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Thursday, September 29th, 2011

Time:9:17 pm.

Grad school. It feels strange saying it. It seemed to have meshed fairly well into my life, quietly eating my gym and Shaolin time. But eventually we'll get to the point where both will happen again.

Modeling's dried up. Non-existent. I think the universe is calling me an ugly nerd.

"But...but...I totes just bought mascara for the first time..."

Oh? About the mascara? It doesn't smear when I wipe my eyes (like I do constantly at work) but it doesn't look as good as my eyelashes by themselves. Not like any of this is really even important. I have a drawer full of high end make up (almost nothing but MAC and Iman) that I never wear, but when I sit on the toilet and open the drawer and I just look at them and think, "Well, maybe under all of this, there's a professional looking woman in there." I told myself it was an investment, a foot in the door of being a professor. Not really. I don't know why. It's like some weird compulsion. Like, one of those "When I grow up" imaginings, but at 26, how much growing up is left?

My silver phallic amulet is amazing.

Not really writing. Except for school. Someone inspire me. Give me a prompt and I will write you a story. Please.

If I get a tablet, I'm humoring writing about my grad school adventures. Or lack thereof. Or, just the life of being THAT student.

Comments: Add Your Own.

Sunday, January 2nd, 2011

Time:11:54 am.
Mood: awake.
Everyone makes these grand plans to change their lives drastically on the new year, instead of thinking, every day is a place to start something new. I try to adhere to that, but there's also something about the holidays that just...help you to end things. I usually call the fall and winter "Ballad seasons," due to it just feeling like the best time in the world to sit in the bath tub and listen to Korean ballads, letting the water of memories flow and ebb over the stones and paths of lost loves, lost chances, reflecting on how you've grown up a little -

I still miss my dad, and there's something about the Christmas season that makes me think of him more than anything else, slowly going back over things he said or how he acted, and trying to bring that into my life, realizing he's the one that taught me about everything that's important in life, my subsequent sorrow at my mother still being just her, and struggling to find the comfort in the fact that some people will always remain the same, including my grandmother who only brings up my dad when she wants to guilt trip me -

There's some unwritten law about your 20s being that time of life that you struggle to find yourself and your place in the world, people fall away and people come back into your lives, flitting on and off this grand scale circle, and realizing things about yourself - I will never be miss popular, I won't fit in, and over time, I have lost my resentment, but now it seems that everyone who can associate one part of their life to mine wants to charge in and tell me how to change, and I need to grasp a hold of my own personal truth so that their cries can fall on deaf ears - I'm getting better about how I feel about myself and what I need to do, but I am still woefully subject to the voices of others, because a part of me still wants to hear all the bad things about myself rather than the good I know I'm capable of -

Such is life -

And then, the grand and petite stage of a personal life! How amazing that it can be so encompassing, but so very small in the grand scheme of things, people say that kids don't come with instruction manuals, but you know what, neither do relationships or anything else in life - I am terrified of the prospect of making a mistake, and that man, the one who lurks in my shadows, sometimes is my light, tells me that I can't progress until I learn to accept my mistakes gracefully, but my parents raised me to be infallible and my mother raised me to be in sole duty to her, so easier said than done, but he's right - I have to learn to pick myself up and realize that these things will happen, but now, I have the hardest time with thinking, "Could I have made a mistake with this person I love? Why am I still here?" It is the honey trap of a steady love, what most other people long for and have, but the trap for me is that it just isn't good enough - if we have the ability to add something great to the world, to aid the needs of the many rather than the few, that's how we should live life -

But what do I know?

I need to write more - I need to draw more, and the gods opened a gentle path to me, standing by with something like amusement in their eyes, Secret Santa indeed! My gift - two large drawing pads from a co-worker that was intrigued by my pen and crayon doodles while dealing with difficult customers, and a whole set of watercolors I bought over a year ago still untouched, I can't be the best, that's true, there are so many better than me, but somewhere along the line I let that knowledge stop me instead of just encourage me, because I get too caught up in anything that could be a competition, and have a serious issue with doing things that make me happy because it's usually called "selfish" by others, when I should just tell them to shut the hell up and pass me the yellow crayon.

This year, I will tell more people to be quiet so I can listen to my small still voice.

Comments: Read 4 orAdd Your Own.

Thursday, October 7th, 2010

Subject:Things are.
Time:6:05 am.
What they are.

At 25, I finally learned how to hustle to make things happen.

I pose for an art class. I'm beginning to think it's full of eunuchs.

I work.

I sleep.

I do hair, which is pretty much waist-long now. One day I'll cut it, when it stops being the diary of my life.

I'm still stuck on the inability of guys to ask me out. It reminds me too much of high school, and I thought I'd left high school years ago. Apparently not all of me did.

A friend of mine is getting married. It has been a perpetual nightmare. It'll be over next weekend. I used it as an excuse to get some amber earrings and to take the time to invest in learning how to compose new hairstyles. For locks, I have extremely thick and heavy hair.

Working on two novels and a comic script.

At 25, I finally learned to hustle.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Saturday, April 17th, 2010

Subject:I really should get on that.
Time:8:12 pm.
Y'know, I should really just write a book about my life which is all about natural hair, fucking whitey, and lamenting over the decline of black folk. It would be a fucking best seller, I know it, especially now that I'm half-assed planning a wedding, sheeeeeeeoooottt.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Sunday, April 4th, 2010

Subject:and the day dawned gray and misty, someone is weeping somewhere for something
Time:12:43 pm.
Mood: awake.
My official profession nowadays is job hopper, but with more of a sense of responsibility because I don't leave one without another for a backup, oh no, UT rejected me, pretty sure because my GRE scores tanked ass, but it all works out for the best; I really wasn't looking forward to being on the UT campus for seven effin years and I'm not all that thrilled about UT to begin with, if I had wanted to go there to begin with I would have gotten my BA from there instead of like going out of state to begin with, and on the other hand, I am really not that thrilled about teaching, I can only take so many vacant stares on a daily basis, I think teaching would be enough to create a drinking problem worthy of Faulker and this gives me time to figure out what it is that I really want to do since I'm not so sure right about now and don't really need the input from other people who want me to do solely this or that, hate to break it to ya buddy but my folks have been telling me what they want me to do (well maybe not flat out tell but strongly hint) for years and now it's time for K! to figure that out for herself, in between gym trips and rubbing shea butter onto my bush for silky smooth pubes try it today!

