"I'll Take All The Blame... Aqua Seafoam Shame"

I had this mega-movie-marathon, just me and my Netflix, after the babies left on Saturday, that carried over into all-day Sunday, too. I slept some here and there, but for the most part my grogginess, dizziness and laziness found me on the couch, just me and my Netflix.

During one of my breaks (my computer was feeling a bit EXTRA warm so I would shut it down for an hour at a time. There is still a method to my madness) I laid on my bed wondering what else I could do. Never mind the unopened 3RD NOTICE bills or freelance articles I have due, or the mounds of laundry or crusty sink, nah, I was looking on my shelf for something to read, listen to or watch. An escape, I know, but that's my coping mechanism... right or wrong it's what I do.

So I'm looking around and think, "Not The Exorcist!" because I cannot watch that shit alone. And ixnay on the CDs because that required turning on the computer (but YAY! I found my Bob Marley Legend CD). Then I saw it, still in the shrink wrap hiding underneath a Matchbox Twenty compilation an old friend made for me: Girl, Interrupted.

And here's where you all roll your eyes and say, "NOOOOO! Not THAT movie!" and you'd be right, because it did nothing more than make me Google my symptoms and come up with this hypochondriac's wet dream (and I've highlighted the pertinent information for you):

The main feature of borderline personality disorder (BPD) is a pervasive pattern of instability in interpersonal relationships, self-image and emotions. People with borderline personality disorder are also usually very impulsive.

This disorder occurs in most by early adulthood. The unstable pattern of interacting with others has persisted for years and is usually closely related to the person’s self-image and early social interactions. The pattern is present in a variety of settings (e.g., not just at work or home) and often is accompanied by a similar lability (fluctuating back and forth, sometimes in a quick manner) in a person’s emotions and feelings. Relationships and the person’s emotion may often be characterized as being shallow.

A person with this disorder will also often exhibit impulsive behaviors and have a majority of the following symptoms:

* Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment
* A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation
* Identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self
* Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating)
* Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior
* Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days)
* Chronic feelings of emptiness
* Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights)
* Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms

If that shit ain't me in a nutshell...



Sometimes, you know, WebMD hurts more than it helps. I'm just saying...

*smooches...googling treatments to see if I can fix this myself*
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is there a Psychiatry for Dummies book out there?

"I Used To Do A Little But A Little Wouldn't Do It So a Little Got More And More"

So I'm going to take a kind-of break from ME ME ME for a second to address something that was troubling me as I watched episodes of A&E's Intervention on Wednesday (yes, instead of working that what I was doing. Suck IT! And yes I've slowly but surely been rejoining the land of the living, actually doing things with myself like showering and eating before noon and reading. BTW, Julia Alvarez's "Before We Were Free" is AMAZING and you must read it now or I will hate you forever.).

In case you aren't familiar with the show, here's a trailer/clip:



(if you kind of chuckled at this clip it's OK... she does look stupid inhaling that shit)

So I'm watching this show, completely disgusted with actually watching someone put a needle in their arm (I CAN'T WITH NEEDLES!! AAAACK!!!!) but not able to look away, when I begin to notice a pattern with these addicts and their families.

More often than I cared to keep track of, when the parents/families of the addict starts talking about how their little crackhead USED TO be, they use phrases like, "she was the perfect little girl" or "she was the smartest" or "he could do anything he ever wanted to do" or my favorite, "she had the perfect blond curly hair & big blue eyes everyone wants."

See that right there? Do you SEE what I saw? PERFECT.

I FUCKING HATE THAT MOTHERFUCKING WORD.

Now, I'm not going to sit here and say these kids are doing meth because mommy said they were perfect, but think about this for a second:

Imagine you're a kid and lets say you're in 2nd grade. So imagine you're this kid and to date your grades and state test results are through the roof, so all of a sudden you're super smart to anyone who knows you, i.e. you get "perfect" marks and it's all anyone can talk about.

Now imagine you're that same kid and for the most part you're pretty well-behaved, but not just that, you're pretty well-behaved in a family full of kids that run amok like animals. So the grown-ups start labeling you as this "perfect" kid.

So this same kid, you, with the perfect grades and the perfect behavior starts to get singled out by the adults in front of the other running-amok kids with statements like, "Why can't you be more like X?" And at first you feel a sense of pride n shit, until you see the other kids looking at you as if the minute the grown-ups leave they're gonna beat your ass.

And then, imagine you're still this kid and one day, down the line, you get back a test that's not so "perfect," lets say it's an 89 instead of 100. And while your teachers are like "You did better than a lot of the other kids" you go home to show off your test and hear, "What happened to the other 11 points?"

Right before your eyes... perfection that was bestowed upon you like a gold medal snatched away as if you'd tested positive for steroids and didn't even know it was wrong to take it.

Don't you think you, as that little kid would panic and stress about getting that medal back? About being perfect? And don't you think you, as that little kid, would be so fucking wigged out by the pressure of it all- even if you live in the perfect house and have tons of friends and are a beauty queen or QB of the varsity team- would start to break you into a million tiny pieces? And seek some way to cope?

Listen, I'm not here to advocate for addiction or make excuses for these people. I just want us, especially us parents, to take a step back and really pay attention to the message we send our kids. Many of the back stories I heard on these addicts could have easily been K or N's back story: good grades, into sports, loved to laugh, loved to play music, etc. So what's to say my kid won't do meth or crack or inhale some fucking duster?

Sure, I could also argue that these kids probably weren't given enough boundaries or whooped enough at an early age, but seriously, what's to say it won't be my kid?

Perfection is a TALL, TALL, TALL order for a kid. It really truly is. So let's just say this is my PSA advocating for realism in parenting. Don't bullshit your kid and tell them things that aren't true, or label them something so impossible as perfect. Let them know that an 89 is not bad, and instead go over the test, see where errors were made, and set up a strategy for how such an error can be prevented in the future. Show them that mistakes are OK as long as they learn from them. Some people really think they're doing kids a favor with that "you're perfect" schpiel, but trust this crazy depressed writer, they're really, truly not.

All they are doing is setting them up for what could possibly be the biggest failure of their lives.



*smooches...trying to be OK with imperfection*
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talk about TALL orders...sheesh...might as well ask myself to find a cure for the common cold!

