Murderrrrrr or just Purrrrrrrrrrr?

FREE to be you & Me (Ha!)

Sang that shit, Deniece.

Its not just Lean....its Cuisiiiine (AND ITS ON FUCKING SALE!!!!)

I think I have a problem. There are between thirty-one and thirty-four of these in my freezer right now (I can't see way in the back to get the right count), and I swear I would buy more if I had the room to fit em in there. I mean, seriously: these little dietetic fuckers are on SALE at Ralphs for $1.78....and the price drops to $1.49 if you buy at least FOUR of them. CAN YOU IMAGINE???!!!! The damn things are like $3.79 to $4.29 off sale! I have been grocery shopping twice this week to take advantage of this sale. (And at TWO different Ralphs' to make sure I got the good kind that sell out fastest). All I can say is, I'ma be drinking a TON of water & blue Powerade to make up for all the sodium in these, and also: I BETTER LOSE SOME DAMN WEIGHT as a side effect. Not that I buy Lean Cuisine cause I think it like, works. Oh noooo. I like the way processed 5-minutes-in-the-microwave-on-High-food tastes. Srsly. I could live off of their ravioli marinara & ginger garlic stir fry "spa cuisine" (LMAO) for a month and not get sick of it. Considering there's like 6 of those ravioli's and 5 of the ginger thingies in that freezer...i might have to. YAAAY Lean Cuisine Sale! (I will update this post if the fiend in me manages to get back to the store by the 17th when the sale ends. Muahahaha.

Money (That's What They Want)

Creditors calling me have become the biggest futile joke. What part of "I cannot pay you as I have NO INCOME" do you not understand? *laugh* There's this one company to whom I owe about $195. They somehow found my contact info a week ago & after the first call, during which I politely and in detail described my 2 year unemployment & lack of funds, the dude said "OK, well, I totally get it. You'll pay us when you can. But see, they make us call you, so I'll note the account & I'll just have somebody call you in, like, a week. On the 14th. Okay?"

Me: "Okay. That's fine. Won't a damn thing have changed by then, but I can respect that you have to call. I'll keep you posted & as soon as I can pay it down, I will."


Them: they have called me between 2 & 4 times a day every day since that first call. I just don't answer the phone! I gave 'em their own specific ringtone so they're easier to avoid & it works like a charm. Funny thing is, though, I missed a second call from them today & decided to call them back. Again, I told the kind, slightly Down-syndromy lady on the phone that yes, I'm aware of my debt, but No, I am not at liberty to pay it off right now, because, you know, that whole NO INCOME thing, and she said, "well, how are you paying your bills?"

Me: "I'm not. I owe my landlord, the DWP. AT&T, and several other lovely creditors just like yourself."

Them: "What about your rent?"

Me: "I barely keep THAT paid. I currently owe my landlord $___."

Them: "Is that how much your rent is?"

Me: "No, that's not my rent amount, but that's inconsequential. Fact is, I can't pay you now, and when I CAN pay you, I'll be the first to call you & get the balance down, because $195 isn't a huge sum of money under ordinary circumstances. But under MY current circumstances? I can't pay you yet. And that's just how it is."

Them: "Well...I'll notate the account..."

Me: "Great. Thanks for listening! I hope you recorded the call! I'm sure ya'll will keep on calling me, so, have a nice day & I'll be speaking with you."

Them: *grumble grumble* *CLICK!*

Me: *falls out laughing*

***

Its not even annoying to me anymore. You gotta find the funny in it all. *grin*

Recent life (in pictures)

With my best friend...with fur. Mama loves her furry baby.

Swine flu doesn't exist!!! (Until you catch it.) (And are sick for 4 1/2 WEEKS. In & out of hospital settings. And MISERABLE. Fuck YOU, H1N1.)

PINK TREE! With GLITTERY DEER(s)! Yes, I actually did this on purpose. And have yet to take it down.....LMAO. Festiveness lasts into Spring!

"I couldn't help but wonder......" (If I had a nickel for every time SJP said that on SATC...I would pelt the writers with nickels.) (And yes, I had a Cosmopolitan while marathon-ing SATC. Lame? Shyeah.)

Does it still count if they can't spell 'beautiful'? (Or 'you're'?)

The Teaches of Peaches at the Wiltern in November 09. Weirdest yet most entertaining shit I ever saw live. I went with...

...the lovely Karlina Covington. A great friend to me throughout much of the storm that was 2009.

Drinking with toddlers! YAY! (No, I swear hers was Martinelli's.) Mine, though...was NOT. Thanksgiving with Rihanna (Ramirez) at D&J's lair.

One's having a baby & one IS a baby! YAY! Miss 4 mo. prego Vanessa holding lil' Blanket the yorkie outside of Scoops Heliotrope. (yes, srsly.) (She's also mom of that drankin' toddler above)

As the clock struck midnight, I rang in NYE 2010 with champagne & none other than ERYKAH BADU at the Sunset House of Blues. Good Times. Finally!

My own absolute truths.

How long was your longest romantic relationship? And why did it end?

I don't have romantic relationships anymore. The couple I have been involved in have been strange, as I never became very attached to the person romantically beyond a certain point.
I was engaged once, to a record producer. 2004. He had a drug habit. It didn't work. I'm glad it didn't.

I was in a relationship with a close friend of mine off & on for several years. Say April 2002 until....February of this year. Off & on with long breaks in between. This summer, I finally had 'the conversation' with him & i got him out of my life for good. It was so very necessary...& overdue.

I also had a 2 year situation once where a friend of mine became romantically interested in me in ways I could not reciprocate. Unfortunately, I don't think that person considers me their friend any longer.
3 weeks ago

Today, I see this:

Then, a couple of weeks ago, I read something she wrote (possibly months ago) saying pretty much the same thing. A friend developed feelings for poor, blameless her and it ended badly.

^^See that there? You still hate me, like I suspected you did. And what I wish more than anything is that after TWO YEARS you could stop HATING me so much and remember what I TOLD YOU: I loved you VERY much, I was VERY happy to have you as a FRIEND, but I never, ever, EVER should have let the other feelings into it because I COULD NOT BE FOR YOU who you needed me to. Period! PERIOD. You know, and HAVE known, all the things and all the ways in which I’ve had a messed up life. For you NOT to understand how I could fall for someone who was kind, loving, and a good friend TO me after all the fucked up familial and otherwise “Love” relationships I’d been in, baffles me. It was so easy to fall for you because you were MY BEST FRIEND! Egah! That shouldn’t be so hard for you to fathom. But I got in too FAR. My heart went places for you my HEAD was not ever gonna go, basically because as much as I might have wanted to be, I wouldn’t have been able to FEEL those things for a FEMALE when push came to shove and said female was in front of me.

I wanted you to move here because you were my best friend. Because both of us were in shitty living situations, you in the south with your parents, and me friendless in California with very few bright spots in my life save a celebrity couple who I got tangled up with in ways I never should have, but who I’m STILL grateful for because they are to this day, keeping me alive. They pay for my medical care. Without which, I’d be six feet under in the plot I purchased by now.

I still read your blogs. Know why? Because I miss being your friend.

I actually got happy last year when you seemed to have softened to the point where I didn’t get those vibes that you completely hated me any longer, and would respond to me online at the board we frequent, as well as by email from time to time. I knew we’d never be friends-ONLY friends-again, but I was OK with that because I thought, well, at least she doesn’t HATE me with a passion any longer.

Sad thing is, it was all….surface toleration. You read ONE thing you assumed was a slight to you and our former friend-slash-relation ship and you RAGE into the internet ether about me…and post that PICTURE, a picture of something I willingly engaged in when my mind was in a blender, when my judgment & morals were completely absent, when I was allowing things to happen that could have destroyed a friendship AND a marriage, a picture of something I never hoped to be reminded of again in my life! And WHY? What satisfaction does that bring you? I’ve FINALLY pulled myself out of that place, and am willingly allowing myself to be broke, sick, and appreciative of the life I have left as I wait for shoes to drop and my situation to get better, as I search for employment, live out of the hospital half of the time & hope that I can one day put all that behind me & be happy…I come there, to read what you have to say because I still love you for having been my friend, think of you as the witty person you are, and miss knowing you…and I see that.

My heart almost stopped in my chest. And I hadn’t even read the accompanying at that point. I wish you didn’t still hold SO MUCH hatred for me. I never held a shred of it for you.

Don’t you REMEMBER how I told you (I think it was January of 2008, the last time we spoke over the phone-yes, even with my faulty memory I REMEMBER THAT)-don’t you remember what I told you I was DOING besides that particular^ guy back in the late summer of 2007? What I told you I had RESUMED doing to support myself after I heard I would be laid off & I was so scared that I’d be plunged back into an oblivion of brokeassness & close to homelessness? Don’t you remember that I called you and told you how SORRY I was about all that had happened, and asked you to TRY not to hate me because I was at that time, SEVERELY messed up in all the ways relationships include?

I took blame, “Sara”. I took blame and I apologized, and I felt bad about it for a LONG time, but I don’t feel BAD about it anymore. Because I had to forgive myself for things that I allowed to happen when I didn’t KNOW any better. I didn’t KNOW that I would become SO attached to my friend that I would latch onto the first signs of love I got from another person and take them into an area they NEVER SHOULD HAVE GONE. As someone who had a very unhealthy relationship with sex- from prostitution to survive, to having been raped as a teen had a child as a result of, and then having that child I gave away die a year ago, from having a close friend who was also the victim of childhood sexual abuse initiate sex between myself and her own partner in some kind of misguided love triangle way…how could you not TRY to forgive me for having a messed up relationship with you…and telling you, PLAINLY, that I was sorry and I COULDN’T be for you what you wanted me to be? I realized that at a certain point, and I TOLD you! I didn’t want it to dissolve our friendship, but I understood why it did when it did. I’m sorry. But I don’t take ALL that blame. I just don’t. I take some of it, but NOT all of it because just as sure as I should have known not to go where I wasn't sure I could go, you, as someone who knew a helluva lot of my previous sexual/romantic history by the time our friendship turned 'other', should have known that where we were heading was not a place I could handle. You yourself told me that you tried to initiate 'something' when you visited me in July 2006. I had no idea! At that point, I wasn't even okay with letting you HUG me (and I had no idea I involuntarily shrugged you off until you told me later on)- so as someone who was so fucked up physically that I couldn't HUG a person, you take NO blame, none at ALL, for helping take our friendship to a place it needn't have gone? When you were aware?

See, these are things that HAPPEN; of COURSE you don't expect to take BLAME, because it wasn't like any of the shit with us was well thought out--it wasn't thought out at ALL. It just happened. And it was all unfortunate. You learn in your twenties; you make mistakes that hopefully you won’t repeat into your damn thirties. And you were not a mistake, but letting things lead to where they led--? That was a MISTAKE and if we BOTH had never let it go there, well, then, girl, I suspect, that you and I wouldn’t be on opposite sides of this divide. I don’t know if we’d be as close as we were in 2006, but I damn sure don’t think you’d want to stab me in the eye with anything. At least, I hope that.

So. Do you know why I said this? :

I don't have romantic relationships anymore.

Because I have completely closed off that side of me until I work through the issues that have led me to be who I am. I can’t, or rather, don’t need to BE in ANY kind of romantic relationship until I’m in a better place emotionally, health-wise, and financially. I’m no use to ANYbody in this state, and frankly, I don’t need to be having SEX with, or possibly NOT EMOTIONALLY connecting TO, anyone else. Not at this point in my life.

What about this?

The couple I have been involved in have been strange, as I never became very attached to the person romantically beyond a certain point.

Sexually. Sexually is what I should have said, but I equate sex & romance separate because the two have always come separate. Sex has never had the opportunity to mean more to me than the act itself. It never HAD a romantic side. It was never more than either a transaction, an attack, or a tension release. The feelings I felt for you-the in love feelings-weren’t rooted in SEX, they were rooted in you being my FRIEND. A friend who I talked to in the hospital when I had just been chopped open from head to toe-a friend who was there for me in recovery when my own family wasn’t. Sex didn’t need to come into it. Never should have come into it.

And this? What I assume triggered your hatred re-up?

I also had a 2 year situation once where a friend of mine became romantically interested in me in ways I could not reciprocate. Unfortunately, I don't think that person considers me their friend any longer.
3 weeks ago

I told you then, in a letter you transcribed in an old blog entry RIGHT THERE, that I COULDN’T BE FOR YOU WHAT YOU WANTED ME TO BE. Thank god you transcribed it, because , hey: easy ACCESS for posterity:

I love you, i do, but i don't think I'm healthy for you. I don't know how much of what i need to give you i CAN give you, and that includes honesty. There's one big thing I’m dealing with that I’m still not being completely truthful with you about, mainly because its of my own doing and stupidity and its one of those i-made-this-bed-i-gotta-lie-in-it situations. Its not something you even need to hear, but still, i lied to you about it and I’m not ready to rectify that lie. And that's not fair to you, even if it would be trivial to you. Its not fair to you that i still don't want to tell you. And you being my best friend, i should be able to, but i can't.

So i think you need to run. I don't really want you too, but I’m going to try and be the best friend i can by telling you to get the fuck away from me, dissolve any feelings you have/had for me and consider yourself lucky as hell that i didn't infect you for longer. I'm broken and damaged and callous and bitter and lost and sad and a lot of things you don't need in your life. I'm grateful to you for being here for me. I have SO needed you around for as long as you have been. I still do. But it isn't fair for me to keep being so selfish with you when i can't give you anything back. And i know that. I wish i could change it, and i mean everything i said about my feelings for you. But you don't need that kind of love. I don't know how to love yet. It always turns to shit. And truthfully, you'll find somebody better.

As sure as I said that then, I said it again, above, answering that question. No mention of who you were. There was no need to post your picture, or spell it out. It was TRUE. I thought I could be, but I couldn’t. I COULDN’T. There were things you were actually ready for that I KNEW I COULD NOT HANDLE & I told you so and APOLOGIZED.

And the second sentence? See that “Unfortunately” part? That means I MISS HAVING YOU AS A FRIEND BECAUSE OF SOMETHING I COULDN’T BE. I have always missed that. I’m talking back in the day when a conversation between us involved no talk of sex or famous friends, but Grey’s Anatomy & pineapple upside down cake recipes and hideous t-shirts and scotch oatmeal cookie care packages & Atlanta.

I missed all that.

Still wish you didn’t HATE me for being honest. I can’t say I’m Sorry any louder, or for longer than I already have.

One thing you might have missed when you read what triggered you recently was my answers to a few other questions.

What was a choice that you didn't want to make but you had to?

The way I used to earn money to survive. I felt I had no choice, as my family was not willing to help me NOT make that choice, even though I begged them to.

What is your greatest strength?

The ability to withstand having horrible things happen to me over & over without giving in to my frequent urges to commit suicide.

Honesty is OK here, right?

If you can change one thing in your life, what would you change?

A bad choice I made for the 1st time in 2004, then again in 2005, 2007, 2008, & the early part of 2009. Same bad decision each year. It has honestly helped ruin my life up until now & I regret it every day.

Single, Married, Kids, Hooking up?

Currently none of the above. I've been celibate by necessity since May of 2009. That 'hooking up' shit got old.

Who would you turn gay for?

I don't know that I could. I can't think of a scenario where I'd willingly enter into a sexual relationship with a woman, because, frankly, I don't enjoy being eaten out, and I damn sure ain't about to do it myself. But if 'turning gay' meant that I would be in a loving relationship with a female, with no expectation of sex? I'm sure I could swing that.

***

All of its true. And one last time, I’m gonna say I hope you can one day get to a place where you don’t HATE me. Nothing I did was so horrible that all these years later you’d wish me ill will because of it. I had hoped that one day, because we started off as genuine friends, that you would wish the best for me. Because I genuinely wish the best for you. But hey: you can’t always get what you want. And wishes don’t always come true, eh? I KNOW you didn't want a response, but I honestly HAD to leave one. Because I'm hurt that you still hate me. I really am. So that makes us even.

I should be having FUN, right?!

So. Its New Year's Eve 2010 and I've been mildly stressing for 3 days as to what I should be out 'doing' tonight to celebrate. I mean, I'm 27, and I have never, not one time, gone out and had FUN on NYE. Not that its a requirement or anything, but I kinda feel like I'm letting my life pass me by and I'm not enjoying anything about it. I'm so full off of all the stressful things that have happened to me this year, that I can't really think of any times I really had FUN (that didn't involve going into deeper debt to have said fun, that is.)

I'm an adult; 2009 sucked; I feel like because its a brand new year, shouldn't I at least try to go out & celebrate it a little? Should I always be left just sitting at home with Lucille? I haven't watched Dick Clark or the NYC Times Square ball drop in a few years now, but shit, shouldn't I get to go 'party' like a normal twenty-something, too?

I'm whining.
I know it.
I don't care.

I have to go do something tonight, or I'm going to regret it tomorrow.

Hmm.

I surrender all

There's so much life I've left to live, and this fire's burning still
What would happen if THEY ever knew...
All that I've been through?
Cause I'd surrender everything
To feel the chance to LIVE again
I SURRENDER.

****

I sometimes wonder who and what I'd be at the age of twenty-seven had I not done what I've done in my life. Had I not made the choices I made...and some I didn't choose, but still lived the effects of.

I wonder If I'd find it easier to trust, or love anyone.

I don't hug. I don't like to be touched.

I wonder, would that be different?

Had my life been different.

In Loving Memory Of... (on World AIDS Day)

I'm the first child from left (row 3). Mr. SABRAW is on the far right.

As a child, I was madly in love w/my 1st grade teacher. He visited me in Children's Hospital when I had Osteomyelitis & I was teacher's pet. He let me name the class pets, A dog I named Emma after my great grandma, & a quail hatched from an egg. I chose DAN after the VP @ the time. He taught me how to speak some french, as he was originally from France & thought 1st graders weren't 2 young 2 learn things like languages. He gave me a pet duck...which he brought to my house, where we watched it quickly poo all over my yard. My grandma made him take it back. He let me bring my CAT to school for show & tell. One particular day, "Satin" chased Emma all over the classroom. Yes, the cat chased a DOG. I attended Carthay Center School just adjacent to Beverly Hills, from Kindergarten - 4th grade. My grandmother used to pick me up each day in her white Chrysler Cordoba. One afternoon she came to the classroom & said to my teacher, "You look like you need a transfusion. U OK?"

He didn't tell anyone, but he wasn't OK. The LA Unified School District was already trying to fire him because he was gay. A bunch of female teachers who loved him banded together & threatened to quit the faculty if the school board made him leave. They relented. He kept teaching. Late at the end of the school year, one day. my 1st Grade Teacher stopped coming to school. We had a substitute from then on. None of us knew why he was absent, & we gave his replacement hell because we missed him so much. Then the school year ended, and in the fall we started 2nd grade as a group. Our teacher was Mrs. Cynthia Lipson. A few weeks into the semester, the classroom (rotary) phone rang. Immediately after picking up Mrs. Lipson started crying. We all stared at her confused. She had just been told that our old teacher had died and that because we were his old class, she needed to break the news to all of us. All twenty of us. We spent the rest of the day bawling.

