Getting back to my first love

Writing has always been an outlet for me. Ever since I could hold a pen, I’ve been scribbling nonsensical wiggling lines across any surface I could reach that would retain ink. My imagination won me many award growing up. It always amazed my teachers that I was able to grasp poetry, fiction, and creative non-fiction so well. Then life’s adult stresses set in and my writing juices dried up. Sophomore and Junior year of HS, I didn’t write anything unless it was for school (which includes my phenomenal score on the HS writing test). I was able to get enough mojo back my senior year to place in the top three of the celebration of writer’s for the 7th time and then pass AP Literature and British Literature with A’s before the well ran dry again. In college, my major was Early childhood education, so I was doing plenty of writing… except lesson plans are boring and literally painful to write (especially when you have to re-write a 10 page lesson plan three times because you’re professor is a heinous wench!). College was stressful. After I stopped trying to make people who are morally against me, like me; after a long painful year; and after I changed my major; I decided to get back to my first love.


I took a creative writing class and I immediately hated everyone in the class including the teacher (I’m a snob when it comes to certain subjects). The professor was a weird little man who liked quirky sex stories, and the class was mostly pretentious sophomores who thought they knew everything about life and weren’t even drinking age *rolls eyes*. In my opinion writer’s are awkward, or weird, have a past, an over active imagination, or are crazy as hell. Only three people in the class fit that description and I was one of them. The first day of class, I got there early and claimed my seat. Then I wrote about how I get writer’s block. The class started and I forgot all about it. We are required to do daily free-writes, write several poems, creative non-fiction, and a short story. My poems were last minute and thrown together, my short story was a a cheesy love at first sight novel, and my creative non-fiction was GOLD! It was a conversation between two people, one liking the other, and asking if the person was gay. The class missed the entire point of the piece. I didn’t write for a while after that, I was so confused. How could they not get it? I came to the conclusion to stop trying to write for others, it makes me unhappy. The only way I will be able to get happiness from writing again, is to do it simply for the means of lessening the weight of my soul. I think it’s working because I’m able to find comfort in writing again.



My creative writing class stifled my creativity because they are uncomfortable with androgny

I took a creative writing class my senior year of college and I wanted to curse (almost) everyone in the class out. The class was a workshop styled class meaning that we would write our work outside of class and then bring it in to share and get our classmates’ opinions on how we could improve it. Except it didn’t quite work that way. I write to express myself, to force people outside of their comfort zone, and to be silly. I wrote a free write that was supposed to depict how people dance around the subject of being gay, how society has come to think it is appropriate to ask someone their sexual orientation (mostly if their gay), how people are forced to “choose” if they want to be feminine or masculine, and many other things wrong with the judgmental way we look at one another. I also threw in some vagina metaphors, my silly humor, and a little attitude, but that was just to break the ice. Here’s my first draft:

Are You Gay?

Are you gay?

Who me?

Yes, you. Are you gay?

Yes, yes I am.

Happy as can be.

No. Are you gay like homosexual?

Only on my left side between the hours of 1:45 p.m. – 2:15 p.m.

Ok, seriously. Are you gay?

What makes you ask?

You have very androgynous disposition.

Please elaborate.

You’re not very feminine.

Well thank you, that wasn’t offensive.

I didn’t mean it like that.

Well since I didn’t get it how you meant it could you please explain?

               Ok let’s see.

It’s simple, how am I not feminine?

               You’re just so… so … quirky and weird. Everybody loves you.

And that makes me not feminine?

               No, I just… you tend to attract both sexes and I just wanted to know if-

Oh I see, because I’m comfortable in my sexuality and I don’t act like the “typical” female, you want to categorize me as gay?

               No, I was just saying that-

That because I can wear a frilly dress one day and baggy shorts the next that I must be into women?

               I didn’t meant to-

Yea, I’m sure you didn’t mean to offend me or come off in any type of way, but you did. I’m not gay. I don’t like girls in a sexual way and I never have. I also don’t believe that I should have to dress or play a certain part to make people comfortable or give them license to put me in a box. I don’t do boxes, I like being who I am without societies restrictions telling me to go with the grain. I don’t do normal and I don’t do status quos. Please don’t ask me questions you don’t know how to ask, or questions you’re not ready to hear the answer to.

               I just thought you were pretty and wanted to know if you wanted to hang out some time.


I wrote this in one take, I reread it to edit and I just corrected the spelling errors. I love it the way it was because it was raw, and how I really felt when I was asked this question. I proudly distributed my work to my class and took my seat. After reading it aloud, I got the laughs I wanted to come in at the end and then waited for the feedback.

“Is it a guy or a girl asking?”

“Is she gay?”

