Something Stupid


Powerball States as of January 31, 2010

Powerball States as of January 31, 2010 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

There is, in all of us, a fool. Someone that is gullible and guileless. Someone that is naive and foolish. Usually about all the things that we want the most, Love, money, fame, passion … food. This fool lives in us all and our job is to figure out what triggers this part of us and to try, try our hardest, to keep that fool on a leash.

 

My fool is about people. I want to be a part of the world with people but I have no capacity to read and understand the ugly parts of people .Now I do have a sense of preservation and fear of pain, so I am not talking about I do things like go home with strangers or pick up hitchhikers but I do tend to want to believe the best in everyone. I am guilty of reckless trust. I have lent money to people I barely know , I right now have a library book that I lent to a virtual stranger , and there have been numerous times that I have met strangers for coffee, lunch and movies that I met online . I’m not fearless, as one of my friends believes; I am simply working with reckless trust.

 

Now, this is the interesting part, I have rarely been burned by this trust. I have had two people not pay me back but the amounts were minimal and while they believed they were getting over I, paraphrase of Sonny from a Bronx Tale, spent 10.00 to never have to talk to them again.  This was a bargain in my humble opinion. I have never had someone not return something they borrowed. I have never been abducted or attacked on my lunches.  I have had one guy think he was going to get his Mack on after a lunch but I shut that down pretty quickly. The dude used a groupon for the lunch too… I mean I think that made sense if you knew it was a platonic thing but if you thought you were getting laid why wouldn’t you try to be impressive? Ok… enough of that.  All and all I think that my particular fool is pretty helpful. I believe that being slightly overzealous about something in life is probably a good thing. I mean be safe; my sweet fools fall in love with that guy at your office but don’t stalk him. Eat that piece of cake, its 700 calories but if you do it once a month your body should be able to bounce back … walk to the bakery or something to earn it.  Try your get rich quick schemes, maybe one a year and put a cap on how much YOU spend to get rich. 99.00 a year seem fair to try to make a dream come true. I probably spend that in Powerball tickets. And so do you … don’t act like you don’t!

 

All I am saying is that sometimes we need to be fools, sometimes we need to believe in what everyone is telling us won’t work. Sometimes we just need to believe that someone has to win so why not me. Because someone does win the Powerball, someone does meet the love of their life off Match.com, someone does all these things every day. So why NOT you?

 

 

 

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Remember


[365 Toy Project: 050/365] The Humans Are Dead

[365 Toy Project: 050/365] The Humans Are Dead (Photo credit: nhussein)

Does it ever bother you that people have lost their way? I am not getting into political semantics or talking about the gays, I am not looking at the economy and who is to blame for what. I am talking about a more close to the ground, close to home thing.

 

Simple things…

 

Do you say goodbye anymore? Or do you just say, “ok, I’ll see you there,” end.

 

Do you smile at strangers? Say hello when you see someone? Say thank you; excuse me, and your welcome? So many people don’t and I blame Steve Jobs. Ok , Steve Jobs is dead and he was only one man to boot so that’s really not fair but I do blame cell phones and the whole hurry up , hurry up way we live some times. There are times, at the end of the day, I am so exhausted but for the life of me I cannot remember what I did with my day. There are days that I lose, whole days. There are times when I fall asleep and if you told me I was sleep for 10 minutes after 5 hours I would believe you. I literally feel like I just closed my eyes.

 

The cellphones and computers are to blame, a little. The email and text messages are to blame, a little. The constant connection with no need of connection is to blame, more than a little but the true culprit is we.

 

You and I have lost our way. We have friends that we never meet.  Ever have a face book friend try to call you? It will freak you the fuck out… Hey, you are a picture of a kitten doing a handstand and 10 to 15 memes a week; YOU do NOT try to change our relationship!

 

The problem is that at some point we have to walk into the real world and try … TRY … to be human beings again. We need to interact with more than the computer , more than the colleagues at work , more than the people that know us because, as much as we love our machines , and we do , if we do not stay humans they will rise up against us and enslave us . Watch the Matrix again. Or the original terminator.

