Posted by: annabanana210 | March 18, 2014

28 Days of Me (continued)

Day 16:   Feeling kind of “Velvet Rope”-ish tonight.

Day 17:   Amy, Amy, Amy. Adele, Adele, Adele….

Day 18:   “Music is my heart and soul, more precious than gold.”

Day 19:   If I had to have a soundtrack, the intro track would be David Bowie “Fame”. 

Day 20:   Ready for the next phase of pain and suffering.

Day 21:   Never a fan of Duke, Kansas or Kentucky. EVER!

Day 22:   It was almost a good day. Almost doesn’t count for much.

Day 23:   Brunch is the best meal of the day. 

Day 24:   I don’t even know how to sleep in. 

Day 25:   If I’m complaining about how much you complain, then you need to stop. 

Day 26:   So honestly over the snow. 

Day 27:   I woke up and realized that it’s such a YSL morning. 

Day 28:   This morning alone was an out-of-body experience.  And not a good one

I did 28 days of me to test myself to see if I could write a discrete thought each day for a month.  I actually enjoyed the project.  Some thoughts think for themselves and some thoughts open me up to more thoughts.  I just hope that this exercise serves as a reminder to exercise my brain and fingers.  I will be in touch soon!!

Posted by: annabanana210 | February 16, 2014

28 Days of Me

Many people use the new calendar year as a new beginning.  Others use the new year as a tool for evaluation.  I use my birthday as a tool for both.  For many years, I have gone into deep introspection as the beginning of a new organic year. This year I decided to make a list (yes a list) of 28 things.  28 thoughts and facts about me.  We’ve reached the halfway point so I’ve decided to post the first half of my list.

Day 1:  I love my family.

Day 2:  I come from two wonderful parents.

Day 3:  I can’t live without music.

Day 4:  The older I get, the less happy I am about Day 10. Womp womp womp.

Day 5:  I am multifaceted, just like a diamond.  So deal with it!

Day 6:  There is a song that reminds me of each important person in my life.  Really special people get more than one song.

Day 7:  Sisters, sisters, there were never more devoted sisters…

Day 8:  Missing and loving Gregory Roberts, my boo.

Day 9:  I don’t usually care for remakes, I like originals.

Day 10: I was born some years ago, at St. Mary’s Health Center on the evening shift.

Day 11:  Day 1 all over again.

Day 12:  Can’t stand a faker.

Day 13:  Even though I was born in a blizzard, I detest snow and the winter.

Day 14:  Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds. 

Day 15:  “And the point of it all, is I love you.”

Posted by: annabanana210 | June 23, 2013

Girl of 100 Lists

Who doesn’t love a good list?

American Vagabond

il_570xN.369364163_qrgdWhen I started writing this blog (over 7 years ago!) I had no idea what I was getting into. I didn’t know that complete strangers would be interested in what I have to say, nor did I have any idea that I would one day develop a small but fierce following. I also had no idea how popular my “lists” would be. I thought I was alone in this, but it seems everybody likes to read a good list.

Lists are more than just a cool way of putting information together. Umberto Eco once said, “The list is the origin of culture”. I agree. I find making lists cathartic and useful in gauging the pulse of the average human. Lists are very much a part of today’s cultural currency, and a way for people like me to participate in the world around me. Lists are the great equalizer –…

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Posted by: annabanana210 | January 6, 2013

I don’t like Sunday nights

It’s Sunday night.  My least favorite time of the week.

I’m listening to Ben Folds Five sing “Selfless, Cold and Composed.”  It’s a beautiful song, real and tangible. The piano provides a foundation that’s lyrical and percussive and the melody has always drawn me in.  The chord structure inspires me and whether I want to sing along I always find myself doing so.

I don’t like Sunday nights.

That feeling of not wanting to go to work mixed with thinking of all of the things that need to be done….I can’t stand.  I’m working on being able to see Sunday for what it is; a day of opportunity just like the other six.

My favorite day of the week? Friday, hands down.  Maybe it’s a tie with Saturday morning.  I am in love with Saturday mornings. Especially when the sun is out and the whole weekend is open with possibilities. Brunch with friends, long walks with the boy, coffee and conversations or just catching up on what’s going down in my cybersphere.

Honestly, everyday is open with possibilities.  Any day that we wake up is a chance for a new opportunity, a new possibility.

