B.J. Cyprian's Blog, page 3

It Takes All Types to Make The World Spin....

Here’s a fun one for you…

Astrology used to fascinate me. I like to understand the characteristics of every astrological sign, and try to see those traits in people I knew within them. I understand and realize that some people see it as bullshit, especially people who are religious or who view it with some sort of over analytical lens. However, I have found some truth in astrology in my life.

For instance. I am a Libra. I’m a classic Libra. For those of you who see this all as malarky and know nothing about Libras, lemme give you a crash course.

Libras are romantics by nature. We’re charming. We have a strong sense of justice and fairness. We can be indecisive. The biggest trait that I possess of a Libra is diplomacy. We are a very diplomatic people. We are usually able to broker peace in conflict. Being an empath adds a little extra flair to the diplomacy.

Since I’m an empath, I can literally feel the argument of both sides. I not only see the arguments to each party, but I feel the emotion behind it. I do have my own mind and my own opinions of most things, but it helps to have someone broker a peace deal when they can at least communicate the rationale behind each side’s argument.

However, there are aspects of being a Libra that aren’t really me. Most Libras tend to be outgoing and flirts. I *am* a flirt by nature, and I’m outgoing when pushed out of my comfort zone. However, I am a severe introvert and therefore, tend to be shy initially. The diplomacy often causes a Libra to be flighty, because they are easily swayed by others’ arguments. That is not me. Because I do have a strong sense of justice and fairness, I am open to the point of view of others, but that doesn’t necessarily sway me. Therefore, one of the traits of being a Libra is being “unreliable” and ANYONE who knows me knows that that is the last adjective to describe me.

You get the picture, right? Okay…

As I’ve gotten older, while I still can appreciate astrology, I have become more of a proponent of the Myers-Briggs Personality Test. I feel like that test is totally more scientific in nature.

(For the record, I’m an INFP.)

Because my writing of Shadow Resistance was heavily influenced by my life, and due to my fascination with the above, I decided to consider each main character in the first book and give them their astrological signs and Myers Briggs personality type. If this is your bag, then ENJOY!

Dom - Dom Samuels is the character whose personality is most like mine. It would only make sense that we share similar traits. Therefore, Dom is a Libra and an INFP.

Sign justification - Her birthday is in October. She is self-indulgent, and detached. However, once you get to know her, she’s also balanced and has a strong sense of fairness. Despite coming across as aloof and uninteresting, when her guard is let down, she is charming and just about anyone who meets her likes her.

MBP justification - She is an obvious introvert. INFP personality types want to see the good in people even when facts point otherwise. This often causes them to be burned, and if it happens too much, they start to close off and become hard to know. However, once you get to know them, you see them as the idealist full of creativity and passion. (Read more about INFP personality types here)

Rose – Rose Jenkins is a Pisces and an ESFJ.

Sign Justification – While I have not mentioned a birth month, I will tell you guys that the events of book 1 took place just after her 35th birthday, which means she was born in early March. Pisces are kind, compassionate and selfless. This is all evident in the passion she has for her community and the work she does to make it try to make it better.

MBP justification – ESFJ people tend to be altruistic and focus on helping others. They are sensitive and warm and can connect with even the toughest audiences. (Such as how Rose was able to immediately connect with Dom.) I truly believe so many readers really enjoy her because of her sensitive and warm nature, which is exactly how most ESFJs come across. (Read more about ESFJ personality types here)

(Okay the following has a long caveat)

Layla – Layla is probably the character that is known the least as far as personality, and that was done on purpose. I knew going in that this was going to be a series, and this presented an interesting navigation concern. She was always meant to be one of the big 3 protagonists, (Dom, Rose & Layla) and all three of the women have their own baggage from their past. However, as I wrote the story, the pasts and motivations of Dom & Rose became more germane to the initial plot. Layla’s history of being an orphan who had no sense of home or any family, outside of the ones she created with people she truly trusted, is something that I did not want to truly just gloss over. So, as the series progresses, you will get to know Layla.

(In fact, within the first five chapters of the second novel, you learn a lot more about her past and her attachments in New Orleans.)

I say all this to say, just trust me on the following. Layla is a Cancer & an ENTJ. I’ll try to give some rationale without providing spoilers for future novels.

Sign justification – She is one of the two characters in the novel that had a birth month mentioned, which is July. (chapter 22). Cancers can be a walking paradox, especially if they have trauma in their background. She is very faithful and protective of those she cares for, yet she doesn’t trust people easily. She is emotional, but she masks this emotion behind a suspicious nature. Vulnerability is not easy for her.

MBP Justification – She does not come across as extroverted, and I would probably say she is like 60% extroverted and 40% introverted. That is to say, she does not mind being around people and interacting with them, however due to her trust issues, she doesn’t seek them out and she’s perfectly fine on her own. Despite being the youngest of the protagonists, she is a natural leader. She is confident in her knowledge and skills, and does not deal well when people don’t believe she knows what she’s doing. (Read more about ENTJ personality types here)

Vasquez - Rachel Vasquez is a Taurus and an ESTP. She is a hybrid of several people in my life, mainly my wife and some friends.

Sign justification - Besides the fact that hers was the first birth months mentioned in the novel, (chapter 8) Tauruses tend to be down to earth, dependable, and independent. However, we can truly see a Taurusean trait in her persistence. (Also, from what I hear, Tauruses LOVE their food. LOL)

MBP justification - I would dare say that Vasquez is the most extroverted character of the novel. ESTP people tend to be adventurous and daring. They are often the life of the party, and can come across as flighty. They are bold, sociable and direct in their pursuits. However, they are very caring and dependable, quick to try to help solve a problem and not afraid to take risks. (Read more about ESTP personality types here)

Ryan – Ryan Jenkins is a Leo and an ISFJ.

Sign Justification – Once again, I have not mentioned a birth month for him, but Ryan’s birthday is in August. Leos are kind and big-hearted and tend to be optimistic. They are loyal, sometimes to a fault, and they are trustworthy.

MPB justification – ISFJ personality types are defenders by nature. They are protective and have the desire to do good. I feel that Ryan’s defending personality emerged early when he immediately expressed his desire to join his sister and brother to protect them, just after returning from a war. ISFJs are reliable, patient, loyal and practical. However, as mentioned towards the end of the book, they can internalize their feelings. (Read more about ISFJ personality types here)

Robert – Like Layla, Robert’s full personality has yet to be exposed. This was also on purpose, but for a different reason. For Layla, it was a matter of her story not being able to fully fit into the initial plot line without it being forced and possibly, not making a lot of sense. However, for Robert, it’s because he is now trying to figure out who he is. He spent a long time strung out on drugs, and then in prison. The first novel takes place just as Robert is getting released and initially, he is hopeful due to his relationship with his former cellmate. Once events unfold, he has been put in a situation where the rug of hope was pulled from under him and he is determined not to self-medicate, but to figure it out. As the series progresses, Robert will come into his own, and while I haven’t mapped out how it will come to fruition, this is how I personally see him.

Robert is a Gemini and an ISFP.

Sign Justification – Robert was born in June. Geminis are versatile, adjustable and soft-spoken. However, they also have a hard time making decisions and can be anxious and lack direction. For Robert, the negatives, particularly the anxiety and trauma he experienced is what led him to his drug addiction.

MBP Justification – ISFP personality types are creative and enjoy experimentation with themselves and with external factors. They are sensitive, curious, and passionate. However, they can struggle with low self-esteem and become easily stressed out. They are playful and quick to laugh. We see this side of Robert emerge as the first novel progresses. (Read more about ISFP personality types here)

What’s your personality type? You should take the test and share!

My first *real* parenting moment...

I planned on doing a 2018 reflection blog post, but time got away from me and 2019 didn’t start out on a great note. Now I’m over it and so I’ll only say, “Hi 2019!”

Today, I’m going to do what I usually do on Facebook and share a moment I had today. I was gonna do it on Facebook, but I figured it’d be far too long and also I felt it was time for a blog that wasn’t some rambling introspective diatribe and just something that may produce a giggle or two. Okay here we go…

I feel like I just had my first *real* parenting moment.

Understand, I never have had a biological child. I never will. (I’m pushing 40…that ship has sailed for me.) But being a woman who has dated women her whole life, once you hit a certain age, you start dating women who have kids. I have never minded it. I like kids and they generally like me… (when they get over the, “are you a boy or girl?” conundrum… long story, moving on…) I’ve been with women with kids as young as 2 and as old as 18, so I’ve kinda seen most stages of childhood as a pseudo parent. But I never considered myself a real parent.

Prior to marriage, I dated someone for 4 years with 3 kids who saw me as a “step-parent” type person. I helped raise them, and I loved them as if they were my own. When you come from the type of background I have, I’ve kinda learned what NOT to do as a secondary parental figure by experience. I’d like to think while I may not have been the best girlfriend in some ways, but I would dare say that I’ve always treated every child I was around as they were loved and cherished, the way many of my ex-step parents never treated me.

I’ve been married to Shauna for almost 5 years now, and I’ve been in my step-daughter’s life since she was 4 years old. At that age, it was fairly simple for her to grasp the fact that her mother was dating and then ultimately married a woman. She’s been a champ with all of the changes that have been thrown her way. I love that little girl and see so much of her mother in her, but still, I have a hard time seeing myself as a real parent. But today…. Feel like I had my first parenting moment.

