Denzel & I Are Breaking Up #NoooImNotReadyLawd

There was a time when Denzel Washington could say ANYTHING to me and I would pledge my allegiance to his sweat. Well, that was up until December 22, 2013. Who knew there would be one fictional response (even after he was Detective Alonzo Harris & Frank Lucas) that would change my unwavering allegiance to his body excrement?

I was watching 2 Guns when I should have been resting for the Pleasanton Double Road Race. In a scene, it happened:

her: Did you ever really love me?

him: I really meant to love you.

And, there came a few real tears. Ain’t that some sh*t? Try watching a movie, having a private emotional moment, and your friend sitting across from you on the couch. And all these years I have loved Denzel. Who knew this day would come?

...and that's what it means.

She asked an imaginary question that has been burning in my actual spirit for quite some time. A question that I have wanted to ask with a desperation only known to men traversing deserts in search for water and Alchemy. I want to know if he ever really loved me.

I could just ask. It’s not like I don’t have the phone number, email, address, or social media everything to do it. Damn technology – it would have been nice to have an excuse NOT to ask. I could ask, and then I would know. I would really know. But, something tells me his response is going to mirror Denzel’s line. And quite frankly, I have no time for what that might really do to me.

He pursued me. I think I could accept that response if he did not pursue me. With stealth like commitment he shot me down over foreign land #NoPassport #NoExtraditionTreaty #LoveLand. He got to know me and pursued in ways that compelled my heart to love him, especially his flaws. I loved his imperfections first…then I (im)perfectly loved him. I honestly love(d) him. And honestly believed he loved me.

He knew me. And not because I told him who I was…hell, I don’t always know who I am! He studied my non verbal responses, my awkward phone silence and impeccably worded text messages. He decoded my sad eyes, sad songs and sad smiles. I think that I could deal with that answer if he was absent in my sadness.

He wrote me. Well, there is indeed that. Like I need to explain to you what words mean to me. Or what I would or wouldn’t believe if it wasn’t written (or typed).

He gave to me. Without asking, requests or begging, he gave to me. Liberally. Willingly. Surprisingly. As I sit and think, much time passed before I ever asked anything of him – I mean I made requests but never in excess or seriously. I never intended for him to do anything for me that I wouldn’t actually do for myself. He gave to me anyway. On purpose. Most times before I could do it for myself. That response would make (im)perfect sense if he never gave me anything. But, he gave her sunflowers too, so I guess there isn’t much to the giving thing. (there is, but I’m feeling some kind of way right now)

And though I clearly don’t have this all figured out, the question remains. The answer does too… Maybe he honestly meant to. And maybe one day that will be okay. Just not today.

Welp.

Needless to say, I have not seen the end of 2 Guns.

Random Thought: Does 2 Chainz have 2 Guns? 

*don't ask me where that came from, that was my honest thought, and the original title of this post*

Hey…Do The Double!

Okay...Double Did.

May all your doubles come with McD fries

(don't let me sell you a dream, it was NOT that simple) 

I love a gimmick. Give me a race with a gimmick and I’ll probably insist on paying your registration fee, just so you can experience it with me. Don’t believe me? Ask Erin about the Color Run that we have yet to do in our Drunk1 & Drunk2 t-shirts in San Francisco #Summer2014. So what’s today’s gimmick? 2 Races in 1 Day #SOLD. The Pleasanton Double Road Race had me up at an unholy hour doing ungodly things in the Starbucks a couple miles away from START/FINISH Line. Not really ungodly, but the morning struggle was certainly realized in Starbucks.

Anyway. You have to run a 10K. Then Halftime. Run a 5K. And then, get your medal. Um, I got plenty time for that #signslifeaway! How awesome is that for the last race of the year, right? About that… The last race of 2013 was probably the worst. No really, this was pretty damn bad. Don’t believe me? Just watch #readanduseyourimagination

Pre-Race: So, the City of Pleasanton woke up this morning and decided that they wanted to be the laziest city in California and only pick 36 of ALL THE GOTTDAMN degrees there are in the world! What the hell man?!?!? I swear it was literally the temperature, right before the temperature scientists need for cryostasis. Why are you here right now? There is nothing here for you. Get in your car and go home. Nobody will care. Seriously.

Start: It’s just a 10K. Getcholife. Just run. Quit being a baby all the time. It’s the last race of the year! #Pre14in2014 …you got this. Make Kim proud.

