Just some words that are banging around in my head and I’m hoping putting them here will allow me to let them go.
I don’t wanna do anything. I wanna back out of the things I started. One thing is x dollars. One thing is 10x dollars (with another 10x dollars due). Another thing is 400x dollars. I don’t think I wanna do any of them any more. The first two things are things I said I wasn’t even doing any more. What the fuck is wrong with me? The third thing…just…does anyone even care? No, not really.
I really thought about using ‘Don’t Know What You’ve Got (Til It’s Gone) here because it also works, but I can’t pass up some Hall & Oates even if they don’t like each other right now. Hello, restraining order. Yikes.
Why did I pick that song though? Because it’s me. I’m the missed opportunity. HAHAHAHAHA, dummies. Maybe not ALL of you are dummies, it just might not have been our lifetime. BUT, a lot of you are dummies. I don’t mind saying it because some of you are thinking it. You see me now and I’m pretty cute with a smoking bod and you’re like, damn. I shoulda got in on that at the ground level. Too damn slow.
Some of you are thinking it. Some of you said it. Some of you didn’t say it but I see it in who you chose later down the line. Here’s a spoiler alert: you can’t recreate me in someone else. HAHAHAHAHAHA, dummies.
If you’re reading this, then you have the opportunity to not be too damn slow. Not with me, lol. That ship has long sailed. 18 years, 6 months, and 18 days ago to be exact. However, you can still keep reading here and peruse this site for any of my naughty writing, or, you could keep an eye out for an early bird subscription to my platform. If I’m feeling nice, I might even give you multiple options. You could read yourself or I can read to you or you can see me read to you wearing…oh…something small, lol. This idea keeps getting better the more I think about it.
So now that I’ve put it out there, I think I’ll also put some tester snippets out in the next couple of weeks. If you see them, please feel free to share them as I’ll be soliciting feedback. I gotta go because the ideas are coming quick. BWAHAHAHAHAHA. You will be too.
Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaassssssssssssssssssssssssssssss! Of course, I recognize that everyone doesn’t have 30 minutes to watch this whole thing but you really should. The pertinent area here starts at right around 11 minutes.
As I start to feel myself more when I dance, I can’t help but think back to my first dance experiences which all revolved around choreography. I guess not all the way back to the Zoise Baer days of tap and ballet and black Little Red Riding Hood. We’ll keep it more recent than that. Not even the times in elementary school when we’d get together and put together some dance to whatever song struck our fancy at that time. Those definitely prepared me for when I got to learn more choreo.
The dance you see here between minutes 11 and 15 was one of the first dances I learned for choreography at Club Med. Granted, it was a shortened version, but it’s still a lot. I mean, at the end of the day, it Michael Jackson! We killed that shit every week in the Halloween show. Yep, we ran a Halloween show when it wasn’t even Halloween. (Oh, stomping off stage at 15:40, lol)
Sidebar: how funny that I just had this very similar conversation, unprompted, in IG messages, lol.
So yeah, I come from choreography and when I started being forced to ‘freestyle’, my go-to move was to hide or openly refuse to do it. Of course, this does not foster growth. I stuck to tricks and choreography forever. But little by little, here comes freestyling.
Part of freestyling that I didn’t really recognize was that, by doing so, I get to tell my own story. Choreography is telling someone else’s story in your voice. Freestyling is laying your soul bare for everyone to absorb. And a LOT of the time, I didn’t want anyone seeing that. It was dark and sad and choppy and broken. But guess what? That makes for pretty dance. Don’t shake your head for me. We’re all a little broken if we’re being honest with ourselves.
I think freestyling will come in stages. I’ve already broken through the ‘fuck this’ wall and I’m peeking around the corner. Next step will probably be dancing around naked with both middle fingers up yelling fuck what you think because there’s no easing into things. Throw yourself off the cliff and hope to catch some air and land softly. Is that the best plan? Probably not. Is it the plan that’s been going strong for many years? Yeahhhhhh.
