Reality Hits Home
Last night, I went to clean up Voodoo Mansion, and it was quite a bit of work, so luckily I got some help...I left there with Voodoo Daddy, and we went to pick up Voodoo Mommy in the Civic Center. After that, we were about to turn off to Voodoo Central, when I noticed, about two blocks from my house, a police car, an amblance (yes I said Amblance), and the men/women who were uniformed standing around a yellow tarp on the ground.
I turned to Voodoo Daddy and said, "Yo, Pops, if they cover you with a yellow tarp, that means you're dead, right?"
"Pretty much."
And then check this out: Voodoo Mommy sez, "Let's drive around the corner to check it out!"
Nice.
So although that's not something that happens daily in my old yet new 'hood, it's kind of amazing how much I just blew it off. On Saturday, about half a mile away I know someone got gaffled because they cut someone off in their car. 16 years old and took some lead to the dome, or for those of ya'll who don't flow ghetto, that means she got shot in the head a FEW times. Sad. They were from out of town. It always seems to be those who get lost in the wrong part of town. Or it's young men who lose their lives to stupidity or
I blew it off, not knowing if that's something I should be afraid of, or if that's something that I need to be more concerned about. Things happen in the neighborhood that are scary, no doubt, but after awhile, scary becomes a way of life. I've lost one student to that quiet little war. You and I both know that ain't a way to live. Yellow tarps or not, it's just not right.
Ever wonder why there is a preponderance of violence and strife in economically and psychologically depressed areas in your town? If you were disempowered, unwanted, and marginalized, would you be able to accept the role you were to play in life? For some, that is indeed the rule: I will accept my role and act as I am presupposed to act. Violence, as many of us are aware, is a primal way of expressing one's rage, and rage is a daily fact of life for many people. Rage and angst are derivatives of feeling out of control of one's life, and physical expression of that is a way of gaining control over a situation, or even a person. You get immediate results and you establish yourself with surety and clearness. You are in control. Unfortunately, these breakouts of rage are all too familiar and all too easily glossed over. And I dare say that these breakouts are accepted.
What to do? Prioritizing neighborhoods and people as if their and OUR lives depended on it would be a nice place to start. Infuse that into institutional missions, and we're talking change here. Mobilize crisis units, counseling, job training, and economic investment in the people, and for once, realize that these are people we're talking about, not shady characters who happen to live "over there." I'm tired of hearing of people swept under the rug. How easy it is to drive "around" the "problem." And never be exposed to it. And to pretend that it doesn't exist. Not in my backyard. These cheesy people, and I know of a few that exist, are out there, Voodoo Babies. You do know, that these folks hold the power, the money, and the ability to change things. Until they come around, you can expect more yellow tapes, white chalk and black and whites in my neighborhood.
Before I place the entire blame on them, gotta look at myself, check my shit, to make sure that I'm not contributing to the problem, but working towards solving it. Silence, as the story goes, is complicity, and until the silence is broken amongst ourselves and others, this violence will continue to spill blood.
Happen it does, and consider those happenings screams for help.
Peace,
Voodoo
Voodoo Lounge v.12.1: I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!
Tuesday, July 31, 2001
Monday, July 30, 2001
Frick and Frack
I wrote this long blog, didn't post it in time and lost the whole damn thing.
Basically, I moved out yesterday. All is well, just need to clean some shit out and I'm done.
I also have the great fortune of having some folks help me out: Buff Bagwell, Voodoo Daddy and Mommy, Pigpen, J-Boogie and J-Wanna.
Saw JurASSic Park Trey. Thanks for telling us everything that's going to happen in the first five minutes. It's called a set-up, Cha Cha, not a freakin' Cliff's Notes Intro!
I'll write more from the Lovely City of San Francisco, but gotta head back to work.
Voodoo
I wrote this long blog, didn't post it in time and lost the whole damn thing.
Basically, I moved out yesterday. All is well, just need to clean some shit out and I'm done.
I also have the great fortune of having some folks help me out: Buff Bagwell, Voodoo Daddy and Mommy, Pigpen, J-Boogie and J-Wanna.
Saw JurASSic Park Trey. Thanks for telling us everything that's going to happen in the first five minutes. It's called a set-up, Cha Cha, not a freakin' Cliff's Notes Intro!
I'll write more from the Lovely City of San Francisco, but gotta head back to work.
Voodoo
Saturday, July 28, 2001
Packin' Shit! Day 6? 7? Aww Hell.
Today, hypothetically I wanted to pack everything up and get ready to get the hell out. Actually, most of the little things were packed and put away. I even started to move things already, but DAMN, this shit is taking forever. It's a lot easier with someone else, but in actuality, it's SHIT by yourself. I've had to discard a lot of things already, but that's cool. I'm ready to move. I have a lot of stuff that Basket Case (not you, Mista J) left here, so I gotta set all that shit aside so it doesn't interrrupt da flow.
Notice, if you will, the new AIM link if you'd like to IM me. And I've also KINDA fixed my archives, so peep that if you're interested in seeing the evolution of the Voodoo.
Anyways, I best get back to work lest I have too much fun on the Net. Hopefully tomorrow all will go well and I'll be ready to settle into Voodoo Central.
Today, hypothetically I wanted to pack everything up and get ready to get the hell out. Actually, most of the little things were packed and put away. I even started to move things already, but DAMN, this shit is taking forever. It's a lot easier with someone else, but in actuality, it's SHIT by yourself. I've had to discard a lot of things already, but that's cool. I'm ready to move. I have a lot of stuff that Basket Case (not you, Mista J) left here, so I gotta set all that shit aside so it doesn't interrrupt da flow.
Notice, if you will, the new AIM link if you'd like to IM me. And I've also KINDA fixed my archives, so peep that if you're interested in seeing the evolution of the Voodoo.
Anyways, I best get back to work lest I have too much fun on the Net. Hopefully tomorrow all will go well and I'll be ready to settle into Voodoo Central.
Sotally Tober
"Starkle Starkle little twink, who the hell you are I think, I'm not under what you call, the alcofluence of incohol, I'm just a litte slort of sheep, I'm not drunk like tinkle peep, I dont know who is me yet, but the drunker I stand here the longer i get, just give me one more drink to fill me cup, 'cuz i got all day sober to Sunday up"
How funny is that???
I came across that online just now and I wanted to share that witcha...
Enjoy!
voodoo
"Starkle Starkle little twink, who the hell you are I think, I'm not under what you call, the alcofluence of incohol, I'm just a litte slort of sheep, I'm not drunk like tinkle peep, I dont know who is me yet, but the drunker I stand here the longer i get, just give me one more drink to fill me cup, 'cuz i got all day sober to Sunday up"
How funny is that???
I came across that online just now and I wanted to share that witcha...
Enjoy!
voodoo
Goodnight wishes
On my first day as a 31 year old, I want to just mention that I have some great friends, those that came through and were there for me when I had a small party, so thanks for coming over. I was passing around beers all night, and chasing conversation, and I'm grateful for sharing that time with World of Curls (my Europe pro), The Apostle, Drunken Master, Buff Bagwell, Buffy, Mister Olympia, Pigpen, Record and his Lady Club Girl.
My gifts in life are many, and I am grateful. Even though there have been delays in the things I've wanted the most, those are certainly better than complete disasters. I am blessed, and I hope to continue to be the recipient of such blessings that friends, life and whatever else may bring. I've taken a long time to thank people and the creator, but now is a good time. And to my readers whose email keeps me laughing, thinking and writing. You are the reason why this page even exists.
So I raise my glass to you...
Voodoo
On my first day as a 31 year old, I want to just mention that I have some great friends, those that came through and were there for me when I had a small party, so thanks for coming over. I was passing around beers all night, and chasing conversation, and I'm grateful for sharing that time with World of Curls (my Europe pro), The Apostle, Drunken Master, Buff Bagwell, Buffy, Mister Olympia, Pigpen, Record and his Lady Club Girl.
My gifts in life are many, and I am grateful. Even though there have been delays in the things I've wanted the most, those are certainly better than complete disasters. I am blessed, and I hope to continue to be the recipient of such blessings that friends, life and whatever else may bring. I've taken a long time to thank people and the creator, but now is a good time. And to my readers whose email keeps me laughing, thinking and writing. You are the reason why this page even exists.
So I raise my glass to you...
Voodoo
Friday, July 27, 2001
Feel the love, as I Pack Myself. Day Five.
Now children, I don't want you to try doing that colorrific stuff just like I did. It'll hurtcha. Trust me.
At any rate, let me tell you, this is how my birthday started out. I couldn't get outta bed. 8AM. Alarm goes off. I am to be at work at 8:30. I lag, I LEAVE at 8:40. Get to work around 9:15. I get a message from my boss' boss' boss' assistant (yes do the org chart) who is singing happy birthday to me...He CAME BY to give me a present, but I wasn't around. Oh geez. I'm so busted.
I have none of my assistants in yet. That means I have to sit here and humor myself until 1 when they come in, and THEN I go to lunch. Sheesh kids, what is a Voodoo to do?
Last night I wound up staying up late talking to some friends, watching the characters on The Sims slap themselves silly, drink up the supply of tonight's beer for the party, and packing more stuff. Now my room is feeling very very empty, but nonetheless, things are cool. Last night I also got a few hang ups, and that's always annoying, but oh well, sometimes my stalkers/fans get a little too emotional for me. Come on, just leave a message, and it'll all be good.
For now, I must go back to work/play/surf the net. Talk to you all soon,
V o o d o o
Now children, I don't want you to try doing that colorrific stuff just like I did. It'll hurtcha. Trust me.
At any rate, let me tell you, this is how my birthday started out. I couldn't get outta bed. 8AM. Alarm goes off. I am to be at work at 8:30. I lag, I LEAVE at 8:40. Get to work around 9:15. I get a message from my boss' boss' boss' assistant (yes do the org chart) who is singing happy birthday to me...He CAME BY to give me a present, but I wasn't around. Oh geez. I'm so busted.
I have none of my assistants in yet. That means I have to sit here and humor myself until 1 when they come in, and THEN I go to lunch. Sheesh kids, what is a Voodoo to do?
Last night I wound up staying up late talking to some friends, watching the characters on The Sims slap themselves silly, drink up the supply of tonight's beer for the party, and packing more stuff. Now my room is feeling very very empty, but nonetheless, things are cool. Last night I also got a few hang ups, and that's always annoying, but oh well, sometimes my stalkers/fans get a little too emotional for me. Come on, just leave a message, and it'll all be good.
For now, I must go back to work/play/surf the net. Talk to you all soon,
V o o d o o
Happy Birthday to...
By the time I turned 31, I have earned a doctorate. I travelled to France and Spain by myself. I bought my own car. I graduated six classes of first year students. I delivered a keynote address at a college graduation that wasn't my own. I've been a bridesmaid over 5 times. I directed 3 shows onstage. I've written 5. I wrote a 185 page dissertation. I fell in love, I fell out of love, I fell in love..you get the point. I've met some wonderful people, and I've met a lot of assholes. Even dated some! I've established myself professionally. I'm teaching at a major university. I'm mentoring students now. People call me Dr. Voodoo. Go figure. I've only been skunk drunk three times. Maybe four. Okay, maybe five. I managed through all of this, to find myself and come to know who I truly am. And I've only just begun.
