Memo To All Men Everywhere


The next one of you who, out of the blue and for no damn reason other than you think that all women everywhere should never look like she’s having thoughts or a bad day or it’s frickin’ four in the morning and she’s tired – the next one of you who tells me to “Smile!” will straight get shanked.  And I mean that.  Nothing ruins my day more than some random dude getting all in my face, demanding that I rearrange it to make him feel better.  I swear I’ll go apesh*t on you entitled bastards.  Get a life and stay outta mine!  Shit.

Happy Frickin’ Monday.



I love xkcd.  This one is my favorite.  Appeals to my spirituality and my art-theory-dork-ity.



All of Your Hopes and Dreams Will Be Dashed Upon the Jagged Boulders Below

I went out last night to El Cid – it was Jellybean Benitez’s return to Los Angeles, and absolutely NO ONE in this world spins soulful house like this guy.  He’s amazing.  I ordered my Long Island, got to sippin’, and soon started dancing because the music was beautiful.  While taking a brief break, a man introduced himself to me.  A tall man.  A bald man.  A gorgeous, chocolate, well-dressed man that I could just look at all day.  As we talked – about Chicago, house music, the South, Jellybean – I realized that it has been eons since I’ve dated a black man seriously, and I could tell that he was intelligent and good-hearted.  Possibilities started to play themselves out in my imagination as he described his job as an event promoter.

Then he mentioned his husband.




Good day.  Look up there at the page bar.  There’s a new page with a poll.  It’s called !*POLL*!.  Take this poll.  Do it only once.  The page will rest there (in peace) for a couple months.

Sometimes I wonder who’s reading, if anyone’s reading, and I’m surprised when my friends here and there say they check on my blog.  I ‘d like to know more about YOU, my audience.  Also, leave a comment on the poll page and tell me what you think of my blog.  Let me know if there’s anything you’d like me to write more of or less of.  I’m still not going to be too personal though – I don’t believe in oversharing.

Love ya!


I May Need A Shrink

monogram wedding cake toppers

One day about a month ago, I was at the gym, working it out on an elliptical, watching TLC’s “Say Yes To The Dress” on my personal monitor.  It’s a reality show that follows an NYC bridal dress shop; specifically, the quest of the brides-to-be to find The Most Perfect-est Dress Everrrr, and the quest of the employees to close sales.  It’s not usually the kind of show I would watch, but there was nothing else on that piqued my interest.

In this episode, a dress-seeker took some time to tell America how her fiancĂ© proposed to her, and how it was everything she had ever wanted, and how happy she was.  I’m sure this interview happens on every episode.  As the show went to commercial break, and as I pumped my legs and arms in ardent pursuit of bodily perfection in time for my trips to Brazil and Europe, I lapsed into a hypothetical daydream of the future – what if one day, I was proposed to?  An image of a faceless man appeared in my head, and he presented me with a ring and asked me to marry him.

I nearly had a tearful panic attack on the elliptical.  I nearly ran with fright from the gym, no goal in sight.