That’s an excellent term to describe exactly how I feel.

As of late, I’ve been on a constant recession from everything/everyone I know and even myself at the same time. My best friends think I’m an insufferable, antisocial bitch, everything irritates the shit out of me, and it seems like I can’t figure out anything to save my life. Not to mention my skin has revolted. This explains a lot of why writing has been nearly impossible as of late. I’ve spent many a night in front of a blank WordPress post, just dying to get something out.

As many people don’t know, I’ve been on ‘vacation’ for about 2 months now. Somehow something went terribly awry in the universe and went from three jobs to none in the span of a month. I can’t really say that I’m really bothered by this, because I really needed the time off. But now, I’m at the point where I need to make decisions about what I’m doing and where I’m going. I’m constantly in job search mode, but the employment market in New York is comparable to a Black Friday sale at Macy’s. It’s quite dismal.

I move out of my apartment in about 2 weeks, and in regards to finding a new apartment? I already fail the first qualification of a successful tenant: having a job. So, now what? My mother wants me to go back to Houston, and continue to pursue my Credentialing certification, etc. But I really left Houston for a number of reasons. Not to mention I am not here for living with my mother at this point in my life. I could also go back to New Orleans, but I have no idea why I would do such a thing. Besides family and a few friends, there’s nothing there for me at all. I’ve been looking at places to rent in the DC area – perhaps I can find a very cozy attic to live in until I get a job and recollect my life. I’m exploring other options as well, but nothing concrete enough to mention.

You may ask, “Why not consider staying in New York?” Well, I am. I’m just trying to look at this from all angles. I mean, staying here could work, but at this point, it may be a bit of a challenge. And that’s not a problem at all, but how much of a challenge? And is it worth the effort? I’m not quite ready to leave NYC yet, but at the same time, perhaps it’s not where I need to be right now. For starters, New York is obnoxiously expensive. I am not kidding when I say that a box of cereal is seven bucks. And space is at an ultimate premium, so living space is not easy to find, nor is it easy to afford. Unless you make six figures or have a roomate, the likelyhood of you living in a less-than-stellar situation is very high. Add this up with the other luxuries of New York living, such as MetroCards and a highly demanding social life (everyone here has one) and that’s a pretty tall order. This is not to say New York isn’t a place worth living, but it isn’t when you don’t have a job. And nobody has time for freeloaders. Hell, I don’t have time to be a freeloader.

In the meantime, I’m waiting*. I’m waiting to see if any one of the 843 companies I’ve applied to will come to my rescue and take me into their employ. Even though New York has a lot of shit with it, I still like it here. I’m also waiting to see where I’m going to end up, should the former not happen. Eventually, I’m going to need a decision, and this bothers me. Mainly because despite contrary beliefs, I really value the thoughts and feelings of others and I’d hate to disappoint anyone with my decisions. Yes, I know this is my life, and I have to put me first, but still.

*Waiting doesn’t mean that I’m just gonna sit on my ass and eat potato chips, while waiting on a job to bump into me on the corner. I’m still going to apply for jobs. And decide. And stuff. Just so we’re clear.

If you have any ideas or suggestions, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

BUT WAIT!!! There’s more!

No, you won’t get a second set of ‘Bump-its’ if you act now, but I appreciate your enthusiasm. Are Bump-Its still a ‘thing’?

But, I did have a not-so-surprising epiphany today while spending the day in Philly. I love to travel. I love the thought of getting out of town, even if it’s for a few hours. I got up this morning, and decided that I was going to Pennsylvania. No planning, I just booked a ticket and left. Just me, and a bag full of Aveda and my iKids. I hopped on a 9:15 9:45 Megabus and caught up on some reading, took tons of photos for Instagram, and even got scratched off a few things from my to do list, such as making a to-do list. Even as I’m writing this, I’m sitting on the top of a bus, headed down the turnpike.

If I could find a job that allowed me to travel as much as I wanted to, either as a part of the job, or a job that allowed me to telecommute, I don’t think I could ask for much more. Well, maybe a white Range Rover to do said traveling in, but we’re taking baby steps. It’s so funny, because while waiting on the bus this moring, I read something on Twitter about ‘finding something that brings you joy’. And I think this is it for me. I love the anticipation of seeing a new city, or even an old city that I love. Eating at places you can only find there, seeing the sites, and even breathing the different air. The more spontaneous, the better. I had a great time today, just because I literally opened my laptop, bought a ticket and was on my way. And I figured out the rest when I got there. Nobody knew where I was until they saw the photos on Facebook or they called. Only thing I wish I had was more time. And for that terribly creepy guy to not have stared at me like he was sucking my life directly from my retinas.

If I could find a sustainable way to do it, I’d totally spend the next year or so city hopping. East to West, North to South. I’d cover the US, and then the rest of the world, starting with Japan. Kinda like Travels With Charlie, if Charlie was an iPad.

After about a couple of months of back and forth to the Apple Store and Best Buy in search of the ‘perfect’ earphones, I’d bought and returned quite a few sets. First the Beats Tour in-ear headphones, then I settled on a pair of Sonys for a while after my Bose in-ears shorted out (and I threw them away, completely forgetting about the damn warranty) and they were the best sounding earphones I’ve owned, especially for $80. They killed any and all subway noise and were REALLY comfortable. But they began to short out and were coming apart (I wore them A LOT). So the search continued.