Happy birthday to me,
Voodoo
By the time I turned 31, I have earned a doctorate. I travelled to France and Spain by myself. I bought my own car. I graduated six classes of first year students. I delivered a keynote address at a college graduation that wasn't my own. I've been a bridesmaid over 5 times. I directed 3 shows onstage. I've written 5. I wrote a 185 page dissertation. I fell in love, I fell out of love, I fell in love..you get the point. I've met some wonderful people, and I've met a lot of assholes. Even dated some! I've established myself professionally. I'm teaching at a major university. I'm mentoring students now. People call me Dr. Voodoo. Go figure. I've only been skunk drunk three times. Maybe four. Okay, maybe five. I managed through all of this, to find myself and come to know who I truly am. And I've only just begun.
Happy birthday to me,
Voodoo
Wednesday, July 25, 2001
Krep!
Problems with the templates...so the link doesn't appear as well as other funkiness I've chosen to share with you. Thanks for the wait!
Voodoo
PS: The link below (Voodoolicious Beats) works just fine, so peep the show when you can.
Problems with the templates...so the link doesn't appear as well as other funkiness I've chosen to share with you. Thanks for the wait!
Voodoo
PS: The link below (Voodoolicious Beats) works just fine, so peep the show when you can.
Bumpin' wit da Voodoo
Peep this, my lovelies...Voodoolicious Beats fo' yo' ass! I've left a permanent link on the left hand side oba' der for you to peep when you got the chance. I'm still workin' on my playlists, so it will change up, I hope, from time to time. Now YOU can listen like the Voodoo listens to on her CD changer in the Voodoo Lounge.
I'm workin' on my Mack Mode Playlist for you pimps and players out there. Just in case you felt like bustin' out like Leon Phelps whilst at work. Oh yah, and currently we got the Voodoolicious Beats goin' on, but just so you know, it's not 100% Parental Approved music. SO TURN THAT SHIZNIT UP!
Groovin', mackin' and hangin',
Voodoo
Peep this, my lovelies...Voodoolicious Beats fo' yo' ass! I've left a permanent link on the left hand side oba' der for you to peep when you got the chance. I'm still workin' on my playlists, so it will change up, I hope, from time to time. Now YOU can listen like the Voodoo listens to on her CD changer in the Voodoo Lounge.
I'm workin' on my Mack Mode Playlist for you pimps and players out there. Just in case you felt like bustin' out like Leon Phelps whilst at work. Oh yah, and currently we got the Voodoolicious Beats goin' on, but just so you know, it's not 100% Parental Approved music. SO TURN THAT SHIZNIT UP!
Groovin', mackin' and hangin',
Voodoo
Pack You, Day 3
World of Curls had to supervise me as I packed up my closet and am now trying to figure out what I'm going to be wearing in the next few days...I might stink but I think they'll understand.
Again, I'm finding shreds of the past, and I needed World of Curls more for support than for her packing skills. I got rid of a lot of clothes, and oh well, I have even more to get rid of once i get back into Voodoo Central. It's amazing what we accumulate and have to let go of. The emotional ties that clothes have - who gave them to us, where we bought them, and whose bedroom floor they were found on. Oops, too much information.
But things are going very smoothly thus far. Mista J has committed himself to helping me clean "THE HOLE." The Fireplace, dammit.
Other than that things are moving quite well. I look forward to the rest of the week...
Meow, kitty,
Voodoo
World of Curls had to supervise me as I packed up my closet and am now trying to figure out what I'm going to be wearing in the next few days...I might stink but I think they'll understand.
Again, I'm finding shreds of the past, and I needed World of Curls more for support than for her packing skills. I got rid of a lot of clothes, and oh well, I have even more to get rid of once i get back into Voodoo Central. It's amazing what we accumulate and have to let go of. The emotional ties that clothes have - who gave them to us, where we bought them, and whose bedroom floor they were found on. Oops, too much information.
But things are going very smoothly thus far. Mista J has committed himself to helping me clean "THE HOLE." The Fireplace, dammit.
Other than that things are moving quite well. I look forward to the rest of the week...
Meow, kitty,
Voodoo
Tuesday, July 24, 2001
In Your Future, I See Thongs, Lots of Thongs
The new feature in the Voodooland is "The Oracle."
Below the archives, you'll see a link that says, "Tell me the future, Voodoo Child." This is for those hapless souls who want me to tell them their future. I do possess some skills in that area, and boy, lemme tell you, I got some stuff to work with!
So if you're ever in need of some advice, please, by all means, email The Oracle. Larry Ellison will not write you back, I promise you that.
Boo!
Voodoo!
The new feature in the Voodooland is "The Oracle."
Below the archives, you'll see a link that says, "Tell me the future, Voodoo Child." This is for those hapless souls who want me to tell them their future. I do possess some skills in that area, and boy, lemme tell you, I got some stuff to work with!
So if you're ever in need of some advice, please, by all means, email The Oracle. Larry Ellison will not write you back, I promise you that.
Boo!
Voodoo!
Don't ever need your job more than it needs you
If you're on vacation, get the hell out of the office.
I'm sorry, but vacation means you don't work here anymore for the time being, so go away.
No wait, you misunderstood me, this means normal people, like me, don't go to the place where we don't care to even be when we're paid to be here.
One more time, go back, put on your dorky clothes and stay home.
No, really, the office will not burn down if you're not here.
What do you mean you're coming back later on this week?
Aren't you on vacation?
Dumbass.
Voodoo
If you're on vacation, get the hell out of the office.
I'm sorry, but vacation means you don't work here anymore for the time being, so go away.
No wait, you misunderstood me, this means normal people, like me, don't go to the place where we don't care to even be when we're paid to be here.
One more time, go back, put on your dorky clothes and stay home.
No, really, the office will not burn down if you're not here.
What do you mean you're coming back later on this week?
Aren't you on vacation?
Dumbass.
Voodoo
Packin' Shit, Day 3
I cleaned out my dresser. Threw out some old meds. That's it. How shitty is this move going to be! Oh well, I'll survive. But I think I'll have to call in World of Curls to help me put shit away. I am a sad mover, but I tell ya, I'm a whole hella lot better than some folks I know who shall remain unnamed.
Bald Heads of the Month
Yes, children, it's time for me to talk about the Bald Head of the Month! I know you've been waitin' and debatin' for a while now, since our last Bald Head announcement, but here we go. For the first time, I'm going to nominate a whole group of guys. Not that they're all bald, but, well, let me tell you the story...
I was walking to the VoodooMobile at the end of the day, and found myself faced with tons of men in black jerseys and black shorts. The Men in Black sports team? No, they were better than that. SOCCER PLAYERS. Yes, Children, I have now promoted Soccer Players to the upper eschelon of hot men. On this list, there are also Baseball players (except Big Unit, who, if I was a guy, would make me go turtle) and Hockey players (except Owen Nolan who would make me go fetal position). Soccer guys are the freakin' hottest dudes! Did I mention that the team was the Los Angeles Galaxy? I didn't learn later on that Andrew Shue was on the team too, but I WILL be stalking the field from here on out because, boy I tell ya, hubba hubba, I'm in troubba troubba. Andrew Shue I worship you!!!!! The visiting teams, from MOST of the major league sports come to work out at my school. Basketball, soccer, and table top dancers. I tell you, it's GREAT! I teased one of the players because he had an iced knee and he was strugglin' to get by by himself, and I said, "Aww, they left you!" I really wanted to say, "Oh shit you're fine, get outta my dreams, get into my car!"
I think I moisted myself.
At any rate, as much as men think they corner the market on stalker behavior and figgerin' out where women appear magically at certain times (boys, i know you park yourselves right outside Victoria's just to peep the show), lemme tell you a little story. Every day, around 5ish, my colleague and I would time our exit to the parking lot to coincide with the exit of the baseball team. And the soccer team. And, you get the point. It was on our schedule! ;-) Just as bad as you guys.
Maybe even worse.
To all my bald headed menfriends, I SALUTE YOU!
Voodoo
I cleaned out my dresser. Threw out some old meds. That's it. How shitty is this move going to be! Oh well, I'll survive. But I think I'll have to call in World of Curls to help me put shit away. I am a sad mover, but I tell ya, I'm a whole hella lot better than some folks I know who shall remain unnamed.
Bald Heads of the Month
Yes, children, it's time for me to talk about the Bald Head of the Month! I know you've been waitin' and debatin' for a while now, since our last Bald Head announcement, but here we go. For the first time, I'm going to nominate a whole group of guys. Not that they're all bald, but, well, let me tell you the story...
I was walking to the VoodooMobile at the end of the day, and found myself faced with tons of men in black jerseys and black shorts. The Men in Black sports team? No, they were better than that. SOCCER PLAYERS. Yes, Children, I have now promoted Soccer Players to the upper eschelon of hot men. On this list, there are also Baseball players (except Big Unit, who, if I was a guy, would make me go turtle) and Hockey players (except Owen Nolan who would make me go fetal position). Soccer guys are the freakin' hottest dudes! Did I mention that the team was the Los Angeles Galaxy? I didn't learn later on that Andrew Shue was on the team too, but I WILL be stalking the field from here on out because, boy I tell ya, hubba hubba, I'm in troubba troubba. Andrew Shue I worship you!!!!! The visiting teams, from MOST of the major league sports come to work out at my school. Basketball, soccer, and table top dancers. I tell you, it's GREAT! I teased one of the players because he had an iced knee and he was strugglin' to get by by himself, and I said, "Aww, they left you!" I really wanted to say, "Oh shit you're fine, get outta my dreams, get into my car!"
I think I moisted myself.
At any rate, as much as men think they corner the market on stalker behavior and figgerin' out where women appear magically at certain times (boys, i know you park yourselves right outside Victoria's just to peep the show), lemme tell you a little story. Every day, around 5ish, my colleague and I would time our exit to the parking lot to coincide with the exit of the baseball team. And the soccer team. And, you get the point. It was on our schedule! ;-) Just as bad as you guys.
Maybe even worse.
To all my bald headed menfriends, I SALUTE YOU!
Voodoo
Sunday, July 22, 2001
Pack You, Day 2
I have a lot of shoes. This is a known fact amonst my peers and colleagues. I have a weakness for the frockery that one places upon the feet, and I packed an entire Dell box full of them. Well, not quite full, I have about 6 more pairs that I rotate during the week that I will keep until the last minute.
Packing is going well, but I'm starting to wonder about the enormity of it all. Lots of kitchen wares to pack up. Lots of bathroom supplies, and don't even let me get started with the clothes. Shit, the clothes! Feeling...weak...
At any rate, I will lug some stuff to the Voodoo Castle today after the fiesta at Heavy Jumbo's House. In a meanwhile, the moving journey continues. Now if I could only get out of my jammies.
Peas.
Voodoo
I have a lot of shoes. This is a known fact amonst my peers and colleagues. I have a weakness for the frockery that one places upon the feet, and I packed an entire Dell box full of them. Well, not quite full, I have about 6 more pairs that I rotate during the week that I will keep until the last minute.
Packing is going well, but I'm starting to wonder about the enormity of it all. Lots of kitchen wares to pack up. Lots of bathroom supplies, and don't even let me get started with the clothes. Shit, the clothes! Feeling...weak...
At any rate, I will lug some stuff to the Voodoo Castle today after the fiesta at Heavy Jumbo's House. In a meanwhile, the moving journey continues. Now if I could only get out of my jammies.
Peas.
Voodoo
Saturday, July 21, 2001
Pack You, Day 1
Ladies and Gentlemen, pack you!
I'm going to be moving in a week or so, so I need to get my shit together and bounce. Not that kinda bounce, damn you, but the kind that makes ya get on up and jet. I have stolen some boxes from the office as well as bought a few from Tar-ghetto, so I'm starting today. The count so far: I've packed four boxes for my books, a basket full of book I've written, a suitcase full of personal things that vibrate and make you wanna go uhhhhhh, and a gym bag full of my art supplies. More to come.