"And Now My Bitter Hands Cradle Broken Glass"

I suppose now I'm in that stage of grief known as anger because I had this urge to yell & inflict pain like I hadn't in a very long time.

I wanted to give the whole world the finger and yell FUCK YOU to everyone and everything. And after I was through with my tantrum I wanted to be left the fuck alone... can the world do me that little favor? Stop calling me? Talking to me? Looking my way? Asking me questions? Placing things on my desk? I'm just too angry to deal right now and I can't be responsible for the damage I'll leave behind in the wake of my wrath.

I wanted to be angry at my family, friends, my neighbors, the guy who owns the deli by the train station, just everybody. But honestly, I'm just angry at myself.

Suicide, Raquel? Really? Is that what's hot on the streets? Are you really that stupid and selfish and weak and useless? Really? In that case HERE... here's the knife. DO IT! And not across like a punk ass bitch but straight down the middle like you mean it. No? THEN SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH AND MAN UP!!!

So many things went through my head as I lay on the couch ignoring life. Things like how embarrassed I am about how I've behaved in the past few months. And fear that this "down cycle" won't see an "up" anytime soon and will only deteriorate into a situation I will no longer be able to control.

Then I thought- Will I pass out in the street and be discovered of all my self-destruction? Are they going to take my kids away because of this? Are they going to stick me somewhere and force me to take pills when my whole adult life has been about avoiding western medicine?

Are my demons too strong to fight? Do they outnumber me? Why am I here, when so many others more worthy have had to die?

And I think I've let you all believe that I'm falling apart over a man that I barely knew because it seemed easier to use him as a scapegoat for what's really wrong. What I haven't told you is that even before this "relationship" fell apart I was already silently losing it because I don't know how I'm going to pay my rent this month, or the next month, or the next month. And I haven't told you that I get calls and letters everyday from angry bill collectors that I cannot appease.

And that, on top of all this stress, I had a crisis of conscious recently when I had to admit to myself: I'm not agnostic because agnostics still believe in a higher power. I've considered myself agnostic since the mid-90s as I transitioned from Catholic to civilian. But I have to tell you, I don't feel the presence of ANY higher power anymore- not the Universe, not Mother Nature, nothing. I suppose it was only a matter of time before the word "atheist" reared it's ugly head... and let me tell you, it's such a dark and lonely feeling.

I kept playing this part and smiling and always answering with, "I'm okay" when I really wasn't. Then it was like the Perfect Storm of shit that could go wrong: job loss, dumped, no god to pray to. It's a wonder I'm still able to tie my shoelaces.



I guess, I just don't want anyone thinking I'd fall apart so easily over love gone wrong. There were many more serious things in the works and I hadn't chose to share it before out of pride and embarrassment, and I didn't want the Jesus Freaks to come out of hiding and try and "save" me.

It's just really hard to find a place in this world when there's nothing for your soul to hold on to.

I envy those of you with steadfast faith...disposable income...someone to hold you at night...


*smooches...losing myself in the 1990's*
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because honestly, only angry white boys speak to my pain right now

"I Needed Somewhere To Hang My Head Without Your Noose"

I had this whole week of posts written and scheduled by Monday morning, because I went through a myriad of emotions in just 2 lousy days.

But on my way home from my writing workshop I decided to chuck it all. Not because I'm cured or better or anything- there's still a sadness in me that I can't even begin to define- but because it's not what I wanted to say anymore. Just the fact that I'd written the words are almost enough; there's no need to poison the internets with it.

Besides, I do believe today I may have hit rock bottom, and this time The Voices were kind enough to give me the words to tell you what happened exactly as it happened.

I had to leave work early today, because sometime around 2-ish my heart started beating funny and my breathing became labored. I felt skittish and dizzy and I couldn't concentrate on the stupid article about Verizon spinning off their landlines to Frontier Communications. Of course I started to think it's because I hadn't eaten enough in the past few days, even though I had eaten 3/4 of a turkey burger from a local diner that day, and I got scared.

At around three, after having gone to the bathroom to splash water on my face and trying to force myself to relax, I came to the dramatic conclusion that if I was going to die I'd rather die in my own apt. I didn't want the office assistant to have to call the ambulance or the firefighters from upstairs... that would have been too humiliating. So I went home, and suffered what I can only describe as a full-on panic/anxiety attack.

I barely made it into the apartment (after texting Smarty Jones that it wasn't food poisoning but rather something more serious), hands shaking so much I could barely get the key in the door, before the sobs began. And I threw myself on the bed to just let it out but I couldn't control my breathing and I was freaking out. Then I felt like I had to throw up so I made my way to the bathroom, JUST BARELY, but could only muster a coughing fit. Still, my heart was racing and I was struggling to breathe.

And my phone was so far away it seemed; I really thought I was going to die there. All of a sudden I really couldn't control my breathing and just tore my clothes off and trashed my bathroom in a fit of rage, literally... it was so hot and I couldn't breathe and I didn't know why and I couldn't get to anyone. I jumped in the shower and was literally shaking all over and crying so hard. I finally just sat in the tub with the water washing over me, and even though my heart was still going a mile a minute I was cooling off and had stopped shaking a bit.

In the shower I thought about calling my mother to come get me, but then I remembered that we didn't have that kind of relationship where I could just do that. Then I thought I could call Minnie, ask her to take me to the hospital, anything, but I didn't want to make her leave work. I didn't want to bother her when I know she has her own shit going on.

I was a mess and felt so alone like there was no one I could turn to. All I'd wanted was to be left alone and there I was alone and I couldn't hang.

After the shower I threw on a shirt and I sat on my kitchen floor, window fan bringing in humid air from outside and was just a mess. I went to get my phone with the full intention of texting Irene and bailing on the workshop, but there was a text from Smarty... telling me to hop in a cold shower to help with my panic attack.

And next to my phone were the printouts of the stories for the workshop that night, already marked up and ready to be discussed. And it was only 4:30. I could still collect myself and go.

So I sat back on the kitchen floor in front of the fan and read the stories again and decided: I was going to get dressed, and I was going to attend this workshop with Irene and Theresa, and we were going to discuss literature and the craft & business of writing because this meeting was my baby; I'd wanted this and said I would be there and since when am I a person who doesn't keep her word?

And I'm glad I went.



I got so lost for a while there; I really just lost myself. I'd been praying for death, for this whole episode to pass over me and when I came face to face with it although part of me was like, "Take me already" my body was still fighting to breathe.

