excerpt from just another book I started and never finished *about interracial relationships* -a version of this story happened to me in real life (sad face)

“Bu–but I love him.” I said pouted lip, sounding pitiful like a spoiled child.
“Love don’t change nothin fool. Love don’t make you blacker. And love sure as hell don’t make him whiter. Y’all ain’t fittin. You don’t belong.” I half expected her to scream “now get!” the way she was shooing me away like some vermin that came wondering into a campsite unwanted looking for food scraps. I could not believe that a man that shook me to my very core of being, that conjured up such a magnificent love from my heart could have been created by a woman so drenched in hatred. Tears began to stream from my blue eyes, my face started to melt. I looked up at her, she seemed to be taking all the strength out of me and using it to make her face hard as a rock. She clenched her jaw and her eyes turned stone. I felt like a kid sobbing quietly so I did not receive another whooping. She turned and continued washing dishes, I gathered my purse and left, feeling more hopeless than ever.



I am like a cigarette to your beautiful mouth. You place me between your lips and bite down; I crush and tremble under your pressure. You inhale my chemicals for a few brief moments. And for those glorious moments pleasure releases through your body. You burn me up with your slow gasps and you have used all of me. You so freely toss me away to float around lonely cold and confused. What is my purpose now that I have been thrown away like useless trash?

But what you don’t realize is that I am poison to your lungs. I cling to your cells and your body involuntarily reacts to the withdrawal of me. You are addicted and you come and use me up over and over not having the strength to quit me. I enter through your lungs but I have touched your heart on the journey and you will never again not think about having just one last drag of me.

Prose I did for a writing class

“Damnit. Every single time I try to connect this stupid Bluetooth it always messes up.” I am getting so frustrated even the scent of her perfume is pissing me off. She’s looking at me like I am totally nuts. She looks at me like this quite often lately and it infuriates me even more. We are settling in for the long drive across town to the movie theater. or one of her friend’s houses. or some other ridiculous adventure she is constantly trying to drag me to because lets face it, it’s over. But she thinks if she’s constantly keeping me busy that I won’t realize it. “Literally all you have to do is pick your phone in the Bluetooth menu and pick your car in the phone menu” she addresses me like I am a kindergartener that she has explained the alphabet to a million times and is still missing half the letters. “You think I don’t know how to get a connection?” I bark at her. “You obviously don’t know how to keep one” she huffs and rolls her eyes at me. She fiddles with the car dash menu and magically music starts playing over my radio. But this isn’t my usual Bon Iver/ Local Native jams. This is some Taylor Swifty crap she loves. I turn to her with a thousand hells burning in my eyes. “No. Freaking. Wonder. your stupid phone was connected” my bark has turned more to a growl now. “Here! You can use my phone and play WHAT EVER THE HELL YOU WANT!” she takes her phone and throws it at my lap. I want to crush it in my palm, but instead I just let it drop to the ground and continue to drive so she can be bored. I am punishing her. We are sitting in silence allowing it to marinade our anger. She’s looking out her window and I wonder what she is thinking about? I wonder what she thinks about what we have become. I remember when we first met and it was like a chemical explosion. We made love for the first time in my old car that has since been sold. I remember she tasted like tequila and pineapples. I wanted to wait because I knew I loved her and I wanted to make it special but she took my fingers and put them up her skirt and inside of her then licked my ear and breathed, “I need you right now.” I was so hard I could barely unzip my pants. I climbed over the center council, she turned over and I took her from behind right in my driveway. I remember for months after that I would just look out of my window down at where my car was parked and picture watching the scene from up there. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. So why do I hate her so much? Everything she does drives me insane. She is late for everything. She doesn’t wear matching socks. She doesn’t even remember to brush her hair some days. But she is beautiful in a way that is not ordinary or exotic, but more like stellar. Looking at her eyes is like staring into the sun, her skin the milky way, her spirit a supernova. But I hate her. I want to leave her. We come to a stop, a fucking train and I just want to get out and slam the door and walk away from everything. The life we have built together, the apartment, our cars, the two stupid Pomeranians she calls our fucking children, her sleeping through the 5 alarms she has to set, her cussing me out every time she gets her period about whatever I did to piss her off that whole month, her smoking weed in my fucking Armani sports jacket because she “likes the way it feels on her skin,” her fights with her mother, her drunken rants about new new feminism and the way that women are actually superior to men, the way she castrates me with one sentence, the way she can live without me and I can’t be one day without her, I want to walk away, set it on fire, never look back. The train finally passes and we go over the bumpy tracks and she lets out her adorable giggle. What is going on in that head of hers? I realize I will never know. She is everything I ever wanted and everything I absolutely detest. but I cannot live without her. I cannot breathe without her. I am almost brought to tears when I even think about waking up without her in my bed and I am brought back to that time two years ago when I almost lost her and I was desperately miserable. I never want to feel like that again. I reach over and grab her hand. We sit in silence still but now I feel her warmth of her skin and it floods me with love and lust, I just want to taste her tequila lips. We finally pull up to our destination and I reach down and grab her phone and hand it to her, she takes it gently from me and smiles that beautiful smile. “You stay. I am leaving. I can’t do this.” She slams the door and does not even look back once as she walks away.

