The Life of a Premature Metro Goddess

Before I set out on this brief excerpt of my life/IM, let me just state that yes I do believe in God but my spirituality is definately not that of my family or many of my friends; that said: Antwan: http://www.streamingfaith.com/ Me: um... Me: i don't stream faith after mentioning it to Adam: Adam: ok, lemme see. this scares me a bit Adam: i don't like to see "holies" dancing **fiRefLy**

It was recently stated by a close friend that I'm only concerned with myself; I would have taken that comment a lot better had it come in the form of positive criticism and had it not been inaccurate but I will continue. This got me thinking, what does that me, only concerned with myself? Egotistic, narcisitic, self-involved, they all mean the same thing, but these can't be used as simple blanket terms because we really can never know where someone's concerns are placed. The only person who can truly know that is the respective party and so, I write. As a 21 year old, Premature Metro Goddess it is my privelage, hell, my right to be self absorbed. As pointed out by another close friend Other Close Friend: At this stage in our lives, we have to be concerned for ourselves because this is the first real time that no one else is concerned for us. They care, but we have to make our futures now. Although I know that my concerns are most definately not centered on myself alone, I w

What is a girl to do when she is trapped in the middle of a crossroads? Isn't that the purpose of this blogging space, to figure those things out; to find the fork in this road of life and take it knowing that down the beaten path is the success and the aspirations that we've waited so to attain. No, I don't really think so. I don't have the answers, not in any immediacy, even when I think I do or it is assumed, I do not have all of the answers to the questions that have yet to be asked and so I am here. What is a budding Metro Goddess to do when she can't decide upon the city to which she will position her mountain on high with which she will gaze down upon the rest of this world? Do I play it safe and maintain the path that is laid out ahead? At this point find a job in my respective city is about as easy as finding a hot pair of closed toe kitten heels on the shoe aisle of T.J Maxx...I've tried and so far it just has not worked itself out. My choice is to re

You are going to lose him. When it comes to that day and you walk across that stage in all your glory and acheivement he will not be there. You will not run into his arms and scream "I made it!". You won't make those ecstatic introductions, or wipe the crumb from the corner of his mouth. You will not lay in his arms when it's all over and smile at the things you have to look forward to. You won't, and you knew that, you just wouldn't let yourself make it real. I guess I should have known, I mean my horoscope did tell me just yesterday, and we all know the unwavering reliability that holds: Your situation in love can change with the breeze. You can get swept up in a sweet idea, only to be set back down someplace quite different from what you imagined. Don't be misled by your own dreams now, for they can stir feelings in your heart that make you do foolish things. and then there's the weekly one: There's no holding back your feeling

What did I do to deserve this? I think I've apologized for being a sorceress in my past life. I can't walk, I can't cook, I can't pull an all nighter, then take that evil Ethics test without the constant pre-sneeze. You know that feeling where your nose tingles, and it wrinkles up just a little bit before the air is heaved out of your body and across the room? Imagine that feeling for about 8 hours straight, my allergies are working me life a full time job, and girl gotta make a dollar. I will not play the game, I will not be drugged up and worn out from the weird drunkening affect of Claritin, or the immediate "Do not Operate a vehicle, or lift heavy items" drowsiness brought on by Sudafed. I will stand strong, shit I'm a soldier. I will manage the frustration with my pilates breath...In through the nose, 1..2..3, out through pursed lips, 1...2...3. I will wave my banner proud, that is Kleenex, and don't mistake that white flag for surrender, that Kle

Why are we so focused on pefection. The perfect look, the perfect life, the perfect love. All of these moments we are offered in this world and we focus on that which does not exist, the apex of motivation, the Kodak Moment. Love is not perfect. Life is not perfect. They can't be air brushed or touched up. They can't be reshot or predesigned. They just are. What we tend to overlook is the fact that the Kodak Moment is rarely pefection, it is rarely flawless skin on Elle, or the ultimate fantasy wedding in the society pages. The Kodak Moment is usually that rare moment in life when our sensibilities and our insecurites are set aside. When for an instant we forget the expectations, we forget the world around us, we enter into moments of light where we can just be. Those pictures which are out of focus, that show the truth behind our eyes...survivors, babies smiling, family embracing, lovers in love, and greif in its midst...those moments are truth captured and not to be forgotten

**check previous, you might get it...this is shorter** I’m here toying with the idea… The idea of falling in love with you. If I like this speed And it seems like I need To have you kiss my lips from time to time In the midst of writing some poetic rhyme That’s how I love to fall. It would be so hard to break away At the dawn of day When the world calls us away And our separation grows. Negotiating with minutes Expectations of when we finish And make our way back to this place we call love If love, My love, I’m loving that. So maybe I won’t fight back, Try to gain solid ground I’ll let you move all around This world of mine. And in time Well yea, I guess I could fall. Maybe.

