i love:
cardigans. long ones, short ones, shawl cardigans, boyfriend cardigans . . . it matters not. i love them. nothing says “funky librarian” the way a cardigan does! especially in colors i love.
i need: tights!
i want: a badass, too big, super sparkly necklace. something w/ too many fucking sequins, and maybe some rhinestones. like either of these from anthropologie.
(i linked them because — surprise — wordpress is not allowing me to be great. whatever.)
it’s kind of been forever since my last post like this. so, here i am. something i love, something i need, something i want. heeere we go:
love:
like, yum. seriously.
indian food. channa, dal, basmati rice (with cumin!), chicken tikka masala, tandoori naan, roti, pakoras, samosas . . . dude. dude. DUDE. chicken vindaloo? biryani? i can’t live without the stuff. it’s going to be my undoing someday. especially with two indian restaurants within a 5 minute walk of my place.
need:
(there is no photograph to illustrate what i need.)
a particular itch scratched. i need some really good, gold foil, can’t speak in coherent sentences afterwards, sweating like a preacher during tent revival, let me make you meals between sessions sex. the kind that makes my neighbors think something real crazy is going on in my apartment, cuz all they hear is grownup noises & all they smell is bacon & waffles & shit being made. it’s so crucial. my toys cannot keep up. sending telepathic beams to the object of my desire right now. i need you to work me out again, sweets. like, over the course of 24 hours. please?
want:
(it seems that wordpress is being a ho about photo links right now. maybe i just need to go the fuck to sleep?)
a custom made dress from fly tie. somewhere between this maxi dress & this hooded dress. really. her blog is ill (see the first link), but her shop will take your breath away!
she’s a real sweet gal. you should check her out.
listen. i . . . i know i probably talk too fucking much. and i know that you might think i’m weird. but i know you like me. because i just happen to know these things. so, if you wanna bake me cookies that’s fine. we have to work on some sort of dairy, egg, and soy-free kind (because that’s really the cookie i need in my life) and if you dare make me oatmeal cookies they’d ought to have craisins in them cuz raisins are just wrong. um. yeah. and i’ll make you iced tea, ginger limeade, and whatever else you want (within reason). because i’m a doting kinda gal. i always felt like the gold star sticker was more important than getting the 100 on the spelling test, ya know? let me be the good marshmallow in your hot chocolate; the garnish. i’m that flourish in your signature that makes it slightly illegible but mostly fabulous.
& also, potential future boocakes, you should really know that i’m not a huge fan of traditionally represented concept of monogamy right now. it feels confining, it feels like a social construct more than it does anything natural to me as a human being. i don’t much like the idea of being bound to one person indefinitely (or quote-unquote forever, the way that the marrieds tend to be). so, if we start kicking it, understand that it’s not about any sort of loose-in-the-booty-ness on my part. & i’m not out here doing any ho shit, either. i simply desire to deal with folk who understand where i am in this whole growing up thing. i feel very strongly that my consideration of polyamory is both a great thing for me and a potentially disastrous for you and any other potential future boocakes, depending on the kind of relationship you wish to have with me. we’ll take it one day at a time, though. we’ll figure it out.
potential future boocakes, i know you are capable of being a great lover (or activity partner or cuddlejawn or whatever we make out of this thang). i’d very much like the chance to explore that with you. so, please remember that i am open. it would honor me so much for you to remain open, as well, to what’s out there.
(and by that, i mean willing to have rather serious makeout sessions and play scrabble with me while drinking lindeman’s lambic framboise, peche, kriek, cassis, or pomme)
him. the crush.
this time, there was lots of touch. some good jokes. skin-to-skin contact. we were sitting in my bed. a few times he climbed over me to get something off the dresser. other times he walked into the kitchen to get me something to drink or eat. i wasn’t sick, but simply the center of attention.
and the last time my alarm went off, i was waiting for him to come back. i was expecting a kiss. anticipating our fingers to be entangled and our foreheads to touch, for there to be some whispered compliments and some sharing of extremely private jokes.
but i had to wake up.
to nothing but a wisp of a memory.
(before we begin: a cuddlejawn is just what it sounds like. a jawn with whom you cuddle. i’m from philly. sue me.)