First, I picked up a pair of Ultimate Ears 600vi IEMs from the Apple store, after reading a few good reviews on them. Well, too bad I didn’t agree. I couldn’t get a good fit, and they were way more flat then the reviews said they were. I ended up taking them back to give the Tours a second chance. The sound was amazing, but they just could not stay in my ears. I used every one of the 7 included ear tips, and nothing worked. And of course, a good fit and seal are key to great sound.

So, I eventually bring them back. I stop by the Apple store for a fourth time in a week’s period, and stare at the headphone display. I look at the C5s with hesitation, mainly because they were the only pair that I wanted. But the thing is, I bought them a couple of weeks prior and I returned them, because they just didn’t work for me. I kept thinking that perhaps I didn’t give them a fair shake. I ripped them out of the box and just jammed them in my ears on a train ride to New Jersey, and they were kind of uncomfortable and sounded weird. I never even thought twice about the other sizes of ear tips, or about using the ear fitting mechanism to get the best fit and seal.

So, I eventually take them down to checkout, where I was helped by a girl who said she loved her C5s, and thought the Tours were really bass-heavy, which was weird because these pack more of a punch. I felt a little better about my resolve to give them a second shot.

When it comes to tech, I’m not one for giving second chances, but these earphones were worth it. I stared at them on my desk for about 20 minutes until I decided to (gently) rip them open and try again. I was worried that I’d end up hating them like the countless others and would be back at the Apple store after work, feeling defeated. Totally not the case. I first switched out the ear tips that were already on, to a pair that weren’t as tall. I put them in, gave a good sigh and pressed play. The first song for the test was ‘The Time Machine’ by Soundprank. The bass jumped up and gave me a good shake as the rest of the song shuffled in. Like I said before, the C5s have plenty of bass. Almost too much but just almost. The great thing is, the bass never seems to blanket the rest of the music. I don’t get the same balance with the Beats, where the bass comes clamoring in like a drunk uncle. It all comes shining through with stellar quality.

So, fast forward to day three. I finally get some quality time with my neglected Macbook, and I decide to plug the C5s in and listen to some Spotify.  Initially, I was listening to Spotify on my iPhone 4, with the music synced at a lower bitrate  (~96kbps) to save space. And on my laptop, the playback is in it’s full ~320kbps glory. The music sounds six times better. Even the questionable quality of the unreleased demos I played were polished up and came through crystal clear on the C5s. The bump in quality rounds out the bass, so that it sounds more… ‘scientific’, and not just thumping in your head. You can hear notes resonate to completion, and the overall listening experience is just crisper.  It’s like a full size THX sound system was crammed in your ears. I bought a new iPhone with more space, just to sync my music at the max 320kbps.

Needless to say, I love these earphones. The fit takes some finagling, but once you get it right, there’s not much you won’t like about these. With a good seal, you hear nothing but the music. No subway noise, no traffic, no coworkers, sometimes, not even your own thoughts. They also include an inline remote for volume/track control on iPhones, iPods and iPads. And at $179, I’ll definitely say you get what you pay for.

Bowers & Wilkins C5 In-Ear Headphones With Secure Loop Design

While in DC for Easter weekend, I got to see the premiere screening for Patrik-Ian Polk’s latest project, The Skinny. It’s a story about five college friends meeting up for a weekend in NYC, the ups and downs of love and dating, and simply just having a good time. (I won’t tell too much, I promise!)

I’ve always liked to support Polk’s work, because there’s always a message in the stories he tells. In The Skinny, he carries on his recurring theme of HIV/AIDS awareness, which is a mission that I personally support. Polk makes us feel at home by calling in a few cameos from Noah’s Arc, including Darryl Stephens, Wilson Cruz and Jennia Fredrique (who might easily be my favorite character from the series). Also featured were a couple of online personalities, such as poet Bassey Ikpi and blogger B. Scott.

I appreciate the fact that Polk’s work gets better with each project. I remember the first time watching Noah’s Arc in 2007, and grimacing at the rough-around-the-edges acting (but I still loved the show). The Skinny shows his growth as a producer, as the acting was significantly better, and the plot felt a lot more relatable. I actually feel like I’ve been in at least ONE of the situations from the movie.

The Skinny premieres in NYC on May 11, and I definitely think it’s a must-see.

And it got me to thinking even more… I’ve been going nuts over the past few weeks, trying to figure out what  it was that I really want to do with my life… And all of my options revolve around art/beauty/fashion, etc. I’m currently working in marketing/advertising, and for a beauty brand, while considering going to school for cosmetology, marketing, PR, and a whole gang of other fields that I can’t even think of right now.

