That time I didn't think I would breathe again... #breatheagain

I’m sure I told yall that I ain’t too smart. Most people don’t believe me when I attest to my ability AND inability to know things, though I hold all the resources and facts that would make me just a knower, know what I mean? I can’t call it. My best hypothesis... My brain doesn’t move at the speed of my body, and the reaction times get all messed up, and well *shrug* 

I promise, it’s not in a problem child, “I knew it was bad and I did it anyway to piss you off.” It’s more like a curious kid, “I know it’s bad, but what level of bad is it? AND Shouldn’t I test the theory to make sure?” type of thing, which still, oddly enough to me, pisses you off. Because now there’s water on the floor that has to be cleaned up. It's like I heard you and didn't hear you (but, absolutely did) at the same (damn) time.

That picturesque painting lasted too long, because the idiot things were very idiotic. Like this one:

I traveled to Dallas to see family and friends because while it wasn’t very safe to travel to a place like Dallas, those responsibilities were being responsible at that time. While traveling, no matter the destination, I always bring back souvenirs, because I miss yall or whatever. They’re usually your vices because YOLO or petty postcards because they make stamps 'pacifically for them. This, though, meant cigars and spirits for Uncle. 

(you already know what’s happening next)

While I was cigar shopping (in a mask and still suffering from smoke inhalation) I saw the cutest little baby cigars. I was like, “OMG, that’s me…” and Dee looked at me because, of course I should be looked at thinking that any kind of smoke is cute. Don't all of my personalities have allergies? (Yes, they do) In perfect, pollen-free weather conditions, it’s likely I’ll have kleenex stuffed up a nostril, and I think a cigar is cute? Yup. Sure did.

(see, you were right, hunh?)

It’s Friday night, on the porch, and the guys are smoking their cigars. I ran into the house to present my baby cigar, along with the gifts I bought Uncle and the guys. Uncle looked at that baby cigar and said, “I don’t know why you got me that!”

“It’s not for you! It’s a baby one, for me!”

Hysterical laughter. He almost dropped his whisk(e)y glass. 

Logic that is literally not logic: “See, yall cigars are too big and all smoky and whatnot, so I can’t have those. This is a baby one like me, so it’s not going to be all smoky like that.” Or so, I’ve convinced one of my Uncle’s friends; let's call him Idiot #2. (Imma always be Numbah 1! - this isn't a good thing, but I think I made it good in my head - hence this post)

“If you light that thing and she falls out, you’re taking her to the hospital.” Uncle looked that man straight in the eye. Clear face. Super serious. Idiot #2 thought it was a joke. Not sure why.

Me: Watches the baby cigar being lit. Cheers inside seeing the fire like Cheryl from Archer. Forgets that I’m not supposed to inhale because of the exciting fire. Inhales.

Passes out in the grass.

Yall. I am on my knees gasping for fresh air, outside, in the middle of fresh air. I started to tear up. I think this was supposed to be one of those near death moments where you revisit things in your life, see scenes introspectively or whatever, right? None of that. I was leaned over, lungs on fire, hoping to pass out (again). Because Lord, if this is it, just take me now. I GET IT. I’M A MENACE AND I DON’T DESERVE THINGS OR ABILITIES LIKE BREATHING.

“See, that’s YOUR fault.” Pointing to his friend and looking for a set of car keys to launch at him.

After drinking water out of his friend’s cup, literally worried if it was safe to do because of the picturesque painting, I just sat. You would think, in that moment, I would swear off anything exactly or related to smoke. From the paprika to bonfire - everything in between and on the outskirts. I sat, slumped over, with my hand still pressed to my chest, trying to resuscitate my lungs, still on fire.

You know what I had the unmitigated gall to say in that moment? “Maybe I didn’t get the RIGHT kind.” I'm using the word "say" but it was definitely unintelligible mumbles and coughs.

Yall. If Uncle Eddie could have snatched the time stone from Dr. Strange, he wouldn't have even looked for a possible possibility of a sensical me, he have gone back in time and eradicated my DNA.

I totally identify with Cheryl. Honestly, truly.

Also, by that next Friday, I had my own cigar torch - thanks to his friend. I was off to the side of the house burning cardboard, becoming Cheryl (from Archer) while they enjoyed their cigars and spirits. I wouldn’t have gotten caught, except. I ran suspiciously for the water hose. I heard Uncle yell, “You gave her a WHAT?!?! She didn’t tell you about that kitchen did she?!?!” Reaching for something to throw at me. #NoDaysOff4Uncle lol

So what if I’m the reason for his spirits and cigars. I would buy them for him, right? Good ones, too. Jeez.