I've found a lot of things I thought I lost (not including men), and I've come to terms with a lot of things that I've had to throw away. Letters, pictures, unfinished poems, useless wishlists. I found a letter an old friend wrote that made me cry. Wait, I have to explain what it is first...When I went on retreat with a great group of students a few years ago, I asked them to write letters to each other lending a word or two of support in times of need. They were to write them to anyone, not a specific person, just a generic letter. Then I asked them to give me the letters, then I redistributing them, one each. Later on, I distributed stickers to each person, and we were to go around and put some nice things (and not so nice, but all love), on each other's envelopes. The thought behind this is that this letter is not to be opened unless you absolutely positively need to. Mine have been sitting in my drawer for years.
I found it when getting rid of all those phone numbers I've collected over the years (who the hell is this? I'll call 'em later.), and put my work aside to open it. I reread all the dots on the front of the envelope, and found some that made me laugh out loud (that's LOL to you AIM freaks), and I saw some from old friends like Mista J. I opened the envelope and read a sweet letter from a friend who shared with me some kind words that helped me get through the hardship of purging through memories and things I didn't want to let go of, but just had to. It's not easy to do it, but after reading it, I was better off for it. He wrote about some things that his mom told him as a child, one of them was, "Strength comes from the deepest parts of the soul." No doubt.
I folded it, put it away and wiped away the tears.
I will go through more of that as I get rid of more things, move some things back into boxes, and come to terms with the way I've lived my life these past few years. No regrets, none at all, but more of the wisdom accrued that makes the depths of the soul easier to understand.
Gimme them boxes,
Voodoo
Ladies and Gentlemen, pack you!
I'm going to be moving in a week or so, so I need to get my shit together and bounce. Not that kinda bounce, damn you, but the kind that makes ya get on up and jet. I have stolen some boxes from the office as well as bought a few from Tar-ghetto, so I'm starting today. The count so far: I've packed four boxes for my books, a basket full of book I've written, a suitcase full of personal things that vibrate and make you wanna go uhhhhhh, and a gym bag full of my art supplies. More to come.
I've found a lot of things I thought I lost (not including men), and I've come to terms with a lot of things that I've had to throw away. Letters, pictures, unfinished poems, useless wishlists. I found a letter an old friend wrote that made me cry. Wait, I have to explain what it is first...When I went on retreat with a great group of students a few years ago, I asked them to write letters to each other lending a word or two of support in times of need. They were to write them to anyone, not a specific person, just a generic letter. Then I asked them to give me the letters, then I redistributing them, one each. Later on, I distributed stickers to each person, and we were to go around and put some nice things (and not so nice, but all love), on each other's envelopes. The thought behind this is that this letter is not to be opened unless you absolutely positively need to. Mine have been sitting in my drawer for years.
I found it when getting rid of all those phone numbers I've collected over the years (who the hell is this? I'll call 'em later.), and put my work aside to open it. I reread all the dots on the front of the envelope, and found some that made me laugh out loud (that's LOL to you AIM freaks), and I saw some from old friends like Mista J. I opened the envelope and read a sweet letter from a friend who shared with me some kind words that helped me get through the hardship of purging through memories and things I didn't want to let go of, but just had to. It's not easy to do it, but after reading it, I was better off for it. He wrote about some things that his mom told him as a child, one of them was, "Strength comes from the deepest parts of the soul." No doubt.
I folded it, put it away and wiped away the tears.
I will go through more of that as I get rid of more things, move some things back into boxes, and come to terms with the way I've lived my life these past few years. No regrets, none at all, but more of the wisdom accrued that makes the depths of the soul easier to understand.
Gimme them boxes,
Voodoo
Friday, July 20, 2001
A Day without the Internet
No email.
No blogging.
No checking the news online.
No ordering things for my friends.
No downloading music.
No pretending to work on my computer.
No problem.
Unlike most people, I wasn't totally bummed that the server died and left us Internetless from 9:30 until close. Some colleagues were running circles around their office not quite sure what to do with themselves. I merely went to work on reading and organizing for next year. It was nice and quiet for once, and no ready distraction to keep me piqued.
Try it, betcha can't, but it's a nice way to start a weekend.
Voodoo
No email.
No blogging.
No checking the news online.
No ordering things for my friends.
No downloading music.
No pretending to work on my computer.
No problem.
Unlike most people, I wasn't totally bummed that the server died and left us Internetless from 9:30 until close. Some colleagues were running circles around their office not quite sure what to do with themselves. I merely went to work on reading and organizing for next year. It was nice and quiet for once, and no ready distraction to keep me piqued.
Try it, betcha can't, but it's a nice way to start a weekend.
Voodoo
Thursday, July 19, 2001
Peep Da New Styleeeeeeeee
Let me know whatchu thank 'bout the new digs I got...figured it was time for a change...Might bug your eyeballs a bit, but it's a nice little change. Props to Andrew for designin' this Partridge Family template. Check out Mista J's page too, while you're at it, new digs too. Must be catchy.
Paix,
Voodoo
Let me know whatchu thank 'bout the new digs I got...figured it was time for a change...Might bug your eyeballs a bit, but it's a nice little change. Props to Andrew for designin' this Partridge Family template. Check out Mista J's page too, while you're at it, new digs too. Must be catchy.
Paix,
Voodoo
Speechless
I'm not even going to say anything. I'm too busy shaking my head. Just click here. OH yah, and check out his fashion page.
You're 47 and single?! I wonder why?
Congrats on the Webby!
I can't even sign my name, it's just so disturbing.
I'm not even going to say anything. I'm too busy shaking my head. Just click here. OH yah, and check out his fashion page.
You're 47 and single?! I wonder why?
Congrats on the Webby!
I can't even sign my name, it's just so disturbing.
No Ordinary Love
It was cold last night. Luckily I remembered to bring my beanie to keep my head warm. I suddenly remembered, as our car pulled away from my driveway, my cashmere lined gloves. That were sitting on my dresser. I reminded myself, this is the middle of July. Think warm thoughts, I repeated to myself, as if that would magically bring me the comfort of a down comforter. I sank into my seat, and felt the air move around me. I listened as I closed my eyes to random conversations going on around me. Voices, not sure of what they were saying, but they were there, all right. I inhaled deeply and felt the cold air fill my lungs.
I listened to the music fill the night; voices filled the gaps, of which there were few. The music warmed me for a moment, and smiled to myself, that private smile that people seem to catch and make them always say, "What?" I sang quietly to myself and felt myself lifted for a few seconds, the trouble of the day prior washing off my skin. Amazingly, the music snaps one back to a place and time always associated with that song. A certain day and time, smell and taste, and even person. I let that thought grab me, then I breathed it away. It is now, I said to myself, and that's all I need to worry about.
I looked up at the stars, not seeking out the Belt of Orion as I always do, but wondering of the enormity of it all. I craned my neck to see planes flying overhead, and watch the lights soar into the distance. Fog, I remember now, crept into my space, as it seems to know where I am. It covers us like a blanket.
People around me were singing too, dancing and moving in their private spaces. A kiss here and there. Hold me, she stared at him. He willingly pulled her close. I watched this exchange and felt her coldness melt away with the contact of his hands on her exposed shoulders. Obvious to the world around them, they danced, and he sang the words into her hair.
A million people in the public space of the world, despite our eyes, ears and mouths taking it all in, they created a private space of connectedness and were a party of two, and only two, dancing, singing and vibing.
So it went the Sade concert last night. I highly recommend the show, if you can catch it, but make sure you also catch the opening act, India Arie, too. Thanks to the World of Curls and The Clock Watcher for their company. And a night full of laughs, singing and Krispy Kremes.
Voodoo
It was cold last night. Luckily I remembered to bring my beanie to keep my head warm. I suddenly remembered, as our car pulled away from my driveway, my cashmere lined gloves. That were sitting on my dresser. I reminded myself, this is the middle of July. Think warm thoughts, I repeated to myself, as if that would magically bring me the comfort of a down comforter. I sank into my seat, and felt the air move around me. I listened as I closed my eyes to random conversations going on around me. Voices, not sure of what they were saying, but they were there, all right. I inhaled deeply and felt the cold air fill my lungs.
I listened to the music fill the night; voices filled the gaps, of which there were few. The music warmed me for a moment, and smiled to myself, that private smile that people seem to catch and make them always say, "What?" I sang quietly to myself and felt myself lifted for a few seconds, the trouble of the day prior washing off my skin. Amazingly, the music snaps one back to a place and time always associated with that song. A certain day and time, smell and taste, and even person. I let that thought grab me, then I breathed it away. It is now, I said to myself, and that's all I need to worry about.
I looked up at the stars, not seeking out the Belt of Orion as I always do, but wondering of the enormity of it all. I craned my neck to see planes flying overhead, and watch the lights soar into the distance. Fog, I remember now, crept into my space, as it seems to know where I am. It covers us like a blanket.
People around me were singing too, dancing and moving in their private spaces. A kiss here and there. Hold me, she stared at him. He willingly pulled her close. I watched this exchange and felt her coldness melt away with the contact of his hands on her exposed shoulders. Obvious to the world around them, they danced, and he sang the words into her hair.
A million people in the public space of the world, despite our eyes, ears and mouths taking it all in, they created a private space of connectedness and were a party of two, and only two, dancing, singing and vibing.
So it went the Sade concert last night. I highly recommend the show, if you can catch it, but make sure you also catch the opening act, India Arie, too. Thanks to the World of Curls and The Clock Watcher for their company. And a night full of laughs, singing and Krispy Kremes.
Voodoo
Wednesday, July 18, 2001
CAUTION: You're a MORON!
Ever notice that little thing on your paper coffee cup that says, "Caution, contents hot"?
How about the one that says, "Smoking is bad for your health"?
How about "Do not drive under the influence of alcohol"?
Maybe. How about the one that says, "If you have to read this you're a freakin' moron, so put the cup down before you kill yourself, dumb ass."
Oh yah, that one.
Well, read this article, and try to look at the pictures of the little kids playing on a tank. Not a fish tank, one of those tanks that kill people. Notice the black smoke and evidence of war. People are a trip nowadays, and if you're going to shake a coke machine, you're probably a dumbass anyways.
I'll just call it, Voodoo Babies, Darwinism at work!
ChaChing!
Voodoo
Ever notice that little thing on your paper coffee cup that says, "Caution, contents hot"?
How about the one that says, "Smoking is bad for your health"?
How about "Do not drive under the influence of alcohol"?
Maybe. How about the one that says, "If you have to read this you're a freakin' moron, so put the cup down before you kill yourself, dumb ass."
Oh yah, that one.
Well, read this article, and try to look at the pictures of the little kids playing on a tank. Not a fish tank, one of those tanks that kill people. Notice the black smoke and evidence of war. People are a trip nowadays, and if you're going to shake a coke machine, you're probably a dumbass anyways.
I'll just call it, Voodoo Babies, Darwinism at work!
ChaChing!
Voodoo
I'm NOT Histrionic, I'm NOT, I'm NOT, I'm NOT!
I took this online quizzy thingy, and was not surprised to find that my prediliction to mental disorders looks something like this:
Disorder | Rating
Paranoid: Low
Schizoid: Low
Schizotypal: Low
Antisocial: Low
Borderline: Low
Histrionic: Moderate
Narcissistic: Low
Avoidant: Low
Dependent: Low
Obsessive-Compulsive: Low
But I tell you, histrionics, Voodoo Babies, looks a little like this:
But it also looks a little like:
The reason why I thought I'd throw that in is because the root of both words are very similar and the relationship between them is highly suspect, and I'm not surprised in the least that anything that's associated with actin' up is associated with women. Even queenie behavior, and you know who you are, girlfriends, is, well, bitchy, which is, well, a backhanded remark for women. Hm.
