The Phone Call
Earlier today, I got a phone call from a friend. My day was spent, thus far, shopping for birthday presents for Big Papa Voodoo and Buff Bagwell. I was meandering about Best Buy (there's your hint, Buff) and my phone rang whilst I was intercoursing with some dude with a bad lisp and for some reason was really sweaty. I recognized the number on the caller ID. It was the Cynical One, and this dude does not call me, except....
I knew that Cynical's dad was in bad shape. His health had been dropping off in little ways, and I knew that he was in the hospital for the last three weeks. I offered to come down to Lalaland to spend some time with Cynical since he's been in a semi state of quietness...very much unlike him, and he politely said, maybe soon.
"Hello, Cynical?"
"Hey Voodoo..." I could already tell that my boy wasn't all there. He proceeded to tell me that his dad passed away that morning, and in bits and pieces I remember him telling me that his sister and his mom didn't make it on time to be there. I heard his voice mumbling about how he was doing. I stopped where I was walking, and heard a loud booming voice over the loudspeakers. I didn't hear what Cynical said, so I had to ask him to repeat himself...not easy to do given the circumstances. We talked for a few minutes, and what was apparent to me in that small time frame was that I was already thinking about what to do next.
I have not been a stranger to funerals, to mournings, to black dresses and guarded appearances. I have been to see friends, family and people I barely knew shrouded in their death masks, and can barely look at them during the obligatory visit to the casket/photo opportunity with the deceased. Due to a highly effective visual memory, those images stay with me for a long, long time. Not always the best way to remember people.
All day on Saturday after I got off the phone, my mind was in a big ol' fog. All I could do was think about stuff, about Cynical, his relationship with his pops...And that of course leads to other things. Mortality. Fear. Death. I was mildly distracted when out with the ever entertaining Beer Can. Imagine that. It's been on my mind the whole time since then, to be honest.
So on Saturday, I'm slated to head down to LA after work. I'm not looking forward to the funerary scene, but I'm certainly down to be there for someone who means a lot to me, and that's important. Keep a brotha in your thoughts. And yo' sista too.
Peas,
Voodoo
Voodoo Lounge v.12.1: I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!
Saturday, September 29, 2001
Friday, September 28, 2001
ZOOM
I'm busy trying to write the final examination for my poor students (the ones that got all pissy cause it was 'too hard'). But in a meanwhile, here is your toy for the day. It's based on a therapy model, and you might find that it actually HELPS with your wicked problems.
enjoy.
Love,
Voodoo
I'm busy trying to write the final examination for my poor students (the ones that got all pissy cause it was 'too hard'). But in a meanwhile, here is your toy for the day. It's based on a therapy model, and you might find that it actually HELPS with your wicked problems.
enjoy.
Love,
Voodoo
Wednesday, September 26, 2001
Mental Health Day #2
Today, I went through a 5 hour meeting, a 2 hour meeting, a 1.5 hour support group I'm running and 1 hour of teaching. You might say, "hm. that's a lot of hours." DAMN SKIPPY that's a lot of hours. Wednesdays are my 12 hour days. But today was a bit excessive. More time spent with administrators than students, and that's never a good thing.
I guess this goes with Pure Joy...I'm taking a Mental Health Day. I think I spoke about Mental Health Days a few months ago, but just in case you're new to the Voodoo, a Mental Health Day is a day that you leave work behind, put on your comfy clothes, and just plain chill because you need a day like that every now and then to keep your head on straight. I don't have anything planned as of yet, but I have some good ideas in mind. Maybe I'll stay home and clean around the house. Maybe, if the weather's nice, I'll go to the beach. Maybe, I'll go kick it somewhere. Who knows.
I've been needing this MHD because life has been treating me kinda rough lately, so this comes at an opportune time.
But today we went through a training for customer service. You might think that's kinda odd since I work at a University. Yes, you're right, but the customer base that I work with are students, and we are always working on ways to improve delivery of service and all that funny human resource talk. At any rate, the training we did today was watch a video that was based, strangely enough, on the management and customer service of Pikes Place Fish Market. Yes, that one in Seattle. Where they chuck fishes at you. The fellas that work there have an interesting outlook on things, so it was cool to see how they handled working in an environment that was fast-paced and heavy with the interaction with the public.
It came down to four things: 1) play; 2) make their day; 3) be there, and 4) choose your attitude. If you've ever seen these dudes, you'd know that they have a lot of fun doing what they do. They are well known for their antics behind the counter and in front of the counter, so that's what play means. You can have fun at work. I do, all the time, it's the business end that drags, but in the long run it's a great place to be. Make Their Day is kinda obvious, but as someone who works with students constantly, they are always seeking something, an answer, a resource, etc., so I'm there to provide that for them. And doing that is not all that hard. Being There refers to being present for the person you're attending to, not drifting off to another person, thought or action. It means a lot to students to be there for them in all ways, so it's easy to see how this is rewarding. Finally, Choose your Attitude is akin to either you can be an asshole or you can be a kind person. You have made a choice on how to act. It's not something that's out of your control. Cha-ching.
You know, this all makes sense, doesn't it?
These four elements are things that I do on a regular basis, often without thinking about things. These are natural behaviors and that's why I think my workplace has been a very popular place - we try to pass down those things to our students, and in turn they pass it to others. It's an effective marketing tool. Being friendly. Sheesh! What's kinda sad is that other folks don't even have an inkling of how to do these things. I had some colleagues who were perplexed. How do we do this in our office? How do we get some of our less interactive people to buy into these elements? Scary, huh.
Well, that's the state of corporations, and make no doubt, universities are corporations complete with the bottom line. I love where I work, but if you can't even figure out how to be good to each other and to your clients, what's wrong with you?
Off to Mental Health Land,
Voodoo
Today, I went through a 5 hour meeting, a 2 hour meeting, a 1.5 hour support group I'm running and 1 hour of teaching. You might say, "hm. that's a lot of hours." DAMN SKIPPY that's a lot of hours. Wednesdays are my 12 hour days. But today was a bit excessive. More time spent with administrators than students, and that's never a good thing.
I guess this goes with Pure Joy...I'm taking a Mental Health Day. I think I spoke about Mental Health Days a few months ago, but just in case you're new to the Voodoo, a Mental Health Day is a day that you leave work behind, put on your comfy clothes, and just plain chill because you need a day like that every now and then to keep your head on straight. I don't have anything planned as of yet, but I have some good ideas in mind. Maybe I'll stay home and clean around the house. Maybe, if the weather's nice, I'll go to the beach. Maybe, I'll go kick it somewhere. Who knows.
I've been needing this MHD because life has been treating me kinda rough lately, so this comes at an opportune time.
But today we went through a training for customer service. You might think that's kinda odd since I work at a University. Yes, you're right, but the customer base that I work with are students, and we are always working on ways to improve delivery of service and all that funny human resource talk. At any rate, the training we did today was watch a video that was based, strangely enough, on the management and customer service of Pikes Place Fish Market. Yes, that one in Seattle. Where they chuck fishes at you. The fellas that work there have an interesting outlook on things, so it was cool to see how they handled working in an environment that was fast-paced and heavy with the interaction with the public.
It came down to four things: 1) play; 2) make their day; 3) be there, and 4) choose your attitude. If you've ever seen these dudes, you'd know that they have a lot of fun doing what they do. They are well known for their antics behind the counter and in front of the counter, so that's what play means. You can have fun at work. I do, all the time, it's the business end that drags, but in the long run it's a great place to be. Make Their Day is kinda obvious, but as someone who works with students constantly, they are always seeking something, an answer, a resource, etc., so I'm there to provide that for them. And doing that is not all that hard. Being There refers to being present for the person you're attending to, not drifting off to another person, thought or action. It means a lot to students to be there for them in all ways, so it's easy to see how this is rewarding. Finally, Choose your Attitude is akin to either you can be an asshole or you can be a kind person. You have made a choice on how to act. It's not something that's out of your control. Cha-ching.
You know, this all makes sense, doesn't it?
These four elements are things that I do on a regular basis, often without thinking about things. These are natural behaviors and that's why I think my workplace has been a very popular place - we try to pass down those things to our students, and in turn they pass it to others. It's an effective marketing tool. Being friendly. Sheesh! What's kinda sad is that other folks don't even have an inkling of how to do these things. I had some colleagues who were perplexed. How do we do this in our office? How do we get some of our less interactive people to buy into these elements? Scary, huh.
Well, that's the state of corporations, and make no doubt, universities are corporations complete with the bottom line. I love where I work, but if you can't even figure out how to be good to each other and to your clients, what's wrong with you?
Off to Mental Health Land,
Voodoo
Tuesday, September 25, 2001
Pure Joy
There are times in our lives when everything comes together in a chemical reaction of joy. Not in the sense that we need chemicals to reach that point, and I know lots of people who do need that. All good, we get our joys different ways, babies. Some of us get high, some of us just do our thang, and it flows. Pure and sweet it floats into your heart and mind, takes you to a higher level where you are swimming in bliss. Then when you come back down, you are never the same. There is something uniquely different about you based on that one pure moment.
I don't know if I can extract one moment that can define the meaning of pure joy. Maybe it's that minute joy when someone calls you when you least expect it. Maybe it's that bliss of driving away from the auto mall with your very own car. Maybe it's that kiss, not just any kiss, but that Kiss, the one that wraps you up and sends you. There.
It's in the way that you feel the breeze across your body when you're lying on a hot beach. It's in the way you cross the finish line at the end of a run. It's in the way you receive that diploma. It's in the way that you sleep in the day after you've completed your life's mission, that deep sleep of the innocent, of one who has finished.
It's in the way that you see someone understanding where you're coming from. It's in teaching someone something new that helps them succeed in life. It's in saying and telling the truth behind the words 'I love you.' It's in the way he/she smiles and you know what it means. It's in the way your superiors look at you when you've done your job. It's in the way you make your dreams come true. It's in that glorious moment of reckoning, least expected and best deserved. That's the kinda bliss I'm talkin' about.
It's in watching your students graduate after four years of holding their hands. It's in helping someone read. It's in coaching a team that does well. It's in making your family proud, and it's being proud of them as well. I find pride in the eyes of my teachers, and its' that same look that I want to give to my students. It's the joy that a small piece of chocolate can give a child. It's the joy that a older person feels with a hug.
That's joy, pure joy, in the little things you do. It's not necessarily the big things, the marriage proposal, the raise, the bonus check, the closing of the escrow. But those things are cool, and I'm down, so down. It's the little big things that change your life profoundly whether or not you know it, and it's that pure joy that brings you the bliss that seek.
So your homework, my Voodoo babies, and I do give out homework, is for you to find the pure joy in your world, experience that pure joy and share it with others. Learn to recognize joy and be able to acknowledge the things that YOU do to share that with others. Learn to encourage joy as a sign of strength, not one of weakness. In this dark age we live in, and it is truly dark, my lovely babies, remember, that you need to create your light by which the world can once again shine. Others who see that light gravitate towards it, and learn to cast their own light. I know it sounds like a damn commercial, but you know I'm right, honies, yes you do. The Voodoo Queen does no wrong in this matter.
So bring me light, and bring me joy. And I, in turn, shall bring you yours.
Voodoo
There are times in our lives when everything comes together in a chemical reaction of joy. Not in the sense that we need chemicals to reach that point, and I know lots of people who do need that. All good, we get our joys different ways, babies. Some of us get high, some of us just do our thang, and it flows. Pure and sweet it floats into your heart and mind, takes you to a higher level where you are swimming in bliss. Then when you come back down, you are never the same. There is something uniquely different about you based on that one pure moment.
I don't know if I can extract one moment that can define the meaning of pure joy. Maybe it's that minute joy when someone calls you when you least expect it. Maybe it's that bliss of driving away from the auto mall with your very own car. Maybe it's that kiss, not just any kiss, but that Kiss, the one that wraps you up and sends you. There.
It's in the way that you feel the breeze across your body when you're lying on a hot beach. It's in the way you cross the finish line at the end of a run. It's in the way you receive that diploma. It's in the way that you sleep in the day after you've completed your life's mission, that deep sleep of the innocent, of one who has finished.
It's in the way that you see someone understanding where you're coming from. It's in teaching someone something new that helps them succeed in life. It's in saying and telling the truth behind the words 'I love you.' It's in the way he/she smiles and you know what it means. It's in the way your superiors look at you when you've done your job. It's in the way you make your dreams come true. It's in that glorious moment of reckoning, least expected and best deserved. That's the kinda bliss I'm talkin' about.
It's in watching your students graduate after four years of holding their hands. It's in helping someone read. It's in coaching a team that does well. It's in making your family proud, and it's being proud of them as well. I find pride in the eyes of my teachers, and its' that same look that I want to give to my students. It's the joy that a small piece of chocolate can give a child. It's the joy that a older person feels with a hug.
That's joy, pure joy, in the little things you do. It's not necessarily the big things, the marriage proposal, the raise, the bonus check, the closing of the escrow. But those things are cool, and I'm down, so down. It's the little big things that change your life profoundly whether or not you know it, and it's that pure joy that brings you the bliss that seek.
So your homework, my Voodoo babies, and I do give out homework, is for you to find the pure joy in your world, experience that pure joy and share it with others. Learn to recognize joy and be able to acknowledge the things that YOU do to share that with others. Learn to encourage joy as a sign of strength, not one of weakness. In this dark age we live in, and it is truly dark, my lovely babies, remember, that you need to create your light by which the world can once again shine. Others who see that light gravitate towards it, and learn to cast their own light. I know it sounds like a damn commercial, but you know I'm right, honies, yes you do. The Voodoo Queen does no wrong in this matter.
So bring me light, and bring me joy. And I, in turn, shall bring you yours.
Voodoo
Monday, September 24, 2001
Hey, Doc, Here's My Thong
It never fails. As soon as I get on the freeway, reach The Point Of No Return (the point at which you just can't turn around because you are hella late again because you don't like to wake up on time), I realize that I do not have the standard doctor underwear on. I'm wearing something more, shall we say, flossy.