Need to stop worrying about other people's business as it is only a source of gossip for me rather than genuine concern (with the exception of a tiddling few whom I do actually give a shit about) and yeah I said it, but such morbid curiosities is what makes the world go round, you wouldn't really start a conversation with someone on a bus unless they're hot or a complete freak, right - laws of attractions work like magnets of the same pole.

It is a very gray solstice, Chris and I are going to dye "Easter" eggs when he gets home, but not because it's Easter since neither one of us really believe in the whole Christ is our Savior thing, and I don't feel as odd about that as I did a while ago, it's easier not to care about these things as I go on sloughing off most human interaction to keep living in my head and wondering, "Where am I going, what am I doing," and most basically, everything just moves regardless, I'm not happy with just surviving, but the more noble you want your life to be the harder it is to live it, and rather than the path rising up to meet your feet accordingly it shifts and turns and bucks off, and I realize that on the outside I have what a lot of people desire (namely a randomly brief modeling career, woof) but I need just a little more, although I have to admit since I've been working out more my waist clenches in a way that I'm like, that's more like it, and stuff and junk and going on about just living and working to myself, hopefully it will lead to some sort of something that is ultimately free from the concern of others, the only thing that I've realized that I want to do academically and career-wise is just not deal with people anymore, the ideal of being a hermit author is suddenly more appealing, but it's not that either, it's having the ability to pick and choose when I want to deal with people and when I don't that I desire most in a career. Mmmm.

My hair is two inches away from my waist, it is epic in its own way with copper red tips and a fullness that is its own mane, it is a small miracle of the world how it grows and maintains itself with small input from me and changes the face and figure so drastically without asking for much in return, I am content with just letting it grow and not thinking too much else of it, it's an allegory for most other things in my life, it flourishes without my really paying attention to it, a mind of its own and indecipherable to me.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Thursday, November 19th, 2009

Subject:Cattin' days are over.
Time:5:43 pm.
Mood: tired.
Not like I really had any. My cattin' days were akin to like, that cat that eats out of the garbage and had mange.

I just got back from Couzmel and Progresso, Mexico - photos and a longer update to follow-, but mainly I have to write to say now: I'm engaged! No one could be more surprised than me, really. Chris popped the question on the top of a Mayan ruin - how oddly fitting.

Comments: Add Your Own.

Tuesday, November 10th, 2009

Subject:God knows...
Time:8:37 pm.
So I'm working on actually cobbling together everything I need for my admissions into UT's history program.

I haven't even thought that I might not get into the MA program there. I don't know why, but the thought just doesn't cross my mind.

Also - Couzmel and Progresso in just a handful of days. White sand beaches and clear water, and, no more Toys.

Comments: Add Your Own.

Saturday, September 12th, 2009

Subject:Jesus Christ.
Time:6:01 pm.
Mood: drained.
It is been raining cats and dogs all damn day. Almost on a biblical scale, but not quite.

What does this mean to most folks? Let's take our kids out to the toy store!

For some reason completely beyond me, we were busy as hell this morning, and it's raining so hard outside that you can't even see straight.

And then it happens - a guy slipped outside and hit his head, and red shirts are everywhere. One of my co-workers tells me, "Call an ambulance!" and I was like, piss. I call 911 on the phone, can't get an outside line, decide "Fuck it," and call on my cellphone in the middle of the floor. I'm at the return desk, trying to get through (whatever happened to "911, what's your emergency?" Know what I got? I had to be connected to like three goddamn people before I was able to get to what I needed), and people are still checking out, still having time to like, bitch at the cashier when this guy is laying in the middle of our foyer bleeding. The manager and another supervisor were with him, and you know what people were doing? Nearly stepping over this poor guy so they could fucking LEAVE. We had to have people near the entrance telling folks that they needed to go out that way because they don't have enough goddamn sense or consideration for their fellow man to even half-ass express concern for this guy.

Come to think about it, the only people I saw around him helping him was the store manager and the other supervisor. Between myself and yet another supervisor, we got paper towels, called the authorities, and got gloves, but seriously? This guy hit his head, and blood was coming from this cut like a faucet. I have seriously never seen that much blood in my life. It was enough to soak through two cloth diapers that we got for him - and he's laying there, and people are still just fucking WALKING PAST HIM. No one even offered to help us - they just stood there gawking and bitching about what a problem it was that they weren't getting the floor's full attention. I'm sorry, your little fucking mistake that should have been in a goddamn sock is less important to me than this man laying here bleeding while his wife is panicking and trying to console their kid. No I can't help you find this, I need to get gloves for the supervisor who's attempting to keep this man calm and put pressure on his wound.

At the time, I didn't have time to just freak out, but now that I'm off the clock and it's sunk in, I'm just like...Jesus. One of my kids ended up puking (poor guy - blood was too much for him) and another one was shaky as hell for the rest of her shift. Once we got the guy into the ambulance and taken care of, we all just sat in the back and looked at each other. What else could we really do? It was really hard to get back to business as usual after that. You went on this weird autopilot and through the motions, but nothing was all that sincere. You're just like, "Hell." When I finally went to lunch (no one that had witnessed the situation really had an appetite), I called my mom and talked to her about it. She said, "And imagine, your dad saw that every day." My dad was a paramedic. She told me a story - one night, he'd come home and there was blood all over his uniform. My mom freaked out; she wasn't sure if it was his or someone else's. He told her that he was too tired from work to bother changing (apparently he changed into a clean uniform before coming home, so who knows what the dirty ones really looked like), and that it was from someone who had a gunshot wound.

