mos def being nice enough to stay still for a picture

saw mos def, alicia keys, and my other peeps

ok. they're not my peeps, but I did see them at an occasion I find myself most lucky to have been able to attend. The DEF Poetry Jam 2005. got tickets for the HBO taping of this show as a birthday treat for my friend Tricky but he knows as well as I do that these tix were just as much a treat for me as they were for him.
so, we took thursday off and made our way downtown to stand in line for an hour and a half in the freezing cold. wasn't too bad though; got to talk to one of the bouncers who had the most interesting life story... came here as a kid from Cuba, enjoyed a still strict school system, was a cop for 11 years, quit when his partner and he were shot in the head during an undercover operation, became a high-school teacher, now teaches junior high and works as a bouncer, has 3 kids; ... he told us a lot of stories from his time as a cop and as a teacher. the one I remember most is the one of this guy he used to look up to when he was in school himself. he used to enviously watch him through the window, hanging out in his fancy clothes talking to the girls while he himself was stuck in class. oh, how much he wanted to be him.
10 years later. one of his first arrests. the skinny man with the sunken eyes he puts handcuffs on for drugs-dealing looks very familiar. he looks up his file. it is no other than the fancy, class-cutting guy he remembered from his school-days.

although my toes were frozen little stubs I was happy with anticipation. bouncer-man had told us about the even colder wait the night before and how Alicia Keys herself had come out to sing to the crowd. so I waited in great anticipation, hoping she'd have mercy on this crowd, too and come out to sing. ... but I guess, it wasn't cold enough...

once they finally let us in, the room was almost full (it was the Supper Club on 47th Street). ushers hecticly seated people according to some system I didn't get.
"anywhere but the stage", I told Tricky.
"you two!" one of the head-ushers called "on the stage!"
shit, now I'm going to be all self-conscious [about the fat-belly-exposing-boob-misaligning-shirt I had unhappily chosen due to laundry day], I thought.
so, I kept my coat on for most of the show. ... now I realize, this must have looked strange and probably must have drawn more attention than if I had taken it off. Oh, well, ... so I'm going to look stupid on HBO...whaaatever.

either way, I had a fantastic time! Almost all of the poets were excellent. the creme de la creme, so to say. Mos Def was/is a cutiiiie-pie, although he probably wouldn't want to be called that. I guess, no man really wants to be called that.
this is why I resisted my very strong urge to shout out how cute he was, or tell him about the CUTENESS of his dimples, when I strategically moved him around the stage to get enough light for my picture of him (after the show).
what I like about his is that he is just so totally himself... so relaxed, ...and come to think about it...exactly the things I sometimes want to slap Dario for. ...like when he wears his cap crooked (in a really ghetto/highschool kinda way). ;) I guess, it's all ok, as long as the person isn't affiliated with me... otherwise I just don't get myself.
Another example is 50cent. Love him. Like his music and his whole style but would never go out with someone like that, of course. Dario isn't even allowed to wear a bandana around me. ;)

so, .. that's my recount of my wonderful DEF poetry jam experience.
Alicia Keys was there, too, by the way. She did a piece of her new book, which I didn't know she wrote. no singing, though, and that's what I really love. Her voice is magic.

ok. I should be working.
oh, but first I'm going to attach a picture ... the one I took of Mos Def. :)

no more sex on Valentine's

the headline might be misleading. it is not the caption for a sex-story with a bad ending but the mere statement of what we have come to (and I don't mean this in a sexual sense;)

I remember, before we had two kids, I used to make Valentine's Day special. Despite Dario never being able to keep up with romantic display (at our first Valentine together he gave me a TV and VCR - granted I had just moved into a new place...I would have been very happy with flowers and a CARD.... just couldn't get all sweet about a TV).
Back then I would march to the lingerie store every Valentine's Day and get something special...not just some new underwear, but some sort of stupid clichee porn-scene inspired outfit. All outfits were equally uncomfortable (e.g. who wants to have a chain thong up ther a**) but D certainly had a happy grin on his face when I performed clumsy striptease to Missy Elliot or Lil' Kim. Sometimes I would bake a heart-shaped cake (shut up, I know it's corny). I'd always get flowers, and I'd make sure we had a candle light dinner....no matter who much D complained about the flickering light bothering his eyes and that he would prefer to clearly see what he is eating.
Only thing remaining from these special Valentine's Days is the candle-light dinner. And the meal wasn't really self-prepared either but came out of a bag (I recommend : Skillet Sensations!).
By the end of the meal it was almost 11pm and after cleaning up and preparing Maia's school stuff for the next day, we more or less fell into bed too tired to even make out. We somewhat managed to move closer and somewhat hug each other while we fell asleep, which by the way only took minutes.