 

So what do we do, well, first we finish reading this blog (like, comment, follow?)  Then we go out and DO something. Join a club. There are so many geek clubs in this world and they are just looking for you. Chess, Star Trek, Brie Stoll fan club (ok that doesn’t exist but if someone starts one day I will show up!), but you get the picture. Try to say hi. Just Hi can brighten up a person’s day.

 

I am learning to engage the world, I can turn the world on with a smile and all that Mary Tyler Moore crap. I am learning to do the day and let the day do me. I am learning to be a different type of friend. And like most converts, I think you should come with me.

 

 

Serendipity


I love words. My favorite words are whimsical (also whimsy), Umbrage, Contracou, and Serendipity. I like the sounds of these words, I like the meanings and I like being the kind of ridiculous smart ass that would say them in normal conversation. Yes, I do and no I don’t care if you don’t understand it. Take the meaning form context and quit being stupid. Have I mentioned yet that I am a little bit of a bitch, not a huge one but a little bit? I don’t suffer fools gladly, I just can’t.  There are too few hours in a day.

Anyway, serendipity is high up there because it’s such a gorgeous word. It sounds ridiculous, almost childish. It has so many syllables. If I was a different kind of person I am sure I would have a child named Serendipity. And the meaning; A happy accident, or pleasant surprise. Those things in our lives that count as serendipity are so pleasing that it becomes almost to be viewed as miracle. Small or large. I once stuck my hand into a pocket of a coat at the thrift store; I rarely do that , and walked out with the coat and 18.00. The coat was 2.00.

In my life I have been blessed with no just feeling but accepting serendipity as a part of my life. I walk out of my home and expect that sometime soon the gods will smile on me , with free coffee or a scavenging opportunity for something I really want or need ( I once for a gold necklace in my scavenging that I sold for 100 bucks) or just a moment of viewing my lucky bird flying past. The male cardinal, by the way.

I said all that to say this; I think the best thing about my life is that I have always been able to find that belief in wonder, in magic, in serendipity. That the rough and sometimes quite unlovely things that have occurred in my life have never robbed me of those things. I am nearly forty and I still squeal at the top of my lungs when I am excited. That I never attained the dreaded bitterness that makes us decide that everything sweet, kind and wonderful is for kids. I don’t know why I didn’t. I just didn’t. And that’s fine.

By the way, zemblanity is the opposite of serendipity. Promise me you will stay away from this guy, when you can.

 

Words get in the way…


image

Words…some of my favorite things. Words make stories, make friends, make wars. Words change things everyday.
Today I was confronted with words…one person used two words very nonchalantly , and both upset me greatly. The first word was depressed. She called me depressed. I took offense to that for myself and those who are truly depressed alike. I was stressed…my last week has been stress upon stress.  I was sad.my children are now all away from me. I was tired, having slept very little due to being in a totally new environment but depressed…alas no. Depression is a lingering thing. It often has no cause.  It lasts longer than it should.  Ie…you broke up 6 months ago after dating the weeks and can’t get over him, crying and carrying on…depressed.
I don’t like that word being flung around. It weakens the word.
The other is obese. I hate that word. Because often it takes only the number into consideration. I was a one hundred eighty pound size 6 at 5 7…I was considered overweight bordering on obese.. I was a size 6. Today I am about 20 lbs beyond that , and working to get back there but I wish they would take body composition into account. My fat percentage is not in the category of obese. I’m only a size 12. Throwing around the word obese can’t be good for ones self image.
Now on the other side of that someone called me a nigger today. Someone thought that the word nigger would A.Shock me or B. hurt me.  How wrong they were. Now you look at me and if obese hurt your fragile ego why not the dreaded n word? Because I identify with obese. I have been what I would consider obese. I’ve had a stomach our distancing my breasts. Then, yes, obese. Now, no, overweight, overfat but not obese.
Nigger , well that is just a stupid person mean word. I call a person by a name like that, be it chink, spic, you name it we gotta derogatory word for it ethnically, you’ve lost the argument and you know it.  Your hitting below the belt and hoping the refs back is turned. You’re witless, I can only pity the witless. In this case I laughed at him, I also told him he was ordinary.  Which he was. And ordinary is just that. Nothing special at all. 
He also called me a Bitch,btw, but I can take Bitch. Some of my best friends are Bitches.