I am so pissed at myself that I try to figure out ways to not reveal my undergarments to the doctors. I say "doctors" because my hospital is a teaching hospital which means med students, residents, fellows, etc. are more than likely to come in and talk to me. This means that I'm probably going to be examined by at least two doctors. In my thong. Fuckin' great. I've even told the doctors, "I don't want to take off my pants because it's not purely necessary." They've fought me on it, my precious Voodoo Babies, yes they have, and one wanted to get to the root of my discontent when I blurted out, "I don't have my standard i-am-going-to-the-hospital draws on, OKAY?"
At any rate, I get to the doctor's office, see the nurses, who I am terribly fond of, and catch up with them, and then I see the doctor and another doctor, and get introduced to another med student. Oh great. Someone get me a gown, it's time for the show. Gladly enough, they don't ask me for the full stripdown. I am wise enough to pull up a pant leg, hike up a shirt, show off some mysterious growth, and we're all done. No nudity. Once I wore some sexy stuff, and I just took that off, I stood there butt nekkid, and the doctor said, "You could leave your underwear on next time, Coach." He calls me coach. And he's fine, so maybe the nudity was intentional.
Ha, so that's the tale of my doctor story for the day. So don't forget next time, babies, you gotta wear your butt huggers and stuff when you see the doctor. Not the sexy stuff. Save that for someone you don't mind poking and prodding your special parts.
Ciao,
Voodoo
It never fails. As soon as I get on the freeway, reach The Point Of No Return (the point at which you just can't turn around because you are hella late again because you don't like to wake up on time), I realize that I do not have the standard doctor underwear on. I'm wearing something more, shall we say, flossy.
I am so pissed at myself that I try to figure out ways to not reveal my undergarments to the doctors. I say "doctors" because my hospital is a teaching hospital which means med students, residents, fellows, etc. are more than likely to come in and talk to me. This means that I'm probably going to be examined by at least two doctors. In my thong. Fuckin' great. I've even told the doctors, "I don't want to take off my pants because it's not purely necessary." They've fought me on it, my precious Voodoo Babies, yes they have, and one wanted to get to the root of my discontent when I blurted out, "I don't have my standard i-am-going-to-the-hospital draws on, OKAY?"
At any rate, I get to the doctor's office, see the nurses, who I am terribly fond of, and catch up with them, and then I see the doctor and another doctor, and get introduced to another med student. Oh great. Someone get me a gown, it's time for the show. Gladly enough, they don't ask me for the full stripdown. I am wise enough to pull up a pant leg, hike up a shirt, show off some mysterious growth, and we're all done. No nudity. Once I wore some sexy stuff, and I just took that off, I stood there butt nekkid, and the doctor said, "You could leave your underwear on next time, Coach." He calls me coach. And he's fine, so maybe the nudity was intentional.
Ha, so that's the tale of my doctor story for the day. So don't forget next time, babies, you gotta wear your butt huggers and stuff when you see the doctor. Not the sexy stuff. Save that for someone you don't mind poking and prodding your special parts.
Ciao,
Voodoo
Sunday, September 23, 2001
Cliffs Notes of My Life
What the hell. I managed to somehow off 12 goldfish (Destiny's Fish didn't make it...he just went off to see Neptune a few minutes ago), and now it looks as if my Clown Loach is about to purchase a ticket to Neptune Land. I have had crap success as far as sick fish go, and it looks like this dude isn't going to make it through the night. Kinda sucks because this fish has been with me for many many years. So as you can see, I'm kinda attached.
The summary of this day's events goes something like this: I woke up, I got my hair cut a little too short, I bought fish medication, I went grocery shopping, and went to my brother's hockey game, oh yah, and I cooked some grub. Didn't burn anything down. Yet.
I have to get my life ready for another week of drama, back to work I go. Without doubt, El Jefe will ask me how my weekend was. Save for the night out with Beer Can and World of Curls, The Man Stealer and Buffy, it was uneventful. I need to get out of town, childrens, and that should happen right away before I lose my damn mind. Other news of this weekend pertains to the WTC incident of almost two weeks ago. I am putting myself on a news diet. That is, I am going to restrict the amount of information that I am going to take in via the mainstream news media and print media. This is done partially to erase from my world the information that is so severely slanted and lacking in critical regard. I also have done this in order to avoid the emotional upheavals that I find myself undergoing with each carefully engineered heart-wrenching story and spin of information. My sanity deserves this.
Wow, a fish that swims sideway. That can't possibly be good.
I have a doctor's appointment to keep, and to see what I can do about this raging illness of mine that has taken over the way I'm living. I hate "going back into hiding," as I have been doing lately. Normally I would be fairly open and talk about it, but right now, I'll wait my time and tell you more after my appointment. Cross your fingers.
So at long last, I bring a close to my day. I hope yours has gone well, and if not, I'm sure the morrow will bring you a new change. Take care, and as always, write me if you've got any feedback or comments! I do read your email, and almost always write you back ;-)
Voodoo
What the hell. I managed to somehow off 12 goldfish (Destiny's Fish didn't make it...he just went off to see Neptune a few minutes ago), and now it looks as if my Clown Loach is about to purchase a ticket to Neptune Land. I have had crap success as far as sick fish go, and it looks like this dude isn't going to make it through the night. Kinda sucks because this fish has been with me for many many years. So as you can see, I'm kinda attached.
The summary of this day's events goes something like this: I woke up, I got my hair cut a little too short, I bought fish medication, I went grocery shopping, and went to my brother's hockey game, oh yah, and I cooked some grub. Didn't burn anything down. Yet.
I have to get my life ready for another week of drama, back to work I go. Without doubt, El Jefe will ask me how my weekend was. Save for the night out with Beer Can and World of Curls, The Man Stealer and Buffy, it was uneventful. I need to get out of town, childrens, and that should happen right away before I lose my damn mind. Other news of this weekend pertains to the WTC incident of almost two weeks ago. I am putting myself on a news diet. That is, I am going to restrict the amount of information that I am going to take in via the mainstream news media and print media. This is done partially to erase from my world the information that is so severely slanted and lacking in critical regard. I also have done this in order to avoid the emotional upheavals that I find myself undergoing with each carefully engineered heart-wrenching story and spin of information. My sanity deserves this.
Wow, a fish that swims sideway. That can't possibly be good.
I have a doctor's appointment to keep, and to see what I can do about this raging illness of mine that has taken over the way I'm living. I hate "going back into hiding," as I have been doing lately. Normally I would be fairly open and talk about it, but right now, I'll wait my time and tell you more after my appointment. Cross your fingers.
So at long last, I bring a close to my day. I hope yours has gone well, and if not, I'm sure the morrow will bring you a new change. Take care, and as always, write me if you've got any feedback or comments! I do read your email, and almost always write you back ;-)
Voodoo
Lost & Found
I have a theory about the lost and the found. Things seem to come and go for a reason, and I don't think I can accept readily the notion that things just "happen." Shit, for instance, does not just happen. "I've lost my keys" or "Wow, is that a dollar bill in my jeans" are not random occurences that find their way into your being. It's more than God/Allah/Buddha/Voodoo Child granting you something just because.
Things are taken or given out of necessity. Therefore such things aren't random. They are intentional. Our comings and goings are timed like tides and seasons but not always understood until after the fact. Such it is with things, my love. And people.
People come and go in our lives, and similarly they are for reasons unknown until later. They fill a void in our lives, and sometimes, in an instant, they are gone. Not forgotten or taken from us, merely passing through and moving on. You don't realize their presence meant all that much until later, so you don't fully appreciate it, but later on it makes sense. Ain't that a freakin' bitch, people leave us gifts and we have barely enough time to say thanks.
What's the reason for my diatribe on two boats crossing in the night? Nothing more than to stop and listen to the people around you and appreciate what they're about. I've learned that much, now if only I could get around to practicing it.
VOodoo
I have a theory about the lost and the found. Things seem to come and go for a reason, and I don't think I can accept readily the notion that things just "happen." Shit, for instance, does not just happen. "I've lost my keys" or "Wow, is that a dollar bill in my jeans" are not random occurences that find their way into your being. It's more than God/Allah/Buddha/Voodoo Child granting you something just because.
Things are taken or given out of necessity. Therefore such things aren't random. They are intentional. Our comings and goings are timed like tides and seasons but not always understood until after the fact. Such it is with things, my love. And people.
People come and go in our lives, and similarly they are for reasons unknown until later. They fill a void in our lives, and sometimes, in an instant, they are gone. Not forgotten or taken from us, merely passing through and moving on. You don't realize their presence meant all that much until later, so you don't fully appreciate it, but later on it makes sense. Ain't that a freakin' bitch, people leave us gifts and we have barely enough time to say thanks.
What's the reason for my diatribe on two boats crossing in the night? Nothing more than to stop and listen to the people around you and appreciate what they're about. I've learned that much, now if only I could get around to practicing it.
VOodoo
Saturday, September 22, 2001
A Chimp, A Pimp and Heavy Breathing
The Chimp
Today, I got hit on. Badly. I hafta share this with you, my lovelies, because I think you'll get a little kick outta this. I was walking back to my office after an hour of child abuse (teaching), and this dude steps up to me, talking about "Kamusta, napintas mo" (however you spell it, dammit, I'll git to it). Well, thanks, I replied. I made haste to my office, as this was getting to be bizarre from the gitgo. He starts rappin' to me in tagalog, and I said, dude, I'm Ilocano, so you need to recognize. I thought he was a student, so I just gave it to him off the bat. He follows me to the office, and then asks for my number. It's not like that, I said. I don't date students. He said, I'm not a student, so when can we have lunch, I just want to meet kaibigans (friends). It turns out he speaks some tagalog and it's all thrown in there with his weak game that really makes me want to slap him for even trying. I told him, in short that he needs to get out of my face and leave me alone with his game, and he replies, you think I want to hook up with you? It's not like that! I retort: If you are rollin' up on me, in my face, then what am I supposed to do? So you need to leave because I don't appreciate what you're doing right now. He thought I was a student, but when he saw that he was dealing with a professor, he got excited. Whatever, rule #5606, guys, is game recognize game if she's givin' you the business, then you need to quit.
The Pimp
Tonight I hung out with the Beer Can. I took him to Rohan where I ate dinner whilst we drank Confuciouses and got tipsy. We conversated as is normal per going out to get drinks. Then we scooted across the street to Patrick O'Sheas where we had more drinks, and I explained the virtues of walking all over old men in high heels and placing things in rectums ("With lube, anything is possible."). Thoroughly disgusted yet charmed by my talk of "You just have to have it done thet RIGHT way.", We headed over to Pearls to take in some jazz music. Much love to Beer Can (formerly known as the Closet Wife Beater), for his revelations of wood and other personal items that I care not to mention because it's just downright funky. By the way, you're such my bitch.
Heavy Breathing
Whilst at Pearl's, I heard someone breathing kinda heavy. At first I thought maybe I can hear myself breathing. Then I thought it was Beer Can (because you know, I am a hot chick, and he might be jazzing up his jizzer to compensate for pent up penile emotions). Then upon closer review, it was the guy next to me. I leaned over to ask Beer Can if he heard the heavy breathing, and he thought it was me. I was insulted. I pointed out that it was the big dude next to me, but I was not to be heard. I urge you to write Beer Can and inform him of his erroneous behavior, and that in no way shape or form does the Voodoo Child breathe heavily unless under heavy orgasmic stress (in other words, don't stop now, fucker, I'm almost there).
That's the tale of my tape this evening, my babies. I have to admit I had a blast, and Beer Can is one fun date. Now if only I could get him to stop doing that ventriloquism breathing thing, it'd be love.
Ciao for now,
Voodoo
The Chimp
Today, I got hit on. Badly. I hafta share this with you, my lovelies, because I think you'll get a little kick outta this. I was walking back to my office after an hour of child abuse (teaching), and this dude steps up to me, talking about "Kamusta, napintas mo" (however you spell it, dammit, I'll git to it). Well, thanks, I replied. I made haste to my office, as this was getting to be bizarre from the gitgo. He starts rappin' to me in tagalog, and I said, dude, I'm Ilocano, so you need to recognize. I thought he was a student, so I just gave it to him off the bat. He follows me to the office, and then asks for my number. It's not like that, I said. I don't date students. He said, I'm not a student, so when can we have lunch, I just want to meet kaibigans (friends). It turns out he speaks some tagalog and it's all thrown in there with his weak game that really makes me want to slap him for even trying. I told him, in short that he needs to get out of my face and leave me alone with his game, and he replies, you think I want to hook up with you? It's not like that! I retort: If you are rollin' up on me, in my face, then what am I supposed to do? So you need to leave because I don't appreciate what you're doing right now. He thought I was a student, but when he saw that he was dealing with a professor, he got excited. Whatever, rule #5606, guys, is game recognize game if she's givin' you the business, then you need to quit.
The Pimp
Tonight I hung out with the Beer Can. I took him to Rohan where I ate dinner whilst we drank Confuciouses and got tipsy. We conversated as is normal per going out to get drinks. Then we scooted across the street to Patrick O'Sheas where we had more drinks, and I explained the virtues of walking all over old men in high heels and placing things in rectums ("With lube, anything is possible."). Thoroughly disgusted yet charmed by my talk of "You just have to have it done thet RIGHT way.", We headed over to Pearls to take in some jazz music. Much love to Beer Can (formerly known as the Closet Wife Beater), for his revelations of wood and other personal items that I care not to mention because it's just downright funky. By the way, you're such my bitch.
Heavy Breathing
Whilst at Pearl's, I heard someone breathing kinda heavy. At first I thought maybe I can hear myself breathing. Then I thought it was Beer Can (because you know, I am a hot chick, and he might be jazzing up his jizzer to compensate for pent up penile emotions). Then upon closer review, it was the guy next to me. I leaned over to ask Beer Can if he heard the heavy breathing, and he thought it was me. I was insulted. I pointed out that it was the big dude next to me, but I was not to be heard. I urge you to write Beer Can and inform him of his erroneous behavior, and that in no way shape or form does the Voodoo Child breathe heavily unless under heavy orgasmic stress (in other words, don't stop now, fucker, I'm almost there).