We gotta get more sleep. But last weekend was a killer. On Sunday Dario worked 19 hours straight while I was taking care of the girls all day and through a rough night. D came home at 5.30 in the morning and naturally couldn't get up with Maia as he usually does. So at 7 am I had to get up with Maia, after a whole night of no more than two consecutive hours of sleep.

oh well, hopefully the old days will come back in some form.
At least, it's not only me anymore who is too tired to get it on (i.e. always the one asking for an extra day).

that quote I found

so, turns out that quote I found the other day was first introduced as a serenity prayer for AA. oh well, either way, it couldn't have applied more to my situation.

just saying.

the power of 3-year olds

3 year-olds have an amazing power over the nerves of their parents, and if this isn't the case then I really suck at this motherhood thing. I'm probably not the worst mother of all but I am definitely no Brady-Bunch mom either. I am so afraid to alienate my daughter one day. Now she is still little and doesn't hold a grudge, wants to make up, etc. ... every quarrel is a short-lived emotion. It's a rollercoaster ride all day long and that is what eventually will get to your nerves.
Maia can go from perfectly happy, to screaming tantrum, to angry spasms, and back to perfectly happy in a timeframe of just a few minutes. It is amazing. The key variable in each hurdle of the day is my reaction to her behavior. Needless to say, if I manage to stay calm, collected, cool and above all things any tantrum can be handled and taken care of (i.e. Maia back to cooperative behavior) within 10-15 min. max. If I, however, as I do so often when cranky, sleep-deprived, hungry (and I am talking about Maia AND me), lose my cool or refuse to sweet-talk her then we're doomed. Things just go spiraling down when I can't get my stubborn mouth open and remain the adult in the situation. Unless you have a 3 year old you will probably not understand.
It is unbelievable what power they can get over you and your behavior.
This is why it is best to always read a lot and talk to other (better) parents. Reading helps me remember why they do what they do and how perfectly normal it is and keeping in touch with other (seemingly more collected) parents keeps me connected to people that I can call to take my toddler for a few minutes before I jump out the window.

Dario at work all f-ing weekend long isn't helping. Rosa calls me a weekend-widow. I am just resentful.
When by noon, Maia was in the middle of her first major tantrum of the day, while I was trying to feed a tired baby I began to wondered how I could possibly get out of this situation only to realize that there was no way out. Leaving Dario wouldn't change a thing, for I would (despite all parenting stress) not be able to live without my girls, thus former situation would remain the same all week long.
However, there would me no resentment towards Dario (being absent) and I would probably handle things better. Divorced moms often confirm that things got easier after leaving, even though they had the kids by themselves. It's something about a mindset. You're on your own that's it. No expectations of anyone else. You just deal with the situation.
And since I am in a similar situation - one that I cannot change - I better learn how to deal with it. A little later, I stumbled upon a piece of embroidered cloth Dario had been holding on to for years. Someone gave it to him when he was still a teenager, after his father had passed away. I never actually read what the sewn on quote said but I knew it was something religious, since I could make out the word "God". Non-religious as I am I was never interested enough to open the cloth to see what it said. Today, however, I unfolded the cloth and read it in hope for a sign or some inspiration or something. I'm really not sure why I opened it, the latter is just my explanation of how my subconscious might have been at work.
This is what it said:
"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change those things I can and wisdom to know the difference."

I couldn't believe the appropriateness of the quote at this very moment, this day. I left the cloth unfolded and put it on the counter. I didn't feel much better about my situation but I felt grounded and not alone.
A little while later, and I am not kidding (!), I turned on NPR and the moderator is reading this exact same quote. Apparently it was a quote by Reinhold Nipur (spelling?), some Christian realist of the mid-20th century, who inspired a whole bunch of people (religious, agnostic, political, etc.).

My life saver today was Rosa. She took Maia upstairs to play with Lucas for the rest of the afternoon. I felt like a failure but I was glad Maia got the treatment she deserved. Loving, patient treatment. She is only 3 years old!

Later on I took her to the playground and my night-time readings were pure reflections of my guilt "Mama, Do you Love Me?", "Always, CopyCub", and "How do you Feel?". Why couldn't I just talk about the day? Well, not tonight... but I communicated via her bedtime stories and I think she got it.
God give me strength and PLEASE...more patience.
Thanks.

i suck in the supporting wife role

I have supported D in a lot of decisions and rough patches in our lives together. I have made sacrifices and I've done stuff I wouldn't do just because I love him.
But we are at a new stage.
I don't want to be the sucker anymore.
I've spent years now being alone with the kid(s) after full days of work because he was taking extra-long to finish school. I have been looking forward to the beginning of this year with great anticipation, for Dario had finally finished with his last class and was about to graduate (i.e. no more long, lonely and work-intense evenings but parenting team-work as it was initially planned.)
When Dario threatened to leave me if I don't give him children I told him very clearly how I felt.
I did want to have children but I was in no rush. Early 30s or so would have been fine for me. I'm a realist and I observe well. I knew that having kids meant the end of my own life as I liked it (filled with interesting activities). I told him we were too young but he insisted.
So, I gave in.
And not that I am unhappy to have kids. I love my girls to death but it is hard work (at least now that they're still so small) and D is just not living up to his part of the deal as much as I would like it.
I've slipped into the traditional wife-role without noticing. I cook (well, sometimes), I clean, take care of the kids, I manage the household, and I bitch. It seemed inevitable...