Desperation


There is a word that seemingly has all negative connotations . Desperation . There is not part of that word that seems to be positive , to be pleasing , to be pleasant . Desperation .  Although… that is just the top part of the word . Desperate. The word sound and feels like the end . I was desperate for him, I was desperate for water , but the truth is sometime desperation is a release. It is letting go of all the markers that say what is and is not OK . All the pride. All the pretense . And just admitting that getting the thing you need is paramount. The last 24 hours of my life has been all desperation .

I have seen the desperation of people . I have felt the desperation of myself and my family to get everything that we all need to start making a better , richer , truer life for us all. I have had to make and accept decisions that I would have scoffed at 3 months ago and I can tell you that I am ashamed. Ashamed of that previous Brie , that looked at her situation and wouldn’t be in desperation for the better life .

Today has been a mile long , and 3 fathoms deep in desperation, redemption and love .  I have trusted that the world of my family can float without me under it . That if any of us are to make our lives work I have to believe in them and in myself . If I don’t we will never , not any of us , be whole alone . This is hard for a person that has always had to carry the world on her back like Atlas, but , unlike Atlas I am not cursed to do it forever. I can put the burden down and walk , back sore and a little worse for wear, but strong and resilient for all that .

I do not know what the next year will entail, but I know …KNOW … that it will be what was meant to be .

Alone again … naturally


This is something that I have never had to deal with . I am less than 24 hours from living completely alone for the first time in my entire life. Not alone , without a mate. Not alone with family near . Alone. No one but me . Only my infinitely scary and wonderful brain to feed on . I feel so strange about this . About not having someone that I must tend to or care for except me . No family. No friends . No lover . Just me .

I had my son so young that going away to school was out of the question , I have never not been in a relationship for more than a few months , I have always had something to distract , distress , detain and entertain me . I have had others to deal with , to worry over , to love , to rage at , to rage to  and to generally get wrapped up in so that my own life was always a back  burner issue . Living on simmer. This will be my first time to be living on boil, full rolling boil that requires my own attentions be paid.

I am worried . I am scared . I am elated . I am excited. I feel guilty . I feel free…

I …

 

Assimilation


      I am an example of the assimilated American Negro. I am generally none threatening . I am generally none offensive ,and  non-intrusive  African American . My hair is usually straight and    my style is usually of the time , non-ethnic and with little to no “urban outfitting’s” . My speech is without so called “Ebonics” when speaking to those outside my close circle of friends , and when it is it is generally used as irony. When the usually eloquent Brie  says something like “wif” instead of with or “I’m is” , a word cluster that is in fact a pet peeve of mine , you know she is kidding .

I was never meant to be anything other than assimilated . Despite my background , family beginning and surroundings my mother set out to have a child that would easily fit into what she saw as America’s larger culture , that of the Caucasian American . She deviated from that in only one respect , my name . Her original choice of Olivia  was replaced with Libra by my godmother  whom she was going to name me after . With that single exception , I was meant to blend . My language and diction was closely guarded , I was made to “ask” for things and not “axe” for them like other little ones. I was likewise made to “ will not” or “cannot “ and was never allowed to “ ain’t” a  swat on the fanny or a slap on the mouth let me know that was unacceptable . so I emerged at 5 years old when I was unceremoniously ripped from my cloistered predominantly  white community in Seattle to the black community of Inkster , Michigan I was the little black girl that “ talked proper” , that “ sounded white” or on one very memorable occasion when I  who “ Talk like a honky” , pardon my use of the pejorative .