That's the tale of my tape this evening, my babies. I have to admit I had a blast, and Beer Can is one fun date. Now if only I could get him to stop doing that ventriloquism breathing thing, it'd be love.
Ciao for now,
Voodoo
Friday, September 21, 2001
2000 Visitors!
Thank you, thank you, to all my visitors, and especially to #2000 who was, as his Voodoo Baby Name implies, #2000. He wins a tall mug of beer the next time we see each other, and for those of you who are lucky to be #2006 and #2906, whatever, don't tell me to buy you beer because you are uniquely those numbers. Tsk tsk, my lovelies, and you are certainly lovely, from what I've seen so far (with the exception of You Want This who has fallen out of grace because he sent me the Captain and Tenielle "Love Will Keep Us Together" as a love song, you bastard, I am still traumatized).
I am going to be starting a new blog soon, and I am looking for interested persons, but until I tell you what it's about, you won't know if you're interested in it! At any rate, to all my faithful readers, kisses to you all, and for some of you, a belly rub and a frosty brew from where else? G-Beezy!
Toodles and spanks,
Voodoo
Thank you, thank you, to all my visitors, and especially to #2000 who was, as his Voodoo Baby Name implies, #2000. He wins a tall mug of beer the next time we see each other, and for those of you who are lucky to be #2006 and #2906, whatever, don't tell me to buy you beer because you are uniquely those numbers. Tsk tsk, my lovelies, and you are certainly lovely, from what I've seen so far (with the exception of You Want This who has fallen out of grace because he sent me the Captain and Tenielle "Love Will Keep Us Together" as a love song, you bastard, I am still traumatized).
I am going to be starting a new blog soon, and I am looking for interested persons, but until I tell you what it's about, you won't know if you're interested in it! At any rate, to all my faithful readers, kisses to you all, and for some of you, a belly rub and a frosty brew from where else? G-Beezy!
Toodles and spanks,
Voodoo
Thursday, September 20, 2001
The Price is Wrong, Bitch Three Times Crazy
This morning, I had to take care of some personal shit, more like my car insurance got cancelled because I wasn't paying my shit on time. Well, if the ineffective Daly City post office would handle my request for forwarding mail, it wouldn't be a problem. But a problem there was. Cha-ching, no more insurance. So I had to rectify this shit. I went uptown to meet with the agent, who just so happened to be a fine dish, I must say, and luckily he didn't berate me for not paying my things on time. Whew. I expected to deal with a cranky old man who was going to do the "You Should Know Better" song and dance I know so well. But peep this: because I moved from the suburbs of janky ass Daly City back to the hood of San Francisco, my insurance bounced up about 3 bills. Yes, you heard me right, three hundred dollars. You know how many purses I could buy at Coach for that? Okay, only one, but you get my point. Take the girl out the ghetto give her a discount. Put her back in, raise up the price. And it ain't like Smokey and Hoo-Daddy are going to jack my car. When my car did get gaffled, it certainly wasn't in the presence of my home in my beloved little cul-de-ghetto. There is some irony in there somewhere, right up next to this upcoming story:
Today I went to a professor's office to inquire about the possibility of having a tutor in his classroom, and when I walked up to his office, he saw me and the tutor and simply said, "I have no time." He closed the door in my face.
OH HELL NO. I stood there, shocked for a moment, and said to the tutor, "Did he just do what I think he did?" She looked at me and said, "I think he did." Asshole. To top it off he looks like Niles Crane. I was kinda pissed for a brief moment, then walked away. Of all the professors I've met at the university, I'm surprised that this would go down the way it did. Usually I get a positive response from professors, but this was a first. I walked back to my office and smirked to myself and put some voodoo moves on him. Tsk tsk, I had to jinx him, I hope you understand. Professors, even your lovely Professor Queen Voodoo, are divas. They want things done their way, have to be the head nickro in charge, all that shit. But come on now, to be rude about it too? He needs to go ask Tyrone.
And finally, this last piece of work: The War on Terrorism. Okay Dubya, I get you. You want to call it a war on terrorism. I call it any reason you can to inject some fightin' spirit into the flaccid annals of our fonky economy and an excuse to bomb the shit outta something. It worked for your pop's presidency. It worked for most presidents who went to fight the good fight. I am not looking forward to living in this war like society, and honestly I'm scared shitless about the consequences of dropping cluster bombs on random "caves" to "smoke out" homeboy. First our civil liberties are going to hell in the name of preventing terrorism. The return of Big Brother! Kuya, back up off my shit, okay. Imma tell mom.
I watched the newscast and felt sickened at the thought of worrying about where I was going to be and what I am going to do when the next bomb drops, whether that be on our or on foreign shores. Do I feel safe anymore? No. Do I feel like retaliation is the answer? No. Do I feel like crying? Yes. Do I feel like bringing life into this world? I don't know. So many questions, and my other problems don't seem like shit anymore. We gotta worry about the rain of fire and biological warfare, and all that fucked up pent up male rage that is running rampant. Power flexing and protein powder bombs. I can't take the news anymore. I try not to listen to it too much. I am tired of the pictures, the wear on my pupils of the images of death and destruction. Now I hear that people are looting under the World Trade Center. What's wrong with you? Someone bring this world back to the here and now?
What would the world be like if it were run by women? Maybe we'd sit down and talk about what's going on. We'd have a tea. Maybe we'd not have to worry about posturing with missiles and aircraft fighters. Maybe we'd bitch slap it out and that'd be that. You know, if someone wronged our country, we just wouldn't talk to the bitch no mo! Sigh...
There is a syndrome called the "ambiguous loss." This refers mainly to people who are awaiting the news of a loved one who has been missing, and in particularly this terminology has surfaced with the WTC incidents. There are over 6300 people missing in the WTC ruins, only 280 bodies retrieved, only 170 identified. There are scores of people waiting, somehow knowing the worst, yet they hold onto something, and just maybe they will be the one who sees a figure that looks recognizeable walking out of the dust and towards open arms. There is a very reasonable chance that we have to move from "rescue to recovery." Amazing how that has found its way into our vocabulary, isn't it? But I have a feeling that many of us are going through that experience: the Ambiguous Loss of our spirits, identity and bearings as a nation. We do not know how much worse it will be, how much more scarier it can be, how much more we can take. We are the wandering dead, the numb souls that feel but don't make the connection. I mourn, but I'm not sure for who. Or for what.
Anyways, what a day today has been. I am going to ride this bad boy out and see what comes out of it. I hope something good does, but if not, remember, your Voodoo loves you.
Voodoo
This morning, I had to take care of some personal shit, more like my car insurance got cancelled because I wasn't paying my shit on time. Well, if the ineffective Daly City post office would handle my request for forwarding mail, it wouldn't be a problem. But a problem there was. Cha-ching, no more insurance. So I had to rectify this shit. I went uptown to meet with the agent, who just so happened to be a fine dish, I must say, and luckily he didn't berate me for not paying my things on time. Whew. I expected to deal with a cranky old man who was going to do the "You Should Know Better" song and dance I know so well. But peep this: because I moved from the suburbs of janky ass Daly City back to the hood of San Francisco, my insurance bounced up about 3 bills. Yes, you heard me right, three hundred dollars. You know how many purses I could buy at Coach for that? Okay, only one, but you get my point. Take the girl out the ghetto give her a discount. Put her back in, raise up the price. And it ain't like Smokey and Hoo-Daddy are going to jack my car. When my car did get gaffled, it certainly wasn't in the presence of my home in my beloved little cul-de-ghetto. There is some irony in there somewhere, right up next to this upcoming story:
Today I went to a professor's office to inquire about the possibility of having a tutor in his classroom, and when I walked up to his office, he saw me and the tutor and simply said, "I have no time." He closed the door in my face.
OH HELL NO. I stood there, shocked for a moment, and said to the tutor, "Did he just do what I think he did?" She looked at me and said, "I think he did." Asshole. To top it off he looks like Niles Crane. I was kinda pissed for a brief moment, then walked away. Of all the professors I've met at the university, I'm surprised that this would go down the way it did. Usually I get a positive response from professors, but this was a first. I walked back to my office and smirked to myself and put some voodoo moves on him. Tsk tsk, I had to jinx him, I hope you understand. Professors, even your lovely Professor Queen Voodoo, are divas. They want things done their way, have to be the head nickro in charge, all that shit. But come on now, to be rude about it too? He needs to go ask Tyrone.
And finally, this last piece of work: The War on Terrorism. Okay Dubya, I get you. You want to call it a war on terrorism. I call it any reason you can to inject some fightin' spirit into the flaccid annals of our fonky economy and an excuse to bomb the shit outta something. It worked for your pop's presidency. It worked for most presidents who went to fight the good fight. I am not looking forward to living in this war like society, and honestly I'm scared shitless about the consequences of dropping cluster bombs on random "caves" to "smoke out" homeboy. First our civil liberties are going to hell in the name of preventing terrorism. The return of Big Brother! Kuya, back up off my shit, okay. Imma tell mom.
I watched the newscast and felt sickened at the thought of worrying about where I was going to be and what I am going to do when the next bomb drops, whether that be on our or on foreign shores. Do I feel safe anymore? No. Do I feel like retaliation is the answer? No. Do I feel like crying? Yes. Do I feel like bringing life into this world? I don't know. So many questions, and my other problems don't seem like shit anymore. We gotta worry about the rain of fire and biological warfare, and all that fucked up pent up male rage that is running rampant. Power flexing and protein powder bombs. I can't take the news anymore. I try not to listen to it too much. I am tired of the pictures, the wear on my pupils of the images of death and destruction. Now I hear that people are looting under the World Trade Center. What's wrong with you? Someone bring this world back to the here and now?
What would the world be like if it were run by women? Maybe we'd sit down and talk about what's going on. We'd have a tea. Maybe we'd not have to worry about posturing with missiles and aircraft fighters. Maybe we'd bitch slap it out and that'd be that. You know, if someone wronged our country, we just wouldn't talk to the bitch no mo! Sigh...
There is a syndrome called the "ambiguous loss." This refers mainly to people who are awaiting the news of a loved one who has been missing, and in particularly this terminology has surfaced with the WTC incidents. There are over 6300 people missing in the WTC ruins, only 280 bodies retrieved, only 170 identified. There are scores of people waiting, somehow knowing the worst, yet they hold onto something, and just maybe they will be the one who sees a figure that looks recognizeable walking out of the dust and towards open arms. There is a very reasonable chance that we have to move from "rescue to recovery." Amazing how that has found its way into our vocabulary, isn't it? But I have a feeling that many of us are going through that experience: the Ambiguous Loss of our spirits, identity and bearings as a nation. We do not know how much worse it will be, how much more scarier it can be, how much more we can take. We are the wandering dead, the numb souls that feel but don't make the connection. I mourn, but I'm not sure for who. Or for what.
Anyways, what a day today has been. I am going to ride this bad boy out and see what comes out of it. I hope something good does, but if not, remember, your Voodoo loves you.
Voodoo
Wednesday, September 19, 2001
The Definition of Friendship
I don't have to see you to know you're there, and I don't have to tell you so that you already know. I don't expect you to hide your feelings, but you know what I need and what I don't need to hear. I am not afraid to be myself, and you always remind me of where Ive been, and where I have left to go. I come to you to understand myself, and in you I find the mirror that doesn't lie, but shows me who I really am.
You know how to make me laugh, to make me cry, and to make me remember. You remember things I forgot, or chose to forgot for obvious reasons. You watched me fall in love, out of love, and back in love, and never made fun of me, or at least you had every right to because sometimes those guys were just assholes. You know when my birthday is, and if you don't call me on the day, it's okay.
We see eye to eye on a lot of things, but when we don't, it's okay. You understand what's important and respect that. You even know if it's crazy, and I want it, that you'll be there to support me when I need it the most.
There are other definitions out there, but these are just a few. To those that are my friends, I love you lots.
Voodoo
I don't have to see you to know you're there, and I don't have to tell you so that you already know. I don't expect you to hide your feelings, but you know what I need and what I don't need to hear. I am not afraid to be myself, and you always remind me of where Ive been, and where I have left to go. I come to you to understand myself, and in you I find the mirror that doesn't lie, but shows me who I really am.
You know how to make me laugh, to make me cry, and to make me remember. You remember things I forgot, or chose to forgot for obvious reasons. You watched me fall in love, out of love, and back in love, and never made fun of me, or at least you had every right to because sometimes those guys were just assholes. You know when my birthday is, and if you don't call me on the day, it's okay.
We see eye to eye on a lot of things, but when we don't, it's okay. You understand what's important and respect that. You even know if it's crazy, and I want it, that you'll be there to support me when I need it the most.
There are other definitions out there, but these are just a few. To those that are my friends, I love you lots.
Voodoo
Tuesday, September 18, 2001
The Price of Being Human
I watched TV for the first time last night, not the usual TV, the news shows, and the wall-to-wall coverage that has been a part of our lives the last week. I finally sat down and turned on the TV to find sit coms doing what they do: slapstick, something stupid, carefully delivered lines and facial gymnastics. I felt a little numb when watching, and a part of me didn't seem to understand the humor at hand. It was a surreal experience. I heard the TV, I saw the TV, but I didn't feel the transmission of information. It was almost as if I was feeling things in a distant and faraway land. I sought distraction these last few days, whether that be in the company of others, or solace in a quiet time by myself, but television wasn't the distraction I wanted.
Holding myself together these last days has been incredible, that is, presenting yourself to be a strong and consistent individual who others come to for support, is not easy, nor is it something that you can expect just anyone to put up in the face of such terrible disaster and tragedy. I was working with a student, and I found myself caught up in the moment of understanding her fear and her stress that I started to tear. She panicked and said, "No, not you too!" I had to turn it off and bring it back to her emotions, and somewhere in that moment I lost the trust and expectation that I was going to be strong so she can be strong. It's that neutral face that I'm expected to present to each and every client, no matter how much that topic resonates with me, or how much I personally am affected by that situation.
