Biggie. Tupac. Lauryn Hill. Lil Kim. Hip Hop. Late 90s. Let Me Hear a Rhyme was published in 2019 for today’s youngsters, but it was a trip down memory lane for this child of the 80s and 90s.
Online dating. The assumption that anyone who goes through the trouble of signing up, creating a profile, uploading pictures, and in some cases, paying a fee, said person is interested in making connections. With another person. As in, a fellow human being. And since none of us are telepathic, we need to communicate.
My soft spot is when asked for food vs money. I need to earn brownie points for heaven (if it exists), so I agreed to buy overpriced shish kebabs at the cart where he was already standing. I encouraged him to order water and ordered one for myself.
Growing up, I barely read books with black female teen protagonists (shout out to The Coldest Winter Ever and Flyy Girl), let alone novels with Haitian female leads. I didn’t read my first Haitian author and Haitian characters—Haitian female characters—until Edwidge Danticat’s Breath Eyes Memory. Thank you, Oprah, for making it a book club selection in 1998. I’ve been a fan of Danticat’s ever since. I knew of Roxane Gay, but I didn’t know she was Haitian until I read her memoir Hunger. If Gay mentioned it in Bad Feminist (which I did not finish because I’m, well, a bad feminist) I missed it. Last year, I read Ben Phillippe’s The Field Guide to the North American Teenager, which is about a Black French Canadian teen boy (with Haitian parents), who moves to Texas and teen angst ensues. Now to my short list of read Haitian writing I can add Dear Haiti, Love Alaine by sisters Maika and Maritza Moulite.
At no point while I was cooking, packing the food, searching for an outfit, taking a shower, exfoliating, shaving my legs, drying off, moisturizing, sponging my hair, getting dressed, packing an overnight bag, or calling a Lyft did I think it was a bad idea to head over there.
I just wanted some comfort food. I had just emerged from a more-than-usual emotionally draining therapy session. I was spent, exhausted and hungry as if I had just completed a Shaun T T25 workout. I longed for a hot shower, comfy sweats and socks and my favorite fuzzy blanket to wrap around myself as I got lost in TV, or even better, a nap. The latter was not likely to happen. It’s rare that I nap on purpose. As much […]
I glance at both chairs and both working stations, but ignore both. Neither is as appealing as remaining seated on my couch dressed in Calvin Klein boy short panties, bootleg black long-sleeve souvenir t-shirt that I bought at a tailgating party for $5, and my green silk headwrap. Bright green tie-dyed socks are on my feet. It’s a bit chilly in my apartment, though not chilly enough to put on pants.
Today, I took a short walk around my neighborhood. It was a short jaunt, no more than three streets over before I banged a right, walked down that block, paralleled my steps to return to my home block. I walked a steady clip and was out for barely half an hour, but it felt good. It was the longest I had been outside in weeks since this pandemic, shelter-in-place, self-quarantine, social distancing madness began. The last time I had been […]
I love staying home WHEN I WANT TO. Being told to makes me want to get dressed and head out. Get in a good workout at the gym. Catch a movie. Stroll through the aisles of Target. Go for a walk in Central Park just ‘cause, which I’ve never done. Ever. With the exception of grocery shopping on Friday, I’ve been home all week, so I consider Saturday as my first official social distancing day.