I’ sorry, what?

The following was written while I was in Napa spending time with my mom. It was just after my grandfather’s passing, and we spent many nights drinking lots of wine and eating cheese and pate. It’s funny, because reading it now, I can see where I was in my drunken prime, and then where I gave up entirely lol. It’s too bad, now I’ll never know what it could’ve turned into. 

I fall getting onto ski lifts, and tumble up the stairs. I once put my shoes on the wrong feet, and placed a carton of milk in the microwave. I’m never really all there – the world is too amazing of a place for that, and my mind likes the attention. 

I’m a diamond that still thinks its coal. Or a piece of coal that doesn’t think its capable of becoming a diamond. But coal’s not so bad right? I don’t know anyone that doesn’t like a good BBQ. 

I am an emotional wreck, but nothing a skilled mechanic or surgeon or JesusBuddhaJah can’t fix. I feel all the feelings. I cry over Superbowl commercials, and get angry at people who cut in line for the train. But don’t hug me, we ain’t cool like that. Otherwise, you would know I’m not as affectionate as one would think.

I am absolutely fearful of death (get it away from me!). Yet I kiss the edges of cliffs, let go and close my eyes on the back of motorcycles, and jump into oceans without knowing how to swim. My next death defying trick? Falling in love.

As a little girl, my mom dressed me in frilly dresses and gigantic bows. Of course I wore them, I was too young to realize they were annoying. But I’d always get in trouble for coming home with dirty stockings and scuffed up Mary-Janes. They’re the best for playing kickball.

Remember how I said I was scared of death? I don’t cry at funerals. I seem to take death pretty well. Is that weird? I’m pretty sure it is.

Speaking of things that are fucked up … I’m a disaster. A beautiful one I like to pretend, but you better believe I clean up real nice. 

Also, there is no point to this post. I’m drunk off a $240 bottle of wine that I got for free, HOLLA!

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This Is How You Lose Her TBT 03.08.13

You meet him.
You kiss him on the first date.
Fireworks – July.
You have sex with him for the first time.
Heat – September.
He makes you feel like a teenager.
You make him laugh.
You fall in like.
You’re scared.
You push your fears aside.
But something is off.
You catch him in a lie.
You tell yourself you won’t see him anymore,
You tell him you’ll think about it.
You go on vacation and ignore his texts.
He tells you he misses you.
You reply to his text.
You see him when you get home.
You give him the benefit of the doubt.
You want more. He’s not ready. Wrong answer.
You settle for what you can get.
You don’t want to be alone.
He makes you feel like the only girl in the world.
You know you’re not.
Continue reading

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Ride Or Die.

I bought my first car when I was still in college, but I seriously contemplated a motorcycle at first … until my mom promised to kick me out of the house if I did. I still have an affinity for bikes, and haven’t seen any stunter better Sarah Lezito of France. 

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A Few Good Men.

When I was younger, I found myself saying “All men are dogs” quite a few times. Thankfully, I realized sooner than later this was not true. But in a world full of dating apps, hook-up culture and the popular notion of always wanting the “next best thing”, it’s hard to remember. Thankfully, I have a few good reminders around.

I see it in the way a father jumps at the mere whimper of his four-month old daughter’s cry. In the way he rocks her to sleep despite being hungover. In the way he helps his 2 year-old son play with trains despite it being the last 17 seconds of the 4th quarter.. And in the way he kisses his children’s mother good-bye before he leaves for work to create a future for his family.

I see it in the way he matches her efforts. In the way he pays attention to her needs – and even wants, and comes back from a trip with the shoes she was eyeing months ago. I see it in the way he reciprocates her love. In the way he asks her if she’s OK, makes sure she’s comfortable, and talks to her with compassion and respect.

I see it in the way he he’s willing to support her. Whether through the fire, to the moon, or hell and back – the journey is better with her. In the way he listens, and is patient. In the way he refuses to let her take the easy way out. Because he knows she’s stronger than that. 

And I see it in the way he goes above and beyond and across the world for her. In the way he’s her rock. Her teddy-bear. Her everything and anything she needs him to be. 

Of course these men are all these things, because their women deserve it and there’s reciprocity. There are a few good men out there. You just haven’t met them yet, and maybe you never will. That’s the truth - I hope you can you handle it.

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i am so obsessed with all the things i’m not.
that i forget to remember all the things i am.
i think about all the love i have given unreciprocated,
without being proud of all the love i still have left.


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Like Misses Potts, I’m servin shots, and dishing out lumps.

These rhyming princesses are more lyrical than a lot of rappers I hear on the radio lol.

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Heart and Soul Pt II

Continued from Heart and Soul Pt I

He woke up to the familiar feeling of his girlfriend’s hand rubbing him, his dick already fully erect. Asides from obvious reasons, this was a good sign. The clock in the distance read 3:45am. He got on top of her and slowly pulled his sweater over her head. Staring at her beautiful body, but vulnerable eyes he almost didn’t know what to do next. Should I stop? Should I hug her? Should I fuck her? Should I put her sweater back on? But she made his mind up for him when she placed her hands on his hips and pressed his body hard against hers.

He started to kiss her. All over. Everywhere but her lips. O her neck, on her shoulder, on the top of her ribcage. He kissed the tattoo on her hip, her inner thigh (slightly longer than the other places), and her tiny little hands. He kissed her everywhere before finally making his way back up to her face, and almost broke down. He could see hints of her big smile and bright eyes through the sadness. He took his favorite face and placed it in his hands. Then, kissed her hard but soft. Gentle yet rough. Fast but slow, as he lowered himself into her.

tumblr_mq4gicUV2d1sox2n7o1_400She wrapped her  legs around his torso, and used them to angle her body the way she liked it best. He reciprocated by thrusting himself deeper and deeper into her without ever taking his lips off of hers. A light layer of sweat that he felt every time he thrusted in and out of her began to form between their bodies. He grabbed her throat with one hand, and with the other used his fingers to help her finish. She grabbed his hair in both of her fists, and let out a soft moan as she came – the only time her lips left his. 

He kissed underneath her earlobe then let out a low groan as he came shortly after her. Soon enough, hot tears began to stream down her face while she remained silent. He could feel them transfer onto his cheek, and began to kiss the trails they left behind on her lips and chin. He brushed her hair, damp from sweat and sex, out of her face and kissed her two more times, once on her lips then last on her forehead. Despite the circumstances, he didn’t make love to her. That term wasn’t in their vocabulary. That night fucked her, just like every other night. But they both knew he loved her with every inch of his body – heart and soul included.


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