Mad Passionate Love, I Say, Mad Mad Mad

Trust myself in the process. Through the process. Have faith in another person’s choices. Because if it weren’t possible; if people couldn’t change for the better (or potentially even the worse) all the psychiatrists on this wide universe would be out of business. Side of the road. Luggage in hand. And let me tell you, I’ve known and conversed with quite a many, and none of them have empty pockets.

Because it is maddening. Going against your best judgments to go beyond what you know you’ve been conditioned to be thus far. Because it has to fully unteach you what every other bad experience has taught you. It has to be the feeling with your heart that says ‘go slow’—but the feeling in your mind that says ‘you still have to go.’

Because it has to be the big hugs for the small reasons.

The consistencies. Never wanting to leave.

It’s got to be wide and mad.

I don’t know how to feel it anymore, do you?

 I don’t know I’ve really felt it before.


Thanks For Reading My Mind, Couldn’t Have Done So Better Myself

I met a girl in Forever21 yesterday.  Cute, skinny, brown chic with high energy and style. I was twirling in the mirror as I asked her (of two non-matching pieces) ‘if this looked right.’ Of course, she had my style, so the answer was ‘yea girl you could do that.’ We got to talking.


She, about wanting to go into psychology, I, about how and why I decided to first get a management degree and then pursue my dreams writing. I looked up and we’d been talking for about forty five minutes. My teaching dreams never cease because of days like this. Of course I told her to follow her dreams—but before she did so to look long and hard at what she wanted, had to have—to survive.


I miss teaching for times like this. But I do love love love my job. Sometimes, things change.


Friday I was sick—so it put me behind, I guess I’m still recovering, but it really was a beautiful day yesterday, real simple. I took my kid for a hair cut and slept for a few hours. I like to pinpoint the days I’m really happy because a lot of times you don’t get them as often as you’d like. I woke happy, I stayed happy, and I went to sleep happy.



Picture from:

Few more edits back for clients this week and a final manuscript due. Like I said, happy.


Try as I might, I can’t get any relaxation. This is the spa I’ve been dreaming of. MmmMMmm.

Business is good. School is ending. Life is happily full of ruckus. But what am I dreaming of? Relaxation. Kay Redfield Jamison said in“An Unquiet Mind,”  “We all move uneasily within our own restraints.” Maybe I cried when David died of a heart attack (her love), but only because the foreshadowing was done in such a subtle way. It’s the subtle things that drive me.

Another favorite of lines was when Jamison quoted an anthology about love:

Thank you for a lovely weekend.

They tell me it rained.

Awww, I want that. I need that.

P.s. On the verge of some really big subtle things. Really big. Spoken like the true oxymoronic extremist I am.

It’s Better To Be Absolutely Ridiculous Than Absolutely Boring

Having a shitterific day. How are you?

Broke my cell this week and only some contacts carried over to the new one. If I had your number and you haven’t spoken to me in a while…

it’s likely I don’t have your number any more which means we aren’t going to be friends much now are we?

Post scriptum:

I am dreaming of…

Wearing these:

Ballet Platform

Then relaxation like such:

And this beautifully designed home (Gwyneth doesn't mind, really we go way back)

And this beautifully designed bedroom (Gwyneth Paltrow doesn’t mind, really we go way back)

Apparently I like things that hang and swing in my house, lmao!!!


Secret: I’ve never had a macaroon and I’m not having one until I get to Paris. I’ve never been to Paris.



Long Term Relationships = Complacency

Who can help it?

The natural progression of things. Ebb and Flo. Eventually you’re showering and peeing together (ewk!) the love is “bunny nosey posie.” Coos and spooning. Fall asleep holding each other without any realistic idea that it’s definitely going to get hot like two obnoxious kissie-poo bears cuddling in the middle of a microfiber double down comforter might get. Oh M, f’in’ gee.

You’re comfortable. There’s the point in the part of the relationship that begins a slow pitocin drip of complacency. The quick-death of a relationship. This is where everything you’ve worked so hard for goes straight down the chute. He conveniently forgets to call as often or keep to the same level of esteem as he once had about the relationship. She conveniently forgets to dress up, cook dinner, or put out. It just isn’t the same. So what in the interest of preparation and prevention can one do to avoid this? Since we’re all just dyyyyyyyyying to fall in love and get trapped in that one-way street?