Baby, I'm Back...Again!

Somebody - not me - had said that January 2024 was the free trial and that the new year starts February 1st, soooo…

Happy New Year! (I kinda wanna give it back tho)

Baby, I’m Back…Again!…like Scooter #sotoxic lol

Whew chile, I’ve been on “tour” or whatever it was he was on while he was gone and Khadijah (yall) was waiting by the phone, or whatever, until Max (the other yalls) told her to move on with her life so she finally did, and I popped up with a boomerang (the first time), and a tired apology the second time, then yall went out to do whatever it was yall was about to do, but then you realized that you loved me even though you was mad at me, so we here now.

Hey boo! * waves and grins * I suppose I have some explaining to do.

Well, things started to get weird when this happened. I thought I was going to be able to bounce back, but then we got stuck in a whole pepperoni pizza, so like nothing was available for any of us. During that time I got some bad news about this dude, and well, for a minute there, I thought we were going to be okay. But he’s with Daddie now, and they're laughing or chillin’ or whatever, but like, they left me here to be great I think?

Hilarious story about that - I’m not. At all. 

Lots of other stuff happened, too. Ain't enough words to cover it in one post (oh, we are about to have a time this year, get your subscribe and save amazon snacks ordered). But it feels like enough is enough, so I’m back.

Of everything that I learned, I discovered that I’m an alien. Crazy right? I’m an Anthean, from lightyears away. I came here because my world was ending, and there were answers here for me to find in order to save it. And if you haven’t caught on, I’m talking about The Man Who Fell To Earth type alien, and not Earth is Ghetto type alien (but it is, and I wanna). And me. I’m mostly talking about me.

I’ve been watching this masterpiece of a series, starring K. Faraday and Justin Falls over and over, because it’s the first mirror that I’ve looked into, reflecting something that makes sense to me, about me. It’s also how the Ancestors have been getting through to me. I hear the words my father has been desperately trying to tell me. I see who I was and who I’ve been and who I’m destined to be, if I just agree to be a scientist again or something. You have to watch it. Like now. Chiwetel Ejiofor and Naomie Harris deserve all the past, present, and future things for this. Absolutely brilliant performances from them - and the cast!

But back to the Happy New Year.

At work, our leader asks about our word for the year. A tactic many people are using these days because the resolutions weren’t resoluting, but were they ever? Last year my word was somewhere between Love and Me. I spent the year trying to get the “and” out of the way and it was difficult and unfinished. I’ve been having a hard time thinking about what that word is for 2024. The last  time I went searching for a word, I found wounded. Perhaps my word for the year is discovering, and you can help me figure out what word is on the other side of it. 

See, I told you. Get your snacks ordered.

Sh!t Smart People Say

Act like you’ve been somewhere before. #Unc

I guess reading makes you smart. #SisNo.4

Two very smart people said things that, at first hearing, don’t seem too smart. But follow me. I’m going somewhere and I hope you’ll join me.

I am finally old enough to chaperone field trips y’all! My Uncle allowed me to chaperone his sixth-grade field trip, and the joy I felt at being that type of responsible adult? Unspeakable. Upon arriving to the location, the kids went crazy. Y’all. I mean, they had just calmed down from the fact that they weren’t riding on a big yellow school bus, but one of those luxury transit vehicles. With air conditioning, electrical outlets, tables, and a movie showing on the drop-down screens. 

My Uncle leaned into me and said, They act like that because they ain’t never been nowhere. Now you and your sisters, y’all been somewhere before. I took his remarks as slight annoyance, as most teachers are, when their class is overly exuberant about something. Also, I recognized that, while I don’t identify with traditionally privileged communities considering my humble beginnings, I was, well, kinda hella privileged (AF) – when, of course, you make all those humble considerations. Unc filled in the gaps my parents could not. Museums. Skating Rinks. Trolly Cars. College Campuses. Beaches. Amusements Parks. Road Trips. He would show up at the house, tell my mother to get us ready, and we would be in the streets with him, being somewhere. Even if it was the first time, and even though we were excited to be there, we always had this feeling that we were supposed to be there.

I mean, even my getting lost, was not about being afraid. I would be lost, walking around, taking it all in. The terror and horror of never seeing my family would not come to me until the moment I was found. And even then, there was no incredible revelation. I would be like, Aw, man. That would have sucked. And, get lost at the very next place.