Driving home from picking her up from the YMCA camp she goes to, she’s glancing out the window…

Her: I used to hate VIP servers...

*pause*

Yes, this is how the conversation started. No preamble, no context, just talk about servers. See, now I understand why our parents always marveled at how times change. WTF does this little girl know about servers?!

*play*

Me: Uh… what?

Her: I used to hate VIP servers, but now not so much.

Me: You…uh… You wanna give me a little context here? I feel like you just looped me into a thought that you were having in your mind at the end.

She proceeds to explain that she’s playing some RPG online game featuring Warrior Cats, a book series she’s been obsessed with. She explained said dynamics of the public vs. VIP servers to me.

*pause*

Seriously, I’m thinking about hiring her to speed up a sista’s wifi and build an in home server the way the girl was talking.

*play*

She proceeds to segue into some fan fiction she’s into called “A Lesson in Practicality” (some anime thing based on what I understand).

Her: What does practicality mean?

*pause*

You have to understand something about our kid… she does random voices and when she does random voices, you can’t be too sure if she’s playing or being serious.

*play*

Me: Wait, is a serious question? Are you setting me up for a joke or you really don’t know what practicality means?

Her: It’s a serious question.

*pause*

This was a big moment ladies and germs. My kid is asking me about being practical. This is an important lesson for anyone to learn, and she’s asking ME. Guys, if you really knew me in person, you’d be as terrified as I was in that moment.

*play*

Me: Well, being practical… hmm.. Okay, do you understand what it means to be a dreamer?

Her: Yeah, I think so.

Me: Well a dreamer is someone who likes to create things whether they seem like they can be done or not. Being practical is like the opposite of that. When you’re practical, you consider everything, what could go wrong, what is feasible, what is not feasible. The thing is, it’s important to be practical and it’s important to be a dreamer. When you’re a kid, you usually start out as a dreamer, and then you learn to be practical with experience. Being practical can keep you safe, but being TOO practical can make you boring or hold you back from being creative.

*pause*

At this point, I believe, even while driving, I literally HEARD her eyes glazing over.

Internal self: Okay, B, you’re losing her. Let’s try another route. You can do this!
(Yes, I have my own internal hype man.)

*play*

Me: Okay, so I'm a dreamer by nature. I'm a writer and a musician. I like to create things, right?

Her: Yes.

Me: As a dreamer, I could have quit my job, put all of our money behind my book with the dream that I would go on to be a best selling author, make a lot of money and be able to live my dream.

Her: Okay...?

Me: But practically that is not something I could do. I have a wife, I have a kid, we have a mortgage, two car payments, a kid who will be going to college at some point.

Her: In seven years...

*Pause*

WHO was counting down towards college at 11 in OUR days, people?!

*play*

Me: Exactly. We have responsibilities that can't really be met with only one income. So practically, putting my dream ahead of our family and responsibilities would not be smart. But I'm still a dreamer. So I still work, and write as well and maybe, just MAYBE, my dream will come true and I WILL become a best seller or something and be able to write for a living.

*pause*

All that above? That wasn't the parenting moment I spoke of. No... That above was simple wisdom. It was my mind's way of encouraging our child to dream while cautioning her not to lose sight of reality, the way I would assume, a real parent would. No, that wasn't the moment people... THIS....THIS was the moment...

*play*

After all that sage wisdom... I wasn't even fully done with my last sentence, and this little girl points out the window...

Her: ARE THOSE BIRDS?!!!!

Internal me: WERE YOU NOT LISTENING TO THE SHEER AWESOMENESS I JUST BESTOWED ON YOU? WERE YOU PAYING ATTENTION?! YOU ASKED ME A QUESTION! HOW ARE YOU GOING TO LOSE INTEREST IN AN ANSWER TO A QUESTION YOU ASKED? WHAT? HOW ARE YOU SO EASILY DISTRACTED? ARE THOSE BIRDS?! PAY ATTENTION! THIS WISDOM WON'T BE AROUND FOREVER!!

Me: (out loud) Hmm... Yeah, I think those are birds...

And with THAT, I would like to formerly apologize to both my mother and my father for a whole lot.

~Fin~

My first *real* parenting moment...

I planned on doing a 2018 reflection blog post, but time got away from me and 2019 didn’t start out on a great note. Now I’m over it and so I’ll only say, “Hi 2019!”

Today, I’m going to do what I usually do on Facebook and share a moment I had today. I was gonna do it on Facebook, but I figured it’d be far too long and also I felt it was time for a blog that wasn’t some rambling introspective diatribe and just something that may produce a giggle or two. Okay here we go…

I feel like I just had my first *real* parenting moment.

Understand, I never have had a biological child. I never will. (I’m pushing 40…that ship has sailed for me.) But being a woman who has dated women her whole life, once you hit a certain age, you start dating women who have kids. I have never minded it. I like kids and they generally like me… (when they get over the, “are you a boy or girl?” conundrum… long story, moving on…) I’ve been with women with kids as young as 2 and as old as 18, so I’ve kinda seen most stages of childhood as a pseudo parent. But I never considered myself a real parent.

Prior to marriage, I dated someone for 4 years with 3 kids who saw me as a “step-parent” type person. I helped raise them, and I loved them as if they were my own. When you come from the type of background I have, I’ve kinda learned what NOT to do as a secondary parental figure by experience. I’d like to think while I may not have been the best girlfriend in some ways, but I would dare say that I’ve always treated every child I was around as they were loved and cherished, the way many of my ex-step parents never treated me.

I’ve been married to Shauna for almost 5 years now, and I’ve been in my step-daughter’s life since she was 4 years old. At that age, it was fairly simple for her to grasp the fact that her mother was dating and then ultimately married a woman. She’s been a champ with all of the changes that have been thrown her way. I love that little girl and see so much of her mother in her, but still, I have a hard time seeing myself as a real parent. But today…. Feel like I had my first parenting moment.

Driving home from picking her up from the YMCA camp she goes to, she’s glancing out the window…

Her: I used to hate VIP servers...

*pause*

Yes, this is how the conversation started. No preamble, no context, just talk about servers. See, now I understand why our parents always marveled at how times change. WTF does this little girl know about servers?!

*play*

Me: Uh… what?

Her: I used to hate VIP servers, but now not so much.

Me: You…uh… You wanna give me a little context here? I feel like you just looped me into a thought that you were having in your mind at the end.

She proceeds to explain that she’s playing some RPG online game featuring Warrior Cats, a book series she’s been obsessed with. She explained said dynamics of the public vs. VIP servers to me.

*pause*

Seriously, I’m thinking about hiring her to speed up a sista’s wifi and build an in home server the way the girl was talking.

*play*

She proceeds to segue into some fan fiction she’s into called “A Lesson in Practicality” (some anime thing based on what I understand).

Her: What does practicality mean?

*pause*

You have to understand something about our kid… she does random voices and when she does random voices, you can’t be too sure if she’s playing or being serious.

*play*

Me: Wait, is a serious question? Are you setting me up for a joke or you really don’t know what practicality means?

Her: It’s a serious question.

*pause*

This was a big moment ladies and germs. My kid is asking me about being practical. This is an important lesson for anyone to learn, and she’s asking ME. Guys, if you really knew me in person, you’d be as terrified as I was in that moment.

*play*

Me: Well, being practical… hmm.. Okay, do you understand what it means to be a dreamer?

Her: Yeah, I think so.

Me: Well a dreamer is someone who likes to create things whether they seem like they can be done or not. Being practical is like the opposite of that. When you’re practical, you consider everything, what could go wrong, what is feasible, what is not feasible. The thing is, it’s important to be practical and it’s important to be a dreamer. When you’re a kid, you usually start out as a dreamer, and then you learn to be practical with experience. Being practical can keep you safe, but being TOO practical can make you boring or hold you back from being creative.

*pause*

At this point, I believe, even while driving, I literally HEARD her eyes glazing over.

Internal self: Okay, B, you’re losing her. Let’s try another route. You can do this!

(Yes, I have my own internal hype man.)

*play*

Me: Okay, so I'm a dreamer by nature. I'm a writer and a musician. I like to create things, right?

Her: Yes.

Me: As a dreamer, I could have quit my job, put all of our money behind my book with the dream that I would go on to be a best selling author, make a lot of money and be able to live my dream.

Her: Okay...?

Me: But practically that is not something I could do. I have a wife, I have a kid, we have a mortgage, two car payments, a kid who will be going to college at some point.

Her: In seven years...

*Pause*

WHO was counting down towards college at 11 in OUR days, people?!

*play*

Me: Exactly. We have responsibilities that can't really be met with only one income. So practically, putting my dream ahead of our family and responsibilities would not be smart. But I'm still a dreamer. So I still work, and write as well and maybe, just MAYBE, my dream will come true and I WILL become a best seller or something and be able to write for a living.

*pause*

All that above? That wasn't the parenting moment I spoke of. No... That above was simple wisdom. It was my mind's way of encouraging our child to dream while cautioning her not to lose sight of reality, the way I would assume, a real parent would. No, that wasn't the moment people... THIS....THIS was the moment...