Mile 1: I hate vodka. I really do. And Chick-Fil-A. Gottdamn waffle fries. #bbqsauce

Mile 2: This is quite literally the dumbest idea you’ve ever idea’d. And, your list of dumb ideas includes trying to climb the Le Tower Eiffel. *I’ll write that post when I get the feeling back on the left side of my body* #TheThrill&FeelingIsGone

Mile 3: Wait. A 10K plus a 5K is a 15K. That’s like 6.2 miles + 3.1 miles. *does advanced calculus whist running* WTF! I signed up to run 9.3 miles? DAMMIT! That’s almost like a HALF marathon?! You didn’t train for this! Dummy.

Mile 4: Quit being a punk and make this race your B***H!

Mile 5: Um, I’ve heard good things about b*****s. It wouldn’t be the worst career move. I wonder if there’s a union? #jobsecurity

Mile 6: The devil is a lie. I’m going home. It’s not like anybody will know. My veins, arteries, dreams, aspirations, middle toes and future all share one collective hurt. I’m going to sleep until Tuesday. Wait. I have to go to work tomorrow! Dammit!!

Halftime… “Recovery Zone”: never ending heart palpitations, severe dehydration, attempted surrender #almostdoesntcount #italmostdidtoday. I think I can feel my aorta attempting to climb up my esophagus to die in my mouth. Mostly because that’s the only place where there is any liquid left in my body.

Mile 1(7): I hate everything about myself. What is that saying? The first time it’s a mistake. The second time you ate the wrong mf’ing pill now you’re following a white rabbit into the Matrix and knocking vases over. There are no shoe stores in the Matrix. #WelcomeToHell

Mile 2(8): Don’t be a hero. Just walk. Nobody can see you. I mean seriously, nobody can see you. You might be the last person crossing the finish line.

Mile 9(3): I’m never running again.

Finish: I’m absolutely never taking this medal off. Ever.

Post-Race: *no lives left* *game over*

There are lots of reasons why this race was quite possibly my worst performance on the pavement. Well, first of all, the Bay Area decided not to pay the PG&E bill in November and December so it’s been hella cold. I thought about going to run at lunch one day from the warmth of my office. My entire being clenched up like Miss Celie when Miss Sophia was about to give her the BIZNESS in dem fields. The last time I ran and meant it, I was in Las Vegas. That was November 17^th. Today is December 22^nd. You do the differential equation.

I also decided that the night before The Double was the BEST night to try Hangar One vodka. Objectively speaking, it’s pretty damn good. But, when have I ever been objectively speaking to you? I hate everything about vodka and hangers…just like ole chick #namethatmovie. I never want to see another bottle of that awesome vodka you can totally purchase and gift to me (see website) again! #justcoverthelabel #drinkandbuylocal

I ran and watched as I lost pieces of my life fall to their impending doom #thepavement. The pain I felt on today will always be remembered. Mostly because it reminded me just why I do this. Back at Mile 5 whilst reviewing the benefits package that came along with being one’s b***h #notbad I noticed that I was clearly holding up the rear #practicingformynewjob. I got so sad in that moment. Sad that I might actually come in last. That was a depressing and defeating feeling. I didn’t think about all the reasons why I was in the position I was in (poor planning, training, nutrition, hangers of vodka). I was just jogging and feeling some kind of way. How could I lose? Because that’s what coming in last is, right? Or is it wrong? Losing.

And for some people, tis’true, if they are not first, they are absolutely last #RickyBobby. There is no eternal glory, medals or trophies. The finish line banner has already been torn and the confetti tossed. You would be lucky if anyone waited long enough to see you get your Mr. Irrelevant hat and photo shoot. Who watches all the rounds of the draft anyway? Nobody!  And by nobody, I mean me. But you know where I was going with that…

But what have I been saying to myself all this time that I did not remember on today? This is about earning MY medal. No points for speed, run/jog technique, playlist, pedicure, or outfit. And you know how I feel about putting a look together! Being awesome at all those things is great, but starting and finishing is the only thing that counts when the medal is at stake. Crossing the start line and crossing the finish. Come what may and praying against rain #blackgirlhairprobs. What does it matter that I crossed the finish line after everyone else? Did I cross it? Why is it so damn important to “beat” you?

I hate that I started to make this about someone else. About beating other people. About how people might feel if they found out I came in last (maybe I did today, maybe I didn’t…who’s to say?). It’s always been about me. Me starting. Me finishing. And most of all, #MedalMonday.

2 Races (today)

1 Medal (around my neck)

0 Feeling (in my feet)

Yea, that adds up to a win to me. Even though technically, I ran 2 races and only got 1 medal #TheSwindle.