Now, I get there are social, political, and economic structures that explain those kid’s behavior. I’m not judging them. Honestly, I’m glad they can say that they’re going places. (I just wish their own Uncles will take them! I’on care that’s yo’ teacher. He was my Uncle first!) I just didn’t realize, that, perhaps walking around UCLA’s campus like I owned it, came from every conscious and unconscious learning experience of having been somewhere. Or, that upon learning everything I learned there, I learned the devastating brutality of my ancestor’s building this of country. So, UCLA is like both ours, but I only get to wear it sometimes. #mygrandmamagavemethatchain

My sister called me, frustrated by a recent racist classroom experience. One in which her instructor said something so blatantly racist, that her immediate reaction was to pack up her belongings, leave the class, and wait for the next one to start. And because we’re smart kids and like to learn, she obviously did this from the front row of the classroom as the class debated the physical differences of the Black race, making them anatomically predisposed to athletic endeavors.

Y’all. What year is it? Because I may or may not have questions depending on your response.

In our venting, we somehow got on the topic of books, to which she said, I guess reading makes you smart. By the end of the conversation, she agreed that perhaps that sounded silly. But when I thought about it, she was right. It’s just a guess. I’m sure that instructor technically read things to be issued the academic certification to prepare teachers to be culturally sensitive to their students (this whole situation is laughable), but Class, I ask you, did the instructor’s reading make her own self smart?

This is all on the heels of that meme going around about that personal pan pizza reading challenge. When we were kids, we would go to the public library (not even a quarter-mile away from our house) and participate in those summer reading challenges. My sisters and I would finish them so quickly, that we wondered if we would ever figure out the challenge. It’s a book. You read it. When you finish it, you know things. Then you read another. We answered our questions with encyclopedias. We stumped librarians, teachers, and our parents with our ability to analyze information and transition it to different contexts. And this wasn’t some superior knowing or anything like that. We just had different kinds of questions because we read things…and acted like we had been places. (seeing that reading can take you places, it wasn't that hard an act)

It’s 2020 after all (about those questions I now have). You can put on a headset in the comfort of your own home and wifi, and literally go somewhere. Without transitioning time zones. Having not earned a single frequent flyer mile. And summa’yall can’t act like you been somewhere before. I mean, you spend 75% of your day looking at all the places other people went on social media and you can’t even act like it with the pictures right in front of you. I thought pictures made it real? You read the captions on the post, and I would have guessed that reading made you smart, but I’m not so sure.

My degrees are hanging on the wall of my family home, and nowhere else. Not because of my desire, but at the kindly worded threat request of my parents. Many people use those types of things to signify their aptitude. They’re not wrong, technically’ish. It’s just that if you have ever walked into any place I have lived or worked, you saw pictures of all the places I’ve been, and the books I have or will read. Those were always the indicators of my intellectual capabilities.

At least the only ones that mattered to me.

Also, we might need to start that reading challenge back up. I want some RoundTable.

How many books I gotta read? When I gotta finish? (you know we gotta adjust the number of books and timeline to account for summa’yall needing glasses and naps and whatnot) Who got me?

What I’m reading: Glow by Jessica Maria Tuccelli

Where I’m going: Montgomery, Alabama – Selma to Montgomery 51 Mile Relay After I wake up? The living room. That ‘rona got a playa grounded.

What y’all reading? What room in ya’ place you going to? #BeSmart

Roll, Rock, LIVE, Repeat

I did the Bay Breeze on a Saturday. Right after the race, I drove from San Leandro to Santa Cruz for a birthday party. I went from Santa Cruz to Palo Alto to rest. On the way home, my MLP tagged me in a post on ‘tha book of faces about our plan to go skating on Sunday. Sunday as in the day after the race. The plan to go skating that we never actually confirmed, until, well…she made the post.

So I found the place, created the event and went to sleep knowing that after I wrote 65 appreciation notes at work the next day, I was going roller skating – and my Uncle was coming with me. My Uncle who found out on the book of faces also – because he was invited. #YouThoughtIWasPaying #ThatsCute  #IPlannedTheEvent

SJ Adult Skate has terrible skates. #UncleTakingMeSkateShoppin!