1) cuddling is good for the environment!
if you’re cuddling (fully clothed, nude, partially clothed, socks only) with another grown person, chances are that a considerable amount of body heat will be generated. you and your cuddlejawn will save money on energy bills! radiator on the fritz? call your cuddlejawn. afraid of your gas bill? holla at your girl/ boy. don’t feel like playing with that space heater? pick up the phone! get a blanket, and you just might set the night on fire! rawr.
2) cuddling is good for your self-esteem.
because, you see, that 10 lbs you’re still tryna shake won’t have to come off. that extra body on your body needs cushioning! knowing that you’re divine just the way you are will do wonders for you, dear heart. it gives your cuddlejawn an even stronger reason to keep coming back for more of your good old boolovin!
3) you get to show off your extensive knowledge of foods/ beverages.
everyone knows that there’s nothing better than a good plate of tasty morsels or a glass of something fly AND arms that warmly await you. and if the mutually agreed-upon cuddlejawn arrangement is going well i believe that food items will keep things going along swimmingly. besides, who the hell wants to be the trifling motherfucker who invites people over and never feeds or attempts to hydrate them? especially a cuddlejawn? show your gratitude by making sure there are yummy and new snacks.
4) this arrangement may be one of the healthiest relationships you ever have.
so many of us go into situations with others hoping against hope that s/he doesn’t turn out to be crazy/ clingy/ unreasonable/ looking for a husband/ looking for a wife/ looking for a parental figure . . . without making sure that everyone’s pretty much on the same page from the onset. so, with your cuddle jawn arrangement being essentially about cuddling and not sexual intercourse (not at first. where it goes next is your business.), i daresay it’s impossible to get caught up in a snare of emotional bullshit. sex might complicate things for some of us, while for others it brings clarity. your job as a cuddlejawn is to be precisely what your cuddlejawn needs. that means everyone gets their needs met within the parameters of the arrangement. no hurt feelings. who doesn’t want to be held without the pressure of a bunch of shit that has little to nothing to do with them? think on it.
5) boolovin might save us from ourselves.
you ever encounter a motherfucker who quite clearly needs a hug and/ or some kind words? don’t you ever think that they should get that hug? those kind words? something to help them feel less miserable and stabby? i bet if they had a cuddlejawn they’d be at least tolerable. yupper. watch, y’all, and see! the boolovin might make you think twice about slappin the fuck out of your coworker. it may make you more alert during the work day. i mean, there are studies done on infants who are touched lovingly/ receive infant massage that suggest that these kids grow up smarter than those who are touched only when it’s necessary (or whatever the control is). i say go for it. who doesn’t wanna be loved upon more often?
and, i’d also like to suggest that cuddling may lead to some very rewarding, fulfilling adult interactions. this is the foreplay of life.
go find you a cuddlejawn!
this post has been brought to you by buckwild apiaries, inc., purveyors of honey love and boolovin.
october 7.
you have been warned.
and now, onto my wishlist:
a 120 gig ipod classic. black. with dope girl fresh engraved on it.
a day of total leisure, doing what i feel like doing
a new tattoo*
perfectly arched eyebrows
pocket money
lingerie
the perfect pair of jeans
a delicious plate of awesome food (paging tia clara! i’d like some mole, pleeeaaaaaase)
birthday serenades
birthday cards hand-made with glitter and tempura and other preschool sort of things
a chocolate cupcake with hazelnut-praline icing from flying monkey patisserie
a day free of unnecessary fuckery
a great big old bottle of malbec
a manicure and pedicure
a great big old sloppy wet kiss from my favorite baby
an ear cuff made of copper and peacock feathers
a happy birthday for each person under my sun sign (insert libra dance here), especially my cousin crystal, dia, malaika, mel, jess, amal, lauren and that dj guy
a few spectacular orgasms
bliss, bliss, bliss
a really lovely dinner date
and for the crush i dreamt of the other night to, like, make a move
* a fly henna tattoo will be an acceptable substitute for a new permanent tat.
to be dreaming about him.
shit.
barely three conversations, and he’s traipsing through my REM?
we’re in this dream, talking about learning portuguese and what we felt was the presence of yemaya in favela rising
and i’m all kinds of twisted about this
maybe it means something
maybe i should just get some fucking sleep
i don’t know.
but what i do know is that the feeling has been with me all day long.
