Dance Like No One's Watching

Put Sad Face Here :(

Carpediem — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 00:15:48 GMT

So... I never got a PNN mug...and I'm way past 10 mugs. Does anybody know why not?

Keep it Going

Carpediem — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 06:13:44 GMT

O-mazing Grace...WTF??

Carpediem — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 02:22:16 GMT

Sooo... this guy is seriously fucked in the head. It's tragic.

Beauty Is???

Carpediem — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 21:06:10 GMT

When did we get a standard for beauty and why? I know this standard was set long before I came into the world, because it was predetermined for me to be one of the uglies. So, when did we set this standard? Who set the standard? Why did we set the standard? Why is there only one specific look that is viewed as being beautiful? What about the rest of us?

As I’ve stated before, I am an ugly, in the eyes of society of course. But when I look in the mirror at these round brown eyes, my full lips, and curly low-cut, I see nothing but an image of what is truly beautiful. Society puts billions of dollars into the beauty industry to show their disagreement. And it is so frustrated. I do a pretty good job of holding my head high, but sometimes (like when I’m PMSing) all it takes is a glance at the cover of a magazine, or the flipping through some channels and I’m bawling my eyes out. Because I don’t look like them. And then I immediately hate myself afterwards for even wanting to walk around looking like these mindless drones… its all a very complicated situation and I’m sure I’m not the only woman going through it.

Here’s a vid of my favorite poem about beauty and I listen to it whenever I need to be consoled by what real beauty is.

What do you think??

XoXo,

Tia

Victory May Be Within My Own Downfall

Carpediem — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 15:26:53 GMT

A few weeks ago, I had a mental break down. This is the main reason why you beautiful ladies haven’t heard from me. I spare you the gruesome (not so gory) details of what happen and simplify it all: there were pills and a trip to the mental health institution involved. While sitting in the loony bin, I spoke with a psychiatrist. He confirmed that it’s not my mental health that’s the problem; my emotional health is basically what caused everything. He offered to put me on anti-depressants but I turned that down. It seems to me that those would only cover up the problem instead of fixing it, and I’ve been doing enough of that. It’s time to do emotional inventory and purge myself of everything negative. Putting the pieces back together has been a really hard thing for me to do. The first step I had to do was stop lying to the people closest to me and let them in on how bad things really were for me. Kendall already knew most of it, but my father had no idea, and his look of confusion with the fire department showed up at our house that night confirms that fact. My best friends didn’t know anything. That had been there for some of my traumatic experiences, but they didn’t know to what extent these things affected me. So, I opened myself up to them. Ripped the scabs off and exposed all of my scars. I told them that I was on a journey to become whole again and I wouldn’t be able to do it without their love and support. And what do you know? There was no passing of judgment or angry pinches, just hugs and love. What I needed.

So, after admitting to myself and others that I have a problem, I’ve been spending most of my days confronting my issues. Bringing them from the dark recesses of my mind to the front to be handled and tossed out of my mind. Instead of acting like none of these things happened, I have to confront it head on, understand that it didn’t get the best of me because I’m still here. I have loads to be thankful for and that’s what I look to when I’m weighed down by the negativity in my mind. I’ve been working on seeing the positive in every situation: yeah, I was raped (which is a truly horrific thing for anyone to have to go through) but I’m still alive and breathing to tell my story. Some victims don’t get that chance. No, I don’t have a job nor do I know how I’m going to pay my phone bill and credit card bill at the end of this month, but I have a roof over my head, a warm bed to sleep in, and food to put in my stomach when it starts rumbling. A lot of people without jobs, especially in the time of this recession, are homeless. So, I’m learning to be thankful for what I have, however small it may be. I’m finding positive in every negative so the weight of my thoughts don’t drag me under.

It’s not going to be easy, but the end results will be worth it. So I ask you all to bear with me. I’m ready to become a whole person again.

XoXo,

Tia

It All Boils Down To...

