Accommodating (Mine Are)

Mine are waiting.
Where are you going?
Mine are welcoming.
Won’t you come in?
Mine are soft.
You know that quite well.
Mine are thick?
Never ever to thin.
Mine are warm.
I’ll provide you heat.
Mine are always opened.
…where could you be?

Vive Sine Paenitentia

Res Ipsa Loquitur.
~Uncaught Recidivist

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Soundtrack

Soo…is it weird that my manuscripts have soundtracks? No. I didn’t think so, because I know for certain that I’m not the only writer (published or nearly-published) that has these. (Insert sassy neck and eye roll) Thank you.

Today there’s no sexy pieces to relay because I’m not feeling very, you know, passionate, and after last night’s stink of a disaster into the foray of trying to express exactly what the hell I wanted to say, on the blank screen, that sat in front of me, teasing and taunting; I found myself wondering if the feelings that I had after, you know, not being able to write, were normal? I posed the query to twitter and a good writer-friend and newly published author of Goddess of Legend, Ms. Erin Ashley Tanner, answered with something that made me laugh and feel tons better about the mood and malady that had encroached upon my being.

Felt tons better.

Anyway.

Her response (see them here @erintheauthor or @licitrecidivist) lead to the aforementioned questions, book/writing soundtracks or playlists, do you have them?

Every manuscript that I have ever written (accepted and rejected) has a soundtrack…not because I plan on encompassing them into my marketing plan or the like (but hey, if there’s a sell there, then I’ll encompass my ass off), but because they absolutely help.

There are days when I’m in an extremely delightful mood and my story causes for sorrow, and no matter how hard I’ve genuinely tried to get to that sorrowful state, because yes, I have to be there, I have to become the hero or the heroine and experience the pain that I’m trying to relay, sometimes there’s even tears, I can’t get there by just wanting to. (long sentence, whatever, I’ll refer you to the unedited part of this blog’s tag line, thanks (more sassy next rolling and such))  

Don’t judge.

The reason? I feel like if I’m crying then at that point in the tale, my (potential) readers should be too.

Salient, indeed.

There are also days that I’m feeling a little down, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t buck up,  and I really need to because at that point in my tale, my hero or heroine is about to experience overwhelming joy. And, I have to be there, I have to experience that joy that I’m trying to relay, sometimes there are even tears—happy tears in this case—and I can’t get there by just wanting to.

Don’t judge.

The reason? If I’m overwhelmed with joy by just writing these words, and if I can feel what the hero or heroine is feeling at this point, then my (potential) readers should be able to too.

Salient, indeed.  

There are times as well, when I’m feeling anything but sexy. Yes, you guessed it, I’m at that in the story where there’s some sexy time coming up, and damn right, I’ve got to be there too. I’ve got to feel what my characters are feeling and I can’t get there by just you know…wanting to.

Don’t judge.

The reason? If I’m pressing my thighs together, panting slightly, flushed, and my nipples are a tad puckered…then I sure hope like hell my (potential) readers are feeling some of the same things.

Salient, indeed.

All of that to say, I have help with getting there and it comes in the form of music for most of this, the last one (feeling sexy and such) well, there’s a little outside help there, but that’s a blog for another time.

The point? 

Music, music helps with a lot.

As mentioned in previous blogs, when I went off to college, I majored in Music Education and was there on a music scholarship, all of this before realizing that yes, I love music, but it wasn’t what I wanted to do, not professionally anyway. Anyhoo, during the two years of undergraduate course work in Music Education, which basically if you’ve taken these two years, you’re pretty grounded and rounded in the field, not to say that you don’t need the last two and half to make your professional studies complete, it’s just that, with these basics, you’re good to go.

Digression.

During that time, I was afforded the opportunity to learn about different styles, genres, etc, and how they affected and effected the soul. All that I learned is true. It does and it can change you, and I’m thankful for that experience because knowing that, knowing that all I had to do was pop in a CD, plug up the iPad/iPod or what have you and tune to a piece that’ll change my psyche has helped tremendously in my writing.

Why?