My teacher, Mr. Micah Sabraw, died of the AIDS virus in the fall of 1989. They immediately had him cremated, and sent back to France. It turns out, he had no living family there but the city didn't want an AIDS infected body to be buried in the cemetery he owned a plot in. Twenty yrs ago, I was first affected by HIV/AIDS when I was in the 2ndGrade. Someone I loved dearly, someone Gay, died of this awful disease. As today is #WorldAIDSDay, I hope that everyone that has lost anyone can reflect back on the things they loved about them. And 4 those of us still lucky enough to be alive: WE KNOW HOW to prevent the spread of HIV. PLEASE don't take your life so lightly, out of respect 4 the lost.

PurpleGal's girls, H-TOWN DOWN

Like a sorority, only BETTER.

More now than before

Its after 5AM and I can't sleep. My mind is racing, I can't seem to turn my thoughts OFF, most of them negative. i just realized lying in the bed just now, that I am more stressed, more nervous, and more depressed since having my record expunged two weeks ago. I'm more unstable, more worried, more freaked out since knowing for-sure that I'm going to Houston. And I don't know WHICH avenue to take about finding a job now, from now forward, because its all on me. i don't know where to start looking again-re looking, that is. And a part of me feels like I do know, but I'm just terrified to begin the process AGAIN, in this messed up state. I feel ugly these days; fatter, unkempt hair I can't afford to keep relaxed, I just don't feel 'at my best'. And now with my heart pounding and my thoughts swirling, I feel like: Will I ever be able to just Go To Sleep? A part of me understands why that famous guy I love who recently died, wanted so badly to sleep that he asked to be put under. A part of me is convinced all my problems right now are of my own doing.

I have HATED my twenties, and I can't WAIT to get out of them and be thirty. These have been some of the most miserable years I could ever imagine, and I am ready to be rid of them so I can try and block out every event that led to them sucking. Twenty-six has been awful, just awful and I'm so glad it'll soon be over; I'm just hoping that this crap doesn't carry over into the next year. The new year. I don't think I could handle it if it did. I really don't.

Right now I really wish I could sleep. I want so badly to let my mind rest and stop THINKING about my problems.

The 21st can't come fast enough.

Every sinner has a future, every Saint has a past.

My collection of magazines with a certain person on the cover were stolen. Right from in front of my apartment door. I live in a secured building, on the 3rd floor. No one knows where they went. My baby pictures were also in the magazine bin.

Someone called me pretending to offer me a job in customer service that pays $7000 a month plus 'bonuses' if I sexually gratify their 'guests'. This person knew my name, what I look like, and says they were referred to me by a 'friend' of mine.

Tomorrow, I'm going to a concert with my friend and her cousin & sister. Thursday I'm flying to Houston to go to a friend's wedding & meet up with the ladies I went to Atlanta with two years ago.

I'm also still jobless, income-less, and immediate-idealess.

Maybe God is Trying. To tell me SOMETHING.

Beyta Sigma Qi, round deux

Looks like I'm going to Houston in November. First actual vacation I'll have taken since.... Atlanta in June of 07. Ironically, i'll be seeing the same people, and I cannot wait. Kim & Kat & Rosezella (with Kayla!), Charlene & Lena & all others in prep for Courtney's wedding. My first wedding, and my first breath of FRESH UNCOMPLICATED AIR in a minute. Plus, I get to see BRIAN TRAMBLE, and who wouldn't be all geeked up about meeting M.I. Brian? (inside joke).

While it might not be as thrilling as seeing the leaves turn glorious colors in Michigan, at least I have Kat to capture them for me. Hopefully i'll be coming up on a job soon, so Its okay that I haven't decided on a longer vacation. Besides, ion'wanna leave my lucy Moo for too long. Speaking of leaves & Lucille....there's mama's baby sleeping. The 7 year old baby, that is. Oh, and here's the gorgeousness of Farmington Hills, MI, courtesy of the other KATT in my life: seriously, looking at the beauty of that, I could just DIE.

Kee kee kitty. Bur bur Burrr. Ni-nnoooo. Hi, bur-burr! Mama's baby kitty. The Original.

LeeZett Today, I had to put my cat to sleep. He had a blood infection, liver, pancreas & other issues. He was suffering. I held him as he died. His name was Ninno, & he was almost 13 yrs old. We had him since he was 3 days old, & bottle fed him formula after his mother abandoned him. He grew up not really knowing he was a CAT & not a human, & so he never meowed. He liked dogs, but hated other cats. He once ate licorice. Can't remember how he got the name Ninno. Some of us called him Binky, too. He responded to either. He loved feet & would only eat dry food. Tuesday, my cousin & aunt took him to an animal hospital on Slauson & Denker in Souh L.A. They put him on an IV drip, and tested his blood. He wouldn't eat, so they had to force-feed him. You can imagine how traumatic that would be. He couldn't poop either. They had to help him. He had always been an outdoor cat, so being locked up probably terrified him, too. i hope he knew we were trying to help him get better. I don't want to speak ill of the Vet, but I'm not sure they were even giving him pain medicine. Antibiotics, fluids, food, but otherwise? Today when I visited him I looked in his eyes & i could tell he was miserable. He couldn't lift his head up. He laid in the back of a cage. His breathing was ragged & his eyes were cloudy. I stroked his fur. I spoke to him. Poor little baby, I don't know if he recognized my voice. My family, they were too busy fussing & crying and screaming at each other to make a rational decision about what to do about Ninno. He had been in Green Dog & Cat hospital 4 days & was not getting any better. The doctor couldn't tell us for SURE what exactly Ninno had, and if it was even possible it would get better. After I heard that he had no immediate course of treatment, I knew what we needed to do. I talked to the vet in private. I told my relatives to shut up & wait in the lobby. I signed a euthanasia form. I put a blue smock on. I watched as the Vet tech picked up my Ninno & carried him to a steel exam table. I wanted to hold him, but he was in so much discomfort. First the Vet gave him a sedative. He didn't respond. Then, not even a minute later (too fast for me,) he began to give him the other shot. Ninno, he struggled and cried out. Twice. It was the first time, the ONLY time in his life I ever heard him meow. Ninno never talked. Ever. I hate that he was crying as we put him down; I wish I never had to hear that. I couldn't cry then, but I am now. It doesn't happen as fast as they say. I don't know if it hurt him; I hope i didn't hurt him. I think it scared him, or why would he cry? I bent down over the table & hugged his furry little body for 5 minutes, until the last tremor stopped. This cat was with me from 3 days old, Ninno was MY baby long before I had the orange tabby I have now, He didn't deserve to go out this way. Sick. Sad. Hurting. Scared. He was a sweet boy, and I'm going to miss him being there in the backyard of my Grandmother's house. Keeping watch. Swatting feet. Sleeping. With his bushy tail. All black, with yellow eyes, and some gray fur peeking out from old age. He was 91 in cat years. 13 in human. It still feels like I didn't have him long enough. But I couldn't let him lie there suffering and not use my power as his family to stop it. I killed my cat today. It hurts. I hope God will forgive me, and maybe still let me into Heaven to see him again.

Upside Down You're Turning Me....

Ok, check this shit out. I might have been hallucinating, but last week I thought i saw a ....a THING in my apartment. A VERMIN thing. *shudder* Then, about 3 days ago, i SWEAR I saw something in one of my kitchen drawers. I was up, hyperventilating, swearing that I'd never go into my tool drawer for the screwdriver again. I was freaking OUT, thinking I saw shadows moving, leaving the damn lights on...generally just terrified. I mean TERRIFIED.

Have I mentioned that these things are the ONLY THING ON THIS EARTH I AM IRRATIONALLY AFRAID OF?! I would rather gain 150 pounds ands wind up looking like Rasputia than have THOSE THINGS in my living quarters. They handicap me. I lived in New Orleans at one point, where those motherfuckers are known to FLY, so seriously, ANY hint of them drives me into a crippling panic. Years ago I saw one in my apartment and LEFT for the night. I turned on every light, called a cab, and spent the night in a friend's house because I WAS TOO AFRAID TO SLEEP AT MY OWN HOUSE. Seriously. Crippling mortal fear. Yeah, I ain't afraid to say it!

Ok, So. Now, I keep a clean house and a SPOTLESS kitchen, but I live in a 1920's era walk up, 30 unit building that was a former hotel. So, with 29 other muthafuckas living here, its liable that at least a few of them are gonna be NASTY ASSES and have a vermin problem. SO. Because cucarachas ARE THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE, I usually have my landlords put a clause in my lease saying that If I ever see evidence of vermin, they have 72 hours in which to have an exterminator come & annihilate the unit before I break my lease so I can move from the bug-a-boos. (phat Destiny's Child reference & I wasn't even fuckin' trying! HA!)

But yesterday, when I cornered my resident manager, cowering in fear, she was all, 'Lisette, the Orkin man comes on the 2nd Monday of every month, but today is a Holiday so they skip a month. I was like NOOOOOO!!!!!! Please call them! PLEASE, Bernardine!!! She says, "I'm sorry. They won't come until November" *cue sad face* So I get up this morning, and give the cat her fucking ice water (YES, my housecat drinks water only if its cold, she's a spoiled bitch, but I enable her). and I SWEAR, i SWEAR I THINK I SEE A Thing Which Shall No Longer Be Referred To By Name. (TWSNLBRTBN.) I don't scream. I don't run. I STAND PARALYZED, wondering if I really did forget to rub the sleep out of my eyes, or am I just crazy? I have lived in this building since June 08, never seen a TWSNLBRTBN. I have been in this particular unit since July 09, and saw ONE TWSNLBRTBN in May before i moved my shit in, so subsequently BOMBED THE LIVING SHIT out of the unit so as to see no more renegade TWSNLBRTBN's lurking around. But now, just 2 weeks after I cease taking all manner of doctor prescribed medications (including Crazy Pills) I keep THINKING I SEE TWSNLBRTBN in my fucking apartment?! GOD DAMN THIS SHIT. SO. All morning I'm up posting cryptic ass shit on Twitter about THE BANE OF MY FUCKING EXISTENCE, all the while being too afraid to call TWSNLBRTBN by its real name...you know, don't wanna put that shit out there in the universe, lest I attract them to me (law of attraction....can you tell I've read The Secret?).

But about an hour ago, I get a knock on my door. WHO COULD IT BE?! Holy mother of Michael Jackson, its CARLOS!!! Carlos with his wonderful Spray Gun full of Deadly TWSNLBRTBN-killing Poisions!!!! Thank you!!! THANK YOU GOD!!! It turns out, Columbus Day isn't a real off day for them, its just that he was sick. I say, "COME!! Bring your sick germs into my apartment, PLEASE! Just spray the bejeezus out of EVERY SURFACE HUMANLY POSSIBLE!! (just don't kill my cat.)" So he comes in. he sprays everything he can spray that won't asphyxiate me and that cat. He looks for crevices. He tells me stories about the celebrities houses he treats with RIDICULOUS rat & *that other vermin* problems. He tells me that 'ok, ma'am, that's about all the poison I can safely lay down today'. I pout. "MORE!!!" I demand. He says, "I can't!" Then his eyes sweep the room.... "Hey, wait. Is that Michael Jackson?" Muahahaha!! He spies my collection of Stan Memorabilia! He gets a glimpse of shit & he likes that! He two ways her, then she writes ba-- oops. Not a Jay-Z moment. But no, he tells me his ELEVEN YERAR OLD DAUGHTER is OBSESSED WITH MICHAEL JACKSON. OMFG, seriously?? A child BORN in 1998 is OBSESSED?! I must assist her in her Standom! Woot! So...I bribe him. I traded this man an Invincible collectible promo poster, a program from Mike's 45th birthday celebration at the Orpheum Theatre, a MINT CONDITION FIRST EDITION copy of The Magic & The Madness by J. Randy Taraborelli, and a bunch of bomb ass MJ buttons & pictures IN EXCHANGE FOR HIM SPRAYING A GRIP OF EXTRA POISON in my apartment. YESSSS!!!! OMFG!! When he left, I was standing there shouting in glee like AL fucking SHARPTON at the MJ Staples Center memorial: "THANK YOU MICHAEL!! THANK YOU MICHAEL!! THANK YOU MICHAEL!!!"

BEWARE, you little possibly mirage-hallucination FUCKERS: You are going DOWN like a DENOMINATOR.

Bites lip. Heeeey muthafucka!

Times most definitely done changed. LOL!

1st Thought: AWWW! 2nd Thought: So people ARE born gay!

Thanks, Margaret

"I'm sorry, Ashley. But have you forgotten what its like without money? I've found out that money is the most important thing in the world and I don't intend to ever be without it again. I'm going to make money enough so the Yankees can never take Tara away frm me and I'll make it the only way I know how. "

"But we're not the only Southerners whove suffered, Scarlett. They're keeping their honor and their kindness, too!"

"Yes, and they're STARVING! I haven't got any use for folks who won't help themselves! Oh, I know what they're saying about me, and I don't care!"

***

"As God is my witness.... as God is my witness they're not going to lick me! I'm going to live through this and when its all over, I'll never be hungry again! No, nor any of my folk! If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill, as God is my witness I'll never be hungry again!"

Don't cry; just go to the Library. At least they have air conditioning.

I am beginning to hate my doctors. The most frustrating thing was for me to tell them I'm Suicidal, to put emphasis on it, to ask for some anxiety medication, and to be ignored. Three times. Maybe more.

I don't know what exactly it is I have to DO to get through to these people, save storming into their offices with a razor pressed to my carotid artery. Its so simple: Prescribe Lisette a stronger antidepressant. Prescribe her Valium, or something else, anything else that will calm her down when she starts to freak out and has nobody. Did I mention she has Nobody? Sure, there's Kat --in MICHIGAN, and Jackee- in VANCOUVER and Elizabeth Ann - in Kew Gardens, New YORK-fat lot of good she does. But more important than them are the job interviews, the endless, futile job interviews, where I've been rejected or flat out ignored for two years. Straight. And if not the interviews then its the lack of money, the lack of food money, or rent money, or Dear God Get Me Out Of This Fucking House money, that kind- and there's none. Its the losing 12 pounds last August because I was literally starving with no food in the house and slept about 95% of the month to alleviate my hunger and desperation. Its the gaining back 27 over the course of the 6 months following last August, because although I still had no real income, I spent every dime I could on things like pink Malaviscos marshmallows and cereal and cheap Wine to pacify the anger and emptiness inside. ate ramen noodles, my blood pressure went up, I got nowhere. Now its the 9 pounds I lost in the past 6 weeks from the same cycle, and the several of it-won't know til September how many, but surely at least half-that I put right back on eating string cheese, honey nut cheerios and Nilla wafers. Still, not real food, and still, I can say with absolute certainty I am NOT HUNGRY in the slightest but day after day of sitting and waiting for the axe to drop, the shitty luck to change, has driven me to have to do SOMETHING to keep from killing myself and usually the thing that wins is "keep the hands busy. eat another Styrofoam cup of dry cereal while you read another one of your depressing library of books." Judith Moore, Khaled Hosseini, Barbara Ehrenreich: you all are amazing writers of the most depressing, non- and fiction. Why do I own you all? Why do I read you? Simple: My DVD player has all but broken, I have no cable or internet connection with which to distract myself, and see, ASKING my doctors for help gets me nowhere. RTKL said no. Bayside never even contacted me to say a thing. The others, the same, and where Style/Comcast/E! looked promising, now I'll be lucky if I ever hear from Elyssa Malcom again.

I have $301 in my credit union account, but there's a hold on it. A 10 day hold. I owe my dentist $100- on account of an emergency porcelain re-bonding that came after an accident i dare not recount here, I owe my landlord $850 in late rent, both July and August, and to L.A. Fitness I owe about $115. They'll be collecting by Friday. Sandra gets $52 for Groceries. (Still have none-$52 goes only so far in cereal, muffins, lean cuisine & cat food), and $60 to turn my phone back on. Did I mention I have no contact with the outside world at the moment? Ah, yes, cell was cut off. The library where I type this, I owe $45. So I can't check out anything less depressing than what I own as I'm on account restriction. No, I'm not hungry, but in the absence of having the medication I so desperately requested, I am in dire need of a drink. One I had planned to have today, after I took the EDD check out of my mailbox, cashed it at the credit union, took $100 to the dentist, $52 to Sandra, and then trekked to someplace and ordered my usual Cadillac margarita. That would have made me halfway okay until my therapist group appointment tomorrow, or so I thought. But see, the check wasn't in the mailbox. The mail always comes by 2:30, and today, there was nothing there approaching 3PM. I waited all morning. I bided my time reading that little fucking book by Judith Moore that just made me more irritable and apt to eat another cup of cereal. And then I forced myself to get up, shower, put a clean bra on, and go down to the mailbox to 'begin' my less-despondent day.

The check wasn't there.

I looked down the block. No mail truck. I asked my no-habla-ingles neighbor, 'Did the mail come yet?" Salvador didn't know, either what I was asking or if indeed the mail HAD come. I walked to the bus stop on Melrose, and sat, wondering if i should come here to type this just to distract myself from screaming and crying, or should I have gone into my therapist's office, yelling, "Susan. Look. I NEED some fucking medication before EVERY DAY becomes like YESTERDAY where I spent several hours screaming and crying and thrashing about and eating mindlessly (cereal) and reading books like Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide by Kay Redfield Jamison and contemplating where to do it and how to do it and what to be buried in and how the thought: I have nothing to look forward TO in my future, nothing to look fondly BACK on in my past, and nothing to cling to in the present. NOTHING!!!!! So give me give me give me some fucking Valium before my heart explodes and I do something I want to but don't really think I ought to do!! Don't give me a Reality Staff.com job listing! a hundred other people got there first! I can't even win a spot when ELEVEN are open in Van Nuys, what makes you think they'll pick me for Executive Assistant of anything?!"

Instead, I got on this bus and I came to the library, where I'm frantically typing this out with one hand. My therapist only knows me as stoic, and blunt. Direct, and willing to do anything. She doesn't know me as mean, or a screamer, or a despairing manic acting despondent crying freak. I think I'm gonna have to work up the nerve to go in there tomorrow night completely unhinged for them to do anything. Susan, and Rebecca Deans. They are sweet, but how many times does a severely depressed person (with GOOD TANGIBLE REASONS FOR HER DEPRESSION, MIND YOU) have to ask for help beyond the random Effexor and job search listing before someone exclaims, "Oh, God! I think this girl is seriously thinking of Killing Herself if things don't look up for her soon! We have to help her!"

*sigh*

Last night, I literally ransacked my old apartment for a stray old bottle of expired Valium from an ancient dentist visit. There was none, so I drank NyQuil just so I could fall asleep and stop thinking of how much I wanted to die. I woke up again at 10:53PM, watched some of Murder In The First (how uplifting!) on VHS, and laid down again after midnight, after swilling a little more NyQuil just to get through the rest of the day ASLEEP and out of thought's range.

