An example of life in Baltimore...

Last night I got into a cab (which I called from my aunts house).  The cab came 3 hours after I called.  After sitting in the cab for about 10-15 seconds, 5-8 cop cars pull the cab over.   I'm questioned, as if I did something wrong.  I suppose the cab driver copped something illegal right before picking me up and was followed to my location.

After playing it cool with one cop who was too flirtatious, another who was a total asshole demanding that I get out of cab---be searched--etc., and 7 others just observing me as if I had 4 titties, I was dismissed.  

I went back to my aunt's, called the same cab service, requested another cab, and explained the situation.  Note: I asked if I would have to pay for the next cab given circumstances.  I was told no.  So after getting into another cab with two dumb ass individuals who claimed to know nothing about the fare being free, and who intentionally drove out of my way to increase the fare on the meter, I arrived at home.  The meter read $6.20.  I handed one of the dummys a $10 bill.  I was given $14 change. LMAO.  what more can I say--all's well ends well.  

...(embrace the randomness)

So I went clubbin with the fam last night. Always an adventurous experience. I will say that I had several reminders of why I need to continue taking sporadic fasts from alcohol….It amazes me how changes in serotonin levels correlate with people’s ability to say the things they really want to say but generally don’t have the courage to.

But it was depressing and interesting to witness someone have a breakdown/revelation about the state of our people in Bmore. It seems that my parent’s generation are the crackheads and mine are the pot heads. A sign of the times I suppose. Or maybe it’s just in the music. I’ve often wondered if I’d be doped up somewhere had I been born in the seventies. Between the clothes and the music, they just look like they were having too much fun. Questions: How do you let go when your parent is a crackhead? When you’ve been crying the same tears for 20+ years, does that mean you’re incapable of being desensitized? And what do you say to the ignorant, insensitive bitches in the world that use circumstances, such as having a crackhead for a mom, as reason for your being queer?

As the offspring of a convict/mad man and overly abused/crackhead woman, I can say that as an adult, life has finally started to look and feel better. My heart goes out to all the children with similar backgrounds who have to grow up too fast in this fucked up world.

Anyway, this morning I was thinking about how many times I’ve said to myself “I wanna be…when I grow up” and how many times that’s changed. I’ve come to the realization that it’s easier for me to tell you what I don’t want versus what I do want. This sentiment not only applies to career paths but also my love life. I may not know exactly who I want (or how many for that matter) but I do know that I don’t want a drama queen. Most of my Bmore chics are fucking DRAMA QUEENS. And I’m not sure if they know, but that eliminates them as possible candidates for long term partnership. I can’t have some loud ass (but FINE) hood chic use me as a get out of the hood ticket, travel the world with me and cause my stress levels to spike. OH HELL NAW!!!
I went to a friend’s wedding a few weeks back and was reminded by some of my peoples I met while in South Africa about this compound vision I use to rave on about. The idea was that I’d buy some land, and any woman that wanted to come live on that land was more than welcome. Now if she/they are all queer, that’s a definite plus. But it’s not mandatory. Ironically, the majority of the women I’ve been intimate with are not queer—or at least, that’s not how they identify themselves. I suppose dealing with me makes them queer. But anyway, imagine, a self sustaining compound of entreprenural type women living together in harmony. Just enjoying life, ancient Amazonian style…I’ll take it! Some of them (the friends I met in SA) must of thought I lost my mind… LMAO

who wants to grow old?

so i've been thinking pretty hard about this: i don't think i wanna be old. i imean, i don't think i wanna live to be more than 80 years old. perhaps i should start eating meat again to ensure a quick death.

but my homie brought up a valid point, we'd be mad as hell if we reached an age where we couldn't wipe our own ass. i think that's more than enough to piss me off----the inability to feed myself, wipe my own ass, straight baby mode all over again. just the thought of it makes me angry.

but on the flip side, i look forward to being an inappropriate elder. walking around talking bout 'bow down and suck my knees' LMAO i hope im one of those disorderly elders who you can't tell shit--just like my great grandfather was. the man painted his benz with green house paint, washed his clothes in the tub because he didn't like the other old women in the nursing home trynna holla at him...he was HILARIOUS. (PS--I miss you Pop-Pop)

for serious tho, i give thanks daily for being older than 21 but looking like a teenager still.

