Dreams of F*cking a RnB Chick

Okay. Post #15 of this 30-Day Shindig (we're halfway there, y'all. OMG!) is: My Dreams. I actually started this post on MLK Day, which is about as appropriate as an American's post about dreams can be. I originally intended this to be about my goals and aspirations and all that other folksy bullshit, but I couldn't even get past the first sentence of this things going that route. So let's talk about the other kind of dream - the kind that project from my subconscious and my senses when I go to sleep. This is sure to get pretty interesting. Let's delve deeper into the disturbed recesses of my mind, shall we:

Lately, I'm been dreaming about Stem. Back when I was drooling over her and would've been glad to have her star in my wet dreams, nothing, but now that I don't see her, don't talk to her, don't text her, and rarely even give her a passing thought, she's popped up twice. Kissing, cuddling, nuzzling, generally canoodling, and, once, even walking down the hallway with me pressed up against her ass (and what a wonderful ass it is. I should think about it more often.).

Whether we're being highly inappropriate, yet giggling (chuckling in my case, of course) our asses off and snuggling our way through the school or driving across town and snuggling our way through the streets and avenues, the outcome is always the same: We have the greatest time together, but in the end, we never get past that certain level. When it comes to the time in the dream where cliche dictates that she spill her feelings all over me and declare her undying love.....nothing. For some reason or another, she won't let herself have me.

What does it all mean? Well.....Probably exactly what it was. I've never had a dream about somebody I know that didn't literally (I mean, down to the dialogue) or figuratively happen. I don't know if that makes me some kind of psychic or just sensitive to that kind of energy or whatever, but it's true. And it's weird. And it's confirming what I already suspected - Stem wants me, but she's terrified of having me. And that changes nothing unless I want to invest time into convincing her not to be afraid to be with me and be out about it, which I don't.

I've moved on.

So if it's not my thinking about her that's causing the dreams, it (maybe) means she must be thinking about me. Well, I'm flattered, really, but it's too little, too late. A woman's gotta do a whole lot more than think about me if she wants to be with, even in my dreams.

Fuck You, Cupid.

Love, like, lust, sparks, butterflies, connections, all of that shit. I was gonna say it sucks, but when it's right, it doesn't, so I'll refrain (for now, anyway). I'll also take it as yet another sign that what I'm feeling isn't right and I should just say fuck it, but, damn if I don't feel what I feel, regardless. I'm not even really sure how I got to this point; I just wish like hell that I wasn't here. At the same time, I don't wanna lose my spot, whatever that may be.  Maybe I'm deluding myself by assuming I even have one, being arrogant by assuming I'm number two.

Sunday Swag, Part 2

So, for some reason or another, Post #14 of my 30 Day blog challenge brings us back to a subject we've visited before: What I'm Wearing.

I'm not going to take up too much of your time here, seeing as how there's nothing terribly exciting or lengthy to say.

I've got on a black Hanes wifebeater, white Puma ankle socks, and - coincidence of coincidences - the same blue and black striped Sean Jean trunks from the last "What I'm Wearing" post. Don't look at me like that. I assure you that that was many weeks and many washes ago. *sniff*

Anywho, for you (pervy) fems that wanted a different angle last time, maybe this'll work for you. Don't ask why I took the picture in the first place. It's my free time, and I'll do what I want to. *double sniff*

*Slinks Back Onto Your RSS Feed Reader*

Hey. *'shamed wave*

You don't even have to say anything. I know I'm wrong. I'm such a dead beat blogger, but work and holiday shit have been calling. But we're back with Post Lucky #13 in my 30 Month Day Challenge: My Week.

Ready? Okay! *toe touch*

Sunday: Instead of enjoying the last day of my holiday break by watching bowl games, swigging the rest of my New Year's champagne, and playing with my pubic hair, as I had planned, I had to get my hustle on and do some of the work that I had largely neglected during my vacation. Key words here: my. vacation. Plus, I'm a proscratinator. I just couldn't bring myself to crack open a binder until the last minute. As a matter of fact, I should be doing some work right now, but I feel the same way about my weekends that I do about my vacations.

