...(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