Allow me please, to share what this work-in-progress 2.5 year psych drop out + two faulty engagements + single-parent home raised (after 15 yrs old) + the fall of one of my very best friend and mentor’s marriage has taught me thus far… and I do mean”work-in-progress”

Trying is EVERYTHING. The try matters more than ANYTHING.

Here are 5 ways to prevent that from happening.

  1. Get to KNOW a person AFTER you know them well enough already. Ask her her second favorite color. Ask him where his favorite place to go as a kid was. Ask if there were anything else professionally your partner could be in the world, what it would be? What about where you two could go? Find out if your alter egos are compatible. Find out if there’s something that you don’t know how to do and she does, if she’ll show you. Everyone loves to feel needed. Ask him what he thinks about himself. Pry, flirt, and make everything you do unexpected.
  2. Plan something. A trip. An event. Projects. Block out the world together and learn how to share like you’re five years old again.
  3. Don’t forget your “self-love,” any person will appreciate if you can balance doing what’s best for you and still make them a high priority.
  4. Yes, it is true you’re only as good as your worst day, but if your worst day is every day… or if you are one of those women who have rollers and pajamas on every time this man comes over… then don’t be surprised when he is out with “the boys for a drink or two,” and know, there’s always other women involved in that “night out.” You just want to make sure you have a place your guy craves to come home to. Keyword craves. Same for you guys. Spruce up a bit. I mean, no one has to look like ~summerfireflies~ in the morning or every single time you see them; but there’s nothing less intriguing than a man wearing his favorite hole-y sweatshirt with the bleach stain—out on a date. {insert gawk face here}
  5.  And seriously, if you remember nothing, at least “please be interesting.”

P.s if you don’t, y’all will be bored and complacent and your ass will end up like this:

How do I know so well you ask? Because I am that picture! Lol.


O, and by the way: Marie Clayton knows I love her work! Find her and the above photos at:

You Are Missing Your Window Of Opportunity Because I Am Climbing My Pretty Legs Out Of It

The Opportunist


Is there such a thing as perfect timing? Ok, maybe not perfect but what about mediocre timing? If someone asks you for a favor after a hot bath, after you’ve eaten, and your mind is rather relaxed—aren’t you more inclined?

I’m starting to believe in the world of MOP.

I made that up. But everything is all about marketing, opportunity, and perspective. “The lure of the distant and the difficult is deceptive. The great opportunity is where you are.” Yes, Burroughs, was another of my loves.



In the way we advertise ourselves. In our confidence, in our pep. I’m usually called chipper or spunky, or as my tagline announces… ‘Mean as a cupcake.’ But, really, in my opinion our personalities make us furthermore desirable after the looks have worn and the newness fades. It’s the way we market ourselves, the value we put in ourselves. Not the power we let others give or take from us.



I’m talking about timing, conquering fear, adrenaline, going for what you know you want. Making way for the fail, the trip, or the fly. The way we face it is the way we come out of it. I’ll never forget what a friend of mine said when I applied to a college (obviously the next one I got in) and I didn’t get accepted in:

“I know you got in this time, but I’m more proud of how you brushed your knees off last time.”

Or maybe my all time x lover Bukowski said it best, with reverse psychology and sarcasm.

“It was true that I didn’t have much ambition, but there ought to be a place for people without ambition, I mean a better place than the one usually reserved. How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so?”

—Charles Bukowski, Factotum



“I think you can love a person too much.