It's just not natural to want to die, it isn't. Your body will fight it to the very end.

And I guess it took a panic attack (and some well-placed angels) to teach me that.

*smooches...thinking this time, for real, I may need a professional*
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... and that if they prescribe medication I may just need to suck it up and take it. but of course I would have this epiphany just when I lose my medical insurance, right? ugh

"There Are Many Things That I Would Like To Say To You But I Don't Know How "

*sigh*

Well, whattaya know, I'm still depressed! Go figure... but I'm trying to keep busy so that I don't end up soliciting any more one night stands off Craigslist (don't judge me, monkey). Like volunteering and shit busy (maybe this week), spending time with friends busy (I'll try and get to that real soon) and making sure I get out of the house for at least an hour a day busy (well, I'm going to work... does that count?). Maybe some day soon I may even get myself to a gym. I hear those endorphins are real good at getting the brain to act right.

In the meantime, this is what's what:

1- I re-activated my Twitter account but am using it sparingly. I felt like I had been gone forever but according to my last update it was only 12 days since I'd logged on. Either way I whittled my followers down to about 15 and am following about 25. It feels a little better. Maybe in the next few weeks I'll feel well enough to start posting on a regular basis. Tell no one. The blog, however, will remain on lock-down indefinitely.

2- I've lost like 10lbs. Yup- from 185 to 176 in just one swift breakup/breakdown. Depression kinda suits me. Now my clothes fit better. Still, as I write this my stomach is grumbling like a BIYOTCH but I don't think I'll feed it for another 30mins. Do I have an eating disorder? Of course I do! My life is out of control so this is how I gain it back, blah blah blah... yeah, I saw that movie, too. But I know what I'm doing so shut the fuck up. Am I just saying all that to justify an eating disorder? You bet your ass I am.

3- I want you to understand... I'm not sad because he dumped me. It's not about him... it's never about the dude. Even in '06 when I took to my bed for a week after that Guyanese bastard dumped me it wasn't about him. It's about no longer feeling special, important, pretty, etc. Add that to my already crumbling psyche due to serious financial troubles and this is the result. It's about being knocked off a pedestal by the very people who put you there. I don't do well with that. Now I know how has-been actors & musicians feel when the fans stop caring about them. *Remind me to look up Corey Haim and give him a hug.

4- It turns out I can't go home this summer after all and that just made me sink into a deeper hole of sadness and self-destruction. I wanted to lay on that beach and release all this pent up SOMETHING. I wanted to visit Grandma and make my peace with her. I wanted to have a dangerous liaison with a DominiCOON thug to boost my ego. But alas... it's not looking good. I need to make some serious money like NOW. But do you realize how hard it is to drum up new business when you barely have the energy to get out of bed and breathe?

5- I lied. I am sad because he dumped me. And not so much because it means no great love affair, but because I also lost what I thought was blossoming into a cool friendship. It wasn't all kissy-face n shit- that's only what you saw or heard about because that's what people chose to photograph and talk about. But when it was just the two of us we had many great laughs about simple, ordinary things that had nothing to do with nakedness. Or at least I thought so. Maybe I misjudged the whole thing. But either way, I miss his laugh and it hurts to think that he doesn't miss mine. It hurts a lot.



*smooches...wanting so badly to feel better but not even coming close*
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and I apologize for being a pansy-ass'd weak little sniveling girl about this. I promise that I'm trying to get better. I'm even contemplating dusting off my bike. Of course, that would mean I'd have to eat more than 500 calories a day...

"I Don't Want Your Remedy"

OK, the last of the memory lane posts so I tried to find you a good one. It was hard to choose but I think I did good. Not just because it's a tale of me dismissing some lil young dude who tried to talk to me at a club, but because, in the comments, I wrote, "I'm sorry but dudes from Jersey are Wanksters... you heard it here first!" and to this day it's still the gospel truth.

But anyway, this was also the night I was supposed to meet Eb for the first time and it didn't work out because her slow ass got there all late and was not allowed in (the place was at capacity) so she left. And despite the fact it mentions The Haitian, I still like this post and the comments that followed:

Reason #28,993 Why I Love NY
Saturday started out pretty slow; just me in my apartment not doing anything productive. But then that evening I faced the rain and wind and made my way to the City for Hip Hop Karaoke. It was a tribute night to Biggie and SO SO SO much fun.

Of course I did NOT participate (in the Jaded bylaws it specifically states that I am forbidden from actively participating in any activities that might, in any way, be misconstrued as "fun"), but I enjoyed the night. Even though I never connected with the other bloggers I was s'posed to meet up with (sorry, hon!) and I had to get hood with this youngblood who tried to step to me:

Wack-ass Young Guy (WAYG): What's your name shorty?

Me: (I gave my fake name, the one I use when I don't want to give my real name. Jack knows it...)

WAYG: What school you go to, 'cause I know you go to school...

ME: (giving him the side-eye) I been out of school, son!

WAYG: Word? How old are you?

Me: 32

WAYG: WORD? Yo, you a fine 32

Me: (rolling my eyes) Gee, thanks.

WAYG: So where you from?

Me: Brooklyn

WAYG: I'm from Jersey

Me: (I can't remember exactly what I said, but it was something like...) Oh, I don't talk to guys from Jersey...

WAYG: (ignoring my comment and RESTING HIS DAMN CHIN ON MY SHOULDER, cause did I mention he was short??) So can I get your number?

Me: (channeling Dave Chappelle's rendition of Dylan in his "Making the Band" skit) YOU TOO CLOSE, HOMIE, BACK THE FUCK UP.

That seemed to do the trick. I gotta remember that for next time. And I know, I let that convo go on for entirely too long, but I thought he'd leave me alone when he realized that every time I answered a question I would turn my back to him. Whatever...

But yo, seriously, check out the next show on April 4th. Did I mention that it's free??

THEN, while I was on my way home and looking for an excuse NOT to go home, I met up with my favorite Haitian at a loft party in the Slope at like 4AM (which was really 3AM, but, you know, Daylight Savings and all).

I mean crazy techno and world music with hype men on the mic, leftover club kids, smoking indoors (of all kinds; an no I did NOT partake...), cheap liquor, live drummers, videos playing on the walls, white girls giving lap dances...the whole nine! Can you say PAR-TAY?! Needless to say I'll be back...