Because when I’m delightful and I need to cry, (especially if it’s a scene of reminiscing about a bastard that’s broken my heroine’s heart) I can pop in Melanie Fiona’s And It Kills Me or Monica’s Ring The Bell and get those tears flowing, not because the songs actually makes me cry, but those song take me back to a place where I’ve been, and that place makes me cry.

Why?

Because when I’m feeling a little down and need to buck up, I can queue Beyonce’s Get Me Bodied, or Check Up On it, Brandy’s Sitting on Top of The World, Biggie’s Hypnotize (don’t ask why these songs make me happy, but they do, I guess it’s because they’re all fun) or Robin Thicke’s Blurred Lines, and then suddenly, I’m up dancing and feeling loads better than before.

Why?

Because when I’m feeling not so sexy, I can pop in, Bed, by J-Holiday, Tamia’s, Can’t Get Enough, Trey Songz’, Neighbors Know My Name, Wale Feat. Juicy J and Nicki Minaj, Clappers (Don’t ask), and the next thing you know, I’m seat-dancing and having sexy thoughts. Lots of sexy thoughts.

All of that explaining and such, because I wanted to know what your soundtrack is, if you have one (because I think it’s dope if you do, definitely leave it below in the comments or tweet me), and if you could tell from mine (see below) what my story is about….just curiosity and also fulfilling my pre-new year’s resolution of blogging everyday. Also, I think that with each new project, I’m going to post what I’m listening to.

*shrugs*

Now Playing:

1. Alicia Keys – Girl on Fire

2. Beyonce – Best Thing I Never Had

3. India Arie – Brown Skin

4. Neyo – Can We Chill

5. Jay-Z – Encore

6. Beyonce – Get Me Bodied

7. Gyptian – Hold Yuh

8. Ryan Leslie – How It Was Supposed To Be

9. J. Holiday – Bed

10. Rihanna Ft. Drake – What’s My Name

11. Nat King Cole – When I Fall in Love

12. Rihanna Ft. Mikky Ekko – Stay

13. Toni Braxton – He Wasn’t Man Enough For Me

14. Nelly Ft. Avery Storm – In My Life

15. Justin Timberlake – Mirrors

16. Tamar Braxton – Love and War

17. Kelly Rowland – Motivation

18. Ryan Leslie – My Addiction

19. Ludarcris Ft. Diamond, Trina, and Eve) – My Chick Bad (Remix)

20. Wale Ft. Chris Brown and Fabolous – Pretty Girls (Remix)

21. Brandy Ft. Chris Brown – Put It Down

22. Southern University Human Juke Box –  V.S.O.P. by K. Michelle, arrangement

23. Beyonce – That’s How You Like It

24. Morgan State University Magnificent Marching Machine – Do it

25. Elizabeth City State University Marching Sound of Class – Couple of Forevers by Chrisette Michele, arrangement

26. Elizabeth City State University Marching Sound of Class – War (Vikings’ Version)

27. Elizabeth City State University Marching Sound of Class – Love and War by Tamar Braxton, arrangement

28. Tinie Tempah Ft. Emeli Sande – Let Go

29. Tinie Tempah Ft. Kelly Rowland – Invincible

30. Wale Ft. Tiara Thomas – Bad

I totally wanted to link the YouTube versions of these songs, but I promise you that I don’t feel like it, so just look them up yourself, if you have a chance. Anyhoo, so tell me whatcha think?

Vive Sine Paenitentia

   Res Ipsa Loquitur.
~Uncaught Recidivist

Ready

Ready.

Parted.

Awaiting.

Quivering.

Elated.

Anxious.

                 Entered.

Complete.

Sated.

Vive Sine Paenitentia

   Res Ipsa Loquitur.
~Uncaught Recidivist

 

Full

You can touch it.
Feel it.
Want it.
Love it.
Keep it.
Dismiss it.
Swallow it.
Absorb it.
Nurture it…
…or discard it.

 

Vive Sine Paenitentia

~ U.R.