You put someone up on a pedestal, and all of a sudden, from that perspective, you notice what’s wrong – a hair out of place, a run in a stocking, a broken bone. You spend all your time and energy making it right, and all the while, you are falling apart yourself. You don’t even realize what you look like, how far you’ve deteriorated, because you only have eyes for someone else.”
―Jodi Picoult, Handle With Care


I’ve let opportunity slip, I’ve left the glass slipper—no prince showed.  I’ve thought about it before. That maybe if I’d been in a prior relationship at any other time; it might have worked out. I’ve prayed, hoped, self-helped, sought counsel, psych, pillow screamed, pop pill—plopt dat *ss down on the couch and pouted, stopped, shouted, stomped off. Ran away on sabbaticals for days and days without contact, SOS soon I’m licking my wounds right now. Planned for the worst, and hoped for the best type of psychoanalytical reverse inverse ~comatosis~. And all I can come up with is this:

Enough already. Because most of the things I’ve hesitated for I’ve lost. Most of the things I’ve gone for I’ve gotten. Most of my gut feelings were right about things that were wrong, but right about things that were right. I’ve lived by Mark Twain when he said to “Always acknowledge a fault. This will throw those in authority off their guard and give you an opportunity to commit more.”

I’ve french kissed frogs a few times. They turned into monkeys, actually. Bored of the inevitable. Thought about forever, then went out of touch. In an unquenchable thirst for someone to take me house shopping, I’ve found myself—utterly afraid to opportunize anything, it’s quite shiteous, really. Maybe my timing is off? Maybe if I sleep more he’ll wake me with a kiss. Have I been poisoned? It’s my party and I can cry if I want to.

They say patience is a virtue, but really, am I missing my window of opportunity because I’m climbing my pretty legs out of it?

Think About All The Fucking Possibilities

Think About All The Fucking Possibilities

Ever heard of “Stop talking about it and just do it”  ?!? …Well, this poster is the epitome of what I mean.

I grew up in a household wholesomely committed to cursing. Stump your toe, “fuuuuuuuck!” Left the bath water on… “Goodddddamit~” Walk in and the dishes haven’t been done, “So what the fuck you been doin’ all day when I wasn’t here?” [Southern accent courtesy of my Ma, from Baton Rouge, Louisiana]

So now as I attempt to re-program myself to live the life I’ve always wanted, some of the hardest things have been:

1. Giving up coffee (I am not doing well at this)
2. Finishing the monstrous amount of books I’ve set for myself
3. Curbing my cursing

My Ma is the sweetest curse-a-holic you could ever dream up. She’d curse for no reason—the type of person you want on your reality show. She’d say something like “sit your fine ass down and tell me about it,” or when I tried on make-up for the first time, her exact words were “So you think you fucking cute?” My all-time personal favorite, when something didn’t sound right to her she’d say “You better go sit in a fucking chair about it,” as she urged me to seek the counseling even she never received. The best part was after she said anything with those curse words in it, she’d cock her head back and laughhhhh at herself. This is what I grew up with, every day. My Dad? Well, he is more of a “curse when and only if needed” type. I’m sure he was a cursing sailor behind doors, but that was never for me to know. I’ve heard him say maybe five curse words in my entire life. At one point he was in the military, a professional chef, and an athlete. He’s traveled and owned a graphics company. He was always a profuse reader and he speaks five languages, (he claims they all come back to him when people speak to him in said language). Talk about driven. The only time I’ve ever left my city for longer than a week has been when I’ve had to for work. How many vacations have I taken in my life? 2.

The above poster. I couldn’t refuse.

My favorites are: Learn To Take Some Fucking Criticism and Believe In Your Fucking Self.

Maybe because these have also been the hardest for me.

Here goes I. Back to my attempt at not saying any bad fucking words. Back to reading Kay Redfield Jamison’s “An Unquiet Mind.” Back to refining my last genre submission before I graduate. Holy fuckerninnies. I’m graduating from my masters program in two months. All the nights I’ve been painfully tired and stayed up all fucking night, yes, sometimes the right word really is “fuck.” Appropriately placed, and properly used.

I Like It Wild

I have a few favorite stores and designers and Anthropologie is one of them. They’re advertising this hanging bed, and I mean seriously. I’d likely never make anything of myself if I owned it. No, not anything. Quotes would go unanswered. Time would flyby nights and daylights wouldn’t matter. Not one bit. The percentage of me doing anything but writing/reading for myself and personal acrobatics (she definitely lols) in this bad boy is about 900%.