*play*

After all that sage wisdom... I wasn't even fully done with my last sentence, and this little girl points out the window...

Her: ARE THOSE BIRDS?!!!!

Internal me: WERE YOU NOT LISTENING TO THE SHEER AWESOMENESS I JUST BESTOWED ON YOU? WERE YOU PAYING ATTENTION?! YOU ASKED ME A QUESTION! HOW ARE YOU GOING TO LOSE INTEREST IN AN ANSWER TO A QUESTION YOU ASKED? WHAT? HOW ARE YOU SO EASILY DISTRACTED? ARE THOSE BIRDS?! PAY ATTENTION! THIS WISDOM WON'T BE AROUND FOREVER!!

Me: (out loud) Hmm... Yeah, I think those are birds...

And with THAT, I would like to formerly apologize to both my mother and my father for a whole lot.

~Fin~

We All Need That One Thing...

Tis the season and all that jazz…

So, I have been slacking on both the blogging and writing lately, but I kind of felt my brain deserved a breather. Well, that’s not true. As we’ve learned in several previous installments, my brain RARELY takes a breather. In fact, the more I try to relax and NOT think, the more my brain decides: “All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close up!”

(Full disclosure, I’m FAR too young to know that reference, but yet… here we are.)

So today in “random topics that has occupied my mind and refuses to let go unless I tell you lovely people about it…” (I considered using that as the title of this entry, but that’s ridiculous, even by my standards.)

I love to cook. I LOVE food. I’m sure if you’ve seen me you can tell that. It’s not really an unhealthy obsession with food. So quick background on my weight… (As if you asked, but again... here we are…)

I played basketball in Jr. High and High School. I’ve always been a bigger gal, but not really FAT. (It took me looking back 20 years later to realize that. I’m fat now, I wasn’t then. I so wish the whole “body dysmorphia” was a thing in the 80s) Anyway… when I got into 7th grade of my predominately White school, I was automatically thrown into a class called “Athletics.” Athletics was the class that all the people who were on the basketball team were put in. It was a small school, no try-outs, they just threw us in there. (I did notice that they literally threw ALL the Black folks in there but that’s neither here nor there for this post.) I had never played organized sports before. Never really played basketball at recess in elementary school. I spent most of that time being pelted by basketballs in a psychotic game we invented called “wall-ball,” which was just dodge ball where people stood up against a wall and were bombarded by basketballs by the more athletic kids… ah…good times.

So, I get into this class, and I’m having to learn how to use a basketball in other ways besides being hit with it. I do not regret this, because it was in this class that I met my best friend of 25+ years, Daniece. However, I was not what you would call “athletic” by nature. My parents both did athletic things. My mom and dad ran track. I think my dad played basketball. My mom played softball and all that. But I’ve always been a creative type. Music, writing, poetry, video games…inside things. But I figured what the hell and I immersed myself into the sport. So, as a vertically challenged person with no real speed or skills to speak of, my coach (God rest his soul) pulled me aside in my 7th grade year and said, “B, you won’t be the tallest one out there and you won’t be the fastest one out there… but I will make sure you’re the strongest one out there."

Thus began my relationship with weight lifting. From 7th until 12 grade, I was in the weight room about 8 months out of the year. I was bench pressing my body weight. I could out lift the varsity guys. My coach actually asked me if I wanted to compete in weight lifting, (which I didn’t know was a thing back then) but I respectfully declined. What ended up happening is, I WAS the strongest one out there. I was a midget rebounding Queen. You couldn’t box me out, and you couldn’t knock me down… (Unless I was faking it with a charge which was ALWAYS hilarious.) I ended up being pretty good and was even offered a scholarship to play in college. But by the time I got to that point, all that up and down jumping really messed up my knee and the sports doctor told me that if I continued to play, I may jeopardize my ability to play the drums.

I was considerably better on the drums than on the court, so I stopped playing. However, when I stopped, I stopped EVERYTHING. No one really tells you what happens to all that muscle when you stop using it and working out. Well I’ll tell you… it’s not good.

So, while a lot of people see me and feel I’m overweight because of gluttony, that’s not the case. It’s because I had a lot of muscle that I stopped using. Even when I diet and exercise, the muscle just starts developing and I’ll trim down but the scale doesn’t move much. It’s kinda frustrating but I’ve made my peace with it.

(I know, that was quite the tangent when the topic is about food… I’m getting there, you know me, I always like to take the scenic route.)

So, after all of my time being an outcast/nerd, being somewhat popular, being the life of the party, and now being a moderately severe introvert that prefers to never leave her house (ala our lovely hacker Dom) I have had to find other things to be passionate about. I still love video games, I still love to write; and man, do I love too cook.

If you follow my Instagram page, you will find it full of photos of my creations in the kitchen. (Yes, in that aspect, I’ve become a millennial… let’s not dwell on it.) I love to create recipes or put my own spin on things I see on cooking shows. I remember I learned how to make risotto because I watched Hell’s Kitchen so much and couldn’t understand why it was so hard. Now my risotto is legendary among my friends and family.

In fact, a perfect date night for me and the wife is to come up with something we’ve never made before and spend the evening in the kitchen with music while she plays the role of my sous chef (as I have a complicated relationship with knives) and l come up with something new for us to try. We even sometimes have game nights where I’d cook for friends who would come over and drink and eat.

To be frank, I’m a Rockstar in the kitchen to my friends and family.

To those who are not close enough in location or maybe in heart (that sounds bad, but we all know there is a closeness hierarchy in friendships), they are able to see these photos and drool. This leads them to believe that I should be using these culinary skills for the masses. When MasterChef came to Dallas this past September, I had a SLEW of texts, FB messages and tags, encouraging me to try out for the show. Often people will ask me “when is the restaurant/food truck opening?” Most recently my answer was simply: “I will not corrupt my love of cooking with money.”

That statement was a lure to the insanity that is my brain to munch on for a long time, and now… again I say… Here we are.

Why do I feel like something I clearly enjoy doing would be corrupted if I try to make money with it? It seems like an odd statement, I agree. The saying is that if you’re doing something you love, you never work a day in your life. I agree with that to an extent. So why would I not want to pursue some sort of culinary side hustle since I’m obviously very good at it and enjoy it so much?

To put it simply, I need something for me.

Maybe it’s the empath in me, but I feel like as humans, we are often forced to give a part of ourselves in order to survive. For example, as an introvert, it is taxing for me to be around people and to interact constantly. While I’m introverted and often say that I don’t like people, (That’s actually pretty accurate), it doesn’t mean that I do not have a personality or that I’m awkward with people. Much like Dom, I know how to interact with people and most find me rather charming and easy to talk to. (That’s the whole empath thing) But it’s exhausting and taxes me. I come home and I do not want to talk for hours. But in order to make money, I have to interact with others. I have to occasionally spend the day in an office full of financial advisors, parading around smiling, answering questions, letting them see that I’m not some sort of robot who is asking questions or prying into their business practices; but rather I’m a human who understands the financial industry and I’m just trying to help them not be sued. In this case, I’m forced out of my comfort zone of solitude and introversion in order to make a living.

I used to share my musical talents, but because of “Christians” having a problem with gay people in the church, I no longer do that. I would like to say that I still enjoy producing music on my own, and I tried for a time, but it’s different when you used to be able to share it as a ministry and you can no longer do so any more. It’s painful. It’s like, music is an experience that both the musician and the audience experiences together. It’s something that’s hard to explain unless you’ve been on the musician side of the stage. When you lose that shared experience, it isn’t the same, especially when it’s ministry related and ESPECIALLY when the people who you used to minister with suddenly deem you unworthy.

(It’s a whole thing…way different blog post… moving on)

Writing was always something I did that was only for me. It was my outlet. However, now that I have published my first book, I have sort of obligated myself to readers who enjoy my work. I can’t just decide, “meh, I’m done, I’m just gonna let the rest of the journey play out in my head instead of publishing.” Besides the fact that it would be kinda cruel (particularly with that cliffhanger ending in book 1) I would also have a mob of people who actually know me personally and know where I lay my head who would storm my house with pitchforks and torches. (But not Tiki torches, I don’t know THOSE kinda people…ha!)

For someone who claims to not like people, I sure have A LOT of people in my life… again... probably that empath thing.

Now that writing is something I have to share with the world, it’s being in a sense, monetized. I want to tell you the stories that pop up in my head, but I also have a mortgage, a wife and a kid. I have to live, and I have to eat… and as I said... I LOVE food. I am required to give my intelligence, my wits, my charm (it’s there, I swear it is), and now my writing to the world.
Cooking is pretty much the only thing I have left that I can choose to share or not to share. When there are potlucks at work, I choose not to cook. I share my cooking with friends and family, or friends of friends. (and even then it’s not my big guns.) This past Thanksgiving, for the first time in about 10 years, I chose not to cook. Sure, my family wasn’t exactly thrilled that the famous risotto wasn’t on the table this year, but it’s not an obligation. I was tired and I needed a break.

