The Grown Up

I ain’t talkin’ tonight
I am talkin’ tonight
You hear that Sade?
Shhh…no more talkin’, a’ight
I got the incense
I got the candles
It’s love at it’s peak
I’m feedin’ you orgasms
I’m more a grown man than I had been
She said, “Not tonight.”
I ain’t that then…
What you sayin’?  Not tonight?
I can separate love from lust
And I know it’s a love thing
It’s a real thing, so I can wait
But you make me wait so long, you know
I wonder how you feel? 
Understand what I’m sayin’?…

 The Grown Up - Wale

And ya’ll know I’on fuck with no Africans…but this Nigerian?

Oh hell yeah.  Toog just gon’ have to beat my ass, cuz I’m giving Wale some pussy ON SIGHT.

Sorry.

Download it.

Wale - Mixtape About Nothing

That’s right, I’m a grown up. 

And there’s some shit I can admit to myself, and subsequently to you.

Like this smidget of universally insignificant information:

If I hadn’t been so intelligent, I probably would have been ho.

At least ho’ish.

Not because I didn’t have morals and ethics, and had been raised better…naw.

Based purely on my IMPULSIVENESS.

I guess that’s what separates us from the animals; our ability to control that.  But based purely on the instinct that causes my legs to open alone?

Yeah…I might have been a ho.

Thank God for some damn brains, eh?

I’m so growed up for being able to say that.

Fan-TAG-stic!

Kitty about to cuss me slam OUT.  She done tagged me twice, and my triflin’ ass never bothered to do the little tag thingy.  So I’m volunteering myself for this one…cuz I owe her one.  Here’s to you, Young & Reckless!

The parameters:
1. Link the person who tagged you (did that)
2. Mention the rules in your blog (did that)
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours (about to do that)
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking to them (gon’ do that too)
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blog letting them know they’ve been tagged (ugh.  Gon’ try to do that.  )

6 of Nina’s Unspectacular Quirks:

6.  I speak fluent pig latin and auga. 

5.  I was grown when I learned how to drive.

4.  I buy things in two’s.  Compulsively.

3.  I’m motherless and childless.

2.  I smoke.  Squares and herb.  Yup.

1.  I can’t drink water outside. 

And let’s see…I’m gonna tag these people, but I ain’t trippin’ if they don’t respond.  Shit.  Do you. 

So…1969, Mack N.O.L.A., LAX to DFW, Morph, and ‘Deo.  I know that’s five, but that’s all I got.  I’m selective. 

 

So Fresh, So Clean

Ain’t nobody dope as me
I’m just so fresh, so clean
So fresh, and so clean clean… - Outkast

This time of the year, my skin goes haywire, and decides to respond negatively to pollen.

Literally, when I walk outside, I can feel the little particles…individually burning me.

It’s a weird feeling.

And every year, I go back to the tried & true of soaps — Dr. Br.onner’s Pepper.mint Ca.stille So.ap.

With it’s pure ingredients, Dr. Br.onner’s detoxifies my skin, and keeps it healthy and rash-free during a trying season.

It lasts forever — a few drops makes a rich, thick lather.

You can wash your face with it.

Brush your teeth with it.

Wash your body.

Your hair.

It’s a wonder!

And I promise you…your nether regions have never FELT so clean.

I sound like a commercial, don’t I? 

 

U Do It For Me

Here I go waking up yawning

6 in the mornin’
With you on my mind
I’m laying in bed, scarf still on my head
Barely got the cold out my eyes (reflecting)
Bout the conversation we had last night
And I’m reminded of why
I do the things I do

Just for you, for you
I don’t have to think twice

I do it cuz he real wit’ me
I do it cuz he still wit’ me
I do it cuz I should
I do it cuz your good for me, good for me
I do it cuz I trust ya

I do it cuz I must
And I’m doin it for us
I do it cuz I am grateful

Willing and able
I do it for you cuz you do it for me…

My Toog is embarking on a very important endeavor today and tomorrow.

For him.  For me.  For his fulfillment.  For our future.

I know he’s feeling alot of pressure, but somewhere in the peace of his thoughts, I want him to stand assured that he was made for this moment, and that not only can he handle it, he can triumph.

He will triumph!

I’m going to keep him lifted in my thoughts and affirmations today.

I expect his greatness to flow from every cell in his body.

Good luck, baby.