You’d see me, then you’d see me, under the covers. You’d wake me, then you’d watch my narcoleptic tail take instantaneous doze-off medicine via trapeze bedding environment and things would just worsen each second my head eased into the pillow-top. Why bother with anything much, I have a swinging, err, hanging bed. Nannie nannuh.

The bed I do own is a canopy and is also one of my most favorite things. It works just fine and well and is all shabby chic and wonderlustrous. Yet and still, even after knowing the things we have only graduate and leave us wanting for more—we soon acquire and find thereafter, once again the newness in every new thing dulls.

The fact is that I don’t have that swinging bed. I want it. But I already have a bed, just like tons of other little treasures. Pivotal moment in this realization is I’m like that with mostly any and everything. In conversation “so n so”  (this is what we’ll call the nameless adventurer) said something aligned with “keeping things new.” I envisioned: The crispy-breath of the fresh in the morning. The wet belch of a rainy afternoon. The dreary dankness of the evening drill. See how we’re getting worse here people? Not keeping it new.


The thing that scares me about forever is monotony. All ‘lone me and moi, in a partnership, a creative friendship (hah!), a marriage, etcetera. What I’ve found is what I think is the solution. Be patient:

I am OCDish. No, I know stuff about me. I’m very particular about many many—everythings. Actually diagnosed at one point anal-retentive. I’m recovering. I tend to not like surprises. I prefer control and planned happenstances. Contradiction much? Yes. Controlled environments make me happy, secure, and comfortable. Like cozy feet. I’ve recently re-done the refrigerator in glass Pyrex containers to hold leftovers, clear-bagged pure organic food, and I’m attempting to keep up with the laundry and not let it go beyond 3 loads. Keyword, *attempt.*

And then so n so asked me if I liked surprises. NO, absolutely not, not really, I mean sometimes. Coincidentally no. Well, from you, perhaps, uhmm. And then so he carried along. A few outings later, I’m ok with surprises. And now, voilà—ready at a moments notice to do whatevertheflukeishouldnotbesofreeinglyAuhwellI’mstillaliveIguessit’sok—”I believe I can fly, I believe I can touch the sky, think about it every night and day, spread my wings and flyyyyyy…”

Mary Burrows  from MBart Studios is my gal! I've ordered plenty too much from her and you definitely should too!Surprises done well build trust. I want to be happy with what I have so I had to infiltrate the infrastructure and figure out why I constantly require more.

I am in dire need of more because of a drug called “wonder.” At this point I’m actually wondering (aka looking forward) to not knowing what’s going to happen. It’s quite the scary dream to trust another human’s judgement. The best part? I’m actually wild about it. Looking forward to something is what keeps a thing new; the possibility of the unknown is what keeps it intense, … lush. What is the main ingredient of inducing such feelings?


Like coming home to a swinging bed. You already know it can only go up from there.

A Bad Bitch That’s Never Overdressed Or Overeducated

You know those success stories of people who were like 900 pounds as a kid and then they grew up to become a health coach? Or like those stories of people who advocate against drunk driving because they got like 4.5 DUIs? Or haven’t you seen those drug programs that claim they can fix you because they’ve been where you are?


So, I’ve been on this bettering myself kick. No really. Kick. Eating healthy, exercise, scheduling things at their levels of importance—aka not freaking the F*&^% out when there isn’t anything I can do to change a certain thing… and I realized:

The key to it all is: Levels.

You have to love people at their levels, appreciate them at their level, speak to them at their level. And so on. Everything you do, you have to do it from the eyes of the person who will be receiving your input. When you speak to your boss, you have to anticipate what he or she will say in response—this way you’re ready with your explanation, rebuttal, or nod of understanding.

When you teach a class (or when I teach a class/or have in the past) I usually think about my audience and how I might best speak to them as students or almost-teachers, etc. I do this especially when I mentor someone.

But when I go apeshit yellin’ at my son about the clean clothes (his chores—mind you) and how they aren’t folded and picked up, I forget that technique. He’s not going to want to because there isn’t much incentive in folding up the bathroom towels and color-coding them from light to dark carefully between two closets and an armoire cabinet. But if there was something in it for him other than his Mom’s face cherry-colored, or my tantrums around the house if he doesn’t, he might, and I say might heavily, *might* listen.