Carpediem — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 14:59:41 GMT

If my twenty years here on this beautiful planet have taught me anything, it’s that it all boils down to patience. Nothing is more important than or as effective as solid patience. But it’s the hardest thing to have in a world where we praise the thin, rich, and famous. Everybody wants the quick get-rich-schemes and nobody wants to take the time to go out to the gym these days. It’s all about the newest diet pill that will have that stomach flattened and two-piece ready in less than two weeks. Working hard for the money? A thing of the past. Let’s all be rappers and actors, toss our integrity to the win for a little bit of change and a house in the hills. All in the name of impatience. ....

Why can’t we all just hold out until our dreams come true? They say good things come to those who wait, so, why the rush? I must admit that I own very little patience and I find it increasingly hard to get some when I can see my dream, almost touch it even, but I have no way of ever making it come true. Or at least that’s what I trick myself into believing because things aren’t happening as quickly as I would like them too. Maybe I’m not supposed to write a best-seller until I’m thirty years old with lots more life experience under my belt. Maybe we aren’t supposed to live together until we get married. If these things are meant to happen, they will, in their own time. So, why on Earth can’t I stop trying to rush things along?....

I feel this sense of urgency every morning when I wake up. As if I didn’t just turn twenty, but forty instead. Yes, the years have flown by, but there are so many more to be lived. So much to be learned, earned, taught, shared, seen, and heard. But because I’m so impatient, I lead a feeble existence that doesn’t allow me to stop and smell the flowers. Not because I’m moving at too rapid a pace, but because I’m so focused on speeding things up that I can’t see anything else. I feel like I’ve put a new spin on the term “tunnel vision.” ....

But I do know that patience is a virtue and I need to get more of it. My life will be a lot easier to live if I sit back and enjoy the ride. I’m quite sure there’s a reason things are going so slow. Some lesson I’m supposed to learn, some person I’m supposed to meet. Things that can’t happen if I don’t slow down, take a breath, and stop to check the scenery every now and then. This is not to say that I’m not going to arrive at my destination, I’m just going to arrive on time, when I’m fully capable of dealing with everything it entails. And maybe that’s what is best. Ya’ know?....

Really Mia?

Carpediem — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 04:10:08 GMT

So... let's sit in chat. Everybody grab their cups of tea, coffee, martini, whatever it is you drink when you're hit with surprising news. My sister, 17 years old, senior in high school, mother to a one year old, is pregnant again. Yessir. Eleven weeks pregnant. Her due date is January 15. She won't even be 18 and her first child won't even be two. When she told me, all I could do was shake my head. And then laugh. Her biggest concern in this situation is not what the hell she's going to do with two children at the age of 18 being a single mother, no, she has more important things to worry about. Like how other people are going to feel about the situation. She said she doesn't want to look like a failure in other people's eyes and I told her that should have been circulating through her mind when she was spreading her legs without protection. I mean seriously. How damn dumb do you have to be? It's been scientifically proven that you are indeed fertile and can reproduce, so why wouldn't you take the necessary steps to prevent this type of mistake? You already have one child that you can barely control and you have no clue how to raise, but still, lets throw another innocent life into the mix. Fucking ignorance.

Call Me Heartless...

Carpediem — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 03:44:06 GMT

... but the bitch has to go. I have had it up to here with being used and abused all in the name of family. I have very low tolerance for any type of bull shit with so-called family members. The only person I'm even going to consider taking any bullshit from is my father so if you're not him and you're coming with bullshit, prepare to be put on the chopping block.

Mia is the epitome of these ignorant, ghetto bitches I can barely stand the sight of. Not only she is a teen mother, but she's dirty and has no respect for herself. I don't believe in people making excuses for themselves, especially when there is extra help offered. So, her having a baby at a young age doesn't warrant any pity from me, especially since this is apparently what she wanted for herself.

I am not her personal maid or her personal chef. I don't give a fuck about how hard of a time she could possibly be having because she's so disrespectful. I do not owe her anything and the fact that she walks around thinking she can shit, eat, and fuck up without having to clean up or contribute in some way makes me want to puke.

