I Know, I Know

My last post, if you didn’t notice, was kind of a rush job. I was getting ready to travel to Madison, WI and wanted to put something out there for my followers so I wouldn’t have gone too long between posts. How thoughtful, right?

And then LOL, I go almost two weeks without posting something else after that last one and end up feeling like a boob for not keeping to a schedule I imposed on myself. How cool is it setting goals and then not reaching them, and not telling anyone (in order to keep you accountable) and then failing miserably? SO COOL

Oh, and let’s not forget the evil mistress that is WRITER’S BLOCK. I came back from my weekend in Madison all fired up to write about my time there, and I barely touched my laptop upon my return. I almost hated it. I felt like everything I would have written would be crap and I kept over analyzing all of the options of what to talk about I had and then my mind got all kinds of full of doubt. It was various shades of “Nobody’s even going to like that, don’t try.”

I have the horrible habit of taking myself out of the race before the gun goes off and who is that fair to? Especially with how much I’ve sacrificed to get to this point in my life, dammit, I better run, even if my shoelaces are untied and my ponytail is whack and my nipples are chafing and bloody, I’m gonna do it. I mean, I better try, you know?

So I mentioned Madison, WI twice, and I travelled there with the boyfriend to visit a good friend of his. His friend had this whole weekend planned that involved seeing Dave Chappelle (be jealous), watching a college football game after some early morning tailgating, and bar hopping. I never really got the point of bar hopping despite participating in many. It’s like, oh hey, we went through all this trouble to get to this one bar and get the bartender’s attention to get us some overpriced drinks, let’s sip them dry and then leave?! When we’re already at a place with booze? And the bartender knows my face and now I have to go and make nice-nice with another person who’s gonna be looking at me like

I don’t think I want to deal with that. It may just be a mark of my age, like I find a place that’s comfy and okay, might as well just stay. Who am I trying to impress traveling the bar circuit? My boyfriend and friends are all my own personal crew of little young old bitties, and I’m cool with owning that title and living my truth.

Madison was fine, the highlights being Dave Chappelle live and Saturday night karaoke. I was feeling some kind of way at karaoke, flipping through the book, thinking I was going to get my Rihanna on in front of all of these wasted college kids. I mean, I was like the only black chick around, I didn’t sound like I was from Wisconsin and I had an awesome afro; was that not the recipe for someone who was just the right amount of drunk to practically worship me? I wish I were joking with that question but a couple of things happened that night. One: they called my name sooner than I thought they would and all of that liquid courage I had might as well have been running down my leg

I get up there and perform “Hollaback Girl” and then sort of fail realizing that I only know the first verse, chorus, and that the shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S, but thanking the karaoke gods that this group of chicks in front of me obviously knew the song too well like it was their pledge of allegiance to pop music and they helped me through to the end. Two: this one chick who was hanging with the same people I was hanging out with all day, who barely acknowledged my presence all of sudden was intent on making me her closest girlfriend for the night. Her and some blonde insisted that I was awesome, then she kept telling me about some guy that was there who was so hot that she wanted to hook up with and I was like

and because I knew she was super drunk and would remember nothing, strongly disagreed and told her he was nothing special. The both of them ended up disappearing at some point, so you know, whatever. ADULTS.

Three, upon coming back or going to the bathroom, another chick has to tell me how awesome my hair is. She was like “I wish my hair could do what yours does, mine is so limp and flat!” And for a second I was like “OH NO, don’t you try to culturally appropriate my hair, Miley Cyrus, I will not be squashed!”

Coming home I threw myself into a frame of recuperation, but then the boyfriend was sick, and he got me sick, and so every time I tried to sit and write, I just couldn’t. I physically couldn’t. I lamented the fact that without a consistent posting track, I could be easily forgotten and left behind on the blog train, but meh, I have my reasons for not posting. I beat myself up harder than anyone else ever could on sticking to the writing and improving on it, so please resist all urges to tell me to get my life together

I KNOW I KNOW! I’ll do better.

(Hello? Is it me you’re looking for? Let me know how you’re doing, I’d like to get to know you 🙂 )

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