I just know no other place in this country is as much fun as NYC... And that whole night only set me back $14...don't hate...





*smooches...wondering if I'll be in the mood for writing next week*
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lets find out together, shall we?

"And So We Go Back To The Remedy"

I go through these phases where I'll drink like a fish and then stop drinking for months and months.

Here's a tale from my "drinking like a fish" nights:

Who Needs a Liver Anyways?
Not since Jack was in town last November have I had so much to drink as I did last night.

I met up with Lani for a little girls night out and instead it was more like a "girls night of binge drinking and table dancing!" That's right, you read correctly, TABLE DANCING. Thank goodness I had the twins securely fastened and covered up- that bar was not ready for me. Lani on the other hand...

It started off innocently enough. We met at Swift on 4th street to chat it up and just spend some time together- it had been too long since I'd seen this chick! We bashed, then praised, then bashed men again and next thing you know it was two beers later and we were headed to another bar to meet up with a friend of hers.

At Tom & Jerry's on Elizabeth (off Houston) we hang out with Lani's friend and his motley crew of peeps, which included the owner of the bar. Can we say, "free drinks?" Hell yeah, my niggaz! And about five beers later some guy named Russel is convincing me that one more beer won't kill me. And somehow he makes a good point. What's one more beer?

Sometime later we head to yet another beer, er, bar, where everybody is shit-faced and the upstairs is full of half-naked people grinding on each other. Some more beer is placed in front of me and my mother did not raise a rude chick...so I drank it and the next one I was handed, too.

That's when I was asked to join Lani and two of the waitresses up on the bar for a little Coyote Ugly 2-step. Napkins were flying like confetti. Lani was flashing her new and very cool tat. We all held on to the ceiling for dear life. Fun was had by all.

Never mind that it was 4AM and I had to attend Mayor Bloomberg's press conference the next afternoon. Never mind that as I type this the smell of breakfast from my landlord's apartment is making chunks rise in my throat. Never mind that this fucking room won't stop SPINNING!

Drinking, dancing and singing along badly to Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar On Me" in a bar with your friends? PRICELESS!



*smooches...currently in a phase where I don't care for a drink*
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in my state of mind I don't think it would be wise to partake of anymore alcohol for a while; I hear it gives people the courage to do shit they normally wouldn't do. And let's just say, for the sake of argument, y'all might need me to NOT have the courage to do some shit I've been thinking of.

"The Remedy Is The Experience"

Anyone who knows me well (or has been reading this blog for a while) knows that when it is PMS WEEK I am not one to be fucked with.

But in case you didn't know, let me remind you with this little blogger rewind:

Officer, I Tried to Warn Them...
I’m here to warn you for the last fucking time- when I’m riding the crimson wave, especially now that I'm no longer taking Aleve, just stay out of my fucking way…

You, trying to push your way into the already crowded subway car. What do you think- I’m standing in front of the door just to greet you at the station? What the fuck do you want me to do? Sit on somebody’s lap? There’s nowhere for me to move. Wait for the next fucking train!!!

And you, taking up the sidewalk at a snail’s pace with your 50 kids and 100 dogs. Move out of the fucking way! You don’t own the block. Real people with real lives and actual jobs are trying to get to work, lard ass! And while I’m at it, let me introduce you to a little something I like to call BIRTH CONTROL…

Oh and you, missy, with the handbag, briefcase, lunchbox, gym bag, scuffed, Manolo knock-off’s in a Victoria’s Secret shopping bag, bulky coat, coffee and big-ass New York Times…must you sit next to me with all your fucking luggage? Must I smell your mocha, half-caf grossness every fucking morning?? Must I smell whatever piss-water you bought at Perfumania last week as I try to keep the chunks from rising in my throat? And can you PUH-LEESE learn to fold the paper properly so you’re not shoving the Metropolitan Diary up my nose?

And let’s not forget you- Mr. One-Night-Stand who can’t take NO for an answer. What part of “I’m not interested anymore” do you not understand? Why should I care that you’re having an affair with a married woman? Or that you have to run an errand for your mom on Long Island? AND HOW FUCKING DARE YOU CALL ME AT 4AM FOR A BOOTY-CALL??? WHAT THE FUCK???

If you all don’t just leave me the hell alone to be and breathe and find my goddamned inner peace in PEACE, I swear on all that is holy and un-holy on this god-forsaken island: I MIGHT JUST HAVE TO STAB YOU.



*smooches...wondering how I haven't snapped yet*
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I'm such a control freak that it kills me that Lady Estrogen is able to take over my life for two weeks out of every month.

"Can I Have Some Remedy?"

So the babies are here this week and no matter how low and dark I feel I always make it a point to keep it from them. No need to let them know how fucked up in the head I really am. I want them to enjoy their childhood without worrying about whether or not they will come home to whatever... I just want them to look back on their time with me as happy, regardless of the inner turmoil I can't seem to shake.

In order to help me fake the funk, this week I'm going to revisit old blog posts that actually make me crack a smile. I can't give you anything new right now because all I have is darkness and sadness and I think you've had quite enough of that, no? Shit I know if I was a reader I'd be like, "What the fuck? Either get a shrink or just fucking kill yourself already!"

But that's just me.

Anyways... back to the trip down memory lane:

Picture it, Brooklyn, 2006...

Why I'd Support Segregated Night Clubs...
Saturday night: the quintessential night for party animals, horny toads and alcoholics. You plaster on the makeup, squeeze your tired feet into the cutest, most painful heels you own, and head out for a night on the town. You get there and meet up with your girlfriends. You're all ready to party- everybody's had a shitty week and drinks are needed ASAP. The music is good, the spot's not too crowded, the bouncers are crackin jokes with you- it's all good.

Then, he appears, almost as if he has a radar on you: Drunk White Guy. You can only imagine what kind of geek/nerd he must be during the week, because on the weekend, with a little help from his friend Jack Daniels, Drunk White Guy is a complete asshole.

He's fascinated with your hair. He jumps in on your conversation. You move away and he saunters over again. You figure he's got a scorching case of jungle fever but no self-respecting woman of color will give him the time of day. But he marches on in his quest. It doesn't help that the DJ has decided to switch up the Sean Paul and Ludacris with a little Joan Jett and the Blackhearts and Poison. Now he feels empowered- you're on Drunk White Guy's turf now.