I don't have to many emotions for her either so I have no qualms about slapping her across her slick ass mouth when she thinks its ok to talk shit to me because I ask her to clean up behind her and her baby. I am not the reason for her predicament. I didn't tell her to lay down and spread her legs, hoping a baby would keep her boyfriend from cheating on her. So don't bring that attitude shit to my face because I AM NOT HAVING IT.

PERIOD.

I know this sounds harsh, but I am not big on family, so you fuck up, then you're on the chopping block and it looks like she just lost the biggest support system she ever had. And I don't care.

Here We Go Again

Carpediem — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 08:58:59 GMT

So, as stated in the blog before this one, I hate anything having to do with the ghetto because I despise it. It is not something I am proud of, it is just the place I came from. If I had been given the choice, I would have wanted to grow up on Wisteria Lane or some shit. But anyway, that's not what we're talking about here. No, not today. The ghetto is going public!!! Famous rapper Lil Wayne reportedly has two women pregnant with his children, right now as we speak, This the type of stuff that is glorified in the neighborhoods like mine. Young men and little boys across America's ghettos see it as a privilege to be having sex with multiple girls and its even better when they're both having your baby and fighting over it. And matters only get worse when you have one of their main idols doing it like its the coolest thing in the world. I think its disgusting and filthy and shameful and anyone who thinks this is any way, okay, has screws loose in the brain.

What Really Grinds My Gears

Carpediem — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 03:21:57 GMT

Though raised in inner city Milwaukee, I have never, ever been a ghetto girl. Thugs have never intrigued me no matter how many one-liners they throw my way when I walk past the corner. Fighting to mark my territory was never necessary because you just knew. You don’t fuck with my things or shit gets bad. You should know that shit never got bad because like I said before, I am not a ghetto girl. Yes, I do have quick wit, and my tongue could probably decimate n entire army, but I attribute these things to my acquired knowledge. I’ve never been into wearing clothes that were too tight, nor have I ever been attracted to a man who can’t wear clothes that fit him properly. I find that to be very annoying actually. Flip flops and dirty feet are not a good summer match, my toes have to be properly cleaned and done before putting them out for the world to see (especially since they aren’t cutest). All of these things are kind of at the top of my pet peeves list which is why living here, in inner city Milwaukee, makes my blood boil every single day. Young girls who see it as a fad to have the next pretty boy’s baby, that pretty boy thinking its ok to fuck any and every girl who opens her legs for him, furthering the spread of STDS and AIDS/HIV. The parents who look the other way when this all goes on because they are too busy doing god knows what. These women kill me when they fight over these little ass boys who could care less about either one of them but knows he could have both if he wanted it that way. Girls who don’t clean their ass. What the hell is that? Isn’t that one of the first things you learn before you even walk through the doors to preschool? Why would you NOT want to be clean? It’s a wonderful feeling and it can do a pretty good job of brightening any bad day, even just a little bit. I don’t understand. These girls always complain about never meeting quality men, but how can you expect to attract anything other than a dirty, wanna-be thug if you never wash your ass? These are just some of things that really grind my gears about living in the ghetto. I really don’t belong here and I can’t wait for the day I pack all of my things up and ride off into the sunset, NEVER LOOKING BACK.

and don't get me stsrted on the music... that's an entire blog in itself...

