Gazelle

Last Saturday, when I took my kids to the park, I watched my children. I set them loose, and just observed them. I do that from time to time, to get a feel for who they are. It’s surprising what you learn.

So, Finge and the ‘Bug, set loose upon the unsuspecting world. they wanted to go inside of the rec center and play air hockey. Finge was the instigator. “Let’s race,” he whispered innocuously. As a child, I used to race (and lose) against the neighborhood girls who ran track, and I feel like all is fair. He’s longer, so that just means she has to work harder. She used to be a really bad sport about losing, and I almost stopped them. I fell back.

let me preface this by saying that both of my children have very athletic builds. Even as infants, they each had extremely well defined calf muscles. Finge was only a few days old, and he braced against me and stool tall in my lap. I was so glad that he wasn’t big on tantrums, because the two that he threw during his toddler years were quite exhausting. I remember needing a B-12 shot AND a nap. Ladybug wasn’t much better. None of that, however, prepared me for what I saw.

His stride is much longer than hers. However, I have NEVER seen legs move so fast. If I wasn’t aware of its physical impossibility, I would have sworn that her feet never touched the ground. They just skimmed the tippy tops of the blades of grass. I blinked, but I could have sworn that she beat him. But that’s his sister. He was going easy on her, right?

Later, two other kids joined them playing. A boy that was around 12, and a girl who had to be around ten. They decided to race. “Bug took the girl on first. No comparison. She beat her handily. The boy? smoked him like a link at HIlshire Farm. They raced again, and again and again. Each time, she beat them like they owed her money.

Now, she’s expressed interest in soccer, and i will sign her up. However, I’m thinking that if she goes that route, she’ll be missing her calling.

Posted on October 9, 2008 by Beauty Jackson in Mamba's Memoirs 3 Comments

cuties

Azure

I have been slim on the posting for the last two days. Tuesday I wrote and didn’t post. Yesterday, I didn’t write at all. I was a little blue. Blue enough that I didn’t even feel like writing or fighting through it. But don’t cry for me, Argentina. There’s a time and place for everything, and that includes being a little blue. Sometimes, you have to just let it have its time, and get out of your system.

So today, I woke up a little bit better. A little more smiley. I still didn’t feel like putting makeup on though. Sometimes, I have to put that diva shit on PAUSE. No one turned to stone, and I still smell nice, so I think I can put that in the “W” column.

Have any of you seen that Ikea commercial with the black lady that has the raspy voice? Who IS she?! If someone were to roll up on me with that voice, all uninvited and whatnot. For some reason, she makes me think of Scatman Crothers in “The Shining.” Just a creepy quality that I can’t quite put my finger on.

I have an unreasonable crush on T.I. To the point that I can’t guarantee that I would not throw my underwear at him should we meet. He’s got this song called “Porn Star” and…you know what? Next topic.

So, how bout them Saints? Why the fuck are we playing injured kickers during CRUCIAL field goal attempts. How the fuck did we lose to Minnesota in the ‘Dome. If some New Orleanian non-Saints lover talks shit on this topic, I will hunt you down and do unspeakable things to you.

Who watched South Park last night? I can’t wait to use the term “dick shooter” in conversation. I haven’t even decided its context. I just know that it must be done.

Am I the only one that was waiting for McCain to keel over during Tuesday night’s debate? I just remember thinking, “I’m missing frigging SVU for this?!”

When people say, “Ugh, I don’t even watch TV anymore,” in that self satisfied way, am I the only person that wants to punch them in the balls? Or the boob? There’s nothing cool about you. In my mind, you smell poorly, because you haven’t watched commercials, so you don’t know what great strides science has made in wetness and odor protection. You and your 1987 Speed Stick. I bite my thumb at you.

In closing, I would like to quote the great WASP philosopher, Peter Griffin, “Ladies and Gentlemen: Testicles. That is all.”

just b

*Let’s pray that I have something more substantive to discuss tomorrow.

Posted on October 9, 2008 by Beauty Jackson in Mamba's Memoirs 3 Comments

freestylin

Ouch

I felt out of sorts, then I realized, I hadn’t posted today. That’s insanity. I had chills, fever, shingles. What’s more, I had something funny to post, and now I can’t remember what it was. I sort of wish that i’d written the idea down.