I also have thought about trying to get back into modeling, especially due to an ongoing string of questions from my friends, asking if I was still doing it. But, my main concern is, ‘do I REALLY want it?’ As we all know, the fashion industry is very unforgiving, and I don’t want to dive head first into something that I can’t fully commit to. Which kind of explains the reason I quit the last time:

Earlier today, I had a recurring thought about the fact that even if I can’t be in front of the camera/on the runway, I could still fulfill my passion for fashion artistry, by doing hair and makeup for the models. I’ve been looking for a good school to learn makeup, that doesn’t cost $7,000 like the Make Up Designory. Although that school looks AWESOME. And then I was also thinking of the Aveda institute, which is for the full cosmetology program.

… I don’t know.

One day, it’s probably gonna just hit me, and I’ll just know what I’m supposed to be doing… probably when I’m in the middle of doing it already.

Anyway, I just thought I’d share these photos.

“What smells so good?” I said, while leaning on the kitchen counter with my warm cider. “Turkey burgers. And I’m making sweet potato fries with them,” David responding while whisking something in a glass bowl. “Oh, and a healthy eater? I love it.” He turned around and smiled at me while still whisking the concoction in the bowl. “Oh yeah? Well there’s a lot more where that came from.” I bashfully smiled and rolled my eyes. David put the bowl down on the speckled granite countertop, and walked over to me. He grabbed me tightly around my waist. “You wanna help me by making the sangria?” I ran my fingers through his hair and nodded. He ran to the living room and took a bottle of red and white wine from the wine chiller. I noticed another turned over photo on the table next to the sofa. I got lost in my thoughts for a second, and then shook it off. Coincidence or not, it’s none of my business. I mean, I just met this guy and know nothing about him. So, I had to act like it. “White or red?” David asked as he held up the two bottles. I grabbed the chilled bottle of chardonnay, and sat it behind me on the counter. I opened up the refrigerator and it looked like a farmer’s market. Loads of fresh fruits and vegetables, kombucha, water in glass bottles, and cage free eggs. I took out some peaches, raspberries, and a cucumber. After slicing the peaches, I tossed them with the raspberries in some clove honey and white wine and let them sit in the fridge until the food was ready, while I sliced the cucumber into a large pitcher. I covered them with some gold tequila, and poured the white wine about halfway up the pitcher.

While I waited on the food to be done, I wandered over to the window, and entertained my curiosity as to what could be hidden under those picture frames. I followed cars down the softly lit street as my brain ran a marathon around my head. Are they embarrassing photos from his child hood? Does he not want me to see photos of his family? Was he dusting? I could have gone on for hours. And probably would have, had I not been distracted by David’s warm hands on my neck. “Dinner is served.” I turned around and lightly smiled, while trying to pretend that I wasn’t secretly driving myself insane.

I took the peaches and raspberries from the fridge, and mixed them in with the cucumbers in the pitcher. After giving the mix a heavy stirring to lightly muddle the fruits and break up the thick honey, I poured the cool drink into two tall beer pilsners and dropped a few leftover peaches in each. “This looks good!” David raved, as he took his first sip. His nod of approval let me know that my little experiment was rather successful. “Were you a bartender in another life? This is amazing! I’ll never look at cucumbers the same again.” David praised my mixologist skills intermittently throughout dinner.

After dinner, David and I sat on the plush, oversize couch and listened to some random selections from my music library. We talked for what seemed to be hours about his music background, from him being in the Glee club in high school, to him performing in Broadway musicals. He ended up in marketing because he decided to follow his passion, as opposed to his talent. Growing up in Los Angeles and raised by parents in the entertainment business he was always under pressure to perform, but his heart was destined to be creative. After moving to New York to pursue a career in singing, he realized that he couldn’t take himself seriously, nor expect anyone else to. So, he decided to put his marketing degree and passion for drawing to good use.

As Marvin Gaye’s “After The Dance” faded out and ended the playlist, David suggested that we watch a movie. Even though it was about 1:15am, it was still storming out, and I planned on sleeping in anyway tomorrow. “You like action movies?” He asked as he scrolled through his On Demand queue. “Love them! Charlie’s Angels and Kill Bill were my favorites.” He found “The sixth race”, a sci-fi thriller about a chemical warfare that created a race of mutated humans with super senses, that could only be killed with a type of cold fusion that was nearly impossible to reproduce. As the movie started, David turned off the lights and lit a few Black Ginger Votivo candles around the space. I sat in silence, thumbing through my thoughts, while trying to enjoy the moment I was in. David wrapped me in a quilt from behind, and then came around with two more glasses of sangria. “You comfortable?” I smiled and nodded, and then scooted to the other side of the 6 foot long sofa. I hadn’t made it two scoots over and David began pulling me back. “I promise I don’t bite.” He gently pulled me closer, and I didn’t put up much of a fight. It had been a while since I received this kind of attention, so it would be silly of me to refuse it. I let my body settle into the space between his arm and body, and he rested his firm, tattooed arm down the side of my torso. I closed my eyes and inhaled his oud wood and neroli fragrance as the opening score started.