My God-Given Twin

Carpediem — Sat, 13 Jun 2009 07:01:53 GMT

Yeah, I complained about not ever having that shovel-toting friend and I forgot about the main chick I’ve had in my corner since I’ve had a corner. Shamain Jenai Love (but you may know her as Love here on PNN). Met her in the 7th grade and she was the perfect introverted complement to my rowdy, extroverted demeanor. She was quiet, and cute as a button. And I was loud, and well, I suppose you can say I was cute as a button too, but I was rough around the edges. Shamain, who is only three months older than me, took me under her wings and made me apart of her already large family. Her three younger sisters became my three younger sisters, and her parents, became my God-parents. Middle school was hard for the both of us, we were always grounded because of our poor grades, but that didn’t stop us from spending every single moment we could together. She lived a few blocks from my house, so when we weren’t at lunch arguing over the most trivial things, we were sitting next to each other on the bus trying to be avoided because we were outcasts (by far the coolest I have ever met). And when we weren’t doing that, we were walking home from the bus stop, sometimes I would flash random people and she would run away to get away from the embarrassment of it all. FUN TIMES!!! Most of our time was spent in her room dreaming up our futures together and pondering on the way of the world. She was like my soulmate, you know, the kind that Carrie talked about in that episode of Sex and the City. Yeah, that’s her. We went on to high school together and that was definitely a trying time. Boys, girls, drama, and did I mention boys. We never really fought over boys because early on we made a pact to never date a guy we were both interested in. So that was never an issue. But we both had a tendency to date really stupid guys and we fought about that OFTEN. We’ve even fell out over it but no matter what, she’s always been in my corner. I’ve always been the stubborn person in any relationship, so me apologizing was like the 2nd coming of Jesus. But she taught me humility, and chastity, and patience, and how to love me for me. And I’ve got her to thank for this simply fabulous attitude I run around with. We coined the term god-given twin to describe our relationship to each other because her parents had taken me in as their fifth daughter, and oddly enough, we share the last name. I know we haven’t been in touch with each other these past few months because of distance and circumstances, but at a time when I need her the most, she came back in my life, and I couldn’t ask for more than that. I love you god-given twin, and even though I’m probably the most stubborn and spoiled person you know, I’m here for you, and my gorgeous nephew.

XoXo,
Tia

Reading is Research

Carpediem — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 00:52:28 GMT

One of the famous mantras for writers is "reading is research." As writers, we need to read other books; we often have a strong to desire to. It gives us an insight to what other authors are writing. To be a good writer, you must be a good reader so its imperative to read EVERYTHING. Here is a list of some of my favorite books that I read over and over again, even though I know I should be moving on to other titles:

Midnight by Sista Souljah

What Happened to Lani Garver by Carol Plum-Ucci

The Giver by Lois Lowry

Dying for Revenge by Eric Jerome Dickey

Addicted by Zane

Black by Tracy Brown

For One More Day by Mitch Albom

What are some of your favorite books? (hoping to find a new read here)

It's Been So Long

Carpediem — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 00:28:11 GMT

I feel like its been FOREVER since I've stopped by to unload my brain and weird and random thoughts, but I've been mentally constipated. Unable to really speak about anything because I've been kind of muddled in the brain, but I think I'm better now. Let's see, what's new??

Well, I've been trying to mend my broken relationships with friends, I guess that's going okay. Some prove to be more stubborn than others but I guess its supposed to be worth it in the end. I don't know.

I've continued with the job search. Not much luck. I've had a few interviews that I'm still waiting to hear back from those. But, I've resigned from stressing about it. That's going to get me nowhere fast.

I've started to help Kendall pack his mountain of things for Florida. I think he's going to be leaving within the next six weeks. I am excited and scared at the same time, but at the same time, I want my baby to follow his dreams. I'll follow behind him soon after I finish up business here.

Family....eh... not feeling them too much right now. I feel so fucking cooped up in this house! I'm tired of my little sister being a mooch and so irresponsible when she has a child to take care of, and I'm more than tired of my daddy treating me like I don't take care of him. We got into a fight about it yesterday. But, I'm all better now. :)

I can't wait for girl's night out so I can reconnect with you beautiful ladies and find out what's going on in your lives.

Until then, toodaloo!!

XoXo,

Tia

If Only She Would...

Carpediem — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 07:31:42 GMT

I was twelve years-old when I stopped loving my mother. By that time, I had gotten my period, had my first kiss, and my first orgasm, so she had missed out on some pretty big events; they were big to me at least. I had already fallen in love with my best friend’s mother. She gave me everything I needed to fill that void, so there was no desire or need for what could have been with the woman who gave birth to me.