*sigh*
you see, lovely blog readers, your protagonist has a bit of an issue.
i haven’t had sex in a while, and really good sex (also known as having my back blown out) is such a distant memory that i’ve got a better chance of recalling my life in utero than recounting any details of sexual exploits. so, in what i’ll call my months of solitude, i’ve had the opportunity to think really hard about what i want when i get back out there. i’ve pined away over my usual celebrity eye candy (mos def, chiwetel ejiofor, christian bale, don cheadle, q-tip, et al) and had a few moments to reminisce on past crushes/ eye candy (one time for marvin from trader joe’s and that fine-as-all-fucking-getout dude who used to ride the same train i did a few yrs back). but what i haven’t actively had was some kind of glimmer of hope. anyone who’s really legitimately a potential boo for me. crushes and eye candy won’t do. going back to former paramours won’t work — if they were what i wanted, they would not be formers! instead, i need something new, something fresh . . .
enter operation: benetton ad.
it all started w/ the idea i’ve been kicking around for quite some time: the concept that i should possess a stable of he-bitches of all colors, shapes, and sizes. i mean, why not? i can’t seem to get precisely what i want in one place, so why not split it up? go on foreign film dates w/ my art nerd, hit happy hour with the lush, cuddle up next to the around-the corner boo, have the sponsor get me that dress i want, and quite possibly have one strong backed strapping individual to have me grinning consistently whilst walking crookedly.
well, lo and behold, the warm winds of late spring and summer have blown a lot of newness my way. first, there was that lovely piece of curly haired extra gorgeous southerner, in town for a conference. swarthy, as white folk tend to say. mmm, mmm, mmm. he has a girlfriend and lives far away from philly, so i’ll leave him where he is. until/ unless there’s a reason not to.
second, there was the lite brite (translation: he looks like christopher williams might could be his daddy) from the starbucks near my job. i think he might be slow. but he’s nice to look at. eye candy is important. there’s a young asian man whose family owns the nail salon i go to. he is SO PRETTY. and a youngin. he’s legal, though. seems to be unreasonably interested in the things i use to adorn myself (earrings, bangles, sneakers, nail polish colors). i like him, though, and wouldn’t mind sitting on my sofa w/ him while he paints my toenails. there’s a chicano in the mix, too. he seems to be focused on marrying me and figuring out how on earth my spanish is as good as it is. he makes me laugh. sometimes. the language barrier is interesting.
and then.
lawdy JEEZUS.
today, i met a fine ass barber who gave me his card and said he’d cut my hair tomorrow . . . LORDY BE, I CAN’T TAKE IT.
he’s covered in tattoos. amateurish ones that scream “i’ve been into some bad shit in my life,” and he has the unmitigated gall to smell good. lord help me!
he is, in the words of my beloved uncle, “niggafied.” that’s what he calls any non-black person w/ the most black american swagger ever.
i mean, i prefer to just say he’s very much an around the way asian dude
but the swagger
he got that big dick swagger i tend to only see in black men and others who’ve been victimized by the prison industrial complex.
WOOT
*fannin myself*
but yeah.
i’m building myself a stable so i can get what i want until i’ve had my fill. currently, i’m not even close to being done!
U-N-I-T-Y, that’s a unity . . .
addendum: in my infinite wisdom and continual quest for creative ways to express myself, i have decided to regard to the stable of he-bitches as he-bees. that is, i am a he-bee keeper, and i’m going to be maintaining an apiary of dick. buckwild apiary’s mission statement soon come.
there’s a fight. the life i want vs. the way i make a living. i don’t like it one bit. i don’t fight the notion that forward movement is paramount. i know i have to do A to get to B. but there’s this cacophony of every supportive voice i’ve ever heard combining with my own higher self pretty much singing in a round ‘this isn’t where you’re supposed to be. you can’t stay here.’
it’s not the work that comes w/ the promotion. i don’t care about workload — i can get stuff done without feeling overwhelmed most times, even with the two functions i serve in one office. this bridge called my back, anyone?