While flipping through the channels, avoiding the visions of airliners downing themselves into the ground and buildings, the images of people holding up placards laced with pictures and grim hope, I saw things that saddened me even more: silliness in sit-coms, unfulfilling commentaries and efforts at bringing life back to "the way it was". I sought comfort and found only mockeries of the reality we had before our lives changed for the worse. Before the God Bless America, before Amazing Grace, there was mere existance. Now we have awakened and heightened ourselves to something bigger, badder, and better, and I just want to get away from that and find something that makes sense for once. The enormity of the situation is incomprehensible.
But last night, when I was flipping through the channels, I saw David Letterman, and I found him interviewing Dan Rather, grand old stalwart of the news media. I paused a moment, and marvelled at how well composed he looked, but I saw his bags covered by makeup, and his color evened out by a stylist. I probed his face for a sense of the tiredness, but he sat firm and upright as if to not waver. I admired him for this quality. And then, in an exchange I didn't catch, he started to falter, and I heard him sob quietly. Dave put his hand on his arm, and he tried to comfort him with some words. Dan apologized, and he said, "I'm a pro, I shouldn't being doing this." Dave said, "God man, you're human too."
And for this alone I admired him even more. Because the truth is, we are now in touch with that evasive sense of mortality that is never spoken about, and may that bring us closer to understanding our humanity and our lives in a bigger sense of the word. The price of being human is costly, but regaining that humanity comes at a far greater price.
Voodoo
I watched TV for the first time last night, not the usual TV, the news shows, and the wall-to-wall coverage that has been a part of our lives the last week. I finally sat down and turned on the TV to find sit coms doing what they do: slapstick, something stupid, carefully delivered lines and facial gymnastics. I felt a little numb when watching, and a part of me didn't seem to understand the humor at hand. It was a surreal experience. I heard the TV, I saw the TV, but I didn't feel the transmission of information. It was almost as if I was feeling things in a distant and faraway land. I sought distraction these last few days, whether that be in the company of others, or solace in a quiet time by myself, but television wasn't the distraction I wanted.
Holding myself together these last days has been incredible, that is, presenting yourself to be a strong and consistent individual who others come to for support, is not easy, nor is it something that you can expect just anyone to put up in the face of such terrible disaster and tragedy. I was working with a student, and I found myself caught up in the moment of understanding her fear and her stress that I started to tear. She panicked and said, "No, not you too!" I had to turn it off and bring it back to her emotions, and somewhere in that moment I lost the trust and expectation that I was going to be strong so she can be strong. It's that neutral face that I'm expected to present to each and every client, no matter how much that topic resonates with me, or how much I personally am affected by that situation.
While flipping through the channels, avoiding the visions of airliners downing themselves into the ground and buildings, the images of people holding up placards laced with pictures and grim hope, I saw things that saddened me even more: silliness in sit-coms, unfulfilling commentaries and efforts at bringing life back to "the way it was". I sought comfort and found only mockeries of the reality we had before our lives changed for the worse. Before the God Bless America, before Amazing Grace, there was mere existance. Now we have awakened and heightened ourselves to something bigger, badder, and better, and I just want to get away from that and find something that makes sense for once. The enormity of the situation is incomprehensible.
But last night, when I was flipping through the channels, I saw David Letterman, and I found him interviewing Dan Rather, grand old stalwart of the news media. I paused a moment, and marvelled at how well composed he looked, but I saw his bags covered by makeup, and his color evened out by a stylist. I probed his face for a sense of the tiredness, but he sat firm and upright as if to not waver. I admired him for this quality. And then, in an exchange I didn't catch, he started to falter, and I heard him sob quietly. Dave put his hand on his arm, and he tried to comfort him with some words. Dan apologized, and he said, "I'm a pro, I shouldn't being doing this." Dave said, "God man, you're human too."
And for this alone I admired him even more. Because the truth is, we are now in touch with that evasive sense of mortality that is never spoken about, and may that bring us closer to understanding our humanity and our lives in a bigger sense of the word. The price of being human is costly, but regaining that humanity comes at a far greater price.
Voodoo
Sunday, September 16, 2001
Destiny's Fish
Yesterday I bought 12 comets (generic goldfish) and 5 dwarf flame gouramis. At this time, I wish to report that 11 comets did not survive the transition. They are floating around in the corner of my tank doing some strange macabre dance, swirling in lazy circles and staring blankly into the gravel. The five dwarves are doing okay, picking at all the dead swirling comets. It's gross, but interesting to watch. This is what happens when you don't have cable.
At any rate, it's quite disturbing to see these .25 cents fishes swirling about as if in a slow motion blender. I am debating on whether or not to call the store to bitch 'em out. I hate digging through to take them out and flush them down to see Neptune. It's not my favorite job, but I gotta do it, I suppose.
There is one remaining comet, it swims around minding its own business, probably wondering where everyone else went, or just waiting to be fed, probably. But most likely it's probably thinking when it's going to join its colleagues in the bowels of San Francisco's sewers. I have dubbed this fish, Destiny's Fish, after the Beyonce-fueled Destiny's Child. It certainly fits the "survivor" motif, and possibly the "Independent Fish" one, and it is lighter than the other fishes so maybe it'll stay alive longer. (Or if I get new fishes, it might help to organize the other darker fish).
Oh well, I'm going to get my green net and for lack of a better term, fish out the dead.
Voodoo
Yesterday I bought 12 comets (generic goldfish) and 5 dwarf flame gouramis. At this time, I wish to report that 11 comets did not survive the transition. They are floating around in the corner of my tank doing some strange macabre dance, swirling in lazy circles and staring blankly into the gravel. The five dwarves are doing okay, picking at all the dead swirling comets. It's gross, but interesting to watch. This is what happens when you don't have cable.
At any rate, it's quite disturbing to see these .25 cents fishes swirling about as if in a slow motion blender. I am debating on whether or not to call the store to bitch 'em out. I hate digging through to take them out and flush them down to see Neptune. It's not my favorite job, but I gotta do it, I suppose.
There is one remaining comet, it swims around minding its own business, probably wondering where everyone else went, or just waiting to be fed, probably. But most likely it's probably thinking when it's going to join its colleagues in the bowels of San Francisco's sewers. I have dubbed this fish, Destiny's Fish, after the Beyonce-fueled Destiny's Child. It certainly fits the "survivor" motif, and possibly the "Independent Fish" one, and it is lighter than the other fishes so maybe it'll stay alive longer. (Or if I get new fishes, it might help to organize the other darker fish).
Oh well, I'm going to get my green net and for lack of a better term, fish out the dead.
Voodoo
Picture This
As a person with a very strong visual preference to things, I have decided to change up the site a bit to include pictures. Feel free to ask me about the pics themselves, as each one of them was chosen for their significance in my life. I'm not much of a photographer, but I do enjoy taking pictures of silly things, from my extensive photo gallery of the love of my life (the parrot affectionately known as "hey quit shitting on me") to people on the street who I find interesting to look at and watch for no other reason than they have an interesting face.
Tonight I went out kind of late with The Apostle. My day pretty much went to hell with baby sitting Hellfire 1 and Hellfire 2, and watching Hellfire 3 start to learn how to walk. Getting home at 3 in the morning after hanging out with the World of Curls, The Closet Wife Beater (Beer Can), Tiny Timmette (The She-Devil), and the Big Chocolate Thrilla means that I didn't have to wake up at 8:30 to screaming childrens running around and screaming their lungs out. But awaken I did, cranky spice galore.
I crashed hard after the Hellfire Posse left, and then I wound up floating around with the Apostle after I said, get me the hell out of this house. We had dinner at Rohan Lounge where I thoroughly enjoyed the food and drinks. The trick is it's a soju bar where you can only order the drinks they have on the menu. Little did I know, so here we go with the new drinks. Twas good, I was feelin' FINE after two Confucious'. At any rate, off we go to North Beach to the Steps of Rome for tiramisu and sexual harassment in action by the waitstaff. We chill, talk a little, watch the action, and hop into the hoo-ride and start snappin' pics up and down San Francisco. Grace Cathedral. The Chinatown McDonalds that is proud of the Fiesta Menu. Lombard Street. Cheese & Things. The Global Traveler. Hookers. You name it, we were there. Well, almost name it ;-) Oh yah, bus stop. Parked bulldozer. Jug Shop. Man, what fun.
I'm back in the crib, and glad we had some fun time to do stupid shit. Jump out of the car, take a picture, then leave. I will post those pics up when I get them back, but in a meanwhile, what do YOU want a picture of? P's love and smile baby, who loves ya?
By the way, Beer Can, Mike Myers was in Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery (1997) with Tom Arnold. Tom Arnold was in We Married Margo (2000) with Kevin Bacon. SHUT IT!
Voodoo
As a person with a very strong visual preference to things, I have decided to change up the site a bit to include pictures. Feel free to ask me about the pics themselves, as each one of them was chosen for their significance in my life. I'm not much of a photographer, but I do enjoy taking pictures of silly things, from my extensive photo gallery of the love of my life (the parrot affectionately known as "hey quit shitting on me") to people on the street who I find interesting to look at and watch for no other reason than they have an interesting face.
Tonight I went out kind of late with The Apostle. My day pretty much went to hell with baby sitting Hellfire 1 and Hellfire 2, and watching Hellfire 3 start to learn how to walk. Getting home at 3 in the morning after hanging out with the World of Curls, The Closet Wife Beater (Beer Can), Tiny Timmette (The She-Devil), and the Big Chocolate Thrilla means that I didn't have to wake up at 8:30 to screaming childrens running around and screaming their lungs out. But awaken I did, cranky spice galore.
I crashed hard after the Hellfire Posse left, and then I wound up floating around with the Apostle after I said, get me the hell out of this house. We had dinner at Rohan Lounge where I thoroughly enjoyed the food and drinks. The trick is it's a soju bar where you can only order the drinks they have on the menu. Little did I know, so here we go with the new drinks. Twas good, I was feelin' FINE after two Confucious'. At any rate, off we go to North Beach to the Steps of Rome for tiramisu and sexual harassment in action by the waitstaff. We chill, talk a little, watch the action, and hop into the hoo-ride and start snappin' pics up and down San Francisco. Grace Cathedral. The Chinatown McDonalds that is proud of the Fiesta Menu. Lombard Street. Cheese & Things. The Global Traveler. Hookers. You name it, we were there. Well, almost name it ;-) Oh yah, bus stop. Parked bulldozer. Jug Shop. Man, what fun.
I'm back in the crib, and glad we had some fun time to do stupid shit. Jump out of the car, take a picture, then leave. I will post those pics up when I get them back, but in a meanwhile, what do YOU want a picture of? P's love and smile baby, who loves ya?
By the way, Beer Can, Mike Myers was in Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery (1997) with Tom Arnold. Tom Arnold was in We Married Margo (2000) with Kevin Bacon. SHUT IT!
Voodoo
Friday, September 14, 2001
Adios, Motherfucker
With the events of Tuesday still fresh in my nugget, I have been dealing with tons of other drama at work. Managing programs, dealing with individuals who are being stubborn, etc. all seem to be wastes of time and energy when it comes to dealing with other things. Somehow, in the midst of things, I have been more pensive than in recent days about the relationships that create us and bind us in times of need and duress. I also have been dealing with bouts of minor depression due to other things that shall remain unspoken due to their sensitivity. So later Wednesday evening the call went out to the friends, and with a little urging, it was time to get fucked up.
Okay, hold on, I know that drinking serves not a purpose other than to render one particularly more relaxed and too relaxed to the point of reverse peristalsis. I also know that drinking has served throughout the years as a means by which individuals congregate to share grief and/or joy, and you somehow wind up being each other's best friends and everyone feels a whole lot better, and who the fuck are you hugging on me, but that's all good because brother I love you. You know what I mean.
I meet World of Curls at Betelnut which is my favorite restaurant in San Francisco, and always has been. I detest with great flair and zest the other critters that eat there (Le Bourgeois San Francisco), but get past them and the snooty hostess, the food is down right perfect. We got a table at the counter, which in my humble opinion is the best seat in the house, not only do you get to watch a great show, you get to meet some of the line cooks, and if you're lucky, like WoC and your lovely Voodoo were, you get to meet the Head Chef. Eric Meas, the Head Chef in our case, I watched from the moment we got in because I was trying to figure out if I knew him. Asians, we all look alike. But upon meeting him ("How come you have your name on your shirt, and the other guys don't?" I asked.), it was clear we didn't know each other...YET. At any rate, we talked, got some bomb desserts, and said our goodbyes then stumbled to WoC's car and to the Triangle Lounge.
Walking in I got the immediate sense that I'd been there before. And I have, but in the cosmic sense, I've seen all of you people before. It was a bit frightening, but after seeing all the homeboys from back in the day, I sat back and knew I had made the right decision to hang out. I found myself with the Boy Wonder's arm around me, and me leaning against his wifebeater'd body, sitting next to the Silent Storm who walked me to my car, and chatting with quite possibly the most luxurious men on the planet. I had forgotten what it meant to be in the midst of those who are your friends, and for so long, I was without. Not to say that WoC and The Man Stealer weren't doing it for me, but I was missing some other folks, and I was glad I came.
The Silent Storm put a drink in my hand. I said earlier, nothing girly, but something substantial. Definitely fruity. So he and I belly up (for me I boobied up) to the bar, and he passes me a blue concoction called the Adios Motherfucker. It's like 7UP, really, he said, and sure enough, it went down soon enough like7UP. The effects didn't overwhelm me as expected, but that warm fuzzy feeling that kicked in was not too shabby. The Boy Wonder grabbed me and we danced for a few minutes, until I was surrounded by at least 5 of my students. I had to call it a night quickly, but I left thinking I could have danced all night. Just a rule, never party with students.
I got home in one piece, talked to You Want This, and went to bed smiling. A wonderful night, if I say so myself. Yes, the events never really left my mind, but for a brief moment, I had my old life back, and that was worth a mild headache in the morning.
Voodoo
With the events of Tuesday still fresh in my nugget, I have been dealing with tons of other drama at work. Managing programs, dealing with individuals who are being stubborn, etc. all seem to be wastes of time and energy when it comes to dealing with other things. Somehow, in the midst of things, I have been more pensive than in recent days about the relationships that create us and bind us in times of need and duress. I also have been dealing with bouts of minor depression due to other things that shall remain unspoken due to their sensitivity. So later Wednesday evening the call went out to the friends, and with a little urging, it was time to get fucked up.