2.7- Prose I did for a writing class

I bite my lip and breathe in deeply, let my head fall heavy to the back of the sofa and let out the air as harshly as I possibly can. My feet are throbbing. These dumb memory foam sketchers are a bunch of bullshit. They don’t help my aching back, neck, feet, knees, body at all. Nine-hour days in these plastic spastic high chairs bent over these moron’s phones. Telling them how to sign into email accounts and why their bill is so high and being yelled at for being the face of a multi billion dollar corporation that specializes in the service of a customer that they could not care less about. Faking being nice is more exhausting than being anything else. I smile and nod and absorb all the heavy blows that are not meant for me but a figment, a mirage. It is amazing to me how one person or a small group of people can start a company and after years they become so detached that they are just racking in money from the work of someone that they have never even heard their name. They literally are just a number, a dealer code, a username. My interview is tomorrow. I remember being young and telling myself that I would be a writer. I would live in a little cottage in the woods with a typewriter like Christian from Moulin Rogue. Maybe I would waste my life with a cancan dancer as well because I, too, have this “ridiculous obsession with love.” I always wanted my life to be romantic and tragic and here I am, preparing for this interview to be an office manger at a law firm downtown and I feel a piece of my soul die a little. The little 6 year old me dressed in hot pink boas and her mother’s high heels and sporadic glitter and red lipstick like a clown is just staring up at me with disappointment. Is this really what you want? I try to convince myself that this will be good for me. I will have an hour commute there and an hour back! That’s two whole hours that I can write every day on the train. But will I? Or will I get distracted by the passing buildings or my boyfriend calling or my expectations for the day or the nap I could take or the article on whether or not Kim Kardashian’s butt is real? Am I even a writer? Am I even an artist? I am definitely a liar. I am about to tell this man my goals for the next 5 years and pretend like they have anything to do with staying at his company. People believe that I am mediocre because my heart is not in anything I do. All I can think about getting hit by a bus like Frieda Kahlo so my mother who never took care of me when I was a child would be forced to take care of my paralyzed body so that I would be able to never work again and just FINALLY be immobile and write a damn book! FINISH A PIECE OF WORK! Sit and be still and focused and clear and concise. And I could learn all the rules of grammar that way I wouldn’t look like a complete and utter doofus. I wonder what he will ask me? What are your greatest strengths and weaknesses? What I think is so hilarious about that question is that no one likes to admit their real weaknesses. And you better not dare! They want to hire an honest person but don’t you dare tell them the truth because they will hold it against you for your whole career. I would love to tell them about my fiery temper and my consistent tardiness and my obsessive-compulsive tendencies. But I will stick to the cute little lies of oh, I work too hard, I am too hard on myself, I am too much of a perfectionist. My greatest strength is that I imagine murdering people constantly in my head, all day long, and I never do it. I would say that is pretty impressive. But, of course, I cannot tell them that. See, if I were the interviewer, I would appreciate this kind of honest and boldness. This will be just another place I don’t belong. I belong in between two pages of a book. I belong in the depths of my imagination. I belong in a drunken dream. But I will be hired anyways. And I will be one step closer to being a reliable adult, one step closer to financial stability, one step closer to the murder/suicide of my dreams and soul.

**side note, after hydroplaning into the back of a semi, I would say BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU FUCKING WISH FOR IDIOTS! I have been in the most pain in my entire life. Not being able to work has been the worse curse I could wish upon anyone. and surprise surprise, NO ONE has been taking care of me lol. except a select few GREAT friends and my loving adoring amazing uncle who I owe my life and everything I have to!!!! but yeah, Frieda, I have NO CLUE how you endured sista!