And the whole time, people were still "me me me mine mine mine". I don't know what the fuck is wrong with people, but it's seriously sickening. Just thinking about how people just gawked or didn't even think to ask for help makes me think - my dad was out there saving lives, how often did this happen to him? Did he ever get this disgusted? In that sense, I think my dad was a better person than me. He didn't stop helping people. I find myself asking what's the point? It's not that you help to seek praise; you help because goddamn it it's the right fucking thing to do. But I think you can still help people and resent the fuck out of them.

I just don't know what's wrong with people that when they see someone suffering, something inside of them snaps and they just get out of themselves to do something. It's not like I was expecting someone to be, "I'm a doctor, let me see this man!" No one offered a phone, support...I just...Fuck. How did we get this far? If this can be considered "far", after all.

Comments: Add Your Own.

Friday, August 21st, 2009

Subject:Count down cupcake.
Time:9:56 am.
Mood: nostalgic.

There's nothing all too exciting to report, but today starts with cupcakes. I abhor chocolate (it's a fact!) and no one really makes the kind of cake that I want for my birthday, so I'm making my own. Except, you know, in cupcake form so it's easier to deliver. I love to bake, but I don't like doing it for myself, if that makes any sense. I bake to deliver/share. Even if I end up with stuff around the house, it just kind of sits there...

Anyway, I'm making green tea cupcakes and discovered the most awesome baking materials - silicone heart-shaped cupcake holders and Chris picked up a little baking tray that's shaped like dinosaurs. They also had butterfly and flower shaped ones, and I was like, wow, this so makes me want to bake more except I really don't like, have anyone to bake for. I'm bringing stuff by for the folks I work with, but I'm like, my boss can eat a dick, that goddamn enabler. And of course cupcakes for the comic book guys cause they're always awesome to us, but when I really think about it, I don't have that many people to go deliver to. I guess that's what happens when you move.

Jokingly yesterday, I told a coworker he wasn't invited to my birthday party, and then had to explain why I wasn't having a party. I don't like large/small gatherings of people all in one place. Since I can also count the number of actual friends I have on one hand, I don't want to spend the day surrounded by people who I don't really want to be around. Most birthdays I prefer to just be left alone and buy what I want to buy. I guess when I was younger I wanted the idea of being surrounded by people that cared and were happy to be there, but please. I'm not the type of person that has a lot of friends, or ever will. That's fine, too. The older I get, the more I realize how much I inherited from my father.

My mom's real big on going all out on birthdays, but to be honest, it's another day for me. I want to go swimming and have sushi, but seriously, I bought just about everything that I could "want" material-wise (because I can't buy a new job, unfortunately), so that's that on that end. The thing I think I'll miss the most is my dad calling me to just talk to me. It was like my birthday was the day that my folks set aside their shit to be honest with me for a little bit, and I'm going to miss that. I missed it bad last year.

My mom and I got into a fight not too long ago and haven't spoken since, and to be honest, I don't expect to hear from her or my grandparents. Secretly, I kind of hope that I don't. The fight my mother and I got into was so indicative of our relationship (oh so very tenuous in the best of times) that I just don't want to be reminded of it on the day of my birth. Yes, I'm terrified that my father isn't proud of me because I'm just fucking surviving instead of being honestly happy and feeling accomplished in my life, and that's something that I know he wanted for me. He didn't, and doesn't, want me to be miserable. I know he knew about just surviving; he also knew how terrible it was when you want to do so much more. I know, in a sense, that I'm in a downtime until it's time to go to the next phase, but I'm just scared that I'm letting him down. The aspiration to do something more, to be honest to god compelled to do something more, is something my mom just doesn't understand.

Rick said that I had to go into a "noble" profession because that's what my dad did. My dad was a paramedic - he was in the business of saving lives. One time he confessed to me that if he had had more support, he wanted to be a doctor. But it wasn't just that. He helped/coached kids at the YMCA. My dad was someone that did for other people, and he was also someone that got constantly fucked over because he was so kind at his heart. He was a good person, and the world does not like good people, but it cries and yowls and demands for good people to constantly save it without thanks. I saw my father grow bitter, but he never stopped what he was compelled to do, despite divorces, hardships, no relationships with his own parents. I find myself in the same situation, somewhat, but with more ice than he had. I don't let people get close. I push them away. I don't want to form tight bonds with a lot of people because I know how folks are, and I can't get angry at them or fault them for it. That's just how humans are. If my dad can deliver babies and stop you from dying and not get a word of thanks, what am I honestly expecting?

In this life, I find myself doing things because I'm compelled to, and as I get older, this gets clearer. I wanted to animate because I wanted to touch people emotionally. Now, finding myself unable to do just one thing, I want to do something that will make the world a better place, as hackneyed as that sounds. Yes, I want to teach, but I want to read, write, and research. There is something out there in this world that I can indeed do and fulfill, but my road isn't as easy as it is for some people. I can't do just one thing, and I won't be happy until I find out how to combine all of my interests in a way that grabs and promotes understanding.

Because I'm colder than my father, I don't know if I have a breaking point like he did. As much as I loathe surviving, I do it anyway because I have no other option. I can't stop. I don't know if something will ever be so big that it will just make me stop entirely. In the later years of my dad's life, everything got to him. I think nothing more hurt him than the constant removal of his children - my mom did it to him, my stepmother followed suit. I was lucky because I was old enough and had enough nasty in me to constantly fight with my mother about it and against it. It's probably why our relationship isn't so great now. Everyone knows I was closer to him. I can't imagine what it's like to be "betrayed" like that like he was, and I can understand what it did to him. I wonder if it'll do the same to me, because at my heart, in the pit of my soul, I feel like I'm a lot meaner than he was. I don't give people the chance.

Will this change in the new year of my birth? I doubt it. If I had honestly disliked this part of my personality, the part that makes me so aloof, so inaccessible, so cold, I would have changed it. But I embrace it, both quietly and outwardly. It is who I am. At best I hope to be charismatic in my solitude, and at heart, in that center, the issues I have my looks don't matter there. Why should it? It can come off as rejecting the world before it rejects me, or the truth: being focused on something more lasting and imperative than the now. I've always had this amazing inability to live in the present, to be happy now. At the smallest stretch of time, I think about tomorrow, at the longest, years from now. I didn't see myself with anyone who could love me, and yet here I am. So I might be wrong about a few things, but sometimes it's nice to be wrong.