Okay, hold on, I know that drinking serves not a purpose other than to render one particularly more relaxed and too relaxed to the point of reverse peristalsis. I also know that drinking has served throughout the years as a means by which individuals congregate to share grief and/or joy, and you somehow wind up being each other's best friends and everyone feels a whole lot better, and who the fuck are you hugging on me, but that's all good because brother I love you. You know what I mean.
I meet World of Curls at Betelnut which is my favorite restaurant in San Francisco, and always has been. I detest with great flair and zest the other critters that eat there (Le Bourgeois San Francisco), but get past them and the snooty hostess, the food is down right perfect. We got a table at the counter, which in my humble opinion is the best seat in the house, not only do you get to watch a great show, you get to meet some of the line cooks, and if you're lucky, like WoC and your lovely Voodoo were, you get to meet the Head Chef. Eric Meas, the Head Chef in our case, I watched from the moment we got in because I was trying to figure out if I knew him. Asians, we all look alike. But upon meeting him ("How come you have your name on your shirt, and the other guys don't?" I asked.), it was clear we didn't know each other...YET. At any rate, we talked, got some bomb desserts, and said our goodbyes then stumbled to WoC's car and to the Triangle Lounge.
Walking in I got the immediate sense that I'd been there before. And I have, but in the cosmic sense, I've seen all of you people before. It was a bit frightening, but after seeing all the homeboys from back in the day, I sat back and knew I had made the right decision to hang out. I found myself with the Boy Wonder's arm around me, and me leaning against his wifebeater'd body, sitting next to the Silent Storm who walked me to my car, and chatting with quite possibly the most luxurious men on the planet. I had forgotten what it meant to be in the midst of those who are your friends, and for so long, I was without. Not to say that WoC and The Man Stealer weren't doing it for me, but I was missing some other folks, and I was glad I came.
The Silent Storm put a drink in my hand. I said earlier, nothing girly, but something substantial. Definitely fruity. So he and I belly up (for me I boobied up) to the bar, and he passes me a blue concoction called the Adios Motherfucker. It's like 7UP, really, he said, and sure enough, it went down soon enough like7UP. The effects didn't overwhelm me as expected, but that warm fuzzy feeling that kicked in was not too shabby. The Boy Wonder grabbed me and we danced for a few minutes, until I was surrounded by at least 5 of my students. I had to call it a night quickly, but I left thinking I could have danced all night. Just a rule, never party with students.
I got home in one piece, talked to You Want This, and went to bed smiling. A wonderful night, if I say so myself. Yes, the events never really left my mind, but for a brief moment, I had my old life back, and that was worth a mild headache in the morning.
Voodoo
Wednesday, September 12, 2001
After the Dust Settles
I have been thinking long and hard about what to write, and what to say about the events that occurred yesterday. I feel a great sense of dread and sadness over the tragedy, and in many ways, it has hit home. At work, things have been slightly off kilter. My students are not able to concentrate on what they are supposed to do, and with just cause. It's not every day that the reality of the sheltered world you live in is shattered. They have been looking to me for answers and some semblance of answers, and I can't say anything because I'm still looking for those answers as well.
The media has been blowing up the story, excuse the pun, and giving us pictures we don't need to see, stories we don't need to hear. The human dimension is understood, but pushing the envelope is replaying scenes of horror and doing so to build up network ratings and escalate the already reactionary xenophobia that is rampant in the nation. I have stopped watching TV, not because I want to separate myself from this reality, but to not buy into the depiction of fear.
I called God again today, but he didn't return my call. Asshole doesn't check his voicemail either, I bet.
I grieve for no one person in particular, but I feel sadness for the loss of life, and the many lives that are affected.
I grieve a bit for myself, knowing that a part of the innocence is gone.
Voodoo
I have been thinking long and hard about what to write, and what to say about the events that occurred yesterday. I feel a great sense of dread and sadness over the tragedy, and in many ways, it has hit home. At work, things have been slightly off kilter. My students are not able to concentrate on what they are supposed to do, and with just cause. It's not every day that the reality of the sheltered world you live in is shattered. They have been looking to me for answers and some semblance of answers, and I can't say anything because I'm still looking for those answers as well.
The media has been blowing up the story, excuse the pun, and giving us pictures we don't need to see, stories we don't need to hear. The human dimension is understood, but pushing the envelope is replaying scenes of horror and doing so to build up network ratings and escalate the already reactionary xenophobia that is rampant in the nation. I have stopped watching TV, not because I want to separate myself from this reality, but to not buy into the depiction of fear.
I called God again today, but he didn't return my call. Asshole doesn't check his voicemail either, I bet.
I grieve for no one person in particular, but I feel sadness for the loss of life, and the many lives that are affected.
I grieve a bit for myself, knowing that a part of the innocence is gone.
Voodoo
Tuesday, September 11, 2001
Arguing with God and Winning
I went to church today, during my lunch hour, and sat in a pew not too far from the front of the altar. I stared up at the cross, noticed the red draping hanging behind it. Jesus’ eyes stand out better that way, I suppose. I took a deep breath, and what happened next, I can only say was not only unexpected, it was a date.
“So, what do you make of this?” I asked, staring at the cross. A figure sat next to me as I ended my question. A deep sigh, and I turned to my left, and there sat God. Shape-shifting until he/she met my perception of what God is, the blur settled into the form of a woman who looked like she just baked a million cookies. I even think there was cookie dough under her nails.
“Girl,” she said, “this is one fucked up incident.” Yes, God cusses. “I mean, I thought everything was cool, we got some peaceful activities, but, man, I can’t even talk.” God wiped her brow with the back of her hand, and a small smear of flour appeared on her/his forehead.
“No kidding.” I shifted in my seat. I stared up at the ceiling. “Lots of people died. I don’t even know anyone who died, or at least I think I didn’t, and I’m kinda torn up about this whole thing.” I sank into the pew and felt the hard wood not yield to my neck. That hurts.
“Yah, I know what you mean,” she said as she shifted again. This time, the blur settled into an older man, replete with golf shoes and a cardigan sweater. “I feel bad, but more than bad. Maybe because I am supposed to be infallible, and things like this aren’t supposed to happen.”
“What do you mean, ‘they’re not supposed to happen’? It just did.” I started to get angry. I pulled my hood over my head and closed my eyes. They started to burn. After staring at a TV showing the tragedy over and over, it felt good to not have to see it. “Aren’t you supposed to be able to fix things, and aren’t you supposed to be almighty this and that?”
“You’re pissed.” He kicked some sod off his shoes.
“No doubt. I mean what’s next? Who’s going to have to die?”
“I don’t know.” A blur again. This time I felt a breeze sweep over me. I peeked under a hood and found God sitting next to me in the pint sized body of a child in a private school uniform. “I have no idea,” said the God-child. “I wish I had answers. These things are as unpredictable to me as they are to you. People have control over their lives, and it’s not me who takes and gives although they always blame me for the good and the bad.” The God-child dangled her feet over the edge of the pew. I tied her shoes into a square knot. “Thanks,” she giggled.
“If you have no control over the situations in our lives, then what are you good for?” I looked at the God-child hard. She stared back, thinking. She blinked a few times more and then turned to stare at the front of the church. I looked over to where she was staring and watched an older woman kneel. “Is she praying to no one? I mean, if you don’t—“
“It’s not that I’m useless,” the God-child said, “it’s just that you don’t have any faith in me.” He smirked.
“I’ve been here to find faith, and I find out that I wind up leaving disappointed, there are no answers. I suppose that’s how you do that footprints poem thing where you carry me? I am alone when I leave this place.”
“You are alone?” A blur and before me appeared a priest.
“Interesting selection.”
“I only choose what fits the situation.”
“How about the godly figure that’s in all those paintings? You know, you sitting on a cloud, pointing at something like you’re ordering something at a deli, and long hair and shit like that.” I laugh.
“Oh, man, where the hell they get that shit,” the priest said. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I mean, I’m just whatever.”
“I guess. So I’ve come to this realization, and you might not like it.”
“Shoot.”
“I don’t really need you right now.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, how in times like this, you don’t really help all that much. I mean, you are supposed to back us up and all, but you even admit there are no answers. That’s confusing as hell.” I sit back again and stare at the cupola in the distance. I wonder what it would look like if some projectile were to shatter it and land on top of me.
“Well maybe that’s the point.” The blur wiped out the priest and brought the image of the Deli God pointing at me.
“What point?”
“Whatever, chick.” Deli God picked up his robes around him and got up out of the pew. “I’m glad you feel like you don’t need me, I suppose you need to know that’s what God is all about, it’s not about ME, per se. It’s about you, and God is what you make him/her/it to be.” The Deli God morphed into the little girl, the old woman, Golf Pops, the Cookie woman, the priest, and finally came to settle on a new perfect image of me. Except my Twins look better.
“Ahem.” I pointed at my chest.
“Oh sorry.” A finger wave, and mine were smaller to match my doppleganger.
“Bitch.”
“Just kidding.” The Doppleganger fixed things and then disappeared.
I walked out of the church and into the bright sunlight and back to reality. And somewhere God headed out talking to other people and freaking them out, getting them hospitalized for schizophrenia. What a sense of humor that fucker has.
Voodoo
I went to church today, during my lunch hour, and sat in a pew not too far from the front of the altar. I stared up at the cross, noticed the red draping hanging behind it. Jesus’ eyes stand out better that way, I suppose. I took a deep breath, and what happened next, I can only say was not only unexpected, it was a date.
“So, what do you make of this?” I asked, staring at the cross. A figure sat next to me as I ended my question. A deep sigh, and I turned to my left, and there sat God. Shape-shifting until he/she met my perception of what God is, the blur settled into the form of a woman who looked like she just baked a million cookies. I even think there was cookie dough under her nails.
“Girl,” she said, “this is one fucked up incident.” Yes, God cusses. “I mean, I thought everything was cool, we got some peaceful activities, but, man, I can’t even talk.” God wiped her brow with the back of her hand, and a small smear of flour appeared on her/his forehead.
“No kidding.” I shifted in my seat. I stared up at the ceiling. “Lots of people died. I don’t even know anyone who died, or at least I think I didn’t, and I’m kinda torn up about this whole thing.” I sank into the pew and felt the hard wood not yield to my neck. That hurts.
“Yah, I know what you mean,” she said as she shifted again. This time, the blur settled into an older man, replete with golf shoes and a cardigan sweater. “I feel bad, but more than bad. Maybe because I am supposed to be infallible, and things like this aren’t supposed to happen.”
“What do you mean, ‘they’re not supposed to happen’? It just did.” I started to get angry. I pulled my hood over my head and closed my eyes. They started to burn. After staring at a TV showing the tragedy over and over, it felt good to not have to see it. “Aren’t you supposed to be able to fix things, and aren’t you supposed to be almighty this and that?”
“You’re pissed.” He kicked some sod off his shoes.
“No doubt. I mean what’s next? Who’s going to have to die?”
“I don’t know.” A blur again. This time I felt a breeze sweep over me. I peeked under a hood and found God sitting next to me in the pint sized body of a child in a private school uniform. “I have no idea,” said the God-child. “I wish I had answers. These things are as unpredictable to me as they are to you. People have control over their lives, and it’s not me who takes and gives although they always blame me for the good and the bad.” The God-child dangled her feet over the edge of the pew. I tied her shoes into a square knot. “Thanks,” she giggled.
“If you have no control over the situations in our lives, then what are you good for?” I looked at the God-child hard. She stared back, thinking. She blinked a few times more and then turned to stare at the front of the church. I looked over to where she was staring and watched an older woman kneel. “Is she praying to no one? I mean, if you don’t—“
“It’s not that I’m useless,” the God-child said, “it’s just that you don’t have any faith in me.” He smirked.
“I’ve been here to find faith, and I find out that I wind up leaving disappointed, there are no answers. I suppose that’s how you do that footprints poem thing where you carry me? I am alone when I leave this place.”
“You are alone?” A blur and before me appeared a priest.
“Interesting selection.”
“I only choose what fits the situation.”
“How about the godly figure that’s in all those paintings? You know, you sitting on a cloud, pointing at something like you’re ordering something at a deli, and long hair and shit like that.” I laugh.
“Oh, man, where the hell they get that shit,” the priest said. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I mean, I’m just whatever.”
“I guess. So I’ve come to this realization, and you might not like it.”
“Shoot.”
“I don’t really need you right now.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, how in times like this, you don’t really help all that much. I mean, you are supposed to back us up and all, but you even admit there are no answers. That’s confusing as hell.” I sit back again and stare at the cupola in the distance. I wonder what it would look like if some projectile were to shatter it and land on top of me.
“Well maybe that’s the point.” The blur wiped out the priest and brought the image of the Deli God pointing at me.
“What point?”
“Whatever, chick.” Deli God picked up his robes around him and got up out of the pew. “I’m glad you feel like you don’t need me, I suppose you need to know that’s what God is all about, it’s not about ME, per se. It’s about you, and God is what you make him/her/it to be.” The Deli God morphed into the little girl, the old woman, Golf Pops, the Cookie woman, the priest, and finally came to settle on a new perfect image of me. Except my Twins look better.
“Ahem.” I pointed at my chest.
“Oh sorry.” A finger wave, and mine were smaller to match my doppleganger.
“Bitch.”
“Just kidding.” The Doppleganger fixed things and then disappeared.
I walked out of the church and into the bright sunlight and back to reality. And somewhere God headed out talking to other people and freaking them out, getting them hospitalized for schizophrenia. What a sense of humor that fucker has.
Voodoo
Monday, September 10, 2001
Just Because
I could show the world how to smile
I could be glad - all of the while
I could change the gray skies to blue
If I had you
I could leave the old days behind
Leave all my pals - I'd never mind
I could start my life anew
If I had you
I could climb a snow-capped mountain
Sail the mighty ocean wide
I could cross the burning desert
If I had you by my side
I could be a king (dear) on crown
Humble or poor - rich or renowned
There is nothing I couldn't do
If I had you
Voodoo
PS: maybe if you're nice, I'll sing it to you.