Finally, you can take no more. You're from Bed-Stuy, goddamit- DO OR DIE; you don't have to put up with this shit. You just want to pull out your box cutter and show him why he needs to stay away from you, show him what's really hood. But even with the whisky and beer in your system, you know that going to jail is not that cool. So you follow your girls out for a cigarette break and he finally gets the message. Drunk White Guy moves on to a poor, unsuspecting Asian Girl. Better her than you.

Note: This post was brought to you by my night at Plan B, located at 339 E10th Street, and by the fine people at Simone's on St Marks Place who took us in after we decided that going back in to face Drunk White Guy was not the way we wanted to spend our night out. They make yummy martinis, too.



*smooches...hiding out in my memories*
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listen- don't knock it til you've tried it, ok?

"Pero El Tiempo Me Estaba Engañando Mi Niña Se Hacía Mujer"

I'm taking a break from my downward spiral... it's my daughter's birthday and today I cannot let on that I'm dying on the inside.

Today I have to paint on my smile and forget myself for a moment.

It's all about her today.



Happy 14th Birthday, K!

xoxo
Momma



*smooches...just for my baby girl*
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I danced this song with Papi when I turned 15 at my non-quinceañera party. I guess it's OK for me to play it for her a year early, right?

"Just Don't Treat Me Like I Am Something That Happened To You"

Friends, Romans, countrymen, permit me to get some angryness off my chest real quick...

I hate nothing more on this planet than for people to not tell me when they have an issue with me. I've been guilty of doing the same to others, but whatever, I hate it lots and lots when it's done to me.

If, for whatever reason, your feelings for me have changed, it would have been nice to hear that from your lips. And in this technologically advanced world, honestly, I would have even accepted a text, IM or email. Hell, even Berger had the "decency" to give Carrie the infamous Post-It note.

It's the guessing games, backstabbing and radio silence that just isn't right.

Could this be payback for the times I've done it to others? Probably. But it still feels like shit and I'm not sure I deserve it. In fact, I know I don't. I worked so hard to evict Depression and in one swift non-move you invited it back. I know that after I'm done sulking and crying and isolating myself from you I will be fine because I've done it before and frankly, I don't have a choice. I still have a life to lead, a career to salvage and kids to raise. And in the end you will just be a footnote in the book of my life.

For now, though, please excuse me as I drown myself in some Ani DiFranco, work, sun-bathing, cheesy movies and back issues of Martha Stewart Living.



*smooches...secure in the notion that I still have real friends in this world*
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And as I write this, I'm watching Hav Plenty with a big ol smile on my face (HAVILAND: Lee, how come you've never tried to kiss me? LEE: Because you have psychological problems), so my world isn't all shitty all the time. this is all temporary and I know it.

PS- this song, Adam & Eve, is the one that inspired the tattoo on my back, with its lyric: "I just happen to like apples and I'm not afraid of snakes"

Don't you just LOVE IT?!?!

"God's Work Isn't Done By God It's Done By People"

Let me tell you how desperate I've been for direction and solutions lately... I thought about going to church. I KNOW! Crazy, right? But there's this Catholic church by me and I thought, for like a good solid hour, what if I just went and sat with the priest and unloaded? Free therapy, right? Tell him everything dark and empty about myself and be absolved and cleansed and embraced by god's mercy and light, right? Sounds beautifully perfect, right?

WRONG.

Know why? Because I don't believe in it, and if I'd done that I'd be lying to myself, the priest, his god and the Universe. I'd just be going through the motions, same as I did when I was a kid, blindly following church dogma because that's what I was taught to do, not because I believed in it.

In the end I knew it would leave me emptier and darker than I already was.

Some of you are probably wondering why I would even think of going back to the very church that, in all honesty, caused the majority of my mental issues, but the truth is that without the generosity of Catholic charities I might not have been born. And without them I would not have ended up as scholarly as I am today. And without the church breathing down my neck all the time, I probably would have gotten pregnant at 15 like everybody else in my neighborhood. I kinda owe them my life, as sad and pathetic as it is. So whenever I try to solve my problems with spiritual guidance I turn to them first out of loyalty and habit, but I always stop short because I know it won't work.

I don't want to hear that my rewards are in heaven; I can't live off of that. I want my rewards here on earth. And I don't mean monetary rewards (although, hey, I wouldn't kick money out of bed!) but basic human needs-type of rewards. Like knowing that I made a difference, that I mattered, that I was important to someone's life, that my existence was for a real, concrete reason. Selfish, I know, but selfless, too, in the sense that this realization made me WANT TO make a difference, matter, and all that good stuff. And the best way I could think to do that was to take this free time I've been afforded, this free time that I craved so badly until I actually got it, and use it better, use it to make a difference, use it to matter, and only ask for validation in return.

All I want is to know that I'm not nothing. It's not enough to have people tell me that; I have to actually feel it for myself.

Up Up Up Up Up Up - Ani DiFranco

And that's the journey I'm currently on. I just hope it takes me someplace warm and sandy with fruity drinks and fresh, steamed lobster... what? I never said I was Mother Theresa...

*smooches...determined to make something out of nothing*
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step number one, without a doubt, I gotta clean house. literally AND figuratively. chaos, it turns out, is not really my friend. it was just pretending... skanky whore...

"There's Never Been An Endeavor So Strange As Trying To Slow The Blood In My Veins"

Disclaimer: I don't anyone to freak out when you read this... take a deep breath and know that everything is better now and that although I was at the brink, on the ledge and all that, I never took it there, and probably never REALLY intended it. OK? Ready? Remember, don't freak out... if you do then I won't feel right telling you anything ever again. OK? Promise? OK...

I recently let my mind go to a place that I swore I'd never let it go, but thankfully I came to my senses.

I couldn't find the words (ME, the WRITER, couldn't find the WORDS) to re-tell the tale as it happened because The Voices- you know, the ones with the REAL talent- kept turning it into a creative piece, embellishing it at every turn, so I decided to not fight the power or the creative brain.

So if you want to read the semi-autobiographical tale of my dance with the devil (meaning it's not 100% accurate) you can click here for my creative writing blog and check it out.

But remember, you promised NOT to freak out.



*smooches...happy for the music and musicians that bring me back to life*
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especially ani... I swear she has a song for everything that ails me. she is MY Michael Jackson, for real...