February 14th

I thought hell would be all fire and brimstone and weeping and teeth grinding until the end of eternity. It turns out hell is more like Orlando Florida. Overcrowded, overpriced, cheap thrills, humid as hell and never ending lines to anticlimactic rides. Theme-less parks with unending wandering carrying overstuffed, oversized animals, half dehydrated and half succumb to a vertigo spell on and on for all time. I don’t really know how I got here or why. I guess I should not have gone thru the IPASS lane without an IPASS. I should have called my mother more, or called her a “bitch” less. I should have gone to temple. Shoulda woulda coulda. But now I am a wanderer. I am looking for nothing and that’s exactly what I find my endless days here. Until one fateful day a man dressed in black jeans and a black v neck t-shirt and gorgeous black hair walks straight up to me. “Welcome.” He says to me in a sweet vanilla voice as he holds out his hand in front of him to take mine. I quickly begin to size him up. I haven’t seen anyone here looking this happy. “Who are you?” I ask with bold cynicism written all over my face. “We are quite familiar my darling.” I take his hand and suddenly I am in a giant room lined with bookshelves beyond my eyesight. The bookshelves are filled with books and beautiful knickknacks and glass figurines. There is a grand piano in the middle of the room and he sits down to play. He doesn’t even touch the keys but they begin to quiver and let out a low bellow then continue to play Chopin – Nocturne op. 9 No. 2. “This is my favorite song!” I squeal. “I know my sweet little kitten.” I take a step towards the bookshelves and realize on them are my old belongings, things I loved as a child. A white porcelain cat with a pink bow around her neck that was lost in a flooding of my childhood home’s basement. Books that my mother burned in an attempt to cleanse me of evil. The movie The Little Mermaid that she had ripped out all of the film of the VHS right in front of my very eyes and cut it into shreds when I was about 7 because it was filled with witchcraft. “Are these all MY things?!?!” I cannot tell if I am incredibly exultant or desperately despondent. “You can have whatever you want my cherry blossom. That’s why you’re here in the first place. To fulfill your longings.” My want is suddenly to kiss him but I see he is playing a game of seduction. So, I will play along. “But what could I give you in return? What could I possibly have that you want.” I ask sheepishly. “Oh nothing extraordinary my petunia. It’s been the deal this whole time; it’s always been on the table. What is your soul in the scope of eternity to have everything your heart desires? The princess of darkness.” With this he stands from the piano and grabs me by the waist and starts to twirl me around the room. Suddenly we are in a ballroom and I have the most beautiful black princess gown with a matching black tiara on the crown of my head. I feel elated, the height of bliss. I then realize I have been doing this dance my entire life.


I think the hardest part of waking up is in my dreams I’m in your arms. But in the morning, you’re not there. The hills of muscle of your beautiful body turn into mountains and miles between us. And in my dreams I can still taste you, and smell you, and feel you… but like a hangover, by noon it’s just a headache and longing for the sun to go down and reminding me that the light isn’t coming from you anymore. Sad excuse for a day, all cloudy and gloom. Days with you were blazing sun and endless. And as one last cigarette turned to five, a love grew inside of me like that blazing sun. It blinded me, blistered me, tore right thru my insides, burned me up, threatened to never set then one day it was gone. And I’ve been howling at the moon ever since just trying to follow the South star back to you. Losing my way every few steps. Stumbling, fumbling, over the words I should have said, the words I shouldn’t have said. I’m lost without you. I don’t know why it was so hard for me to admit this to myself. I gave up the path a million times pretending I was just wandering the wild on an adventure but I was always trying to navigate back to your arms. Those warm warrior love arms. I wonder if I just lay here if you’d ever come looking for me too. If you’d send out search and rescue and one day I would wake up, dehydrated and barely conscious with a concerned look on your face trying to bring me back to life, to love, to us. Or would I just waste away here in the destitute wilderness, wolves circling my brokenness ready to devour me, trying to find your heart in this jungle? Is it even here? Has it been captured by another? I guess my dreams will just have to do. Because in my dreams you’re mine. And I’m yours. And you want it that way and you’re happy with me. And that’s the only place our happily ever after will be ever after. And no matter what, I always want that smile on your face. And I just don’t put it there anymore.