Technically, histrionic behavior looks like trying to gain attention for the purposes of self-serving aggrandizement. And tell me what woman does not seek validation and approval from those around her in order to justify presence and existence? Maybe I go too far with this by basically putting all women into one basket, but the strong need to be accepted by one's peers, family and colleagues is driven to the point where we cease to be ourselves in the face such a need. We look for approval, seek it in the most subtle ways. "You didn't recognize my haircut! You bastard!" May not be as subtle, but it's something that we hope you can now see that without noticing the little things, the panic sets in in an insidious manner, especially for those women who are weaker of self-esteem and self-confidence.
So histrionic or not, I'm not going to put any faith in an online survey that doesn't even understand the dynamics of behavior when it comes to women or men. To do so would be like expecting therapy to work with a person who doesn't take into account your personal history, your beliefs and values, but it's interesting to see how the rest of the world sees you, even if it is inaccurate.
So take the quiz with a fat grain of salt. Preferably the little ones on the edge of your margarita glass.
Peas love and LOOK AT ME, DAMMIT!
Voodoo
I took this online quizzy thingy, and was not surprised to find that my prediliction to mental disorders looks something like this:
Disorder | Rating
Paranoid: Low
Schizoid: Low
Schizotypal: Low
Antisocial: Low
Borderline: Low
Histrionic: Moderate
Narcissistic: Low
Avoidant: Low
Dependent: Low
Obsessive-Compulsive: Low
But I tell you, histrionics, Voodoo Babies, looks a little like this:
his·tri·on·ic (hstr-nk) also his·tri·on·i·cal (--kl) adj.
Of or relating to actors or acting.
Excessively dramatic or emotional; affected.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Late Latin histrinicus, from Latin histri, histrin-, actor, probably of Etruscan origin.]
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
histri·oni·cal·ly adv.
But it also looks a little like:
Hysteric \Hys*ter"ic\, Hysterical \Hys*ter"ic*al\, a. [L. hystericus, Gr. ?, fr. "yste`ra the womb; perh. akin to ? latter, later, and E. utter, out.] Of or pertaining to hysteria; affected, or troubled, with hysterics; convulsive, fitful.
The reason why I thought I'd throw that in is because the root of both words are very similar and the relationship between them is highly suspect, and I'm not surprised in the least that anything that's associated with actin' up is associated with women. Even queenie behavior, and you know who you are, girlfriends, is, well, bitchy, which is, well, a backhanded remark for women. Hm.
Technically, histrionic behavior looks like trying to gain attention for the purposes of self-serving aggrandizement. And tell me what woman does not seek validation and approval from those around her in order to justify presence and existence? Maybe I go too far with this by basically putting all women into one basket, but the strong need to be accepted by one's peers, family and colleagues is driven to the point where we cease to be ourselves in the face such a need. We look for approval, seek it in the most subtle ways. "You didn't recognize my haircut! You bastard!" May not be as subtle, but it's something that we hope you can now see that without noticing the little things, the panic sets in in an insidious manner, especially for those women who are weaker of self-esteem and self-confidence.
So histrionic or not, I'm not going to put any faith in an online survey that doesn't even understand the dynamics of behavior when it comes to women or men. To do so would be like expecting therapy to work with a person who doesn't take into account your personal history, your beliefs and values, but it's interesting to see how the rest of the world sees you, even if it is inaccurate.
So take the quiz with a fat grain of salt. Preferably the little ones on the edge of your margarita glass.
Peas love and LOOK AT ME, DAMMIT!
Voodoo
Tuesday, July 17, 2001
Friendship
The matter of friendship is one that is often considered in passing, but rarely discussed. Becoming a friend involves a considerable amount of trust and risk, and it's hard to come by, especially when previous friendships have yielded drama and B.S. You know what I'm talkin about childrens, cause we got 'em. Flakes, liars, assholes, people in our lives that just make it a total and complete hell.
I don't like to talk shit, so we'll just leave those people behind. I'm more interested in the construction of friendships. How many friends can you really say you have? Friends that are down for you, friends that know you, and can tell you about yourself when it matters. Count. Now. If you're like most people, this honest count will take a few minutes to construct. Less than ten? Less than five? More than ten?
Okay, now the next question: how did you come to be friends? The evolution of friendships sometimes happens quickly, sometimes after a few months. Sometimes they're colleagues at work, friends in school, or people you just meet in random ways. All good.Over time, the evolution of those friendships takes different paths. Letters, phone calls, hanging out, sharing and talking about things.
One of the things that I've found is very interesting in relationships is that some people just come and go. Sort of how we all have moments where people seem to appear to answer a certain question or provide some form of support, then kind of disappear into the shadows. What are the roles that your friends play in your life? Therapist? Homie? Partner in crime? Study partner? What are the roles that you play?
So I leave you with this...
I've had many friends in my life, people who have come and gone, played important roles and allowed me to be a part of their lives. But in fact, friends I choose to keep close are few. There are a few that I wish I could have still here, but given the situation, that's not possible. But I acknowledge their contributions to my life just the same. I work even harder to appreciate those in my life now, so that they know how important they are to me. Taking people for granted, and that has happened even recently, is such a pain to get over. It digs deep into me and makes me not want to get out there and get to know other people. So thank you to all those dill pickles who really make friendships a scary idea.
But to those who I am privileged to have as friends, I thank you for your patience, friendship and care. And for teaching me lessons in life that even a doctorate could not give me.
Peas,
Voodoo
The matter of friendship is one that is often considered in passing, but rarely discussed. Becoming a friend involves a considerable amount of trust and risk, and it's hard to come by, especially when previous friendships have yielded drama and B.S. You know what I'm talkin about childrens, cause we got 'em. Flakes, liars, assholes, people in our lives that just make it a total and complete hell.
I don't like to talk shit, so we'll just leave those people behind. I'm more interested in the construction of friendships. How many friends can you really say you have? Friends that are down for you, friends that know you, and can tell you about yourself when it matters. Count. Now. If you're like most people, this honest count will take a few minutes to construct. Less than ten? Less than five? More than ten?
Okay, now the next question: how did you come to be friends? The evolution of friendships sometimes happens quickly, sometimes after a few months. Sometimes they're colleagues at work, friends in school, or people you just meet in random ways. All good.Over time, the evolution of those friendships takes different paths. Letters, phone calls, hanging out, sharing and talking about things.
One of the things that I've found is very interesting in relationships is that some people just come and go. Sort of how we all have moments where people seem to appear to answer a certain question or provide some form of support, then kind of disappear into the shadows. What are the roles that your friends play in your life? Therapist? Homie? Partner in crime? Study partner? What are the roles that you play?
So I leave you with this...
I've had many friends in my life, people who have come and gone, played important roles and allowed me to be a part of their lives. But in fact, friends I choose to keep close are few. There are a few that I wish I could have still here, but given the situation, that's not possible. But I acknowledge their contributions to my life just the same. I work even harder to appreciate those in my life now, so that they know how important they are to me. Taking people for granted, and that has happened even recently, is such a pain to get over. It digs deep into me and makes me not want to get out there and get to know other people. So thank you to all those dill pickles who really make friendships a scary idea.
But to those who I am privileged to have as friends, I thank you for your patience, friendship and care. And for teaching me lessons in life that even a doctorate could not give me.
Peas,
Voodoo
What's Bumpin' in the Voodoo Lounge
That's my ass bumpin' in the Voodoo Lounge...so ya'll get your Bearshare up and runnin...and DL some of this fly mess so you can shake dem asses!
Bring it, don't sing it, and bump DAT SHIT BABY!
vOOdOO
That's my ass bumpin' in the Voodoo Lounge...so ya'll get your Bearshare up and runnin...and DL some of this fly mess so you can shake dem asses!
- Ludacris - Southern Hospitality (ft. Pharrell)
- Kc & Jojo Feat Tupac - Thug In Me
- Jurassic 5 - Jurass Finish First.
- EPMD - You Gots To Chill
- Fabolous feat nate dogg - You can't deny it
- Outkast- B.O.B.
- Tyrese - I Like Dem Girls
- Erick Sermon - Music (feat Marvin Gaye)
- Michael Jackson vs. Eric B & Rakim - Billie Jean (Got Soul Remix)
and just because I can...
- JT THE BIGGA FIGGA- Game Recognize Game
- 11/5 - Garcia Vega
- TWDY - Playas Holiday
Bring it, don't sing it, and bump DAT SHIT BABY!
vOOdOO
Wooosh!
Another Tuesday, another Tuesday. Nothing new going on over here. But, lemme tell you, life has been interesting to say the least. Allow me to elaborate. Many of you already know of the hectic housing situation in SF. It's madness trying to find a one-bedroom for less than $1000, but try as I might, assuming that good will and my dashing sexy looks would get me into a nice crib into which I can entertain my homies and an occasional one-night stand, there was nothing to be found.
I could try to find a roommate, but that wasn't happening, because face it, I'm a terror to live with. Noisy, yet quiet. Messy, yet neat. A general pain in the ass, if I might say so. At any rate, I pored over ads to no end, looked on the Internet. Begged friends. Had friends offer to put me up on their living room floors. But no love, I tell you, no love. San Francisco is such a wonderful place to live, but whenever I'm away on conferences, it never fails, but everyone asks me how much I'm paying to live on my own, and they laugh like hyenas smokin' weed watching a Chris Rock comedy show.
I have to get packing soon, and have to scare up some boxes. I have to sell my new sofa and loveseat because putting them in storage would cost me 200 a month. I have to get rid of some things that I'm emotionally attached to, well, because I have to. That part of my life is over, and it's time to move on. You never know what you will find when you're cleaning out your life, and no regrets here, but all of this shit gotta go.
Mista J (A.K.A. The Shreksta) came over to get the last of his stuff. It was nice to kick it with bro, speaking of which, nice shoes, homie. Nice to be at home and have ends for a change, eh?
Where am I movin' back to? Lemme tell ya'll, it ain't easy but I gotta head back to Voodoo Central, straight from Hunta's Point, Sunnydale, The Swampy Desert, the Double Rock. It might be the Ghetto, but that's my heart, and that's where you'll find me. Peas for now, drama for later.
Voodoo
Another Tuesday, another Tuesday. Nothing new going on over here. But, lemme tell you, life has been interesting to say the least. Allow me to elaborate. Many of you already know of the hectic housing situation in SF. It's madness trying to find a one-bedroom for less than $1000, but try as I might, assuming that good will and my dashing sexy looks would get me into a nice crib into which I can entertain my homies and an occasional one-night stand, there was nothing to be found.
I could try to find a roommate, but that wasn't happening, because face it, I'm a terror to live with. Noisy, yet quiet. Messy, yet neat. A general pain in the ass, if I might say so. At any rate, I pored over ads to no end, looked on the Internet. Begged friends. Had friends offer to put me up on their living room floors. But no love, I tell you, no love. San Francisco is such a wonderful place to live, but whenever I'm away on conferences, it never fails, but everyone asks me how much I'm paying to live on my own, and they laugh like hyenas smokin' weed watching a Chris Rock comedy show.
I have to get packing soon, and have to scare up some boxes. I have to sell my new sofa and loveseat because putting them in storage would cost me 200 a month. I have to get rid of some things that I'm emotionally attached to, well, because I have to. That part of my life is over, and it's time to move on. You never know what you will find when you're cleaning out your life, and no regrets here, but all of this shit gotta go.
Mista J (A.K.A. The Shreksta) came over to get the last of his stuff. It was nice to kick it with bro, speaking of which, nice shoes, homie. Nice to be at home and have ends for a change, eh?