I am stuck in a place of invisible imagination, unappearing thoughts, and silence... yes people I am having a horrible case of writer's block. This does happen from time to time. It creeps up on you like rain in the midst of a perfect seaside vacation. You're at sea dipping your toes into the warm blue when the sky opens up, God laughs as he shoots down a bolt of thunder, and you are sequestered to the stale lonliness of your tiny tiny hotel room; you'd be lucky to get good room service at this point. The hotel room wouldn't be as horrible if it weren't for the fact that you had so much left to do...scuba lessons with that hot hot native, dinner on the shore with the guy in 3B, a little spa time for you and your travel buddy on the ample balcony of your hotel. And this is where the analogy stops. There is so much I want to say. I want to put into words that letter I have yet to write to my estranged father...hmm estranged I never thought of it that way before. I wan

Am I in love with you? Why in the hell would you ask me that question? Were you thinking about it, did I save you from an oncoming bus, did I ask to have your children? I don't remember any of those things so where did that come from? I must admit I am quite fond of you. The way you smell, the way I never worry about all of those self conscious parts of myself, the way you hold me from behind and I feel your body match the curves of mine...but I'm not in love with you. I enjoy talking to you, arguing with you, laughing with you, playing with you.

It all stems from men. No I am not quoting some long lost biblical text, or even the latest trumpeteer of male domination. This my friends is the somewhat sarcastic conclusion which was reached at my Women of Color discussion group. First let me explain a few things. After 3 years at a predominantly white, private, liberal arts school, no matter how diverse one may be a little meeting with the sistas from time to time was quite necessary. This revelation took time; I was initially the soft spoken, "appropriate", token black girl. I've had my share of all knowing assumptions from the less than informed blonde girls whom I'd spent most of my freshman year "bonding" with... "even the black people where I live think there are two kinds of black people. Black people and nig..." Let this trail off into oblivion for my and everyone else's sake. I've also had my fair share of "the whitest black girl I know" comments. Yes I like Incubus, m

"You've got your ball, you've got your chain, tied to me tight, tie me up again." Needless to say, this is not a good night for blogging.

Joe's Righteous Blog of Peace and Love

By way of a great southern tradition, I am very aware of that concept: The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I've heard many a story about the miraculous things a woman could wrench out of a man with a pot of spaghetti, and a few other ingredients which I continue to wish were only added to the story to increase the mysterious lore of women in "the old days". But to sit that issue aside for a moment, I know as a southern bred (not sure if I like that term) woman, there are exceedingly grandiose expectations placed upon my ability to not just cook, but burn...For those of you who aren't aware burn does not mean to overcook food, to burn is to throw it down, put your foot in it, damn girl can burn. In recent weeks I've developed a curious desire for a cast iron skillet, the southern cook's essential. As a little girl I remember pulling the ridiculously enormous pans from under the counter for my granny or my ma. I'd watch as they melted some f

This is not a place or a space for the sullen and forlorn. I say this knowing that at this precise moment I am quite sullen and forlorn and I am making every effort to ensure that none of that transmits to this page. That said, knowing myself, there is no way for me to continue typing without the disappointment and regret of a current situation springing forth upon this very page. And that said, ladies and gents if you don't want to bare witness to the forthcoming descriptions of regrets and what shoulds, please note this title, and check back when a happier post title appears. Until the time of that blessed occurrence (which might even be tonight) I offer you little solace or alternative for the quandaries of this world. And hence forth shall continue on. Death is a depthful, grievous, phenomenon of this life we are given. So easily offered and yet so swiftly taken, the phrase "thief in the night" springs forth which brings me round to thoughts of religion but that is no

Can a girl get an honesty call? Here's a little quote to keep you thinking. It's the weekend. "Confront the dark parts of yourself and work to banish them with illumination and forgiveness. Your willingness to wrestle with your demons will cause your angels to sing. Use the pain as fuel, as a reminder of your strength. -- August Wilson **fiRefLy**

The life of a college student is one which insists upon your gratitude, and constantly. Even the most obnoxious, arrogant, frat boy has said at least one thanks to the heavens above, if only for the last drop of musty beer laying in the previously used can under the oldest table in the darkest corner. Gratitude is omnipresent in our worlds. After almost 4 years of an education which seems to have been afforded to me by some extreme luck, some extreme prayer, and a little bit of begging I have to wonder where my gratitude should lay; if at this very moment someone standing behind a podium on high, we'll call this person god (little g) because its more interesting that way, decided "and the award for a consistent recurrence of happiness starting...now! goes to {insert my name here}" what would I say? Who would I cry about or give my shout outs to? Who would I "owe it all to"? What would my speech say: I am thankful because I have to be. Not because it is a volunt

What is the ironic benefit of a dramatic life and too much chocolate? The migraine. I have been blessed with said benefit since the age of 8 and although my toleration has grown the overall experience could be completly done away with and I would have not once second of regret. The migraine is just a physical (painfully so) reminder that I'm stressed, that I'm not getting any in a committed relationship, that I still need to find a job and at this rate it will be one that exists at an alarming 28 k a year, did I mention I will be living in the DC area, 28k will be the cost of my yearly commute, to hell with a life. And finally the lovely migraine is a physical draining reminder that I care too much, feel too much, want too much, and that dammit I can't eat a Tootsie Roll for fear of a week of tortuous side effects, including screwed vision... and I ask, what DID I do in a past life, because if this is my punishment I must have been an evil sorceress. So I ask, what is a suf