When MLP and I reconfirmed what she already confirmed that afternoon, an amazing feeling came over me. I was ten years old again. I was going to bed, the night before Uncle was coming to pick us up at the house to take us to Milpitas. To CalSkate. And there we would spend all his money (at least we thought we would) on drinks, and pizza, and chips, and candy. We would go round and round the rink at light speed, which was probably about a half a mile and hour, maybe. We would smile each time we passed him, not even considering the alternative – that he was passing us. And then we would have to sit. Because it’s backwards skate time, and we are not as coordinated as we believed. And we fall down…and we are making everyone else fall down #GettingBackUpAgain&Again. And we always left too soon. Because the last song was always one song too soon. And we were back on 237, hoping to never reach 101. Praying for it to loop back to the parking lot and not the damn driveway.

I slept like a ten-year-old baby. Then I woke up and went to Church. Then from Church to Work. Then Work to Adult Skate.

I went flying around that rink like a superhero. My cardigan transformed to a short grey cape. Floating in the wind created by my awesome powers of being amazing on 8 wheels. Captain UCLA is what they called me. You didn’t see those 4 letters on my chest? That’s because I’m so damn fast. Catch me son. Oh, you can’t…

And Uncle and I rolled around the rink talking about the crappy floor and the horrible skates. He said we could go skate shopping so I could have my own – because those were whack. We smiled. We laughed. We reminisced on all the fun we ever had. And I thought to myself, how did I let 20 some even years get in the way of this feeling? Wait. What is this feeling? Can I get this on the streets?!

We learn all kinds of lessons from our parents. There are so many truths we pretend to not hear at 16 that become everything that ever saved us at 26. And we have to admit to them that they were right. Then there are the other lessons, that aren’t really lessons at all. They are life. Life experiences that people who are not so stressed out about, well…childbirth and the ensuing 18-year dependency #WishIHadADependentThisTaxSeason, give us. The Aunts, Uncles and Godparents, for example. At ten years old, my Uncle wanted me to know what it felt like to live. And he spent a small fortune making it happen – for every one of his nieces.

And I let life keep me from doing just that. Living.

I would have been right next to MLP going round and round to the last song if those horrible skates hadn’t start to hurt my big toe…big toe. I have never had more energy post race-I-didn’t-properly-train-for #thiswillbemycustom in my life than I did that Sunday night. You would have never known that the day before I was Bay Breezin and partying with a new walker.

And okay, so I maybe couldn’t decided not to wear heels to work the next day. And maybe it took me 15 minutes to get up 2 flights of stairs. And after I sat down in my office chair, I had to fall to the floor in order to get out of it because, well…gravity. Point is, I lived for three and a half hours.

And I did it skating backwards.

On Rare Occasions, I'm: Selfish > Selfless

I'm sorta, kinda, actually selfish...

But let me explain that.

No, I'm not sharing him. Don't. Ask.

I'm not selfish at all. That pissed me off when my ex of however long we were together and however long we were friends before we were together (for however long) said it to me. I'm really actually pretty damn selfless. Ask Tab. Not the key on your keyboard. The best friend that I ever had. The person on Earth who knows me better than anyone. Well, except Jesus - but that's not a fair comparison. Anyway, point remains, I'm not selfish.

Until, I realized that under the right circumstances, for example, being spoiled rotten by your mother's only brother, then yes. In that one particular instance, that ex was kinda, sorta, absolutely right. I'm selfish. I want, what I want, when I want it, and I honestly don't feel any kind of way about anyone that feels any kinda way about it.

But it's not my fault.

See, when we were kids, that guy I was talking about, my Uncle, kinda spoiled me (and my other six sisters) rotten. We're expired. Past due. Moldy and moody. He used to bring us toys, gifts, cash, ice cream, and laughs. Piggy back rides, and actual rides in his car. To pretty much anywhere we wanted to go, when we were ready to go. He used to take us to Cal Skate in Milpitas all the time. He always seemed to have people with him besides us on those trips. Not people though, person actually. A girl. Okay, he brought his girlfriend(s). Don't ask me their names. I remember some. There's one you really shouldn't say around us. We couldn't stand that heffa. ugh.

Anyway, Cal Skate. Milpitas. Girlfriend. We went skating all the time. This means we had to get in the car. There's a driver's seat, a passenger seat and a back seat. So, I'll give you a second to guess the seating assignments. And you've just won the jackpot if you said: Uncle drove, Niece rode passenger, and Girlfriend in the back. I mean, where else was I supposed to sit? And, it's not like he felt any kind of way about it. I mean, I am his niece, right?