My “new year” starts on February 10th, the day that the Lord descended my spirit onto the earth.  I find myself evaluating things as I get closer to that date.  In 35 days, I’ll be 35.  And for that, I love Sunday nights.

Good night.

Posted by: annabanana210 | December 15, 2012

Back for just a spell…

The Bitch is back.  Where have I been? Where have you been?  My computer is dying a slow painful death so I don’t write or blog like I should.  I think about it often and miss it but I hate sounding like a hypocrite promising I’ll write more when I’m not sure I can commit to it.

Someone I know asked me about me and my writing. I kept a journal from 1989 to 2005. Writing was for me and continues to be a form of catharsis.  I would purge all of the emotions of the day; love, hate, lust, anger, joy, sorrow and grief.  Journal entries were like literary snapshots.  At times I was able to go back and reread entries and be instantly transported to that time and those emotions. One fateful day, someone read my journal. They gathered their evidence and let the tension mount until they spilled what they’d read as well as how it made them feel.  What that did for me was make me horribly self-conscious of everything I wrote after that.

When that someone asked me about writing, he assumed that I was afraid of how other people judged what I wrote.  I wish it were that easy.  I had to get to a point where I could accept and trust what I wrote so people could even read it.  People aren’t always going to agree with what I have to say.  That’s a part of writing, a part of the process. Slowly but surely I’m making my way back.

Posted by: annabanana210 | January 23, 2012

Foggy Day Thoughts, Part 1

Today I have no title for these thoughts. I just have to purge them.

It’s cold and precipitating here in the District. Sounds like a perfect day to sleep late (check), catch up on Grey’s Anatomy (check) and meander about the quadrants in a lackadaisical fashion (BUZZ!). The last thing on the list, yeah…not so much.

I get on the train and I see great mobs of people with signs about abortion. The people who don’t have signs to end Abortion have signs to “De-fund Planned Parenthood”.

It dawned on me that it must be the March for Life day. My stomach hurt and my skin began to crawl all at the same time.

**This would be the time to stop reading. Especially if you can’t deal with opinions, namely mine.**

When I was in Nursing school, I had the pleasure of turning 23 and being kicked off my parents’ insurance while finishing up. For those of you that don’t know St. Louis Missouri well, you need to know that while we’re in the geographic middle of the country, we always rank in the top five for Syphilis and Gonorrhea. Something to be proud of. Straight up Missourah pride here, laced with Penrose sensibility. My friends from school and I started going to Planned Parenthood for routine female care. When I was 23, you could get free Gonorrhea and Chlamydia swabs and access to Plan B and from what I understand, oral contraceptives were also easy to come by and inexpensive.

The worst part of going to Planned Parenthood near school was that it was close to the New Cathedral (walking distance even); there were always Nuns, Priests and other Protesters heckling you as you went in, telling you not to kill your baby, that God loved you and so on.  The last time I went there and that happened, I told the Nun that she should come in and get checked out and stop messing around with those priests (that messed around with little boys anyway).

You might be surprised to know that I don’t think I could ever have an abortion. But that’s how I feel about me, my body, my love and my responsibility. The thing of it is, however, what I do with my body, my uterus, my ovaries, my ears, my nose and my throat have never been and should never be any of your concern or anyone else’s.

I have to admit that I think it’s disgusting to use abortion as a form of birth control. But it’s not my responsibility to pass judgment on those that use it such. It’s my responsibility to make sure that this remains an option and that we all continue to make our own choices.I won’t be sitting on God’s right or left side come Judgment Day. My biggest hope is that everyone that was out protesting today knows exactly why they’re protesting and what they’re protesting for.

Next year is the 40th anniversary of Roe vs. Wade.

I’ll make sure that if I’m not on vacation, I won’t ride the trains.

Posted by: annabanana210 | December 31, 2011

Face the music and dance

 

I could be more optimistic, but let’s face it–I’m me.

As the last little bit of 2011 circles the drain, I could be reticent and listen to everyone go on and on about how much better 2012 is going to be. But it isn’t. I’ll take the beating for my opinion. I’ve already been told that I’m “letting my hatefulness get the best of me”.

**Rolls eyes, musses hair**

Every morning that you wake up and draw breath, you have the opportunity to change any and everything about yourself. Whatever it is that you’re yearning and burning to change, you can. You can reflect on this any day of the year, not just in December or January. The most reflective and introspective time for me is my birthday. The anniversary of my arrival into this space in time. That 41st day of the year haunts me and is the focal point of my psychosis regarding goals and aspirations and lack thereof.