When I’m tired and need a break from work, I often have to push through that, because it’s an obligation. When my mind may be tired from trying to figure out the next steps of the Shadow Resistance series, I may be able to take a small break, but I still have to push through it, because now it’s an obligation. I don’t want cooking to take on that role. It’s fun. It’s a passion, but it’s a passion that is for me to share when I want and if I don’t want, there is no obligation.

We all need something that’s for us. A hobby, a passion, something that we can do solely because of the sheer enjoyment. When I’m stressed out, I cook. When I’m sad, I cook. When I feel like everything is spinning out of control, I cook. Because cooking makes ME happy. I do it because I love it, and if you are someone who is considered to be a friend or family… Well, congrats, you get to enjoy it too.

Fin

My Ode to Femininity & Blackness

It’s not easy being female. I mean, I think every woman can attest to that. Not only are we automatically deemed the “weaker sex,” not only do we live in a patriarchy where men believe it is their RIGHT to decide what is best for women, not only are we living in an impenitent rape culture…. But, Eve had to mess around at talk to a flying serpent and screw us ALL over with cramps and monthly bloodletting! Only so that we can generate the eggs necessary to make even MORE ungrateful and privileged men who believe they can decide what’s best for women… And when you’re a lesbian who has never felt the desire to actually birth an ungrateful human, YOU AREN’T EVEN SPARED THIS BULLSHIT!!! (If you’re atheist that’s fine, but I mean, when you feel like you’re dying, you have to admit, it’s kinda nice to have SOMEONE to blame for this shit, amirite? No? Okay, then ignore the above about Eve should you desire…) Obviously, this weighs heavily on my mind due to the time of the month it is for me. But don’t worry, this is not a long ass period post… Cause… well, this isn’t a blog about women’s health or anything. No, this is to tell you what happened to me today that made me think of this post. This morning, having awaken to the curse, I was obviously a little cranky. Marge and the girls, (that’s what I call my reproductive system, just go with it) began work in the middle of the night (which never happens) and woke me up cramping at 3am. I decided that I should find the Midol before facing the world of other humans. Other humans are daunting when I’m NOT feeling like I’m being stabbed in the stomach multiple times like I owe someone some money. Therefore, I felt that this morning, a little assistance was needed to deal with the day. Alas, being in a home with 2 women who are now “in sync,” Midol can be scarce. (We also take this week to remind each other that we DO love each other, no matter how much the other is C-walking on their gahtdamn nerve.) So, we have a store in my building that sells little things like drinks, snacks, some meds, and PRAISE BE – Midol! I went down there very shortly after it opened to pick up a box. The lady behind the register was a Black lady I’d never seen before, so I assume she’s new. When I approached with my treasure and placed it on the counter, she looked at me and giggled. Me: It’s either this or cuss out EVERYBODY upstairs… When you the only sista on the team, sometimes you need a little assistance. Particularly on day one. Her: Girrrrlllll… I feel you… Ah… I love Black women. I mean, I love women in general. (Men are okay too I guess lol). But that moment made me feel so validated not only in my woman-ness but also in my Blackness. So of course, my mind turns that moment over and over again like a Rubik’s cube all day. Why? I have no idea. I LITERALLY just bought some doggone Midol; but naturally, my brain has to make it a “thing.” In the past, I’ve always been uncomfortable in my femininity and my Blackness. It’s only recently that I have learned to embrace and love both aspects. You have to understand, I’m a Black stud/butch lesbian in the South. My very existence has led me to a lot of discomfort. In regards to my femininity, I think it’s a mix of things. Yes, a large portion is due to the violations of my childhood. As stated before, to this day I cannot bear being referred to as “pretty” or “beautiful” as it makes me highly uncomfortable. I’m not saying those words are inherently feminine in nature. I mean, I’ve heard of some men being considered beautiful. Shemar Moore, that’s a beautiful man… I mean have you SEEN him?? (Hey, I’m gay, not blind…) It also doesn’t help that my violations were never really discussed or dealt with in a healthy manner. It was the 80s, my Black baby boomer parents did the best that they could with me, but they were Black baby boomers and we just didn’t discuss that kind of shit. (Black folks, we HAVE to do better on our mental health. Have you SEEN this world through our eyes? But that’s a different blog entry…) There was no heartfelt discussion about what happens when I hit puberty and Marge and the gang clocked in for work. I was disgusted by my body. I have always been overweight, a fact that was the subject of much of the bullying I received as a child. However, when my breast started developing, I hated it. Much of my violations surrounded two regions, and as one of those regions got bigger, I wanted nothing more than for them to disappear. Because there weren’t any gay people around me when I came out in my early 20s, (well, there were, but none were out), much of what I learned about the gay community was online chatting with other people. I learned of the “boxes.” Femme, stud, butch, gold star, blah blah blah… I’m actually still learning about the “boxes” because they keep finding MORE. FREAKING. BOXES. (I blame you millennials… there, I said it…) I was told that I would be considered a “soft-stud.” (As opposed to a hard stud, right?) Because I knew absolutely nothing about this shit, I just embraced what I was told. I changed from women’s underwear to boxers because “studs wear boxers.” I stopped wearing feminine clothing and started shopping in the men’s department. I adapted a type of “swag” that is conducive to being a “stud.” Back then, my understanding of being a “stud” was a rejection of one’s femininity, so that’s what I did. However, as I’ve gotten older and more comfortable with myself, I realized that there is no reason to reject my femininity. I fell into a sort of lesbian “toxic masculinity” thing that I shouldn’t need because… I’m not a man! I’m not transgender, I’m a lesbian. I’m a woman. I’m just a woman who likes women. I enjoy boxer briefs because they feel better, but I DO need women’s underwear, particularly during this time of the month. I still shop in the men’s section because I am honestly more comfortable in men’s clothing. And they fit better! For some reason, women clothing makers believe if you’re fat, you’re also tall. Or you need additional stretchy weird material. With men’s clothes, it’s just, “what’s your waist? How tall are you?” Okay you need 36W 29L. Boom, done.. (I’m not a 36W, but you get the point… One day…One day…) I love to cook, and I’m REALLY good at it. I’m clumsy, so I don’t fix things. I’m not very good with my hands… (ahem… we’re solely speaking outside the bedroom, I have a rep to uphold after all lol.) I HATE HATE HATE bugs and I’m super squeamish, therefore my wife is the bug killer. I cry during TV shows and movies. I love to watch football… I love to watch cooking shows… I can’t change your oil…but I make a mean mushroom risotto… I love to do things for my wife like open her door and lift things to feel like I’m being useful…And yes, in my old age (cause it didn’t happen back in the day), I cramp when I have my period, and need a Midol from time to time. And after almost 39 years, I’m a-okay with that… In regards to my Blackness… I believe it’s just being a product of my upbringing. I was raised in a predominately White area. If I think hard enough, I can probably count on two hands how many Black people were in my HS the year I graduated. (Two may also be generous…) Black folks can be hard on each other. If you are perceived as “not black enough” you can be mocked and ridiculed mercilessly, and I was… a lot. It doesn’t help that I have no accent. No seriously, born and raised in TX and you’d never know it to speak to me. My parents demanded that I speak properly. I didn’t know and couldn’t really use slang. When I was around a bunch of Black people I was always told, “You talk White!” (Guys.. stop that.. that’s not a thing, okay?) The people who embraced me and didn’t mock me as a kid and all during my early adulthood were White women. So that’s kinda who I stuck with. But THAT didn’t help much. When I started dating, it was mostly White women… because, to be honest I was CERTAIN that Black women didn’t like me, and I was intimidated given the ridicule of my youth. Black women assumed that I didn’t want to date within my own race and mocked me even MORE… (Again, may I submit a proposal that we take it easy on each other? Seriously guys…) What ended up happening was that I would hang around all White people, but I was always cognizant of that. I’m also ashamed to say that I really played a “Bojangles” type role as a method of coping with that. I hear you out there, “What do you mean, BJ?” Okay, I’ll give you an example, but first let me remind you of two things…. 1) I don’t always have the good sense God gave me when I’m nervous, and 2) You’re on MY side… When I was dating a girl in another state, during my first visit to her hometown, she scheduled a dinner with her friends. (I should also note that she was an "activist lesbian," which I have since learn is ALSO another lesbian archetype/box.) I was nervous because I was the 1st Black woman she had ever dated, and I was meeting ALL of her friends. After she picked me up from the airport, I insisted on going to the store to pick up something to contribute to the dinner. I couldn’t show up empty handed, I have home training! So, we went to the store for beer, (which I do not drink.) I was really trying to impress her best friend, and she informed me that her friend was a fan of dark beers. So, I picked up a 6 pack of Negra Modelo. (Don’t get ahead of me people…) When I arrived with her to the place for the dinner, my nerves were in overdrive. As I walked in and was introduced to everyone, I put on a big Kool-Aid smile and announced, “Look! The nigger brought the nigger beer!!” I know… That’s terrible and I still can’t believe I did that. And again… Let me remind you, you are on MY side… I treated my Blackness like an unfunny caricature. (Well, the White folks found me hilarious.) I was uncomfortable being the only Black person, and I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to constantly remind these White people that I wasn’t one of them. That all changed when I started my career in finance. It was so weird. I was working in a big city and no longer in the small, podunk town where I was raised. Turns out, if they don’t know you, White people are a little less inclined to talk to a somewhat masculine looking/acting, large Black lesbian who rarely smiles. (Who knew?) Suddenly, only the Black people would talk to me, and I just didn’t know HOW to interact with them because I was scared. I was scared of being ridiculed again. I was scared that they would feel like I wasn’t Black enough. This also may have led me to call my mother on my 1st day at my new job and demand, “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME I WAS BLACK?! (It did... it totally did…) The fear wasn’t 100% unfounded. My 1st Black girlfriend told me that I “misrepresented” myself, because my demeanor was all kinds of Black (and apparently a little “hood”) but that’s not who I was. I wasn’t a “hood nigga.” I was someone from small-town Texas, who was doing the best she could at playing up her Blackness because that’s what I was used to. Getting out of my small town led me to meet and befriend more Black folks. (NONE of whom were amused by my attempt at overt-Blackness. Like… at all.) Then President Obama was elected… which polarized the country more than I thought it ever would. I started seeing that these people always saw me as the Negro that I was, and all I did was mock my own existence for their entertainment. As things got more divided, social media had these people, who claimed to love me just a few years before, showing their ENTIRE WHITE ASSES. I guess you can say I woke up. There is no such thing as not being Black enough and there really isn’t such a thing as being “too Black.” The “levels of Blackness” construct is solely created by people who like to talk about others who are different. Looking back, it wasn’t ALL Black people who mocked me for the way that I spoke, it was mainly those who chose not to learn how to code switch, something that is sadly required to make it in a White world. Whether I’m educated or not, no matter how I speak, no matter how I act, I’m Black… and that is more than okay. In fact, it’s kinda freaking awesome… I LOVE the melanin that graces my skin, and all that it means. It means I’m strong. It means I survive. It means I’m fierce. It means that despite living in a country, hell in a world, that hates me for my color; they can’t stop me, because that melanin makes me magical. Magic because no matter how many road blocks we hit as a people, we find a way to keep on building, keep on succeeding, and keep on thriving. But those road blocks? They come with stress. Sometimes, especially when your body is going through the COMPLETELY fruitless endeavor of producing eggs to make a baby that will NEVER be made, you need Midol. And there is nothing more validating than buying it from someone who understands EXACTLY why you need it. No judgement. No mockery. Just, “Girlllll.. I feel you…” I know you do, sis… I know you do. ~Fin~