And yes. I wrote this from the same Starbucks I ungodly’d this morning. I'm back with my medal. And, yes I have on a Cowboys t-shirt from Old Navy, Yoga pants from (old *jokes*) Toni and Cowboys slippers from (old *jokes again*) Uglee. #JudgeMe Only, you’ll have to come here to do it. I can’t move.

Yo, can I get a ride tho? I’m (still) in Pleasanton.

If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it #ToniMorrison

Fortunately for me, there are plenty of books that have already been written that I wanted to read. *wait, did that make sense* I've spent a lifetime between their covers... #MyLovers That's how I managed to live so long. And here is what they taught me. In no particular order...

I bet he smoked Newports.

Catcher In The Rye.

Lesson: I can totally relate to White people.

I read Catcher in the Rye when I was in High School. I was in Advanced Placement classes. Every morning, I would catch SamTrans (the 6A) to Menlo-Atherton High School with a group of people who looked like me and lived where I lived. By the time we made it down the main hall, I was sitting in a classroom looking like the only person like me. Their lives diverged from mine, like I did from my friends in the morning. Enter J.D., writing about a kid with a life struggle that looked like mine. A life lived in the silence of my mind. His skin, uncolored by those words, repainted my reverie. I saw my life depicted on the chalkboards. I realized that I have “white people” problems too. And, they sucked just like my “black people” problems. Who? Knew? And our lives converged in that moment, like the final bell reuniting me and my friends as we dug for our bus passes.

Thanks for not rottin' in that jail Miss Sophia.

The Wedding.

Lesson: Love is the hardest thing any person can ever do.

Will the world ever be ready for an interracial couple? Yup. Thanks future children of the world.  We have some awesome parenting happening. The world in The Wedding was not ready for Shelby and her beau. Navigating her “stay in the color lines” life was tough when you sprinkle love in it. But, if it’s not color, it’s something else. Right? You meet someone, you fall in love and you see your entire future. Then you are confronted with each other’s families. And how do you explain the difference in color, or income, or profession, or interests, or religious beliefs, or political ideologies? You try to explain it, but to no avail. And then you have to choose. What you knew before your love, or the love you know defines everything you endeavor to become. Shelby was certain. She came home and found doubt. She ran into temptation and was almost convinced. She faced her love and said “I do”. And nothing about that was easy for her to do. Or me to read.

Las Mariposas #ImBilingual

In The Time Of The Butterflies.

Lesson: Women are more powerful than they will ever know.

I have six sisters. And I could not wait to go to college and share a room with 2 other girls that I did not know, because I had been living with my sisters forever – and they got on my nerves! Right? The house was too small. Everybody was always in my business. Quit wearing my shoes! Why did you tell on me? Ugh. My sisters were nothing like the Mirabal sisters. Only, they absolutely are. Smart. Strong. Confident. Beautiful. Loyal. Creative. Passionate. I did not see that after I read the book. It took some time, maturation, and distance to realize how powerful we were together. No man has ever survived an interaction with the Gurley sisters, without sustaining some type of injury. No man was crazy enough, to consider being considered a suitor to one of us, if it meant he had to confront us the group. As a collective. Power is not always in the numbers. But, there are indeed a number of us Gurley’s. And we are absolutely powerful.

FOLDIN!!!!!!

 Sadako & The Thousand Paper Cranes.

Lesson: Hope will save your life.

I read this book in the 5^th grade. While reading the book and studying the meaning in our class lessons, we learned to fold paper cranes. As a class, we made 1,000 paper cranes on some of the prettiest paper I had ever seen in my entire “I’m in 5^th grade” life. I stayed after school to make cranes. I took paper home to do them. I folded cranes on the school bus. I even made a few in Church. Sadako did not live *spoiler* but somehow she survived. I never termed that as “hope” but that’s exactly what it was. Her belief in that thing, the 1,000 paper cranes saved her life, and the lives of everyone involved. Don’t believe me? Think about it. You are reading about her right now. And, when I get stressed out (like all the time) I fold paper cranes.

Haven't touched a kite since.

The Kite Runner.

Lesson: Keep your word. People are depending on it. And you.