This morning I woke up at 10 to 7. I ate a muffin, drank cocoa, watched a little Driving Miss Daisy (VHS), read more Judith Moore and laid back down, watching the clock tick: only 7 more hours until the check comes and I can get out of the house. At 9:30, the pest control guy came & spot-treated the kitchen & bathroom, solely out of my paranoia. He left & I got back in bed: Only5 more hours. Then later, I ate more dry cereal, and a Styrofoam bowl of leftover spaghetti with chili beans in it and thought: not much longer. I peed at least 6 times. Paced. Started & stopped the VCR. Tried to make the DVD drive work. Eyed the NyQuil bottle with its 1/2 inch left. Lit incense oil. Looked at the overflowing cat box with disdain. Teased the cat with the laser pointer, unsuccessfully trying to coax her into lying down with me to stem my boredom while i stroked her fur. Waited. Waited.

At 2:15 I jump pup. Shower, douse myself in AVON Sweet Honesty perfume & deodorant. Get dressed, contemplate switching out my purse for a smaller one, then do not. I bound down to the mailboxes, and nothing.

Its sad that my whole demeanor hinged on whether the California Unemployment Department and the Mailman would have placed a little white envelope containing a check full of green tickets to a few days of freedom in my mailbox. But they didn't.

So I'm here, in the Library. And I don't know what I'm not going to do when I get home.

Death has to be better than this.

Holding pattern...

June:

Live Nation
J2 Global
Moulton Logistics Management

...Nyet.

July:
Casa Del Mar
Shutters on the Beach
Bayside Hotel
RTKL Associates Architecture
Warner Bros
Style Network


*hopeful*

Thank you, Susan Winston. Hopefully you won't have to fly me to the nuthouse.

That's my girl. :-)

Just One Left

Stop making me cry, girl. Both of us can't be crying!



I love you, Michael...



Thank You, Michael...

I WOULDN'T help it even if I could.

And When The Groove Is DEAD and GONE

(Yeah...)

You Know That LOVE SURVIVES


And We Can Rock FOREVER On......

Absentee Blogging

So, it looks like I forgot I had a blog during all of May. That was partially accidental, partially not. I have been so busy with life, healthcare, sanity and the pursuit of money and shelter that I didn't really give a shit about laying it all down on E-paper. Half my utilities were cut off in the 2nd week of May, right around the time my PC gave out on me AND my health fell into a big, steaming abyss of 'Cedars Guinea-Pig Trials' and shit like that. Time Warner was suddenly the last thing from my mind.

Moving, therapy appointments (mental and physical) and trying to keep enough change in my wallet to eat at least 1 and a qtr. meals a day has been my main concern. Forgive me for not taking care of ATSWU!, but I suspect when life throws me a doggie bone or a break I will be back to my regla self, online and off.

PS: Last night I went out with Karlina & Sheila (her C. Milian-before-she-went-blonde lookalike Hova loving cousin) and saw Dance Flick (surprisingly palatable) at the Mann Chinese 6 and then had a Cadillac margarita & a Red Stripe at the White Horse on Sunset & Western poured lovingly by Vicky the kindly little old Russian bartender lady. And then she made us hot dogs. Yes, seriously.

It was a good day. After 3 weeks of 'moving' and about 2 more to come (damned Ikea Expedit pieces! Damned turntable! Damned 3 flights of steps!) I needed a day off...with Tequila. :)

-L.

I held you too tight; I can see

People misunderstand something about Lisette. There are some things I love that a lot of other people love, but I love them for entirely different reasons. The feeling they give me. The way they put me at ease and help me relax more than many other 'relaxing' things do. The hope I cling onto from the escapism they provide. I deal with a lot of rancid ass shit on the daily, so sometimes I just want to look at something that I've decided makes me smile.

Here are two.





I went on a mad Twitter rant the other day about some things, but really, its not necessary for me to rage against the hater machine in order to defend the things I love.

Things, not people.

The people (In this case, there are also TWO) I keep separated. And they need no defense, as much as they've done for me.

*sings a happy little song in a falsetto I didn't know I had*

'Cause it's a bittersweet symphony this life
Trying to make ends meet, you're a slave to the money then you die
I'll take you down the only road I've ever been down
You know the one that takes you to the places where all the veins meet, yeah
No change, I can't change, I can't change, I can't change
But I'm here in my mold , I am here in my mold
But I'm a million different people from one day to the next
I can't change my mold, no, no, no, no, no

No one ever grows old...

"Counting those days 'til we meet in a place ..willing to die for"

Don't You Ever Go Away; It'll Always Be This Way

She's trying to kill me, ya'll. She just covered one of my favorite songs in this whole WORLD on her just launched world tour. About 2 minutes and 50 seconds in, you can't wipe the smile off my face. And to think 2 years ago I was thrilled when she covered Jilly from Philly's "He Loves Me"! Trust me when I say, her Anita Baker cover takes the cake (pound, german chocolate, birthday, fruitcake...ALL them cakes) and she KEEPS getting better with age. I can even overlook that hippy ass dress.

I'm proud to admit I like this girl. *grin*

I'm Next For A Rebirth!

Jenna Jameson is now the proud Mama of Jesse & Journey Ortiz. Two boys. Healthy. I am SO inexplicably HAPPY for her.

If SHE can catch a do-over, maybe I can, too?

-L.

Yes, I love Old Music.

Something about Marilyn McCoo reminds me of my mother. Though, that's not why I love this song. Its just GOOD. Elevator music, yes....but good. And how fabulous is thinking of a breakup as simply less HOUSEWORK to do? Loves it!

Abandonment/Issues

First things first, YES, I know, I've all but 'abandoned' my blog for Twitter. See, there's a reason behind it. Twitter requires the attention span of a fruit gnat to operate/participate, while this blog here requires me to stop, sit & think about all of my madness, drama & unfortunacy (word? probably not) while I type it out. Lately, add lunacy to that stockpot of my life and there you have it. I have not been in a state to 'share', save my 140-letter or less ruminations on my lethargy, hunger, Grey's Anatomy, brokeness & evil. Christopher returned on the 9th. I slept on a pile of blankets on the floor for 3 or 4 days, and then he made a trek up to Santa Barbara county to visit his friends. I'm still in therapy with Susan Winston, & I have not found a solution to my living situation or employment situation or health situation just yet, but I'm working on all of it. After having a 4 1/2 hour conversation with Chris while lying on the floor in a fuzzy throw and violently rolling my eyes, we came to a mild understanding. Look, homie. I sublet-ted this joint in good faith that I might live here for a minimum duration of one year from the date of move in. Now you are back, i have warped credit, no proof of income and no current employment, not to mention being sick and in & out of the damn hospital while they Guinea-Pig test the shit out of me....and you want your place back. For no good reason, seeing as you aren't required to be local in order to work for paramount as a free agent/independent contractor. So, um, WTF. He saw it (partially) my way, Thank God, and so as for the immediate present, I know I can stay here in this studio, whether it be curled up on the carpet or not. I'm not above sleeping on the floor (hell, I did it voluntarily last year over on Mansfield, remember?) if it means avoiding having to try to live in a homeless shelter or some shit like that. My BCP prescription has run out. I am in the middle of having some of the worst cramps I've ever had in my life. Damn feminine reproductive system shit. (That would've worked better on Twitter.) So I'm gonna end this here, and I'll probably come back and note some other shit later. If not here, on Twitter: http://twitter.com/LeeZett And also, I have to bitch about the Pink Slip Party networking event I attended on Wednesday. THAT was a fucking riot. SMH.

PS: The 'Issues" part of this post? These two. Look at her! *swoon* You KNOW I had to get these, right? Put em right in the pile with my Barack VIBE and Rolling Stone's. *swoooooooooooooon*

Find the ironic little metaphor in it.

Tell me something I don't know.

Your Blogging Type is Unique and Avant-Garde

You're a bit ... unusual. And so is your blog. You're impulsive, and you'll often post the first thing that pops in your head. Completely uncensored, you blog tends to shock... even though that's not your intent. You tend to change your blog often, experimenting with new designs and content.

What's Your Blogging Personality?

"The Dogs Kept Me Here"

A guy with the first name of a famous mouse, made a remark about dogs, and made me think of my cat.

Confession: I don't know who Mickey Rourke is. Until recently, I can't tell you that if shown a photo of him that I would have been able to pick him out of a lineup. I don't recall ever having seen any of his films, and that includes The Wrestler. And in all honesty, seeing him sitting in the audience of the 81st annual Oscar telecast tonight, I thought he looked not unlike Heath Ledger in full Joker makeup in The Dark Knight. Greasy hair, slightly scary, off-putting facial features.

But last week, I recall hearing a news report that his chihuahua died. I wondered why that was news. Then, I heard that he thanked his dogs during his Golden Globe acceptance speech in January, and tonight, while walking the red carpet at the Kodak, was wearing a locket with the dead dog's picture in it. This is a grown ass white man, that looks like he's never heard of shampoo, and dresses like one of the members of Van Halen...with a dog locket? What?? Who IS this guy? Why have I no clue who this actor is?

Then, just a few minutes ago, i queued up my TiVo of the Barbara Walters Special. There's an interview there with Mickey Rourke, and the very first question Barbara asked him was, "Why'd you thank your dogs?"

He couldn't answer it simply. He fretted for a moment, swilled some beverage, fidgeted in his easy chair, and then told a story that included the line, "I didn't want to be here." As in, I wanted to die. What he said was, paraphrased slightly, "After my life fell apart, my money ran out, my career ended, and my wife left, I didn't want to be here. ...I didn't really want to kill myself, because its the chickenshit way out, and I'm a Catholic. But I wanted to push a button and vanish. I don't have any children. All I had was my dogs." Then he said during a period in time while he was recurrently sleeping on the floor of his closet, one of his dogs came in and looked up at him and made an 'almost human noise'. And he said the dog's expression made him think the dog was asking him, "Who's gonna take care of ME?" And he said, he saw that expression. And he couldn't do 'it'. And the dogs kept him here.

Okay. Lisette. Now YOU know, that entire story mirrors yours SO closely that if you yourself were talking to Barbara fucking Walters you might repeat it replacing wife with friend and dog with cat. Because, Lisette, you know very well that after your life fell apart in 2007, your money ran out, you got laid off and your job ended, and your friend(s) left, you DIDN'T WANT TO BE HERE. (Still don't, on occasion). You don't REALLY want to kill yourself because you think its a weak move, AND you're a Catholic (albeit a bad one.) But you wish you could push a button (or take some good, strong NyQuil) and VANISH. Not BE here. But all you have...is your CAT. You also know that there was a time last spring when you were sleeping recurrently on a pallet of blankets on the floor of your living room even though a perfectly good bed was in the neighboring room. And your cat, Lucille, would come over and sit beside you. And she would look at you with huge yellow eyes. And you would think to yourself, over and over again, "If I'm not here...who's gonna take care of her?" You don't have any children. You feel very much at the end of your rope. And that CAT is what is --still!-- keeping you here.

Damn.

See, I don't know shit about Mickey Rourke. Not a single thing besides what I've learned tonight. I don't know exactly what he did to himself to make him fall out of Hollywood favor, besides make a few bad movies in the late 80's-early 90's. But man, if there was EVER an actor I say I can relate to 100000%?! Its THAT guy. I might even have to go rent Angel Heart or Wild Orchid or The Wrestler just to see what he can do. Because man, that there? That feeling like your pets are the only thing keeping you from committing suicide? THAT SHIT IS REAL.

Damn. D A M N.

Mine Immaculate Dream

So I haven't been very talkative this month, unless you count my Twitter feed. Its just been a really BAD February. Between getting the notice on the 5th that I have to move ...somewhere... by the 7th of March, between very cryptic and vague news from my team of crock physicians, between being told to move into a homeless shelter and pressed to apply for G.R. (I refused, probably to my own detriment), between re-running in to Alicia Pearl, her telling me that she vanished back in Oct/Nov because she seriously thought I stole her demo recordings and sold her vague idea of a song with a Pacman bleep running all through it to SUSHI (All the Single Ladies... are apparently IDIOTS?), then finding myself babysitting (well, not exactly BABY) her 12 year old very smart daughter as we watch The Ring on VHS, between being constantly sick, nasally dried out and chest congested at the same time, between begging my relatives to help me find a place to store my material posessions and my CAT, between stressing out that Chris is coming back here and I have nowhere to go, between wishing that Bernardine would rent me a fucking apartment when there are several vacant in the building right now, between having the remodeling/construction workers above, below and beside this unit banging on the walls day in and day out for the better part of 2 weeks, between returning from the doctor yesterday to find my own kitchen ransacked and torn apart by the phantom workers who just let themselves in to my apartment unannounced and frightened Lucille half to death (7 lives left, kitty)...

I just haven't been in the mood to write. Or change my sheets. Or earn any money. Or eat anything besides mixed baby greens, frozen 10 for $10 Celeste suprema pizzas, and marshmallows. Or seriously do much more than stress and cry over where I'm going to go, and what will become of my head when I get there. Bout the only thing good this month is the Grey's Anatomy crossover that temporarily brough Addison back from her crappy spinoff, and my seeing miss Solange perform her trance-y 60's trip-soul thing at the Viper Room on the 5th (otherwise that was a BAD day) while downing several Cadillac margaritas. I think I had three? I didn't even care. I was trying to forget the morning's bad news.

Duran Duran doesn't really make it all better, but it DOES distract me.

Sobering Realization

It just kinda hit me that at 26, I've just gone through my very first 'normal girl' experience. As in, some shit that your average girlified female probably has gone through/done countless times since she was about, mm, fifteen years old. Something that would make most ladies grab a box of Kleenex and sob in their beds over. Its weird. Me, on the other hand? I'm just kind of mentally curious about it. There's this little voice in my head (a nice voice, actually) that's going, "Wow, Lisette. You just had something kinda REGULAR and NORMAL happen to you. Ain't that a bitch? That's a FIRST!" *eyebrow raise* Pause. *chuckle*

I kinda do but kind DON'T want to go into detail here, because A: that would be telling too much of my business and B: that would also be implying that I felt much more emotionally invested in the situation than I did or do, LMAO, but lets just say that I think I deserved, and am not at all upset about, my one foray into silly-morality-questioning-snookered-bitchness.

Its actually kind of nice to know that I could have been a normal girl If things had been a little different. I actually have it in me. Whoa. That's wild. I guess i'm less disconnected from regular people than I knew!

Yeah, and that's pretty much IT.

Well, Ha fucking ha HA. Guess that means its gone!

Today's Scorpio Horoscope
Jan 26, 2009
You of all people, dear Scorpio, will recognize and appreciate the need for structure and stability on a day like this one. Keep in mind, however, that this practical energy may be working to take some of the fun out of the equation. Though you may not recognize it at first, the fun in your life may get chipped away, little by little, if you are not careful. Make sure you hold tightly to the things that really give you passion and purpose in life. These are the keys to healthy living.

Woo!

Today's Scorpio Horoscope
Jan 25, 2009
Don't put up with anyone's shenanigans, dear Scorpio. Your time is too precious and your energy too powerful to be wasted on those who are simply using you as a fair weather friend or crutch to keep them emotionally strong and stable. Concentrate on yourself and your own problems. If someone approaches you with a sob story, don't hesitate to tell them exactly what you think. There is no need to pad the honest truth with a bunch of fluff in an effort to make the other person feel good.

****************************

Can I get an AMEN, for the good astrologer at MSN?! Woo!

I Can Has Salad? Or EDD Check?

A salad would make it all better. Or a week's stay at the Encore Las Vegas.... Hmm.

conversational English

Two things I must point out:

1: No, I have no fucking idea what they're saying, but for Gee gee gee gee baby baby baby, no no no no no, oh oh oh oh oh! gee gee gee gee gee oh yeah oh yeah yeah yeah! Despite that, I think I actually like this shit.

2: If Hello Kitty had a mouth, her voice would sound like this. Literally, all nine of these bitches are the vocal embodiment of the Sanrio. Mariah Carey would LOVE this!

Thanks to Jessica in The Wood....

...Now I look fly. And so does my Blog. Woot!

And It Hits Me.

Oh my GOD. I just all of a sudden realized while reading a blog's comments section (shut up; I KNOW...) that in 4 years I will have completely squandered my ENTIRE teens AND 20's on being an adult and doing and going through VERY adult shit way too early. Stress. Illness. Death. Unemployment. Despair. Shit like that. I'm supposed to be having FUN of some kind, not this shit! Like actual YOUTHFUL fun. This old Lil' Kim lyric popped into my head after reading a comment about amateur ghetto freaknik for married's:

"I'm not the one you sleep wit, to eat quick/Want a cheap trick? Better go down to Freak-Nik"

....(LOL!) ...And I just thought:

Waaaaah. I should be going to Freaknik!

Ok, not really. But I'm 26; I should be going down to the Essence fest and having fun with my friends (who they are, I'm not exactly sure), I should be able to run down to WeHo and go to happy hour at Saint Felix and order sangria, WITH FRIENDS, not alone. I should have good company, good food, and good times more often than not. I should've been able to look back on high school and laugh....yet I didn't go to a traditional high school, so that's out. About the only things I can 'look back on' fondly are my MJ years, KOPDinNYC and BSQinATL. And even those were slightly fraught with BS and tension before during and/or afterwards.

I want to have some damn FUN. I got 3 3/4 years left. How am I going to accomplish this shit? 3 and three-quarter years left before I jump willingly and headlong into adulthood from which there is no return (because if its 1 thing I hate, its 30 something year old people acting like fucking children. Grow the hell UP!)

I don't really want to contact Mario from DuBose Ent., but I might.
I don't really want to keep contact with J, but I probably will (I'm weak like that).
I don't really want to stay stressed out in California with my nose to the grind and my ass to the radiator, but i have to...for now. Fucking A.

Where was I going with this? Oh. Fun.

Remind me never to read too much into blog comments again, kay? Thank you YBF.

This is decidedly true. Ain't it the FUCKING truth.

Today's Scorpio Horoscope:
Jan 13, 2009
Your idea of what life is, dear dear Scorpio, is going through a radical change. None of the "givens" that you have always taken for granted apply anymore. Rather than grieving the change, grow from it. So don't drag your feet! Stand up and move ahead. This is no time for vacation. You have some rebuilding to do!

Neptunes, I got a cocker spaniel?!

Yeah, I used to have the cassette single of this here. Early Pharrell & Neptunes joint. LOVED it! The beat is still hot, even though I always thought it shoulda been called "What What" and not Super Thug. All they fucking say is "WHAT".

Seriously? Eddie?

According to MSN horoscopes, today I'm a frigid bitch who needs a laugh.

Um.

Today's Scorpio Horoscope:
Jan 07, 2009
You might decide to spend a large part of the day working
on a project that requires a lot of mental energy. Plans to spend some time with
either a close friend or lover might not work out to be quite what you'd hoped
today, dear Scorpio. Your friend could be in a rather gloomy state of mind. A
relaxing evening, perhaps going to a concert or watching an Eddie Murphy comedy
can both release tension and boost bad moods. Enjoy!

So. Which one shall it be? Trading Places, The Golden Child, Boomerang, Coming To America, or Delirious?

Australian Therapeutic Relief

I spent almost 90 minutes crying my eyes out. Laying on Lucy, getting her fur wet. Thinking bad things. She put her furry arm over my hand and let me hold her. I did just that until I had to get up to find a tissue. I had no one to talk to, no one to call. I got online and hoped Jason would be there. He was.