Hypervigilance, Insomnia, and Other Reasons I Hate My Brain

I REALLY hate my brain… So many people tell me how they would love to visit my brain. They wish they could travel into it and see how it works, the ideas the float around in it, just spend some time there or even live there. (THOSE poor idiots..) I would not find that advisable. To put it in perspective, let’s say that a normal brain is like a house. Depending on the resident, it could be fully organized and clean, or it could even be a little messy and unkempt. My brain would be like walking into a house on an episode of Hoarders. No, I’m being dead ass serious. There are a lot of reasons for the super mess that is my brain. Probably one of the main ones is hypervigilance. (Oooh.. big word) Hypervigilance is described as: an enhanced state of sensory sensitivity accompanied by an exaggerated intensity of behaviors whose purpose is to detect activity. (This time we thank Wikipedia.com!) Okay, so the thing with mental health is that sometimes things are kinda the same as something else and kinda different. The true definition of hypervigilance as Wikipedia (and Dictionary.com) is more of a physical thing. I think of it as someone who has been in a combat zone, and if they hear a balloon pop or something, suddenly they have some sort of flashback and think that they are under attack. Or someone who has been attacked, being completely weary of being out in public, afraid it will happen again. PTSD can often play out physically like that. But, PTSD is truly related to mental health. Sometimes, hypervigilance is not played out as black and white as a definition. I do have PTSD. (I learned this late in life, it would have explained so much when I was younger.) My PTSD is not from a war or anything, but from a combination of emotional, physical and sexual abuse. My war was fought in the places I was supposed to be the safest as a kid. That’s my cross to bear, it’s not a reason to go, “aww, how sad...” (Please don’t do that, I hate that.) I often say that I was raised in chaos. That’s pretty much the most one will get out of me, because to speak about my childhood in detail is to probably put other people on blast. Everyone makes mistakes, when you are a kid around adults (not just parents, but adults in general) who make mistakes, you often get caught in the crosshairs. It is what it is. That’s not the point here. Now, before I continue with hypervigilance, I must also bring up another emotional issue I have. I am an empath. An empath is primarily used I science fiction unfortunately, but it is a real thing. It is: a person with the paranormal ability to apprehend the mental or emotional state of another individual. (That time it was dictionary.com) Being an empath means that you don’t always have control over your own emotional state, especially when you’re around someone you care about. It means that I could literally win a multi-million-dollar lottery, but if I’m around someone I love who is going through a very sad or angry time, my mood would reflect what theyare feeling instead of the good news I just got. Sociopaths can often mimic an empath. Sociopaths generally cannot feel emotion and tend mimic and pretend to feel emotions for their own agenda. I cannot tell you how many times I have wishedI was a sociopath, but sadly both my wife and my therapist have made it quite clear that I do not fit the criteria of a sociopath. (Damnit) Okay, so if one is born an empath, and also is brought up in a chaotic environment; one tends to try to do everything possible to plan for or anticipate things happening based off of the feelings and desires of others. If you throw in a dash of PTSD, you get someone with a serious case of mental hypervigilance. (whew) It means that I try to plan for every outcome of anything thing going on, and I try to have a backup plan to that plan, and a backup to that back up plan. It means that my mind is consistently analyzing everything under the sun; be it personally, professionally, someone ELSE’S personally/professionally, emotionally, monetary, blah blah blah. It’s actually no wonder I’ve been suicidal for much of my life…. It’s fucking EXHAUSTING. What this means is that when I’m conscious, my brain is going like 100mph. Sometimes, it goes so fast that if you asked me what I was thinking, I could honestly look at you and say, “I have no fucking idea.” It’s not that I’m NOT thinking, it’s just that the thoughts are going so freaking fast, I can’t verbalize what all they are. Because of the constant thinking, I have insomnia. I cannot sleep unless my mind is dulled with alcohol, sleeping pills (or in my case, usually both) That’s all well and good when I go to bed, but the problem is, I’m now of the age where I cannot sleep a full night without having to get up to pee. While it should be that my body does this action on its own, without the help of my brain, because my brain feels like it’s invited to EVERY single party, once I get up, it’s all: “Hey B! So, remember that chapter you were working on? It would be dope if you…” or “Today you said something REALLY stupid in a meeting today. I didn’t think to tell you this afternoon, but now that I have you…” This then translates to me returning to bed, my bladder lighter, but my thoughts heavier. Once I get up to pee, any sleep obtained the remainder of the night is HARDLY restful. It’s more my brain chatting away, and I’m internally screaming, “SHUT UP! I GOTTA GET UP AT 5:30!” Needless to say, I’m ALWAYS exhausted. On top of ALL that, my mind really hates me. By my calculation, I have a good 15 voices in my head at any given time. I don’t know who the douchebag in the back is, but he is the one who is ALWAYS telling me that I’m an idiot for doing things or trying things. I mean, I could be on a high, and here he come: “You know you’re gonna fail right? Since when as ANYTHING worked out for you? You’re wasting your time, no one wants to hear what you have to say. You’re just screaming into the void.” See? Douchebag… All the reasons above is why I absolutely HATE my brain…. But alas… I’m stuck with it, so I will continue to try navigate the minefield and remember the words of my favorite animated persona… “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…” PS. I posted this while somewhat tipsy, without reading through it again... Don't judge me, this is a safe space...

My Top 5 Go-To Reads (long version)