Monday - Wednesday: Back to the plantation. It wasn't a horrible work week. There was (and is) an assload of work for me and Apples, but nothing we can't handle IF PEOPLE WOULD STOP TRYING OUR PATIENCE AND CREATING PROBLEMS WHERE THERE DON'T HAVE TO BE ANY! *clears throat* *straightens silk Italian tie*

Thursday - Friday: Thursday night / Friday morning was a good and interesting time for me. I told Jane Doe how I felt about her. *blush* Let me tell you, it never gets easier, but I'm glad I did it. I've been working my way up to it for a lil minute now and trying to convince myself that I wouldn't be a complete idiot in doing so. We still have a lot to talk about, and I don't know what, if anything, is going to happen, but my tiny little cold, black heart grew three sizes that day. *lol* That's probably all I'm going to say about that.

If you're wondering what that means for Pokey and me, well......(unfortunately), it doesn't really change anything. With all this work we've both been doing, though, we haven't even seen each other in a minute, so *shrug*.

Other than that, Apples and I spent most of the workday walking paperwork through different departments. Fun times. The chicken teriyaki I had for lunch Friday was good, though. Having a cute cashier with a cute baby (both of them came over to our booths to play with us for a little while :) ) didn't hurt.

Saturday: I did nothing. But roomie's got a new man with a horrible haircut. I'm hoping it's service-issue 'cause there's no excuse, otherwise. But on that note, I'm glad I can add army wives to my list of potential sugar mamas. Mmmm mmmm, military benefits and discounts.

Sunday: I'm supposed to be working and/or running errands, but I'm not. Whatever my roommate is cooking does not smell appetizing, though, so maybe I should get up and out before the aroma over takes me. :-/

Duffle Bag Boi

What in da world is in that bag? Whachu got in that bag?

Yeah, I know that's two different songs, but it's my blog and I'll mash up if I want to. :P

Ahem.

This is Post #12 of my 30 Day Challenge - What's In Your Bag.

I did a little traveling this week, so this should be interesting. Let's take a peek, shall we?

We've got:

1. my wallet
2. pocket knife
3. eyeglasses screw
4. tampons
5. old receipts
6. a large banana nut muffin in a plastic grocery store bag
7. a plastic fork and a plastic spoon in a ziploc bag
8. a check stub
9. a go-pack of cookies
10. a pack of spearmint Stride gum
11. Vaseline lip balm
12. a bottle of Axe
13. a stick of deodorant
14. ink pens
15. condoms (Be spontaneous, but be safe, kids.)
16. lollipops that Apples surely stole from some child around Halloween

And there you have it. I'm sure you've all been thoroughly entertained.

My Brother and Me

I'm going to be tempted to block you if you're an 80s baby and don't know where this title comes from.

This is Post #11 - My Siblings. Or sibling, in my case. Not that I don't technically have other siblings, but my older brother is the only one bonded to me by blood and household. My brother is also the only one I consider a best friend. We are four years apart and as different as we are alike. We've been mistaken for fraternal twins more than once. He is more like my mother than he cares to admit. I am more like my father than I wish to be. There are good and bad traits on both side. When we clash, we clash hard: He is more dramatic; I am more hard and stoic. We both have short tempers, but his is far shorter and more impressively explosive than mine, at least until you press all of my wrong buttons the right way (more on that below). We love even harder, though: I've been known to get in the ass of niggas and bitches alike over my brother. We are both fiercely loyal, ridiculously smart, and even more ridiculously goofy.

We used to fight a lot - A Lot - as children. We've had some pretty spectacular battles.*lol* When I was really young and he was a lot bigger, he would sit on me and bite me. (He broke skin more than once!) Puberty hit me harder than it hit him, at first, though, so for about a year or two we were the same height and I was a little stronger (young woman strength vs. teenage boy strength). He had a good deal of pounds on me at the time, but I was a bit of a wild animal - aggressive as hell, quick as fuck, mean as shit, and heavy-handed. He was not, despite both of us having martial arts training.