Random Questions---and yes, I would appreciate some answers!

1) Why is white defined as persons having origins in any of the original peoples of Europe, North Africa, or the Middle East?
2) Why do some white people tell me they’re going to vote for Obama but then tell my white friends they’re not?
3) What the hell is a non-profit? I mean, they say they’re not for profit, but make millions. How is this possible?
4) Why is the black male high school drop out rate in Baltimore greater than 70% ?
5) Is love a social construction?
6) Why do homeless people ask for set amounts of cash? Wouldn’t it make it sense to just ask for anything anyone has to offer if you’re broke?
7) Why is it that mad people need a reason for others to be gay/queer?
8) Why are there more women on the planet than men? Does this mean that some are suppose to be brushin’ each other? (FYI: Brushin’ is a term for woman to woman sex)
9) Why are there afro-centric black americans that wear daishikis, and talk about Africa, but then when you ask them to go, they say hell no?
10) Who the fuck invented the bra? Was it a man?
11) Why are so many white people adopting Asian babies? Why not adopt the orphans in the US?
12) What is it about backpacking that is so much fun for the granolas?
13) Why are Tiva sandals so fuckin’ ugly?
14) Why did Lauryn Hill lose her mind?

Why I love pussy!!!

DISCLAIMER: I PRACTICE MAKING I STATEMENTS. IN OTHER WORDS, WHAT GOES FOR ME MAY NOT APPLY TO YOU OR ANYONE YOU KNOW.

1)
You can get lost in it:
I recall feelings of being totally satiated and never wanting it to end (from both giving and receiving cunnilingus) on multiple occasions. Initially, I thought this meant I was greedy. I quickly accepted it as finding heaven on earth. Til this day, I haven’t been proven wrong. I think both men and women can agree—its very easy to get lost in the P…

2)
I have one:
As an attractive educated black woman, I consider myself to have a high level of self-esteem. Directly tied to this high value that I place on myself lies a connection with my Olivia Black (and yes, I’ve named her). The fact that I have one not only gives me a sense of entitlement to explore and please others’ but also affords me a special level of empathy.

3)
It has many flavors:
There are no two in my life that share the same flavor. And despite my love of/for those who are just raw fun, excitement, and constant stimulation, I can wholeheartedly say that I have a biased for the Olivias belonging to vegetarians.
Your diet is the cornerstone to your health and is directly responsible the flavor Olivias take on. Something about the healthy eaters that just moves me…

4)
Protector of my 2nd most favorite/important organ (the brain being the 1st of course) which has the most nerves, thus making it hypersensitive:
When I learned that the clit had more than 3 times the amount of nerves of the tip of a penis, I thought to myself ‘my maker has truly blessed me…I must be one of the chosen ones!” This small powerful organ is the source of sexual enjoyment. I’d be no where without it. Now don’t get me wrong, I do believe that sex is more mental than it is physical. Nonetheless, I am convinced that life would suck without this organ. Besides, there’s a good reason my maker didn’t give me a penis: it would have fallen off by now. Imagine, me having access to all the straight women (the one’s that don’t let me sit on their faces). Sounds pretty dangerous.

5)
Capable of squirting:
The first time I witness this, I was in complete awe. The shock of her squirting compelled me to revisit my studies of the female anatomy. Prior to that glorious sunny day in Cape Town, I had no knowledge of a woman being able to squirt. Talk about an ego booster…But just knowing that this is possible gives me hope. Plus I like the competitive edge it brings the table. I mean for serious—who would be opposed to a woman racing you to a squirting orgasm? Another I statement: I would love that!!!

6)
Is the source/orifice of life:
Irrespective of my feelings/thoughts/qualms/ideals regarding children, women’s ability to reproduce is by far one of the sexiest things I have ever witnessed/imagine. Now I don’t know if I personally want my Olivia to go thru that much trauma, but I can say that the P rules just because she’s the giver of life. Ironically, there are some bad Ps that are takers too. Shame. But my point is: Respect the power of the P cause its godly!

Anyway...a friend suggested this topic and I thought it would be fun to see how many reasons I could come up with. You're welcome to join in.