it’s not that. and it’s not the being on the spot, going to meetings, pressing through . . . all that doesn’t matter.
it’s that, at the core of myself, i know without a doubt in my mind, with every fiber of my being, that i’m supposed to be welcoming babies into the world. i’m supposed to be throwing fabulous events with dear friends and enjoying not having a day job. this shit is not even for the birds — those motherfuckers are happy doing what they do. it’s . . . it’s just not for me.
so now i’m having problems sleeping at night because i don’t effin wanna be where i have to be the next morning.
i don’t tie my rent to that job. i tie money to that job. when i leave, i will be making the same money, if not better, because i know that’s how it’s supposed to be. i will teach, i will tutor, i will doula, i will study, i will do everything i need to do to keep this roof over my head.
and you know what?
it won’t have shit to do with that ‘good city job.’
the puma hooper mid decade.
holy god.
someone find them in a boys’ 7 or men’s 7.5 for me.
please.
please?
thank you i love you i SWEAR i’ll massage your scalp…
from the butch caucus
(it wouldn’t let me customize the title i wanted, so i chose ninja instead of typing in “boocakes,” “jawn,” or “jumpoff”)
and you know i’m dead ass serious, right?
like i have to shake my ass a lil harder for those tips
smile bigger when they ask how i’m doing, so massa & them don’t know i’m planning to leave
i’m growing impatient &
full of myself, certain that i’ll strike when the iron is hot
my hands itch to pull at that other shoe, instead of letting it drop on its own
trying to slow this mess down just enough to savor the last days
i’m more aware now than ever of how this is gonna go down,
where my support comes from
what i need to leave alone
& ultimately, i’m fully able to see where i ought to be
what steps to take, where to plant my feet.
i just have to breathe & take care of this stuff first.
the babies will come
the money will come
the new home will come.
i just have to make it so.
i am happiest when crafting with abandon. when i can just do whatever i want with whichever medium, i feel most peaceful. i feel alive.
reason #275 why i’m leaving that job.
i’m not sharing with too many folks. that is, i’m not talking to anyone whom i know to be negative or whom i know for a fact doesn’t really know me. i can stare into a person’s blank face every day for nearly 4 years (like i do at work with some ppl) & know that they’ve no clue about how to treat me. & i am, for all intents & purposes, my dreams. whatever i conceptualize, whatever i decide to become, that’s me. that’s where i’m headed if i’m not there already. & if that person should treat my developing self poorly then how can i ever expect her or him to be good to me once i arrive at my destination? that’s got to be im-fucking-possible. i’m not buying that jack-nicholson-as-the-joker smile & hands open only to make mincemeat from my most tender parts.
my dreams are not meant to be picked apart or turned into a frankenstein monster by anyone except me. there will be no opportunities for detractors to take from me or lessen my potency. there is not any good reason for me to take my brand new dreams out of my pockets to show to/ share with any person who isn’t also nurturing a dream. & i don’t mean simply thinking of something to do with the rest of her or his life — i mean someone who is actively putting together the pieces of that one thing they’re meant (or are trying) to do w/ the rest of her or his life. i’m tired of being exposed to folks whose uncertainty about their own places in the world serves as a platform (or a castle tower) from where they pass judgment on everyone else’s situation. that mess is sickening, anti-productive, & a huge waste of my time.
in short, i’m not having this bullshit for much longer. it seems that there’s a grillion ways to take the piss out of the good thing someone else has got going, but not as many ways to push that good thing along. anyone who’s well versed in the pushing along & forward movement is welcome.
all others may fall by the wayside. period. i am speaking power to my situation, regardless of what anyone has to do or say about it.
addendum:
mel, post this on your mirror or something. happy birthday. stay motivated, beautiful, & strong. i love you to pieces.
some fuck me pumps.
i’m not joking. considering the fact that at age 27 i really don’t have the whole walking-in-high-heels thing down, it’ll be interesting when i find a pair of such shoes. cuz i’ll have to practice in them. a lot. sober. & never walk anywhere in them when i’m not 100%. it’ll take goo gobs of concentration. this will be interesting.
once i find a pair, of course, there will be photos. 