The truth? There are more lessons to learn from this book in this lifetime and the next one Erykah was singing about #We'llBeButterflies. Oh man. I remember vividly crying whilst reading. I have shed a tear or ten reading a book before, but the tsunami that came out of my eyes that night as I finished The Kite Runner? Let’s just say that a colleague in the office asked me if I was having trouble at home and needed to speak to someone confidentially at the Counseling Center. I remember the part of the novel, in which he is trying to adopt the little boy, save him from the tragedy called his life, written in those pages. He promised to save him. To give him a #NewLife because everyone needs one, once in a while #Intro, and that little boy earned his two times over. But he could not do it. He had to leave him there. He could not (immediately) fix the world. He could not make good on his word. It was not for a lack of trying, or doing the right thing, asking the right questions, making the right meetings, or any of that. The world did not want that man to be great that day. He had every right to give up, despite giving his word, but no way, Boss! In that moment, I realized that I would use every inch of my life to keep my word. Because someone, somewhere is depending on it. They earned my word. They deserve it. #mywords

And then I read Ten Thousand Splendid Suns. I took a short hiatus from reading shortly after.

I prefer grape jelly anyway. #NoCrust

The Butter Battle Book.

Lesson: You don’t have to be wrong, for me to be right. #YouAreProbablyWrongThough

Now, I totally think I’m right, about everything. That’s the irrational me. That’s the person you are almost always speaking with – The Right One. Now, the logically thinking intellectual me (about to get on my evidence of absence-absence of evidence ish) understands that while there is indeed a “right” and a “wrong” not every circumstance that has a “right” requires there to be a “wrong” to balance the see-saw. Because there are more than just see-saw’s on playgrounds. Swings, slides, tetherballs, hopscotch…I mean, all kinds of things! Freakin’ 4-Square man! You can potentially make 3 new friends! So what were the Zooks and Yooks fighting over? Whether or not they should eat their bread with the butter side up or down. In the midst of trying to determine which one was the correct way to dress toast, they never stopped to see that, “Hey, we’re all eating bread with butter!” The real tragedy was that they almost killed themselves trying to prove the other wrong. It was then I realized, I would never argue my position to destruction. If I’m right (which I typically am), I will pray for a life long enough in which time proves my point on my behalf. I can use that saved breath arguing about football with my Uncle who is NEVER wrong.

Yes. That was an important life lesson from Dr. Seuss, even though it was about the Cold War. Judgement? I’ll wait.

Yes! There are pictures!*

The Alchemist.

Lesson: The things I want in life are usually the things that are really hard to get. #DoWork #ChallengeAccepted  #AlchemistInTheMaking

Why it took me so long to read this book, just like the tootsie roll pop, the world may never know. I will never forget the words I read. Mostly because I keep reading them. About love, self discovery, gratitude, trials, tribulation, service, the unknown, the journey, perseverance, and Belay On! I think, in lieu of my parents, this book could have raised me. Such wisdom. Alchemy is hard work. I mean, after Jesus turned water to wine, the miracles kinda stopped there. This kid’s life was tough, yo. He had to say goodbye to his love. He had to have faith she would be there when he returned. Hell, he had to have faith that he would return. He suffered. Yet he continued on. And most importantly, he was honest about his fears. That’s what compelled me most of all. Honesty through whatever came. Maybe that’s the hard part about being an Alchemist. Being honest. See! I’m still learning ish! Damn Paulo… You. Are. Good.

*In the equally moving graphic novel version.

…honorable mention…

Dear World, Do Better.

PUSH

Lesson: We live in a f*cked up world.

Nope. Not about to have me on this post talking about what I read in that novel. Nope. Not about to do it. The only reason a person can write about stuff like what’s in PUSH is because we live in a world where it is possible. And not possible like a once in a lifetime “you can see the aurora borealis from your bedroom window in Idaho” possible, but an “I’m going to get in my car and drive to work” (which happens every freaking day) possible. As a world of people, we are f*ckin horrible. We need to do better.

…(un)honorable mention…

Grey ties startle me.

50 Shades of Grey (and then it got darker, and I’m waiting to be freed)

Lesson(s): I need more hobbies; Sex – o_O um…about that? #NooooShe(me)WasntReady

I have no excuse for how quickly I got through all three of those books aside from acknowledging that I need a hobby. Curiosity killed the cat, my prospects for the future and my innocence. Father God In Heaven WHY did I keep reading?! My sissy pooh Shellie read them too. After she finished them, she called me and asked me if I was okay. She knew that I was distraught. I sooo was.