The random stream-of-consciousness posts continue. Cut me some slack. It’s been a long hiatus. I’m getting my shit together. If you’re reading this, tell me if you would be interested in hearing me read you naughty stories, perhaps in lingerie, definitely for a fee.
How the hell are ya on this fine Monday? If you ain’t feeling the title, you should definitely unclutch those pearls honey. Buckle up, it’s a wild ride out here.
Now, I ain’t out here showing my dick (bwahahahaha, not my girl dick and not his dick either) but you might see some ass and titties. What the hell, girl?!?! Look. I didn’t make it all the way to 50 years old to be uptight. I made it this far to cut the fuck loose. I’m not quite to ‘old Black lady’ status yet, but I might as well start getting in some practice. Yeah I looked dead at you and rolled my eyes. What you gonna do about it?
I’ve decided that #SoftGirlSolstice can include some pilates for stretching and strengthening. I’m trying to make my body feel better at 50 than it did at 25. Realistically speaking, that shouldn’t be that hard since at 25 I was NOT taking care of myself very well. Exercise and balanced meals? More like running around like a maniac fueled on French bread, Chaumes, and liquor. Hydration? Does beer count? My gawd I don’t know how I survived. If you’re reading this at 25, please take better care of yourself, lol.
The self-care situation looks like this: lengthen, strengthen, somatic exercises, vibration plate, sauna bag, inversion table, hydrate, electrolytes, supplements for days, and an X39 patch. They’ve been added at various stages through the time I’ve been trying to fix myself. Compared to how I felt a year ago, I know that I feel about 100 times better today. Could I point to one thing to say that ‘this’ is the thing that works and I could drop all the others? Hell no. That’s ok though. As long as something is working and I can sleep through the night without my hips screaming, I’m doing good. If I think about where I was just 6 months ago, there’s a world of difference. Long story short, take care of yourself.
So with all of this fixing comes the ability to move better, to flow better, and to be fucking raunchy. Because you know what? The tin man ain’t fun to watch dancing. I keep greasing the grooves though and we’re smoothing things out. And know what’s dangerous? I’m starting to watch what I’ve done and think that it looks good. You guys haven’t yet met the me that has self-confidence. The me that has a hype man. The me that says fuck what ya heard, here I fucking am. But that’s who you’re getting from here on out. I’m tired of being small. I’m tired of being timid. I’m stepping right the fuck into my badassery. Deal with it. You can always unfollow/mute/whatever me and I don’t need to know about it. Just see your way out.
Yep, that’s how we’re rolling out this Monday. Fix your face, pull up your panties, slip into those shitkicking boots, and let’s fucking go. I got this. You got this. We got this. Our time is now. We are him/her.
The thing about having a blog that no one reads is that no one reads it.
TW: SU!C!DE
It probably isn’t normal (and shouldn’t seem so to me) to just be randomly typing this out, but I’m not normal. Yes, I look at this from an outside perspective.
Just over two years ago, I was one mean look away from not being here any more. I spent quite a bit of time on the ledge, looking over, thinking about the consequences. I have friends who have passed be it by their own hand or nature’s hand and it truly sucks for those who remain.
Even though no one reads this, I’m not going to go into too many details. I had one main reason that I’m still walking around two years later.
When you’re standing on that ledge and it’s cold and windy and you’re just trying to hold yourself together long enough to maybe make it down, you start to crack. Depending on how long you’re up there before someone pulls you down or you manage to get yourself down, some crack more than others.
Here’s the thing, those cracks, they don’t go away. Maybe they’ve been glued but more likely they’ve been taped, and eventually, that tape is going to fall away or you’ll be dropped off the cliff, and once again, broken.
I can’t even explain how fucking exhausting this is. To make the effort to heal to just be broken again. Even when put back together with gold, the shatter remains the same. Perhaps some of us are meant to simply remain broken. It seems unfair, but what in this life really is fair?
But here I fucking am. Again. Mixing up something to try to put myself together again. A.FUCKING.GAIN. I’m tired and I don’t know that it’s worth it but the aftermath won’t allow me to just let go. Get on the struggle bus, bitch. We’re crying around the neighborhood.