Anyway, .. now he just started his own business and as one can imagine this means many many hours of overtime (i.e. once again many long evenings and, in addition, weekends of me playing single parent). If I wouldn't work full-time this might be a bit easier to handle but not this way.
I resent him for his absence. So, when he then comes home late, having missed me, being nice, etc. I have a very hard time to return the feelings.
In my opinion, this isn't the right time for him to start a business. He has two little children and a full-time job. He seems to underestimate the amount of work this will require of him. There will be no more family-time for him.

When I asked my (single, mind you!) friends, they all thought I should be supportive and stop bitching. I was in shock. How could they give me such advice? I mean, it's what I need to hear to make it through this without leaving D, but as strong, emancipated women of the 21st century, how could they tell me to quit my job (i.e. give up my thing), stay home with the kids, and support D in his ambitions. In other words, I shouldn't be complaining.
I guess, I have too much testosterone in my system, for I am having a very hard time coping with this attitude and with this situation all together.
I don't see why I should give up my ambitions so he could realize his.
His are only about money and I give a shit about money. He wants to live better, make more money...
I DO NOT care! Of course, I want financial stability, and live normally (i.e. not in poverty, which considering the state of this world is probably what IS normal) but I don't care about money and I don't care about luxury. As an addition to my life ...ok ... but not in sacrifice of something else (in this case his presence at home).

I've always said it isn't important how much money you have. It doesn't give you happiness. I would never choose a man because he has a fancy car or has a fat salary. In fact, it's a bit deterring to me, for I associate this with cockiness but that's just a prejudice, I suppose, for I know a couple of men who have good paychecks and are still humble and sweet and not arrogant at all.

Ok. I really needed to vent.
How am I going to do this? ... What's the point of a family if one part is always missing in action.

why you cannot curse at your woman

D and I are having this on-going argument on whether it is ok for a man to curse at his woman the same way as she curses at him.
To be more specific: Is it ok to call your wife a bitch/hoe/cunt whenever you're mad because she calls you an asshole or stupid mofo when she is mad.
D's opinion to this is that there should be equality and man and woman should be able to curse at each other equally but really he doesn't like name-calling at all (,thank God).
My opinion is that there is more to it.
It's just not as bad (loaded) to call a man an asshole when mad but to call a woman a bitch or a hoe or, worst of all, a cunt is unacceptable for it is way too harsh in comparison.
These words are too hurtful to a woman. They compromise the respect which should be omnipresent in a relationship.
It is like calling your man a loser. Although, it is a completely different word, it's charge is similar.
I would never call D a loser.... no matter how mad I'd be... and believe me, there were times in our lives in which I wanted to shout this at him all day long. However, I would never purposely pick something to hurt the person I care for...
That is a lie. I did once. After he did his whole virtual cheating thing, I called him fat or something like it (I am such a bitch ... notice how it's ok to call myself or my girlfriend a bitch).

anyway, a note to the fellas ... don't call your woman a bitch (or maybe American women are desensitized to the word...I don't know). Just think of a white dude calling a black dude the n word. Doesn't matter how it is meant (even in today's desensitized way where it seems to often just mean "guy", "dude", or "friend")... it is just NEVER ok. It won't ever go down the right way for the black guy. Or am I wrong? ... Granted I am not a black man ... but that's just what I think.

what is a soulmate?

I've been wondering lately...
what exactly is a soulmate and why are people always in search of theirs? Is a soulmate the exact replica of your character (or some sort of close version?) or is a soulmate someone you just connect with on a different (deeper) level than with others, all regardless of similarity in character? And if this is the case, then why do people think their soulmate might be the best match for them in life? For if the latter statement is true, and a soulmate is merely someone you connect with deeply then that doesn't mean they would function well in some sort of permanent living arrangement, does it? Or is this an inherent (assumed) part of "connecting deeply"?
Also, ... is a soulmate someone you would always be physically attracted to? Can one go without the other? Or is it inevitable? Or.... hmmm.... I really ought to ask someone who can answer this.
But I really don't know who I would ask. . . .

blogging sucks sometimes....maybe I should enable commenting, after all.... so I can get feedback. ... but if nobody would say anything then I'd feel stupid and lonely ... and stupid (again) ... and then I'd probably stop blogging and make myself get back to life where I actually communicate with other people rather than share my thoughts with a flickering computer screen (and ..btw... the "flickering" is really happening here... gotta do something about that.)

well, there is my e-mail somewhere here... if you read this and you think you have really thought about this question of mine then hit me. I'm just curious what people think...what wisdom one might have accumulated....and this isn't something I can look up in an encyclopedia or something.

What animals would we be in seaworld

So, Maia sits in the tub and says:
"Mom, I'm a mermaid."
"You are?" I say.
"Yes," she answers and pointing at her 9 month-old sister splashing all over the place, "and baby is an octupus. .... and Daddy ... Daddy is a whale."
"ah nice. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to hear that," I comment, "and what am I?"
"you, mommy.... you are...a shark."

I'm not sure if I would have rather been a whale in my daughter's projection of our characters into the marine world but a shark? Come on, I'm not that bad.
I'd see myself more like a dolphin. In fact, if there is such a thing as reincarnation then I would like to be reborn as a dolphin (preferrably the type, who doesn't hang around with tuna too much).