I could show the world how to smile
I could be glad - all of the while
I could change the gray skies to blue
If I had you
I could leave the old days behind
Leave all my pals - I'd never mind
I could start my life anew
If I had you
I could climb a snow-capped mountain
Sail the mighty ocean wide
I could cross the burning desert
If I had you by my side
I could be a king (dear) on crown
Humble or poor - rich or renowned
There is nothing I couldn't do
If I had you
Voodoo
PS: maybe if you're nice, I'll sing it to you.
2 Kisses and a Lie
The answer to the 2 Kisses & a Lie Question (Which one is did not happen?) is #2.
The first one, Kiss Me, I'm Having Fun, actually happened, and it was kinda interesting because he was major hyped up and kissed me. We were giggin' for about 45 minutes or so, the Stalker Material and I, and very sweaty at the point of contact. I had to wipe my face off cause I got grossed out about the fact his lips felt like wet chicken livers slapping my face.
Kiss Me, Young Boy! or #3, had four cute little SFSU boys who were quite the fraternity type who were talking about having someone feel you up. Chris said, "Shit, it felt good so I might as well." My response? "Damn, boy, if you're going to give it out for free like that, it better feel good."
No Tongue, Please was the trick one, but the part where I get my freak on happened. So did the guy behind me. But yes, as The Wolf so succinctly put it, I'm too short to listen to mackin' going on in my eaaaaaaaaarholes (as Ludacris put it). They didn't mack, but there was some ass slappin'. I had to get some of that ;-)
Thanks to the people who voted, and thanks to all my Voodoo Babies who IMed me and made fun of me getting kissed by more men in 5 hours than I can shake a stick at...problem is, they'd rather hit Mista J than me, but they'd have a problem catchin' a brotha cause he's too busy chasin' skirts at SFSU. Or is that sweats cause it's so damn cold?
Who loves you, baby,
Voodoo
The answer to the 2 Kisses & a Lie Question (Which one is did not happen?) is #2.
The first one, Kiss Me, I'm Having Fun, actually happened, and it was kinda interesting because he was major hyped up and kissed me. We were giggin' for about 45 minutes or so, the Stalker Material and I, and very sweaty at the point of contact. I had to wipe my face off cause I got grossed out about the fact his lips felt like wet chicken livers slapping my face.
Kiss Me, Young Boy! or #3, had four cute little SFSU boys who were quite the fraternity type who were talking about having someone feel you up. Chris said, "Shit, it felt good so I might as well." My response? "Damn, boy, if you're going to give it out for free like that, it better feel good."
No Tongue, Please was the trick one, but the part where I get my freak on happened. So did the guy behind me. But yes, as The Wolf so succinctly put it, I'm too short to listen to mackin' going on in my eaaaaaaaaarholes (as Ludacris put it). They didn't mack, but there was some ass slappin'. I had to get some of that ;-)
Thanks to the people who voted, and thanks to all my Voodoo Babies who IMed me and made fun of me getting kissed by more men in 5 hours than I can shake a stick at...problem is, they'd rather hit Mista J than me, but they'd have a problem catchin' a brotha cause he's too busy chasin' skirts at SFSU. Or is that sweats cause it's so damn cold?
Who loves you, baby,
Voodoo
Sunday, September 09, 2001
Slap Me on the Ass
Have fun with this.... If you've ever watched football, you'll love it. Thanks to Pork Honey for the hook up.
Voodoo
Have fun with this.... If you've ever watched football, you'll love it. Thanks to Pork Honey for the hook up.
Voodoo
Two Kisses and a Lie
I went to Club Universe tonight, as a matter of fact, I just shed all my club gear (sweaty), makeup (flawless), and hair accessories (wicked) a few minutes ago. I wanted to blog while this evening's events were still fresh in my mind. Club Universe is a throbbing, sweaty and sexy joint full of throbbing, sweaty and sexy gay men. And a few lesbians. And of course, a few fag hags like myself. OH yah, and a random straight couple.
A former student of mine, Asian Princess, and a friend from SFSU, Stalker Material, hooked up after many years (seriously) of talking about going out. I lost my damn VIP card, but I managed to talk my way into the club. As soon as we walk in, the air warms about 15-20 degrees. I get my wristband and make my way to the main area. The boys rush over to the bathroom, and I stand there, taking it all in. Three men are dancing on platforms, another one above the circular bar. One of the dancers looks like The Closet Wife Beater. I want to laugh, but I'm staring at him, amazed at the similarity in appearance. I wonder if he shakes it as much as this guy does. And what's up with the mirrored fluffy pants?
The music pounds it way into your chest, you can feel it resonating. Asian Princess grabbed my hand and we headed for the dance floor. I amazingly saw people who I met about 5 years ago. It made me wonder about a club scene that has people sticking around for five years. Maybe people move on and go to other clubs, and maybe some outgrow The Life. But to see the same people, it was an interesting sight. There were some men who were clearly using, and you know what I mean, and I watched as they felt their way around their dance partner's body. I thought it interesting to watch, assuming that they were together, but later on, I saw him with another man. Who knows. I am not even sure he knows. I danced so hard after awhile, the sweat that pours off my dancing neighbors' bodies and onto mine doesnt' even bother me anymore. It's so wet in the crowd it feels like you're in a shower with someone.
I didn't drink, and that may be somewhat strange for many of you, because I know that's what folks do. But I had a good time nonetheless. Oh yah, no fights to worry about.
But it's time for 2 Kisses and a Lie! This is a version of 2 Truths and a Lie, Gay Club Edition. Which one of these events did not occur at Club Universe?
Get to work.
Much love, and tell you more on Monday,
Voodoo
PS: Good night and good morning, America.
I went to Club Universe tonight, as a matter of fact, I just shed all my club gear (sweaty), makeup (flawless), and hair accessories (wicked) a few minutes ago. I wanted to blog while this evening's events were still fresh in my mind. Club Universe is a throbbing, sweaty and sexy joint full of throbbing, sweaty and sexy gay men. And a few lesbians. And of course, a few fag hags like myself. OH yah, and a random straight couple.
A former student of mine, Asian Princess, and a friend from SFSU, Stalker Material, hooked up after many years (seriously) of talking about going out. I lost my damn VIP card, but I managed to talk my way into the club. As soon as we walk in, the air warms about 15-20 degrees. I get my wristband and make my way to the main area. The boys rush over to the bathroom, and I stand there, taking it all in. Three men are dancing on platforms, another one above the circular bar. One of the dancers looks like The Closet Wife Beater. I want to laugh, but I'm staring at him, amazed at the similarity in appearance. I wonder if he shakes it as much as this guy does. And what's up with the mirrored fluffy pants?
The music pounds it way into your chest, you can feel it resonating. Asian Princess grabbed my hand and we headed for the dance floor. I amazingly saw people who I met about 5 years ago. It made me wonder about a club scene that has people sticking around for five years. Maybe people move on and go to other clubs, and maybe some outgrow The Life. But to see the same people, it was an interesting sight. There were some men who were clearly using, and you know what I mean, and I watched as they felt their way around their dance partner's body. I thought it interesting to watch, assuming that they were together, but later on, I saw him with another man. Who knows. I am not even sure he knows. I danced so hard after awhile, the sweat that pours off my dancing neighbors' bodies and onto mine doesnt' even bother me anymore. It's so wet in the crowd it feels like you're in a shower with someone.
I didn't drink, and that may be somewhat strange for many of you, because I know that's what folks do. But I had a good time nonetheless. Oh yah, no fights to worry about.
But it's time for 2 Kisses and a Lie! This is a version of 2 Truths and a Lie, Gay Club Edition. Which one of these events did not occur at Club Universe?
- Kiss Me, I'm Having Fun I was dancing with Stalker Material, and all of a sudden I feel someone's hands on my ass. I don't really think anything of it, because it's not a credit card swiping action in my crack or anything, it's just someone admiring the goods. I turn around and here's this big blond guy, no shirt on (most guys are shirtless) with eyes wide open, saying "heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey" to me and then he kisses me. His face is so sweaty, his lips slide off my cheek.
- No Tongue, Please I smile at a guy dancing next to me. He grabs me by the hips and pulls me closer. We dance for a while like that, face to face, and his friend comes up from behind and they bust out in a Voodoo Sammich. I'm in love cause these two guys are cute Latinos who can really dance. The one who is in front of me kisses me on the cheek and then reaches over to the guy behind me, over my shoulder, and kisses him. Slurp sounds in my ear are still giving me the willies.
- Kiss Me, Young Boy! Stalker Material and I were dancing, and watched as a big buff dude push his way past a crowd of younger men. The boys then were catcalling him and I started laughing at them. We met up again outside and made some small talk, and it turns out they go to the university where I used to work. I see them back inside and one of them says, your friend is CUTE. He kisses me and then says "So are you."
Get to work.
Much love, and tell you more on Monday,
Voodoo
PS: Good night and good morning, America.
Saturday, September 08, 2001
There's Gonna Be a Party Ya'll
Tonight we celebrated The Apostle's birthday. Along with other members of the Apostles, we waited a few hours until the said Apostle arrived. The club we went to had some bad juju going for it. It was the last place that me and the Insecurity Guard went to before I was left to my own devices, and as Khan said, "I got my membership card to The Club." Great.
There was some funky music, some funky dancers (please see Dancing Paul for reference's sake. I got to see some folks I haven't seen in a while: D & B, the Artist, You Want This, Sugar Cube, Certified Massage Receiver and as I mentioned Khan. I also ran into The Teacher. I saw Babies' Daddy. (Go ahead, figure out who you all are.) I also got to meet their ladies, and that was quite pleasant, and I'm happy to get to know the women who make their lives happier and richer. I was lucky to run into some Aggies, Shaq and for lack of a better name, J-Dogg.
Now let me tell you, My Lovelies, that I do not like going to straight clubs. Yes, I said straight. Straight like heterosexual. I mean, it's great if you are there to try and meet the opposite sex and get some opportunities to see what's out there. I rolled by myself, and apparently, most of the guys, if not all of them, are card-carrying I Got Shackles and I'm Loving It cards, so you know I'm trying to scan the scene for two things: MEN and my students. I don't like to go to clubs and see my students. I can't really enjoy myself and get off the hook at a club if my kids are there...I have caught some underage students at a club, and they look at me sheepishly. But really, that's on you, I said to them. I know how old you are, and so do you, and I hope you can deal with the consequences. But back to the guys, I don't like going to straight clubs, but part of that is the creeping insecurity about the fact that I'm there with couples, and I can't really 100% kick it with someone. I also am not all that keen on going to het hangouts because it's just a meat market that I can't compete in. Plus, I'm not into getting my shit grabbed or fucked around with. I feel uncomfortable in that kind of situation.
Where do I go? Gay clubs, ya'll. Yes you heard me right...I go to gay clubs. Well, I usually go to Club Universe these days. There are others, but I prefer Universe. But first, allow me to explain why as a straight-but-not-narrow woman I choose to go to gay clubs. First of all, no ass grabbing, no nipple chasing. No big drunk guys up in your face about how they want to get their freak on with you. Whatever. What a big turn off. The music is top notch. San Francisco is known for its dance music DJs and dance music culture, and if you want to get the new shit, you go to a gay club. Okay, because this is a gay club for men, the ratio of men to women would be close to 50 to 1. Granted, some of those women are lesbians, it's all gravy, baby. Anyways, with all these men, there are bound to be some very good looking ones. And honestly, the ones at Universe, are FREAKIN' GOOD LOOKING. Yes, I know, I have NO shot. This is not a target rich environment, but hell, with all this eye candy in my face, I am in heaven. Strangely enough, I'm a VIP at Universe, and I enjoy the benefit of walking up and getting in without having to wait in the long line. People either assume that I'm somebody famous (just your Voodoo Queen, that's all), or that I'm a major speed dealer. Great, part II.
Anyways, back to the Apostle's fete...
Things were going well, mackin' and hangin' with the guys and girls, then some big dude's shirt comes off, and ooh, a wifebeater. Nothing says lovin' like a wifebeater. Next thing you know, someone else takes off his shirt. Then words, then a swarm of bodies parting, then a flying bottle, then bodies on the floor. Blood. People moving towards the stairs. Coming close to where I'm standing. Falling down stairs. Apostle pushing a brawling group of people towards the stairs. Music still playing. Feels like a bad video. Pool of blood on the ground. J-Dogg walking past me with a napkin against his head, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Thinking of ways to get out. People running past me. There is a door behind me that leads to downstairs and the other exit. Music stops. There is another door that leads to an exit behind me. You Want This and Sugar Cube yelling "There's nothing to see here" while the brawl is taking place. I'm feeling like it's definitely time to go home. My foot hurts.
The music comes back on when all the bouncers (big fat dudes with grimaces) escort the ruffians downstairs. The DJ says, "the bad guys are gone, let's get back to" some shit. I was already looking at the door. People start dancing, and as some walk towards the restroom, they sidestep a pool of blood that somehow has an ID face down in the middle of it. You Want This tugs on the Certified Massage Receiver and says, Hey, that's a safety hazard. Indeed.
I asked Sugar Cube to walk me to my car. I did park a block away, but that's a long block in the face of all the homeless people asking for your money and time. I see a police wagon with the offending wifebeater seated sullenly in the back. His face seems to match this red shirt. Bloodied, perhaps. I haven't seen Sugar Cube in years, it seems, and after a friendship of 10 years, yes that's how long Sugar! it's nice to see that we can still get along swimmingly. And this is how you earn a place in the Voodoo Lounge Journal.
I'm home now. I find that my foot hurts because the nail on a toe has been ripped from its nail bed. I don't remember how that happened. I see a dot of blood on my chin. Not mine. I wipe it away with a little disgust. As much fun as it was to kick it with my homies again, it's sad to see a happy night go bad because of someone else's inability to hold his liquor. Props to the Apostle, Thanks to Sugar Cube for walking me back to my car, Hugs all around. Now let a Voodoo go to sleep.