For one to be a writer, it is probably advisable for one to actually be a reader as well. I have been a reader my whole life. The genres of preference tend to be on a wide spectrum. I love discovering new stories and adventures. I honestly did not think I was a “sci-fi” geek until I married Shauna. It turns out, yeah, I like sci-fi. I love thrillers, mysteries, and spy novels. I don’t generally read romance, but sometimes I can be persuaded to read one here and there. I like to read some biographies, but here lately, I’ve been losing myself more in fiction than in non-fiction. Fiction gives you a problem, and with luck, a solution to the problem. Looking around the world today, it’s so easy to spy problems EVERYWHERE you turn, but the solution tends to be harder. Perhaps it’s the idealist in me, but often I prefer to lose myself into something that ultimately will work out in the end. It may not be a happy ending, it could be a tragic ending; but the fact that there is a solution is good enough for me. Anyway, I’m not here to debate the pros and cons of fiction vs. non-fiction. That’s a long arduous debate, and I just don’t have it in me. What I am here to do is discuss my top 5 go-to books (encompassing both impressionable adolescence and my adult years. When I say top 5 go-to books, I mean books I’ve read multiple times, own both print and audio versions, and when I need a book and I don’t want to look to discover something new, I fall back on these old faithfuls. I will be taking liberty with “books” because.. well.. It’s my blog and I can do what I want damnit. Okay.. so without further delay… Here are my top 5 go-to books. 1. From the Corner of His Eyes - Dean Koontz This is my hands down #1 go-to book. First of all, you see that 2 of the 5 books here are Dean Koontz books. I will not deny that he is probably my favorite author of all time. I’ve read almost all of his books. (Almost…. I can’t get with ghosts… therefore I’ve missed much of the Odd Thomas series. Also, I haven’t tried out the Frankenstein series yet…) That being said, From the Corner of His Eye is my favorite book by this guy. Like, I’mma be real… In 50 years, long after Dean (and probably I) am dead, this will be considered a masterpiece up there with Tolstoy and Kafka. Bold words? Probably. But it’s a deep-seeded belief for me. Anyway, this is a book that touches me on a deep level - from the 1st reading to the 25th reading. I honestly believe that this is the 1st book that actually made me cry. I recall being in High School and having to “find” themes in old school works. Sometimes, I could easily identify what my English teacher was wanting me to find. Other times, the theme was either super obscure, or I just enjoyed the work too much to coherently find the theme. (Poe’s Cask of Amontillado comes to mind.) Perhaps it’s because I’m older and have lived a life where “themes” make sense due to life experiences. I am at the age where my view of life is clearer than it was when I was in my 20s. (Which is actually when I first read the book) From the Corner of His Eye not only has overt themes, it also gave me my first taste of quantum physics, which… I don’t get… but I enjoy the creativity surrounding the concepts! (I even use them a little in my own writing) This book touches me on so many levels, it makes me look at myself and my outlook, and it is so entertaining! The entire body of work, for me, reads like a sonnet. It’s poetic. Ah! I wish I could put into words how much I love this novel, but I have to keep moving on. 2. Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus Series - Rick Riordan Okay, so here is the 1st of my 2 cheats. This is not just 1 book. If you want to be technical, it’s 10 books in one entry. I justified using both series as one entry because they are connected. (Also, I said top 5… I didn’t say top 20) I am fully aware that these are YA books and I’m a grown ass woman. (The gray hairs I keep finding also keep me up-to-date on that fact…) This past May, I’ve been out of high school for 20 years. (Stick with me, I know this seems like a segue.) To be honest there is very few things I remember or WANT to remember from that time in my life. I was fat, awkward, introverted, not very popular, and gay in a VERY religious and homophobic environment. I choose to kinda blur that out of my active memories. This means much of my High School English/Literary exposure was between 20 - 24 years ago. It’s kinda that situation where I see my little brothers/sister reading things like To Kill A Mockingbird, and I’m like, “I know I read it, but I couldn’t tell you too much detail.” (Well, that’s not really true for To Kill a Mockingbird, I actually loved that book. Let’s say the Red Badge of Courage. I read it, I don’t remember it.) There are other short stories and novels I read that have stuck with me throughout adulthood. I’ve already mentioned one, The Cask of Amontillado. (Seriously, the fact that I LOVE that twisted ass story says a lot about me.) Great Expectations is another book that I remember well. But the subject matter that fascinated me to no end? Greek Mythology. I mean, I’ll be real… I don’t quite remember the Odyssey or the Iliad as much as I should. It was those works by Homer that introduced me into the world of Greek Mythology. But I recall being fascinated by the other stories and discussions surrounding the gods and goddesses, of the heroes and demigods; it was almost like a whole different world. We mainly discussed Greek Mythology, but we touched on Roman as well, which isn’t completely different. Riordan’s works teleport me back to a happy time of my childhood. It also teaches me even more stuff I didn’t know, or gives more detail to things that we may have only touched on in school, or that I have forgotten all together. Then add the genius of putting it all in present day with a bunch of kids, as a method of making ADHD & dyslexic kids feel special and not alienated? DUDE… I’m not ADHD or dyslexic, but I was alienated as a kid, so this is TOTALLY up my alley! 3. Life Expectancy - Dean Koontz This is another Koontz book that I like to revisit often. Unlike FTCOHE, this is a much lighter and shorter read. But again, Koontz is so good with themes. A big theme in this book is syndactyly. Not in the medical sense, (well yeah it’s there in the medical sense too) but in life. Syndactyly is a medical condition where some or all fingers or toes are partially or fully connected. (Think of a human with webbed feet or hands.) However, Koontz uses this medical term to talk about how often we can be connected. Now, I will admit, I am an idealist, but I’m also a realist. (I refuse to call it pessimist.) I think Koontz puts a little too much credence to destiny in some of his writing, but as an idealist who can be whimsical, I can enjoy the concept, even if I don’t believe it at its core. The idea of connectivity is one I can get behind. That fuels even my writing. We are all people, we are all humans. We are different, but there can be more that connects us than we know. Sometimes, we have to just listen. It’s also about a killer clown, and c’mon… Who doesn’t love a book about a killer clown? 4. Chronicles of Narnia series - C.S. Lewis This is my second cheat here. I read this continuously when I was younger. (Although I really think I should pick it up again and give it another read.) Perhaps it’s growing up in a Christian home and the symbolism these books represent. Maybe it’s the adventure of children being able to go to a distant land with talking animals and magic. (Now that I think of it, I have been a sci-fi fan since I was a child and didn’t realize it.) There is also a story here. I’ll try to make it quick. (She says and laughs because as we have learned, “word count” is her kryptonite) As mentioned in prior posts, I grew up Seventh-Day Adventist. This meant that I could literally do nothing after church on Saturdays but take a nap. That is often what happened at my house, but as a kid of 10-11, “I’m too old to take a nap!” (I totally regret that sentiment today, for the record. I’d kill for a nap some days.) Anyway, we lived in a small college town and often, some of the students would come over to our house to have lunch and…well…nap. One of these was Keith, who is basically like my brother. Keith was always a dynamic speaker and storyteller, and seemed to connect with kids better than most at his age. (Not creepy or anything, I swear). Anyway, Keith(who is now a pastor), sat me down and told me the Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe from memory. At the time, I had never heard of the books, and he never even told me that it was a book. He just sat down and told me about Lucy, Peter, Susan and Edmund. He told me of their adventures and of the majestic Aslan. Guys, I. WAS. CAPTIVATED. Flash forward a few years, I’m in the school library and I happen to pick up the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. As I read it, the familiarity hit me. I knew I’d never read the books, but I KNEW the story. I asked Keith, “Was this the story you told me when I was 10?” He grinned and affirmed that it was. So of COURSE I had to read the whole series! Several times! 5. Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas Our school library had 1 copy of this book. The book card had my name all over it. People would come looking for it, but I always had it. I LOVED this book. When I first read it, I had no idea that this was the guy who wrote the 3 Musketeers. I just loved the story of pain, sorrow, redemption and revenge. Perhaps because at the time, I was bullied a lot and the idea that I could one day be like Edmond Dantes, and find some sort of retribution for things people did or said to me. Not just children, but adults as well. Okay, so I was a sullen and vengeful child, but I promise I grew out of it! Anyway, it also tickled me that Dumas was half-Black. I haven’t read this one in a long time either, I feel like I need to revisit 4 & 5 very soon. So that’s it… my list! I could put a whole lot more, but I’m working on “limiting myself”…*rimshot* (One final joke before you go.) ~Fin~

My Journey in Patience - GIF version

I pride myself on being an extremely patient person. In an effort not to fall down some dark yet humorous rabbit hole, I won't go into grave detail. Suffice to say that I've seen some shit, I've survived some shit and I've managed to keep my sanity. However, I will say that with everything I've seen and been through, I have developed a massive amount of patience. Perhaps it's because I generally have very bad luck, and I don't expect much out of life. (Geez, it's much harder to be upbeat than I thought it would be. I'm starting to see why people call me Eeyore...) Nonetheless, the sentence stands as accurate. I don't like to think of myself as a pessimist. I'm definitely not an optimist. (You people are annoying, for the record.) I prefer to call myself a realist. Like everyone else, I have dreams and desires and whatnot. I just tend to be a little slower about chasing those things than the average optimist. Unlike a pessimist, who I would assume wouldn't bother to waste their time chasing dreams and desires, I actually do. I just REALLY have to be talked into it. Like.... REALLY. I attract optimists. I don't get it either. (No seriously, I'm really seeing this Eeyore comparison more and more right now.) Of course when you pride yourself on a good quality, the Big Man upstairs likes to remind you that you are a pitiful little human and you really know NOTHING about life or yourself... This brings me to the internal dialogue I recently had with myself about my perceived patience and being a writer. Like to hear it? Hear it go.... Me: I am so super patient. Like freakishly patient. I don't understand how I do it, but man. It's pretty phenomenal. God: Oh, really? You think you're patient, do you? Me: Well YEAH! I mean, You HAVE been watching these last 38 years, right? God: Endurance isn't patience, kid. Me: But c'mon, Lord. I don't get a *little* bit of credit for patience? I mean, look! I haven't killed anyone or anything! God: Yeah, that's the bare minimum, kid. Me: I still think I'm freakishly patient. Everyone says so! God: Oh yeah? Okay, Shauna has been telling you to write a book. You've wanted to write a book your whole life... Me: Well, I don't know about my WHOLE life... God: I was there... remember? Me: Fair point. God: So, to show this infinite patience you claim and write one. Here, I'll even give you a little inspiration. Dazzle me... Me: Okay fine! I got this!!! I. GOT. THIS (Nov 2016 - Jan 2017) Jan 2017 - My self-esteem: Me: My wife: God: Remember? You're patient.... Me: FIIIIIINNNNEEEEE October 2017 Me: LOOK!!! I FINISHED!! I FINISHED!!! My wife: THAT'S GREAT BABE! I'M SO PROUD OF YOU!!! Me: See, Lord? I did it! There were touch and go moments, but I did it! God: So, I know it was 15 years ago, but do you remember writing papers for school? Me: Yeah? God: Did you just write it ONE TIME and turn it in? Me: Uh...... God: Well? Me: *mumble* No.... God: So what's next? Me: *mumble* Editing... But it's so great! It shouldn't take long! God: Yeah.... Okay... December 2017 - March 2018 Editor: This is a great manuscript. It doesn't really read like a 1st novel! There are just a few things we can tweak and edit. Me: Okaaaayyy.... God: How you doing there, kid? Me: ....... I'm hanging in there... We're almost done! God: Yeah... sure you are... May - July 2018 Editor: That's great! It looks like we got something we can work with. Also, hey, I have a friend who is a publisher, and is interested in picking your book up for their first fiction entry. We just need to nail down time to meet! Until then, let's get a final read through completed to make sure it's good to go! Me: Suuuurree... Yeah, let's do that... God: Still hanging in there? Me: I'm starting to think I'm not as patient as I thought I was.... God: NOW you're getting it, kid... Me: So.... what do I do? How can I keep my patience with this whole thing? You know my mind! You know the longer I wait the more disastrous outcomes I envision! You know that my mind is my own worst enemy! YOU gave it to me! God: Hey! I gave everyone a mind, you made yours your own worst enemy on your own! Me: Okay.. yeah.. but still... how do I find patience?! I'm dying here!! God: No.. you aren't.. if you were, you would have given up a long time ago. You got this, cause WE got this... Besides... if it were over, you couldn't have dreamt up this entire conversation using GIFs... It's pretty cute by the way. Me: Thanks... God: It'll come... when it's time... WE got this... ~Fin~