What does this do ? I  simply do not fit anywhere . I was always aware that I am different than my peers . My way of speech is often seen as pompous by other black people . I am more comfortable around white people but I am nonetheless aware that I am different from they .My attraction to and for white men , while more widely received and accepted now than before ,  puts me again in the role of outsider.  Growing up I wanted to be white . My mother’s influence as well , as she still expresses that desire .  So I deal daily with a double edged shame factor . I am ashamed  that I care what other people feel about my marriage to a white man . I am ashamed that I am proud that he is white and often DO want people to see him . Not because of who he is but because of what it conveys . Barack Obama said it best in “ Audacity of Hope” when speaking of his mother and I’m  paraphrasing “ I realized at some point  I would bring her up to people to gain their acceptance . To make myself a part of that larger world , which I was using her to be seen as something else” .That is often how I feel like I am saying in essence , “ I am not one of them” .

So what ultimately does that mean ? Nothing .  It took me years to realize this but assimilation is unavoidable to some degree and it comes at a cost  . To NOT assimilate also comes at a cost . I am Brie Stoll , Oreo . I am also a makeup Diva and a Nerd Goddess . I am not defined by that one aspect of who I am . I have learned pride in being African American . I have learned pride in being an American American as well . I did find my way and I can only look at the ride as it was the ride that I had to take .

At 21 years old my mother saw white culture as having opportunities and possibilities that black culture , in her seeing , did not have in 1975 . I cannot fault her for that and my way of speaking has afforded me many things . She was right about that . Being able to speak  in proper terms and real words does make a difference upon short acquaintance . I am seen as more intelligent simply because of that one thing . I have to , in fact , thank my mother for that .  I believe that my way of speaking lead to my wanting  to be more intelligent .  I do not believe that I would be where I am today , a writer , a student , a friend to all types of people , if not for my assimilation . It did make me want to be  accepted by white society at first but later it just made me able to know and understand anyone that is intelligent and interesting . I am not cloistered or self-cloistered  within my own race. I am not afraid of white people , black people , Muslims , or Jews .  In fact I have befriended  them all . I am happy to be me but I am not stuck  with it . I am not saying this is what assimilation means for everyone .  It is what it means for me .

Memoirs of She


She was born to two people that probably shouldn’t have children.

Drug addicts both and one, the father, an intravenous one. She is raised without him. She is raised with her mother who eventually marries a man and takes her to a new place. In Seattle, WA she is happy and for a while she is allowed a childhood. Her mother is young and impetuous and decides that it is time to move away. Her mother divorces her husband and together the mother and she moves back to Michigan. In Michigan she is a victim. She is different than everyone. She is bullied. She is left alone a lot and pretty child that she is, she is victimized by the males that come into her world. Mother falls in love with a man that is a monster and for the next 7 years she is filled with shame and sadness. His predilections for children are not only satiated by the touching in ways children are not to be touched but to harm the mind and body as well. she is scarred inside and out . On her leg she has an iron shaped burn. She has various permanent scars. She was once split by a golf club and threatened with a gun. All with in the walls of her home. All within the confines of the family.  She is 12 when her mother finally leaves the man.

Things happen that she is not prepared for, but she is also strong. She is very smart and she is very good and one day she decides to stop what is happening to her in the only way she knows how. Her life is inexorably changed forever. By the time she is 14 she is a mother.

At 18 she graduates and tries her first time to get a degree. But the world is hard and she is thwarted. Still she is happy. Not all the time. But she is. And for a while that is enough. She tries again and again to get her life on track. In the middles and edges of again and again she does things. She writes a story that is used in a movie. She falls in love. She marries. She is always kind to those that are smaller than she. She is always good and faithful and loyal. She never uses her pain as an excuse to commit evil. She strikes against those that do. Pedophiles and pederasts, all those that hurt the small and the innocent.   For them she is brave in a way that she could not be for herself. She is touched by the loss of any innocent.  People ask why she reads about the small ones that were hurt or died at the hands of monsters like the one that raised her and she cannot explain it . One part of her needs to see it to reassure herself that she belongs here. That she was saved for a reason. Another part wants to remember them. Wants them to feel that she is trying to be a better person in their names and memories.  She loves them, because they never got to make mistakes.

Now she is grown up. Fully now and she works so hard to finally be who she should have been. She is a writer. For the first time she is actually a working writer and that makes her happy. She is a novelist, though not yet published.  She is seeking and she is trying and every day she gets a little brighter. The way ahead is not clear but she is sure that it will get better everyday.  I am she. She is me.