Just out of curiosity, how many brains does CSI plan to show? I mean, it’s not even shocking anymore. It’s just like, “Oh, wow. More brains. *yawn*”

peace lambs

just b

Posted on October 6, 2008 by Beauty Jackson in Uncategorized Leave a comment

“Mighty Healthy”

“For, you see, he had found his center, his own center, inside him: and it showed. He wasn’t anybody’s nigger. And that’s a crime, in this fucking free country. You’re suppose to be somebody’s nigger. And if you’re nobody’s nigger, you’re a bad nigger…”

- If Beale Street could Talk by James Baldwin

I’ve sat here for a long time, trying to think of the right way to word this. I thought, because I don’t want to offend. I don’t want to hurt feelings. I didn’t want to sound angry. I didn’t want to sound like I’m placing blame. Because at the end of the day, I’m not an angry chick. I’m not a chick that passes the buck. But I do have some shit to get off my chest, so bear with me.

When you’re a woman, it is incumbent upon you to belong. You’re supposed to find your role, and fill it to the best of your ability. That’s it. Know your role and play it. Your worth is all but immaterial. Not outside of its very cliche usage in that you know enough of your worth to perform your role properly and nothing more. Then, on some unfortunate day, you realize that the deck is stacked and the dice are loaded. Regardless of your “role,” if you want anything in this world as a woman, you have to make yourself somebody’s bitch. And if you’re not content being somebody’s bitch, then you’re a bad bitch.

I’ve always struggled with belonging somewhere. When the day came that I found my center, I realized that I don’t have to belong. I saw the consequences that came with refusing to be somebody’s bitch, by any definition, and it didn’t scare me. I’m true to ALL of my personalities (*giggle*), and I keep it pure. I don’t fuck with people’s heads, and I don’t allow people to fuck with mine. Sometimes I apologize for being emotional, or vocal, or even demanding of the loyalty that I offer, but at the end of things, that’s who I am. No regrets.

I remember every ugly thing people told me when I wouldn’t be pigeonholed into the box of belonging. It’s amazing how quickly seemingly intelligent people resort to the pedestrian “dumb” and “ugly.” But even for those who were more exotic and imaginative with their jabs, when I looked in the mirror, I never saw what they saw. I always know that who I was, and the way I appealed to people went so much deeper than simple aesthetics. I always saw a diamond. I’m going through a hard time now, and even still, I see that light in my eyes that lets me know that whether or not I’m down matters not. I’m not OUT.

Now, does thinking like that make me a bad bitch?

You muthafuckin’ right.

Posted on October 5, 2008 by Beauty Jackson in Jewels 5 Comments

legend of b

grrrrrrr

i should be asleep. at this very minute, i should be asleep. i’ve spent the last few hours writing. i had no idea that time slipped away from me. i have this exercise where i do deep breathing exercises and find my happy place. it’s just that by the time i think of that, way too much time has passed.

the thing is, i’ve done so much writing, and i’m not sure how much of it i’m going to use. no bigs. i just hate that television is so bad, and i don’t want to get out of bed and start doign things around the house, because once i get in that zone, i’ll NEVER go to bed. ah well. guess i’ll watch the i love money crap on mtv until i fall into a coma. peace.

just b

Posted on October 5, 2008 by Beauty Jackson in Trouble Sleeping 2 Comments

insomniac theater

No rest for the weary

One would think that they way I wear myself out during the week, I wouldn’t have midnight blogging sessions, and yet, I do. Last night when i went to bed, I purposely did not knock out until I was on the verge of a coma. The kids and I had a “camp-in” where we pretty much ate and joked and watched wrestling until we passed out. After my blogging session, I noticed Finge was tossing and turning a lot. I thought maybe he was awake, and so I asked him what he was doing. “I’m saving you mama.” My kid dreams about being a hero, lol. That’s pretty cool.

It’s so gorgeous outside today, I’m going to rush through my errands and then bring them to the park. They can run themselves crazy while I write. I desperately need a laptop so that I can write anywhere. Yes, i plan to be one of those people that set up camp in various public places as they work on their “next big thing.” Until then, I’ll have to get a couple of good writing tablets. For those who are interested, Borders has notebooks of the sort for fairly low price. Purple ones. (Author’s Note: Purple anything is always a way to get on my good side. Also note that I have a b-day coming up in a month, so…yeah.)