I was giving a person some advice he didn’t ask for the other day when it dawned on me. I’m not speaking to him on his level. I wasn’t giving him information he wanted to hear, so not only am I not speaking to him at his level, but he is shut off of me. Really, he is off. There is no green light, battery dead.

I’ve known this before but never implemented it. Never experimented with the process of persuasion or eloquent communication. I am, after all, the likeliest one to go bananas considering I’m a two-year un-recovering psychology dropout who went on to get her degree in management, then creative writing, but works in (web coordination/technical writing) publicity.

So aside from the fact that said gentleman did not, ask for my advice, I was slightly surprised when he wouldn’t even let me finish my sentence. I do this sometimes so that part didn’t bother me as much as his response time. Since this was over the phone, I could hear how long of a breath he took before he snapped back with some other random detail. Worse than that I could NOT hear his moment of silence or thought (did he even think about what I said?) as he digested the information. Cutting me off doesn’t generally bother me as much if what he is cutting me off to say proves he understands the information I’ve conveyed. But when he has cut me off only to misunderstand once again now that, that burns my bridge up and down the hillside.

Keep in mind: I did this very thing to someone the other day. I cut them off mid-sentence so eager and over excited to prove I was right, when if I had only listened longer, I’d have seen I was incredibly wrong. Wrong track, wrong examples I’d started to give, wrong terminology, I’d wholeheartedly gotten the wrong idea.


I wanted the person I was talking to, to understand how much I knew already which would inform her that I could apply what else I was going to learn. I wanted her to know how much I was going to try until I figured it out—or now that I think of it, what it meant to me. She only wanted me to shut the —- up, and listen for a second.

I wanted for her to talk to me at the level that isn’t condescending, in a way that doesn’t say ‘you don’t know anything yet so just listen,’ I wanted her to give me a miniscule amount of credit for how far I’ve come at this point. Instead, she just repeated the part I understood, and further repeated the part I didn’t understand at all.

I kept thinking to myself… [sweetie, if i don’t understand you explaining it that way, there’s-no-way from-here-to-down-around-the-way-or-Wednesday that I’m about to understand you better if you keep repeating it to me in the same way or context, as though I am hard of hearing]

She wasn’t speaking to me at my level. She was dumbing everything down in such a way that I couldn’t understand anything until eventually all my words went numb. I gave her a quiet nod because I felt bad that she’d had to ask me to “let her finish.”

When I realized the advice to my friend wasn’t warranted, I realized many other hypocritical mistakes I’ve made. I’ve asked of others, something I hadn’t executed myself. This I equate to the kid you tell to “Do as I say not as I do.”

You will inevitably catch that monkey (kid) doing just as you do. Monkey see, monkey do. I’ve set some goals in motion this year, not resolutions, just goals. I’m a bad bitch. I like the raunchy nature of the sound of it, and the definition is honest. Goals I meet, resolutions lapse. To do this I’ve been going back to my old psychology books, self-help reads, and my “driven” books.

I have found that you have to communicate with a person at their level because you’ll be painfully disappointed if you don’t. You’ll expect something they never had the capacity to give to you. Asking questions is imperative. Experiencing a person in their element, definitely. You have to be around the people who better you. The people who you not only want to reflect you, people who compliment your goals and respect you.

My friend calls me the other night completely wasted either coming from or going to a club, likely already inebriated. I almost missed that fake happiness I used to find there. Almost.

Homegirl: Whatchoo doin’?

Me: On my way to becoming The Best Version of Me.

Homegirl: Pwaahhhh!!! [Click]

Please see also Wale’s Illest Bitch Alive. Immediately:

And if you haven’t heard: Passive Aggress-her you are really missing.

Can I Teach You How To Make Promises?

He doesn’t make promises. I’d like to know a bigger why beyond just any ‘ole response, and yet, I’m stutterstuck.

I’ve heard this “no promises” rule before, actually. From many people.

I think it’s the idea that if you make a person a promise, there’s a chance you’ll break it. You know, the general consensus is “promises were made to be broken.”