"It's Quiet Here Except For This Song Now That Everybody's Gone"

Welcome to my teeny tiny rebirth as a private citizen.

I have to admit- as much as it feels incredibly liberating it's also a little sad. But no looking back now so lets get on with the show.

Ever since my divorce summer has been particularly hard for me, because it leaves me with entirely too much time on my hands. This summer I'm only freelancing 3 days a week at the office so imagine all the idleness going on in my life right now!

Technically I'm supposed to be writing, looking for work, cleaning my apartment, applying for any and every social program available to my financially-challenged ass but no, mostly when I'm here I'm hunting for stuff to watch online, igniting IM affairs with dudes younger than Mari (ego stroking, you know?) and laying around, living in a movie I like to call "Sad and Sadder" starring me and The Voices.

But it's not 100% sucky. I've realized a few essential things about myself and others, have had amazing heart-to-heart with the most amazing friends a girl could have (Jack & L... you're both PRICELESS to me) and realized that no matter how unloved I feel it's not the truth.

Because Sunday when I left my kids in NJ with Mami N cried, and yesterday K called to say she had a bad dream that Manhattan was under siege again and that she couldn't get in touch with me to see if I was alright, and she broke down on the phone.

So fuck all those hos that made me cry and hurt and upset and doubt my worth, because there are at least two little girls who consider me the center of their universe.



And if I didn't think I had a reason to even exist in the last few weeks (yes, it did get that bad... I'm good at hiding it, no?), I just found one.

*smooches...for giving me another reason to want oxygen in my lungs*
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and for that I'm giving you a tiny gift in the form of a cliche, a lesson I learned the hard way: All that glitters isn't gold. use it wisely, grasshopper!

"Why Don't You Just Take Your Bow Cuz Who's Gonna Love You Now?"

Listen, you guys, I love you all to death, really I do. But I've been living my life online for almost three years now and I'm starting to think it might be a major contributor to my unhappiness.

Sure it's great to have a place to vent, but I miss that my venting place used to be a journal and that my successes and failures used to be private and only available to a chosen few. Like, since when did I get so vain that I had to record every minute of my life for an audience?

Even worse- my fingers have almost forgotten how to even hold a pen and I cannot accept that.

Usually I take one or two week breaks to get my mind right, but this time I don't need the break just a new start. I've made a tough decision- from now on The Jaded NYer will be a private blog, closed off the the general public and only available to my closest friends and subscribers- the original intended audience. I've already shut down my Twitter account and am really debating on whether or not to get rid of Facebook, but this blog, with three years' worth of blood sweat and tears written all over it, I just couldn't delete... there's no way I could just erase it all.

It has really been amazing writing for you, getting to know you, reading and responding to your comments and reading a lot of your blogs, too. But this is not my world. And even if it is, I don't want it to be my world anymore. It's just not for me.

Maybe I'm just upset right now and I'll change my mind and open up for the public after I've figured out my life, but for now consider this my swan song.

Arrivederci tutti!

What How When Where (Why Who) - Ani DiFranco

*smooches...entering a new phase of my life that does not include all of you*
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that sounded incredibly harsh; it's not meant as a dis, just trying to cleanse myself and begin anew as best I can. I wish you all the best in the world, every happiness you've ever dreamed of... I want it for you... so please know that I'm just chasing after mine

"A Place Where I Can Find Happiness"

It's BEACH DAY... by the time many of you read this I will already be roasting in the sun, soaking in some much needed color so that my kid can stop calling me "white" and "yellow" and all variations of non-brown.

My love affair with the beach and the sun and the shore is in my blood; I may have been born on THIS island, but that OTHER island calls to me all the time. With it's clear waters, clean sand, fresh seafood, guava trees.

Me llama todos los dias con una bella cancion romantica...



I pray for the day when DR gets it's electricity issues sorted out. I will give NYC the DEUCES so fast, y'all don't even know.

Deseo cubrirme en la sabana de mi isla, mi Quisqueya, mi refugio del mundo...

This summer, my one goal (besides ensuring that I can pay my bills and all that) is to go to DR. Even if it's by myself. I need it so bad I can taste it. I need to be there, be peaceful, be doted on, be near Grandma, dip my feet in my waters, lay on my sand, eat my fresh seafood and pick guavas off my tree.

Uno de estos días me voy y nadie sabrá hasta que ya he desaparecido...



That's the only thing I can see right now; fuck everything else. I want to go home.

*smooches...looking at flights everyday like a fiend*
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in the meantime, NYC area beaches will have to suffice. enjoy your weekend!

"Found The Remedy, I Had To Set You Free"

Those who follow me on Twitter know that on Wednesday morning I had the pleasure of being only a few feet away from Maxwell while he performed some songs for the CBS Early Show.

True story: I was introduced to his music back in college when Celia (my roommate for you newbies) bought the CD; I think we were sophomores but I can't remember. We played it over and over it was so damn good. Like every freakin song was THAT GOOD. And then when the video came out for Ascension I was all like HUMUNAHUMUNAHUMUNA and just in love... y'all know I love me some Bohemian men! I mean the hair, the voice, oooh he was so smooth!

Fast-forward to just a few months ago, I let myself be convinced that he didn't play for my team, and that his new haircut (which debuted on BET like a year ago) ruined the whole vibe I'd fallen for. And even though his single "Pretty Wings" was so beautiful and just classic Maxwell, like enough to make me love him again even though the hair was gone, the rest of the CD left me all BLAH because only three songs on there caught my attention. I was so ready to write him off.

Then came Wednesday.

I'm happy to report that he and I are in love again. We've patched things up and plan on renewing our vows real soon.



And speaking of exes... I suppose I didn't get the memo that was clearly sent to mine, reminding them to pop up at the weirdest places and just slap me awake.

Like when I showed up at ShellyShell's party and saw The Haitian on the one's & two's. WTF? Really? So I'm just expected to bump n grind all night with that jerk spinning the tunes? I can't tell you how much alcohol I had to consume in order to force myself to ignore the fact that his dreads were looking SEX-AY all down his back n shit.

Or, just Wednesday, when, as I sat and enjoyed a late lunch with Eb & The F$%k-It List, Navy Guy just strolled by our table with his new chick. REALLY, Universe? Like for real you're just gonna have him walk by my table with his broad shoulders and washboard abs and those LIPS (LORD THOSE LIPS)... and some skinny white chick on his arm? REALLY?