Heaven

Wonderful, is the feeling that I get
Whenever I’m around you
A river of love flows so deep
You must be angel-sent
Descended from above
It’s truly a blessing
To have your precious love
To imagine life here without you
Would be impossible
You’re like the air that I breathe

There are no words to explain
The way I’m feeling you
Better than love
We make…heaven… 

Um…ever have a slice of heaven?

Couldn’t call it fucking.  Couldn’t call it sex.  “Making love” didn’t quite capture how DYNAMIC it was.

Shit was just “heaven”?

 Yeah… *snapping fingers*

Better than love
We make…heaven

I was just talking to a friend of mine today about her emotional disconnect with sex.  She found it very difficult to arrive at her…let’s say…destination.

I’m not sure if she’s ever been there.

I used to have that problem too.

My first “piece” — well, we just kinda screwed cuz that’s what boyfriends and girlfriends did, no?

I can’t say that I ever quite enjoyed it other than to say that I loved being close to him, I loved for him to be inside of me.  The physical closeness of it.

But he ain’t ring no bells.

And then some nigga gave me the clue that I had a goldmine between my legs.

Why he do THAT?

At that point, I began having sex for the SPORT of it. 

I’d push my body harder and harder, trying to make my lover go into cardiac arrest.

Again, loving the physicality of it.  Cuz yanno, I was an athlete?  So I was into that type of shit.

 I started dating this guy that ALSO loved to push his body to strange limits.  With his tantric-sex lovin’, sadistic, endurance fuckin’ self. 

Leaving out of his house in the morning, on the way to work, with literally my brains fucked out, and my muscles on strike…

I’m like — oh, this ain’t gon’ work.  I need more. 

Give me more….
Oooh what you do for me
Oooh what you do
I want more… — Give Me More, Keyshia Cole

Still took me to find a sexually supportive partner for me to actually LET go, trust and allow my body to do what it was made to do.

When I stopped having sexual agendas, I had sexual results.

Better than love
We make…heaven

Hell yeah.

Get.  Yours.

Did I Dream You?

 

Did I Dream You - Tawatha

Late at night
When we whisper softly
Feels so close to you
You’re my light
And I want you only
Tell me can this be true
Oh…did I dream you?

He hasn’t been a star in my dreams since 1997. 

Last time he ventured into my dreams, he was telling me goodbye.  That he couldn’t come and…see me anymore.

And that was six months after he died.

Haven’t seen him again.

Until last night…

It was so real.  I kissed him.  I held him.  Rubbed his back and his stomach like I used to.

I could feel him.  I could…I could smell him.

I woke up, feeling guilty as hell.

Like I cheated…in my sleep.

It was the damndest thing, I ‘clare.

Alright

Life can bring us through many changes, it’s alright (never give up)
Just don’t give up, know that it’s gonna be alright
People come and they go
It’s just the way that it goes
Everything is everything
It’s alright! – Alright, Ledisi

If that ain’t enough to make you feel good on a Sunday morning!

 It’s gonna be alright!  Yeah!  *snapping fingers*

No, I didn’t go to church, and it’s STILL gon’ be alright.  With my heathen ass. 

I was down for the COUNT last week…with bronchitis.  Thought I was up OUTTA here, ya’ll!  I have never.  Ever ever ever in my short-legged life coughed like THAT.  Ever. 

I actually missed a week of work.  You know the martyr in me was squirming and coughing on THAT cross.  I wanted to be there.

I know, I know…it makes no sense if I’m sick.  But I’ve come to realize that black professionals can never be sick in peace.

 We’re always worrying about the job, or who might say what, or what might not get done, or if management will frown upon the absence…

And ain’t that some bullshit?

White folks take their sick leave with peace.

They get their note from their doctor, and convalesce and get better.  Come back to work, and keep on gettin’ on.

Madness, I say.

Everything is everything
It’s gonna be alright!

 

This week, I’m embarking on my weight loss quest again. 

Now that I’m feeling better, I’m determined to do BETTER.

Sickness took 5 lbs. off of me without a thought, so time to expound on that, right?

One thing I MUST do is get my ass up in the morning and go to the gym.

I pay for a gym membership every month, and never…go.

I invited Toog to go with me, but I’on know why I did that.

All he’s gonna do is talk shit and make me come down off that treadmill, and bust him in the head with something. 

I love to see couples that are able to work out together, but we ain’t one of them couples.

We’re both too competitive.