My writing has been SO much more intense these days. Even if the story that I wrote doesn’t win the grand prize, it is definitely among my best. So, if you ever read something about an author to watch…yeah…that’s me.

Off to Target lambs.

just b

Posted on October 4, 2008 by Beauty Jackson in Hustlin 4 Comments

le grind

HoneyMolassesCherrySugarSomethingOrTheOther

Last night, I decided to treat myself to body butter from Carol’s Daughter.* The name of the product I purchased is SweetHoneyDip ChocolateBrownSugah. As the name implies, it smells like a hybrid of honey, cocoa and sugar. My skin feels like a dream, but I have mixed feelings both about the need to name body products after food, as well as my compulsion to purchase such products.

I’m flipping through the channels, and I passed MTV. A male and female (mother and son actually) were doing sculptures. As I looked, I said, “That looks like a penis. I have a filthy mind.” Lo and behold, they were doing penis sculptures. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

I discovered that Target sells OPI nail polish. My insides did the happy dance.

My arms are still tanned from the summer. OMG, I was SO golden delicious this summer, lol. However, all that was not exposed to the sun looks anemic – vampiric even. I plan on being a total beach bunny next summer. Crazy as it sounds, i think I want to learn how to surf. Of course, I have to learn how to swim first. That’s one think that sucks about growing up in a black American city. For some reason, there is no focus, concern or desire to teach black children how to swim. I have other opinions on this. Ask me someday.

I have sworn off fried chicken until after the new year.

The midnight wakeups are beginning to be slightly annoying. But oh well. Going to watch Harvey Birdman now.

*I do not believe that body butter is a treat. Skin care is something that I take very seriously, and I view the “good shit” as a bill. Take care of yourself and yourself will take care of you!

just b

Posted on October 4, 2008 by Beauty Jackson in Trouble Sleeping 3 Comments

insomniac theater

Broken windows, flat tires and EZ Off on your car

Jazmine Sullivan’s voice is delightfully hypnotic. So when I heard her latest song and its beat, vaguely reminiscent of a hip-hop tango, bobbing my head was inevitable. Then, I paid attention to the words:

“I bust the windows out ya car…”

SCREEEEEEECH!

Ms. Sullivan is not the first songstress to sing about destruction of property. Jill scott has a song called “Insomnia.” She’s singing about her man not calling, and not coming around – that old chestnut. She then launches into a diatribe about how her man turned her from a “woman of substance” to what adds up to a crazy ass stalker ho. She ends the song, “You reduced me from a woman of substance to this.”

Breakups are emotional times. It takes us places that we don’t want to be and brings us face to face with things we don’t really want to see. Nobody likes the rejection or feeling of failure that comes with the breakup territory. It’s hard to issue proper “protocol” for dealing with such a situation, because every person is different.

HOWEVER, what you do not do, what you must not EVER do, is lash out in violence. Breakups happen for a reason. Maybe you suck. Maybe the guy sucks. Maybe you both suck. Maybe neither of you suck, but you don’t have anything in common and no interest in compromise. But whatever the reason, if the first place you go when something doesn’t work out, is a place of destruction, humiliation or drama – then that’s not what you were driven to, that’s who you are. A petty, spiteful female, that still sees a tantrum as a viable means to get her way.

I don’t buy that “woman on the verge” shit. I’m MAD ROWDY. I don’t like being played, played with, or having my intelligence insulted. It’s not unheard of for me to be galactically pissed when a dude plays me for the herb. I may be hurt, and I will voice my hurt. I may want to know why. When all is said and done, I cut my losses and keep it moving. Truth be told, I tend to feel at odds in a girlfriend capacity. It’s really not keeping with the way of the Maverick. When it’s nice, it’s nice, and when it’s not, eh, it’s not. I don’t purport to be perfect. I’m brash, and slightly crass and cuss too much. I talk more than I should and can occasionally be something of a broke ass elitist. On top of all my other bullshit, it’ll be a hot minute before we’re fuckin, which I don’t think is in for 2008. Go figure. Despite that, I’m still a solid chick. So, I might not be a total “lady,” but I’m definitely a grown ass woman.