“I think it needs a better setting, like where are they able to have this conversation?”

“I don’t like the way this is written”

“Did this really happen to you?”

“I think you should have better established gender roles”

“I love how the metaphor box is used to re-establish that the person doesn’t like ‘vagina’ that was a nice touch”

“Is this a script? If this is a script it should have the character’s names beside it.”

“I found it hard to follow along”

“It was cute, and funny. I liked that”

I was furious, they missed the entire point of the piece and none of their feedback was resourceful to me (except the guy who get the box reference). I almost felt like they looked at it, was immediately uncomfortable and found any asinine thing they could to pick it apart. Everything they said was so surface level, my ears began burning at 450 degrees, I couldn’t take it anymore. Then the professor chimed in “you should try more structure” WHAT?! You want me to have MORE structure in a creative writing class? Goodbye your opinion no longer matters. In my response I decided to tell them what the point of the piece was and some of them looked petrified when they realized how NONE of their comments mattered. Some weren’t fazed at all. I left the class straddling the abyss. I went home propped my feet up on coffee table and ransacked my brain trying to see how they didn’t get it. I revised my paper to get an A, but I still like the original. It got across the point I was trying to make in the best way. Here’s the revision is you care.

A conversation between two acquaintances after a P.E. class junior year of college

Are you gay?

Who me?

Yes, are you gay

Yes, Yes I am… Happy as can be

No. Are you gay like homosexual gay?

Oh… yea my gay hours are my left between 1:45 p.m. and 2:15 p.m.

Ok, but seriously are you gay?

What makes you ask?

Well you have a very androgynous disposition

Please elaborate/

You’re not always that feminine.

Well thank you, that wasn’t offensive at all.

I didn’t mean it like that

Well since I didn’t get it how you meant it could you please explain?

Ok let’s see.-

It’s simple, how am I not feminine?

You’re just so quirky, but cute, and a little weird, but everybody loves you.

And that makes me not feminine?

No, I just … you tend to attract both sexes and I just wanted to know if-

Oh I see, because I’m comfortable in my sexuality and I don’t act like the typical female, you want to categorize me as gay?

No, I was just saying that-

That because I can wear a frilly dress one day and baggy shorts the next that I must be into women?

I didn’t mean to-

Yea, I’m sure you didn’t mean to offend me or come off in any type of way, but you did. I’m not gay. I don’t like girls in a sexual way and I never have. I also don’t believe that I should have to dress or play a certain part to make people comfortable or give them license to put me in a box. I don’t do boxes, I like being who I am without society’s restrictions telling me to go with the grain. I don’t do normal and I don’t do status quos. Please don’t ask me questions you don’t know how to ask, or questions you’re not ready to hear the answer to.

I just thought you were pretty and wanted to know if you wanted to hang out sometimes, but I wasn’t going to ask if you liked girls.


We all straddle the abyss

People hate when I use this as a reference to their confusion but I couldn’t care less. These five words resound in me so loudly that the mega factory in my brain takes a hiatus and I can become content with the baffling world that surrounds me. I often feel alone and misunderstood. In recent years, I’ve been made to understand that I am not alone in feeling alone. Apparently, I’m supposed to take solace in the fact that others feel alone, except I don’t. I feel like when other people feel alone, I can come out of how I’m feeling to comfort, console, and make them feel less alone. They seldom return the favor (and by seldom I mean never). It’s like going to help someone clean their house when your house isn’t even clean, it’s ludicrous. Disney movies clouded my mine to think that people actually cared. In the midst of my alone, I realized that I feel out of touch because people don’t care anymore. Everyone is so selfish with so many ulterior motives that genuine people get cast away. The selfishness has eaten so much away at people that they feel as though everyone has the same motives they do and genuine people cannot be trusted. These days the only thing genuine is the debt crisis, the gaping hole in the ozone layer and me (if you are we are as well we are kindred souls). Life sometimes is too much for me, so I turn my brain off, sit in front of the computer watching old TV shows and straddle an abyss that has been working over time to consume me. It began to retreat once I started looking it in its eyes.


“We all straddle the abyss.If we never look down, how can we know who we are?” – Helen Hunt in A Good Woman



I have a vendetta against split ends.

Every time I see a hair shaft begin to sever itself into separate entities, I obtain a sharp object (more than often scissors, but I’ve been know to use a other things) and take off at least an inch to insure no spilt ends have been spared. Call me crazy, but I ABHOR split ends, I loathe them with every once of my being. They’re like dead weight and they make no improvement to the state of healthy hair. I’d rather have 3 inches of fully healthy, shiny, vibrant tresses than 36 inches of dead dry, crispy strands. Plainly put, it is against my religion to be here or anywhere for split ends. I merely cannot… ever! At least when you prune a garden, you can use the shards for compost, you can’t use the dead hair for much of anything! It’s not visually appealing, it sounds crunchy, it feels Sahara desert dry, I’m pretty sure it would taste and smell bad to. Dead, split, hair/ends is in no ways shape or form stimulating to any sense so it should be eradicated as soon as humanly possible…. that is all.