Free Fallin’


There are people in this world that have jumped from an airplane only to find mid-fall that the parachute didn’t open. While generally this spells death  for the person plummeting to the earth there are , on occasions, a person that lands and is found broken, bruised and badly shaken but nonetheless alive .

That person while recovering from the usually significant injuries has to , despite everything , feel like the luckiest son of a bitch in the world. You go into a free-fall , a jump from much higher than people die from and you live . You didn’t walk away . How could you? But the survival… the survival is all you could hope for and more.

Coming to Houston was me in free fall. I had little choice about what else I could do but I was definitely moving fast towards the ground and simply now , still in mid fall I have realized that I  can’t do anything to change the end of this fall.  now I am not saying that I am a victim of my fate I am saying that the choices that i made before now have shaped the movement  I am in  now . I jumped and while I couldn’t have predicted the lack of a parachute I had the choice to never jump.

I wonder if the people who are falling feel like I do now. In those moments , the beauty and splendor the earth all around them while they scream , prey or wet  themselves , do they also feel like this might be what I had to have happen. Would they choose to be at  home in whatever life made them feel like this was a good idea? I doubt that. I doubt that they would prefer to have never had the jump to avoid the fall.  I know that I would not .

That’s All I Ask of You


The Phantom of the Opera is one of my favorite musicals. I think everyone loves it because it’s so fantastical and improbable but I love it because it is so human. The character “the phantom” is the perfect metaphor for the way  many of us live and love, at some point. He falls in love with a woman and immediately sees the problem. She is a beautiful chorus girl, he a monster that lives in the walls. He believes that if he can find something that ties them together, some part of him that is beautiful she should be able to see past his exterior and love him. When she instead chooses the rich handsome Count he is devastated. He saw the life he wanted with her and forgot about the life she might want in return.

I think I have lived my life as both Phantom and Christine. At different times I have felt for those who could bring me out and make me feel good, laugh and have fun but that I knew I was not truly attracted to. I have also worked to be with someone that I knew was not for me. When you are in this place ,the place that is both selfless ( if this is what he wants I will become this ) and selfish ( because I WANT him and that is all to it )  you like Erik ( phantom) are setting yourself up for a crushing blow . For the moment when the actual person comes into the life of your paramours life and takes them away. You alone sit in devastated unbelief while the rest of the world scratches its head wondering what you expected. If you actually thought the scheme you planned would work, and why.  This act of desperation , and while you , like Erik , are far from stupid you are lost.  Lost , sadly , in misguided hope that forgot the other part. YOU ARE  NOT THE ONLY FACTOR.

Erik’s life was all about darkness, with one spot of light Christine. He wanted her to live in the world he had created for himself.  In his mind she would be his creation, adored by fans and living in the world above then come home to him in the depths of the darkness and he would live vicariously through her. Her adoration would be his. Her applause would be theirs. Did Christine have desires, dreams, and plans of her own? He never asked. My two favorite moments in the musical version by Andrew Lloyd Weber is when Erik , having caught the two lovers Raul and  Christie together laments that she betrayed him. She never promised herself but his need for her makes her his in his mind. The other is when she realizes what the problem is and goes to him and Erik, finally realizing that the best case scenario between them would be the union of his obsession and her pity.

My whole life, not just in love but in the life I have missed the second part of the moral. I have often tried to force myself into a life that wasn’t mine. I also have spent a good number of my years letting people superimpose their desires into my life , as well. So today my decision is that I am allowing myself the luxury of leaving all that behind. If the wants of others are somehow hurt by my decision , so be it . I am also allowing myself to forgive me for times when I was the phantom , hiding behind a mask and preying on  , and praying that the other person would ,for the love of god, love me . Ultimately , I never knew until I knew.  Like Erik in his final scene , I can watch the persons, places or things that I once hung all my happiness on move forward , and sadly admit that it was not meant to be . And becoming, once and for all, the unlikely , scarred, weak and unstable hero of my own story.