About forty-five minutes into the movie, a thunderclap outside scared me and I almost ended up on the ceiling. I collected myself and nestled back into my spot on the couch. “You aren’t a fan of thunder, I see.”, David said as he ran his fingers through my hair. I shifted a bit, and put my arms around him. It wasn’t ten minutes later that my attention was garnered by the sound of shuffling and someone yelling at the door. I looked around briefly and figured it was just the neighbors, until the tumblers in the front door started turning, and David’s heart began beating at hyperspeed. “What’s wrong?” I asked as I leaned back to observe the color rush from his face which was now beading with sweat. “David? Guess who’s back early?”, exclaimed the tall, Filipino woman at the front door. We immediately locked eyes, while David scampered across the room like a mischievous puppy. I don’t think Gail Devers moved that quickly. “David, who is this?”, the woman and I said in unison. Based on the custard-thick tension in the room, and the way David was stuttering and fidgeting, I could already see what was going on here. I tied my hair up and visually located my keys and wallet on the window ledge, and prepared for a quick exit. “Baby, this is … this is… this is Cristian, a friend of mine. We went to the fest– we went to the festival in the park with two other friends, and we got caught in the rain. Cris, this is Monica, my girlfriend.” I locked my face into the most emotionally neutral state, while shifting my eyes back and forth between the both of them. I couldn’t believe this shit. “Well, um, hi Cristian. Could you explain why you and my boyfriend were–” I cut her completely short with my best church finger and proceeded to the bathroom. I began flipping over every photo frame in the place, only to reveal photos of the not-so-happy-anymore couple that I just got acquainted with. I walked back to the front, tuning into the argument that was already in progress. I rolled my eyes as I grabbed my dry clothes, went back into the bathroom and changed, then proceeded to the door. I wanted no part of this drama. As I made my way past Monica who was standing in front of the door, she pushed me back. “And where the hell do you think you’re going? Nobody is leaving until I get an explanation.” I turned and looked at David with a very stern expression. “First of all, I don’t owe you an explanation, mainly because David is not my boyfriend. Secondly, you will keep your hands to yourself. Let’s not make this get ugly. I had absolutely no clue about any of the bullshit that I was about to get myself into. And having said that, I’ll let the two of you sort this out.” I made another pass for the door, and Monica pulled me by the knot of hair in the top of my head, and began poking me in the face. “You want to see ugly? There’s a mirror in the bathroom.” I grabbed her hand, and caught her as she went for my hair with the other. She then tried to kick me with a pair of spike heels on. Of anything I could have been doing today, I never thought I’d be fighting with a girl over her boyfriend. David grabbed her from behind, and carried her kicking and screaming into the bedroom. He closed the door behind them, and there was more yelling, things being thrown, and some glass breaking. I rolled my eyes, fixed my hair and walked out of the door.

As soon as I turned the corner, I heard my name being yelled so loudly from down the street, I thought I was being called to the principal’s office. “Cris! Wait!” I turned around to see David galloping through the gallon-sized raindrops, with a torn shirt, and his hair plastered down the side of his face. “Don’t you need to tend to your girlfriend? She seems pretty upset. And, I can’t say I really blame her.” I kept walking, while trying to find my car through the rain that was so heavy it might as well have been opaque. “I’m sorry. I really am. I was enjoying your company so much, I was scared to tell you about Monica. I’ve been trying to get rid of her for months now, and we’re not even together. She still lives with me because she can’t really understand that I don’t want to be with her anymore, and I’m scared she’ll hurt herself if I actually make her leave.” I stopped mid step, and turned around.” “So, I’m just supposed to be okay with this and pretend you didn’t even withhold this very pertinent detail about you and your psycho live in ex girlfriend who just tried to pull out my hair! Oh, well in that case, let’s go back and finish the movie.” My sarcasm cut through the rain like a samurai blade. “Cris. Please. I’m sorry. I really want to see you again. Monica is as good as gone. I’ve put my entire life on hold for her, and enough is enough. I’ve never run into anyone like you. You’re just different for so many reasons.” He reached for my hands and tried to look me in the eyes. I pulled back and turned away. “I’m soaking wet. I need to go.” I walked away, and finally found my car across the street, which is strangely enough not where I remember parking. I turned around as I opened the rear hatch for my towel, and saw David still standing there, dripping more remorse than rainwater. He had this look on his face that cut through my steel soul. But as much as I wanted to give in, I would not allow myself to  be taken on an inevitable ride of drama, emotion and frustration. I stood there, and stared at him for at least five minutes. As I died inside, I thought to myself. Am I about to pass up the chance at a great relationship? Is he genuinely sorry for the shit that he just dragged me through? Am I certifiably insane? I couldn’t believe that I was actually sitting here and entertaining the thought of excusing what just happened here.  By the time I came to my senses, David was running across the street, playing chicken with a taxi. He picked me up, and kissed me. Seven thousand thoughts rushed through my head at once. Too much for me to process at the moment. I reluctantly pulled away and leaned backwards so that I was on the ground again. “David, please don’t do this to me. I’ve been through enough for one day. I really need to go.” He smoothed the stray hair out of my face. “Promise me you’ll call me. It doesn’t have to be tonight, today or tomorrow. Just call me. Please?”  I sighed, closed my hatch and got in the car. I put the heat on full blast and tuned to a house station on satellite radio. I drove away and let out a horrifying, piercing scream at the stop sign that could most likely be heard from the street.