Comments: Add Your Own.

Tuesday, August 4th, 2009

Subject:Next episode.
Time:10:37 pm.
Mood: nostalgic.
Well, not quite next week's episode, but soon enough.

After recovering (somewhat) from this past cold/sinus infection/whathaveyou, going back to work seems more like a nightmare than I remembered it. I don't really feel the angst of turning 24 coming up soon, really, because when I look back on it, I didn't really have any goals set for the year or by the year. When I was younger, I just wanted to work for Disney.

Now as I'm older (and growing more reclusive by the year), I realize, I like drawing, but I don't like drawing in that way. I have my own doubts about my talent, but...I guess, sitting around, really thinking about things, it all becomes clear. Don't get me wrong; I still would love to see my work animated, just not by me. I used to think I was "envious" or "jealous" of other artists that had "made" it before me, but "age" has kind of revealed to me what it was: respect.

It's really kind of sad that my self-esteem (oh, you black footed culprit!) clouded up what I thought of as competition and the like when it was really just respect. Like, take for instance "The Thing." I love the shit out of that movie. The makeup effects in are amazing. I sit and watch that movie and I'm just in awe of how awesome everything is in it. But I never once felt envious of the people working on the film, just this sort of, "Wow, I wish I could have that much fun with a team" (because this K! is at heart an extreme creature of eternal solitude). I suppose I got envious of other artists simply because I felt that they had succeeded in a path that I could not, but on the same hand, I didn't feel that way about academics that I looked up to. One has more fame and glory, and the other is condemned to a much smaller circle of people. I know that in walking the path of a brain I shut my accessibility off. In a sense, that's fine. I never thought of myself as all that accessible or approachable anyway. Not that I think academia has to be that way. It's just a matter of taking the time, closing my eyes, and tasting my path to show it to others.

Envy's also nice because it seems like the artists I was glowering over had it so much easier. They could just do what they wanted to do. There was no huge ethical debate over one thing or the other - I was constantly pulled between artist, writer, academic, model. I've nipped the last one off (semi-permanently, perhaps?), and realized that what motivates me (when I'm not rendered too apathetic from work or the people around me) is just the pursuit of knowledge, but we live in a world where someone who loves to learn is a freak. This, despite warm words from other people, is something I don't think a lot of people can really relate to. Even now, I think it's strange to look at what I write side by side with some of my modeling photos, and if it's as confusing to me, I can only imagine what an outsider perspective must look like. There's no geling of these two personas, but yet they're both me. I suppose as you get older, you either cultivate who you want to be or let everything go to seed.

Goddamn. What I want to do is going to be hard. Not that it hasn't been done before, but it was always the result of a team effort, rather than just one person. Here I am in Austin, wondering why the hell I moved here to work another dead end job with the worst customers I've ever encountered (Christ did I do this for a guy), and running myself ragged just trying to run away from what it was I needed to do and take responsibility for. Friday night, when it all broke down and I just cried in bed, the thing I had been trying to avoid and in a strange way ignored came out.

"I think a lot of this has to do with my father passing."

It's true, I've felt guilty because it feels like I don't dwell on it long enough. But my life is much emptier. Chris is a wonderful guy, but he's not enough. I miss my father so very very much and I miss his guidance. Truth be told, I'm sure if he was alive I wouldn't listen to him anymore than I did when he tried to reassure me, but he was one of the few people in my life that was just behind me indefinitely, and now in this time of such turmoil and upheaval and general malaise of life, I miss him. I want him to tell me it's going to be okay and that I will get out of this because I've come from much worse places and made it before, but now, god, now I'm not so sure anymore. The simpler I make my dreams, the harder they seem to be to achieve. I don't even want to be pretty anymore, I just want to make a difference. I'm learning the hard way that I can't change the world overnight but I want the chance to at least get the motion rolling again.

But, most of all, I want to hear him call me and say, "Happy Birthday, Kim, I love you, and you can do it."

What "it" is, I don't know, but I just wanted to hear it again from him, one more time. It's hard now, I know, and he used to say the only way you can go from down is up, but I seem to be so very far down and up seems so very far away, and I'm missing the little part of me that used to say, "Yeah, what of it?" and enabled me to keep going. Now I just am, just surviving, just waiting for something that I used to be able to go out there and get, or at least delude myself into thinking that I could.

Most of all for my 24th birthday, I just want to be happy.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Tuesday, July 14th, 2009

Time:9:25 pm.
Mood: angry.
She's pissed at me. I can tell by the way she wrinkles her plain face behind her glasses.

"Sorry, ma'am, once you've used a coupon, you can't get it back."

So I bent the truth a little. I could have done an even exchange - but she also could have been pleasant to me. The fact that her stomach is this grotesque round ball under her shirt does not invoke my pity. Lady, there are millions of women out there whose sole talent in the world is to reproduce. You are not special in my eyes, and you are not entitled to special treatment.

My day starts, or is made up, pretty much of moments like these. Women who just think they are the greatest things in the world because they forgot the condom and decided an abortion would probably be more expensive than having little Johnny who is running around screaming and pinwheeling his arms and knocking things off the shelves. Things, by the way, that I have to pick up at the end of my shift.

It just ain't worth it.

I think the worst thing about where I work (which I can't actually mention or defame without the possibility of losing my job, believe it or not) is that for all of these miserable women, obnoxious kids, and husbands who are either not there or would be anywhere BUT where they are, is that I can imagine them having sex. I don't know why. It used to be that I would make up stories about particuararly bitchy guests, like, the blonde trophy wife who's pissed because Consuela got deported and that now SHE has to watch the kids and her husband is off in Miami on a beach and in a twenty year old. That kind of shit. Things that would make why people that were just unreasonably rude the laughing stock in the Maury of my imagination. But now, I just imagine them having sex. And the kicker is, it's never GOOD sex. It's like, bored, routine sex. Sometimes she fakes an orgasm just to get him off of her. He's thinking about the checkout lady at HEB, the type of guy that longs to write a "Missed Encounters" for Craigslist but doesn't have the balls cause he has kids and an evil wife and fuck everything happened so soon I didn't have a chance to enjoy anything.

