Back in the Saddle

OMG! Fall already and before you know it--2010!

This summer pretty much sucked wenis. Cold and long. No real fun to speak of and loads of unsolicited drama. Folks came without warning and took without asking. Left a ring in my tub and DNA on my toilet (where's Clarence Thomas when you need him?). I'm done. Folks moved in without warning with pancake mix in tow. Had to fight some battles and feed the greedy. Stayed clear of stores and missed visiting the shore, and the bond between mother and daughter grew even deeper.

Going to be doing some big things this fall with folks I've been searching for for a lifetime. Like-types. Going to have a new perspective and and a new sanctuary. New platforms from which to spring and revamping some old ones. Promise to care about how I dress even if I am stuck to the chair and computer all day (never know whom you might meet!) Not going to let folks and their hidden agendas derail me (again). I trusted my gut and it feels good. I had faith and all worked out for the best. And I think I may have found the vest. Bananas.

Summer of Love

This has been one funky summer. No heat to speak of. June was all wet. Michael Jackson crossed over to the other side, and I've yet to wear all my cool sandals and outfits meant for a trip to Cali.

Back to the grind and back to being my old amped up self. Gotta get that fire in the belly back or risk being one step short of those dreams and goals I set for myself years ago. Been a cool little journey thus far, with some bumps and turns, with the road always seeming to get smoother before it gets longer. Been lucky that way, or maybe smarter than I give myself credit for. Gotta make some changes and manage expectations. Get folks to get on the good foot or get to steppin'. I have to high-tail it back to the front of the pack-- where I belong.

Second half is going to be awesome, I will it to be so.

Back to life. Back to reality.

I've been thinking about the entertainment industry and the music I've grown up on, and how I've made my living. Not what it used to be. And never again will it be like it was. Had been thinking about where my love of music and this biz came from, and when and where I somewhat lost my passion for it. I'm disgusted by the wannabes and the trifling and the talentless. There is no effort and no respect for music lovers and fans, and that saddens me. Michael's gone and never will anyone come close to replacing him. I've got mad love for Prince. Seal rocks my soul. I still love House. And my own weird playlist of sounds and tunes. That's it. It's over. I'm done.
This biz has been good to me and I've made of it what I wanted it to be for me. Beyond that, it sucks. Look what it does to people, what folks become and that is so not the intent of making music and film. Folks get power hungry, become addicted to the fame and fortune, often lose their way and all sense of reality. Poor Michael, with his self-loathing and pain. Fragile creature, too frail to take the ugliness of the world. Never that. I am sad for you Michael and I cry for me and my loss of the love of music. Back to my new life and reality.

Is it summer yet?

This was one hell of a week. So much happened,I forget it happened this week. The weekend was funky. Tried to be nice to some folks who in turn, simply forgot to thank me. Got bent out of shape and the whole thing escalated for the world to see. Not cute. Then I had to remember (because I forget), that men and women communicate differently, and emotionally challenged men even more so. So Monday started off beyond funky and blue. Was blue, had a major blowup, a boo hoo and then had to use blue language with someone well on the verge of turning blue (his face was a beet red when I left in a fit of rage).
Tuesday was awkward but got off on a good foot, had me come to terms and make peace, and then the evening ended on another sour note. Hump day had me humping. Thursday had me helping and the week ended on such a high note, I can't believe what just happened. I do know that when folks piss me off again, I can just think about the good stuff and all the other stuff will mean nothing in my grand scheme of things.

This week's lesson: Talk is cheap. Loud talking can get you heard, if not some reaction. Communication solves mostly anything and in the end, I'm always right!

Crush Groove

Should have learned my lesson last time I let folks not old enough to know who Kunta Kinte is in my house, this time for what I thought would be a celebration of the creative spirit, graduation, birthdays, academic accomplishment and the gathering of good folks, regardless of age.
Should know better than to try and make folks have class, finesse, good intentions and the like when they've been programmed and hard wired in ways I will never truly comprehend. I can have all the empathy in the world, but I will never know. And so I had a party, that turned more into my being less Martha Stewart domestic diva and more Aunt Jemima/ Flo Evans hostess- with-the -mostess type undeserving diva. Smashed cake on my floors and didn't pick it up, spilled drinks, ate up all the food, had a good time, came empty handed and then left without even a thanks for allowing us-to-come-into-your-home-again-showing-us-a-good-time-caring-about-us-more-than-our-own-mothers-do goodbye! Wow! Smack in the face. Whack upside the head. I'm done. Now the elitist that I so was not brought up to be has to rear her little let's- not-love-everyone- because-we're- not-cut-from-the-same-cloth head and stick to my own kind--folks who are smart, sensitive, funny and appreciate someone doing anything for them no matter how small the gesture--kind. No point getting even more upset than I was. Cry it out. Holler it out. Cuss it out. Vent it out. And know that this too shall pass. I tried.

How could I forget

Memorial Day is all about remembering those that fought for us, died for us, and a time all but forgotten for many. It's also the unofficial kickoff of summer and all that jazz. End of the winter blues, spring flings, April showers.
Didn't spend this day remembering much other than the good times I used to have or once had and thinking I need to create some new memories before I can't remember what I don't want to forget or I become part of what time forgot.
Read this article in ELLE this week, about a woman much like myself, who felt like she was hanging on a cliff by the tips of her well manicured fingers, one foot dangling while the other tried to get a grip and hoist herself back up the mountain-side. "Hang on girl"-- remember you don't like heights. Soaring to new ones, yes. Slippin', no. I still have some fight in me. Some Kung Fu grip. Some soul. Many reasons for folks to want to connect with the me that I am now. And not the memory of me, that old me that once was, but the new and better me. Boy, do I remember the times that I once had.