“What happened?! Are you okay?” Kevin and Cory badgered me over the phone, inquiring about that happened. “Um. He has a girlfriend, or ex, I don’t even know. I just know she tried to pull my hair out. I’ve been soaking wet for about 2 hours now. I took me forever to get home.” I went over the story over and over again, play by play, strand by strand, drip by drip. I cursed Kevin out after each round just for making me leave my house and getting me involved. “Listen, I’m tired of sitting here discussing this. It’s making my head hurt. I’m tired. Bye.” I hung up and threw the phone in between the large couch cushions and got up. I poured myself a healthy serving of Irish whiskey, sent a few emails to prepare for my absence from work the next day, and found myself in the middle of a hot, sudsy bath of chamomile, wintergreen and lemon.

Once again, I’ve found myself recuperating from another tragic chapter of my dating life. It’s funny, but no matter how hot the fire is, you can never resist the temptation to touch. The burn feels right for a very short while, and then you end up in bandages, wondering why you keep playing with fire. I get up to go finish off the pint of blackberry sorbet in the freezer, only to be startled to a not-so-screeching halt, by a knock on my door.

I refuse to move, because that will only mean I’ll have to answer.

I was curled up in my favorite corner of my couch, in my favorite sweats, with a warm cup of Vanilla Rooibos tea. It was a rainy Sunday afternoon, and I was catching up on a week’s worth of DVR recordings. I was distracted from a sudden light beaming from across the pitch black room; it was my intercom. I rolled my eyes and debated with my legs about getting up to go answer the door. Apparently my phone was in on the conversation, because it started ringing too.

“Hey Cory.”

“What are you doing? Get up! Me and Kevin are downstairs. You don’t hear the buzzer?”

“Yeah, I hear it. Do I really feel like getting up?”

My decision was made for me when Kevin pressed the buzzer until I let them up.

When they walked in, they found me in the same position I was in before they called.

“Um, get dressed! We’re going to Brooklyn. Theres a food festival, and we might go see the new Angelina movie. David is gonna meet us there, too.”

I sliced my eyes right through the plot that was being described before me. “Who’s David?” I asked semi-rhetorically.  I already knew what was going on here. Ever since I decided to take a hiatus from dating, everyone has made it their mission to try and jump start my dating life. So yet again tonight, Cory and Kyle have decided to try and get me to meet someone else.

“David is the cute artsy guy from the marketing department  I was telling you about? He’s 27, no kids and he’s a geek just like you. He’s always going on about new cars and gadgets, just like someone else I know.” I looked at both of them, as Kevin got up and made his way to my bedroom. I responded with an anticlimactic “Oh.”

So, the story behind my decision to get away from the dating shitshow: I was really tired of, well, all of it. I kept meeting idiots who only wanted sex, the pretentious ones who had to show me how much more they thought they knew than me. The entirely vapid ones who wanted to be in a relationship just because they thought it was the thing to do. I was over the entire process of meeting someone, having a few shallow conversations, and never hearing from them again. And then, there were the ones I couldn’t have. Straight, taken, clinically insane, you name it. Most importantly, I wanted to focus on my professional life. I was up for an awesome promotion and possibly the biggest project of the company’s 28-year history. I was in the midst of a couple of new projects and wanted to see them through to completion before my annual review. I really just had no time to devote to dating.

A few minutes of silence went by and Kevin comes flying out of my room. “Here. Put this on.” He threw the most random pile of clothes in my lap. A pair of plaid shorts that weren’t even mine, a thin knit top and a pair of flip flops. I paused the third episode of Burn Notice that I’d  watched that night. “First, I’m not going anywhere. Secondly, how long have we been friends? What makes you think I’d leave my house looking like I serve drinks at a bar in Antigua? No.” I shuffled the clothes to the end of the sofa and resumed play on the DVR. Just as I was reaching out to pick up my cup of tea, I get picked up and carried to my closet. “If you aren’t going to wear what I picked out, find something on your own. But you’re coming with us. You have 15 minutes.” Cory and Kevin closed the door behind them, and sat in front of it, so I couldn’t get out.

Fifteen minutes later, I stood in the doorway of the closet as it cracked open. “You ready?” I rolled my eyes, pushed the door open and walked out. “Does it look like I’m ready? Let’s do this before I change my mind.” Somehow I managed to talk myself into actually going along with these shenanigans. What could it hurt? I looked around for my essentials: phone, wallet, lip conditioner, mints, car keys. As I picked up my keys from the table by the front door, Cory glared at me. “You don’t want to take the train back to the city?” I grimaced in response: “No, because it’s raining, I just washed my hair, and I have a car. Let’s go.”

Luckily, it wasn’t raining in Brooklyn, but sunny with a mild fall breeze. As I drove through Park Slope, I began to remember the days I’d spend with Charles when I moved here. We would spend an entire Sunday in Prospect Park eating homemade fried chicken, drinking sangria and talking about everything and anything. This was before he left my apartment at 4am with his delusional ex boyfriend.