V.D.
PS: Big love to all the people who said, "Oh, I've read your page!" Thanks so much, and hope it's good to you ;-)
Tonight we celebrated The Apostle's birthday. Along with other members of the Apostles, we waited a few hours until the said Apostle arrived. The club we went to had some bad juju going for it. It was the last place that me and the Insecurity Guard went to before I was left to my own devices, and as Khan said, "I got my membership card to The Club." Great.
There was some funky music, some funky dancers (please see Dancing Paul for reference's sake. I got to see some folks I haven't seen in a while: D & B, the Artist, You Want This, Sugar Cube, Certified Massage Receiver and as I mentioned Khan. I also ran into The Teacher. I saw Babies' Daddy. (Go ahead, figure out who you all are.) I also got to meet their ladies, and that was quite pleasant, and I'm happy to get to know the women who make their lives happier and richer. I was lucky to run into some Aggies, Shaq and for lack of a better name, J-Dogg.
Now let me tell you, My Lovelies, that I do not like going to straight clubs. Yes, I said straight. Straight like heterosexual. I mean, it's great if you are there to try and meet the opposite sex and get some opportunities to see what's out there. I rolled by myself, and apparently, most of the guys, if not all of them, are card-carrying I Got Shackles and I'm Loving It cards, so you know I'm trying to scan the scene for two things: MEN and my students. I don't like to go to clubs and see my students. I can't really enjoy myself and get off the hook at a club if my kids are there...I have caught some underage students at a club, and they look at me sheepishly. But really, that's on you, I said to them. I know how old you are, and so do you, and I hope you can deal with the consequences. But back to the guys, I don't like going to straight clubs, but part of that is the creeping insecurity about the fact that I'm there with couples, and I can't really 100% kick it with someone. I also am not all that keen on going to het hangouts because it's just a meat market that I can't compete in. Plus, I'm not into getting my shit grabbed or fucked around with. I feel uncomfortable in that kind of situation.
Where do I go? Gay clubs, ya'll. Yes you heard me right...I go to gay clubs. Well, I usually go to Club Universe these days. There are others, but I prefer Universe. But first, allow me to explain why as a straight-but-not-narrow woman I choose to go to gay clubs. First of all, no ass grabbing, no nipple chasing. No big drunk guys up in your face about how they want to get their freak on with you. Whatever. What a big turn off. The music is top notch. San Francisco is known for its dance music DJs and dance music culture, and if you want to get the new shit, you go to a gay club. Okay, because this is a gay club for men, the ratio of men to women would be close to 50 to 1. Granted, some of those women are lesbians, it's all gravy, baby. Anyways, with all these men, there are bound to be some very good looking ones. And honestly, the ones at Universe, are FREAKIN' GOOD LOOKING. Yes, I know, I have NO shot. This is not a target rich environment, but hell, with all this eye candy in my face, I am in heaven. Strangely enough, I'm a VIP at Universe, and I enjoy the benefit of walking up and getting in without having to wait in the long line. People either assume that I'm somebody famous (just your Voodoo Queen, that's all), or that I'm a major speed dealer. Great, part II.
Anyways, back to the Apostle's fete...
Things were going well, mackin' and hangin' with the guys and girls, then some big dude's shirt comes off, and ooh, a wifebeater. Nothing says lovin' like a wifebeater. Next thing you know, someone else takes off his shirt. Then words, then a swarm of bodies parting, then a flying bottle, then bodies on the floor. Blood. People moving towards the stairs. Coming close to where I'm standing. Falling down stairs. Apostle pushing a brawling group of people towards the stairs. Music still playing. Feels like a bad video. Pool of blood on the ground. J-Dogg walking past me with a napkin against his head, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Thinking of ways to get out. People running past me. There is a door behind me that leads to downstairs and the other exit. Music stops. There is another door that leads to an exit behind me. You Want This and Sugar Cube yelling "There's nothing to see here" while the brawl is taking place. I'm feeling like it's definitely time to go home. My foot hurts.
The music comes back on when all the bouncers (big fat dudes with grimaces) escort the ruffians downstairs. The DJ says, "the bad guys are gone, let's get back to" some shit. I was already looking at the door. People start dancing, and as some walk towards the restroom, they sidestep a pool of blood that somehow has an ID face down in the middle of it. You Want This tugs on the Certified Massage Receiver and says, Hey, that's a safety hazard. Indeed.
I asked Sugar Cube to walk me to my car. I did park a block away, but that's a long block in the face of all the homeless people asking for your money and time. I see a police wagon with the offending wifebeater seated sullenly in the back. His face seems to match this red shirt. Bloodied, perhaps. I haven't seen Sugar Cube in years, it seems, and after a friendship of 10 years, yes that's how long Sugar! it's nice to see that we can still get along swimmingly. And this is how you earn a place in the Voodoo Lounge Journal.
I'm home now. I find that my foot hurts because the nail on a toe has been ripped from its nail bed. I don't remember how that happened. I see a dot of blood on my chin. Not mine. I wipe it away with a little disgust. As much fun as it was to kick it with my homies again, it's sad to see a happy night go bad because of someone else's inability to hold his liquor. Props to the Apostle, Thanks to Sugar Cube for walking me back to my car, Hugs all around. Now let a Voodoo go to sleep.
V.D.
PS: Big love to all the people who said, "Oh, I've read your page!" Thanks so much, and hope it's good to you ;-)
Friday, September 07, 2001
From The Almighty Onion.
God Finally Gives a Shout Out Back to All His Niggaz
SOUTH BRONX, NY—The Lord Almighty finally responded to nearly two decades of praise in hip-hop album liner notes Monday, when He gave a shout-out back to all His loyal niggaz.
Above: Rappers Method Man and Redman give big ups to God (inset).
"Right about now, I want to send a shout-out to each and every nigga who's shown Me love through the years," said the Lord, His booming voice descending from Heaven. "I got mad love for each and every one of you niggaz. Y'all real niggaz out there, you know who you are. Y'all was there for me, and it's about time I'm-a give some love back to God's true crew."
"All y'all niggaz, y'all be My niggaz," the Lord added.
As of press time, God has thanked nearly 7,000 of His niggaz, including those in New York's Bad Boy and Ruff Ryders posses, the No Limit soldiers and Cash Money Millionaires holdin' it down in New Orleans, Nelly and the whole St. Lunatics crew, Busta and the rest of the Flipmode Squad, His peeps from back in the day, and all the real ruffneck niggaz in lockdown. He also sent shout-outs to everybody in the Old School, as well as to Lil' Bow Wow and all the other new niggaz just coming up.
"Mad props to P. Diddy, Jay-Z, DMX, Lil' Kim, Mystikal, Eve, Ja Rule, Jadakiss, Trick Daddy, and Xzibit. And one love to Meth, RZA, GZA, Ghostface, and the rest of My real niggaz in the Wu-Tang Clan," the deity said. "These My beloved niggaz, with whom I be well-pleased."
Now nearing the 48-hour mark, the Lord's first-ever reciprocal shout-out shows little sign of slowing down. Based on estimates of the number of rappers who have thanked Him in liner notes over the past 20 years, hip-hop experts say the historic shout-out is likely to continue through early next week.
In addition to rap's current stars, God offered shout-outs to the original hip-hop heads, including such pioneers of the art form as Grandmaster Flash, Busy Bee, Melle Mel, Jazzy Jay, Kool Moe Dee, Afrika Bambaataa, DJ Red Alert, the Cold Crush Brothers, Fab 5 Freddy, Kurtis Blow, Kool Herc, and the Funky 4+1.
God also offered shout-outs to the many DJs, record labels, magazines, TV shows, and radio stations that have tirelessly supported hip-hop over the years. Among them are Def Jam, Tommy Boy, Jive, Roc-A-Fella, Rap Pages, The Source, Right On!, The Box, Funkmaster Flex, Ed Lover and Dr. Dre, WBLS 107.5, KISS-FM, and Hot 97.
"For supporting the many artists who have supported Me so faithfully, I say thank you," God said. "All praise to Devante Harrell, Wanda Simmons, LaShell Thomas, and everybody else at Uptown/MCA for making this possible."
Above: A pair of shout-out tablets handed down by the Lord.
As a further sign of His love for the hip-hop community, God assured the nation's rappers that He is taking good care of all their peers currently with Him in heaven.
"Tupac, Notorious B.I.G., Eazy-E, Scott LaRock—some of y'all niggaz are already up in this bitch," the Lord said. "For those of you who were left behind, know that the Lord has got your dead homies' backs. Faith [Evans], I promise I'm taking real good care of your Biggie. He resting in crazy peace, no doubt."
Thus far, God has not played favorites, thanking such fallen-off acts as Hammer and Vanilla Ice in the same breath as vital artists whose careers are still going strong. The Lord has also seen fit to thank the little-known likes of Baby Tragic, DJ Phreek Malik, and Da Ill Collector—MCs so obscure that virtually no one within the hip-hop community has heard of them. All rappers, God explained, are equal in His sight, and none are too small to escape His notice.
"God sees even the smallest sparrow fall," said Dr. Cornell West, Harvard University professor of African-American studies and philosophy of religion. "The same is true of MCs: Whether a major superstar or a complete unknown, all rappers are His children, and He loves them all."
The sheer volume of names notwithstanding, the nation's rappers are deeply touched by God's gesture of tribute and appreciation, with many stating that they "feelin' Him."
"God is the Original," Brooklyn-based rapper Mos Def said. "The world is ruled by the wealthy and the wicked, but all respect due to the Creator who made this world and who will one day bring justice to the wicked and righteous alike."
Despite the overwhelmingly positive response among rappers, the Lord is drawing fire in certain circles for His use of the word "nigga." On Monday's Larry King Live, conservative activist Rev. Calvin Butts, a longtime ally of the Lord, blasted Him for His "shocking, unexpected use of the racially loaded N-word." Some concerned parties, including decency crusader C. Delores Tucker, Sen. Orrin Hatch (R-UT), and members of the San Francisco-based What About The Children? Foundation, are calling for a boycott of church services until God issues an apology.
Reacting to the controversy, many in the hip-hop community are rushing to the Lord's defense.
"The word 'nigga' means different things depending on how it's used and who's saying it," rap legend and Public Enemy frontman Chuck D said. "Judging from context, God obviously wasn't being derogatory. He was using 'nigga' as a blanket term of affection for all His true supporters on the rap scene. At one point, He said, 'I wanna give a shout-out to Ad-Rock, MC Serch, and my man Dan The Automator—all y'all is real niggaz in My all-benevolent sight.' Considering the fact that Ad-Rock and Serch are Jewish, and the Automator is Asian-American, it's clear God isn't talking about race here. He's just paying respect to all those who have paid respect to Him."
"God's the ultimate playa, so naturally He's going to have some haters," rapper Ice Cube said. "But these haters need to realize that if you mess with the man upstairs, you will get your ass smote. True dat."
God Finally Gives a Shout Out Back to All His Niggaz
SOUTH BRONX, NY—The Lord Almighty finally responded to nearly two decades of praise in hip-hop album liner notes Monday, when He gave a shout-out back to all His loyal niggaz.
Above: Rappers Method Man and Redman give big ups to God (inset).
"Right about now, I want to send a shout-out to each and every nigga who's shown Me love through the years," said the Lord, His booming voice descending from Heaven. "I got mad love for each and every one of you niggaz. Y'all real niggaz out there, you know who you are. Y'all was there for me, and it's about time I'm-a give some love back to God's true crew."
"All y'all niggaz, y'all be My niggaz," the Lord added.
As of press time, God has thanked nearly 7,000 of His niggaz, including those in New York's Bad Boy and Ruff Ryders posses, the No Limit soldiers and Cash Money Millionaires holdin' it down in New Orleans, Nelly and the whole St. Lunatics crew, Busta and the rest of the Flipmode Squad, His peeps from back in the day, and all the real ruffneck niggaz in lockdown. He also sent shout-outs to everybody in the Old School, as well as to Lil' Bow Wow and all the other new niggaz just coming up.
"Mad props to P. Diddy, Jay-Z, DMX, Lil' Kim, Mystikal, Eve, Ja Rule, Jadakiss, Trick Daddy, and Xzibit. And one love to Meth, RZA, GZA, Ghostface, and the rest of My real niggaz in the Wu-Tang Clan," the deity said. "These My beloved niggaz, with whom I be well-pleased."
Now nearing the 48-hour mark, the Lord's first-ever reciprocal shout-out shows little sign of slowing down. Based on estimates of the number of rappers who have thanked Him in liner notes over the past 20 years, hip-hop experts say the historic shout-out is likely to continue through early next week.
In addition to rap's current stars, God offered shout-outs to the original hip-hop heads, including such pioneers of the art form as Grandmaster Flash, Busy Bee, Melle Mel, Jazzy Jay, Kool Moe Dee, Afrika Bambaataa, DJ Red Alert, the Cold Crush Brothers, Fab 5 Freddy, Kurtis Blow, Kool Herc, and the Funky 4+1.
God also offered shout-outs to the many DJs, record labels, magazines, TV shows, and radio stations that have tirelessly supported hip-hop over the years. Among them are Def Jam, Tommy Boy, Jive, Roc-A-Fella, Rap Pages, The Source, Right On!, The Box, Funkmaster Flex, Ed Lover and Dr. Dre, WBLS 107.5, KISS-FM, and Hot 97.
"For supporting the many artists who have supported Me so faithfully, I say thank you," God said. "All praise to Devante Harrell, Wanda Simmons, LaShell Thomas, and everybody else at Uptown/MCA for making this possible."
Above: A pair of shout-out tablets handed down by the Lord.
As a further sign of His love for the hip-hop community, God assured the nation's rappers that He is taking good care of all their peers currently with Him in heaven.
"Tupac, Notorious B.I.G., Eazy-E, Scott LaRock—some of y'all niggaz are already up in this bitch," the Lord said. "For those of you who were left behind, know that the Lord has got your dead homies' backs. Faith [Evans], I promise I'm taking real good care of your Biggie. He resting in crazy peace, no doubt."