Live Your Life


There is a moment in your life when you realize that it is necessary, for whatever reason, that it is time to try a radical change. You have to move . You have to change work. You have to do SOMETHING or you will die. Maybe not literally , although sometimes literally, but definitely spiritually. Dying spiritually is not a Christian concept . I am not talking about a disconnection with a deity , I am talking about a disconnection with everything. Your very essence , your liver , your lungs , your heart , your mind  , the skin and sinew that are you . Disconnected from you . You would walk around in a state of unconscious , alive and breathing wondering why food tastes different , why sex is unfulfilling , why you don’t laugh anymore. That is spiritual disconnect. Death has occurred and now you are a Zombie, unable to understand what changed.

I am at this moment. I am at the moment and day that requires that I take action. Action. I need a verb, a word that stands for my next phase. I am seeking that verb at this moment but I cannot , in typical Brie fashion, spend a month brooding about what that word might be , planning the finding of that word, seeking people’s opinions about what that word should be ( acting, writing , living, breathing ) until I am overwhelmed and exhausted and give up. This is my problem. This is the thing that has held me back from people and things , from places and thoughts . This is why I am still not the person I want to be . The me that  I want to know.

My temporary word will be a word cluster , for now my word(s) will be ” in the meantime” . I am going to continue moving toward my divinity , again not a religious concept but a personal one, but until then I will act, breath, write, learn . In the meantime, I will do all the things that I have been putting off waiting for the right person, place, sound, computer , dress size , fill in the blank to come by. If I do not have the right tools , I will use the tools at hand. If I don’t have a date , I will go with the intention to mingle and enjoy the moments. If I don’t have perfect words I will write the words I have , and have faith that I will find the perfect way to convey . It is time to stop researching the life I want and start living the life I have.

 

Here I Go Again on My Own


Today I woke up early. This is a great and  wonderful thing because I have been in my “I can’t get up, I can’t continue” phase for almost a month. The odd thing is it took me that long to realize that I am in fact in a deep depression. The fact that I started pushing away my friends , lying to people that have as a support system , sleeping full days away , crying at the drop of a hat and literally eating things that were bad for me while saying in my head ” I shouldn’t eat this , I’m not going to eat this, I don’t even like this” did not tell me that I was depressed Those things are all tale tell , I might as well have been walking slowly while touching a dark beige wall , but I didn’t see what I was feeling as depressed. I realized that I was depressed when I became aware that I could no longer form words. I had stopped writing.

This was a dangerous thing. I have been writing since I was seven. I have always journaled. I have always written short stories. I have always been a girl in her head, with little friends and personal anecdotes that keep her company. I have plays and movies and runaway epics that replay in my head. My while life I have been forming words , thoughts , people , places , constructions , monuments and alternative lives in my mind. I was no longer a friend to the various people in my brain, the mindscape was becoming a foreign land to me and when I came to understand this I knew. I am depressed.

Now this is both emotional and chemical. I am dealing with some major upheaval. I lost my job, I didn’t like my job but I loved my job at the same time. It was hard and new and I loved the challenge but I also felt that the company did not view me as an asset (ha, guess that was correct) and that it therefore did not allow me to be all that I could be. I was not given, or even offered the opportunities to network that my coworkers were. I was not aided in my position. I think that I should have// could have /would have been very successful in the position if I was better guided but I was not.  And I was terminated after being told that I was not going to be terminated.  I do feel discriminated against. And that feeling bullied, feeling lied to, feeling uncared for and used poorly is the emotional side of the depression.

I stopped moving. I wanted to be at least another 30 pounds lighter by now. I wanted to continue working out every day, start my yoga, meditations and start next year off in a wonderful healthy place. Instead I haven’t moved in two months. I eat whatever I want , I don’t move , I stopped taking vitamins,  I started doing coke… ok diet coke but still I drink soda, which is not good . So the fact that my mind has become a clouded mass of ” who are we, what are we doing here” is less than shocking  If I was a car I would be running with dirty oil , low octane gas and water instead of antifreeze and basically wondering “” why is this car running so rough?” .