I burnt more calories!
No, I did!
Nigga, you ain’t burn more calories than me.
Oh, you gon’ lie to kick it?

Like I need to start my morning off like that.

So…Mission:  Do Better is in full effect.

…know that it’s gonna be alright!

Eargasm

If you’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing the cerebrally-magnetizing effects of Eddie Hazel’s guitar, please.  Grab hold of something and watch this video. 

Recorded at the now-no-more Capital Centre, right outside of D.C., Eddie and the younger man that looked up to him as an idol, Michael Hampton, share co-lead guitar solos on this profound rendition of Funkadelic’s Maggot Brain.

You might have heard me talk about Maggot Brain on my other blog — it’s one of my favorite songs ever, and brings me to near-climax just listening to it.  No bullshit. 

Wondering how it sounded on the album?  Listen here.

My mother thought Maggot Brain was kinda “grown” for me to listen to.  Now at that age, I couldn’t understand why she thought an instrumental was too “grown” for me.  But now…I see what she meant.  

The guitar chords being played here are purely sexual. 

Nothing innocent at all…about this.

I connected with every note he played. 

Me and my little 7 year old self — I felt I understood what the wail of his guitar was saying.

How does he make it sound like that?

I could see his fingers even.  In my mind.  Going up and down the neck…

See?  Even that sounds nasty.

I’d play it over and over again, and go around in circles, making myself dizzy.  To the point that I would be near vomiting in my delirium.

She thought I was out of my fucking mind. 

You will be too.  After you listen.

Don’t even try and get high to it.  

I mean, you can.  It won’t hurt you none.

But afterwards, you won’t want to get high without it. 

Red Shoes…the Mo’ Betta

I’m a wedge whore. 

Copped these…and I can’t wait for some buds to EVEN ACT LIKE they want to sprout to introduce the soles of my feet to the inside of these beauties.

*giggling*

Said Enough

 

 Said Enough — The Isley Brothers featuring Jill Scott

Loving you is easy
Loving you is like…breathing
Winter into spring
Natural evolution
Loving you is righteous
Every light just
Shines bright
When I’m with you
Oooh, there’s so much I want to say

Baby…said enough
I just want you to know (said enough)
So much I want to say (said enough)
I love you (said enough)…

Ever feel like you’ve said just one word too many?

You made your point minutes ago, but you’re still talking?

I thumb through my pocket Gibran, and stumble across this:

You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts;
And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips
And sound is a diversion and a pastime.
And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered.

I strive for precision in my language; exercising brevity as much as I can…

But mix my emotions with my tongue, and the ensuing deluge of words compromises my position, shows my hand, and sells me out.

Trying to get to that point where I’ve “said enough.”

My sister gave me a little present today.

Oprah’s newest Book Club morsel:  A New Earth:  Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose by Eckhart Tolle.

Now she’s “Ms. Self-Help”…that’s not usually my thing.

If you keep doing what you been doing, you’ll keep getting what you always got.

That’s my mantra, right?

 So eh…this old dog is game for a new trick.

But my energy is back-upped. 

My life needs an enema.

Ever feel like that?

But that’s ok…I’m fi’n to get regular again.  Bear with me. 

The Truth

 

The Truth — Truth Hurts

. . . You don’t think that I know the scheme
You’re messing with the intelligence of a wise ghetto queen
Boy, there ain’t much you can get past me
I will leave your ass cryin’, take it from me

Cuz most of ya’ll niggas can’t deal with (Truth)
Be hatin’ when your woman start hittin’ ya with the (Truth)
Try to turn it all around when you know it’s the (Truth)
And you’re always running away from the (Truth)
See you lie until you make yourself think it’s the (Truth)
Undress the lie, tell me what you got? (Truth)
Shoulda been upfront and just told the (Truth)
Instead you wanna go and try and hide the (Truth)…

Truth is powerful. 

Because in truth, we free ourselves from the confinement of our own perceptions.

Choice is born from truth.

And in it’s expression, we perpetuate…harmony.

Stop lying, people.  At least about stupid shit.

Can You Handle It?

 

Yes, you made a fool out of me, girl
But that made me the man
I was trying to be, girl
You got me wrong, yes you did now
But you only made me strong
Yes, you did, girl…
Now can you handle it?
See what you did to me?
Now can you handle it?
You made it what it is?
Now can you handle it?… Can You Handle It, Graham Central Station

Just when I think I can’t take NO more, God gives me a heaping portion of some more adversity/pain/sorrow to deal with. 