Oh yeah, and I don’t fuck people’s shit up, so…yeah…that’s kind of a plus.

Posted on October 3, 2008 by Beauty Jackson in Afro-dite, Jewels 4 Comments

real talk

“When givin’ up’s way harder than tryin’” (c) Kanye West

I woke up this morning feeling just a little off. Even after I said my prayers, thanking God for another day, I was still a little blue. So I really amped myself up, like you wouldn’t believe. Music, joking with the kids, positive thoughts. I even threw mascara and my favorite lip gloss into the mix. Still, snake eyes.

So I came out of the parking garage, and the sun hit my face, and it was just such a beautiful feeling. So I tell myself, “Whatever it is, shake it off. It’s going to be gorgeous today.” As I proceed across the street, still feeling off, but trying to get into the veritable “climb every mountain” playlist I’ve got on my iPod, and as I stepped up on the curb…

BUSTED

ASS.

Usually, falls don’t bother me. I’ve never been particularly graceful and ladylike in the maneuvering department. However, to fall in a crowd of people, and have all my books and notebooks and magazines scattered everywhere, so uncool. Fortunately, I didn’t bust the knees out of my pants or anything like that, but it was still a pain in the ass.

Typically, when I fall, I laugh at myself. I’m not sure if it’s out of embarrassment, or because I’m always party to shenanigans of some sort. I couldn’t wring a laugh out of myself this time. Not even a chuckle. Because today, my falling just really isn’t funny. Whenever I make headway, it’s like the universe puts me in check and says “Sit down, bitch!” And the thing is, I don’t even think I know how to sit down. Not now. Not when I was two and in a body cast. I can’t stay down. I remember being in a fight, and getting my ass thoroughly whipped by a chick three times my size. But I wouldn’t go down, because in my mind, I could lose, but that behemoth was going to earn that fucking victory dance. (And no, this is not a feel good story about how I gained her respect and we became friends. If I see that bitch in the street TO-MOR-ROW, I’m diving on her.)

I don’t mind the struggle, because, if I weren’t struggling, I promise you, I’m not sure what I would be doing. But sometimes, I just want things to work out. I know everyone has their own shit to deal with, but sometimes, I look at other people’s lives, and they almost seem charmed. I know people, and I’m not even talking rich people, but just regular ass people that seem to have life handed to them on the regular.

I don’t mean to sound ungrateful (and I guess that means I know that I do), because I have two beautiful healthy kids, and people would kill for that. But I scrape and struggle, and I can barely see how I’m gonna get my kid the skateboard and gear he wants for his birthday. And what makes that suck even MORE is the fact that if I can’t get it, he won’t say shit about it, so my great kid learns that the reward for being a stand up cat is…being a stand up cat.

My point? I dunno. I’m just in a foul mood. So I have one of two choices: take it out on everyone around me (ugh), or sound off here, in my spot. I think I made the better choice.

Posted on October 2, 2008 by Beauty Jackson in Jewels 10 Comments

real talk

Jitters

I stood in line, chattering with my friend, my stomach nervously fluttering for what I was about to do.

When it was my turn, I barely squeaked out, “I’d like a money order for $20.00 please.”

I returned to my desk, and filled out the money order, as well as the certified mail receipt. My hand trembled the entire time. I wanted to make sure that I’d written everything down perfectly. I did. I sealed the envelope, and along with it, the path to my destiny.

I have officially entered my first writing contest.

Of course, I can’t say that I will win, but in my heart, this contest is mine. Even if I don’t win (a possibility that I consider, but only dismissively), this is my step to putting myself out there in the view of all and sundry. In a way, it’s not even about the win. It’s about the guts to go for what I want and make it known that I want it.

Before I knew I was pretty, before I knew I would be a mother, before I knew that I would eventually be motherless, before I knew pretty much anything about myself – I knew I would be a writer. It’s my activity for all occasions – be they happy, sad, or anything in between. If I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep, I write until I do. There have been times that I have dozed off writing or typing.

I know it probably doesn’t seem like a big thing to some, but for me, it’s a monumental step. I’m very excited about this guys.

Posted on October 1, 2008 by Beauty Jackson in Hustlin, Initiation 2 Comments

legend of b

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