He listened to me. He let me talk through it. He gave me encouraging words. Generic words. Still meaningful words.

I sipped a coffee cup full of red wine while I typed. It was the only thing I could think to do to calm myself.

Jason listened. He let me talk about the bird called IT.

Then, he sent me THIS, and I stopped crying.



Freeman Aussie products were never this good to me.

J, you let me down.

Again.

I knew you would. Again.

But why do I feel so empty because of it?

You know you're over there groovin' to this shit.

Don't FRONT: You like this. Yeah, it was in Glitter, but so?!




Try not to shake yo booty when the breakdown kicks in:




As for this one: Baby, baby, bay-baaaaah. You know you love this shit.

You Old Bitch!

Geritol. Or Fuckitol. One of them mofo's is calling my name. So I'm all full of red wine chilling in the house, buzzed out to old 90's Cali hip hop, 'wishin' all I had to do NOW was finish Homework!', and then my ass decided to lie down -JUST FOR A SECOND!!!!- and snuggle up next to gorgeous fat Lucy on the furry blanket on my bed. Next thing I know I look up and it is 7:02 AM January FIRST, 2009, the cat is on the floor, my left nostril is stuffy, my half-finished 5th glass of vino is on the computer desk, and Diane Keaton is frozen on my TV screen from when I hit the PAUSE button on the DVD the night before at like 8:30.

I feel old. Who the fuck sleeps through New Year's? MY BLACK ASS, that's who.

I got up, peed, wished Lucille a happy new kibble-eating season, and laid back down. Finally got up at 1:00 PM and now I'm settled after scenting a hispanicandle of the Santa Barbara with Eucalyptus oil, washing out my mommy's old Danielle mug and making me a cup of mint tea, and uh...finishing that wine. WHAT, I can't let Cab Sauv go to waste! I'm broke! It was a hella ordeal just getting a bottle of that shit in the first place!

NO, I'm no alky, I'm no crazy crazy crazy bitch this yeeeeear. I got scenes of coastal Italy on my kitchen wall (calendar), I got half a loaf of King's Hawaiian in my fridge and a box of Hot Tamales if I ever decide to try to watch a movie on my raggedy ass LG DVD system, and I got Lucille, I got a mild headache instead of a STRONG one (yay!), and I'm supposed to get my 'results' back from the nut farm...erm, hospital later today.

Fingers and toes and eyes and wires CROSSED!

-L.

But Some Days I Sit And Wish I Was....

HEAD BANGER

Turn The Volume UP?
Turn The VOLUME up!

*******

So its' that New Year shit. Wine, Chinese and Norwalk CC/RR shit. Rainbow American Apparel t-shirt. Rainbow ball kiddie hair-tie in my pro-styl gel slicked hurr. Bored, wanted to go OUT but er'body i know is a flake like Corn.

One of them mofos is extra frosted.

2009: New president, and he black. New living quarters? I hope not immediately soon. And as far as ends, I hope I can make like a Diva and get moneeeeey.

I'm-a, I'm-a fucking SICK of being broke and sick and unemployed and shit. Lea' dat shit in 2008. I WOULD like to be funky-fresh-dressed to impress-ready to party right now, but unfortunately, NYET, I am NOT.

But you know what I can do? Suck back some red, hug Lu, and

TURN THE VOLUME UP.

Nobody else can tell 'cause I'm stuck in a spell

It comes right back, creeps up on me....

You don't know how much I miss you. Just talking to you. Having little to no conflict. I'm here full of Robin Thicke and Franzia box wine. And I'm finding it so hard to write. I'm in some pain; some residual pain. But its a pain I can get over, cause that chapter is done. (Pun.) Its manageable. I daydream. But its so hard to write. I promised a few folks I would. And I have something to publish. But it just isn't done yet. Shit.

I'm doused in my favorite Armani Code, and To The Sky is on the stereo, somewhat low. Its time to try to sleep. Hopefully it'll all be clear in the morning. But lord, I'm so grateful just for the simple act of being nice. Its amazing the way darkness falls. And the truth I bear is cold, nothing to keep me warm. ...Got a feeling the sun won't shine again. And I gotta know right now, will I be rich? Have everything I want? I stop myself and look to the sky.


This can't be my fate; its never too late.

In my brain it INJURES me, baby

I can't stop. Wilding out in my brain. I took a shower. Doused myself in Carol's Daughter Ocean scent. Put on one of my old self-made MJ shirts (one of those ones where he had a 'stache and actually looked kinda hot.)

Rinaldo Barbados rum in the cocoa. Marvin Gaye on the WMP. Singing the lyrics to ANGER at the top of my lungs. Not giving a fuck if i disturb the neighbors. I tried to type out some old shit from my childhood diaries...1995 and such. But it fucked up the blogger HTML something awful, so i hit delete. So much for archiving my juvenile crazy.

Head is pounding. Don't know what to do today. I don't really want to sleep. Lucy is running around the apartment like a mad-cat-woman. Perched in the window. Silly baby. I feel like any moment I'll start bleeding from my eardrums and just go.

Want out. I WANT OUT!

One way love is such a MOTHERFUCKING fantasy.....

Guess she isn't in enough pain, yet.

When you get caught in the rain
With nowhere to run
When you’re distraught
And in pain without anyone
When we keep crying out
To be safe
But nobody comes
And you feel so far away
That you just can't find your way home
you can get there alone
It's okay
Once you say
I can make it through the rain
I can stand up once again
On my own and I know
That I’m strong enough to mend
And every time I feel afraid
I hold tighter to my faith
And I live one more day
And I make it through the rain

Its ironic that one of her worst-sung songs is the most touching to me. At least, it is right now. I made the grave mistake of watching the film version of Bishop T.D. Jakes' Woman, Thou Art Loosed this morning, and now I'm feeling like.... I want to take a pistol, shoot my oppressors, and lie down crying on the steps of the altar. Not a good way to be feeling on a Saturday morning. So of course something in me tells me to pull out the Sad Mariah...less than 24 hours after I tell Jason that Sad Janet brings nothing but trouble.

I probably shouldn't have added that stuff into my cocoa this morning, either. But sometimes when you are down, you just find any way to cope, yes? It looks like Karen is moving to the SFValley after all. Northrop Grumm. upped their offer, and she's trying to get out here in February. That'll be nice. She deserves a new, another life.

Erica is being nice to me on our old spot. Not deliberately, just... unusually. Not saying things that turn out (un?) intentionally hurtful or stinging in random threads. Instead we just exist on the same forum and its almost like...2004? 05? Its nice. I missed that. We don't speak. At all. But...Its somehow comforting to me that just maybe she doesn't completely hate me anymore. At least not completely hating me is enough for me.

Katacia sent me groceries for Christmas. Cereal, cat treats and the aforementioned cocoa. I love her for it.

Vanessa called me sobbing and crying on Christmas day. Seems Tevana, that girl from the Ne-Yo show, went ape shit on her for something I probably would have too. She says she hates her life and everyone treats her like a slut and talks down to her. And that I'm her only friend who listens to her. And that as superficial and shallow as she's become, she could never be mean to me. I wish she didn't always call me when she's scared, confused, or in a jam. I'm not capable of being leaned on. I'm fragile myself. She wants me to come to Brandon's 5th birthday party tomorrow. I don't have a gift for him. I don't think I'll go.

I don't want to be alone on New Years this year. I asked J if he would take me somewhere, anywhere, but he won't be able to tell me (no) until Monday. Sigh. I wish I had more friends here, or something fun to do. Besides sit here.

Chris will be back in California from Illinois on January 8th. He called and told me yesterday. Which means I have to find somewhere else to go. Again. I don't know where I'm going to go.

Again.

I'm scared and at a loss and can't think of any option but to just sleep as much as I can and pretend it isn't real and its not there. I don't know what I'm gonna do with Lucy, but sometimes (most of the time now) I wish I could just incinerate all my belongings and go away. If I knew someone would love her and care for her, I'd leave. But nobody would take care of my baby.

Merry Christmas...Goodbye, Eartha. Say 'Sup to James & Jesus!

Everything in this song I want. Especially the duplex. and checks.

Okay, no, make that CASH. And can that duplex be spanish style, 2-story, and located north of Wilshire, south of 3rd St., west of Fairfax and south of San Vicente in the city of Los Angeles, CA? Okay, Santa?

Santa?

Oh, fuck. I forgot. You don't exist. RATS!!

***

What is it with our black legends dying on Christmas day? First James Brown, now this. I'm gonna have to watch BOOMERANG later just because. Lavender Hill's gonna suck without her.

My favorite song now has a video.

Makes you want to have that kind of easy love. *swoon*

I'm trying my very hardest

...to believe what the song says and stop thinking about not being here, how to leave, what to give away, what to donate and where I'm going to go if I can't do any of that in good faith. Last night was a bad night. I had to just lie down and sleep to stop crying. And again, this morning. I watched Seven Pounds, and I didn't cry, because unlike others, I completely related to that wanting-to-crawl-into-a-tub-full-of-ice-and-drop-in-a-jellyfish feeling. If I thought any of my organs could be successfully donated, shit, I'd go buy a fishtank right now. (Steal. Steal a fishtank. I forgot, I don't have any money.) I tried to make a deal with myself that as long as Lucy is alive, since I promised to take care of her when I adopted her, that I'll try to stay alive to be her mama. Lucy is six. I don't know if I can keep that promise, but I love her, so its very hard to feel this way and then look into her yellow eyes and think about abandoning her. But I'm so very tired of being here in this state, and I don't see what could possibly make 2009 better than 2008 and 2008 has definitely been the worst year of my life. If this continues, or, God forbid gets worse after January 1st (and things are sadly already starting to line up that way from the middle of January on) then, what am I going to do? How can I be sure those yellow eyes will be enough for me?

Merry merry merry....

Because I need it.

For Luck Powered By Luck!

so wrong, SO WRONG, Ru! LMAO!

RuPaul as Barack AND Michelle O. *death!*

Thyme, Rosemary, Fennel, Oregano, SAGE.

Conversations, hesitations in my mind
You got my conscience asking questions that I can't find

I'm not crazy
I'm sure I ain't done nothing wrong, no
I'm just waiting
'Cause I heard this feeling
won't last that long

Never ever have I ever felt so low
When you gonna take me out of this black hole?
Never ever have I ever felt so sad
The way I'm feeling yeah, you got me feeling really bad

Never ever have I had to find
I've had to dig away to find my own peace of mind
I've Never ever had my conscience to fight
The way I'm feeling, yeah, I just don't feel right

I'll keep searching
Deep within my soul
For all the answers
Don't wanna hurt no more

Shit, that's odd.

Why is it that when I woke up late this afternoon/evening, I could not locate either my gold hoop earrings, nor the two gold rings I ALWAYS wear? WTF? Did I dispose of them somehow during my sleep? Did the cat eat them? Where is my jewelry?

I was sick today. All day. ALL day. I knocked out during the 6AM hour and didn't feel right again until around 7:30PM Cali time. After having crazy medication reactions and such. Headaches, nausea, et cetera. I flew up to Little Armenia to cat-litter- and grocery- shop using all of my strength and little money with which to do so, and picked up a few things: treat for Lucy, cappellini and jarred pasta sauce, frozen lemonade Popsicles (sugarless), Grenache Blanc, neufchatel cheese and egg bagels. Also, a few containers of ramen noodles, mandarin oranges and Stove Top stuffing. And an O Magazine. And generic store brand breakfast cereal. And skim milk. Oh, and Barnum's animal crackers.

I wanted fish, and ground turkey, Green Giant Brussels sprouts, and other steamable vegetables, and cabbage, and Lean Cuisine dinners, and King's Hawaiian bread and turkey jerky, but right now, those things are just out of my budget. So! I can't say I'm too unhappy though, as there is food in my kitchen (finally!), my dishes are washed, I have quarters with which to do laundry Monday, and I think I might actually be embracing my illnesses and things. I keep fighting them, and they keep taking me over. Maybe if I welcomed them instead... IE, "Hello, depression! You're here again, today!", maybe then they'd be nice to me and, like, go away more often. Loosen their grip. We shall see.

I'm going to soak in the bathtub now; put this Olivina shit to good use.

I will NEVER, EVER get sick of watching this.

Diana Ross on Inside the Actors Studio
Uploaded by RichJuz

On Puran's Hillhurst and adult conversation

The blase' Irish girl I used to work with at the whorehouse 4 years ago took me out for a belated birthday dinner in Los Feliz tonight. and approximately 4 $9 glasses of River something-or-nother Pinot Noir later, and a $20 something dollar plate of salmon and grilled veggies AND a $10 Caesar salad later...and a birthday candle laden chocolate cake plate later...she ran me by the Whitley/H'wood CCC to cash my Obama pollworkers stipend check and dropped me home sufficiently relaxed & tipsy, with a bag of E! network pilfered bagels and a Petco giftcard for Lucille. And my own $10 roll of laundry quarters tucked into my Louis V papillon bag, so I can finally wash my 5 loads of clothes.

I have not seen Shannon Hillary in almost 4 years, but she was nicer to me on the occasion of 'my birthday' than anyone else I know in Southern California.

Funny, isn't it? Because of my old coworker, i'll be able to get kitty litter and eat for the next 2 days, and my 'supposed best friend' is off doing they own thaaaang. And busy asking How I Is, when they know I'm the same as I Always Is.

Funny, funny.

Thank you immensely, Shannon. I needed the wine. And the real food. And the adult conversation.

Total Irony!

How fucking crazy is it that one of my many physician's assistants, Kenisha, just showed up at my DOOR at 8:45 AM, out of breath, in scrubs, with a bottle of pills in her hands, exclaiming, "OMG, Lisette! I'm so glad you're home!"

Where would I be? I'm sick, mentally compromised, AND out of work at the moment. LOL.

"OMG, I'm so SORRY! Last night when you came in for your appointment I gave you the wrong dosage of pills! I gave you 20 milligram puvules instead of 10 mg tablets! How many did you take?!"

Um... ONE. *raises eyebrow*

"Oh, thank God! I'm so sorry! Oh MY GOD I'm sorry! I noticed this morning and I snuck out after my first patient left and came over here, I'm double parked in front of the dumpster, I-I-I even brought the bottle so you could see, these are..."

Aww. Now THAT's some fucking Patient Care for ya ass. She came ALL THE WAY to my HOUSE to fix the problem. I wanted to ask her did Dr. Molur get on her ass about it. LMAO. So anyhow, I make small talk, she tells me how nicely my apartment is decorated (heffa, its a crowded MESS! Even I know that!) and then I thank her for correcting the problem, not at all caring that i am standing braless in an old Sears floral nightgown from the early 1980's with my nappy hair all over my head. And, yes, I made her take her shoes off before stepping onto my beige carpeting. What?

So...back to the lecture at hand: Am I bad for wanting to tell her I'd gladly keep the higher dose if she liked, seeing as my Crazy Levels have been rapidly escalating anyway? *cue sad face*

Darn.

Long, grandmother-worn old Sears flannel nightgowns make you think.

I can't seem to stop alternately humming "While there's a moon, moon on high..while there are birds in the sky" and "All eyes on me in the middle of the ring just like a cirrrrcus..."

When in reality, what I wanted to write about was 'abruptly stopping Prozac' which i'm not inclined to do, seeing as I grabbed a refill last night and am thinking about asking my docs about upping my dosage from 10mg to 20...also 'why I'd like to keep a stash of Valium in my house'.

I don't think I'll be expounding on that one, lest I come off like an addict or a recreational prescription pharmaceutical abuser. That isn't me. Neither am I an alcoholic, but I do enjoy my wine (just in larger amounts than I would like to have enjoyed it all during the majority of 2008, irritably.) I chalk it up to depression, facetiousness and total, final, exasperation.

That isn't all that far out there to assume, no? There comes this point where you just get to this...point (redundancy 101) where you.. (I feel a pattern) ...just..stop trying to sell yourself to the highest Life Bidder. Its like a neverending slave auction where I'm fresh off the cross-Atlantic journey, scurvy and ricket-free, yet my potential HR massas keep glancing at the List Of Available Female Negroes, scratching their chins and thinking out loud, "Now, this here mulattress just won't do."

Sigh. Aieee. So I'm at that point. I just want to pack up my shit, tie it to a stick with a handkerchief, and go find Harriet and start along on the Railroad.

But in the meantime, the clothes need a-washin', my shoes need a-shinin', and myyyyy children need a-feedin'. And then someone's gone try to climb on top of me and do they business.

*thud*

Interestingness.

You're lookin' just a little too hard at me
Standin' just a little too CLOSE to me.

I feel odd about members of my non/extended family commenting on my life as if they've known it. There are certain people that (the argument is) I'm related to (in some way) that are friendly to me. Problems are, I don't know how to talk to them without a distance coming into play. Is that bad?

I think its bad. I think I should probably dissect and dispose of that cynical, protective, distant part of Lee Zett before I get to move forward, hmm? Problem is, I don't exactly know how. I spoke to an old coworker last night. Cool chick. Mature, but on the level of say, Kathy Griffin meets Marge Simpson's chain-smoking cynical sister, rather than, say, old and fusty. She's def. not the old, fusty type. Just extremely blunt and real. I think that's why I liked her when I worked with her. That, and the fact that she's Irish. And my black-cum-Ireland based ass is just funny about shit like that. Not like I relate, but durr.

So I get a contact ding from this relative of some sort. I don't know what to make of it. (cue confused Pug face.) OK, part of the reason I don't know what to make of it is probably related to the fact there's an inch of Cab Sauv in my glass at 10 to 3AM. But still, yeah. I just made bootleg enchiladas and I slept nearly all day after waking up mad early. Nothing runs the logical track in Lisette's world, thought you knew?

I'm wondering: Do I have to keep a connection I don't know what the fuck to do with? Or should I just start playing the lottery in hopes that I win enough to buy a house in another state with lower cost of living and stable property values?

What the fuck am I talking about anyhow? God, its almost 3AM. I should sleep, but all I really want to do is stalk around my apartment with the Christmas scented candle lit and shake my ass to Get Right.

Oh is me. No woe involved!

This shit never gets old.

jewels got no flaws

I snap.
I curse too much.
I forget things. Important things. Conversations.
I have trouble realizing when I'm emotionally leading someone down a road I can't let them travel.
I'm closed off, depressed and sad...yet non complacent about it. I am hard to stay friends with.
I cry a lot. I want more than most people are willing to give me,
I am extremely possessive and jealous when I love someone.
I hate being abandoned or forgotten.
I hate being lied to and ignored.
I tend to lie in order to protect myself from being hurt at times.
Sometimes I think I can do things, and halfway in, realize I can't. I end up hurting friends this way.
I would like to think I can depend on no one, but in all honesty, I long to be held and loved. The way a parent would.
I am afraid of sex. I've had too much of it, non fulfilling, unemotional IT, and I'm afraid it will never mean a thing to me.
I lament losses years past their original expiration dates.
I feign ignorance when it gets me ahead in life, but I'm not stupid. In any way.
I say I dislike females, but I long for a female friend I can relax around.
I say I hate men, but I have a general idea of one that does not exist in nature that I could be happy with.
I depend entirely too much on my cat, computer, Grey's Anatomy, and three message boards to keep me occupied and alive.
I drink too much when I feel alone. I know I do it, and although I don't consider myself alcoholic, I know there are other ways that don't include Cabernet Sauvignon to make me forget. Its just that I abhor drugs. So I drink red wine instead.
I hallucinate and fret and insist I am healthy and have no diagnosed illness, just thinking I can trick myself into believing I am well.