The question I pose here is if a person is so put off by the possibility that they might break a promise; wouldn’t one think longer about the weight of a promise fulfilled, and the heaviness in overall comfort that could bring?

In addition, I ponder, are those who don’t cram up at making a promise seemingly “born better” than those who aren’t brave enough to promise anyone anything? Because I speak from the experiences of having been made a promise a person has kept, and having made promises I’ve kept, (run-on sentence) in addition to making a promise I haven’t kept, and having a person break a promise to me and to many others [breathe here] I feel inclined to bring up this matter.

What do I remember more than the broken promise?

—What great lengths the fallen promise-maker went through to cushion the blow and fix the broken-ness.

What stays with me more than that broken promise that was once made to me?

The memory I have of a kept promise. One outweighs the other triumphantly. You know that one thing that “perfect” person promised and did well—way-back—when all I could see was the rights instead of the wrongs? The memory of that promise being carried out and the indulgence and support that single colorful moment was. A kept promise is truly the best spell anyone’s ever put on me.


  • A promise is important because of its temperature. It’s tone. It’s secrecy. It’s closeness. It’s “make-believe-turned real” factor.
  • A promise is important because it builds rapport. It furthermore builds confidence in a person, and we all know that confidence, builds trust.
  • A promise is important to me because it speaks magnitudes beyond one’s character. I don’t mean ity-bity promises. I actually mean the larger ones. But we have to start small, a steady pace.
  • A promise is important to me because it is a telltale sign of the future, and because a promise—especially the wittier it is—is revealing and induces as well as presents vulnerability.
  • A promise is important to me, personally, because I’m a writer and there’s got to be something a person believes in like magic. At least one thing. My thing is words, specifically, your words.

P.s. I don’t believe in magic much; I’m an optimistic-realist. This is otherwise known as an [cough, oxymoron] “hope for the best, plan for the worst type of person.”

What I’m eventually addressing isn’t a promise similar to: “I promise to be your friend forevermore,” as one might say in grade school. In grade school we don’t know the reality of people falling together or apart. But I don’t mean frivolous or wonderful promises at all. No one is without fail, flaw, or falter, and I included, but I’m referring to if a person can:

  1. START SMALL: Because promising another person is ultimately promising oneself. I believe we should all start with goals (otherwise known as promises) for ourselves. Not only because “a person is only as good as his or her word,” but because you get to witness a person’s “try.” You get to see someone put something they’ve said into action, and hopefully it’s something qualifiable (quality wise/something you can see happening) and tangible (something you can touch/again, witness). Promise yourself. Deliver. Rinse, repeat.
  2. BUILD A PROMISE-PLAN. A bullet-pointed list, set a reminder on your phone of a promise you have, a pop-up, write it on your hand, post-it, live-it—start a new life of it to help it infiltrate your reluctance. Remember if it takes 21 days to form a habit, some promises will take at least that much time just to get used to the new idea.
  3. AFFIRMATION. Look stupid for your promise. That’s the point, it’s a commitment. Say it out loud. To the air. Talk it out to yourself, and then… tell someone other than the person you promised about it. It holds you more accountable for what you’ve promised.

Well, what to the person who says “to hell with promising you, they’d rather ‘show’ you?” Well, OoOo diddly. That means, if they come up short it doesn’t matter, they haven’t promised you a damn thing. You don’t mean much. There’s no contract, which intrinsically is what a promise is.

Well, why then, when playing pool is it game point to call “8 ball corner pocket” and then make your 8 ball in the corner pocket?

Because you did what you’ve said you would.

I believe in people making promises, but obviously only promises at their level of commitment. If someone is fully embellished by someone romantically, then promise so. If your kid wants something but can’t have it now, promise it and make it happen, if you need something—promise yourself and pull it off.

It’s never about if I would spend an eternity with a person, or if I could I see myself marrying? Yadaya. Although it can be largely assumed one isn’t marriage/long-term-friendly if he can’t make one promise to you. Essentially it comes down to if he can follow the discipline he gives to himself?

The man that can, I’d like to hold his hand and no one else’s.

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