Knowing When to Fold ‘Em…and other shit that I should’ve done a long time ago! (Part 3)

 

Part 1

Part 2

 

The Conversation 

I left the computer lab in a daze. I walked back to my dorm room in a daze. I left my best friend there. I didn’t talk to her. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I wanted, no, I needed to talk to this man that I called my best friend. The man that promised that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, disrespect me, deter me, or harm me, that’s the guy with whom I needed to speak.

That one.

I entered my dorm room, my roommate wasn’t there — thank God,—I hated her. Really, really hated her. She was the absolute worst, but whatever, that’s a blog for another time. I got there, and she wasn’t there. I looked in my desk for my calling card—yeah, can you imagine, calling card, not a cell phone, not just pick up the phone, calling card. Damn things have changed and I feel officially old right now. Whatever. I found the calling card. I looked at it numbly, picked up the cordless phone in my room, dialed the number to his dorm room, and then entered the numbers of the calling card. He picked up. You heard me. He picked up. He hadn’t been picking up for days, remember, but this time, as if he knew, he picked up. I could hear the noise in the background, it was a room full of a guys, I believe it was a football game on TV. I said in as much of a monotone as I could remember. “We need to talk.”
I surmise that at this time, he could hear the seriousness in my voice, so he said, “Okay. Give me a second.” Perhaps it wasn’t even the seriousness, perhaps he just knew that his time was up? Perhaps he just instinctually felt that he had been caught. Whatever the case, he left the mentioned noisy room, found a quiet space, and said to me, “I’m back. What’s going on?”
I sat there and couldn’t decide what was going on. I couldn’t understand what was happening because I believed that this was my first bout with heartbreak. The severe heartbreak that will have you thinking that when Angela Bassett burned her husband’s car and other personal shit up in Waiting to Exhale he got off too easy. It was too nice. She should’ve killed him. Yeah, that type of heartbreak, the kind that left you with your very own episode of Snapped via the Oxygen Network.
Suffice it to say, I was hurt.

Numb.

Flummoxed.

I didn’t speak for a moment. I sat quietly. I heard him say, “Babe? You there?” I remember because anytime I think of him until this very day, it’s those words that I hear.

I answered. “Don’t call me that.” The ire in which the four words came out, left me a bit out of sorts. I had been crying. I didn’t even know it until I felt the tear stream my face. “Don’t you dare call me that.” I warned again, still in a trance at my wearied tone.

He had the decency to oblige. “Okay…well, what’s going on?” the query as skeptic as they came.
It was probably the skepticism in his voice that bought on the next part of this blog, or perhaps it was blind furry that that turned my tears into a rage like you wouldn’t believe. Anger that heated my skin, my soul, whelped my being, and singed my core.

Skepticism.

Here’s what I said, “How could you sit there and act like you’re concerned when you weren’t concerned. You weren’t! You were out here f&*ing girls. You m$$#%*in  ass. You simple son-of-bitch. You lowly f!#%er. I hope you die, you good for nothing, *(*^*UOII! I*UWIOP*7827u! … {The rest was truncated do to the adult nature of the blessing bestowed upon him and the length in which it transpired}

Yeah, so I said that.

And get a damn load of this.

When I was done, when I had no more words, no more tears to cry, no more of anything, I was spent. Depleted.
He said. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to be this guy. I got into this mess, and I couldn’t get out of it. I don’t like her, I don’t love her. I love you. You’re my best friend…I don’t know how I did this to you, and I haven’t slept well knowing that I did. We’re best friends remember, best friends. I know you’re hurt and I hope that you can forgive me. Please forgive me. I don’t want to lose your friendship.”

My being stilled.

My soul cooled.

My body relaxed.

I opened my ears.

I listened.

My heart softened.

I listened again as he pled my forgiveness.