Kids are a product of sperm and egg, this is true. Sometimes their joining is met with joy - but in the faces of the parents of where I work, I never see, "This was planned." Ever. I don't see enjoyment. What I do see is people either intrigued to my appearance (I have perfected the art of looking someone straight in the eye and not cracking a smile - sorry, I just don't get paid enough to fully humor your bullshit) and because I'm distinctively the only black person on payroll. Not calling the patrons racist (although I'm sure a few of them are in their own way, more like, "Oh, that brown person!"), but I get asked this question on average about once a week.

"Can I touch your hair?"

Sometimes they ask, sometimes their eyes ask. You just feel them staring at your head and just itching to touch something that's exotic and out of the norm. Sorry lady, I just watched you half-ass cover your crotch shit's mouth after he hacked up, I don't want swine flu in my hair.

After explaining our return policy (which is posted on a large blue board over my head) all day, the clocks hits quitting time and I'm out. This job is singlehandly destroying my work ethic, my desire to ever have children, and my tolerance of people. What disgusts me the most about where I work is just watching people act complete fools in front of their children, setting sterling examples that the true American way is to bitch until you get what you want, without showing any gratitude or any drive to actually obtain it. It's sad that I have to say that when a kid says, "Thank you, ma'am," it is literally the difference that makes a horrid day from being absolutely tragic.

My car's on its last leg, so no stops on the way home, and no A/C. When I get to our apartment, I have sweat all inbetween my tits, making the rose petal powder I put there to prevent heat rash into literal mud. I get out looking like some sort of colonialist nightmare and trudge up the steps. Yeah, it's hot, yeah, my day sort of sucked (like they usually do at work), but fuck it, I'm at home. Where's the alcohol?

Fuck. What in the hell is that on the back of the door?

It is a notice from the apartment to GTFO - a goddamn eviction notice saying that we hadn't paid our rent. Well that's just bullshit, because the checks cleared on the 7th and the 8th. I take a deep breath. There's got to be a mistake. How can they say we hadn't paid our rent when the checks just pissing cleared? I text Chris and asked if he actually did remember to drop off the rent checks. I love him to death but he has a lazy streak as wide as an elephant's ass. Things slip his mind. He texts back that he did. So I call them, and am doing my best not to yell. Just lose it, just keep calm -

"Ma'am, let me explain before you cut me off -"

"You posted an order on the inside of our apartment saying that we are going to be evicted. You'd better explain and quick, considering that you took our money."

We're under new management, by the way.

Apparently, only MY name is on any information (bullshit, if they had taken the time to look up the lease), because the "old management" screwed up. So if my name was the only one, why did they STILL cash Chris' check? I explain to them that two people indeed live here, and that they should have recieved the checks. The woman explains that she did indeed take his money, but since he didn't write the apartment number on the check, it just floated around. I can understand her actions if she had not cashed the check, but they DID. They took money that they didn't know belonged and just put it somewhere.

By this time, I am irate.

"You mean to tell me you cashed his check and it could have gone to someone else's rent? What time does the office close?"

"It closes at 7."

"I'll see you in a few."

As soon as Chris gets home, I explain to him the situation. The women (I was bounced around) that I talked to on the phone were eager to get rid of me, and assured me that everything was taken care of and to disreguard the notice. "Oh, you don't have to come in," she cooed. We head down there and I'm just pissed. They've dicked with my very hard earned money and threatened to kick us out of the apartment for late rent - by the way, do you think we recieved any notices in the mail or on our door? Nope - just automatic GTFO.

Chris is mad, oh, he's mad. This is the maddest I've seen him in a while. He stands beside me, arms crossed. I confront the woman that I spoke to on the phone and she refuses to make eye contact with me. I just stare at her, forcing her to look into my eyes. Since they've fucked up, I damn well expect them to look me in the eye and explain precisely what happened as to how we've ended up with a goddamn eviction notice on our door.

She chirps on, saying that they've corrected the issue, oh, the old management had a shitty way of keeping files (despite their ability to process our payment always on time and never having an issue like this arise) and that I was the only one who they had information for (if they had pulled up the lease - which I believe is their JOB- they would have noted two signatures), and that they had indeed tried to get in contact with us - despite not leaving any mail, any fliers, anything for us. Actually, I take that back. Chris got a phone call today at 4.

As she can probably sense that this is doing nothing but making us angrier, she calls in the other woman I spoke to on the phone. This gem, this wonderous woman, the first thing she has to offer to this conversation is,

"Oh my god, can I touch your hair?"

Are you fucking kidding me? You threaten to kick us out of our apartment, don't even offer to apologize or look into the issue, and you ask me if YOU CAN TOUCH MY FUCKING HAIR? When did I accquire a sign that says, "Petting Zoo"? There's curiosity and then there's just shit you need to be slapped for.

What follows next is what made me, Chris, and my mom (whom I related this tale to on the phone) laugh the hardest in retrospect.

I was literally two seconds away from punching this cunt in her throat. My voice cracked, and regained strenght.


"Really? You won't let me?"

Because obviously she didn't hear me the first time.


Taking that as a hint, she prattles on about how she also wants locks and doesn't think they'll look good on her. I am so tempted to just tell her how white people generally look like they have fucking mange when they have dreadlocks (because on them it's truly dreadful, derp!), but there's still the matter of our goddamn rent. We don't leave until they have his name down, our phone numbers, and email addresses. The woman again argues that it's the old management's fault, and that they're a much smaller company, see, and since they're smaller, obviously they can't be utter twats and incompetent at their jobs. She reiterates how small they are by mentioning that it's easy to get in contact with their Regional Manager. I look at Chris, and we leave.