Flaws? Oh, I have many.

You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think Lucille had a YouTube account.

trust in me when THINGS go wrong

When fear or anger or any kind of suffering comes to me, HELP ME TO view it as a spectator. HELP ME to separate myself from my experiences. ALLOW ME AT ANY COST to endeavor to retain a sense of peace and happiness.

Take this darkness away! When I sit with my eyes closed, enveloped in self-created shadows, shine upon me in splendor the aura of intuition. Awaken my heart, awaken my soul, ignite my darkness, tear away the veil of silence. PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE ME ALONE! I know that I am responsible for my own welfare. ASSIST ME in discarding all useless pursuits and idle thoughts. Please help me to feel that I am loved. Please teach me to think until I find the answer. Please tell me how to hear you, so that I not be alone.

I will light the match of smiles. My gloom and sadness will disappear. Teach me how to smile even when it is difficult. Illnesses, failure, death cannot hurt me. Disaster can't touch me. I do not know the meaning of despair. Will you help me become this? To try to be happy under all circumstances? To make up my mind to be happy within myself right now, where I stand today? I recognize my illness to be the result of my transgressions in life. Help me to undo this? Allow me to obliterate it, please? Help me not to be overwhelmed by my self-created misery and darkness, unless I willfully close my eyes and ears.

I am not this body, and it is not me. I am not this pain, and it is not me. I am not broken beyond all repair. Let my soul out of this cage it lives in. Please, help me to feel free.

I ask that the ones I have hurt find forgiveness for me. I ask that I might be taught to find forgiveness for those who have caused me pain as well.

This officially makes me weird.

I always thought I had proof I was a strange child because I loved Asparagus. Most little kids won't eat anything green, especially anything woody, stringy, stalklike and prone to make you fart. But my mama got me eating them fairly young, so I always loved them. So now, I'll order extra Asparagus at restaurants, or Asparagus Tempura (OMG YUM) at Japanese restaurants and all the other black folk will eye me with that "I knew she was secretly white!" look.

You idiots. What, black people don't eat green vegetables?

Well. Apparently we don't; unless we cook em down for hours in fatback and dump a shitload of Tabasco on em. (Yay for Collard Greens...I like those too.)

But here's the rub: I'm having a love affair with brussels sprouts. Its been going on for like 6 months. Vegetables of many kinds, yeah, as in, I love sugar snap peas, edamame, carrots, red potatoes, cherry tomatoes, water chestnuts, cabbage and spinach too. But brussels sprouts always seem to lurk in my freezer. I've lately taken to eating the little Steamfresh bags that take 2 minutes in the microwave, covered in black pepper and a little margarine, no salt. OMG, yummmmmmy.

In fact, I just ate one 50 cal serving 10 minutes ago. As soon as I picked up the last one out of the teacup I chose to eat em out of (don't ask) I thought...'It wouldn't be THAT greedy if I ate another packet, right? It IS a green vegetable...'

Then I Googled them just to check their nutrient content and whoa, they help your liver, with cancer, and have fiber and shit.

So I'm NOT just a pig1 Woohoo! Now let me go get the next batch out the microwave. :D

I thought it was Brandy...but it was Mary Mary. Good shit!

K.

Ok. Uhkay. I feel better now. Alls I had to do was dance around my apartment to old Missy Elliott and Meth...or was it Redman? The Miss E album is still her hottest shit. And half a glass of wine (...plus) in yo system is just enough relax in ya glass to have me two stepping in front of the cat and trying to figure out how loud I can play the bass before Sandra on the first floor gets all aggy.

Oooooh, I don't want I don't need I can't stand no minute man....

Rotf! Good fun. Only slight nausea when I stop moving and sit. Um like to type this. Let me get up.

See, Lisette knows how to have fun with herself all alone, see? I don't need friends. I have a stereo and an exhaustively extensive record collection.

And red wine. I'ma sip it and make it last. Wraaaaaaagh! I'm a crazy ho. Blargh! Time to Lick Shots. Hey, you, why you frontin...rrrah!

Maybe not the best solution, but still one all my own.

Today I acquired a $5. More money than I've had my paws on in a minute. I thought about saving it for a Metro day pass one day this week. Thought I might hop on the #10 and ride it til' my wheels fell off. Just to get out of the house and be in forward motion. Just for the distraction. Hop on one bus, ride it until the end of the line, cross the street and, repeat. Or maybe I thought seriously about buying a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch with it. But having regained nearly all of that 12 I lost when I was destitute and sick as a dog in August...I don't think I really needed to munch on the cinnamony goodness. So, wine. Just one cheap bottle of CS, upgraded from $2 at TJ's to $4 at the 82Mkt. Did I need it? No. Not really. I had a few glasses of Lemonaded triple-sec kitted out kitchen liquor last night over on Adams & 11th with the Ransom/Tejeda clan. But....But after my pasta debacle..I thought, what the hell, y'know? Why shouldn't I check completely out of this sitch right about now? My face hurts. Head, right jaw, back. I chew a 5mg diazepam. No water. Walk briskly in the chilly air to the 82 and I got my Cab and 2 little packs of banana Now & Laters. Sugar and liquor. No diggety no doubt. On the way back I notice two freshly planted California Palm trees by the Melrose Auto Works driveway. Freaky! Those are new. Damn, you don't leave the house for a week and shit just changes. I wonder when the Obama campaign is going to pay me. Just like a nigga to not pay you, but I stan for Malia ( I keep reiterating that) so its aight, I guess. I better get that check by Christmas. So. I come home, open the vino so it breathes, hop in the shower and scrub first with a Dove 3/4 moisturizing bar (old school!), then with a good palmful of Caress oil infusions something-or-nuther wash. Then I put the Maxwell Embrya CD on. Then i pour the wine. Half glass. Ok, lil more than half. I'm looking at it and its at half now. Hm. Then, as I deodorantize and dry myself I noticed that bottle of expired hydrocodone apap 240ML in my bathroom. I hate Vicodin. Hate Lortab. Hate Hydrocodone. It made me ridiculously nauseous in 2005, so I refused to take that shit even in pain. But you know what? It expired in August 07. And I'm in mental pain right now. I miss my fucking girlfriend. I miss talking on the phone and shit. I miss that camaraderie. I miss not worrying about surgical procedures that might vegetableize me. Do they hate/eat you? You're a vegetabllle. They eat off of youuuu. You're a vegetablllle. Yeah, Mike. Yeah.

I swig about a tbsp of the Hydro. Ick. No nausea yet. Drink a lil of the wine. (Oh don't worry, I googled any possible interactions first. I'm not trying to die tonight; I have to see the rest of the season of Grey's...and Cadillac Records to see if Ms. Sushi got better, and...some other things. Plus I ain't got my plot ready yet and why go into the ground unprepared? NO.) So, yes. Ok, here's the slight nausea. But the jaw-ache is going. Maxwell is singing about how he's me, i'm him and we are us...or something. God, too bad he's gay. Such a cute guy. Damn, my equilibrium is all off while typing this and shit. I'll turn the fan on and lie down with Miss Lucille. Maybe NOT watch Born Into Brothels and instead opt for Lady Sings The Blues? NO? Maybe something else light and fun. I know I ain't about to read. Angela's Ashes, Midnight, Dreams From My Father...not shit on Lee Zett's list tonight.

Wooo. There's that nausea. Maxwell is going off now. You know I'd like to get OUT of this, right? All the way out. So far out I was never in. That would be bomb. Why Am I like sweaty now? Fan. ON. Now. Lolz.

Night!

The yellow pot strikes again.

OH MY GOD, dude.

Why does pasta hate me? All i wanted was some pasta with butter and Parmesan cheese, and black pepper.

I boil the pasta. I melt some butter....erm..margarine, and i burn it accidentally so I dump it and start over. I toss the cold margarine with the hot drained pasta. I reach for the pepper mill. I turn.

More.

I turn again. Stir. Turn a few more times.

Damn it, I want MORE pepper. I love pepper.

I turn and turn and BAM! The top goes FLYING off and black peppercorns scattered ALL OVER MY KITCHEN FLOOR. Behind appliances. Under the fridge. Inside the stove burners. In the cat food dish. on the carpet.


MY EXPENSIVE BLACK MALABAR PEPPERCORNS!!! Like 3/4ths the jar is gone.

Do you know what I did? I swept them up on my hands and effing knees. There's still a million of them in crevices and shit and I swear the landlord is going to think those little black pellets are RAT POO or something, but shit I did the best i could.

But I'm still hungry, i have NO MONEY and i don't want to empty the pasta down the drain because i don't have any more.


What do I do?

I RINSE THE BUTTERY PASTA COVERED IN ABOUT 6 MILLION PEPPERCORNS AND GROUND PEPPER and pick EACH PIECE OF FARFALLE OUT OF A COLANDER BY HAND SHAKING the effing peppercorns off. Peppercorns stuck in the colander. Peppercorns in between my toes. Then I'm not really in the mood to even EAT this over rinsed pasta, but I'll be DAMNED if I let the kitchen win.

I tossed it in margarine and more pepper and a shitload of Parmesan.

I'm eating it now.

I want to cry. I need wine. Why? WHY ME? Why all this drama JUST for some damn pasta a kindergartner could make?

Why does my kitchen HATE ME?

I Am Thankful For....

In no particular order. These are the few things that make me happy. The first two pics combine with the third pic, BTW. (And the 5th pic, if I'm being honest.)

The last pic is a CATegory unto herself.

THANKS!!!!!! Thanks much. *smile*

This makes me so PROUD!!!!!!

Proud to be black. Proud to see the joy on those children's faces. Proud he's MY president. Proud that these kids have a role-model for what is possible. Proud my vote counted for something. Proud that a hug and a handshake inspires this kind of glee.

....I also kinda stan for Malia. ;)

UPDATE: Video!!!!!! Aieeee!

Ok, now it's just FUCKING with me.

Today's Scorpio Horoscope
Nov 25, 2008

In some ways, you may feel like a lost soul who is not quite in touch with its dreams, dear Scorpio. Although you may feel energetic and boisterous, you may also get the sense that your energy is misdirected and that you are being led in the wrong direction. The key for you now is to guide yourself. Lead yourself. Cut through the red tape of everyone else's agenda, and follow your own internal rainbow. The more you take charge, the happier you will be.

***

Question. But what if that rainbow is black?

Not Danielle

Sometimes I miss her so much, it scares me. Some mornings, like this one, I lie in my bed, half-awake, and I dream about what I would do. How I would appear, thinner and happier on her doorstep, with no hair and a concrete few months left, and how I'd tell her, "Quick, get dressed, we're going for dinner." And then I'd get us a booth in the corner, (that is, if that place I've never been to even HAS booths in corners) and all the breadsticks she wanted. Where it gets fuzzy is the fleeting --nope. Can't even write it, as I know i'd never be okay with it, as I don't like that.

I sometimes imagine how I would deliver the news. Would it be by FedEx? Would it be in an envelope, one, solitary key, and would I require she show I.D. upon reciept? Or would I be there, and show her myself? I'd say, "I won some money. I bought you a house. I wanted to thank you, somehow." Or would it be MY house, and will I have furnished it, all but a spare bedroom, with double everything like dressers and bathrobes, and I'll have got new storm doors and screens to keep the flying 'things' out. It'll be raised, so nothing crawls in, and air-conditioned and painted white. Plantation-style, with a wraparound porch (screened-in, of course.) And big trees, and breezes, and I'd cook breakfast, and it would be so lovely. One day I'd have to tell her. That I don't have a lot of time. Left. That the reason my hair is gone isn't because I willingly cut it. The reason I'm here isn't because I've decided to be perfectly who you wanted me to be. I'm dying. And I wanted to give you something back. Before I can't anymore.

Would I get a place for her in New York, or her hometown? I know she'd like to live in New York. Would I sleep (sleep) beside her, or be sick on a living room sofa? Would I try to say and do other things, but fail? My half-awake self tries to make it clear, but it can't, really. I get little clarity at all. Maybe I'd have to wake fully up. And I never seem ready to do that, because when I do, I get up, pee, wipe the sleep out of the corners of my eyes, and sit down at this here computer to write out things like this. After following the curve of the backside. After being afraid of a kiss. After not wanting that at all, but desperately missing a similar voice, the person themself. And wanting to somehow have the means, the monetary means, to get them out of there. Buy a house. Say, "What the hell, finish it, get a law degree, if you please. But just FINISH it, for me? You'll be so happy you did." Maybe go to Tulane? I don't know. Or I could say, "I've got a friend at Random House. Anything you write, she'll publish. Cast off the block, and take your time, but this IS real." And maybe names would change and fire would become heat and ice would become cold....and that would be the one to get put in print? The very oldest one? I don't know.

I wonder why it is I dream like this, if things are meant to happen for a reason. I wonder why I miss Not Danielle so much, when I don't miss the shit that came towards the ending. I wonder why Not Danielle always seems to creep up into my mind when I watch television, or read, or think about babies, or vacations, or Mint Juleps or Miss Celie or florists. I wonder just what its' going to take for Not Danielle to set free her grip on my heart and head. I wish I didn't miss her anymore.

My friend, Not Danielle.

I'm having my head chopped open while I lie awake. I win.

Its amazing how one's mood can go from light to dark overnight. Right now I want a drink so badly I could cry. Lying in blankets hugging Lucy and whining to Katacia wasn't enough; so I called Karlina and mewlingly and cryptically asked her if at some point in the next seven to ten days we might go out for drinks; at which point she asks what I'm doing tonight, at which time I tell her I'll need a few days to come up with some money to pay for said drinks, at which instant she offers to pay for them...and I hurriedly tell her HELL NO because I could never let her do that. I didn't want to mooch off of her; I just wanted to go sit and drink too much with one of my very few friends. It seems I'm literally running thin on those. Shit; now I've got to hope and pray Bobby from Street Sounds calls me so that I might submit to something awful just for the little money it would bring me. I would feel so much better had I a few dollars in my wallet right now.

And a job; that too. The Hyatt mercifully and still cruelly told me "nyet!' this morning via email...and instantly, my somewhat lighthearted despite an awful lonely weekend mood turned to shit. Funny how I wasn't missing J and feeling a hole in my heart until I read that email. Funny how I didn't feel like drowning or sleeping or dying or crying until I was turned down and passed over yet again. Funny how I was so optimistic, and then it was gone.

Funny, funny.

I miss having friends. I miss Anthony Gomes and Erica Stein and Rex and Ceil and Tina Mitchell and all the rest of them. I miss that job terribly. And most of all, I miss having something to DO.

Now, Put Your Hands UP

The entire month was scarily spot-on.

AntivirusPro 2009 trojan virus. REMOVED.
Working the election on the 3rd & 4th.
Freaking out financially midmonth-facing the CL music.
Talking about work with David. Voluntarily.
Stressed the week of the 18th. Dealing with J and our many many issues.
Applying for mad jobs on my Birthday. Lots of things I had to 'complete', yes.

Here's hoping that last week, 24th-27th is just as accurate! Thank you MSN Astrology.


Scorpio - November 2008

You'll be in the mood to work hard and prove what you're made of on November 3 and 4. Gritty determination and the desire to succeed will keep you focused. Technology will give you a few headaches and create stress on November 4 and 5. There may be a loss of data or a virus on your computer. Find some quiet time alone on November 7 through the weekend of November 8 to wind down and collect your thoughts. You may get emotional over simple things during this time. A Full Moon in Taurus on November 13 will stir up some issues regarding money, assets, or real estate. You may have been living beyond your means lately and now need to face the music. Discuss your ambitions with a partner or other family member. They will be supportive and able to give you some advice. With the Moon in Leo on November 18 and 19 you may feel stressed when dealing with someone overbearing and dramatic. This will make you irritable and out of sorts. Fully concentrate on your work on November 20 and 21. There will be a lot of outstanding tasks to complete before you can relax on the weekend. From November 24 to 26 you'll be restless but ultimately productive. Be flexible, especially when working with a team. A heavy emphasis in Sagittarius, including a New Moon on November 27, will help you focus on your goals and get you thinking about the future.

Oh, good grief.

Today's Scorpio Horoscope
Nov 23, 2008

If you admit you've made a mistake, people are more likely to forgive you for it. You have a confrontational day ahead, dear Scorpio. There is no doubt that you are in a stationary position concerning your career, and that may be cramping your style somewhat, financially speaking. But you'll make progress sooner if you assume your responsibilities and gauge what your mistakes have been. However, don't be too critical of yourself! It's all part of the learning process.

definitively something more accurate does not exist than my intuition

Today's Scorpio Horoscope
Nov 22, 2008

Today, dear Scorpio, you may feel like hiding yourself away in your ivory tower, and watching the performance that is going on before your eyes. And why not, if this allows you to get the perspective you need on things. Use this period in your life to give things their real value and to see where certain people actually fit in to your world. You're a very lucky person to be able to find this kind of balance in your life.

Now I know why I have three copies!

Wait a minute, wait a minute

I think I gotta take some time and clear my mind, cause if I don't I might scream

Scream out loud in a little bit

I'ma tell you what I'm talking about

Ladies?

If you know what I mean...

When you're in love you give your everything

(I'm tired of that happening)

This time is for me

Nigga, you been doing you

I'm gon' do me

Ladies, help me sing it

You steady telling lies

I stayed and pacified

While I kept denying the truth

You always here and there

Finally, I don't care

I'm gon' keep it real with you

Ain't no feeling like being free

When your mind's made up

And your hearts in the right place, yeah

Ain't no feeling like being free

When you've done all you could

But what's misunderstood

(It's all good, it's all good)

Ain't no feeling like being free

I'm like an eagle set free

And finally I'm looking out for me

Ain't no feeling like being free

Cause my mind's made up

And my heart is in the right place, yeah

Hold on up, wait a second

I got to get something off my chest

My happiness was your happiness

I lived and -breathed- you and all your needs

Let me speak, it's best I do what's best for me

Now ladies,

I got my mind back!

I been there and done that (no looking back, no!)

Ooh, this time is for me

Nigga, you been doing you

I'm gon' do me

I'm FREE!

Time is of the essence

And it's much too short to waste another minute on you

While you steady trying to hide

I'm packing saying 'bye!'

Thought you were my dream come true

No it ain't easy being left out

Or being forgotten about

You didn't deserve my love

I've had enough, set me free....

Can I get some loving?

Can I get some time?

Loving in the morning and in the midnight hour...

I gave you everything you wanted

I gave you everything you NEEDED

But you just didn't do right, no,

So, baby, I'm leaving

IT FEELS SO GOOD TO BE FREE

The e-Mail that I should have sent years ago. (Better late than never, right?)