CISPA passed… Great!

So here’s what…

I’m by no means ashamed of who I am and what I represent, however; other people (mostly bigots, racist, and prejudice people) who don’t agree with my views and don’t want everyone to be great will do their best to use things that I believe are perfectly fine against me. I work a job that I am very grateful for but that over works me and doesn’t pay enough. I work with mostly small town old southern cacausian women, whom of which would be the first to judge me if they knew how I grew up or how I felt about certain people and politics. I wouldn’t put it past them to try to have me fired because I don’t believe the same things they do. I know how to be professional and I believe I do a pretty good job at being an adult at work most days. But if they were to see my any of my social networks other than FB, they would see the unprofessional, raw, un-sugarcoated me. Then they would judge, they would judge harshly and make me out to be some sort of unworthy heathen because I live my life the way I see fit. Because I’ve seen them do it. They don’t agree with homosexuality, Muslims, any religion besides Christianity, “Yankees”, Jews, etc. Which is fine because they have fist amendment rights that protect their freedoms, however; so do I. I don’t judge them, they shouldn’t be given help judging me. Therefore, I think that CISPA passing is a bad idea and I hope it doesn’t go down the route I see it going, or I may be a poor Grad student in ridiculous debt because I’m unemployed due to another stupid law made by out of touch representatives that up hold the US dollar more than they do the US constitution. *steps off soapbox*

Awesome engagement photos

Awesome engagement photos

I was scrolling down my tumblr and saw this and I was so intrigued! They are both very attractive people, they have a nice classic sense of style, they’re an interracial couple., they photograph really well! I looked at these photographs in awe. I mean I didn’t really feel like they were in love except in a few pics, but they do have a certain chemistry that is hard to miss. When they time comes for me to be betrothed, hopefully the beau and I can take pics just as nice… and then of course a ridiculous photo shoot because I’d be kidding myself if I tried to deny how silly and goofy I am.

I hate small talk

I abhor, loathe, can’t stand, detest, despise, execrate, small talk. Yes I am aware that it is not polite or of good taste to walk up to someone you don’t know and tell them intimate details of your life, or ask deep rooted “inappropriate questions”  but why not? I hate having to discuss the weather and today’s top hits. Why is it so wrong that I want to walk up and start a conversation with someone about the intricacies of the how our education system is failing us? Why can I not discuss with a comrade on the bus stop that I am writing a science fiction novel that isn’t science fiction at all and is really a love story about a Robot and cheese so I should be able to deem it science fiction. Why can’t I discuss with the mailman why an unpopular is based in some truth but because of our failing education system no one believes it because we’re breast fed propaganda from the time we’re infants and can push the power button on the television? It’s not fair, that my conversations are reduced to mindless thoughtless concepts like “nice weather” and gossip, so why should I be forced into the corner of polite conversation when it makes my soul itch? Eaux, because I don’t want to embarrass or make others uncomfortable… fck that. No one cares about my sensitivities to mundane acts, so I shouldn’t have to care about them being uncomfortable. HMPH!

Have you ever…

Have you ever just not been a fan of someone’s face? Not that they’re ugly or uncute, just you don’t like it? I just saw this boy and he by “traditional American standards” would be cute, but I was just not a fan. Now I do have my personal biases, but this one was different. He was plain, forgettable, but I remembered him because of how much I was not here for his face. This is weird…

Adventures in pettiness

Most people know what being petty is. I would say it’s dwelling on the unimportant trivial things. Most of the time I don’t concern myself with such matter; however… from time to time I feel the need to stoop to the level of the plebeians who insist on concerning themselves with my life. This happens from time to time and it happened for the first time this year last night. Here’s the particulars.

Last year in my senior year of college some of my friends and I decided to entertain an invitation to participate in the 1st Annual Shimmy Like a Nupe contest (A Nupe is a elevated member of the D9 fraternity Kappa Alpha Psi who are known for canes and shimmying). As much as I love individual members of this chapter and organization this event wasn’t that well organized, (understandably so being that it was the first year, but still) so we got creative with our performance. Now from my understanding we were just supposed to do a stroll (performing a dance in line format with 2 or more people), but since they told us we could do whatever we wanted to in 4 minutes we decided to do a show of some sort and opted out of having a member of the organization as a coach (mostly because I am a member of a sorority that shimmy’s so we didn’t need their help). We spent about 3 weeks or so coming up with a routine, practicing, and critiquing ourselves. The day of the show, as expected, was chaotic. The event did not start on time, which we expected, and none of the members of the organization had arrived until the show was supposed to be about 15 minutes in. As I sat in the back hallway guzzling rum and chasing it with blackberry Merlot, my CL4B came and asked me if we would mind going first because the other teams were either scared or didn’t want to go first. I looked at him with half glazed eyes and said, “Sure, we ain’t scared.” He laughed and replied, “That’s why you my club!”, I nodded and went to tell my group even though I wanted to say “No I’m your number because we stood in the same place on our respective lines” but I figured that was neither here nor there so I refrained.