Okay. Sex. Who knew it happened like that? I mean hold my pearls, my mule and my spleen…does this stuff really happen? Do y’all really get down like that? Y’all are nasty! I had to google a lot of the stuff they talked about. I’m not afraid to admit it. Mostly because I’m ashamed to admit it. You have to pick one. You can’t be afraid and ashamed at the same (damn) time. I feel like, I’m legally an adult, so I should know this stuff. But, I watch cartoons every morning, so my grey *heehee* matter hasn’t caught up with the age on my driver’s license.

Anastasia, honey chile, you are one brave fictional woman. And yes, I'm going to see the movie.

What books informed your life lessons? What are you honorably mentioning? What's on your #CCOD list? Don't worry, I won't tell. Talk to me...

be•lov•ed

be•lov•ed: [bih-luhv-id, -luhvd]

adjective: greatly loved; dear to the heart.

noun: a person who is greatly loved.

synonyms: cherished, precious; sweet, darling.

Beloved.

“…let us love one another. For love is of God, and everyone that loveth, is born of God, and knoweth God. He that loveth not, knoweth not God, for God is love [God is love]. Beloved [beloved] let us love one another, 1^st John, 4, 7 and 8.”

That was my first recollection of Beloved. Singing in the youth choir at Faith Missionary Baptist Church. I have not sung those words in years. I never knew, that I actually knew what those words meant. I have always known God. Therefore, I know love. And I, I am His Beloved.

That was common sense as a little girl.

Read it! NOW!

My second recollection of Beloved was the novel. Beloved, the character. And if you have read the novel, sparknotes, or seen the movie (Thanks Oprah), then you know the corresponding soundtrack is nothing like our youth choir’s recitation of I John 4: 7 – 8. Each character in the novel had their own narrative of Beloved, and they, in very different ways discovered who they were through that narrative; they confronted who they were and were transformed – made different. I wept for Beloved as I wrote that paper at Menlo-Atherton High School. Mostly, because I was weeping for myself. Her unknown past was my present then. And people seemed to become something else around me. So, I was Beloved.

That was book sense as a teen.

Before I went away to UCLA, my mama said, “Now don’t go get a bunch of book sense and no common sense.” Mama knew, better than I ever will the importance of balance. She did not have to get on ice skates to realize it. She’s kinda smart, and kinda kind, and a whole’lotta impo’ant. And she knew her child better than everyone. Mama knew I would do exactly what she warned against. She knew I was going to take off for Los Angeles and get a bunch of book sense. #NoCommonSenseAsideFromTheRapper

And so I have been living life as the Beloved I came to know in my teenage years. Sadness. Depression. Loneliness. Self Doubt. Mystery. Worry. Anxiety. Tears. Really lonely tears. Only nobody knew. She was just a character written in my books. Her narrative became the words I would daily write. And I was always a different version of her. Of Beloved.

Then, there was this guy (…again with the “guy” stuff…I know, I know…). And he said to me, “You are beloved. By everyone.” And I thought to myself, “How can everyone see my pain?” #EyesNeverLie. “How have I done this horrid thing?” … “How can they see my spots?”

But he was not looking at my eyes. Or the tear that fell. He was looking past my sadness, through my pain, beyond my depression, above my self-doubt and around my worry to the beautifully broken parts. The heart. #thatswhereitstarts #RainingJane. And there, he found Beloved. She was singing verses 7 and 8. He watched her pressed Sunday morning curls bounce up and down as she declared she was Love; not knowing, she knew exactly who she was. She is the same person he knows. It is absolutely who I am.

But, am I really B/beloved?

I asked him (that guy) what that meant. beloved? I had a common meaning. I had a book meaning. But those meanings did not quite capture what he was meaning:

See, in our world (his and my shared world) everyone who knows me, loves me. Completely. There is an energy and enthusiasm about it. I am real. I am giving. I am not liked – at all. I. Am. (be)Loved. I am beheld, very carefully, in high regard. Like, if everyone found out that some one, did something really awful to me #IdNeverTellThem they would collectively hate that person on my behalf so I would not have to carry around the residual bad karma from said hate. I attempted to interrupt him, to make an excuse for who I was. Like apologize for being all of this. Doing nice things is the right thing to do, right? He is a great friend – a really great one, so the very least I could do is find ways to #BeGood to him. But everyone is not that way. And, I am not like everyone. Not everyone feels the way they feel about me, about other people. And more importantly, how could I not know that? How could I not know who I was?

I have spent quite a bit of time, energy and money on shoes wanting so desperately to be loved. And not feeling it at all. Loved. Or feeling what I thought it was, only for it to stop feeling me. I am too book smart to see that just about everything around me loves me.

I am be(ing)love(d).