Happy Realization‏
From: Lee Zett T. (bluefox1958@hotmail.com)
Sent: Sat 11/22/08 6:21 PM
To: J*** C***** IV (************@yahoo.com)

Yo.

Okay. I'm going to make this easy and simple, because, after all, it IS my decision. It shouldn't be a dramatic thing where I cry and feel miserable and have to have a drink to fall asleep. I'm done with that.

Unfortunately, that also means I'm done with us. This weird friendship we have. Its not working for me. That's the truth, plain and simple. I want you to be close to me in a way that you just can't be. I want to be as important to you as your family, and its' not really going to happen, because you have different priorities in life, and that's okay. I don't like the needy person I become when you and I are in constant contact, but what I don't like even more is the sad, abandoned, dejected person I become when you disappear and run off to live your own life. I feel very alone, because I never knew it was a requirement for being successful that you break away from your close friends in order to 'Do You'.

That's what I can't deal with, so I only think its fair that I tell you that, and calmly, and rationally, and in a very adult way...leave.

I want you to not call me. Or come by this building. Or call my family. Or try to find me. Or any of that type of thing. I know you might not even be thinking about doing that, but just in case you ever do...don't. My number is going to change on December 3rd. I'm not sending you the new one, and its NOT because I don't love you. Its because its TOO HARD for me to be your friend. Maybe that's because you happened to meet me at a low period, and you've never known me to be happy. But I have been happy, and I CAN be happy and I intend to be happy again. I just can't be happy being your friend, because I want so much more than you know how or even want to give me.

So, now I think i'll take a page out of your playbook, and do for ME. You can keep whatever money you don't really want to give me that you thought about giving me for my birthday. Its not my birthday anymore, and a gift after the fact, that the birthday girl has to beg for...isn't really worth it. So, you keep it. Put it in your gas tank, and use it to get to the next audition that might change your life. I love you dearly, and i'm not mad (disappointed, yes, but not mad), but I really feel, me not knowing you anymore is the only way I know how to keep myself from hurting when you don't have time for me.

I will call Chris and i'll give him back his apartment. I owe him a few months rent and utilities, and I don't have a cent of that right now, so me and him will have to work something out. But I'll tell him not to go calling your house about it. It has nothing to do with you. I'll let him know that.

In closing, know that i care about you, i'll miss you, and I wish you all the luck in the world with your career and your love life. I will be happy years from now to brag that I knew you before you were who you are going to become. But for now, we just can't be the kind of 'friends' we are. It causes me pain. And I've got enough pain in my life right now.

I hope you understand that this letter is sincere. And there will be no talking things over; I won't call. Tell Lynne I love her, Daine too, and PLEASE name that damn dog something. For me? Name the dog. He needs a name.

Love you! I've loved you for all these years, ain't no changing that now! I'm just choosing to love you from a distance. That's easier for me.

Love.


-Lisette.

Toilet of Dreams

I'm dreaming of a Spanish duplex
just like the ones I long to own
With a galley kitchen and hardwoods that glisten
And tile round the tub that's Art Deco

I'm dreaming of a Spanish duplex
with every click on the MLS site
Will I one day have one? I might...
That is all I dream about at night.

Midnight and stars and a martini

Kat sent me a book! A brand new book! I had no idea what it was, but then I opened the box and it was a wrapped gift.

This is the first real birthday present I have gotten in 20 years.

***

I had a lemon drop martini today. Just one. And I didn't have to pay for it, and afterwards I shivered in the kitchen of my grandmother's old house (my old house) wrapped in throw blankets until I couls find a ride home.

I had a job interview this morning at a hotel. It went ...well. Let me pray.

PS:

Today's Scorpio Horoscope
Nov 21, 2008

It's on days like today that it's important to take time out to reflect upon the events of the past few days, dear Scorpio. Is it possible you've decided to change certain things about yourself and your behavior? If you could just devote a few minutes a day to all the little details in your personality, the changes will go much more smoothly. The atmosphere today may help you think about this.

Save Me From Myself

Today's Scorpio Horoscope
Nov 18, 2008

If you've been feeling a little under the weather lately, dear Scorpio, today's planetary configuration will make you feel a whole lot better. In a few days, you will have the strength to pick up where you left off on the projects you may have begun last month. A lot of things are changing in your life. Your motivations are evolving and your ambitions may be taking, different directions.

*****

So, basically, I shouldn'tve just taken that large dose of NyQuil in order to fall asleep at 4'o clock? Hm. Oh.

HOPE (I Can't Believe In)

That wasn't a typo. I'm sick to death of change.

Yesterday. Hospital. Before hospital ordeal, DASH early morning to a bookstore to return a book I have now purchased TWICE in order to have enough money to get to both an interview and the hospital. I got $12 for it. More money than I've had since October 30th. (and I still owe Katacia $90 for helping turn my phone back on). Turns out, i was turned down for the Farmer's again, and i will be quickly weeded out from the temp job at Aaron Bros. that I thought was in the bag. They say they have to do a background check. Really? What when I divulged my past history on the application? Why can't someone just let me work? Let me work! I get so hopeful that I'll find something and then, ...I just don't. I am not going to be hopeful anymore. I'm wary of speaking to J right now, as well. He's on a new path, got new experiences to have, and as I told him night before last, I'm just left behind. Extraordinarily left behind.

Then to the cemetery. I sat on my mother's grave, and then went to the funeral office to change the records so that when I die I can be buried alongside my mother. After I had to sell Sandra back my plot last year to keep from being evicted, she says I can't be buried there anymore. So now I have to go in with my mother. A great day, great activities, the morning after doing Google searches for Nembutal and white barbiturate and Carisoprodol and how Fluoxetine interacts with it and would it kill me and how much would i need to get and could I get it without prescription from somewhere online and... yes. Cemetery day. Wonderful.

Turns out that since Holy Cross is a devoutly Catholic cemetery, they won't allow me to be buried with my mother because she was married at the time of her death. They would need a signed, notarized letter from her husband stating that he turns the burial plot over to me, her surviving child...even though I PAID for it in its entirety and he told me when she died that he didn't want it. So, I called him from the funeral preplanning offices yesterday, to ask if he would do that for me, since I don't know if I'll survive well into the new year, and he says to me, paraphrased, 'no.' So isn't that special. I don't have a sure, paid-for place to lay my head even in death.

Then to the grocery store. I begged my aunt to buy me a few things, in lieu of a 'birthday gift', from her which i haven't received since about age 9 anyhow. She bought me a box of cereal, Albers' grits, margarine, a quart of skim milk and a carton of Tropicana orange juice. And four Lean Cuisine frozen dinners.

That is more food than I've had in my house in a month. Oh, I also convinced her to get Lucy a bag of cat food. Because, naturally, the cat always comes first with me. She guilt-tripped me all the way home, and yelled at me about how she can't buy me things because she has no money (says the woman who just spent $140 on an alabaster statue of a praying angel from some antiques shop in Culver City the same day). God, I wish my family could just be kind to me for 5 minutes without trying to make me feel like a USER because every once in awhile I need a hand or a fucking hug. Its my birthday for God's sake, and I may not make it to my next one, so could you just be NICE to me? I have nothing in this world, but you can't spend $20 on a few food items without screaming about how I'm railroading you? Why? Haven't I done for you in the past? Without a lecture? Haven't I?

Groceries, I got. The hug, I did not. But when I got home and showered the prickly feel of the cemetery lawn-grass off of me, I climbed into bed, took some NyQuil so I could fall quickly asleep, and then I hugged my cat. She always hugs back, you know.

Touch faith.

A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

Just for a moment, consider that you might be crazy.

I'm not saying you're crazy, Lisette. Just consider it a possibility. It doesn't mean anything bad if you are; just that there's something else there. Or not all there, depending on how you want to look at it.

You've been spending the past three years wondering why she isn't talking to you. Wishing that a little tiny bit of the never ending luck and good-fortune that permeates J's life could come on over and swing towards your way. But that doesn't seem to be working. You clench your jaw at night, wake up with excruciating jaw and headache pain, and then start mainlining the anti-depressant you take in a (too?) low dose, along with the ineffectual Tylenol rapid release, and a wineglass or two full of, no, not wine, but Crystal Light.

Its the only thing that makes the filtered Hollywood tap water taste good.

So, today. You told your friend you were happy for them, but you also told them how very hard it was for you to admit that you are happy for them, when nothing in your life is going right. When good things seem to drop into their lap with regularity (and minimal effort), yet no matter how vigorously you pray, how many Inner Peace books you read and Secrets you take in and pictures you cut out and managers you charm and dollars you spare to the less fortunate or vision boards you gaze longingly at...things stagnate. None of that good fortune knows the directions to my home, my head, my heart, my health. Now with a strange tinge of maturity and resignation, i contemplate the possibility that A: I might've brought on the demise of my method of 'income' by my own design, by fervently wishing and praying that I would no longer have to do those things in order to survive, or keep a little green in my Target brand Mizrahi change purse, and B: that i might be crazy.

Did I do it? A part of me is terrified, yet so relieved that that 'work' is no longer an option. At all. Yet I look in my freezer and cupboards and cat food bag and litter pail and laundry hamper and wonder how I'm going to get by without that 'work', and how I'll eventually be able to get me a new Voluspa candle and go grocery shopping and restart my gym membership, and..also, get a job that i apply for and actually want.

But the crazy, its there under the surface. For could I not be crazy, although I desperately wish the dead would project their voice into my head and speak to me, whether in my dreams or awake? Mildred, Danielle, my grandfather, any of those who kind of loved me. I want to hear them. Especially my mother. I don't think I'm going to have the luxury of dying soon to escape my problems and miseries, but maybe I could make this thing work if my mother would make a cameo in my head one night. Just a guest appearance, really. Not like Heather Locklear on Melrose Place, who stayed on for years as a 'special guest star'. Just, Danielle, maybe pull a Stevie Wonder on The Cosby Show instead?

Jammin' on the 1.

PS: My birthday is next Friday. Twenty-six.

Broken Ties (...Better?)

Lisette.

I want you to re-read this, and think of it every time you want to beat yourself, your sick-self, up for what happened last summer/early fall. Its' something that you can't undo. And it was big, very big, and you don't regret the IT of it, just the HOW of it, and the not-knowing-the-WHY of it until IT was too late to fix (it).

Stacy McKee on "These Ties That Bind"...
Original Airdate: 11-13-08
I have this vase. It has its very own spot, right in the center of my breakfast room table, directly in front of the window, where the light will shine through it. It’s beautiful – Murano glass with
multicolored stripes of orange and yellow and pink and blue… I love this vase.

It was an engagement gift, and it’s one of a kind. Irreplaceable. And a few
weeks ago, my kitten figured out how to jump up onto my breakfast room table
(but he couldn’t figure out how to STAY on the table) so my new little kitten
skidded all the way across the top of the table and crashed onto the floor
below… taking my vase with him.

I jumped into action – first making sure my kitten wasn’t hurt, then starting the task of carefully sweeping up every last shard of broken glass… Only, as I stood there, broom in hand, staring down at all those beautiful broken shards, I started to cry. And cry. And cry and cry
and cry and cry and pretty soon my husband was there, trying to figure out how I
could possibly be sobbing – SOBBING – over what was, let’s face it, a PIECE OF
GLASS. And through my crazy, slightly manic tears, I managed to blurt out that
it wasn’t just a piece of glass! It was a beautiful vase. A beautiful vase that
made me happy every time I looked at it and that was important because sometimes
we all need reminders of things that make us happy. That vase was from a time in
our life when things were new and bright and just beginning and now it’s gone.
The vase is gone forever, there’s no way to bring it back. I felt connected to
that vase, and I already missed it. I MISSED THE DAMN VASE.

Is what I said.

Through my tears. Gesturing with my broom. Which was pretty ridiculous. Only,
not – because what you don’t know is that over the summer, my dad passed away.
Then a couple of weeks later, my cat passed away. Which is the only reason I
have a new kitten in the first place. And the truth is – this was probably the
first time I’d really – REALLY – let myself cry. I finally let myself start to
feel that incredible mish mash of feelings we all have when we lose people who
are important to us. I was crying for all the loss I’d been feeling for months.

And it took a shattered vase to help me let it out.
In Callie Torres’s case… all it takes is some shattered bones.

I know, I know – Hahn isn’t dead. But she IS gone. And Callie is feeling it – sort of. Callie’s diving into work. She wants bones to break, skeletons to build, SOMETHING to keep her from thinking
about Erica. Erica played an unbelievably important role in Callie’s life; Erica’s relationship with Callie has completely redefined how Callie sees herself. That’s something you can’t undo. Erica’s departure has left Callie with this big gaping hole that she has no idea how to fill. Callie had just started to figure out her own feelings, her own identity and now – Hahn’s gone. Without a goodbye.

Whether or not Callie and Erica were ever soul mates, you can’t deny that they played irreplaceable roles in each other’s lives. The heartbreak that Callie is feeling is very very real. And very very private until – she starts to cry, and cry and cry and cry, in the OR, over the bones that she built from scratch. She’s crying for all the loss and heartbreak and sadness she hasn’t allowed herself to really feel yet. Which is why it’s so lovely that Callie’s friends – Yang, Sloan, and even Owen – recognize the moment for what it is and try to give her the privacy she needs to mourn.

Kinda like me with my vase.

-(Grey's Anatomy Blog)

Light

Today's Scorpio Horoscope:
Nov 11, 2008

Whatever you want, dear Scorpio, you need only ask for it and there is a good chance you will get it. And it's about time, too. It seems you have been working exceptionally hard lately. You are certainly due for a raise, if not a promotion. Gather your thoughts, collect your supporting evidence and ask for what you deserve. If your yen for more public recognition is nagging at you, then take steps today to ensure that you get more time in the spotlight.

After this, I just might name my unborn child Keith

I am so Inspired

As I sit here drinking this Maker's spiked lemonade, watching Oprah's post-election special, listening to my "Halo" theme song. I feel so inspired. I feel sad that I didn't get a newspaper, yea, but I'm so lucky that I live in this time. Someone of at least half of my coloring is the ruler of all the land. That is so amazing to me! Lisette, isn't it surreal? That it happened in your lifetime?

I almost feel the will to live. I want to see what happens next. I want to have a child, desperately, so that My son or daughter will come of age in an era where we truly know equality exists.

Is that weird? That I can see his halo?

Dear Erica,

You helped her so much. I sit and I realize just how much you helped the both of us last year, even through secondary means. You helped give me the strength to tell her, the advice to whisper to her, the confidence to be there for her after as she fell apart, and the... well, ok, not all of it was great. *laughing* I probably shouldn't have done a LOT of it. Most of it. Damn near ALL of it. But that wasn't hardly your doing. *smile* If I had known then how you truly felt, I doubt I would have ever been able to go there. I could tell you that while it killed our association, yours and mine, that is, it almost murked the one I have with the Camzelle. I could tell you that, but that isn't the truth at all. It was a very thin, shaky, rickety-ass line I walked last summer and fall with those two, but I'm happy to say that out of the ashes of all that, we are still close, she is healing, he is knowledgeable and more receptive to her, and the only friend I lost in this whole mess was you. I'm not at all happy about that. It still makes me lose sleep some nights. I still have to fight the urge to dial your number and gossip and yelp about the unfair things on Grey's and our other usual shit. I still miss my cynical, sarcastic Leo friend.

But I have to thank you now. You are not a shrink by any means, but you helped ME give my friend the tools to heal herself, and confide her deepest secrets and fears to someone she loves more than you and I love Michael Jackson and tequila combined. I read the lyrics now, and see that Disappear is about the night she told him and he ran out of the room and ended up crying in the backseat of the car. Brokenhearted Girl was written as a long-awaited confrontation and realization of the BAD that happened, and a step toward real forgive- but-not-forget -ness. And some of the others are literal diary entries about working through her demons last year. Needing someone to love her in spite of her frailties and collateral internal and mental damage.

YOU helped do this. YOU did. You helped a girl you don't even like or know recover from something horrifying; something you yourself experienced, though milder, in a way.

Do you know how BIG that is? That's huge. And you should be SO proud. I'm proud of you.

America files for divorce from GW Bush; cites irreconcilable differences

Oooooooooh. America done up and filed for divorce from George W. Bush last night. After 8 miserable years in this arranged marriage shit, we up and left his ass-and FOR A BLACK MAN.

Yes We Can? Word?! YES WE DID.

And I helped! Yeah, I'm serious. My sick, broke, cellphoneally challenged, brain-injury ridden, out-of-work, no-income having, ain't-had-enough-for-bus-fare-to-get-to-the-Van Ness Elem School-polling-place ass WENT AND WORKED THE POLLS YESTERDAY. Yours truly, for the second time in 4 years, was a certified pollworker alongside Ken 'The Asshole" Younger and J. I slept over in J's living room, went to bed at 3 after a harrowing experience with an ex-war veteran named Brian Alexander (fresh off the return from Kabul boat last Friday), woke up at 5:15, was at the polls at 6, stayed until the dark of night helping giddy, eager young black first-time voters, and inSANELY elderly voters with everything from arthritis to incontinence to Parkinson's disease cast their wheelchair- and walker-bound ballots. It seems like everybody that walked through the doors of St. Elmo Village yesterday was for Barack Obama. And shit....after leaving, rescheduling an after-polling job interview for today (missed it though; i slept right through my alarm, damnnit!) and going with J to try to find my aunt at my 44 year old Birthday Cousin's house, i watched on CNN as Barack, Michelle, and two little girls with the most BOMB press & curled hairstyles EVER walked out onto a podium in Chicago and spoke to a nation astounded and inspired.

And Oprah. She was there crying on some white man's shoulder, and all me and J wanted to do was join the honking in the streets and the parties all over the city with the drunk girls screaming "Woooo Oba-maaaa!" (Or was that his half-sister Menisha?) and after leaving and going to the gym at midnight so I could soak in the whirlpool and pedal to the hum of CNN on the stationary bike, J felt the strong urge to give a black chick on a treadmill a dap and say, "We did it!" But alas, our in-checkness made us pause.

I have never felt more happy to be black and american in my life.

THEN I come home and Sushi's shit hath leaked. After noting what was about bad Daddy, what was about hubby's baby-begging and pleas of ignorance, and what was about the lil' Bajan protege ("Where YO boss at?"), I sat grinning wildly at how good the girl has done. I'm not talking about the melodies. Not the production. Not even her voice, although that was very improved and controlled and smooth and lilting and adult. No, I am so proud of her therapy-seeking ass because she LET A LOT OF HER SHIT OUT. All that very dark shit. She let it out. And its so nice to hear, because now that its OUT she can truly let it go. And stay happy.

My God, wouldn't it be nice if I myself had a way to do that??!

***

I can't be as suicidal as I have been this week again for awhile. No more red wine. No more crying. I'll just obsessively watch The Secret, read my many, many, many books, search for a job, eat less again, work hard to pay my debt down, and keep grinning everytime I hear Halo or think of how beautiful our new First Family is. Gorgeous little girls in our white house. A tall, skinny, articulate, multinational, biracial Black guy running the country. His just as articulate, blunt, and full-of-the-power-of-reasoning brownskinned cover-girl pretty wife right next to him. And soon, a puppy. (LOL) Is this how my grandparents felt when the Kennedy's took it in the 1960's?