I can still remember the day of our last fight. It was the first - and only - time I beat him up. I'd won some little spats before, but this was different.  We were in the den, he hit me in the face for some reason, and I lost my shit (Note: To this day, if you hit me in my face, I will go Christmas ham on you. I think it's a blatant display of hate and disrespect.). I guess he could tell because he took off running down the hallway. I caught up to him, slammed his back up against the wall, and started teeing off on him, giving him no chance to hit me back. He started blocking most of my shots on his arms and shoulders, so I took to kneeing him in the sides and stomach, instead. He grabbed and held my left leg, so I used his hold for leverage and jumped up and kneed him with the right one. It was quite impressive, if I do say so myself. I finally stopped once he was doing more covering up than looking for an opening to strike back.

Mind you, my mother had been in her room, not two feet away, going about her business the whole time. He had been fucking with me that week, though, so I guess she said he had it coming, and, as long as we weren't breaking anything or bleeding (I think I busted his lip and/or nose, though.), she wasn't gonna get involved. *lol* It was one of her best parenting decisions. We never fought again.

Since then, we have made music together, created an animated series together, seen each other through hellaciously bad and trying times together, and discovered that we have even more in common than even we would have guessed.

There is nothing like having someone in your corner who's there by fate and by choice.

Sunday Swag

Fortunately and unfortunately, Post #10 - What I Wore Today, falls on a Sunday.
Unfortunate for you because I didn't wear much, so this post is going to be short (but not entirely boring. Just wait for it.) Fortunate for me because if I don't know how I could've described my weekday attire to you and maintained my thin veil of anonymity. My style is my own. I don't wear things I've seen other people wear, staples and basics of fashion excluded, so if somebody else out there were to be dressed like me, it would either be a crazy coincidence or a half-ass copycat. I say half-ass because they can match me down to the draws, but they can't wear the clothes the way I do, so it won't look the same.

Anywho, I woke up in my black Fruit of the Loom wifebeater, medium blue Hanes boxer briefs, and a pair of baggy, thin, black cotton pants.

After breakfast, work out, and a shower, I put on a gray Hanes wifebeater, blue and black-striped Sean John trunks (one of my favorite pair of undies. They're very soft.), and baggy indigo wash Gap jeans.

I'm still wearing that right now, minus the jeans. Click on the jump cut if you'd like to get into my pants. (I feel like I need a "for the ladies only" disclaimer right here, but I hate that shit, and, frankly, I don't really care who looks or doesn't look, just don't leave me no sideways-ass comments.)

My Beliefs

I'm not in the mood for clever titles or cute introductions tonight, but I'm also not in the mood to let other motherfuckers break my momentum, so let's go. Post #9 of the 30 day challenge - My Beliefs.

1. I used to believe that there was no point in being mad at people who didn't know why you were mad at them - in other words, if you got an issue with someone, let 'em know. You can't go around expecting everyone to know what you're thinking and feeling. I now believe that there's no point in being mad at someone who's never going to change - in other words, it's not in them to do things differently whether they give a fuck about your issues with them or not. You can't go around expecting everyone to be able to stop doing the things that piss you off.

2. I believe Tyler Perry should humble himself enough to know when his limitations will damage a work, as was the case with For Colored Girls. All that undue praise he got for being involved with Precious got his head gassed up, when, if I've got my facts straight, he deserves accolades for getting it finalized and distributed, not for creating it.  In the hands of a different director, it could have been beautiful. In the hands of a competent director, it would have at least been good enough to handle the drama without turning it into melodrama. I believe that Tyler Perry still has no idea how to successfully turn plays, books, or poems into a movie (or TV show), especially when the work is not his. His tendency to dumb down and/or oversimplify issues he's not equipped to express or understand wavers between annoying and infuriating. It's bad community theatre, which, I guess, should be expected, considering the source.

3. I believe the movie would've been much better had someone capable had just turned the poems into dialogue and monologue. Some parts of the poems worked beautifully, no thanks to Tyler. Most did not and/or were way too damn long and poorly delivered.

4. I believe that the fact that I was distracted by Anika Noni Rose's ass in that dance wrap/sarong she had on before the detective came to the dance studio - despite all that just happened to her character - is proof positive of my points in #2.