Oh well, carry on. Time to get some ground-gripping shoes and keep it moving. Next year, I'll be in the Hamptons with folks who will not have forgotten about me and with whom I will have made new memories.

Black Cat Blues

So, if I learned anything about myself this week, it's that I am resilient, resourceful, rambunctious, resolute and radiant in yellow!

The week started off with unresolved issues related to business. I don't know if the other party is retarded (pardon the un-PC like reference), or honestly suffering from dementia (in which case you need to get some help), but the whole repartee was ridiculous! By the way, I love it when I just let it go and flow wit it. And divine intervention is good, because I was near ready for some ghetto like intervention. Which brings me to this point: do men just think women are dumb and can be treated any ole kind of way, disrespected and devalued particularly when they know or assume you have no man in your business or personal life to physically or subconsciously keep them in check? If I came with Big Willy to my meetings or Jim-Bob answered my business line, or I came around with a 6'4 boo, then you'd respect me. WTF??? Say, I was Oprah they'd not fuck with me, but I'm a mini Oprah sans the money and Steadman or burly bodyguard--and you want to get stupid? Test me? Make me go there.? When all the while, you're just pissed because my doin'-for-myself -ass has more going on than you do, is paying your bills and I don't need you to make things happen?! I digress. But I'm pissed, and single women entrepreneurs or hell, women period will know what I'm dealing with and talking about. Like I'm some emotionally driven wretch of a wench... Long story short--cat wanted to hold my stuff hostage because he had no other way to save face with his dilettante crew and wanted to force me to work with him. You cost me time, energy and money and you think I will move forward long term with you? You must be smoking some Cuban crack, or the male pattern baldness topical treatment has seeped into your somewhat less that sharp brain!

But, I let go. I simply let go. Took a deep breath and simply let go, and poof, the tide turned and all will be right once again. I reverted back to what got me to where I am in the first place: resolve, perseverance and that carpet bag of tricks Felix the Cat used to dig into whenever he was in a fix. When folks throw a wrench in the game, don't let "no monkey stop yo' show". So a little prayer, some diary entries and poof--problem fixed--and some well placed phone calls to secure my own resources helped too.

In the end, I have to have faith in myself, trust my first voice and know that it will work out. It always does and I always do.

Mother Dear

Mother's Day should be everyday. I love my Mom, she's the best. Not a typical Mom in the sense that she baked cookies and made dinner every night, wore an apron and cleaned in her heels and pearls. No, she was the modern Mom--cool, independent, worldly, understanding, confident, ambitious, bold, creative, funny, stylish, intelligent, well read, sophisticated, the original MILF (sorry...)--just the kind of Mom you could only make up, and she was that Mom. My Mom. Is my Mom. And she's still all those things and some. She supported my dreams and encouraged me to be whatever I wanted to be. If only I could be half the mother she is.

Yesterday, I realized, on the eve of yet another Mother's Day, I am in many ways like my Mom--the one all my daughter's friends think is cool, until they forget I am someone's mother and say something perhaps reserved for someone half my age. Like they did yesterday. I guess I've lived long enough to understand that they don't know any better, or maybe they just forget. But I am a Mom and in many ways, I am half the mother my Mom is. So I made stoup (that's stew that thinks it's soup) for my daughter and listened to her rave about having found her passion. I'm proud to be her Mom. Happy Mother's Day to me.

Unstoppable

EIF Run Walk for Cancer was this Saturday and I participated. 40,000 strong and I was part of it. Alone and determined, I laced up and headed up 7Th Ave to Central Park. Half trot, half power walk and a full sprint through the finish line, I did it. For me. For my Mom who didn't sign up for cancer, last I checked. For my niece, Coki Tai who was booted from the race too soon. For my daughter, who'll one day be a doctor and find a cure for her own disease, MS. Moving. Empowering. Invigorating. Next year, I run all the way. For now, I'm doing my part and going to find a way to make real contributions.
What a week.

Living the right life

Jeez, been a cool minute since I sat down and pumped something out. Not that I don't think about writing or updating, just get sidetracked, or better yet, I allow myself to be sidetracked. And here I swore to never let that happen again. There goes that resolution. Could be, because it has been the same resolution since 1998. See, there I go again, off track.

And like I declared in 1998, I was going to find the truth, my truth, live the life I imagined. I rolled out of bed and set out to do just that. But somehow, I got relegated to being a basement boo (more on that later), and making someone with no vision's dream real. Spent the better part of 2 years back in the bed, eyes wide shut, dreaming once more of what I could be. Maybe I needed a stronger pair of glasses. So the kindred spirit that I have been declared to be, once again has spread her energy thin, and once again has needed to shut her eyes and dream again about what I can be.

So after some nearly 4015 sometimes fitful, sometimes fruitful, sometimes frigid, sometimes fearful and sometimes fantastic nights, I'm finally doing my thing. And when I say my thing, I mean my thing, my way, regardless of what others may think my thing is or should be. It's my dream. Get your own.