Outside in the parking lot, hell breaks loose, straight from the gates of my mouth. "Who the fuck does she think she is? Do I look like a motherfucking petting zoo? I don't ask fucking white people to touch my hair, why the fuck do they think it's okay to just goddamn pet on me like I'm a fucking animal?!"

When I get angry, I have an affinity for the word "fuck."

I know that having dreadlocks sets you up for a lot of shit. I knew that when I started wearing my hair natural. People have questions; I'm happy to answer them. But don't assume I want your hands all in my head of hair. I mean, how would you feel if strangers just put their hands all in your hair? The fact that my hair is different isn't a goddamn excuse, either. Seriously. It is really starting to get old. What really made this the coup de grace of the evening was that this woman just had the audacity to ask me for a fucking FAVOR after threatening to kick me and my boyfriend out of our apartment because someone was too fucking lazy to pull up the lease! And on top of that, they just TOOK his money without question.


I demanded ice cream, fries, and a hot bath, and got all three. Chris is out playing the Game with the boys, and I've had the apartment to myself pretty much all evening. My head is still aching from earlier, and I know my blood pressure jumped just a tad bit. Now it's too quiet, and I debated, "Do I want to write, or go to sleep?" I harassed myself to get up and jot this down, because let's face it, I'm not modeling anymore and I don't have any excuses for being lazy.

That's my day.

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Friday, June 26th, 2009

Subject:GO VOTE FOR ME!!!!!
Time:6:52 pm.

I've been selected as a finalist for Austin Fashion Week - so go vote for me. Mmmyep.

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Monday, June 15th, 2009

Subject:Mint tea.
Time:10:08 am.
I love how "erotic" usually means really awkward closeups of unattractive skinny women and their equally unattractive body parts.

Chris and I rented "Perfume" and "Eros" - the former of which was...interesting. In a really long and oft awkward way. I know I'm not in the slightest prudish (for reasons which don't need further explanation), but seeing sex acts on film just annoy me. They're never how the act usually is - I mean, sex can be love, but because love is involved doesn't omit the fact that you get pubes in your mouth and teeth, the sheets have a wet spot, and the air gets heavy with musk and spunk. I think scenes should just strive to capture this. I figure when you actually give a shit about someone, the wet spot ain't so bad.

"Eros" had two redeeming features in it. The first segment, directed and written by Wong Kar Wai had this desperate awkward (word of the day, it would seem) pathetic nature to it that I actually really liked. Chris was grossed out, but I'm like, good on you, Wong. Seriously. I hate trumped up sex scenes and let's face it, there are some people in the world who are sad and pathetic but it doesn't rule them out from having their own connections to humanity in their own way. The fact that he had the balls to show a very atypical relationship was awesome. Pathos is good, sometimes.

The second segment had Alan Arkin and Robert Downey Jr. in it. So enough said.

The third part was just awful. One of the actress' painfully fake tits held our attention more than the actual paper thin chain of events.

What just irked me about both movies is that "erotic" appears in both film descriptions (don't even get me started on the real fuckin' definition of "eros", for Christ's sake) and neither movie had any like...idea of what erotic was. It's like instead of showing some sort of actual interaction, it was just tits bonazna. *sigh*

And seriously, not even good tits.
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Sunday, May 10th, 2009

Time:11:20 am.
Summer is coming up. Bikinis and the last shoots I said I was going to do are also coming up.

Mornings with protein shakes, days on my feet dealing with screaming kids and parents, wondering if there is something more.

24th birthday is coming around.

My hair is 19-20 inches long now, but my hairdresser doubts if it would be safe to grow it out to my waist. Maybe after it's 2 feet long, I'll consider getting it cut.

My hairdresser picked me to be his feature model in an upcoming hair show, so that means six inch heels and alien hair, make up and dresses and all sorts of unexpected.

Living with Chris is quiet. I didn't think it was possible, but I enjoy it and him.

My grandma is up to her usual shenanigans. Joke's on her - I got a new phone, number, and address. But yet the letter full of insane guilt trips still found us, or more specifically, Chris. I suppose she figured out that I wasn't having any of it, and decided to get to me through him. I asked him why he even bothered bringing that evil into the house, but since it IS his letter, it's ultimately his call. I am getting tired of seeing it on our night table, though.

I'm going to try and start writing again, once the brace comes off my wrist and the clogs out of my brain. Griselda lives here, so I've been harassing her about what she's doing. She told me that she was getting a teaching's certification, which has encouraged me to look into it. Since grad school is still a few grand away, I figure I should start decorating my resume with the suitable trimmings. HR at Toys R Us isn't going to cut that, but you knew that already.

Austin is the kind of pretentious that makes my mouth taste weird. It just seems like a bunch of inflated egos without the talent to back it up. A town for young people, college kids. Like the real world comes and goes because it's scared to fully penetrate, so you're perpetually caught in the youthful stage where nothing really happens but you can dream big big big over beer bottles in smokey bars.

My dreaming is still tangled in the past with the desperate drive to push forward, but as couples do, caught up in the joy of day to day monotony. It's hard to see a future in a relationship without getting discouraged at the cut and dry nature of it. For these things to last, you have to get lost in the daily. I'm happy when he comes home, happy to sit on the couch watching bad anime, or even discussing a budget, what kind of washer and dryer we're eventually going to get, what needs to be cooked this week.

The only time I'm like surrounded by black people is when I go get my hair done. I went there yesterday to get more details about the hair show and dragged Chris with me. I figured it was his turn to be completely nervous and out of his element.

As we were merrily going nowhere, he said, "I got death glares from the guys in the room."
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Wednesday, April 1st, 2009

Subject:Ooga booga.
Time:8:18 pm.
Mood: amused.
" 'Men don't want to be running their fingers through a bunch of naps, trust me.'

Mama nodded. 'You and your sisters will be walking around here nappy-headed with rings through your noses and the next thing you know Brother Kambui will be marrying some blonde.'"

From "Coffee will Make you Black", by April Sinclair.