5. I believe all good love making starts with a kiss - even better if it's not a kiss on the lips. A soft, barely wet, barely there brush of my lips across the silky, tender skin of the inside of her wrist, already hot with the rush of blood and passion through veins just millimeters deep...That's quickly becoming my favorite.

6. I believe a good lover knows what every inch of you looks like, feels like, smells like, taste like and commits every sensory detail to memory to scheme on new and better ways of bringing you pleasure during daydreams of you.

7. I believe in making reviews and resolutions on birthdays, not on New Year's. If your birthday is on New Year's, I don't know what to tell you.

8. I believe that so many geniuses have also been insane because they realized that dumbasses will always win, due to sheer strength in numbers, and that it's easier to get someone of moderate intelligence to act like a dumbass than a genius. How frustrating to have a mind full of new, beautiful ideas in this world.

9. I believe that hope for the world lies in love, which transcends levels of intelligence and all other barriers.

10. I believe there's a woman out there who I will have the opportunity to love without reservation.

Night of the Living Dead

This is Post #8 in my 30-Day Blog Variety Show - A Moment.

I definitely had a bit of a moment today while taking out the trash after snack:

If you've seen me in the tweets, you've probably guessed by now that I am more than a little enthused about healthy living (You probably wouldn't guess it just looking at me, *pats stomach* but I'm working on restoring myself to my former glory. *lol*), and that includes cleanliness.

So what do I manage to do while putting the bag in the dumpster?

Scrape the skin off my arm right above the bend of my elbow on a rusty piece of trashcan metal.

O.M.G.

I couldn't freak out because I'm a big, tough stud...or whatever, but I was panicking a little on the inside because - Well, shit. Because I don't like tetanus, tetanus shots, or pus-ing, oozing, discolored infections on my person. Also, I am a reformed scab picker. I'm gonna blame that on my studhood, as well.

Anywho, I calmly made my way back inside and look around as I make my way back through the kitchen for something to disinfect it with. No such luck, but I know there's a big bottle of sanitizer in the other room. So I go out there, and who's pumping away at the sanitizer but Apples.

"Move, girl," I tell her. "I cut my arm on the dumpster."

She moves without protest when she hears that and informs me that she will have no choice but to put me out of my misery if I turn into a zombie as a result of my injury. (.__.  ) (Apples is as big of a fan of zombie movies and shows as she is of fruit. This is a love we do not share. :-/ )

So I slather my hands in sanitizer, then use my clean hands to slather my arm two or three times. When I got home, I washed it twice with antibacterial Dial liquid soap.

I'm okay now.

My Buddy and Me

This is post #7 in my 30-Day Blog Challenge that I started about 90 days ago, but let's focus on the positive.

I'm back.

Not because I really wanted to keep doing this, but because I'm an asshole, and I couldn't stand the thought of letting Brother Fox pass me when she just started six days ago. *lol*

If you've been following along, you know that Apples is my one of my favorite women in the world. I love that girl. Even better, she loves me back. We share a brain, which is scary. If you haven't noticed, I am both random and perverted, so for someone to know what I'm thinking and actually be thinking the same thing is rare and frightening. It's great. *lol*

There's not much I wouldn't do for Apples. I'm learning how to be a great friend from her. She's my big sister. We buy each other lunch and don't keep score of who's turn it is. We take naps together. She's been over to my place more than once, which is huge for me because I don't like a bunch of people knowing the details of my personal space and invading my sanctuary. I'm hermitty that way, but not with Apples.

We tell each other damn near everything. There's a give and take of advice, conversation, music and other pop culture discoveries, and teasing. When good things happen, we are happy for each other. There is no jealousy. There isn't even a healthy competition - it's much more of us rooting for each other and encouraging one another to be better because we want to see each other succeed and be happy. I guess that's why we have the bond we do. It's so very hard to find a relationship of any kind that is genuinely mutually beneficial on a 50/50 level, so when you finally do, you grab on fast and hold on tight.

Apples is my best friend, even if she did threaten to beat me with a bag of her namesake the other day. *lol*

Check out our theme song:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PcaeOK-HYEE