I listened and heard him say, best friend. I was his best friend. He was my best friend. I hadn’t been completely honest with him when I decided that I wanted him to be my boyfriend. At the time, you’ll remember, that I had just left one guy. Like, same day broke up with one, later that night, called this guy to fill the void. Too, I kissed him, while I was still with my ex. No, I convinced myself, I hadn’t been the perfect girlfriend. I had a little fun in the boy’s dorms—not that way you perverts—during the earlier part of the semester. I still kept in contact with my ex-boyfriend. We talked on the regular. We remained good friends—we’re still good friends today—all the while I was with this guy that I was supposed to call a best friend and boyfriend. So yeah, I guess I wasn’t that innocent.
With the depreciating realization, perhaps it was a balm for my hurt pride, I said, “Okay, I forgive you…let’s work on it.” Whatever the hell that meant at nineteen, being a damn sophomore in college, separated by a two-hour difference.
And you will never guess what he said to me next.

Shit, I have a hard time believing it now.

I simply fucking can’t believe that I actually heard the words, because listen, it’s not the words that you want to hear after swallowing your own pride, coming up with reasons yourself for forgiving a cheating bastard. Listen, you simply don’t want to hear this…but here it is:
“I don’t think we can work on it. I don’t. I don’t think you‘ll look at me with the same eyes. I don’t want to be that dude in your life. We have to break up.”

What?

In.

The.

Complete.

And.

WHOLE.

ENTIRE.

FUCK.

JUST.

HAPPENED?

After relegating his actions to that of my own, because you know, according to my fucked up thoughts I had not been the perfect girlfriend, that’s what he said to me. That’s what he said to me, after me having, swallowed dwindling pride. After realizing that my best-friend/boyfriend had cheated on me, in some very descriptive details, that’s, what he said to me. Those were the words that he used. Those were the ones that he chose. Of all the things, that was it?

Really?

Really.
I wasn’t afforded the opportunity to ask him. I wasn’t given a chance to request an explanation.

He hung up.

Vive Sine Paenitentia

Res Ipsa Loquitur.
~Uncaught Recidivist

As far as the other shit I should’ve done a long time ago, this blog’s regrets, not taking my braids out last weekend. They’re past due for a taking-out. That’s it.

Thrift Store Book Finds…And Other Shit I’m Thankful For!

So…yesterday I went into a thrift store. Reason? My super awesome spawn has this thing about finding old shit and making it new. I dig her. And if she wasn’t mine, you know outright, I would lobby like you wouldn’t believe to be her friend. She’s pretty damned dope that way. Anyway, while she looked for the old shit to make new, I did what I always do (you heard me) anytime I’m in a place with used books. I perused the shelves and this time, I happened upon a book that was a three-in-one deal by Author Felicia Mason, who I learned after a little research when I got home resides in my home-state of Virginia. I was super stoked by the find because one, I had never even heard of her, two, I love to find good books at the thrift store, library sales, wherever. The shelves of the bookcases throughout my home are lined accordingly, and there is no shame there (yeah, don’t you go judging me, you bastard. I buy new books as well, so suck it. Ha!). Even though I own a Nook in just about each generation, with the exception of the Nook touch, I still like flipping the real pages to a novel.
Digression.
Anyway, the point is, I like finding good books for cheap. Whatever. Like I said I buy new books too, but cheap good ones are the best.

(ASIDE) Is it just me, or does anyone else feel like, a “That’s what she said” line would be perfect after the latter part of the last sentence. *Shrugs* Whatever, it was funny to me.

Anyway, there’s other shit that I’m thankful for as well, and that’s the ability to have patience. The ability to stick with and too my guns, the ability to not give-up when all signs pointed to giving up. Yeah, I’m thankful for that. The decision to write seriously wasn’t one easily decided upon (see other entries, and no, I’m not linking them because it’s Labor Day fools and that’s too much work) however, once the decision, no the need to do this was so overpowering, I poured most of my all into it. The end result was a summer or researching, reading, re-writing, re-inventing, emailing, postal mailing, questioning, querying, and not sleeping wondering if anyone else out there in the world would believe in my stories, my work as much as I do, but I wouldn’t trade a moment of it for the world. Why? Well, it’s because I received approximately twenty-three Nos to one YES. Now, tell me which one matters the most? Yeah, you guessed right. So, I’m thankful for the Nos, I’m thankful for the doubt, and I’m thankful for the tears and fears, because without them, without the deterrents, that one yes, wouldn’t amount to shit. Best YES of the year…and really after that, does aything else matter?