Where am I movin' back to? Lemme tell ya'll, it ain't easy but I gotta head back to Voodoo Central, straight from Hunta's Point, Sunnydale, The Swampy Desert, the Double Rock. It might be the Ghetto, but that's my heart, and that's where you'll find me. Peas for now, drama for later.
Voodoo
Monday, July 16, 2001
First You Get a Blow Job
Sorry for the long delay away, my childrens, but I needed some time off to think and get my life together.
So over a beer, and with some great friends, I played a clever little game called "Chick Quiz, Dude Quiz." Now, without getting into the details, girls v. boys, a boy pose a question to the girls that he thinks they can't answer, but the boys definitely answer. This is done without consultation with the other boys on his team. So if the girls don't get it, the boys get to try to answer it, and voila, that's Chick Quiz, Dude Quiz. Most of the boys would ask wrasslin', sports, and comic book questions. The girls would ask makeup, underwear and other menstrual questions.
There were some very funny moments...like me naming 5 strip clubs in San Francisco, shouting "Cal Ripken" when asked about who was the MVP for this year's All-Star Game. (It was Cal Ripken, JR. dammit, how fucking stupid I am...), and my favorite one of them all:
What do Jake Steed, Mr. Marcus, and Sean Michael all have in common?
And the nicest girl in the room (I'm not nice, I'm a righteous cunt), said "They're all darker porno stars." Where the hell did this come from? I didn't expect that from her. More Buff Bagwell and the Rebel, but not Nice Girl Gone Bad...
But my favorite question of the night was this:
What is the sequence of sexual acts in a porno within the first 30 minutes?
My answer?
First you get a blow job.
Then you eat her out.
Then you do it missionary style.
Then you flip her over.
Then you flip her back over.
Then you either 1) jizz on her tummy or 2) issue a cum facial.
Now, how funny is that? I win, Babies, I freakin' WIN!
Voodoo
Sorry for the long delay away, my childrens, but I needed some time off to think and get my life together.
So over a beer, and with some great friends, I played a clever little game called "Chick Quiz, Dude Quiz." Now, without getting into the details, girls v. boys, a boy pose a question to the girls that he thinks they can't answer, but the boys definitely answer. This is done without consultation with the other boys on his team. So if the girls don't get it, the boys get to try to answer it, and voila, that's Chick Quiz, Dude Quiz. Most of the boys would ask wrasslin', sports, and comic book questions. The girls would ask makeup, underwear and other menstrual questions.
There were some very funny moments...like me naming 5 strip clubs in San Francisco, shouting "Cal Ripken" when asked about who was the MVP for this year's All-Star Game. (It was Cal Ripken, JR. dammit, how fucking stupid I am...), and my favorite one of them all:
What do Jake Steed, Mr. Marcus, and Sean Michael all have in common?
And the nicest girl in the room (I'm not nice, I'm a righteous cunt), said "They're all darker porno stars." Where the hell did this come from? I didn't expect that from her. More Buff Bagwell and the Rebel, but not Nice Girl Gone Bad...
But my favorite question of the night was this:
What is the sequence of sexual acts in a porno within the first 30 minutes?
My answer?
First you get a blow job.
Then you eat her out.
Then you do it missionary style.
Then you flip her over.
Then you flip her back over.
Then you either 1) jizz on her tummy or 2) issue a cum facial.
Now, how funny is that? I win, Babies, I freakin' WIN!
Voodoo
Saturday, July 14, 2001
Mental Exhaustion Sets In
Why the hell didn't anyone tell me that being a graduate is very tiring? I'm exhausted...doing...nothing. Great. I feel...so...lazy. I need something new to do, my friends, and I need to find that one thing. But you know, I'm lazy like that.
I think I shall throw myself headlong into something constructive, but it looks like more of the same. I'll try to write something interesting tomorrow, so forgive me.
Talk to you later on,
Voodoo
PS: thanks for all the great feedback on the Commit article. I appreciate your feedback, as always.
PS: Why was the search term "ass enema freak" used to get to my page?
Why the hell didn't anyone tell me that being a graduate is very tiring? I'm exhausted...doing...nothing. Great. I feel...so...lazy. I need something new to do, my friends, and I need to find that one thing. But you know, I'm lazy like that.
I think I shall throw myself headlong into something constructive, but it looks like more of the same. I'll try to write something interesting tomorrow, so forgive me.
Talk to you later on,
Voodoo
PS: thanks for all the great feedback on the Commit article. I appreciate your feedback, as always.
PS: Why was the search term "ass enema freak" used to get to my page?
Thursday, July 12, 2001
Commit.
Commitment. The word alone sends shivers of freakin' fear down some people's spine. I should know. As of late, the Boy Wonder, Mami Chula and the Palma Sutra have been talking about it, not because we totally want it such that it fulfils a primary need (breathing, sleeping, comfort, commitment?), but because relationships at this point in our lives tend to circle around the words commitment and marriage. Now, before I get into it, and you know what I'm all about when I get into it, let's make one thing clear: commitment and marriage are not synonymous. They are two totally separate things that most people think go hand in hand like Jack and Jill, or Jill and Jill, Jack and Jack, wherever you're from...But that being made, let's move on, shall we?
Commitment (stop shivering, goddammit) is separate from marriage may be somewhat radical, but I know couples who are committed yet not married, and couples who are married yet have zero commitment to each other. Simple enough, there are couples who are married and committed. I suppose to be fair, a definition of commitment would be helpful.
Got it? So nowhere in that definition does it state: married, shackled, tied, pinned down, dick in a glass on the bedside table, coochie sealed shut, balls in pocket, etc. I don't have to get funkier than this, but that's not what commitment means. Those kinds of meanings are utilized by folks who have a massive fear of the C word, and rationalize their actions by those definitions. You all know, Babies, how I feel about uninformed people and their fears running their lives, so what do I make of this? I shan't say a word. Commitment, I guess, comes naturally for some: staying faithful in thought and deed. But for some, tis tough work to keep their stuff in their pants. The utterance of the word alone brings fear to some, not that they're bad people, they just can't hang.
Marriage on the other hand is a legally binding commitment. So BOUND emotionally, intellectually and financially, etc. Some couples feel that marriage is merely a formality and nothing more. But public declarations of love do not necessarily create a situation in which commitment is guaranteed. Such motions are made in the most privates of privacies betwixt two people. I know some people who have doubted marriage at the point of walking down the isle. Freaky scene, I tell you, I even offered to get in my car and wait for him just in case he wanted to walk (run, jog, etc) out of there. He didn't, but that's besides the point. Back to making commitments to each other...these things are not always explicitly stated, although that would be ideal, and honestly, I'd appreciate it, but that doesn't necessarily have to happen. Commitment means that you are a part of something because you believe in it, not because you are have no other options, or are waiting until the next best thing.
Commitment is a matter of joy, not fear. Something you enter into without singular doubt or worry.
Where is all of this coming from? Maybe I got some baggage. Who doesn't? Commitment is a subject that gets greeted by some fear, but even in those who are the first to run, it is that which is most desired, hiding deepest save in the loneliest of nights when purpose is most clear and understanding unclouded. Thus it is revealed.
So I reveal this. I know I got baggage. I'm just lookin for someone whose baggage matches mine.
Peas.
V.D.
Commitment. The word alone sends shivers of freakin' fear down some people's spine. I should know. As of late, the Boy Wonder, Mami Chula and the Palma Sutra have been talking about it, not because we totally want it such that it fulfils a primary need (breathing, sleeping, comfort, commitment?), but because relationships at this point in our lives tend to circle around the words commitment and marriage. Now, before I get into it, and you know what I'm all about when I get into it, let's make one thing clear: commitment and marriage are not synonymous. They are two totally separate things that most people think go hand in hand like Jack and Jill, or Jill and Jill, Jack and Jack, wherever you're from...But that being made, let's move on, shall we?
Commitment (stop shivering, goddammit) is separate from marriage may be somewhat radical, but I know couples who are committed yet not married, and couples who are married yet have zero commitment to each other. Simple enough, there are couples who are married and committed. I suppose to be fair, a definition of commitment would be helpful.
The state of being bound emotionally or intellectually to a course of action or to another person or persons.
Got it? So nowhere in that definition does it state: married, shackled, tied, pinned down, dick in a glass on the bedside table, coochie sealed shut, balls in pocket, etc. I don't have to get funkier than this, but that's not what commitment means. Those kinds of meanings are utilized by folks who have a massive fear of the C word, and rationalize their actions by those definitions. You all know, Babies, how I feel about uninformed people and their fears running their lives, so what do I make of this? I shan't say a word. Commitment, I guess, comes naturally for some: staying faithful in thought and deed. But for some, tis tough work to keep their stuff in their pants. The utterance of the word alone brings fear to some, not that they're bad people, they just can't hang.
Marriage on the other hand is a legally binding commitment. So BOUND emotionally, intellectually and financially, etc. Some couples feel that marriage is merely a formality and nothing more. But public declarations of love do not necessarily create a situation in which commitment is guaranteed. Such motions are made in the most privates of privacies betwixt two people. I know some people who have doubted marriage at the point of walking down the isle. Freaky scene, I tell you, I even offered to get in my car and wait for him just in case he wanted to walk (run, jog, etc) out of there. He didn't, but that's besides the point. Back to making commitments to each other...these things are not always explicitly stated, although that would be ideal, and honestly, I'd appreciate it, but that doesn't necessarily have to happen. Commitment means that you are a part of something because you believe in it, not because you are have no other options, or are waiting until the next best thing.
Commitment is a matter of joy, not fear. Something you enter into without singular doubt or worry.
Where is all of this coming from? Maybe I got some baggage. Who doesn't? Commitment is a subject that gets greeted by some fear, but even in those who are the first to run, it is that which is most desired, hiding deepest save in the loneliest of nights when purpose is most clear and understanding unclouded. Thus it is revealed.
So I reveal this. I know I got baggage. I'm just lookin for someone whose baggage matches mine.
Peas.
V.D.
Wednesday, July 11, 2001
Contesting Voodoo
Okay Voodoo Babies, I have a challenge for you. Below are listed 10 of the most recent search terms that were used to find our page on the Internet. Your task is to use all 10 of the phrases below (ALL of the phrase, not just certain words) in a short story. No length requirements, cleverness is appreciated, and obscenity better be good, cause if it's not, [x] delete heaven.
So, in your story, italicize the entire phrases you are using, and then email it to me. The best will get posted, the worst will get posted. Everyone else can get postal. A prize? We'll see. Name what your prize should be in your email. Voila la liste:
Go to it. Use them in any order, but you have to use the entire phrase as it is listed here. Now get to work. (cracking whip). I eagerly await your submission.
Kinky,
Voodoo
Okay Voodoo Babies, I have a challenge for you. Below are listed 10 of the most recent search terms that were used to find our page on the Internet. Your task is to use all 10 of the phrases below (ALL of the phrase, not just certain words) in a short story. No length requirements, cleverness is appreciated, and obscenity better be good, cause if it's not, [x] delete heaven.
So, in your story, italicize the entire phrases you are using, and then email it to me. The best will get posted, the worst will get posted. Everyone else can get postal. A prize? We'll see. Name what your prize should be in your email. Voila la liste:
free pass voodoo lounge
"Abercrombie Models"
las ramblas pics (Voodoo Note: Las Ramblas is a street in Barcelona where all the freaky people were)
voodoo montreal psychic
buttcrack showing
pictures of my girlfriend taking it
personality test
pictures of winter
similar plots of Tuesdays with Morrie
pictures of hot abercrombie models
Go to it. Use them in any order, but you have to use the entire phrase as it is listed here. Now get to work. (cracking whip). I eagerly await your submission.