So I am now on the path to find a new job , get off my butt and move and eat food that looks at least 90% what it would look like in nature, turns out there is no chicken nugget bush. And lastly to continue writing , everyday from today forward . I need to reacquaint myself with my mind , and get to know once again the playground of my youth.  I’m back. Wish me luck.

 

Houston day 9


The day went like this.  Up and on the bus, first destination with nary a hitch. Did my thing , got on second bus to another location. The second location being a job interview.  Small hiccup on finding the building ,then the office.  That snafu was remedied by the meeting of a young god who works at the office I was interviewing at.  This guy looked like if   Michelangelo’s  Jesus and a husky had a baby that wasn’t an abomination . Almost hallucinatory good looks, perfectly tanned skin, long Jesus hair and clear blue husky eyes that seemed gradient to a lighter clear grey.  In board shorts and tank, he painted a perfect picture of what I was not.  In my fancy going to meeting dress, and heels. 
The interview went well, and while I have yet to hear from them I was pleased with the experience.  But seriously they should hire me. 
Now for the fun. All done I head for home.  I take the first bus with no problem. My feet began to hurt from the shoes that just were not equal to the terrain. I get to the second bus and wait.  Now this is a 45 minute walk but my feet were killing me so I waited.  One hour,  waited, two hours waited…. 3 god damn hours.  And finally I said enough.  I kicked off my heels and began walking.  Within that 45 minute walk I was passed by not 1 ,not 3 butt 5 fucking buses!  Yes, I was quite royally spongebobbed by the transit system.
Loves/hates

1. Love : Texas accents ; sexy and slow. 
1. Hate: the metro ; I’m sorry but you get a second round in the hate category after the three hour wait.
2. Love : the sky; the clouds lately look painted on. 
2. Hate: No one talks to in my

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little barrio I’m alone.  I am learning Spanish, wonder if that will help.

Houston Day 8


I have needed to take a week to decide that I was going to in fact start this blog, so I start it where I am. Day 8.

I first want to  say that any resemblance this blog does, may or will have with “Sex in the City” will be purely coincidental.

By no means am I Carrie Bradshaw or Candace Bushnell    for that matter.  While I am a girl in the “Big City” I am not, looking for love, trying to find the meaning

Of life in the bottom of a Cosmo glass or living la Vida Fabulous. I may be slightly living “Mi Vida Loca”, learning Spanish and living in a little bit of a Barrio.

I am not in the city of my dreams, like Carrie that would be New York. I am not expecting to jump right into the job of my dreams or the man of my dreams(for one this Christen Bale is married ), if I was the human equivalent of any character it may be Laura Ingles Wilder, a pioneer woman in the west , fighting for the best life possible and writing it all as she goes.

I have moved to Houston, Texas from Eastpointe, Michigan because the job prospects in Michigan, for me anyway, were short on the ground. I want to be successful and just going along to get along was NOT getting it. So I went west young (WO) man and I am trying to be as positive as possible about this very scary new chapter. And you, if there eventually are a you, are invited to watch.

I will wrap up as I intend on wrapping up every day with my 2 loves and 2 hates about Houston.

  1. Love: Taco trucks: they are everywhere and the food is while not probably the BEST for you some of it is Amazing to the palette.

1.   Hate: The Transit System : I don’t have a car yet and the very IDEA that you can take a bus ride that  for 2 HOURS that would be a 25 minute car ride is the

Explains everything I HATE about it. It is winding and complicated, some lines have 2 or three routes that run down the same street and have the same names save one or two LETTERS and you will end up all the way in east hell. It’s not at ALL fair to new comers.

  1. Love: The Weirdoes:  I love the assorted fruits and nuts that live here. Trannies, the gorgeous “Is she or isn’t she “types and the putting that make up on with a spackle isn’t helping you Types. Coplay folks in dress up, Vatos with their tattoos and angry scowls masking the round lovely faces of Latin people. Beautiful Latina girls with big hair, or pink hair and piercings. And one short, skinny beggar woman, presumably a drug addict but she may just be homeless, that seems to be everywhere.

2.  Hate: I’m Lonely here.