The moral? Fuck them No’s, your yes will come. Write-On! (Oh, and in case you’re wondering, that sentence is PERFECT.)

~Vive Sine Paenitentia~

Res Ipsa Loquitur

~Uncaught Recidivist

Note: This is a happy post, which means, it was only spelled checked and I don’t have the ability at the present moment to give a whole damn about the grammar. Consider this free-writing, and if you don’t…kiss my sass.

Knowing When to Fold ‘Em…and other shit that I should’ve done a long time ago! (Part 2)

Part 1

So…where did I leave off? Oh yeah. College, second semester freshman year.

So yeah, I asked did he want to be my boyfriend and he, without thought, or hinder, said “Yes.”

See, now here’s the thing with that yes. While I was pretty happy to have my best-friend as a boyfriend, this same best-friend, had another male friend, whom I had…let’s say, dated. We didn’t really date, and seeing as how someday a lot of people will read this and no doubt judge me—if I were to be completely honest—I’m calling it dating, and if you chose to draw your own sassy conclusions from the words in between lines, then that’s your stuff. I’m going with dating. Yeah, so we dated. Did I say date a lot? Yes? Then good, you get it, we dated. Dated! Anyway, with him having a friend that I dated, it put him and the friend in sort of a bind, but my best-friend, being the good friend that he was, decided that after saying yes to me, he would check with “dated-guy” just to be sure. According to my history, “dated-guy “said, “He did not have a problem with our—best-friend and I—new relationship.

Onward.

Right after we made our relationship official, we ended school for summer break. Both of us coming back to Virginia, to do what most college students do during that time. We hustled. I worked at a day care, he worked at some distribution company, which had him working strange hours into the wee hours of the morning. OR. SO. I. THOUGHT.

Onward.

Our summer went off without a hitch, we had a few dates, had a little fun, and made a little money to take back to college with us. I went on vacation with my family, and he went on vacation with his. OR. SO. I. THOUGHT.

Onward.

Oh…wait, I forgot an important fact, before the THOUGHTS or wee-hour schedules, or the summer vacation, we took a step in our relationship not more than a month after making it official, and made it waaaayyy official. OR. SO. I. THOUGHT.

Backward.

That time spent officalizing—Shut up that’s a word—our relationship, was probably the most special, most meaningful, most passionate time that I’d endured. You know, at the ripe age of nineteen, and honestly, ‘til this very day, I wouldn’t have changed a moment of it. Wait. OR. SO. I. THINK.

Onward.

Nearing the ending of our summer, I couldn’t fathom the idea of leaving him to go to separate schools that were two hours away from each other, but then, there was a silver lining. I was finally allowed to take my car to school. WOOHOO! I would just drive to see him on the weekends that I didn’t have a football game (see previous posts, I was in marching band), this would be just fine. OR. SO. I. THOUGHT.

Onward.

Those of you who know anything about being in the marching band at a Historically Black College and University knows that marching band is a way of life, a culture, it’s everything, and so…there’s no free time. Plus, I didn’t have gas money and I damned for sure wasn’t going to ask my parents for money for gas to go see a boy. What? So I could hear, “We didn’t send you to college so that you could go see men, we sent you to get an education that had better pay off.” Listen, my mother, is very articulate, but that sentence isn’t even remotely close to anything that she would’ve said. Had I asked for gas money to travel from the Albemarle Sound of Carolina to Raleigh, there would’ve been expletives that made you cringe, so I didn’t even bother to ask. I snuck. I snuck and I didn’t get caught. OR. SO. I. THOUGHT.

Onward.

Yeah, so I did go to see him, drove my red 96 model two door Toyota Corolla (it was 2001 at this point) to Raleigh, under the guise that I was going home with a friend for the weekend. That was the truth and a lie. I did go home with a friend, I just didn’t stay there with her. I stayed in a hotel room with my boyfriend.