I found a great parking spot, right at the south of the park.  I got out and headed toward the tents, because I was in the mood for a lamb kabob and spiced lemonade. As I set foot onto the grass, I heard my name from behind. It was Charles, and his boyfriend. Just my luck. “Hey Charles! Hey Damien!” I said through a resilient faux-smile that just screamed snark and sarcasm. I was in no mood to be passing out hugs, so I just waved. “How have you been Cris? It’s been forever.” In the back of my head, I thought ” and for good reason” as  I responded with a short “Busy.” I used Cory as my scapegoat as he closed the rear hatch and seemed to be struggling with the blankets.  ”Oh, let me go and help them before they scratch my car. I’ll see you two in the park?” They both nodded, and walked past. I knew this was going to be a very interesting adventure.

Once we found a spot in the park and got comfortable, I look up from my lemonade and kabobs to see a dark skinned, athletic built guy walking towards us. He had long black hair, wrapped neatly in a knot on the top of his head. He was wearing a dark chambray, a pair of red chinos, and a pair of leather sandals. His ensemble was perfectly completed with a couple of silver necklaces and cuffs.  I sat and watched as he got closer, and flashed his bright, yet slightly imperfect smile. I snapped out of my daze as Kevin got up to give him a hug. “David, this is Cris. Cris,  David.” I smiled and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.” I quickly glanced at Kevin who’s smile was wrapped around his head. I smirked at his apparent excitement, and then invited David to sit with us on the blue and white chenille blanket that took up about half of the lawn. He asked if anyone needed anything before he went off to get food.

I watched as David walked away and was headed on a rather long train ride of thought, when Cory slapped the hell out of me. “We told you!” they exclaimed in unison. “Can you two calm down? For like.. I don’t know..the rest of the night? You got me to come out, great. Now hush, he’s coming back.”

David came back and stooped in front of me, handing me another spiced lemonade. “I thought you’d like a refill.” I smiled, perhaps a little bashfully, and said Thank you. He sat beside me, and I caught a whiff of his cologne. “Hanae Morae?” He nodded in agreement and smiled. “Nice.. I see you have a very sophisticated nose.” I proudly nodded. “Yes, I do. It’s just a part of what I do.” And that was the start of a conversation that lasted for about 45 minutes. I think we both forgot about poor Kevin and Cory sitting behind us.  By the time we realized they were still here, they’d gotten up and were roaming around the lawn, chatting with people they knew.

As I turned around to continue my conversation, I was startled by the sudden crash of thunder that rippled through the sky. The rain was slowly making its way across Brooklyn, and I was a sitting duck. I pulled my hair into a quick knot and began to fold up the blanket. I looked around for Kevin and Cory and couldn’t find them. “Where do you live? I’ll give you a ride back.” I asked David as I motioned for him to follow me to my car.  I hadn’t taken five steps towards the street, and the rain swept across the lawn and began pelting us as we ran to the car. It felt as if the rain was an abrasive combination of Ice and glass. I frantically searched for the keys as David grabbed the blanket and we fumbled into the car. Kevin and Cory were nowhere to be found, so we waited. I was always prepared for a weather emergency, so I wiggled my way through the back seat to grab two dry towels from the cargo area. “Here. try to dry yourself off.” I handed David a towel and turned on the heat in the car. The last thing I needed was to get sick. As the music loaded, David began to sing along to Maxwell’s ‘Whenever Wherever Whatever’. As his soft, sultry crooning penetrated every inch of my body, I stopped in the middle of whatever it was that I was doing. His voice was like nothing I’d ever heard before. It was soft, but had a strong undertone to it.  I couldn’t do anything else but close my eyes and let him sing me into a daze. I opened my eyes briefly to see if I was dreaming, and he was holding my hands as he looked into my eyes, still singing. His hair was no longer in the neat little knot; it cascaded in soft, damp curls down past his neck.

I curled up in the warmed seat and faintly smiled at David, still in disbelief of his amazing talent. “I sing at Village Underground every month. You should come by. I’ll be there next Wednesday.  There’s good food and the drinks are awesome.” I nodded. “Of course I’ll come! You can sing to me anytime.” He smirked. “That can happen whenever you’d like. Seems like you have great taste in music, so I’d love to sing some of your favorites.”

Our flirting was interrupted by my phone. It was a text message from Cory. They apparently were already on the way home with a friend that lived nearby. I almost feel like this was a setup, but nevertheless. “Cory and Kevin are already gone, so I guess its just you and me. Which way is your apartment?” He pointed to the rear. “Park Slope, 6th Av & 2nd St.” I started the car and headed towards Grand Army Plaza. While at the stoplight, David gently massaged the base of my neck. “Are you in a rush to get home?” I shook my head. “I’m not too thrilled about driving home in the rain, so I know It’s gonna take forever for me to get back to Jersey.” David nodded. “Well stay for a while. I’ll cook dinner, and we can continue our conversation. I’m enjoying your company.” I briefly paused, to figure out if this was something I was up for. I guess I was, because I smiled and responded. “That would be nice. I’m enjoying yours as well.”