Yep. I'm still Black in America...

I am currently writing this from a plane that just took off from Houston to Dallas. Why? Well, being the hard working Americans that we are, my wife and I decided we should have a very nice family vacation with the kid this summer, so we took her on a 7 day cruise out of Galveston. While I would love to regale you about the hilarity that was my wife and I spending every evening karaoking with a very nice, very WHITE family from Amarillo who all had names that began with “K,” (and before you ask, there was a KKK joke made, but it was NOT by me… because I’m apparently a bad influence of the better half.) I would love to go into my make out session with a male dolphin that has made me question my entire being in this world… Shauna: You kissed a boy! Me: *sputter* *stutter*… NUH-UH!!! WHILE I would love to really say what an AMAZING time we had on this family vacation, this is not what I’m writing to you about. No… The title is not misleading this time… I’m writing to you about being Black in America. So, as a writer, it seems strange that I have avoided any blog posts about the various and continued police shootings of unarmed Black Men, the current Administrations GROTESQUE dehumanization of Brown CHILDREN under the guise of “immigration reform,” the various BBQ Beckys, Permit Pattys and the like. That reason was two-fold. First, I do have an opinion, a strong one. But Shauna has cautioned me to be careful not to alienate perspective readers because I say something in my blog that may offend. As a student of business and having taken a marketing class or two, I cannot argue that very sound logic. She’s the therapist, but I tend to be the more emotional of the two of us, so she has to reign me in from time to time. Secondly, and regrettably, it’s from fatigue. It’s from being horrified every time I turn on the television and catch a news headline. Or when I open my Facebook, Instagram and Twitter apps. It’s fatigue because I feel like no matter how many times stupid shit happens, people are just numb to it. I’m not numb to it, brethren. I’m tired. I’m emotionally whipped. I feel like avoidance is the only thing that keeps me from crying myself to sleep every single night, and from remaining in a deep and dark depression every day. (Well, avoidance and happy pills.) So, I hear you out there folks. “What are you writing about it now? What happened that would cause you to come from what appears to be a nice fun vacation to talk about THIS subject, NOW?!” SO… What had happened was…. Wait.. lemme go with my caveats… then I’ll tell you what had happened. I’m aware that airlines have purposefully reduced space between seats as to get just a few more bodies in their flying death traps to make a profit. I get that. I get that not everyone is a vertically challenged as myself, particularly those of the male persuasion. I understand that as well. I GET that the flight from Houston to Dallas is all of 45 mins and will likely be over by the time I finish this damn blog post… TRUST ME, I get that. HOWMEVER… Unless one is mentally feeble OR under the age of say, 15 or 16, you are very well aware when you are kicking, manipulating, damn near pulling the back off the seat in front of you… can we agree to that? If you are over the height of like… 5’9”, you probably want to aim for an aisle seat because of the whole, no room thing. At least those in my life who are 5’9” and above usually do. But I dunno.. maybe *my* friends are weird… There is a code of polite society. If you CANT HELP playing kick ball with the seat in front of you or there’s a problem, you let the person in front of you know that you are fully aware you are likely giving them bruises and definitely C-walking on their GAHT DAMN NERVES… If you are not self-aware enough to understand polite society, surely the person in front of you leaning back to try to shake you off the chair would tip you off, no? I mean, I think those 4 points are fair, amirite? Okay… now… what had happened was… I get on my flight with my family. Because I am a fairly larger person, I tend to sit in the window when I’m traveling with my wife or with both wife and child. I feel super claustrophobic in the middle, no matter who I’m surrounded by, and when I sit in the aisle, I tend to get hit and manhandled by the flight attendants and folks going to and from the bathroom. (No fault of their own, I’m kinda of a big girl.) I’m a mere 5’5” tall, so I feel like I’m at good “window seat” height. So, we’re sitting here and some tall guy (I dunno if he’s tall, I didn’t see him get on. I assume he is, otherwise the following behavior is REALLY inexcusable) settles himself in behind me. At first we’re cool. I’m chilling, talking to the wife and kid, he’s in his own lane. Just before take off, he starts what I can only assume its shadow-boxing with my seat! Like, I’m getting kidney shots to my back, it feels like he’s trying to take off the back in its entirety. It’s kind of out of line. Even Shauna was like, “why does this happen to you EVERY FLIGHT?!” Indeed! It does happen every flight. Case in point, when we flew from Maui, I was on a late night flight. I assume most flights from Hawaii to the mainland start at night, so by the time you get home, it’s day time for you. I again, am in a window seat. And there is a dude is who doing a great rendition of a toddler having a conniption fit in my back THE WHOLE DAMN FLIGHT. At one point, he stretched his damn legs UNDER MY SEAT and started kicking my damn ankles. (I wish I was lying, but this can all be verified by my better half.) I kept leaning back in my seat to get him to stop, Shauna tried to get his attention, but he was “sleep.” (Oddly enough, he woke smooth up AS SOON as we touched down. Funny how he was a hard sleeper until that moment, eh?) As an aside, I must confess, I was bullied a lot as a child. This isn’t the whole, “I was bullied and I didn’t turn into a mass murderer…” spiel, (although, if you hear my therapist tell it, it’s TRULY amazing I’m not a homicidal psychopath, but that’s neither here nor there right now.) My point to that statement is that I spent a lot of my childhood, teenage years and even 20s in this perpetual state of biting my tongue. I strove to not stand out, I wanted to blend into the background and not be noticed. Oddly enough, the more I tried to do that and the older the I got, the less possible that became. I held my peace in front of racists either blatantly calling me a nigger, or treating me as if I did not exist solely because I didn’t look like they thought I should. I’ve held back when I heard the homophobic slurs and comments thrown my way or being said around me or people I care about. I’ve ignored and endured when men in my profession tried to exert their dominance when possessing only a fraction of my intelligence. I’ve bit back and I’ve taken a lot in my near 4 decades on this planet. As I got older and found the world not respecting my person, I changed my tact. I speak when I feel like it’s beneficial, but I do not believe in beating a dead horse or engaging with someone who is incapable of being rational. As I said, I’m a big girl and I very well could die of a heart attack at any given moment. I would be PISSED if I wasted too many breaths on people who cannot see reason or use empathy. But here lately, with the way things have radically shifted, I have tried to speak up more, even if I know it’s a waste of breath. I guess I’m getting to the point where I’ve lived and seen enough for some people’s lifetime, and I’ll be damned if I will just be randomly disrespected like I used to be. But I froze. I couldn’t do it during the flight guys. I wanted to so bad. I wanted to whip around and say, “Bruh, I know you feel yourself beating the back of this chair just like I do, and I am absolutely certain you feel my big ass trying to remind you that someone is sitting here!” But all I could do was look at Shauna with rage in my eyes. If I was a White woman or a White man, I could say something and there would be all sorts of apologies and whatnot. I could even get the flight attendants attention if the passenger continues and THEY would ask the guy to kindly knock it - what we call, the fuck, off… But then I thought about the videos. The POC being drug off of airplanes for less. Because the airline oversold their flight and decided that a paying customer must be booted off to accommodate someone else who maybe paid a little more for their ticket. (For the same damn flight, mind you.) I thought about BBQ Becky and Permit Patty and (I missed the name of the lady calling the cops on the kid cutting grass in Cleveland, I was on vacation….and half hoping that I’d come back to Southern Canada or Northern Mexico, instead of this dumpster fire…but I digress). I thought about the sistas in…shoot, the Bay somewhere, I forget, and I have no wifi for research right now… Who were just checking out of their Air BnB and got the cops called on them because they chose not to speak when a nosey ass neighbor said hi. (Bitch, you KNEW that was an Air BnB! As nosey as you are?! You knew it!) I thought about how White people have been using the police as a complaint desk for POC who “step out of line” or who don’t act they way they want. I then thought about how that has played out for others. For John Crawford, who was holding a TOY GUN in a Walmart… A WALMART TOY GUN, had some random White guy LIE on the 911 call, and it cost him his life. Little Tamir Rice, playing in a park, shot dead within 30 seconds, solely because someone couldn’t tell a child playing with a toy gun in a park from a hardened criminal. (If only you could *hear* the sarcasm in that statement.) I looked from my wife to our kid. A kid that I only got 6 short years ago, but who I love as if she were my own. I remembered her eyes lighting up just a few days ago when she was able to pet and kiss a dolphin. I remember taking a photo as a family with birds, a parrot wrapped around my pinky finger like a prize… something I would have NEVER DONE pre-marriage/family. (I’m just not an animal person guys… don’t hate me.) And I thought about all of those videos and interviews. I thought of the children being held at the border, terrified, unsure if they’ll see their parents again. I thought about how Philando Castille was gunned down in front of his girl and his daughter, for being a legal gun owner. I thought of Jordan Davis. I thought of the Black family who was surrounded in Philly when they merely asked for a refund from a movie theatre because of poor sound quality, and the child vomiting out of fear for his family. I wanted to stand up for myself. I wanted to cling to the dignity I feel I should be able to have as an adult, as someone who has the right to exist in her own airline seat, just as much as anyone else, without being “beat up” through the seat. But I couldn’t, because all I thought was, “what if they stop the plane? What if they call security because someone perceives my irritation as danger? What if this happens in front of my girls? What if… What if… What if…?” So as much as I would love to tell you numerous anecdotes from our trip, I left a wonderful vacation from international waters, reminded of what I was returning to. I’m still Black in America. I still have to worry about what I say or what I do because more and more, White fright is putting us in jeopardy. I still have to worry about being docile, and not being noticed, because if I cause a ruckus, it could put the life of my loved ones in jeopardy. I still have to worry about being pulled over by a cop. I still have to worry about walking down the street holding my wife’s hand. I still have to go back to work on Monday, and deal with consistent condescension I receive from men who believe they know more than I do simply because they have a penis, and that extra appendage gives them more brain cells? (Funny, I always heard only 1 head worked at a time…) I have to protect my kid from seeing that in real life. It’s bad enough to see it on TV and the news. I have to do all I can to stay around for Shauna, after it taking so long for us to be together. I still have to worry. I still can’t live free. I’m still Black in America. PS: I did NOT finish this on the flight…. P.P.S: If you stuck it out, here’s a picture of me holding a parrot as a reward…