ASIDE: Listen, mom, when you read this, I just want to say, I’m sorry. I never meant to deceive you, but see, here’s the thing, I was dealing with crazed teenage hormones, and all kind of stuff that made me feel kind of funny inside. So yeah, the excuse/reason, legit. I love you.

Onward.

So that weekend, we spent it held up in a Comfort Inn in Raleigh, experiencing the epitome of being in an adult relationship. OR. SO. I. THOUGHT.

Backward.

When making the plans to go there, Dee (Yeah, that’s what we’re still calling him right?) said that he had a hookup from a boy who could get us the room for cheap. No problem, right?

Wrong. Wrong on so many different levels. Anyway, so, I had to pay for the room (I think that’s how it happened. Listen, as this story goes on, this part won’t even matter and “Dee” if you paid for it, my bad, but seriously, you, you can tell me to change this around? Get outta here). Anyway from there, we went on to have a lovely lunch at Burger King, dinner at some place cheap or another, and then back to the adult version of our relationship. OR. SO. I. THOUGHT.

Onward.

Anyway, when our weekend was done, I drove to my friend’s house, picked her up, and we headed back to the Albemarle sound. We had been back for about three weeks, when I realized…Oh No, I’m a girl, I’m supposed to have a period. Hmmm…whatever could be the problem? Oh no, I’m a girl, I’m supposed to have a period. Damn, I know the problem. And according to Clear Blue Easy, I was destined to have eighteen more years worth of problems.

Onward.

It was not to be.

I vacillated between a feeling of loss and a feeling of relief to a feeling of anger. It was the most hurtful and confusing time of my entire nineteen years on earth that far. Those of you that are close to me, know that I’ve been plenty confused and hurt before, but came out of that lake of shit, smelling like a rose. This time…I just stunk. The day that I called to tell him about what happened, was the day that he didn’t pickup. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t been picking up his dorm room phone regularly since the previous week. Which made me wonder. But then, he was at school on a sports scholarship, which required strict regimes and demands, so I let that go. OR. SO. I. THOUGHT.

Backward.

After him not picking up for a week, my best-friend and I went into the computer lab at our school, because using the clunky COMPAQ in my room drove me nuts, because seriously, it was just too slow (Internet wise). Anyway, we went into the computer lab with the sole purpose of emailing him, but then, something clicked and I remembered that I had his password to his email—he gave it to me willingly, you know we were best-friends nothing to hide—so she and I both decided to check his email. Wait! Don’t judge me. We checked it  just to see if he was okay and such. You don’t believe me? Whatever, that’s your stuff. And what I’m about to type is my stuff, and it still makes me nauseous until this very day. I mean stupid sick! We logged on to his email, and my best-friend (girl bf from college) said, “You sure you want to do this?” with the skepticism of a real best-friend, but a nosey bastard at the same time.

I said, “No” and then I opened it.

The first email was from, his ex-girlfriend. OR. SO. I. THOUGHT.

Onward.

So the day that I called him to let him know that we had created a child together, however, my body was not equipped to carry it at the moment, and so, subsequently, we had lost a child together, I had the wonderful knowledge of knowing that; all those long hours that he worked at the distribution center, yeah, he was with her. The family vacay’s that he went on, yeah, he was with her. The day before we made our relationship waaaaayyy official, he had called her to talk to her. Why he hadn’t been picking up my phone calls for about a week or so, yeah, he was talking to her. So, as you can see, my  THOUGHTS were clearly FUCKED UP. Silly me…and yet that’s only the beginning of my stinking think.

You’ll never believe the conversation that happens next. Until this very day, I still can’t believe it…but then…maybe I can…OR. SO. I. THINK!

Vive Sine Paenitentia

Alas, I do. Which is good and horrible.

Res Ipsa Loquitur

~Uncaught Recidivist

Also for the shit that I should’ve done a long time ago, well…I think you get it by now!

Sunshine and Versatile Blogger Award Nomination – Thank you!!! It Means A TON!

sunshine-award1

Yo!!!