Only, I was his niece. Not a woman. Just a kid. A little (girlie)gurl, who adored her Uncle who happened to adore her. He used to tell us "no" all the time, but we all knew it wasn't a "no"...it was more like, "No, you didn't ask me that silly question when you know I'm going to do it." Like wax my car. It took me a while to understand that "no" actually meant "no"...sometimes. I get confused though, every now and then. My ex told me "no" once, and I really, in my heart didn't actually believe that was the answer. I was legitimately lost.

I'm a woman (kinda) now. And I kinda see that it was a fcked up thing, you know. What me and my Uncle did. *shurgs* As a woman, I'd never want to be in that situation. It kinda sucks. But in the moment, what do you do? Yea, it's a spoiled ass kid around...but a kid nonetheless, and you're like an outsider. There's no genetic relation, and if somebody gotta die, I mean...genetics.

pretty much.

When I made that realization above, I thought, maybe I should mature my relationship with my Uncle. That same day my car made a funny noise. I brought my keys to him. Told him my car was broken, took the keys to his truck and left. On my way out, I told him to let me know when my car was ready. He had to ask for it back. I drove his car across the bridge going to Vallejo. I didn't have cash. He got a bill in the mail. When he attempted to chastise me about it my response was, "it's not like I was being irresponsible, I told you about it". And I was completely serious. I also made him late to hang out with his friends. When I realized he wasn't going, I got back in his car and left. I watch football games on his TV because it's better than mine. When my hand is empty and in front of him, he puts money in it. I mean, it's empty...jeez. 

Then there was this one day. After long nights in the office, I am finally home at a kinda sorta decent hour. The day before Thanksgiving. The day when everyone is supposed to home hanging out and cooking. Only, he's going out. 

Me: Where you think you going?

Unc: Salsa dancing. You don't salsa.

Me: Are you crazy? I speak Spanish. *latin 2 step*

Unc: -_-

Me: Oh, and I got the perfect dress?! I'm going...

Unc: No, you're not going with me.

Me: -_-

Unc: How do you think you're getting there? I got people with me. You can follow me.

Me: Sure can. Follow you to your car.

Unc: Where are the other people going to sit?

Me: #FTW *shrugs* I don't know. Sounds like they got a personal problem to me. In their cars, maybe?

Unc: You are spoiled rotten. You know that right?

Me: And how do you think this happened?

Because sometimes a question is the only way to answer a question.

What? I like to salsa dance. We both knew, if I got my tail feather in that truck, his plan, is going to become my plan. Then I thought about that epiphany I had. Not the song. The damn thought. I was about to purposely do what I used to do accidentally all the damn time. Some woman was going to have to wait for her drinks because he'd be at the bar getting mine. And I was going to cause a mini scene at the bar because they inevitably would not have the particular liquor I felt like drinking #peachciroc #gingerale. They'd have to eat Jack N The Box on the way home because apparently, that's the only damn thing I want to eat after I've been out partying. They were going to have to pause their conversations because I want tell my Uncle something right in that moment - because it's funny...and time sensitive. And, right when they were having the time of their lives, the night was going to be cut short, because? Because I'm ready to go home. "I'm tired as hell, Uncle. I worked all damn day!"

And we were going to go home. And the next day we'd be watching football. Seeing my fantasy team in the league that mattered the most to me, depress me. Talking statistics and poorly tailed suits on hall of famers. Arguing over when players got drafted, what teams were going to win or lose, and calling a draw when google tells us that we're both wrong. It'll be like the night before didn't happen. Like Drew on 50 first dates. Because we're going to live long enough to live it again.

I know, I know. I'm fcking selfish.

Well, at least I'm honest.  #RedeemingQuality

...and I'm not finished. Because in making one point, I realized another.

I'm supposed to be fcking selfish. Why you ask? Because he's mine! He's MY Uncle. Not yours. Not hers, Not theirs. He's my Uncle. He's supposed to adore me. To love me despite the fact I'm a brat (of his own design). Honestly, my Uncle isn't any different than my Daddie.

They're the reason I don't take out trash. Or willingly wash my car. Or have to read the manual to figure out how to pump gas. Or feel safe as a safe in Fort Knox when we're driving through unknown neighborhoods. They are the reason that in the midst of the most horrible times personally, professionally or globally, I can smile...why? Because around them, I ain't got no worries! (yes, I said "worries") Every day, they show up and show out in this way. I know that I am completely loved...not (just) because of genetics...but because they know the worst thing about me...that I have the capacity to be a selfish brat…and they love me anyway. They know the proverbial WORST thing about me, and they love me anyway.

Call me crazy, but...shouldn't a man who loves you make you feel this way?

You didn't have to call me crazy. You know that I'm right.