I swear if I run into Cali Dude or Mr. Baseball this weekend I'm punching somebody in the face because this cannot be my life.

Dear Exes: When I'm through with you, you're not supposed to stay good-looking NOR are you supposed to even still exist. You're supposed to disappear so I never have to be reminded of what it was like to wake up next to you the next morning.

xoxo,
Jaded



Maybe I just need to get the hell out of Dodge? Could it be that I've fucked too many NYC dudes?

*smooches...looking for a fresh victim something new*
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and don't ask 'bout that other dude I mentioned in my "fear factor" post. that, um, isn't working out. story of my life.

"Or Did I Come Along And Hit You With The Futuristic?"

I'm seeing The Roots tonight and I'm so excited I could burst. Why? OMG if you have to ask then please exit stage left of my blog and never return. EVER.

A lot of things are shifting for me this week. YES I'm on a sort of vacation while still pounding the pavement, but it's not all fun and games, folks. I also did some soul-searching in the wee hours of the night.

It's crazy hot in my apartment so my sleep was really restless on Monday. Sure, I could've gotten up to get the fan from the kitchen, but "lazy" won over "hot" so I just alternated from hiding under the covers from sheer frustration with my brain to throwing the covers across the room because it was so damn HOT.

What was I busy thinking about? God, a better question would be what WASN'T I thinking about. I can tell you for sure I was NOT thinking about how that crazy Korean wants to annihilate us, so at least there's that. And I can tell you that I did not shed any tears (PROGRESS!) during this thinking session, although if I had they would have been angry tears because DAMMIT- would it have killed the Universe to send me a damn breeze? Ugh it was so hot...

But I was thinking about my life and what I've made of it. Who I am to me and others. What place I have in this world to myself and to others. The decisions I've made and still need to make, and most importantly, my self worth.

It was so fitting that this morning I get an email from a friend saying that Beach Day should be at Robert Moses [the nude beach] and my first reaction was I'M A NASTY FAT PIG WHO BARELY DESERVES TO LEAVE THE HOUSE. And after I thought that it was like, wow, did Monday night's sleeplessness mean NOTHING to you? Yeah, I gotta work on that self worth thing is what really jumped out at me during that exchange, and it led me to some pretty drastic and probably reactionary decisions about how to change that.

Number 1- I cannot give and give to those who don't care about what I'm giving, for whatever reason. I only have but so much; I can barely afford to just give it away like candy n shit.

Number 2- I cannot care too much what everyone else is doing or thinking or saying and just handle my own affairs as best as I can.

Number 3- I cannot pass up on opportunities and adventures that are presented to me just because I'm all chickenshit. This is no longer an option. Dear Fear: Keep playing and you'll be looking for Section 8 housing with your buddy Depression over there... you've been warned.



I'm telling you... y'all ain't ready for this Depression-free Jaded. You're just not.

*smooches...breaking you off with some Jaded knowledge*
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don't say I never gave yo punk-asses nothing...

"Imagination...Life Is Your Creation"

This is my first real week as a full time freelancer and I have to say, despite the fact that my usual $2.50 paycheck is now $1.25, I'm really enjoying the free time.

I have time to meditate on my sofa in the morning at my leisure, as opposed to rushing out the door and attempting it on the subway. I can have breakfast, have a nice shower, check in with my internet friends via Twitter, read all the blogs in my Goggle Reader... it's nice.

I even had time yesterday to catch up with two of the lovely NYC Blogging Ladies, Eb the Celeb and ShellyShell- on a Monday! Isn't that just the coolest?

The shock of losing my steady income was pretty brutal but lets be honest, folks- I LOATHED (and still do) that office and was looking for a way out. So I quickly shook it off and just rolled with it. YES the student loan people are not going to be happy with this new development but you know what? Fuck 'em; they shoulda never loaned me that bitch ass amount of money in the first place!

So this first week I think I'm going to, not only secure additional freelance gigs to contribute to the rent fund at Casa Penzo, but also take advantage of this beautiful weather in this beautiful city with some beautiful people.

And the best part is I can do all of that with what's leftover of my $1.25 paycheck, 'cause my Mami gave me an unlimited MetroCard. I know you're jealous...

Barbie Girl - Aqua sélectionné dans Musique et Clips

*smooches...eating salad all week to prep for Beach Day*
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oh yes, bitchezzz! I bought a suit, I got my shades, towel, sunscreen and if Mr. Golden Sun will honor us with his presence on Friday, I've promised to head on out and worship him. I cannot wait to get some color in my cheeks- both of them- again!

"There Was Nothing In The World That I Ever Wanted More"

Oy vey, what a weekend! Not the usual alcohol soaked debauchery, but rather the cleaning and cooking and yard work that will now forever be tied to family gatherings because Mami bought a house. Not that I'm really complaining because I love the house and she deserves it, but OUCH! No one told me that trimming the fucking hedges was like a goddamn biceps & triceps workout, and I hate you all for keeping this bit of information from me.

But that's neither here nor there. YES, we had fun and I love family gatherings, but I wanted to touch upon something today that occurred to me this weekend as I played my iPod to accompany me on the household chore quest.

I tie music in to many memories, as I'm sure a lot of us do. Hell, this blog was named after the lyrics to one of my favorite singer/songwriters. But I also noticed that after a while, what the song used to mean to me and the memory it was attached to has lost all meaning.

Shortly after THE BREAK UP HEARD AROUND THE WORLD, I could not listen to Sean Paul's "I'm Still In Love With You" without falling into a fit of tears. And even after I accepted the break up I'd hear the song and get misty.

But a funny thing happened on my way to mop the bathroom floor and the song began to play: I was no longer taken back to the spring of 2006 when all my free time was set aside for him. Instead, I was reminded that I really, really, really want to learn the choreography from the video and now that Mami has a house with ample space and no downstairs neighbors to annoy, I can. And then one of The Voices was all, "Remember when this song used to make you think of D?" and all the other Voices stomped her ass to the ground (there might be a video of the ass-whooping on YouTube; I'm not sure).

Other songs began to mean different things to me, too: Juan Luis Guerra's "Si Tu Te Vas" no longer took me back to DR circa 1985 but rather to MSG just last year when I heard him sing that shit live and it was AWESOME. And Prince's "Adore" no longer tugged at me as the song I was s'posed to use at my wedding to a man I didn't even adore; it is now just a sexy ass song that only Prince can pull off, even in my wildest fantasies.

