I chilled and simply enjoyed, something which is not usually my habit, I'm generally up and about, but was fun none-the-less. Going home that morn was a chore since the Transit Authority saw fit to stop the L train (L train, yeah I said it.) completely and the chick in the booth said something akin to "fuck you, walk home...". Well actually she told me there was a shuttle bus down the street but in my brain it still translated as fuck you, walk home. TAXI! Yelled the Mala. Hot Shame. That's what it was. A Hot Shame, without the Damn Mess.

Ok well, the words are winding down now. I have no daytime gig this week which is fine by me since I'll probably be returning to being a lemming sometime next week. We'll be performing St. Juste Got Dropped again this Friday, details to follow. I think I actually want people to come to this show, well at least those who have yet to see it, so I will be posting the flyer and emailing the details. If you aren't already on the mailing list, get your fingers in gear and rectify that oversight. There's not much going on on the show and party front except for my Babies gracing Crash Mansion tomorrow night with their new line-up and incredible sound. Pillow Theory, the second coming, live @ Crash Mansion. 11 pm. Get with the program bitches!!! After that I'll be heading over to R&R for Forrest's Whitney & Bobby Tribute. Any tribute to singing addicts has got to be well worth a looksee. Other than that it'll be a simple time. My birthday is on Sunday (QUAKE BITCHES!!! In fear and alla dat). I have no idea what I am doing, having made no other plans than to just be. Methinks I shalt just wander where the moment takes me and throw caution heartily to the wind. I have 2 tango classes to attend and that should be a riot. I'll be volunteering time at the New York Open Center in exchange for more free classes to be chosen at whim. I've got some stories to finish, an ongoing, never ending, kick-ass task. I've got a fitted white sweatshirt to wear sans undergarments. I've got a check to collect and a pair of shoes to slaver over. I've got shit to do, so I'm out...

- gone, but never far away

P.S. On my wall, emblazoned on a notecard in glaring kelly green lettering, is the saying "I already have one asshole, I don't need another." I mean that shit. I intend to live by it. You know who you are. Begone!

P.P.S. Yo 7 "SQUALLAAAAAAAAAAY"

Post motherfucking script Dude, we're all laughing at you...
right
about
NOW!
Yup, we most certainly are...

Feles Mala - oderint dum metuant (don't sweat the technique - bitches!!!)