Kinky,
Voodoo
The Bird Returns
I was at Voodoo Central, the original space for the Voodoo in San Francisco, and I heard it.
It was the bird. It had returned and was singing its ass off at my parents' house. Now this leads me to one conclusion. It hates Daly City. In which case, I don't want to argue against it, because Daly City has a certain sucking sound that you can hear when you stick your head out of your bathroom window to admire the fog. This sucking sound has its origins in the vast cultural wasteland of Daly City. It is a veritable black hole of culture and anything exciting. That's why, as The Funny Guy so eloquently stated on his web site, many people say they live in San Francisco when they really live in Daly City. Don't lie! Claim YO' shit, Voodoo Babies. You don't live in SF, where there are tons of cool things to do: restaurants, cultural events, good shopping. There is no freakin' Forever 21 in SF. It's in Daly City. And it's because SF doesn't like sucky shit like Forever 21!
Okay, I could be wrong, but keep it to yourselves, Daly City-ites.
I am preparing for the big move from Daly City, land of cultural nothingness (a.k.a. Mall Life), to San Francisco, land of freaks by choice, not freaks by nature, as in Daly City.
So, My Pet, I look forward to hearing you singing soon. If I would have stayed in Daly City any longer, I would have definitely gone into rehab just like AJ of the Backstreet Boys.
Voodoo
I was at Voodoo Central, the original space for the Voodoo in San Francisco, and I heard it.
It was the bird. It had returned and was singing its ass off at my parents' house. Now this leads me to one conclusion. It hates Daly City. In which case, I don't want to argue against it, because Daly City has a certain sucking sound that you can hear when you stick your head out of your bathroom window to admire the fog. This sucking sound has its origins in the vast cultural wasteland of Daly City. It is a veritable black hole of culture and anything exciting. That's why, as The Funny Guy so eloquently stated on his web site, many people say they live in San Francisco when they really live in Daly City. Don't lie! Claim YO' shit, Voodoo Babies. You don't live in SF, where there are tons of cool things to do: restaurants, cultural events, good shopping. There is no freakin' Forever 21 in SF. It's in Daly City. And it's because SF doesn't like sucky shit like Forever 21!
Okay, I could be wrong, but keep it to yourselves, Daly City-ites.
I am preparing for the big move from Daly City, land of cultural nothingness (a.k.a. Mall Life), to San Francisco, land of freaks by choice, not freaks by nature, as in Daly City.
So, My Pet, I look forward to hearing you singing soon. If I would have stayed in Daly City any longer, I would have definitely gone into rehab just like AJ of the Backstreet Boys.
Voodoo
Tuesday, July 10, 2001
Voodoo Shouts Out
Updates:
The Kittens: Still there, but not as often.
The Bird: Gone.
The Dog: Not yet acquired, but I'm working on it.
The Boyfriend: Accepting applications, interviews ongoing.
And you are...
As always, I'm checking to see where people who visit my site are comin' from. Big ups to Denmark, Brazil, and New Zealand. And a salute to my homies at the U.S. Department of Defense. I have no secrets to sell, nor do I have any missiles save for the ones on my chest. I come in peace. Unless it's a good night.
Drop me a line, I'm always dying to hear from the Voodoo Babies all around the world.
Time for bed,
Voodoo
Updates:
The Kittens: Still there, but not as often.
The Bird: Gone.
The Dog: Not yet acquired, but I'm working on it.
The Boyfriend: Accepting applications, interviews ongoing.
And you are...
As always, I'm checking to see where people who visit my site are comin' from. Big ups to Denmark, Brazil, and New Zealand. And a salute to my homies at the U.S. Department of Defense. I have no secrets to sell, nor do I have any missiles save for the ones on my chest. I come in peace. Unless it's a good night.
Drop me a line, I'm always dying to hear from the Voodoo Babies all around the world.
Time for bed,
Voodoo
Monday, July 09, 2001
Props to my boy, Rex Navarrete
I wanted to send some love to Rex, one funny dude. I love watching his shows, and hope you will fall in love with him too.
In that not so sexual way.
Check out his page, and definitely get his CD. DO YOU HAVE AROUSAL?
Voodoo
I wanted to send some love to Rex, one funny dude. I love watching his shows, and hope you will fall in love with him too.
In that not so sexual way.
Check out his page, and definitely get his CD. DO YOU HAVE AROUSAL?
Voodoo
I Should Respect You!
One more time, the day to work with incoming students came and went. I met with parents, like I did two weeks ago, and that went well. Later on, we went to a reception and we mingled around to give the students and families a human face. After everyone left, I stayed behind talking to one family about resources around campus (where's Target?).
I found myself talking to a group of girls, and we introduced ourselves. On girl was asking me all sorts of questions about getting involved in all the student activities she could find. She seemed to be one of those freshmen that wanted to do everything, burned out, and then went mad underground the next year, only to resurface at graduation. She asked me, "You must be pretty young to work here. You must have graduated."
"Actually, I just received my doctorate in May."
"Oooh, I should respect you."
(insert Jurassic Park screechy dinosaur sound here)
Isn't that a kick in the head? I wanted to laugh, but I just said, "Whatever!" They squealed with laughter. I smirked. We talked for a good 45 minutes about things on campus, life in the City, how a certain class is difficult, and that class happens to be the one I teach. It was nice that I was able to spend some time and talk to them, when I know that some of my colleagues were really tired and called it a day long before I left. At least they'll know that someone speaks their language, understands their needs and can relate to some of their interests.
Enjoy your day, kids, and by the way, respect me.
Voodoo
PS: If you will notice, I have been hit some 1000 times. Thanks for your daily visits, encouragements and emails. I appreciate your time spent on the page, and therefore, I SHOULD RESPECT YOU! ;-)
PS2: Congressman Condit, don't tell them about me and you.
PS3: I say your wife did it!
One more time, the day to work with incoming students came and went. I met with parents, like I did two weeks ago, and that went well. Later on, we went to a reception and we mingled around to give the students and families a human face. After everyone left, I stayed behind talking to one family about resources around campus (where's Target?).
I found myself talking to a group of girls, and we introduced ourselves. On girl was asking me all sorts of questions about getting involved in all the student activities she could find. She seemed to be one of those freshmen that wanted to do everything, burned out, and then went mad underground the next year, only to resurface at graduation. She asked me, "You must be pretty young to work here. You must have graduated."
"Actually, I just received my doctorate in May."
"Oooh, I should respect you."
(insert Jurassic Park screechy dinosaur sound here)
Isn't that a kick in the head? I wanted to laugh, but I just said, "Whatever!" They squealed with laughter. I smirked. We talked for a good 45 minutes about things on campus, life in the City, how a certain class is difficult, and that class happens to be the one I teach. It was nice that I was able to spend some time and talk to them, when I know that some of my colleagues were really tired and called it a day long before I left. At least they'll know that someone speaks their language, understands their needs and can relate to some of their interests.
Enjoy your day, kids, and by the way, respect me.
Voodoo
PS: If you will notice, I have been hit some 1000 times. Thanks for your daily visits, encouragements and emails. I appreciate your time spent on the page, and therefore, I SHOULD RESPECT YOU! ;-)
PS2: Congressman Condit, don't tell them about me and you.
PS3: I say your wife did it!
Sunday, July 08, 2001
Lord Have Mercy. The Voodoo World Tour Visits Santa Monica.
Sorry, chilluns, I've been away and in Southern California these past few days, and like my boy Rakim sed: it's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you without a strong rhyme to step to...
I went to Santa Monica on Thursday nite. I bounced at 9PM, headed down south to Prunedale (mmmm. smells like heaven) and picked up Mami Chula. Note to self, never, ever take 101 South to 46 East to SoCal. It sucks so bad. I was trapped behind trucks on a one-lane freeway, and had to kick the hoo-ride of love into overdrive to overcome my situation. NEVER! Anyways, our drive down south went well, and we arrived at our first destination, Long Beach and passed out on the floor of Mami's comadre's crib. 3AM. Sleeping on concrete hard floors can really do a number on your back. Anyways, we chilled out for a wee bit while la mami de Mami's comadre cooked up some quesadillas con frijoles y verduras, then we went to LAX to pick up Palma Sutra.
Our first day was spent just shopping, meandering about Santa Monica's 3rd Street Promenade. Is it me, or can we pretty much find all these stores in other cities. So what is it that draws us out there? Is it the nice weather? That's for sure. Maybe it's the crowds of tired homeless folk who just post up and hang out there. Maybe it's the street performers just workin' their asses off? Maybe it's MARKY MARK? I mean, Mark Wahlberg. Mami Chula, Palma Sutra and Your Voodooness strolled into some typical beachy touristy store. I was peepin' this homeboy at the door, then I noticed yet more homeboys back there that would serve as good Voodoo Concubines. Then I made eye contact with this short stocky bro who I recognized as Mark Wahlberg. I also noticed that he had a wad of cash handed to him and he shoved it in his pocket. I thought maybe he was buyin' up some happy pills for himself and his Fun Bunch. Oops, I mean his homeboys. I blew it off, because I hate saying this, but celebrity fails to impress me. He was lookin' scrubby, had a fonky hat on and a green sweater that made him look Boston whiteboy pasty. You know what I'm sayin. Palma Sutra passes Mr. Good Vibrations, and quickly turns to me and says, "Did you see that? Did you?" She damn near grabbed my Voodooness and scared the crap outta me.
"Yah, so?" She was slightly miffed that I wasn't as excited as she was. All of the celebrities that I walk by in SF (myself included each time I spy a mirror), I know to give them some privacy and space. Besides, if they're surrounded with security, I don't feel like jumping homeboy. Unless it's Vin Diesel.
We met up with Thelma and Louise later that night and went out on the town, freshly hoochied out and ready to go meet with some random men and drag them back to our plush suite at the Ritz-Carlton. Okay, not Ritz Carlton, but we got Best Western. The scene wasn't too hyped, lots of guys, but not a good looking Asian guy to be seen. I could swing a stick and hit a big corn fed white boy, but where are my brothas at? Tell you more about that later. We had drinks that were too strong for the Thelma and Louise, Palma Sutra and Mami Chula. But me, I took my Midori Margarita (on the rocks) to the head. I know it's a wussy drink, but damn, I was saving the good stuff for later. Service sucks really bad, and that's life. I guess because she just had to spend more time with the tables full of men instead of us. Here's your tip, ladybug,. We went back to the pretend Ritz Carlton and made plans to wake up the next morning for the wedding of my homegirl.
Fast forward for a few hours....idle chatter about maxipads for thongs, how we were going to steal all the single guys, what we were going to do the night after the wedding, burps and playing feetsies in our sleep.
I wake up early to hit the shower. Everyone else takes forever. We miss homegirl getting ready for her wedding. She's already left for the church. At 10:23, we are still at the suite. Mami Chula is stressing about getting into her dress. I am stressing about losing my dress and exposing myself. Palma Sutra is worried about the other roommate stiffing her for the room rental. Thelma and Louise are getting ready to leave for their next destination, Seattle. We get down to my car in a short minute, and then are flagged down immediately.
I have a flat tire.
Fuck.
It's 10:30. She should be walking down the isle by now.
