Skate story, cont.
So, as I'm sitting in the sand, I realize that I'm listening to Kanye, Ne-Yo and K Hilson, "Knock You Down."
I'm only a few feet in front of this really cute guy who used to work at my job who I see on the track every Saturday. How about I get to the Que party, and this same man is tearing tickets at the entrance? Quite gentlemanly, he smiles and says, "I see skating didn't wear you out," and I think, quite gentlemanly of you not to point out how I bust my ass this morning.
Of course, you can't teach old dogs new tricks, but you can rest assured, they don't have the gums to tear into you like they used. There was a lot of ass patting and grabbing, but no slapping. Since it was my left cheek throbbing, and most folk use the right hand, I was straight. My ass got grabbed a good dozen times, but I guarded my shit,
And, I end up dancing with old boy from the track. I'm running the floor--if in my mind, alone--I ain't sat hardly the whole cruise, and it's been a good two hours. I feel someone creep up from behind and grab my hips. I get weak when someone grabs me or positions me. Maybe that is problematic thinking, but I'm a bottom bitch, and that is what it is. So, I'm like dancing with this dude, and he asks me if I am coming to the Que picnic the following day. I'm like I don't know, and he says, "if I don't, he'll come to ***proper noun name of my job*** and get me. I start reaching for the keys to gouge his eyes; I spin around like, "oh shit, stalker!" I face him an realize it's old boy from the track, the gig.
Wow.
Married, too?
Wow.
Some chick even strolled up on me to tell me old boy was married.
Wow.
So, when I went to sleep that night/morning/night, Kanye West came to me in a dream.
I know.
No, not like Jesus or the archangel Gabriel, more like Elvis or something. I swear. I was having a crazy search and chase dream. I was with the guy formerly known as my crush, and we were searching for something, but he just stopped helping me and went off on his own. I was all alone, but I was kind of on to some sort of freedom.
In this semblance of freedom, I find myself lost on an open road when I encounter someone who can be helpful. When the stranger faces me, I see he's Kanye West. He's not a celebrity in the dream, but he is definitely
the Kanye West. He starts talking to me, and not me in the dream, but
the me.
Kanye told me that the world loves me. He told me the reason that my relationships weren't working was because the men I love love me too much to break my heart. He told me to have faith, and he just kept reinforcing how loved I am. He told me he loved me, you know not like Amber Rose or Alexis, but like, in real life, I love Kanye--pretty much unconditionally, like a fan loves a star. His pupils were dilated, so I couldn't not believe him.
Then, pretty much, I woke up.
So, Kanye loves me, along with all the men I've ever met past and present.
Marriage is hard.
The bruise on my butt is finally healing, so it itches like shit. I'm still growing and changing.
I have a heat rash on my face.
I cooked the firest ass beans the other day. Gosh, I been a nacho eating ass!
My family reunion is coming up, and my Great Uncle told me the last time I went, the next family reunion he wanted me to bring someone. Well, I wanted to bring the guy I have been fantasizing about, but that guy just stopped calling me. I am E-Harmonying with a couple guys, but I'm not bringing anyone to the family reunion. Well, my Great Uncle is dead, so I guess we're even.
I see I'm getting used to being single, and I'm starting to like it. I get my way. I spend my money on me. I got no kids; I got no reason to be married. I'm happy. You know, World, I'm always happy, but... I'm happier.
I'm not as over my last one as I wish, but I started meditating on that phrase: I been in sorrow's kitchen and licked out all the pots. There is a certain self-indulgent pleasure that comes of grieving. It is like a final embrace with the departed or the lost, and if we allow ourselves to fully mourn, we can find ourselves reborn in grief.
Oh, last major point, Barack is right to stay out of that shit in Iran. Fuck the media. When there are problems with U.S. elections, we don't expect for the French to come over here and resolve them. Likewise, momofos, we don't have any business in that shit, and Barack just don't want to say what I can. Countries with glass borders shouldn't shoot pellets.
Focus, damn! Feds talking about inflation won't be a problem. Do I believe that? Okay, didn't I tell you Ques was gonna be slapping asses? Wasn't I right? I'm brilliant, get it?
Right. Let Iran handle their shit. I don't care if some liberal ass Iranians disagree with me. I bet most don't. Autonomy, that is the word.
Oh, okay, second to last major point---how about MSN cited the Fragile Family Study on Father's Day this year??!!??!!
I bought my dad a pass to the AMC movie theaters for Father's Day. I won't do it, again, because their two day delivery took five, so he better hit up that Magic Johnson and appreciate it. My dad will love complaining about what he wasted my money on, and that makes me feel like a grown woman and a little girl at the same time.
Kanye!
I just came from my family reunion. I got so sick I had to spend from 2 a.m. until 7:00 a.m. of 4th in the emergency room. I couldn't have been better cared for, my entire family treated, diagnosed, soothed, pampered me! My fortune cookie said that I would go on a trip and find a treasure. I did. My family is the greatest blessing in the world!!!!!