I've been reading this book (a little coming of age tale set in the late 60s), and so many parts of it have just made me laugh or grimace. The self-hatred we had as a people that is STILL so very prevalent today, the "Black is Beautiful" movement that was all hot air and no progress (because if it was, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't still have folks look at me cock-eyed for having natural hair), just....I don't know. It stirs up a lot of good things, makes me think, and makes me want to talk to my mom.

Not that I'm hating on interracial relationships, mind you. The part about being nappy headed and having a ring through your nose just made me laugh, because I can only imagine that's how I look to the older generation.

...Well, at least my grandma. My appearance drives her ape shit. Like, seriously. Back when I had an afro, she told me that colleges wouldn't accept me with hair like that, and she calls the tips of my hair "dyed orange."

Most other older folk, I've noticed, just write me off as being from the Islands or something. Funny, because I have nary an accent to be found (except for a country/ghetto drawl when I get going. Chris is fond of my saying "THAT AIN'T SHIT" when I get mad), but my mom's often accused of the same thing. We really should take a picture together so people can see the comparison. She has her hair natural, too, and dyes it this golden brown color. My hair's more red in pigment and has layers that have been sun-bleached.

Oh, black people. Whenever we fight to get ahead, it just seems like we hide behind the achievements of people in the past and then make fun of the ones trying to move ahead. For serious.

Talking in bed the other night, I told Chris why I didn't want to teach American history. For how wonderfully interesting it is, for such a young country, America has been brewed in hate from the get go. Yes, we are not the only country to have had slaves, but the affects of it on this country and the utter utter vileness of it still taints everything. Our racism here is such a unique brand because it continues to thrive on ignorance.

To quote Ann Coulter as she appeared on Boondocks (this was not the real Ann Coulter), "There's no money in trying to save the world." It's true. It's easier to turn a profit on keeping people ignorant, scared, and hateful.

I secretly (not so secretly) think that Christianity and the formation of this country has a lot to do with the hate we've been simmering in. As much as I am loathe to throw the baby out with the bath water, my biggest problem with monotheistic (not just Christianity) religions is that they are so isolationist and like, strive to prove that one culture is better than the other. Going back to our conversation last night, I was telling Chris that the appeal of Classics to me was because race itself wasn't an issue. In the Roman empire, you weren't black or white. You came from one part of the empire or the other - you either had money or you didn't. None of this "Well, you're black AND poor - sucks to be you!" Older religions were respected and absorbed. I research it because I want to know what happened and how we can get back to that point. We're stuck at the bottom of the circle, marinating in hate, piling pebbles upon pebbles of why I shouldn't like you or why I should live away from you, and I'm hoping we can at least get back to the point where skin color was at lease irrelevant.

Because let's face it, the world boils down to sex. At night, ALL cats are black.

....Double entendre meant.

I know it's human nature to separate like water and oil for the stupidest fucking reasons. Even this doesn't stop me from thinking, "Maybe one day, if I have a mixed race child, I won't have to worry about people saying he has good hair or he's hot because he's fair, but they'll look at him as another human being." I feel in my marrow that I won't live to see this - and what bothers me the most about feeling like that is that it stops me from even wanting to have a child, period. Something that is innately written into my genetic code!

The world's a funny place.


A nappy headed negress with a ring in her nose.
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Friday, March 27th, 2009

Subject:Wolverine and The X-Men - 'Ro/Lo goodness!
Time:9:41 pm.
Mood: sleepy.
I've recently been watching "Wolverine and the X-Men," and seriously, it caters to the whole 'Ro/Lo thing.

Well, in my crazy fangirl way it does. I think to most viewers it just shows them as good friends, which is also extremely acceptable in my view. I mean, they ARE friends.

Just people like silly ole me wishes that they were more....*sigh*.

Because, seriously, that Black Panther thing is bullshit and needs to be retconned. HARD.

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Wednesday, March 18th, 2009

Subject:This is why black people can't have nice things.
Time:6:59 pm.
Mood: annoyed.
So -

Disney's newest feature film, "The Princess and The Frog", stars the "first" African-American female lead in a Disney movie. I say "First", because say what you want about Kida from "Atlantis," she's closer to black than anything else. And you know, the Muses from "Hercules," etc etc.

When Disney first announced the film (which is set in 1920s New Orleans, hurrah Jazz Age before the Great Depression!), the main character's name was "Maddy", short for "Madeline", and she was a chamber maid.

BET threw a hissy fit, because this is apparently racist. But showing booty buttcheek music videos that only promote one kind of beauty that isn't reflective of most black culture ad nauseaum isn't.

When I first heard that Disney cowed to a name change ("Tiana", which strikes me as more "ghetto" than "Maddy"), I'm not going to lie, I was pissed. The biggest problem with Americans and American history is that they only want to hear the good part of it, especially concerning African Americans. Slavery is given lipservice, people are told it's bad, and yet they think that African Americans are the only people in the world with a history of slavery. Refuse to believe that Africans themselves more or less started the slave trade. We as a people have this innate ability to see our history for what it really was. We don't understand the suffering and sacrifice or what it truly meant to be a slave or looked at like you weren't even human. (Funny, as I write this, I think of how blacks see myself and my white boyfriend, and it's like they don't even recognize us as human.) We weren't suddenly "Free" overnight, and it wasn't like it was Abraham Lincoln's REAL prerogative was to free the slaves in the FIRST DAMN PLACE.

I say all of that to say: How is being a chambermaid named Maddy racially offensive? That's what most people of color did back then. Segregation was still strong in the 20s, especially in the South. You COULD possibly get away with more, as it IS in New Orleans, but our future Disney Princess is much darker than a paper bag. Something in the back of my head tells me that I doubt Disney would get any flack if they had decided to make her considerably fair skinned.

So Disney changed her name. Smooth sailing until now.

The production art for Prince Naveen shows him to be either extremely fair skinned (which is a stretch - his voice actor is Brazilian; he's the guy that played Dr. Costa on "Nip/Tuck.") or just flat out white, and this is causing MORE friction. People are accusing Disney of being racist because the prince isn't black, which tells people that black men are unable to be princes.