Thus far, God has not played favorites, thanking such fallen-off acts as Hammer and Vanilla Ice in the same breath as vital artists whose careers are still going strong. The Lord has also seen fit to thank the little-known likes of Baby Tragic, DJ Phreek Malik, and Da Ill Collector—MCs so obscure that virtually no one within the hip-hop community has heard of them. All rappers, God explained, are equal in His sight, and none are too small to escape His notice.
"God sees even the smallest sparrow fall," said Dr. Cornell West, Harvard University professor of African-American studies and philosophy of religion. "The same is true of MCs: Whether a major superstar or a complete unknown, all rappers are His children, and He loves them all."
The sheer volume of names notwithstanding, the nation's rappers are deeply touched by God's gesture of tribute and appreciation, with many stating that they "feelin' Him."
"God is the Original," Brooklyn-based rapper Mos Def said. "The world is ruled by the wealthy and the wicked, but all respect due to the Creator who made this world and who will one day bring justice to the wicked and righteous alike."
Despite the overwhelmingly positive response among rappers, the Lord is drawing fire in certain circles for His use of the word "nigga." On Monday's Larry King Live, conservative activist Rev. Calvin Butts, a longtime ally of the Lord, blasted Him for His "shocking, unexpected use of the racially loaded N-word." Some concerned parties, including decency crusader C. Delores Tucker, Sen. Orrin Hatch (R-UT), and members of the San Francisco-based What About The Children? Foundation, are calling for a boycott of church services until God issues an apology.
Reacting to the controversy, many in the hip-hop community are rushing to the Lord's defense.
"The word 'nigga' means different things depending on how it's used and who's saying it," rap legend and Public Enemy frontman Chuck D said. "Judging from context, God obviously wasn't being derogatory. He was using 'nigga' as a blanket term of affection for all His true supporters on the rap scene. At one point, He said, 'I wanna give a shout-out to Ad-Rock, MC Serch, and my man Dan The Automator—all y'all is real niggaz in My all-benevolent sight.' Considering the fact that Ad-Rock and Serch are Jewish, and the Automator is Asian-American, it's clear God isn't talking about race here. He's just paying respect to all those who have paid respect to Him."
"God's the ultimate playa, so naturally He's going to have some haters," rapper Ice Cube said. "But these haters need to realize that if you mess with the man upstairs, you will get your ass smote. True dat."
Husky Boy Kicks Ass
Thanks to the Husky One, I feel a whole lot better despite the fact that life is still, and always be, crap.
Here's his recommendation for happiness.
I nearly peed myself.
ENJOY!
Voodoo
Thanks to the Husky One, I feel a whole lot better despite the fact that life is still, and always be, crap.
Here's his recommendation for happiness.
I nearly peed myself.
ENJOY!
Voodoo
Apologies and Other Issues
I have to be honest with you, I'm not sure that my writing has exactly been top notch. I've been dealing with a lot of issues at work that have me working overtime and without lunch for the last week, and I haven't been completely present in my writing. It's not easy for me to run on empty, which I have been, but I hope that the situation I'm involved in will neutralize itself and allow me to be normal again.
It's considerably amazing how much work is a part of our lives, and not necessarily a good thing. I was thinking how much that work defines who and what we are in a very public way, and the efforts that we put forth are really telling about our character. The truth is, however, that many of our attempts at success and late hours in the office are hardly recognized by those who need to know that we're putting in work. So on a lonely night like tonight, no one knew that I got to work early, and left 13 hours later. No one who matters knows. Some of my students do, and that's all good.
There are some kinds of jobs where you take the work home with you: teachers correct homework at home, doctors do some work at home (dictations and such, not exams unless it's a kink thing), so you know. There are some kinds of jobs where you leave it at work: car salesman, baker, etc. From a counseling perspective, you tend to replay sessions over and over again in your head until you get them right. You think about something you could have said differently or if you heard certain things correctly. Teaching is the same: you ask yourself what could I have done differently. Are they totally understanding what I'm saying?
There are jobs that pay you well, jobs that make you happy, and as I'm growing older, I've realized those two don't necessarily go hand in hand. I am not going to lie, I make pretty pennies, but I also earn every single one of them. I work my ASS off, and I know tons of people who just don't do SHIT and get bank. Goody for them. I'm not in this field to make ends, but I'm not in it to get burned out. Nights like this, I feel it coming on hard. I feel parts of my life slipping away. Time spent with family. Time spent with friends. Time being myself. Relationships. Health. Things I can't regain. At least so I think. So I feel like it right now.
So when I tell you that I'm sorry for not writing more often, I mean that in a heartfelt way. It bothers me when I don't write enough, and when I do write, I know it's not my 100%. Work is important to me, but there are other things I need to take part in. This supposed late Indian summer has escaped me as I pine for a break in the day so I can eat in my windowless and airless office. Ther e are battles that you can fight, and there are those you just can't, and this part of the job I just have to do.
At that, understand that your readership means the world to me, but right now I have to balance my priorities, and when my shit gets snappy at work, then I'll be back talkin' shit, mackin' and hangin', and bustin' moves on you.
Later,
Voodoo
I have to be honest with you, I'm not sure that my writing has exactly been top notch. I've been dealing with a lot of issues at work that have me working overtime and without lunch for the last week, and I haven't been completely present in my writing. It's not easy for me to run on empty, which I have been, but I hope that the situation I'm involved in will neutralize itself and allow me to be normal again.
It's considerably amazing how much work is a part of our lives, and not necessarily a good thing. I was thinking how much that work defines who and what we are in a very public way, and the efforts that we put forth are really telling about our character. The truth is, however, that many of our attempts at success and late hours in the office are hardly recognized by those who need to know that we're putting in work. So on a lonely night like tonight, no one knew that I got to work early, and left 13 hours later. No one who matters knows. Some of my students do, and that's all good.
There are some kinds of jobs where you take the work home with you: teachers correct homework at home, doctors do some work at home (dictations and such, not exams unless it's a kink thing), so you know. There are some kinds of jobs where you leave it at work: car salesman, baker, etc. From a counseling perspective, you tend to replay sessions over and over again in your head until you get them right. You think about something you could have said differently or if you heard certain things correctly. Teaching is the same: you ask yourself what could I have done differently. Are they totally understanding what I'm saying?
There are jobs that pay you well, jobs that make you happy, and as I'm growing older, I've realized those two don't necessarily go hand in hand. I am not going to lie, I make pretty pennies, but I also earn every single one of them. I work my ASS off, and I know tons of people who just don't do SHIT and get bank. Goody for them. I'm not in this field to make ends, but I'm not in it to get burned out. Nights like this, I feel it coming on hard. I feel parts of my life slipping away. Time spent with family. Time spent with friends. Time being myself. Relationships. Health. Things I can't regain. At least so I think. So I feel like it right now.
So when I tell you that I'm sorry for not writing more often, I mean that in a heartfelt way. It bothers me when I don't write enough, and when I do write, I know it's not my 100%. Work is important to me, but there are other things I need to take part in. This supposed late Indian summer has escaped me as I pine for a break in the day so I can eat in my windowless and airless office. Ther e are battles that you can fight, and there are those you just can't, and this part of the job I just have to do.
At that, understand that your readership means the world to me, but right now I have to balance my priorities, and when my shit gets snappy at work, then I'll be back talkin' shit, mackin' and hangin', and bustin' moves on you.
Later,
Voodoo
Tuesday, September 04, 2001
Everything I Learned about Dating I Learned in My French Class
My first day in my french class at the University of California Davis, I learned quickly that either you had it or you didn't have it. Not THAT it. But THIS it: the French way. I translate this experience into the dating world. Either you have it or you don't have it. You see, it goes like this: either you have the accent that makes you feel french, think french, be french and speak the damn language, or you don't - you sound like an American underwater speaking pig latin. Dating - either you have it, or you don't. If you have game, you are in there, if you are game-free or game-challenged, in this day of political appropriateness, you are not only uniquely aware of the fact that you are not attracting the desired effect (mackage), you are completely unaware of how silly you seem going through the motion.
I noticed that those who were from France or native speakers happened to collaborate with each other or just hang out with each other. If you were not a native speaker, you were seen as a pretender. This comparison does not need to be illuminated any further.
As my fluency increased, I noticed that I had a tendency to watch more French movies, enjoy more French food, and basically have the French persona invade my life. When you got game, you attempt to utilize your game on every possible available. The better you practice, the better you become. A coach once taught me you play the way you practice. Mackage requires major practice, even a few hands to the face...But you have to bounce back. Can't let a person stop your game like that!
Here's a good one: if you need tutors, you can always find one. Yah, I bet.
Don't even get me started with oral tests.
Have fun,
La Belle Voodoo
My first day in my french class at the University of California Davis, I learned quickly that either you had it or you didn't have it. Not THAT it. But THIS it: the French way. I translate this experience into the dating world. Either you have it or you don't have it. You see, it goes like this: either you have the accent that makes you feel french, think french, be french and speak the damn language, or you don't - you sound like an American underwater speaking pig latin. Dating - either you have it, or you don't. If you have game, you are in there, if you are game-free or game-challenged, in this day of political appropriateness, you are not only uniquely aware of the fact that you are not attracting the desired effect (mackage), you are completely unaware of how silly you seem going through the motion.
I noticed that those who were from France or native speakers happened to collaborate with each other or just hang out with each other. If you were not a native speaker, you were seen as a pretender. This comparison does not need to be illuminated any further.
As my fluency increased, I noticed that I had a tendency to watch more French movies, enjoy more French food, and basically have the French persona invade my life. When you got game, you attempt to utilize your game on every possible available. The better you practice, the better you become. A coach once taught me you play the way you practice. Mackage requires major practice, even a few hands to the face...But you have to bounce back. Can't let a person stop your game like that!
Here's a good one: if you need tutors, you can always find one. Yah, I bet.
Don't even get me started with oral tests.
Have fun,
La Belle Voodoo
Sunday, September 02, 2001
Manorexia
I'm suffering from manorexia.
Yes, it's a chronic case of manorexia. I don't find great pleasure in admitting this, but there is a profound lack of men in my life. Apparently, I have man-repellent on my clothes. In my pores. In my socks. In my makeup. Not to be confused with boylimia, manorexia manifests itself with feelings of "there are no good men that exist in this world."
I'm just joshin' ya. No, my Voodoo children, please don't rush over with random men to sacrifice at the altar. No big rush for me to get my groove anytime soon. I got other things on my mind, but a healthy distraction such as a guy would be kinda nice to get into. Getting to that stage of the game isn't always easy, especially when all around me, people are getting hitched left and right. My college buddies are all love-shackled. My girlfriends in high school? Yup, and kids to boot. I don't have a problem with it, but somehow going through school all those years required a sacrifice that sometimes makes me wonder what I've been missing out this whole time.
Not that I regret going this far in my education, but was the trade-off a life-relationship with someone? I don't know, and who's to say, really? Only the fates, I suppose.
Some would suggest that the want and need for something indicates weakness, for whatever it is that we do have is meant to be there for a reason. To want other things may preclude us from appreciating what we do have here and now. To look out the window to wish for things means we're not looking at the things that surround us and appreciate them. You see my point? It is best advised that we make the most of what we have and where we are for we are in the moment. So a lack of men may translate itself thusly: to be out of a relationship and wanting to be in one means that we want to seek love for someone else, not love for myself by my self. And when I think of it that way, it ain't so bad, because I think I'm worth the time I spend taking care of myself, and that is fully without the cooperation of any other person in my life.
This same approach goes for the material things that we want in life. The car, the house, the shoes (gasp), the clothes, the bling bling ching ching that we got going on in our lives. You don't technically need those things, but it sure would be nice, wouldn't it? Look around you today and find the things that are surrounding you. You are provided for, you are sheltered and fed. You are healthy. You are okay.
Try that today, when you find yourself wanting and needing. Sitting at the window, peering out at the world of things you want and need. And when you turn away from that window to see the things that you already have, you'll see the truths of wants and needs.
Voodoo
I'm suffering from manorexia.
Yes, it's a chronic case of manorexia. I don't find great pleasure in admitting this, but there is a profound lack of men in my life. Apparently, I have man-repellent on my clothes. In my pores. In my socks. In my makeup. Not to be confused with boylimia, manorexia manifests itself with feelings of "there are no good men that exist in this world."
I'm just joshin' ya. No, my Voodoo children, please don't rush over with random men to sacrifice at the altar. No big rush for me to get my groove anytime soon. I got other things on my mind, but a healthy distraction such as a guy would be kinda nice to get into. Getting to that stage of the game isn't always easy, especially when all around me, people are getting hitched left and right. My college buddies are all love-shackled. My girlfriends in high school? Yup, and kids to boot. I don't have a problem with it, but somehow going through school all those years required a sacrifice that sometimes makes me wonder what I've been missing out this whole time.
Not that I regret going this far in my education, but was the trade-off a life-relationship with someone? I don't know, and who's to say, really? Only the fates, I suppose.
Some would suggest that the want and need for something indicates weakness, for whatever it is that we do have is meant to be there for a reason. To want other things may preclude us from appreciating what we do have here and now. To look out the window to wish for things means we're not looking at the things that surround us and appreciate them. You see my point? It is best advised that we make the most of what we have and where we are for we are in the moment. So a lack of men may translate itself thusly: to be out of a relationship and wanting to be in one means that we want to seek love for someone else, not love for myself by my self. And when I think of it that way, it ain't so bad, because I think I'm worth the time I spend taking care of myself, and that is fully without the cooperation of any other person in my life.
This same approach goes for the material things that we want in life. The car, the house, the shoes (gasp), the clothes, the bling bling ching ching that we got going on in our lives. You don't technically need those things, but it sure would be nice, wouldn't it? Look around you today and find the things that are surrounding you. You are provided for, you are sheltered and fed. You are healthy. You are okay.
Try that today, when you find yourself wanting and needing. Sitting at the window, peering out at the world of things you want and need. And when you turn away from that window to see the things that you already have, you'll see the truths of wants and needs.
Voodoo
I like long walks, especially when they're taken by people who annoy me. ~Fred Allen
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