We call Thelma and Louise. And they get us out to the church. Finding a ride not that bad. But notice that a lot of people were not very helpful to us. They were also not very friendly. Go figure. The person who takes us back to the hotel? The priest. Yes, Padre Educacion takes us to our hotel where Triple AAA is waiting for us. They swap out our tire for the puny doughnut tire, and off we go to the party. We were promised a shot at three of the single guys. Four girls and three single guys. We planned out a strategy to fight over our respective single me. Dresses low cut. Perfect nails. Pedicures. Waxed eyebrows. Who are the lucky single guys? One is Mister America, the good looking guy who was a teacher. He's nice, but not my type. The other single guy? The priest. The other single guy turned out to be a married guy. I figure I don't have a shot with the priest, and Mister America was not my type, so I scan the room looking for others, and well, there was the guy who looked like one of my exes, and the rest of the handsome guys were with their ladies, and I didn't want to swoop on them. Oh well, mission unaccomplished. I couldn't wait to get back to the hotel and go to sleep. Got the car fixed, got hit on by all the grease monkeys, and why is it the nerdiest one just has to be the most persistent? Does it say, "Freaks, please talk to me, I am receptive to all of your needs, particularly the ones where you want to be wrapped in a diaper while you sit in your excrement and talk about why you can't get an erection on high holy days." No, there isn't one there. And there isn't one on my ass, so stop looking. Nor on my boobs. Quit.
We wound up going to Venice Beach, which I have to admit is a major tourist area that kinda turned me off. I don't have much interest in those things, but the beach looked cool. I watched some homeboys play some ball, and that was tight. Then I saw some Fabio looking guy in the famous banana sling chillin' in the beach showers, and got grossed out. Mami Chula pulled a mack move, got a number, then kindly told him that she didnt' want to hang out that night. Karma, the girls said, would get them good calls in the future. I guess. I called Sauvecito to get us into the Muse, and we were in for free and drinkin' up a storm.
You know, as of late, I'm not feelin' this whole dating thing. I've had some opportunity, and that's all good, but I'm just chillin', not actively seeking my future ex-husband. But when we rolled through at Sauvecito's club in Old Town Pasadena, as soon as I stepped onto the floor, I got scooped up by this cute honey in a hawaiian shirt. I am a total sucker for them shirts, so we started gettin 'our freak on, then his homeboys rolled through, scooped up my girls and it was a major freakfest. I'm freakin' my boy, his boy is freakin' me, we're switchin' ass, and hey, IS THAT A HARD ON YOU GOT THERE BOY? heh. Voodoo I make you horny? Of course, now lemme grab your ass. Mami Chula and Palma Sutra are callin' it a day at 1:30, but I'm down to stay longer, but we bail.
I get a call at 4AM, and it's my homie J-Dog. He wants to come up to the room, but my homegirls are passed out, so I head out to kick it. Just kick it. Nothing else. He wanted to eat, but at 4AM, I'm ready to sleep. Away you go, and up I went to the corner suite full of snoring women. We left the next morning back to SF, the fog, and mom's home cooking.
All in all, the trip was a success. But what made it particularly gratifying is that going to SoCal is always a sort of trip to the Museum of Freaks. You go there, see some pretty fucked up stuff and then you go back home and tell everyone what you saw. Indelible at best, the memory of going to SoCal is best summed up by this one moment in Venice Beach. We sat at the famous Sidewalk Cafe eating overpriced food, peepin' the cute guys that are working there, and watching the freak show. A girl walks by wearing a lavender fishnet dress. You can see her thong. But you can't see her bra. Because she isn't wearing one. Whether it was for reasons of vanity, stupidity or just takin' a dare, I watched as she stopped traffic while folks were peepin' her big ol' but go from side to side, and I thought to myself, in San Francisco we do some crazy shit because it's not the thing to do, like it is in SoCal, it's something that we do cause we can.
Voodoo
Sorry, chilluns, I've been away and in Southern California these past few days, and like my boy Rakim sed: it's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you without a strong rhyme to step to...
I went to Santa Monica on Thursday nite. I bounced at 9PM, headed down south to Prunedale (mmmm. smells like heaven) and picked up Mami Chula. Note to self, never, ever take 101 South to 46 East to SoCal. It sucks so bad. I was trapped behind trucks on a one-lane freeway, and had to kick the hoo-ride of love into overdrive to overcome my situation. NEVER! Anyways, our drive down south went well, and we arrived at our first destination, Long Beach and passed out on the floor of Mami's comadre's crib. 3AM. Sleeping on concrete hard floors can really do a number on your back. Anyways, we chilled out for a wee bit while la mami de Mami's comadre cooked up some quesadillas con frijoles y verduras, then we went to LAX to pick up Palma Sutra.
Our first day was spent just shopping, meandering about Santa Monica's 3rd Street Promenade. Is it me, or can we pretty much find all these stores in other cities. So what is it that draws us out there? Is it the nice weather? That's for sure. Maybe it's the crowds of tired homeless folk who just post up and hang out there. Maybe it's the street performers just workin' their asses off? Maybe it's MARKY MARK? I mean, Mark Wahlberg. Mami Chula, Palma Sutra and Your Voodooness strolled into some typical beachy touristy store. I was peepin' this homeboy at the door, then I noticed yet more homeboys back there that would serve as good Voodoo Concubines. Then I made eye contact with this short stocky bro who I recognized as Mark Wahlberg. I also noticed that he had a wad of cash handed to him and he shoved it in his pocket. I thought maybe he was buyin' up some happy pills for himself and his Fun Bunch. Oops, I mean his homeboys. I blew it off, because I hate saying this, but celebrity fails to impress me. He was lookin' scrubby, had a fonky hat on and a green sweater that made him look Boston whiteboy pasty. You know what I'm sayin. Palma Sutra passes Mr. Good Vibrations, and quickly turns to me and says, "Did you see that? Did you?" She damn near grabbed my Voodooness and scared the crap outta me.
"Yah, so?" She was slightly miffed that I wasn't as excited as she was. All of the celebrities that I walk by in SF (myself included each time I spy a mirror), I know to give them some privacy and space. Besides, if they're surrounded with security, I don't feel like jumping homeboy. Unless it's Vin Diesel.
We met up with Thelma and Louise later that night and went out on the town, freshly hoochied out and ready to go meet with some random men and drag them back to our plush suite at the Ritz-Carlton. Okay, not Ritz Carlton, but we got Best Western. The scene wasn't too hyped, lots of guys, but not a good looking Asian guy to be seen. I could swing a stick and hit a big corn fed white boy, but where are my brothas at? Tell you more about that later. We had drinks that were too strong for the Thelma and Louise, Palma Sutra and Mami Chula. But me, I took my Midori Margarita (on the rocks) to the head. I know it's a wussy drink, but damn, I was saving the good stuff for later. Service sucks really bad, and that's life. I guess because she just had to spend more time with the tables full of men instead of us. Here's your tip, ladybug,
Fast forward for a few hours....idle chatter about maxipads for thongs, how we were going to steal all the single guys, what we were going to do the night after the wedding, burps and playing feetsies in our sleep.
I wake up early to hit the shower. Everyone else takes forever. We miss homegirl getting ready for her wedding. She's already left for the church. At 10:23, we are still at the suite. Mami Chula is stressing about getting into her dress. I am stressing about losing my dress and exposing myself. Palma Sutra is worried about the other roommate stiffing her for the room rental. Thelma and Louise are getting ready to leave for their next destination, Seattle. We get down to my car in a short minute, and then are flagged down immediately.
I have a flat tire.
Fuck.
It's 10:30. She should be walking down the isle by now.
We call Thelma and Louise. And they get us out to the church. Finding a ride not that bad. But notice that a lot of people were not very helpful to us. They were also not very friendly. Go figure. The person who takes us back to the hotel? The priest. Yes, Padre Educacion takes us to our hotel where Triple AAA is waiting for us. They swap out our tire for the puny doughnut tire, and off we go to the party. We were promised a shot at three of the single guys. Four girls and three single guys. We planned out a strategy to fight over our respective single me. Dresses low cut. Perfect nails. Pedicures. Waxed eyebrows. Who are the lucky single guys? One is Mister America, the good looking guy who was a teacher. He's nice, but not my type. The other single guy? The priest. The other single guy turned out to be a married guy. I figure I don't have a shot with the priest, and Mister America was not my type, so I scan the room looking for others, and well, there was the guy who looked like one of my exes, and the rest of the handsome guys were with their ladies, and I didn't want to swoop on them. Oh well, mission unaccomplished. I couldn't wait to get back to the hotel and go to sleep. Got the car fixed, got hit on by all the grease monkeys, and why is it the nerdiest one just has to be the most persistent? Does it say, "Freaks, please talk to me, I am receptive to all of your needs, particularly the ones where you want to be wrapped in a diaper while you sit in your excrement and talk about why you can't get an erection on high holy days." No, there isn't one there. And there isn't one on my ass, so stop looking. Nor on my boobs. Quit.
We wound up going to Venice Beach, which I have to admit is a major tourist area that kinda turned me off. I don't have much interest in those things, but the beach looked cool. I watched some homeboys play some ball, and that was tight. Then I saw some Fabio looking guy in the famous banana sling chillin' in the beach showers, and got grossed out. Mami Chula pulled a mack move, got a number, then kindly told him that she didnt' want to hang out that night. Karma, the girls said, would get them good calls in the future. I guess. I called Sauvecito to get us into the Muse, and we were in for free and drinkin' up a storm.
You know, as of late, I'm not feelin' this whole dating thing. I've had some opportunity, and that's all good, but I'm just chillin', not actively seeking my future ex-husband. But when we rolled through at Sauvecito's club in Old Town Pasadena, as soon as I stepped onto the floor, I got scooped up by this cute honey in a hawaiian shirt. I am a total sucker for them shirts, so we started gettin 'our freak on, then his homeboys rolled through, scooped up my girls and it was a major freakfest. I'm freakin' my boy, his boy is freakin' me, we're switchin' ass, and hey, IS THAT A HARD ON YOU GOT THERE BOY? heh. Voodoo I make you horny? Of course, now lemme grab your ass. Mami Chula and Palma Sutra are callin' it a day at 1:30, but I'm down to stay longer, but we bail.
I get a call at 4AM, and it's my homie J-Dog. He wants to come up to the room, but my homegirls are passed out, so I head out to kick it. Just kick it. Nothing else. He wanted to eat, but at 4AM, I'm ready to sleep. Away you go, and up I went to the corner suite full of snoring women. We left the next morning back to SF, the fog, and mom's home cooking.
All in all, the trip was a success. But what made it particularly gratifying is that going to SoCal is always a sort of trip to the Museum of Freaks. You go there, see some pretty fucked up stuff and then you go back home and tell everyone what you saw. Indelible at best, the memory of going to SoCal is best summed up by this one moment in Venice Beach. We sat at the famous Sidewalk Cafe eating overpriced food, peepin' the cute guys that are working there, and watching the freak show. A girl walks by wearing a lavender fishnet dress. You can see her thong. But you can't see her bra. Because she isn't wearing one. Whether it was for reasons of vanity, stupidity or just takin' a dare, I watched as she stopped traffic while folks were peepin' her big ol' but go from side to side, and I thought to myself, in San Francisco we do some crazy shit because it's not the thing to do, like it is in SoCal, it's something that we do cause we can.
Voodoo
Thursday, July 05, 2001
Bald Head of the Month
Vin Diesel.
Not really all that in the flick Pitch Black. But ay papi. He's one hot chalupa.
Kinda cool in Boiler Room.
But you know him well in Fast and the Furious. How come more Rice Rocket Boys don't look like him? The mostly look like this...Aiyah, riceboys of the world unite against big bad Vin Diesel to represent yourselves in the Fast and Furrrrrrious zzzzzzoom momo equipped got four fonky asian girls posted up next to the car showing off their nonexistent cleavage. You go.....
But onto Vin Diesel, please marry me!!!
Voodoo Diesel. Sounds good to me.
Vin Diesel.