Mondays are the f**king worst.

as we all know. So of course I have to explain the chain of events that finally brought me to the point of starting this blog.


okay, anyways, moving on now that we got rid of all the boring people lmao

So today, Monday… Monday is like your friend that is such a freaking downer but you invite her along because who else is going to make sure y’all get home safe and sound while you and your real besties are puking y’alls guts out the window of her mom’s Grand Am because you probably have alcohol poisoning but you know you’ll live because this boring bitch will have all the necessities to make sure you survive the night of drinking tequila, vodka AND rum mixed together chased by two sips of diet Coke. That day of the week that’s just necessary to get SHIT done. ya know? So today would be the day that I find out that this slime of a douche that I have been dating has gotten back together with his ex girlfriend. And not by this spineless ball-less sack of shit of an excuse of a “man” but by FREAKING FACEBOOK. So after I send him a text and let him know what a scummy piece of worthless garbage he is, I block him off my phone. What’s sad is, I literally have lost count now how many times that this similar situation has happened to me. Sometimes with the same dumbass dude.

So of course I start to cry.

and of course I have to get my ass up and go to the chiropractor while all of this is drumming in my head.

*side note I totaled my car by hydroplaning into a semi 3/30/17 **my grandpas birthday. He is an Aries and although there’s an Aries man that completely obliterated my heart, **I will have to make a separate post about that** Aries are definitely some of the BEST people of all freaking time. like seriously Leos are def number 1 but Aries have to be a close second omggggg* — So I have been going to Physical Therapy 3 times a week and Chiropractor 3 times a week. It’s exhausting. mentally and physically. but amazingly, the staff of each of these places are my saving grace, I swear to g that I don’t know what the hell I would do without them the past couple of weeks because this has been one of the hardest journeys of my life and they are so encouraging and understanding! **anyways that’s another blog in and of itself too.

So I get to the Chiropractor and they are like oh yeah… we need to do this test where we see how much pain you can endure. And I am like lady, I am an overweight half Mexican half Jew that only dates black men, how much pain CANT I endure??? lmaooooooo

so they start to do this test and I kid you not, I start crying like a little bitch. because I really messed up my back ya know I have been doing all of this work trying to fix it but I am in pain literally every day and they are jabbing this prong into the places of my nerve damage and all my pain to try and see how bad it is. I need no sympathy but I didn’t think this little prong thing would bring me to tears.

And then I realize it’s not just this little prong thing. It’s EVERYTHING. Literally since last may, I was living in Alabama, about to lose my job because I was DEVASTATED over this man that I was madly in love with that didn’t love me back. for three years I gave him EVERYTHING inside of me and he gave me BULLSHIT in return. *another blog lol* I was about to lose my apartment because of course I was working a commission job and I wasn’t making jack shit so I had no money, spent all my savings, couldn’t keep up with my phone bill, car note, student loans, I was DROWNING. So then my mother convinces me to come move back to Illinois the place where I swear to g the devil landed when he was kicked out of heaven and cursed the entire state omg yuck this is the worst place in America. I never wanted to be here! But I grew up here. And I know so many people here so of course I had some friends but I left here to get away from trouble and basically just run away from my demons. but here I am back in this hell hole, living with my parents at the age of 27. I left their house when I turned 18 to live on my own and was barely home before that because I always had jobs and friends. So now I am miserable for so many reasons, then two days after the two weeks it takes me to move all of my things to Illinois from Alabama going back and forth picking things up from my wonderful friend Dono’s house that he so graciously allowed me to store there, my mother kicks me out on my ass. In the streets, no money, nowhere to go, no food, no job, NOTHING. literally the clothes on my back and a basket of clothes and this car I can’t even pay for. Thank God for my big booty friend. they all use to say we are twins but I swear this bitch is so much prettier than I could ever hope to be so it would feel like such a compliment when people would say that even tho I think they only said it because we both have big ass booties and look white & Hispanic lmao but that bitch is Native American & white. I mean duh all Mexicans are Native American but not all Native Americans are Mexican. She has been my rock, man. but again, *different blog post*

But I realized through the grace of God, I have survived. And I realized that my message needs to be heard. because I know there are people out there that are just as lost as me. just as broken as me. and with every story there is to tell, You can see the perseverance of just a regular ole fat bitch that decided to never give up even tho she said she gave up a million times. and that reminds me of a quote by some regular ole fat bastard lmao —

“When running up a hill, it is all right to give up as many times as you wish – as long as your feet keep on moving.”

So I will leave you with these questions:

how can you become a revolutionist if you are muted constantly?
what do you do when no one wants to hear what you have to say but they all need to?
how can you change your society when you can’t even change yourself?

and last, but most import:


things to think on.
until next time bitches,

xoxo gossip girl

lmfaoooo JKinggggggg