I sat at the window of David’s first floor brownstone apartment and stared out to the street. I forgot how much I loved this neighborhood. The well maintained brownstones, under the large trees that witnessed many stories of Brooklyn’s rich history. The rain slid down the windows in sheets, while I dried my hair. I sat gingerly on the ledge of the window, because I was soaking wet. Somehow, my umbrella was missing from the back of my car, and I had to park two blocks away, so I was completely saturated by the time I got inside. Although my clothes weighed two pounds more from being so wet, I couldn’t care about anything else besides my hair. I smelled a warm, spicy aroma and felt a warmth behind me. It was David, with a cup of spiced cider in a tall glass mug. He sat the warm concoction on the window next to me, and handed me a pair of sweats and a v-neck tee. “Go and get out of those wet clothes. The bathroom is the first on the left.” I smiled and tiptoed to the bathroom, careful to not leave a wet trail through the charming apartment.

I eventually found a place to rest — in the middle of the floor, on the plush pile of the cobalt shag rug. Once there, I got comfortable, and took off my jacket and shoes while thinking about the pain Kendall must have been in to kill himself. I began to blame myself, because after all, I was the one he left his family for. I was also the one he left in Japan without an explanation. I was also the one who he lied to for the year and a half we spent together.

I began to undo my hair, as I worried. I worried about Kendall’s two kids, who were too young to understand what was going on. Hell even at 26, I was too young to understand what was going on. I know how hard it was to grow up without my dad, although it was just because he hated who I was, but still. I needed him to be there, and he wasn’t. I worried about his wife, who had to live with the same memories that I do, of watching Kendall throw himself off that bridge, after hours of pleading with him. No matter how many tears Janelle and I shed, no matter how loudly we yelled for him to get down, it wasn’t enough.

I became instantly selfless at that moment. I no longer gave a shit about what he put me through. This was bigger than me. This was bigger than Janelle. I wanted him to be with his family. I wanted him to see his daughter graduate from High school. I wanted him to coach his son’s baseball team. But now, all I could do is sit and think about how those two kids will have to suffer through the story of how their father killed himself, because he lived a lie. A lie that I was apart of. My heart was one thousand times more irreparable than the morning I woke up alone in Japan. Or found out he was married.

As I lay there, in the dark, this surreality began to set in. I no longer felt like this was real life. Watching someone that you care for take their own life puts an entirely new perspective on everything.To know that someone is in so much pain, they can only resort to the most extreme, is painful in itself. A gentle tap on the door snapped me out of my stupor. I didn’t move. I just lay there, as I heard the tumblers rotate. I knew who it was, and felt a slight sense of relief. “Cristian?” I remained silent. My eyes were open, but I couldn’t see anything. I felt Brian’s energy loom over me like a storm cloud. He kneeled to me, and stared at my lifeless face for what felt like forever. He wiped my face with his bare hands, and it wasn’t until then, that I realized that I was crying. He picked my lifeless body up and carried me into my bedroom. He sat me on the bed, and as he tried to lay me down, I couldn’t let go. I unconsciously held onto him with any strength that I could muster. My mind could not let him go.

Before I get to the real subject of this post, I think my public is in due need of an update:

Work has been the normal circus (cue Britney Spears) that it usually is. I’m not complaining, because I could be slinging fries or ass on the nearest street corner.

I was in NYC a week ago, and I really REALLY (really) hate that I had to come back to Houston. I had plenty of clothes to stay for at least another 2 weeks. But I have something up my sleeve. Just you wait. But while I was there, I had an interview at the corporate office of the company I work for (which has to remain nameless, because otherwise, I’ll get SHOT) and It went we’ll. If you didn’t know, I need to be living back in NYC by the time I’m 25. That’s another year and a week from today, July 14. ANYWAY, I found out that I didn’t get the fucking job yesterday, and while I detect hoe shit behind that, the defense rests.

Let’s move on to the rest of the trip.

I stayed in Brooklyn with my Brothers from other mothers, Husani and Jashiro, whom I haven’t seen since 2007. They are the BEST! And really know how to throw a party! FINALLY got to meet my favorite people, including Kareem who I’ve known for 3 years, and never saw in person you’d think we used to live together by the way we carry on. Not to mention the gang of friends I’ve made on Twitter in the past year that I’ve been tweeting. XD, Ajay, Joey, Kyle, all of which are the main reason that I didn’t wanna leave. ( Lemme move on before ya’ll get messy in my comments.) I also found Mariana, too. She has a GORGEOUS new place in Brooklyn, all ready for me to decorate.) I met some new and interesting folks too, such as Assante, Penny and Lakai. I’m name dropping #dinnamug, but then again, who’s writing this??

I Shopped, too. (If you know me well enough, this is self explanatory– if you don’t, let’s just say I had to carry on a bigger bag going back.)

I will also continue to neglect the fact that I ran into ‘Two’ last Friday. Ya’ll may need to call me for that story.

So, about me being a prude.

A large majority of my friends seem to think that I’m sexually repressed. Mostly influenced by the fact that I’ve not had said sex in over two years. There also seems to be an issue with me over compensating with compulsive shopping. It’s gotten so bad, that my friends are nowreferring to me as Gloria from

Waiting to Exhale.

(I see myself as more of a Carrie from Sex And the City, for the obvious shopping/writing connection,but whatever.) While this may be true.. Well… It’s probably just true. I’ve always been told that the first step to overcoming a problem is acknowledging that I have one. Okay, so I’ve done that. What’s next?