I stopped sending letters to the prison my mother had been housed in for the last five years. I no longer took the three hour ride to go see her twice a month. I had given up. There was no love or sympathy left. And I think she got the picture. She stopped writing and calling; only asked about me to her other five children and my grandmother. My granny was very disappointed in me, to say the least. My mother was her baby, and she couldn’t understand why I was disrespecting her by refusing to visit or write.

And I couldn’t explain it to her in terms she would understand. She grew up in a time where family members didn’t abandon one another and they stuck it out, no matter what was going on. I was raised by a man who taught me that it was my prerogative. And I took that to heart. If she couldn’t stay out of jail long enough to be there for me, why should I waste my time going to see her, when all we ever talked about was how tall I had gotten or how good I was doing in school? These topics always made for awkward situations and I got tired of consoling my crying sister every time we left the prison. So I just stopped going.

I stopped dropping letters in the mailbox not too long after that. What was there to talk about? Until she was ready to have an honest and open conversation about her parenting or lack thereof, I was on strike. My strike lasted her entire sentence. When she got out, I was 16. I had experienced so much by that time and was not the same, seven-year-old little girl I had been when she left me. I was more observant and less naïve. So I started asking questions. I needed answers. If we were ever going to move forward and establish any kind of relationship, I needed to know. But, she didn’t feel the same. She wanted to act as if that whole time period had never happened. I was not going for that shit.

I wasn’t a fool. I, like the rest of the family, knew she was a criminal and a drug addict. I knew she was good at lying and getting over on people to get what she wanted. But I refused to be a part of that party. She wouldn’t apologize or try to make any amends for the last nine years, so I cut her the hell off. And I haven’t looked back since. Do I miss her? No. Do I wish she was here? Not in the least? If I could say something to her what would it be? You disgust me.

Out of the six children she had, she took care of none. She wasn’t in the least bit responsible for either of us. All of us were in a foster home at some point in our lives; some of us grew up in foster homes. I had the privilege of being raised by my daddy. He was granted full custody of me and my sister when I was four and she was one. And that is how I got the better end of the stick. My other sisters and brothers, not so lucky. I’m not sure if it’s because they were grief-stricken over my mother’s constant disappearances or because they didn’t have someone in their life like I had my father. But I do know they are a pretty sad bunch.

I don’t blame my mother for anything wrong in my life because that would mean she had some control over me. The most I can say she does for me is shoot my anger through the fucking roof when she gets the nerve to call and ask me to come and see her.

And to those of you who just can’t take the fact that I don’t and probably won’t ever love my mother, well, the exit is to your left so simply move on.

XoXo,
Tia L.

How Many is Too Many?

Carpediem — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 11:53:52 GMT

After watching an episode of Sex and the City and hearing Miranda say she had slept with 42 men, I began to ponder. The wheels and gears and my mind began to move, trying to figure out this problem, balance the equation. How was this possible? How was she even sexually attracted to that many men? And most importantly, how does her vagina feel about all of this? I am not against sex, as well all know, I love sex. It is a way for a person to physically express what they feel for another, or sometimes, its just a way to get your nut. Either way, I’m all for it. However, I don’t condone a massive amount partners. It just can’t be healthy. Not to judge anyone’s lifestyle, but 42? I find it hard to be extremely attracted to that many men. In my lifetime, I’ve only been sexually attracted to three people. Granted, my lifetime only spans two decades, still. I know women my age who are fucking like it’s the new sport; changing men like they change underwear.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m no goody-two-shoes. I’ve had my handful of sex partners. When Kendall and I took that lengthy break, well, I had to do something to fill my void. I was having a conversation with a friend the other day, who we will call for Betty. Betty and I are talking about the average number of sex partners the average woman has before she gets married. Betty says sixty is an ok number. I dropped my jaw to the floor. Sixty? Was she for real with this? What man is attracted to any woman that has had casual sex with sixty men? I asked her this and then Betty says, its all to help you find Mr. Right. I had to shake my head and resign from the conversation. Surely we don’t have to sleep with every man that comes along to weed out the bad seeds until we find Mr. Right? Is this true?

So, what’s a reasonable number to you?