The lights dimmed and we jigged onto the dance floor to do our performance. Which included a a few kicks, a couple leans, a 3 slow shimmies, 6 fast shimmies, and chair dance to Beyonce’s Dance for you, and of course a seductive Trey Song’s number. The crowd had gone ape sh*t three times by the time we strolled off the stage to Kirko bangz Drink in my Cup (an Ode to the Omicron Phi chapter of KAPsi who always have cups of adult beverages lol). When our performance was over, all of our hair was sweated out.

The other teams performances were, in the crowd’s opinion, less than mediocre. Looks of confusion, disgust, and boredom fill the room and eventually anger when one team completely disregarded the one rule we were actually given. DO NOT THROW UP THE KAPPA’s HAND SIGN. They were disqualified and didn’t even know it.

Moment of truth:

As the host asked the crowd which group they enjoyed the most, the crowd bellowed: Group ONE!!! To be fair, they let us stand up one by one and let the crowd vote in applause. We won by a landslide. But true to the nature of sore losers the other groups were mad. The took to several social networking sites with how the show was rigged, and how we “didn’t even do that great” and my personal favorite “How they win and the SGRho can’t even shimmy?” All the hate made me giggle (I was also still a little inebriated). Because I know how pressed they were about the entire situation, I decided to take to the same social networks and address them. On Twitter I replied to her tweet about winning with a snide remark about how if they wanted the wristband that bad they could have them because we already get into parties free and the one about me no being able to shimmy, I simply responded by saying: “Her opinion didn’t matter because she doesn’t know what it means to shimmy anyway”. Both comments were confrontational, but I entertained them. Neither of my replies received responses, although they received many retweets from instigators.

Now we are coming up on the 2nd annual Shimmy like a Nupe contest. As I scrolled up my Instagram TL last night I saw the advertisement for it, and in the comments I read a conversation between two young ladies:

Girl 1: LMAOO @girl2 yu gonna do it again? (I hate people who type like that)

Girl 2: Nope! They cheated us last year, I’m still salty @girl1

I decided to comment as well

Me: Y’all should be good @girl2 I heard the team from last year all graduated and moved on with their lives

(Oblivious to the shade I had just thrown)

Girl 2: lol they do favoritsim doesn’t matter. I’ll be in the audience this time though @me. What do you think @Coach

Coach: @girl2 I think because the first group went first it came out like that. (wrong). All the moves was gone be the same. But I’m proud of my team soooo.. Y’all was better than my line brother’s group for sure though hahaa

and @me you funny haha

I didn’t respond because the girl wasn’t in no way shape or form knowledgeable of who I was nor that I was throwing Nimbus cloud shade at her.

Needless to say I had a great laugh while being petty, but I had a nice plum daiquiri and got back to business as usual (helping people be great). I wish the videographer of the show would post the videos so we could prove once if for all if the other teams should have one or if they are just being Dead Sea Salty. But until that happens… We won, we won, we shot the bbgun, yall lost yall lost, yall ate tomato sauce!



(noun) \sə-ˈfis-tə-ˈra-chət\:

a person with the an inherent ability to identify with sophisticated culture and understand standings as well as urban culture and terminiology

(adjective) describing a person who has the superior knowledge of being able to combine cultures of seemingly opposite constructs.


Other definitions: from


1: a woman of highly educated pedigree (academically, socially, and otherwise) and worldly breeding; fluent in various forms of public etiquette yet is equally knowledgeable of the latest strip club songs, updated on most prime-time ratchet cable programs and conversant in the tongue of hoochie mama.

2: a high-class individual who is open to incorporating low-brow tendencies in to her persona for momentary enjoyment.

3: an otherwise brilliant woman but, for some reason, is a Blackberry owner who, at times, is puzzled by touch screen mobile technology.

4: she is a “Vision of Love” and can (Nicki Minaj voice) “raah, raah!” like a “Dungeon Dragon.”

5: she is multilingual, speaking several UN-recognized languages; she is an expert in a tongue that will never be heard at a General Assembly: rachatese.