Before I continue, I must state that in MY mind, sex and relationships are on two sides of a connected Venn diagram. Just wanted to put that out there. Moving on.

Most of my sexual hangups come from BAD experiences. I mean, BAD. I’m not the most experienced, but I know some of the shit that I’ve experienced AIN’T RIGHT.And then there isthe perfectionist in me that has built this fairytale ofhow this should allhappen (which is whatmyentire novel-in-process is based on)This is the same trait thatwon’t let me ‘let loose’ which causes me to be sometimes socially awkward for fear of rejection/embarassment..Not to mention the lack of ability to detach sexual encounters from emotions. There’s probably a lot more to it, but I don’t have time to figure all of that out. But I will say that my family had some hand in this. I mean, it’s gotten so bad, I have created an entire technology analogy just to have a discussion about sex. (Ask me about that later. I got a lot to cover.)

(In this space is where I was gonna discuss the covert mission my friends planned to get me laid while in New York. But I’m not gonna discuss it.)

So, because of these ‘issues’.. I tend to distract myself from the real problem, and shop. Or I’ll drown myself in work, so that I don’t have time to think about it. It worked for a REALLY long time, but now it’s getting boring. I’m starting to despise going to work, and there’s only so much of the 300+ stores in the Galleria that I can take. The fact that I know where any store is in that mall says a lot. I can even tell you where to get good parking on a Saturday, and I don’t even own a car! I honestly don’t feel like I need to ‘work’ just for the point of a sexual encounter. Now if it’s a relationship, and it’s really worth it, then I don’t have a problem putting forth effort. And even then, I still believe things will just ‘happen’. But why am I jumping through hoops, just for bad sex? I’d rather use that energy for something constructive, like writing or any of theother projects I’m working on. Then, on top of that, there’s the whole getting caught up in my feelings afterwards.. I know how I am. I will spend 2 days all vexed and shitover 45 minutes ofpointless friction.I just don’t have time for it. So, why not shop? I have a great job, my bills are paid, and its not keeping me in the poor house. Eventually everything else will fall into place, I guess…

So, in conclusion, Something needs to be done. I’m not sure if this is supposed to happen.. but It’s hindering my writing process. I’m gonna be 24 next week, and I want this book DONE before I get to 26. So I need to come up with a plan. Any suggestions? I’m interested in your feedback. points to comments section

(Disclaimer: If I forgot to mention anyone, don’t take it personal. If I misspelled your name, don’t take it personal. I shouldn’t even be telling all my bid’ness like this, but whatever. It’s just more proof that I’m a real person and not the robot that many of you think I am.)

I can listen to and enjoy just about any type of music. I feel it. I inhale it. I pull it apart, and put it back together again, like a toy car. Bass is my heartbeat, treble is my brainwave. I walk in rhythm with the hi-hats. Highs make me fly, lows make me float.

Sometimes, music isn’t about the words in a song. lyrics are just poetry to music. Have you ever listened to instrumentals? Have you ever listened PAST the words? Have you felt the bass? Have you swayed with the strings? Its very intense. Sometimes music make the words make sense.

Music isn’t always about hip-hop, rock, and rb. I personally love lounge music, smooth jazz and electronic. These are the genres for the artistically epicurean . Claude Challe, Massive Attack, Paul Hardcastle, Dave Koz, Grover Washington. Anyone can shake their proverbial ass to a Beyonce song, but it takes an intellectual, open mind to enjoy a song with no catchy lyrics.

Think about it: How many times do you hear music a day? Think outside of the hours you have headphones jammed in your ears. You hear music all day, everyday. In the store, on hold, on tv, when your phone rings, when you think… Music is usually played in stores specifically for getting customers in the mood to spend money. Retailers don’t spend hundreds, thousands a year on music and sound equipment just to entertain you. Not to mention some of the greatest moments in our life are linked to a song. The day you got married, your first job, family events, heartbreak, and even death.

So, tell me: what does music do for you?

For example:

Gays are still constantly being persecuted as disease carrying, homewrecking, deceitful monsters.

Well if you think about it, they are. Nobody told them to KEEP doing the bullshit that people say they do.. If you want people to think differently about you, STOP doing the things they say about you.. Of course we all know a lot of this is generalized amongst the entire gay community, but sadly, its more often true. And being that society as a whole constantly whores for propaganda, nobody will understand that not ALL gays do this, nor that they need to stop giving people something to talk about.

OR–

Black people are lazy and stupid and are always trying to get over on someone (and they LOVE fried chicken and watermelon).

THEY DO!! But this doesn’t mean we should say this about all blacks.. How about you stop bitching about the fact that people are looking at the entire race like that and be the bitch to cast the first stone in obliterating this theory? Instead of being complacent and accepting and embracing the oppression, use this as a chance to prove people wrong.

I say all of this to say: Life is what you make it. Stop GIVING people a reason to talk about you (either collectively or individually)… and then maybe people can look past stereotypes and generalizations to see the person you really are. I we can’t necessarily get everyone to change, but every person that changes makes us ALL better as a whole.