I call that shit progress.

See what happens when you evict Depression?



*smooches...trying to create the illusion that I have enough booty for windin'*
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while simultaneously letting go of a lot of shit that I don't have the energy to carry on my shoulders anymore...

Jaded Photographs 2009: July Edition

"Love Needs Expression"

Shes Out Of My Life - Michael Jackson

*smooches...knowing that The Universe has its reasons*
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I saw this rainbow on Saturday after Michael passed and it made me think about the circle of life (don't ask!). and even though I wasn't among the masses that felt the need to suck on his nutz the minute he died, I know he was a tortured soul who finally got some peace. so here it is.

"Darling In You I Found Strength Where I Was Torn Down"

Tomorrow is America's Independence Day, but I think, as I chill in Mami's back yard surrounded by friends and family and New Jersey suburbia, I will declare it MY independence day from Depression.

I don't mind The Voices; those bitchez have been here since I don't even know when.

But Depression? Nah, heifer, you gots to go. No more room at the inn. Don't let the doorknob hit ya where the good lord split ya. For real.

READERS: "And just how do you intend to just up and evict Depression, Raquel, when so many others have had to seek the help of medical professionals and pharmaceuticals?"

BITCH are you NEW? I say who gets to stay and who gets to go up in this piece. And Depression has NOT been pulling its own weight around here and some of The Voices are starting to complain. The bitch just HAS TO go.

And now that Madame Sunshine is back, I think it's the perfect time to do so.

Well, that and all the love, blessings, motivation and inspiration I've gotten lately from friends, family and the internets kinda gave me the shove in the right direction that I needed.

Don't get a big head about it n shit.

Youre All I Need To Get By - Marvin Gaye

*smooches...handing out big e-hugs like goody bags*
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now don't you guys eat too much this weekend; I expect to see y'all out on the beach w/me on Wednesdays & Fridays n shit, you know, 'cause I ain't got no job no mo'

"Drove The Chevy To The Levy But The Levy Was Dry"

My misery is definitely not the type that likes company. If I'm feeling like shit and then the person next to me feels like shit I immediately try my hardest to help them see the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

So it does NOT comfort me to know that I'm the only one about to have serious money trouble because employers cannot make payroll. THE STATE OF CALIFORNIA IS FREAKIN BROKE, y'all. I cannot even fathom that. Remember when getting a government job meant instant job security? No one ever figured the government would just up and go broke. Pension funds underfunded; cut-backs, lay-offs, furloughs... paying bills with IOUs... WHAT. THE. FUCK?

And it's not just Cali; there are like 10(?) other states that started the fiscal year without a budget. Really, Connecticut? Indiana? Really? Where is all your money???

I mean, can I pay Verizon with an IOU, too? How do you think Cablevision would handle it if I said, "Nah, homie, not this month, but I got you in October, for real."

This is such a sad and scary time to be an American IN America. And I can't even pack up and move anywhere because a lot of OUR money helped other places thrive. So if WE'RE broke, THEY'RE broke.

Alls I know is, it's RENT WEEK and I have to hand over a big-ass check to my landlord, and then I have to give Verizon another big ass check, and then I have to plan a birthday for N and take K to see Wicked and feed them and get them ready for school, on a salary that was already measly BEFORE my hours got cut.

I was sitting here all "woe is me" until I realized SHIT- "woe is us!!" And it didn't make me feel better, not by a long shot, but it made me scared. Then mad. Then determined not to lose my apartment or my internet service or my phone. I may have to set aside my pride (don't scoff if you see me at the market using a Benefits card... fuck all you hos 'cause my babies have to eat) but I cannot let this beat me.

And I will NOT allow it to beat you, either. For all it's faults, this is not how or why this country was founded, so let's take a page from the early settlers and help each other out, mmkay?

If you live near a bunch of your friends, buy groceries together and take turns hosting dinner. Carpool. Have a clothing exchange. If you have a special skill, share it with one another for free (i.e. I'm pretty good w/hair as long as you don't need anything to specific or complicated done. Can't afford the salon? Come over here w/your products and tools and I'll do your hair. I hate household chores... I'll trade you a hairdo for a clean kitchen or bathroom!)

Whatever it takes (within the law, of course!) do not let this beat us.

This is America, dammit. That's not how we roll!



*smooches...filling out retail job applications like a teenager*
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nobody wants to pay writers a fair wage? fine. fuck y'all. I'll just do something else. I still know how to say, "Do you want fries with that?"

"Freedom Is Just Another Word For Nothing Left To Lose"

BEFORE WE GET TO THE POST: good people of blogland, show some love to my girl Celia who's celebrating a birthday down in lovely, lovely Key West!!!



NO is a powerful thing. And ever since I stopped doing the horizontal Watusi last spring, decided I had it up to "here" with my job and encountered my latest in a long line of money troubles, NO has become a sort of new BFF. I think I'm entering a phase in my life where my answer to everything is "Fuck all you hos" so don't be all verklempt next time I turn you down.

As in:

NO I cannot help you figure out Photoshop because I am not Tech Support- they make way more money than I do- I'm only the staff writer, and there is such a thing called HELP attached to the Adobe software. If you want me to be Tech Support then pay me more.

NO I cannot hang out after work at that fancy place because I have $20 to my name until my next payday which also happens to be rent week so yeah, these $20 have to last.

NO I will not give you my phone number just because our friends think we should date because the reality is I don't find you attractive, I don't want you to call me and my Netflix movies excite me more than the thought of you.

NO I didn't invite you over while the babies were gone for Spring Break because you tend to behave inappropriately no matter how many times I ask you to stop and I'll be damned if I'm going to feel uncomfortable in my own apartment.

NO I will not come over anymore because I always trick myself into thinking "This time will be different; this time he'll make me fall in love with him" and instead I leave abruptly longing for a time machine.

NO I will not even acknowledge your phone calls or emails or IMs. Can you just go away? The days of me pining over you are soooooo 1986.

And I can't even tell you how freeing it is...

Me And Bobby McGee - Janis Joplin

*smooches...thinking the only thing I really can't say no to is blogging*
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what is this HOLD that Blogger has over me? why can't I quit you, Blogger? WHY???