Seriously? Really?

Didn't Marvel just throw you naysayers a bone with that whole Storm marries the Black Panther (who just so happens to also be a black prince!) foolishness that was penned by Eric Jerome Dickey (who happens to write black on black on black romance novels, HORAY)? Isn't there a LONG history of black characters being with each other for the sole fact that they're black and therefore MUST be together?

Are we REALLY going through this?

Personally, I think Disney's got the right ticket on this. First off: New Orleans. My family hails from Louisiana, and we're a mix of fair to dark to in between. The real name of the game for the French then was if it was attractive and had a warm hole, that was the way to go. New Orleans was unique then (and often considered the red headed step child of America) because of its somewhat lax views of race-mingling. It happened. It was documented. If not, please explain to me how the terms "Quadroon," and "Octoroon" got into the English language.

Second of all: Disney makes a point of her being an AMERICAN princess. What is America? In theory, it's supposed to be a melting pot. There's not a single person that walks this soil that isn't some kind of a mutt. Yours truly is one of them: technically by "make up", I'm French, Native American, and African. All of this ancestry, whether by rape, love, or luck, has boiled down to produce me. To say that races shouldn't mingle or people should do this or that is a form of self-hatred, and I deal with enough of that about my body to really spend time hating the fact that I've got either a French rapist/whore blood. In the long run it doesn't matter.

America is build on multi-racial relationships, sexual or not. My boyfriend is white, and even though we're in one of the more progressive cities in the south, the people who give us the most nasty or unbelieving looks are usually black, like I'm some sort of race traitor. I think that's asinine, considering that black culture does so adore the fair-skinned big assed caricature that I recall was considered anthropology a century or a few ago. But this is getting into why minorities seem to have an issue with finding me attractive that's another essay all together.

People, look. There is a REASON why more blacks aren't featured in films like this, and we're seeing why. We throw hissy fits over the smallest and oft most accurate things and consider it racist. On the same hand, we're ignorant enough to see a movie like "Troy" and not even bother to think, "Where are the Ethiopians that the Greeks were so fond of?", or see movies like "The Mummy" and don't even BOTHER asking, "Where are the Nubians? Why are the Egyptians this fair before Alexander's conquest?" We don't ask the questions that we need to ask because we don't know, and we're OKAY with not knowing. But something that's presented to us in a frank fashion, something that actually ATTEMPTS to celebrate and teach about our deep history, we hiss and scream at.

This is why black people can't have nice things.

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Sunday, March 8th, 2009

Subject:Hanging up the towel - for a little while.
Time:11:12 pm.
Mood: awake.
Two more shoots that I know of for the year (so far).

I still need to go through the work I shot with Akin. He actually took a chance on me and used a make up artist and the whole nine. I'm really, really, really impressed with what I've gotten back. Of course I'm going all neurotic over the images (before photoshopping; the joke of the shoot was, "Yeah, you can photoshop my fat out," after a comment made earlier in the shoot. No, he wasn't saying I was fat, but he was asking me to stand a different way to de-emphasize the mess that is my sway back). As a bonus, the make up artist (Dee) and I became friends, so yay, learning how to actually apply the makeup that's been collecting dust since like, forever.


Those are not my real eyelashes, by the way. Dee put on some massive fake ones. I couldn't tell if my eyes were all the way open most of the time.

Work's work.

My main reason for taking the time off from shooting is that I want to refocus on writing and illustrating this year. I still have a comic thing to produce, as well as some other projects I'd like to get underway.

Comments: Add Your Own.

Monday, February 16th, 2009

Time:10:48 am.
Mood: awake.
I'm at Toys R Us now, working as a HR Department Supervisor.

The downfall to this is that for 5 days out of the week, I am surrounded by adorable as fuck baby products. There's something about them that just makes you want to have a kid to dress it up in little cute duckie onesies.

I'm definitely becoming more reclusive as I get older. It feels like a priority shift, but not. Maybe I'm gathering strength, maybe I'm waiting for something, perhaps I'm biding my time as always, waiting for this job to take hold, money to settle out and down, and then bam, back to basics.

Got a shoot on saturday. I've managed to get some of my definition back in about a week's time and dropped a size. I'd gone up to a 7 (as opposed to the 5), so that tones down the neurotic side of my brain for a bit. I did have a nice reality check about the state of things while I was shopping for khakis for work, though -

As I'm inspecting the rows (I'd tried on 5s and they were too tight - and unflatteringly so), I hear this tween voice whine, "They never have my size, GAWD! They NEVER HAVE ZEROS!"

I turn around and look at this child - who can't be older than 15. No tits, no ass, and about as big as my wrist. I was like...wow. It's a good thing I can't get into 0s anymore.

Cause, seriously, wow, yuck.

When I went back to return a pair (cause, yeah, needed to put some money back on the credit card, yo), I tried on a 5, and they fit, but I deemed them a little too tight to be work appropriate. Mind you, I just work around kids and stuff, but, yeah. I kind of favor loose clothing as opposed to my second skin off the clock wear.

I don't expect to have the body of a 23 year old at 33, but I don't want to get fat, either. I want to just stay...proportionate and healthy.

And to keep my Chun-Li thighs.

Chris took me to the Orchid Society show this past sunday (pictures to follow soon, hopefully), and I bought 3 new plants - "Sea Jewel", "Baby", and "Hadouken." The latter are seedlings, which is exciting for me, considering that I've never raised anything from a little cutting. Even though it is extremely old people of me to do, I plan on joining the society once I get a few more paychecks under my belt. I've got an old woman hobby - what can I say?

Graduate school now seems more of a possibility now, although I wonder about my ability to become a professor. Classics would be a completely different animal from teaching Religion Studies, and as for the latter, I'm not really sure if I'm prepared to deal with blind-faith based stupidity for a paycheck.

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Monday, January 26th, 2009

Time:1:25 am.
Mood: awake.
Goddamn mead.
Comments: Add Your Own.

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