I Scream... You Scream... We All Scream for Ice Cream!!

Something crossed my mind today that I decided to write about. (Strap in kiddies, this is a rough subject…) Confession: I was molested as a child. Several times. By multiple people…. (Okay, so my title was misleading, but ice cream DOES play a part, I promise!) I’m not ashamed to admit this because shame would somehow mean that I had some fault in the ordeal. No matter your thoughts on how women/men should conduct themselves as to “invite” some sort of temptation by some predator, I can assure you that no five to seven year old is capable of understanding that concept. (Also, you really need to adjust your thought process cause that’s a pretty fucked up outlook.) My circumstances could easily lead to a dialogue surrounding pedophilia, best ways to protect children, differences between the laws back in the 80s and now, social media’s role in exposing this kind of behavior, yadda yadda yadda. However, there is one main question I am asked frequently by people who learn this about me. “Do you think your sexual abuse lead to you being a lesbian?” *sigh* The concept of molestation/sexual abuse leading to sexual orientation has always baffled me. I’m unsure how one is related to the other. When one is sexually assaulted or abused, it’s about control and dominance. It’s about an individual who gets some sort of sexual gratification from someone who cannot protect themselves or who cannot tell them no/fight them off. Perhaps their jollies are obtained by innocence. I honestly have no idea. I’d not a pedophile and I’m certain there are numerous psychological papers researched and written about this subject by all sorts of people who have WAY more education than I do. Basically, sexual deviancy is more about obtaining sexual fulfillment through some abnormal manner that is something MUCH DIFFERENT than TWO consenting parties enjoying each other. Sexual orientation is much different. It’s simply about who you love. It’s as simple as picking an ice cream flavor. If I’m given the choice between chocolate ice cream and mint chocolate chip, I’m gonna have to go with chocolate. Mint chocolate chip is great for some people. (I hear it’s enjoyed by many.) But for me, it’s an abomination from at least the fourth circle of hell that could only be dreamt up by the devil himself. It’s repulsive and in my opinion shouldn’t be consumed by anyone with dignity. In fact when given the hypothetical situation of being stranded on a desert island with nothing to eat but mint chocolate chip ice cream, then I’m sorry guys, I’m just gonna have to starve to death. Harsh? Perhaps… But mint and chocolate REALLY don’t go together, I don’t care what you say. It’s kinda the same way I feel about men… Okay, that’s a joke. Some of my favorite people are men. I mean I have a great dad and step-dad, four awesome brothers, uncles, cousins, some nephews… you get the picture. But while I literally threw up in my mouth a little at the idea of allow mint chocolate chip ice cream pass across my lips, others LOVE it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been called crazy for thinking that the combination is repulsive. (Although, I question the sincerity of judging one’s mental health against their ice cream preferences. Cause if we’re doing that, I got NOTHING on you Neapolitan monsters…ALL THREE DON’T GO TOGETHER you psychopaths!!) I feel like I’m heading for a weird ice cream rabbit hole, so I’mma pull back and get to the point… Being sexually abused doesn’t affect one’s sexual orientation. (In my humble opinion.) If anything else, it may change how one approaches the idea of sex in general, but not who they are attracted to. So, please stop asking people that. (People meaning me.) No, for as long as I can remember, I’ve only ever been attracted to women. My first crush was when I was 5 and on a girl who was like seven years older than me and I was teased mercilessly by my classmates for it. If anything, we should have worried about my attraction to older people more than the fact that they were women… But that worked itself out…eventually. However, the thought crossed my mind today that perhaps the TYPE of lesbian I am may have been affected by my experience. I’ve always kind of been a tomboy my whole life. But after my experiences, I became more of one. I hated dresses. I hated ANYTHING that would make people call me “pretty.” It makes me cringe. To this day if someone calls me pretty or beautiful, a part of my soul dies a little. (Cute, sexy, not hideous are all acceptable compliments… if you were wondering) Even when it comes to me being overweight, I think a part of my psyche refuses to let me lose TOO MUCH weight because I don’t want to be noticed by men. In my mind, men don’t like big women who wear fashionable ties and have a penchant for expensive cologne. (Alas, in this social media world, I’m learning that it REALLY DOES take all kinds to make the world go round.) While my gender expression may have been affected by my experiences, that’s just MY experience. The idea that someone can change who they are attracted to or who they love is kind of insane to me. I’m not going to attack anyone who believes their proclivity has been somehow changed with prayer and reflection, because that’s not MY journey, it’s yours. What I will say is that growing up in the Bible Belt, I tried to pray my gay way for YEARS and it just wouldn’t go. So it was either suicide or acceptance. I chose acceptance. What makes me sad is that everyone else can’t just accept people as who they are. Mainly church people. I was raised in a strong Christian community and my closet was made of glass. (Meaning EVERYONE knew before I did.) But it seemed that once I accepted this aspect of myself, church people stopped accepting ME. A community of people who have known me my whole life, suddenly wanted nothing to do with me. People who know my love for music and ministry have turned their backs on me. Why? If every spiritual walk is an individual path between the person and God, then why does what I do when no one is around affect you in the least? It’s not like I put up a webcam in my bedroom and broadcast what I do online for the world to see. Suddenly, I’m not good enough to use my gift of music in church because people will look at me and what? Know that I have sex with my wife? WHY ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT THAT AT CHURCH ANYWAY?! I think much of the fracture in this country is the idea that people can somehow force others to live a life that is suitable to THEM. That’s not how life works. The great part of God’s creation is that He made us all different, but with the ability to choose. He made us ALL different, but with the ability to love. He gave us the ability to choose love. Then just to make sure we understood it, He sent Jesus Christ to SHOW US how to choose love. But still…. *sigh* For some reason, people tend to take the name of Jesus and turn it into a reason to pound people over the head with their own ideals and values. Ironically, in some circles, I’m horrible for being gay, but the people who step out on their wives, the men who molested me, and those who sexually assault others are a-okay, because hey, at least they are going after people with female parts. Let’s elect them for president! (Too far? Perhaps… True? Absolutely) Common sense and empathy has truly gone by the way side these days. I think I’ll go get some ice cream now…. Ben and Jerry’s Americone Dream if you’re wondering…. Because what’s life without a little whimsy? ~Fin~