I’ve learned that the refining is not in how much I can bear, but in how well I HANDLE it.  I endeavor to HANDLE whatever he puts before me…well.  Whatever comes my way.

So yeah, I’m struggling today. 

I don’t know why good people get shitted on.  I don’t know why babies die, or old people have to suffer, or any of the universal injustices. 

All I know is that we truly triumph and lend them no power in our outcome when we handle them WELL.

Gimme! Gimme!

By the boxfuls.  I gotta have ‘em.

I’m a weird snacker.  I get it from my daddy.

Lazy weekends were filled with nibbles of Potato Sticks and spanish peanuts.  Maybe a kosher pickle or two. 

Heads or tails?, he’d call.

…to see who got the butt.

During the winter months, there were always plenty of pecans.  Which we cracked in our hands. 

And even now, though we don’t nibble together, we still have our weird snack habits.

I always have peanuts in the house.

And unlike Daddy, I always have Triscuits.

Hair

People ask me everywhere
“Is that really all your hair?”
I just tell `em, “If it ain’t
Then it sure don’t mean
That now I can’t”… Hair, Graham Central Station

What’s with the American obsession with plucking and tweezing and waxing and electrolizing ourselves…bald?

A few years ago, I dated a guy with bald nuts.

I found that rather odd.

He said he liked the way it felt to have two bald nether regions bumping together.

Wanted to shave me, and I politely declined.

Back in the day, we were proud to have a little snatch hair.

Now…we let some Vietnamese woman, whom we haven’t even sat down with and gotten properly acquainted with, rip the silky fine hair and her bulbous root OUT the confines of your intimacy.

I mean…when did we start this barbaric ritual?

What’s this thing we have with HAIR?

You got any hang-ups about hair?

Good Clothes

I said I got on my good clothes
I’m sick of wearin hand-me-down, raggedy hood clothes
Call me ugly, man I wish a bitch would clothes
Go out to the club, yea we probably should clothes
(Yea) I said I got on my good clothes (What?)
You know i got on my good clothes
Yo, 40 free now I got all these good clothes
I got on my good clothes
(Check it out) I got on my good clothes… — Good Clothes, Little Brother

The youngest of 4 girls, I’m a hand-me-down veteran.

My mother and father were FAMOUS for tryna recycle some mid-70’s shit from my sisters for me to wear. 

Guess they was like, She’s smart…what the fuck she care about clothes?

Prolly didn’t even think about it at all.  Cuz back then, you wore what was in the drawers.  Period.

You don’t have an opinion I’m bound to respect, was my momma’s mantra.

Oh well. 

So that’s why I had to fight.  You would too if you had on mint green corduroy bell-bottoms.

The last straw was when I had to wear this psychedelic shirt that my sister rocked when SHE was in 8th grade, when I was in 8th grade.

Did I mention she and I are 9 years apart?

Anyway…I couldn’t even get on the bus good before them niggas started on me GOOD.

Bwwwwhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahaaaaaaaaaaa!
What the fuck do YOU have on?
Today ain’t Halloween!
Who the fuck you tryna be?  A broke-down Donna Summer?

Now mind you, I fired back about Pernell’s pock marks, Praylow’s liva lip, Head’s head, Trina’s nappy edges…but still.

I wasn’t even tryna CARRY it like that mornin’.  Mindin’ mine.

I came home and was like FUCK this.  I promise you I’m not wearin’ no more of these clothes.

Whup my ass.  DO whatever.  I ain’t doin’ it.

One li’l muthafucka shouldn’t have to defend a shirt the way I did today. 

I’m sick of wearin hand-me-down, raggedy hood clothes…

Now that doesn’t mean I believe in rockin’ the rugrats out in the latest of the latest…

But reasonably-priced, well-made clothes that are in style?  Oh yeah.  I’m all over that.

And people wonder why I’m mean now.

You would be too if you had to wear a denim skirt to school that your sister spilled nail polish remover on 8 years before, and then spend all day “strategically” placing your hand over that spot.

Or pin skirts in on both sides cuz they ain’t fit your tiny ass.

That’s why I have an issue with alterations NOW.

Buy me what fits me.  If it don’t fit me, get it out mah face.  I ain’t pinnin’ shit, or hemmin’ shit, or tuckin’….

SHIT.

I got on my good clothes
I got on my good clothes…