Not really all that in the flick Pitch Black. But ay papi. He's one hot chalupa.
Kinda cool in Boiler Room.
But you know him well in Fast and the Furious. How come more Rice Rocket Boys don't look like him? The mostly look like this...Aiyah, riceboys of the world unite against big bad Vin Diesel to represent yourselves in the Fast and Furrrrrrious zzzzzzoom momo equipped got four fonky asian girls posted up next to the car showing off their nonexistent cleavage. You go.....
But onto Vin Diesel, please marry me!!!
Voodoo Diesel. Sounds good to me.
Wednesday, July 04, 2001
The 4th of July Version of TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE!
NB: While I harbor a great love for all of my roommates, I assure you that your anonymity will be secure. Unless you PAY up, baby.
n-joy,
Voodoo
NB: While I harbor a great love for all of my roommates, I assure you that your anonymity will be secure. Unless you PAY up, baby.
n-joy,
Voodoo
Roommate #1: Thong Song Secure, the Boy Next Door, and a guy you'd like to take home (men and women, cause he's so cool), Roommate #1 was cool until he decided to steal my underwear.
Roommate #2: Jack Me Not Virile, handsome and quite the man about campus, Roommate #2 was a sweet person who claimed he never choked his chicken.
Roommate #3: Fear of Lightning Smart, highly intelligent and a hit with men all over, Roommate #3 slept on the floor during lightning storms because she was afraid of it coming through and striking her dead.
An Unalienable Right
Today, on the 4th of July, we celebrate the unalienable right to liberty, freedom and all that red, white and blue stuff. Not that I'm not patriotic, cause I love this country as much as the next American.
But until certain liberties, freedoms and red, white and blue stuff are extended to ALL men, women, children and other humans who inhabit this fine land, fly the flag at half mast. We are responsible for those unalienable rights: keeping and extending them. The Constitution, which will not rise again because it's getting worked on (literally because it's falling apart) for another two or something years, is a fitting reminder of the fluid nature by which people and times change. Commitment to the ideals of liberty and freedom does not live on in the hearts of many, and for whatever reason that is, this holiday is for naught.
So the work continues in Voodoo Land. Pass me the hotdog, pops, and a chance to live my life in pursuit of those ideals.
Voodoo
Today, on the 4th of July, we celebrate the unalienable right to liberty, freedom and all that red, white and blue stuff. Not that I'm not patriotic, cause I love this country as much as the next American.
But until certain liberties, freedoms and red, white and blue stuff are extended to ALL men, women, children and other humans who inhabit this fine land, fly the flag at half mast. We are responsible for those unalienable rights: keeping and extending them. The Constitution, which will not rise again because it's getting worked on (literally because it's falling apart) for another two or something years, is a fitting reminder of the fluid nature by which people and times change. Commitment to the ideals of liberty and freedom does not live on in the hearts of many, and for whatever reason that is, this holiday is for naught.
So the work continues in Voodoo Land. Pass me the hotdog, pops, and a chance to live my life in pursuit of those ideals.
Voodoo
Tuesday, July 03, 2001
And the award for being "The BOMB" goes to
First to OG Animal Chin because that is one dope name, and if you don't know who that is, then tsk tsk, shame on you. All those years of hangin' out at Skates on Haight (before it turned into a rollerblader haven) paid off.
Secondly, it goes to Pork Honey for all his help on my page. I actually let him swap out the code for me since I'm a wussy. But I don't know if he changed anything else. So if this page happens to flash my naked pic every five seconds, thank him for it. I hope he photoshopped my chub outta the pic, it's the least he can do. He also gets the free grope when I see him next.
Thirdly, it definitely goes to Nekkid Barrel Pimp for his patience and massaging my page.
You all make my design nipples hard.
Thank you and may the force be with you.
Voodoo
First to OG Animal Chin because that is one dope name, and if you don't know who that is, then tsk tsk, shame on you. All those years of hangin' out at Skates on Haight (before it turned into a rollerblader haven) paid off.
Secondly, it goes to Pork Honey for all his help on my page. I actually let him swap out the code for me since I'm a wussy. But I don't know if he changed anything else. So if this page happens to flash my naked pic every five seconds, thank him for it. I hope he photoshopped my chub outta the pic, it's the least he can do. He also gets the free grope when I see him next.
Thirdly, it definitely goes to Nekkid Barrel Pimp for his patience and massaging my page.
You all make my design nipples hard.
Thank you and may the force be with you.
Voodoo
Monday, July 02, 2001
I Need Fluoxetine Hydrochloride
Hello, my Voodoo Babies. I know some of you are Code Warriors, and I'm trying to figure out how to put a background on my webpage. It's not the easiest thing, but I'm determined to figure it out. Luckily I have the Nekkid Barrel Man on my side, but thus far, it ain't werkin'. You can kinda see a glimpse of it when you hit the page, it's a beaut of a batik print, but NO LOVE!
Anyways, I'm watching Tuesdays with Morrie, and I've read this book before, on a flight back from New York to SFO. I've been bawling on and off for the last hour, and I'm hoping to god that I don't look like shit tomorrow because of it. I've had to handle death in little ways, with the loss of friends and family coming unexpectedly, but that is life, and we cannot get around it. It's profound enough to impact me even when watching a made for movie film.
Learning how to live in the midst of so much dying, spiritual and physical, is a tough lesson, and I know that many people don't quite get to the point of understanding until later in life. It's so unfortunate because I really feel that we miss out so much on life because we're so busy going from the here to there and everywhere in between. Learning to slow down and appreciate the smaller things, and the people who make up our life is difficult because there is no tangible reward for sharin' the love, is there? It's not valued, and that's a little sad.
Appreciating people more than material things will take some time to get used to, if you want to go that route. You might want to. It's really changed the way I look at things, but maybe that's just because I have the time to stop and say thank you to those people who really matter to me in life. Either that or the prozac is one dope ass drug.
Voodoo
Hello, my Voodoo Babies. I know some of you are Code Warriors, and I'm trying to figure out how to put a background on my webpage. It's not the easiest thing, but I'm determined to figure it out. Luckily I have the Nekkid Barrel Man on my side, but thus far, it ain't werkin'. You can kinda see a glimpse of it when you hit the page, it's a beaut of a batik print, but NO LOVE!
Anyways, I'm watching Tuesdays with Morrie, and I've read this book before, on a flight back from New York to SFO. I've been bawling on and off for the last hour, and I'm hoping to god that I don't look like shit tomorrow because of it. I've had to handle death in little ways, with the loss of friends and family coming unexpectedly, but that is life, and we cannot get around it. It's profound enough to impact me even when watching a made for movie film.
Learning how to live in the midst of so much dying, spiritual and physical, is a tough lesson, and I know that many people don't quite get to the point of understanding until later in life. It's so unfortunate because I really feel that we miss out so much on life because we're so busy going from the here to there and everywhere in between. Learning to slow down and appreciate the smaller things, and the people who make up our life is difficult because there is no tangible reward for sharin' the love, is there? It's not valued, and that's a little sad.
Appreciating people more than material things will take some time to get used to, if you want to go that route. You might want to. It's really changed the way I look at things, but maybe that's just because I have the time to stop and say thank you to those people who really matter to me in life. Either that or the prozac is one dope ass drug.
Voodoo
Crunk?
Okay, this is for my Voodoo Babies who don't exactly have the lingo down. I dont' want to keep fielding emails that ask me what "fly honey" means. Sheesh. Don't you people listen to HipHop no mo?
Peep this site: it's not exactly 100% correct as far as regionalism goes, because this appears to be more East Coast than West, but enough of that, read on to get your schwerve on.
I prefer this site, it's a little more organic, and gots lots of pics of this dude gettin' his smoke on. You off the heezy! This is more West Coast, and it comes straight outta the O, ya heard.
Neva gettin' outta pocket.
Voodoo
Okay, this is for my Voodoo Babies who don't exactly have the lingo down. I dont' want to keep fielding emails that ask me what "fly honey" means. Sheesh. Don't you people listen to HipHop no mo?
Peep this site: it's not exactly 100% correct as far as regionalism goes, because this appears to be more East Coast than West, but enough of that, read on to get your schwerve on.
I prefer this site, it's a little more organic, and gots lots of pics of this dude gettin' his smoke on. You off the heezy! This is more West Coast, and it comes straight outta the O, ya heard.
Neva gettin' outta pocket.
Voodoo
Oh Credit Card, Where Art Thou?
I have sworn myself to financial lockdown. The last seven years of spending at will are no more. I am responsible for paying for my education, and now I'm making progress. No more large purchases. No more shoe runs. No more TV/DVD/New sofas. I have hidden my credit cards and my checkbook.
I will withdraw money only for needed expenses like food, gas, an occasional chocolate bar or maybe a porno mag. Just kidding about the chocolate. I will only withdraw money once a week to feed myself. I may take another job to support myself because these loan payments are kicking my butt, and I am now kicking my own butt knowing that I spent most of that money in college for useless things such as beer, road trips and shoes, but we all know that shoes are a necessity. I didn't need three of the same pair in different colors.
I will therefore exclude myself from activities that will cost me a shitload of money. I will not spend lavishly on gifts for my friends. I will not make anymore long distance phonecalls to deadbeat ex-boyfriends around the nation. I will not light my cigars with dollar bills. I will snatch quarters out of the grubby hands of my young cousins who find them on the floor. I will pickpocket people to support myself.
So why did I feel it necessary to buy a 200 dollar dress?
It defies reason. I spent the last two weeks repeating the above mantra, and then I drop 2 bills for my dress. It's for a wedding I'm going to, and this dress is supa fly. I have to admit that it's a bit more racy than I'm used to, but I'm supposed to be sitting at a table with four girls and three guys, and one of the girls is going to get assed out if she's in competition with the others. So, I had to pull out the big guns (not the bigguns, those are different), and get the fly gear to bling bling ya heard. Keep it crunk. Ha!
That's the way of the world.
And I'm going to put away my cards for now.
Til the next dress comes along.
Voodoo
I have sworn myself to financial lockdown. The last seven years of spending at will are no more. I am responsible for paying for my education, and now I'm making progress. No more large purchases. No more shoe runs. No more TV/DVD/New sofas. I have hidden my credit cards and my checkbook.
I will withdraw money only for needed expenses like food, gas, an occasional chocolate bar or maybe a porno mag. Just kidding about the chocolate. I will only withdraw money once a week to feed myself. I may take another job to support myself because these loan payments are kicking my butt, and I am now kicking my own butt knowing that I spent most of that money in college for useless things such as beer, road trips and shoes, but we all know that shoes are a necessity. I didn't need three of the same pair in different colors.
I will therefore exclude myself from activities that will cost me a shitload of money. I will not spend lavishly on gifts for my friends. I will not make anymore long distance phonecalls to deadbeat ex-boyfriends around the nation. I will not light my cigars with dollar bills. I will snatch quarters out of the grubby hands of my young cousins who find them on the floor. I will pickpocket people to support myself.
So why did I feel it necessary to buy a 200 dollar dress?
It defies reason. I spent the last two weeks repeating the above mantra, and then I drop 2 bills for my dress. It's for a wedding I'm going to, and this dress is supa fly. I have to admit that it's a bit more racy than I'm used to, but I'm supposed to be sitting at a table with four girls and three guys, and one of the girls is going to get assed out if she's in competition with the others. So, I had to pull out the big guns (not the bigguns, those are different), and get the fly gear to bling bling ya heard. Keep it crunk. Ha!
That's the way of the world.
And I'm going to put away my cards for now.
Til the next dress comes along.
Voodoo
I like long walks, especially when they're taken by people who annoy me. ~Fred Allen
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