Where do I begin?!?!? Seriously, I just felt like I was about to accept a Grammy for the best rap album of the year. Having said that, I believe the correct protocol would be to thank God and other omnipotent beings, however, if you’ve been reading my posts then we all know that I’m anti-protocol at the moment so I’m moving on. I’m choosing to thank a guy that has quite possibly made my entire month by nominating me for this award, Fahdah Away (Humble Mouths)   . Seriously, my words will never do justice to his talent and insight, GO. CHECK. HIM. OUT. NOW. You’ll find yourself aroused, teased, satisfied, and then I promise-swear you’ll need to smoke one after. It’s just that good! HANDS DOWN! The sheer fact that he saw fit to even comment on a post that I made, literally floored me. I can’t tell you enough about how much that means to me! And I definitely am thankful in ways unimaginable. I know that you say it’s just an internet award, but that’s not what this is about for me. As a writer, we know how much just having someone, anyone appreciate your craft, your being, your air means, but to have it appreciated by a peer with talent that surpasses…it’s sex. It’s good, dirty, uber gratifying sex. *Shakes head, grabs the lighter, and a square* Yes, that aptly describes the feeling. Fadah, Thanks! Thanks for reading. Thanks for understanding, and just…Thanks! Feels good to finally be gotten! And I’m passing this on and back, and I’d like to nominate the following for the Sunshine Award:

Humble Mouths – I’ve already told you. If you don’t check this guy out, you’re doing yourself a disservice. Period.
Intelligent Thoughts – This girl? Amazing.
TheseWordsIWrite2012 – This guy? Yes, do check him out!
Satoya Foster – This girl? Yeah, do check it out! Information on lots of stuff!
Harsh Reality – This guy? Real!

The Rules

Post the logo above

Accept the nomination and link back to the blog that nominated you

Answer the questions

Nominate blogs and inform them of the nomination

——-
Questions

Favorite color: Pink

Favorite animal: Rabbit

Favorite number: 0 Because it’s everything and nothing at all. I identify.

Favorite (non-alcoholic) drink: Pepsi

Favorite (alcoholic drink): Screw Driver

Facebook or Twitter: Twitter @licitrecidivist

My passions: Writing, Romance, and a nice variation of the two!

Giving or receiving gifts: Receiving, but then to whom much is given, much is expected. So…

Favorite city: Virginia Beach, Virginia

Favorite TV show: Right now, it’s VEEP

And I would also like to nominate the following for the Versatile Award as well:

Humble Mouths

Intelligent Thoughts

Satoya Foster

Harsh Reality

versatile-blogger-award1

Rules:

Post the logo above

Accept the nomination and link back to the blog that nominated you

Share seven things about yourself

Nominate blogs and inform them of the nomination

Seven random facts about me!

1. I initially went to college for Music Education on a partial scholarship. (My major changed to Elementary Ed.)
2. I play seven instruments. 5 well, B-flat Clarinet, Bass Clarinet, Soprano Sax, Alto-Sax, Tenor-Sax. 2, not so well, Baritone Sax and Piano. But I can teach one how to play just about any instrument, with the exception of a Aulochrome    <because I think these things are as ridiculous as they come, but they do sound amazing and having the talent to play one, is definitely a feather in one's hat. Search youtube and give it a listen.
3. I have a lazy eye that literally only gets lazy when I’m tired.
4. I own all of those instruments, with the exception of the Bari-Sax, and a piano, I only have a keyboard. Technically that’s my daughter’s, who by the way, plays Clarinet, Flute, the Saxes (No Bari…yet), French Horn, and Mellophone.
5. I love Country Music.
6. Though my major changed, I had a job in the Music department of a prestigious HBCU for a year.
7. When I was younger, I wanted to be a lawyer, because I wanted to be like Clair Huxtable, sans the children and the Looney husband.

I think that about does it! I can’t thank Fadah Away enough for the nomination. Seriously, it means a ton, and CONGRATS to all of my nom’s I wish you all well! Thanks loves! Until then,

~Vive Sine Paententia~

Res Ispa Loquitur
~Uncaught Recidivist

Naked. Honest.

Naked. Honest.