I so totally get it now.

I can't die; the black man won. I can't die; I have to tell my homegirl how proud I am of her. I can't die; I have to give it another go come January. I have to get healthy and get right, or get left.

Isn't it funny how politics makes a girl so GIDDY today? I even nudged the cat this morning and said, "Lucy! Guess what? My President is BLACK! The cost of cat-food is coming down!" She just purred and ate at her foot fur. That's my fat orange baby!

Signs off humming, "I can see your halo, halo, halo..."

Internet Addict

Hi from the hospital of horreurs! Dr. Molur let me use her Macbook. Cause i'm coherent and just had to check my spots for developments and shit.

I think they're gonna have to give it a second go tomorrow. Some clip-off issues during the slicing and dicing went down. Like, we wouldn't want to clip the thing WRONG and make it rupture. Cause that would suck.

My murses are gay men. Cute ones. Isn't that neat?

Put A Craniotomy On It (I Am....Lee Zett FIERCE!)

My Atlanta ladies

Up in the hospital
Just walked up (to the O.R.)
I'm doing my aneurysm thang
You decided to trip
But i'm not gonna flip
Cause i need to focus just on ME
I'm up in here
The doc's have shears
Don't pay me any attention
Cause I cried my tears
After 5 good years
But you're still mad at me

Cause if you like me then you should apologize for me
If you like me then you should apologize for me
Don't be mad and refuse to sympathize for me
Cause if you liked me then you would have teared your eyes for me

Electrodes on my ears
Disregarding my fears
Chest tighter than our crew used to be
Choking up
Anaesthetic queued up
I could care less if it stings
I needed attention
Did i mention?
Your cruelty affected my vision
But you spoke your turn
And I had to learn
How it really feels to be lonely

Cause if you like me then you should apologize for me
If you like me then you should apologize for me
Don't be mad and refuse to sympathize for me
Cause if you liked me then you would have teared your eyes for me

Don't treat me like the Stans of the world
I'm not that kind of girl
Fairness is what I prefer
What I deserve
Is good friends who help me, and lift me
In my misery, and show empathy and comradery when I'm down
Hug me mentally, in your arms
Say I'm your friend although
We don't always get along
On things we can't agree upon

My Atlanta ladies

Build from there?

Today's Scorpio Horoscope:Oct 27, 2008

It is time to loosen up a bit, dear Scorpio. The current planetary aspects will bring a new cycle of tolerance and understanding you way. You could use a little of both, if you don't mind our saying so. Take baby-steps as you begin to introduce the kinder and gentler YOU to your friends and coworkers. They won't accept a rapid transformation, but they will be agreeable to gradual changes. Start by listening more and speaking less. This little step can make a big difference in a relationship. Build from there!

Sometimes I'm so despondent, that I feel the need to...

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning
Trust him.

Somehow I know that
There's a place up above
With no more hurt and struggling
Free of all atrocities and suffering

Because I feel the unconditional love
From one who cares enough for me
To erase all my burdens
And let me be free to

Fly like a bird
Take to the sky
I need you now
Lord, Carry me high
Don't let the world break me tonight
I need the strength of you by my side
Sometimes this life can be so cold
I pray you'll come and carry me home

Can we recover
Will the world ever be
A place of peace and harmony?
With no war and with no brutality

If we loved each other
We would find victory
But in this harsh reality
Sometimes I'm so despondent
That I feel the need to

Fly like a bird
Take to the sky
I need You now, Lord
Carry me high
Don't let the world break me tonight
I need the strength of
You by my side
Sometimes this life can be so cold
I pray You'll come and carry me home

He says he will never forsake you
Or leave you alone
Trust him


Keep your head to the sky
With God's love you'll survive

Fly like a bird
Take to the sky
I need you now
Lord. Carry me high
Don't let the world break me tonight
I need the strength of
You by my side
Sometimes this life can be so cold
I pray You'll come and carry me home

Carry me higher, higher, higher
Carry me higher, higher, higher
Carry me home
Higher Jesus
Carry me higher, Lord

A Thrill That I Have Never Known

I don't think I've ever been more miserable and alone of late, than I am right now, tonight.

I really wish God would release me. And let me fly.

Ouch. Ow. Hurts.

The last couple days have been a mess of uncomfortableness. Something's wrong with my inner eye, and the whole left side of my face is swollen, red and painful from my lower eyelid up. I have my final checks before my impending surgery to get through on Thursday, and then on the 30th, they'll be chopping my head open again. So right now i can't see out of my left eye, my hands are still recovering, i'm living off of Lean Cuisines (all I have to do is press the button on the microwave, lol) and I've GOT to get up the strength to re-contact my contacts at the HRCP so I can get my fat foot back in that door. My hair is dank and lifeless. I need to change my sheets, but am ridiculously unmotivated to do so. And i can't stop reading. Books, books, books. Yesterday (right before my life was threatened by my cousin's thug 'friend' Stanbury -not going into details on THAT one-) I bought a French textbook called Vis a Vis by McGraw-Hill company. Like really. A TEXTBOOK. And today, I got a memoir by David Sedaris and another book on homosexuality studies in America.

Weird, I know. But I had to return "Dewey" and my two impossibly cool calendars of Italy's coastal regions to Borders in order to afford to buy some homeopathic opthalmic medication and another box of Vella red, this time a cabernet sauv.

I'll be alright. If I could just stop feeling all this Ouchness for a few days so I could get me that Telecommunications spot.

Crap, I need to put it on my V Board.

I couldn't love you more, if time was running out

J told me he loved me, and thanked me for cooking for him tonight. He hugged me and told me, "Thank you SO MUCH, I was really going to waste away to nothing." (He hasn't been eating since the Eric thing.) He asked, "Lisette, do you like cooking for me?"

I said Yes, because I do. I honestly don't mind being domestic and cooking for someone who loves me. I rarely cook for myself, because everything I know how to cook is a family recipe and is made for at least 4 people. I'm alone, by myself, and I can't see myself cooking all that and eating it for days. So, tonight, I cooked because I knew J would eat most of the food, and he did. He scarfed EIGHT tacos, took 2 home, and I had two. I wondered truly where he was putting it all.

He hugged me, and we watched Lady And The Tramp, the VHS, while I drank Vella Delicious Red table wine (from a box, ugh...) and he looked through boxes of my albums. He just left. I'm so happy that he spent a little time with me. Just being my friend. No drama, no bullshit.

It was nice. *smile*

Delayed Reality

I have been having these long early-AM conversations with J of late. Tonight, I promised him I would make him tacos, and I actually think he's excited to eat them. He hasn't had anything made with that packet of Lawry's seasoning since his mother died, I suspect.

He's been going through the very first serious time someone has broken his heart. The guy's name was Eric, and the fact that his Eric did almost the same thing to him that I did to my Erica last year, has not been lost on me. I try to pore over it in my mind time and time again, and now, when I see my friend hurting internally so badly because one who courted him and made him have those falling feelings could not be for him what he alluded to being able to be?

Its like a repeat. Its like deja vu. Except mine with my E went on longer and was deeper than his with his E. And I was a much closer friend to my E. Damn that. Damn it all.

He asks me, my J, if what I did to Erica was like what his Eric did to him. He says, "Lisette, I know you, I KNOW you and you wouldn't DO something like that to her. Were you saying, 'Hi, baby, when are you coming back to see me?' Were you stroking her hand and telling her how striking she was? Were you constantly asking her out for coffee?"

*sigh*. Not exactly, no. She lived across the US. But I did flirt, I did tell her I loved her (truth) and I did for a long moment think I could truly rescue her from the woman and man who've been holding her in a southern prison for twenty-odd years. I did put myself into confusing and emotion-stirring positions with someone I should have intuited had not been loved that way or shown that kind of codependent-seeming attention before. I did let the sarcastic, sensual side of my personality dominate at times where I should have reminded myself that a Leo is not the astrological sign with which to play with ruminations on love. I should have been more clear that although I can come off a very sexual person, my idea of intimacy is more emotional than it could ever be physical, with a female. And quite frankly, I don't even really think I'll ever be able to fully expose myself emotionally to a man, going forward in my life. I honestly don't. That goes back to my recent conversations with J. I tell him, the only thing in this life that I think could keep me alive and bring me happiness is a child of my own. Someone who will not have known me the way I am now and have been. Someone who, if shown an unconditional love by a capable parent, will give that love back to m e in return. I know why Halle Berry wanted Nahla so badly. I know why Michael Jackson wanted his three. I know why Jenna Jameson is so ecstatic about being pregnant (with twins!) right now. Those babies will be Somebodies who will be born loving her; she won't feel as if they will judge her for the choices she made or the path she took. Her unhappiness and misery have manifested itself in her outward appearance for several years now, (as Madonna's have hers;) and like myself, that internal unhappiness is palpable. A child will be a fresh start for Jenna.

One day, I pray to God a child will be that fresh start for me.

I'm hoping Erica can forgive me. I want forgiveness for how I hurt her. I apologize, and I will always regret having had to learn that lesson through her. I see how its killing J, and I console and counsel him, from places most women can never come from. But I can, because I've been through it. I tell J he will find happiness one day. I truly believe that he will. So I'm putting it out there into the Cyberspace universe that my E will find that happiness for herself, I truly do think it is meant for her. Man, woman, writer, college graduate, runaway, mental-mother murderer, what have you. I think she will. She's a good girl.

So am I, though. I think I am. I can be, despite all of this, right?

My child will still love me unconditionally as long as I love and care and provide for and teach it. It will. I believe it. It is so, no matter how it will come to be so.

I am certain. I am certain. I have unwavering faith. I will gain health, I will find happiness, I will survive and cast my Demons out. I will be happy at work and play. I will love my home, my belongings, my surroundings. Myself. I will have Lucy, and I will begin to become alright. I won't be broken anymore. I'm going to heal.

I'll be okay. J will be okay. E will be okay.

And Barack Obama will become President. That too. *wink*

"Cat like Dog? Cat Dog?"

So. I got hit on by a really sweet, charming guy today on my way to the spa.

I had been seeing him around, as he works at a coffeehouse in Hollywood two blocks from my gym, and I would stop in there and get lattes on occasion.

So today, i happen to run into him on the Metro. I've been sick as FUCK, so I haven't been able to go to my gym regularly for like 3 months. I didn't recognize him, and then he reminded me where I knew him from, etc. We had a little 5 minute random convo about random shit.
THEN he tells me he's heading home, and asks me in a sly way where I lived and if I lived with my husband.

:? Dude. Seriously?

After I tell him that the wedding ring I wear is purely Nigga repellent- for dudes who aren't bright enough to figure out that its not on the ring finger, therefore is NOT my wedding ring....and how if they're that stupid I ain't talking to they asses anyway... he then proceeeds to tell me that he bets i get hit on a lot, 'looking the way i do'.

:?

I rolled my eyes. I have a migraine and chipped toenail polish and my fingers are jacked the hell up from my Garage Door Closing On Hands OWWW Fucking A! accident last week, AND my skin is all dry and shyt. I am not hot today. "Yeah, dumb mofos and old ass mofos old enough to be my daddy hit on me CONSTANTLY."

He's like...no, really. I bet older dudes..they're the only ones who can get up the nerve to talk to you...

"Aww. Thank you for the compliment, that's sweet."

"That wasn't a compliment; Its a FACT."

Ok, so...what the hell???? This nigga right here.

I eye this dude warily. It dawns on me (finally...I'm slow like that) that he's hitting on me. Oh, word?

"How old are you?"

He goes..."Um...young."

"Young?"

"Younger than you...I know I'm too young."

:huh: I go, no, eff that, HOW OLD is young?

He goes... "Twenty."

OH HELL.

NOT that i'm interested, because A, I don't want or need a man, and B, he's light-skindededed and I don't go for high yella dudes, but because he's SO SWEET and had been hooking me up with extra shots in my lattes and shit and I had no idea he liked me, I was going to be nice to him for a change and give him my number when he asked (he did ask...in that, 'so why don't you call my phone?' kinda way. He ain't slick. )

But he's TWENTY? I'm 25. Oh hell naw! LMAO!

I can't. LMAO

I go...wait, you were born in the 80's, though, right? Okay. That isn't THAT bad. Oh hell.

WHAT is with BABIES hitting on me? After I told him I was 5 years older than him-damn near 6-he still didn't care!

He can't drink yet.

He told me he wants to BE MY MAIN THANG.

Who SAYS that?! What does that mean? I don't even KNOW you, bruh!

He's so sweet, but he can't drink yet, and lord knows I like a glass of wine with my whine.

Damn. Why must the perfect gentleman be underaged (damn close) and the color of Beyonce's L'Oreal Feria ad wig? :(

LMAO!

I'm evil, right? I know. But he didn't even know what BOYZ IN THE HOOD was, and he lives a block from where Ice Cube and Cuba Gooding had guns blazing in the burger joint parking lot! LMAO! How can you not know that movie?!

A damn twenty year old! Naw!

Take Me Out Of Reality

What am I doing wrong?

I'm not doing anything wrong, am I?

Right now, I fully acquiesce to the realization that I am an addict of some kind, and the addiction...the thing I'm knowingly addicted to, helps me to forget about all the things not heading in a positive direction in my life right now.

I thank the addiction for not costing me anything and allowing me to have it.

Thank you thank you thank you SO much. You take me out of reality.

A Little Misfortune

..and a lot of sashimi.

I accidentally ordered 3X my normal amount of ebi nigiri today over at Kabuki. This could have been because I was so peturbed at the events of this morning. Rehashing Chris' frantic email cries of 'where's my money?' and my EDD check not arriving. So, I stopped off at Kabuki, had some sushi (although I packed it up and brought most of it home;) went into Out Of The Closet and bought a few novels (the title of this entry is from the foreword of one by John Irving), and went into Rite Aid for a little pampering Lisette therapy. I got band-aids for this atrocious pinky-toe blister I developed after tromping around Century City in stiletto Franco Sarto leather boots this past Tuesday (being all charming and effusive, hoping for a very cool job), I got psoriasis relief medication (even though I don't exactly have psoriasis, the itchy dryness by my ankles that flares up whenever I have been submerged in a tank of stress is re-flaring, to the point wher last night I could barely sleep if not doused in peppermint oil castile soap..of course, it could've been from the heat;) and Burt's Bees peppermint foot lotion. Just because. Also a pack of olive oil infused deep conditioning treatment with which to maintain my new haircut, and a bag of peppermints (peppermint all around me!) Oh, and some more cold & sinus bubble bath, as I suspect i am about to go soak in a tepid tub full of the last of mine before the VP debate starts in 90 minutes.

I took the DASH home (which today was that bright red Holley-Trolly looking thing) and gave a confused white man trying to break a $20 for bus fare the requisite quarter, for which he thanked me effusely. Dude, its twenty-five cents. I hope you'd spot someone else a quarter if they needed it, i mean, c'mon. I've been that girl without a quarter before; in fact, I was damn near being her just yesterday on my way to the LASFC hospital. (Jennifer, my doctor yesterday, was nice. Dry wit everywhere, but nice, and she got me out of there in under 2 hours. Sweet!)

Another novel I picked up today is entitled "Go West Young F*cked Up Chick" by Rachel Resnick. Ooh, I think i'm going to like that one. But my own novel would be different; something like, "Head East, You Medicated Sarcastic B*tch, You!" and with that, I shall think of ways to come up with vast amounts of dollars with which to pay Christopher, buy fresh new business suits for the JOB im gonna get at the HRCP, and uh...fly to Alabama at the end of the month, God willing, for Ratoisha's baby shower. I think. I hope. But i want that job a tiny bit more, and i know Ms. Jessie'd understand. Besides, I buy fabulous baby clothes, and shopping for her son is no exception!

And I gotta go see Kat in Michigan at Christmas, possibly.

And I think i'ma seriously go to Europe next year...Italy is still on my radar. Oh, yes, another book I grabbed today (along with a BABAR the Elephant VHS)? Learn ITALIANO The Fast And Fun Way.

I fully intend to, shit!

PS: It cooled down today. The weather was downright pleasant. Lucky me and Lucy!
PPS: I lost out on another Zac Posen Iconic Tote today. I swear, I'm going to get me one of those damn things if its the last thing I do! (Well, not really.)

97 Degrees

I just can't understand this shit. Its OCTOBER. We're having a fucking heatwave. The cat is miserable, lying on the floor doing her kitty yoga in her ginger coat of fur. THICK FUR. Poor baby! I'm sitting in my draws and brassiere waiting for the Vice-Presidential debate to begin so I can LMAO at Sarah Palin. But its HOT. The record store owner wants to come see me for a bit, but its SO HOT. I don't want to be bothered...its HOT!!

Yesterday I went to the HRCP and met with 'Cairo'. Drew, he was nice. As were the people in HR. I hope it all turns out well...in fact, i KNOW it will. Know why? I have my faith. Last weekend I went to the Lake Shrine in Pacific Palisades, got off on the wrong stop (who knew there were TWO Marquez Streets?) and walked about a mile and 1/2 until i FINALLY got to the SRF Lake Shrine. I sat and watched the swans and doves, i meditated (kinda), i looked around at all the gorgeousness. I walked in flip-flops through the cedar chips on the ground. I bought a moonstone ring and sandalwood prayer beads. And a picture frame to put Danielle in, and a little carved wooden elephant that reminded me of her, and a bunch of the best incense EVER.

Mostly, I just felt good being in a place that my mother had taken me as a child. It was nice. I might go back soon. The bus ride wasn't too bad. *smile*

Decanates and cusps and moons and ascendants...and toilet bowls and diaphragms...

I am a Scorpio.

Pisces rising, moon in Aquarius, cusp of Sagittarius, born in the 3rd decanate of Scorpio at 10:38pm on November the 21st, 1982.

I need to not drink alcohol. I need to ingest mad amounts of calcium. I need to reign in my volatile qualities, eat lentils, romaine, cherries, dairy and fish. I need to not be as emotionally detached...even if it is in my charts that I tend to be.

Tomorrow, I'm going to Whole Foods and I'm getting me a quick cleanse, and I'm cleaning out my liver. Milk thistle, anyone? All night I have been alternately shitting and retching from the poison in my body. I'm tired of this and I don't like it anymore. So along with my vision board of two hat travel, blue waters, antique style sofas in neutral linen colors and Spanish California houses, I am going to visualize a healthy body, a clean liver, a rested mind, a stronger heart.

Why? Because I think I'm ready now.

Liver, wish your owner luck.

Danielle? Mama? Dani Elle? Listen to me.

Now we were once both silly with the same mind
Quick to roll our eyes and giggle from the same line (Bur Bur Burrr!)
You were many years older, but you still told
Me how Sawyer women could 'catch', and that I was beautiful
I remember when Lindy came around; you didn’t quite learn
Then Malgy moved in and you faltered, lost your job term
Collect calls to Granny’s house, saying that you’d maintain
If she would just come through with a little change
We moved into her home, I didn’t think much
Didn’t know my childhood was over, no childish games and such
It seems I lost my mother then, and to a bad man
You hit the pipe; from then on smoking was your only plan
Rather not work for your money; that was GR’s trouble
David yelled but you ignored and begged for more money
Congratulations on your ‘93 wedding, I hope you now know
You left your child for that life, and Malgy’s bullshitting
I know we grew apart, you probably don't remember
I used to cry for my Granny, you wouldn’t let me see her
And I can see me after school, withdrawn
In my hot-ass room with that pink silk gown on
Now my whole world’s changed, and nothing seems right in it
Got a hole in my heart, and you can’t even fill it
And I knew in my heart you were the same Mother that
Wanted a child so much, after the one you lost a year before that
And I can't even cry, or be remorseful at cha
You died too soon; I feel pain cause you’re dead
But I ain't mad at cha

I ain't mad at cha
I ain't mad at cha

I used to hang out with my cousins, sleeping at your brother’s
Whole time you were buzzing, Malgy and you wasn’t
Trying to parent me at all; it just wasn’t fair
I'm getting blitzed and I reminsce on all the stress I beared
Besides reading and Michael wasn’t nothing on my mind
In time I had to live a life of crime
Rewind me back, to a time was too naïve to know
I caught a misdemeanor off of that Sawyer “Catch” goal
And when I moved, I thought I’d be okay and you’d be straight
But several days after my move, you were lain in state
I couldn’t think of goodbye, and wipe the tears from my lonely eyes
The only one who saw me cry was Joe- a week’d gone by


Please shed a tear, cause Mama I ain't happy here
Sick and tired, all alone with all my fears
They got me goin mad, I'm knocking several drinks back
In my jail, thinking, “Hell, I do not deserve this whack
sentence I’ve received.” Its got me feeling down
I wooed a girl in the south, unknowingly made her frown
And Joe, he wants to kick it, but I’m just not that happy
Trying to forgive you, bitch, so I swear, I ain’t mad at cha

I ain't mad at cha
I ain't mad at cha

Well guess I’m medicated up, sometimes bawling now
Assholes keep calling my cell phone and I keep laying down
I went from prudish to used, quite frigid to screwed
Went from a celibate honey to ‘How much have you got?’
Now Joe’s a rising celebrity, and he still cares for me
He tries to inspire me, to think much more positively
See, I hate my decisions, but I made them, so the choice is made
I can’t rewind time or reflect on my younger days
So full of pain while my candles blaze
Gettin so loose off that Vodka hoping I make it, to see better days
Cause crime pays, for no one, I feel this every day
When I apply for thankful work and I am told ‘No Way!’
My family changed on me, so many tried to plot

I feel like I’m not close to any of our family stock
My pride has stripped me of my essence
Cause even as an adolescent, I refused to have a Welfare presence
So many questions, I feel as if I’m dead now
I’ve sold my body for money, so I ain't real now?

Mom, I regret this day, but I'm just pushing after
Just what, I just don't know, but please know, that I ain't mad at cha

Stevland, is that you?

Um.

I think Stevie Wonder might have moved into the Chicano-filled building next door to me in Hollywood, as for the past 45 minutes straight someone has been languidly playing a lazy harmonica. Every time I think I catch the opening melody of Dionne Warwick's "That's What Friends Are For", the melody changes. Fucking A. I had too much Kenya coffee and not enough solid food in the past 36 hours. I'm losing it. I'm losing my shit. But I can still hear the harmonica. Que???

-Lisette, being all hopeful and optimistic. Really. *smile*

The Aftermath Of The Great Cedars-Sinai 'Let's Drug The Bitch!" Experiment

Or, my last 7 days or so. I have barely been ONLINE in the past, oh, 3 weeks. Just sporadically, when i could check from the Medical Jail i was being held in, or after that when i dragged my raggedy laptop to Coffee Bean and freeloaded off their WiFi. So, all this new shit hath been goin' down and I am all late and shit. Beyonce is running around town looking like a porno-movie bondage cop. Jennifer Hudson is marrying a gay man. Halle Berry is parading her adorable lookalike daughter around. I'm sure some white celebrities have recently given birth or gone to rehab. Oh, that's right, Britney Spears is apparently doing really good again, even though her mama wrote a book about her friend Sam grinding up her anti-psychotics Risperdal and Seroquel into her food, oh Lordy. But back to me. This is all about me, me, me, me, me. To quote Mya Harrison circa 1997. *wink*

Tuesday: Kabuki Sushi with Alicia (her treat, after several of mine.) I get spicy tuna hand rolls and an avocado roll and a blue moon slightly alcoholic-ish drink. She eats lobster and shrimp and lots of butter sauce and later tells me her bowels move. Yippee?

Wednesday: Why I wound up crying my eyes out after drinking champagne and then watching MONSTER is (not) beyond me. I called up J and cried like a little girl. For 2 hours. He listened. I think.

Thursday: Again, crying. I asked him to please teach me how to be thankful for that which i do not yet have in my possession, as my mind is a rational mind and cannot easily psyche itself out into feeling like YAY! EVERYTHING IS COMING UP ROSES!!! when I know that it really, really isn't. He doesn't know how to teach me. But I asked! That's progress, right? Righty-O.

Friday: With Alicia to Walgreens at 11pm to fetch 72 packets of Emergen-C vitamin c powder for sick, sick, motherless J. Then to KFC. Then to Buckingham, where i help Lynne carry my AbLounger Tony Little exercise thingy into her new bedroom. Then J tries to convince me to stay. I say no, do not allow him to come out and meet Alicia who's eating KFC mashed potatoes in one of her have-it-for-48-hours-then-flip-it-Lien-Sale cars, and then, off to Bossa Nova for real food. I get an Andrea's salad. She gets the chicken brochette (bitch is a sucker for bacon wrapped anything.) Then I tell her the majority of my business on a long whim, and am reminded again how to try to make Rhonda Byrne's 'thing' work for me.

Saturday: J takes his Vitamins, still feels sick. I have a third crying jag and call him, begging him, to please come and get me OUT of this apartment. I pop the bottle of Taittinger Rose' that I'd been saving (the one i agonized over whether to ever drink on this blog, because it MATCHED MY DECOR ***sigh). I opened it and drank it ALL. Woooo. Woozy. Then out with J to the Sunset Marquis, briefly, then to 7-Eleven for Red Stripe, Red Vines and frozen burritos, then to Carl's Jr. for Onion Rings and criss-cut fries it took me 24 hours to eat and a shake i rinsed down the drain. (Why negate that sudden 12-pound medically caused Cedars-starvation syndrome weight loss with a NASTY NASTY SHAKE??!) Then home. We talked on the phone.

I FIND OUT *shock*
THAT YEARS AGO *shock shock*
I had *whispers* sex with J. *whispers* In a way I do not remember having ...whatEVER with J.
WHAT?! Why do I not remember that at ALL?!
At ALL!!!!!!
He tells me the details. Aw, shit, i think he's telling the truth. Ok, sure, we did... stuff... but THIS kind of stuff?! The hell I remember that!
I am trying not to vomit, and he's laughing his high, tight, round, Indian-reddish brown black ass off.
I am so done. I shriek, scream and hang up on him several times. He's tripping because A: i REALLY didn't remember it and B: he's cool with it, but all this time later I am the one over here tripping. Talk about a role reversal!

Sunday: More J talk. More teasing me about sex i do not (wish to, or actually) remember. Then, i drink two bottles of champagne (a cheap spumante and Korbel Rose') while listening to Luichini by Camp Lo, and watch more Grey's Anatomy on DVD. Yay! Oh, did I mention i got season 4 on Tuesday and overdrew my bank account to do it? Yup Yup Yup.

Monday: Kabuki Sushi alone at 3:30 for happy hour. I get my usual. Then to H'wood to get my hair braided. Cornrows, very dykey prison-girl style, but i get complimented all day. Um, yay? Then to The Grove to see Tyler Perry's The Family That Preys starring Tyler Perry in a Tyler Perry Studios Production Written By Tyler Perry. Ahem. It was good. Then, home in a taxi, after stopping at CVS to buy fall foliage faux kitchen decor (floor mat, tablecloth, autumn wreath, candles, spoon rest, cutting board, fake ceramic pumpkins and...no, that's it. Now its all THANKSGIVINGY LOOKING in my pale peach kitchen. Coolness.

I am not sick, i am NOT sick, and i am GOING to make what i want to work for me work for me dammit! No more extended hospital stays! No more shutting off my damn cable and wifi! No more not eating anything but string cheese and rolled oats for FOUR WEEKS because a bitch was sick and broke! No more funny shit from my doctors! No more freakish daydreams about my former Leo friend! No more thinking that dang Rhonda Byrne thing (i refuse to call it what it is) can't work for me, because it WILL, got dammit!!!!

It will.

Now i have to write some fiction, watch a bunch of backlogged Law & Order:SVU episodes, and go to the bank. Oh, yes, and get a NEW pedicure. Hospital life is MURDER on the toes.

Thanks to Word Documents...backtracking.

Feels like I sampled True Love… But this sh*t ain’t clear!

Listening to Erykah Badu, sipping Gato Negro Merlot-Cabernet.

Today, pedicure, and a free seafoam green metallic manicure from Kim at Pastel Nails. I guess its not so bad that they accidentally caused me an overdraft charge back in July when I got that extra special super duper $45 pedicure the nigh before J’s asian friend’s B’day party-the one he didn’t go to, at my uh… suggestion.

Sustenance Preparation

“Word to Mama Emma, drama. Dilemma.”

So, I don’t think I’m meant to cook my own food. The rational part of my brain that doesn’t want me to eat BUGS is fucking up my gas stove steelo. Last night I wanted to make this lentil soup I’ve been craving for weeks for some odd reason. I bought all the vegetables, olive oil, some andouille sausage and salt pork (in case I wanted to get really freaking creative) a 5-qt stockpot, a smaller saucepan to make rice in, and a bag (or three) of lentils.

However, I got all that at a regular grocery store, and forgot a few key ingredients: a can of diced tomatoes, garlic cloves and a bag of rice. I figure, hey. Its Labor Day weekend, and I don’t want to be out waiting for the bus late at night on a Sunday just to grab a few things, so I’ll go grab those few staples from the little general-store/bodega-esque 82 Market around the corner on Melrose. They’ve got canned goods, rice, beans, oil, sugar, spices, and all that good shit. Just a short walk away, too, so even though last night I figured I wasn’t going to make a three-hour soup after 9:30, I still ran to the 82 right before they closed and bought what I was missing –and a can of spaghetti sauce to doctor up, along with some inexpensive pasta. I figured it was too late to make the soup, yeah; but spaghetti is quick and a relatively simple way to break in my new yellow Tivoli saucepan.

Well.

Not quite.

I get home and start watching the absurdity that is “Bring It On: All or Nothing”. Yeah, I’ve been on a Solange Knowles kick ever since I heard her Sol-Angel album awhile back; I just thought, why not re-watch her get her little golden-yaki-weaved hood rat on in that dinky movie with the white girl from that show Heroes that everybody raves about? So I put it in, and about halfway through, when the cheerleading Mexican dude takes the white girl to the top of a building in the ghetto and calls it ‘The Beach’ (blank stare), I pressed pause because a bitch was suddenly hungry. Spaghetti time! Right?

Uh, no. I put a pot of water on to boil in my freshly washed, bright sunny yellow saucepan. Salt it, idle for a bit and then toss in two 50-cent packages of ‘coil fideo’ made-in-Mexico pasta noodles that look rather like little bundles of dried ramen noodles, but are actually garden variety durum semolina spaghetti. I let it boil, I stir the water. And then I notice something odd appear at several second intervals in the water: brown bits of something. Whaaa? That ain’t supposed to be in no damn pasta.

I spend about 10 minutes getting an unintended steam facial with my head lowered over the boiling pot of noodles as I try unsuccessfully to fish out the full extent of the boll weevil (?) swirling in the water with my dinner (just to confirm my suspicions as I had absolutely no intentions of rinsing out the pasta and still eating it), but a fork and a spoon later, I gave up trying and flushed the entire pot of colander-drained pasta down my toilet in three, slimy batches and proceeded to scrub the living shit out of my utensils and saucepan with scalding soapy water and a blue Scotch Brite sponge.

Then I made some actual ramen noodles in my microwave and ate that, along with a few (three?) glasses of Sauvignon Blanc that I had intended to have with my lentils (oh well!) as I watched Solange and then Winona Ryder, Keanu Reeves and DRACULA do they thangs. (DVDs are so great when you are mildly drunk in your own warm bed. Trying to make out 18th century Romanian and Transylvanian and eventually resorting to subtitles was not so great.)

Flash forward to this afternoon.

I once again hold off on making my damn soup, because I don’t have a sharp enough knife with which to chop celery, slice the andouille and peel potatoes and other things, but again, after eating nothing all day but a 35 cent single-serving bag of nacho cheese Doritos and a Prozac pill, I’m hungry. I think I want to microwave ‘bake’ myself one of the russet potatoes I bought (in case I decided to make that lentil soup a tad bit more hearty), but its been so long since I’ve cooked a raw potato I can’t remember how the fuck to do it. But wait! I have a great, hulking book the size of your average Catholic bible called HOW TO DO ALMOST EVERYTHING on my bookshelf. Its how I learned to roast a Thanksgiving turkey about 10 years ago and I remember there are some very ‘duh!’ mundane entries in it about food prep. Surely they’ll include an entry on how to nuke a raw potato, right?

Nope. Just about everything but. How to make a hollandaise sauce, how to read body language on a date, how to paint a house, how to water a garden, how to clean a coffeemaker, how to eat lobster, how to stew, braise, steam and/or sauté ANYthing….but no potato. FUCK.

So….rice! That’s it! Any idiot can make a pot of white rice! I haven’t done it in a while (since I threw out my Wolfgang Puck bistro set of cookware at my last apartment in lieu of packing and/or washing it) but I can still remember how to make rice. And I bought a bag of Mahatma last night, just in case I wanted to serve my lentils over rice….so, RICE it is!

No, it isn’t. I’m currently sitting here typing out my sarcasm with unappetizing iced Arizona canned tea in my wineglass after a grand attempt to make a pot of white rice in that same pretty yellow saucepan turned from simple simmering for 20 minutes into the discovery of ONCE AGAIN MORE BROWN SHIT FLOATING IN THE STARCHY WATER. This time I successfully fish out a small brown-dot-at-one-end-is-that-a-maggot?-no-its-a worm with a fork. And once again, the pot of half-cooked rice goes swirling down the gullet of my fucking indoor plumbing. Thank god for the damn toilet not being low flush.

I don’t think I’m meant to eat my own cooking. Is the yellow saucepan cursed? Will I scarily find insect life in any food I attempt to prepare in it? Is it just that starches purchased from the 82 Market are infested, even if not to the naked eye? (And BELIEVE ME, I looked, as I always inspect my groceries like a fucking Nazi Gestapo selecting the sick and unworkable and immediately gas-able Juden from the healthy; ESPECIALLY grains). After that shit, I sealed up my three bags of lentils and split green peas (SEPARATELY) in big, plastic gallon size storage bags, poured this nasty glass of ‘tea’ beverage and gave up. Sure, there’s some instant oatmeal in the kitchen. Sure, I could try to peel a potato with a butter knife, boil it, mash it with a fork and some I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter and salt and eat THAT, sure I’ve got some turkey jerky, dried fruit and another little snack bag of Doritos in there that I COULD munch on if I felt like it, but after all that buggy shit?

I’m appetite-free. The shit has vanished. I just asked a friend to pick me up a baby-sized apple fritter from Winchell’s on her way home, and if she does, I guess I’ll eat that and a cup of cocoa later for dinner (how dietetic.)

But now I’m afraid to make my lentils at all. What if I sauté my garlic, my onion, carrots, and celery; brown my crumbled andouille, add my chicken stock, water and spices… and then dump in my dried lentils and find, I’onno, a fucking FLY or something waving at me in the stockpot? I think I might seriously tear my fucking hair out and cry. And I doubt flushing a giant batch of soup down the commode would be a good idea in this old ass building. I’m grateful to God the damn spaghetti didn’t stop it up.

*sob*

I guess I’m just meant to eat commercially prepared meals right now. Either that, or learn to enjoy and embrace the caloric benefits of the bugs in my food. *sarcasm alert*

You know what?! I blame Granny and my horrific early-childhood full of pantry-pulled ancient infiltrated boxes of Malt-o-Meal, Alber’s quick grits and Jiffy cornbread mix. Lawd only knows how many crawling pounds of ‘minerals’ I ate unknowingly or forcibly as a child.

*sigh*

5:56pm

Secrets

Tuesday: Laundry day. Chris has an old friend visitor. Fresh out of jail, he swings by to say 'herro'. I do not do laundry, instead befriend Ms. 108 and talk for hours. My laundry sits in the basement.

Wednesday: more of the same. Major craigslist usage, a trip to Target for kitty litter and The Secret x2. And fruit snacks. And Mitch Albom's Tuesdays With Morrie.


Thursday: walking through Lemon Grove park, selling a vehicle, then out to dinner at El Coyote for green corn tamales and enchiladas, Alicia's treat.


Friday: Out drinking at the Dynasty, Inglewood, and at The Cork on Adams & Palm Grove. 1 Vodka Madras, 3 (or 4?) Cadillac margaritas and one Adios, Motherfucker later, I am drunk as a skunk and carted home to sleep it off. I wake up in the AM and start downing vitamin C packets like they're going out of style.


Saturday: Spaghetti-making (beef! which I do not eat) near the Hollywood Dell at Tasha's house. This after a long ordeal of a day which began by getting stranded down the block from El Cholo off Western & 11th in a 1993 Toyota Paseo with a dead battery. Buddy to the rescue w/ Jumper Cables, yay.


Sunday: The beginnings of a head cold, allergies or sinusitis, i'm not sure which. Drinking lots of tea.


Monday: late night trek to 99 cent store for pineapple mango, cocoa, bottled water and a scanty doormat. J asks me to build him a resume. I oblige. He offers to pay me. I decline, although i'm touched as hell. Pockets a lil less light due to brief appt. in the evening. But just a little. Freak out momentarily when J goes missing after late night Bus-to-Gym ordeal. I worry about his safety, but he's fine after all.


Tuesday: slept in later than my usual. This time to almost NOON! (these 5am days are crazy). Kick it w/Miss 108 in her apt w/kitties, then off to Kabuki for late sushi lunch/early sushi dinner (my treat). Then quick Starbucks run for iced coffee w/equal. Yes, Equal. What, no splenda?


Today: Up early. Craigslist and Hotmail both down. Chat with Bettie Kim Swilley on Gmail, shoot the shit about Obama & the DNC, young ass men, Muscato wine and how fast children grow. I love that girl, and sometimes wish i could swing by Florida & have a glass of red with her old-soul with a young-face ass. But alas, not yet, as i have to run down my lil affirmations like a good girl before i check out:


Money comes to me easily & frequently (x9)


My sinuses will clear up by thursday (x3)


Very soon I will find a job I love (x7)


I will be a happier person in 2009 (x3)


22. Lucky # 22!

And now, I've got to pee. Byeeee!