I’m not who you think I am.
                         …
Don’t feel bad, I’m not who I think I am either.
                         …
I’m not what you want me to be.
                         …
Don’t feel bad, I’m not who I want to be either.
                         …
I’m not where you thought I am.
                         …
Don’t feel bad, I’m not sure how I got here.
                         …
I’m not going where you think I’m going.
                         …
Don’t feel bad, I got lost.
                         …
I’m not going back to being who you thought I was.
                         …
Don’t feel bad, I wasn’t happy there, so I had to leave.
                         …
I’m not the smile you see on my face.
                         …
Don’t feel bad, it was faux anyway.

                       You’re bare.
I know.
                       You’re lost.
I know.
                       You’re drifting.
I know.
                       You’re scared.
I know.
                       You’re here.
I know.
                       You’re leaving.
I know.
                       Will you stay?
I can’t.
                       Why?
I’m cold.
                       Why?
I’m naked.
                       Why?
I’m honest.
                         …
I’m free.
                         …Ok.

~Vive Sine Paententia~

 

Res Ipsa Loquitur
~Uncaught Recidivist

Faux Excuberance…and other stuff I wasn’t honest about…

So….

I’ve been cooped up sick for the last three days. I’ve spent a lot of time tweeting, texting, no talking because I sound like  a damn fog horn, but communicating with the outside world nonetheless. In this brief moment of quarantine, I’ve learned a lot, but the most important thing was that, I’m a pretty good liar. When asked the question of “How are you?” casually by anyone during these last few days, my response has been, “Great! How are you?”

Wait!

Didn’t I say I was just home sick for the last few days? Yes, and that’s the truth, so why was it that I couldn’t just say to these cats that have asked a simple question, “Dude, I’m ridiculously ill at the moment.”

What’s so hard about being honest with that?

My initial response would be nothing. The analytical response would be, because you’ve been so use to telling people what they want to hear, you’ve never spent the time or thought telling them what was real.

This is a problem.

Why?tumblr_lzb6ktR7Ui1r2mytio1_500

Cool your jets, I’m getting there.

It’s a problem because, I pride myself on being a straight shooter. A shooter that pulls the proverbial gun from the holster and shoots straight from the hip, but with the aforesaid realization, it turns out that I’m completely wrong. I think I lift the gun with my none stable hand, aim it off to the side, and hope to miss. I’ve done no one a service by this, if anything a grave disservice.

I should’ve said “Hey, idiot, that hurt me.” when it hurt.

I should’ve said, “No, I don’t like this.” when I didn’t like it.

I should’ve said, “You’re wrong,” when I knew you were wrong.

I didn’t, thus the disservice.

My answers were, “No, I’m okay.” when I wasn’t. My answers were, “Oh, I think it’s all right.” when it wasn’t. Lastly, my answers were, “Maybe you’re right.” when clearly you weren’t.

That sounds a bit like a sickness.

I read a tweet recently by a young woman who I follow, and I have no idea who she is, I caught a quote of hers by a retweet and curiosity led me to follow her to see if there was more witty banter where that came from. Anyway, the basis of the quote was “be yourself and not who you think they want you to be.” It wasn’t until about the middle of this post that I realized the reason for that little phrase hitting me so hard, and that was because, I absolutely needed to read that. I’ve been too busy pleasing you, that I haven’t spent enough time pleasing me. So long trying to do what I thought you wanted me to do, not enough time doing what I wanted to do.

When, in the process of living, had I decided that my feelings, wants, needs, didn’t matter? Well, I suppose that during this exploration of all that I am, I’ll gain the answer. In the meantime, however, that’s a bit to chew on. Plus, I need to wrap this up, because the Bugs Bunny with the red hairy monster thing is on, and that’s my favorite, and that’s the truth!

Until then…

Vive Sine Paenitentia

Res Ipsa Loquitur

~Uncaught Recidivist

Oh yeah…have any of you found yourself in a similar situation, if so, I’d love to hear it…and I promise you won’t find yourself in one of my future stories….well maybe not yourself, but I can’t promise I won’t liken a character after you! Just saying! *Shrugs shoulder*