I’m not judging anyone for buying into the hype of kicking one year to the curb and welcoming the next with open arms. It’s just not how I roll.

By all means–Please don’t stop the music.

Posted by: annabanana210 | October 3, 2011

No one asked me…

As usual, people think they have me all figured out. A couple of weeks ago, I said I liked a t-shirt (can’t find the link on Target.com), and the two stank-ass people at the table looked at me perplexed saying that I couldn’t possibly like this shirt because it had a four-letter word on it : LOVE.

I had to sigh and roll my eyes at this.  I don’t have a problem with love.  It’s just something I’ve yet to figure out, especially how it fits in my stratosphere.

How can I begin to understand a concept that is both a noun and a verb? You fall into it and you fall out of it.  You need it, you want it, you’re denied it, you can’t live without it.  It’s a many-splendored thing, it makes the world go ’round, it changes everything…it’s definitely one of the top (if not the top) reasons that people write songs. It’s so complicated that I think that it’s easy to solve quadratic equations than figure it out; there are too many variables where love is concerned.  Too many conditions, too many clauses.

Love to me is just like anything else I have in my life; I have to wonder why others are so opinionated on how it fits into my life.  Sure love for me hasn’t worked out for me the way that I would have hoped, but I haven’t given up on it–at least not totally.

I guess they’re only assuming how I feel about love.  No one asked me how I feel about love. Don’t worry, like most things, my opinion of it changes constantly.  Though sometimes I feel I should, I haven’t given up on the possibility of love in my life.  I still appreciate that people can forge a relationship with another person and be partners, lovers and friends.  I just feel that I have to be cautious (as everyone should be), with who I decide to share myself with.

Once, I asked my mother if she was more afraid when she had me or my younger sister. Without blinking she easily answered that she was more afraid having my sister.  With me, I was the first and she had no idea of what to expect.  After my arrival, she had an idea of how it could go, what could go wrong and that frightened her.

I’ve already had the ultimate in failed relationships, I remember it well, and knowing that another relationship could fail intimidates me.  Cliche I know, but it’s true.

Not too long ago, I came across this wonderful quote on love:

“The best use of life is love. The best expression of love is time. The best time to love is now.” Rick Warren said this months ago on Twitter.  I’m totally baffled by that statement. I can’t complain about it, can’t question it, and I actually agree with it.  Although I may change ‘love’ and ‘time’, it still stands to reason that ‘the best time to love is now’. Even if it’s for a short time, it’s better than not loving at all.

Posted by: annabanana210 | July 13, 2011

“it’s been a long time..”

I haven’t really been anywhere or doing anything. I’ve just been minding my own and owning my mind.  Sucking up all that DC has to offer and then some. Albeit, these days all DC has to offer is heat!!!

I’ve been blessed this week to have two days off and I have enjoyed every second of it! It’s nice to wake up when my eyelids flutter open and know I don’t have to rush anywhere.  Yesterday, the forecast was 100 here in the DMV.  I took that opportunity to ride downtown and experience the heat firsthand.  It really wasn’t that bad until I got off the metro at Groggy Bottom and walked to Georgetown.

I actually had a good day.  I revisited my original hiding place (no I can’t tell you where; hence a “hiding place”), but I got so pissed at how they made my drink (and a venti at that), that I threw it away, it tasted terrible!! My mood began to mirror the weather…steamy and humid..So I ventured to Baked and Wired for a hibiscus mint tea.  Of course the ice didn’t stand a chance.  I took a short trip over to the C & O (Chesapeake and Ohio) Canal bridge over Wisconsin and captured some pictures.  Then with a heavy sigh I began the commute home on the train.

Of course on the train, I have very spiritual (satanic) experiences where I transcend my body and ponder life.  I wonder…”out of all of the empty seats in this car, why the hell do you have to sit by me?”  I also wonder, “if you’re married, how is it that your spouse lets you leave the house smelling like burnt garbage? And does he/she stink as well?” Sure these don’t sound like important questions but at the time, it’s the most I can squeeze out.  I have to bury my nose in my arms and smell my skin.

Yep, same old me. “It’s been a long time, I shouldn’t have left you…”

Posted by: annabanana210 | April 24, 2011

My Daddy

Last Monday was my Daddy’s birthday. I wouldn’t want there to be some favoritism in posting about my Mom’s birthday and not my Dad’s, because there is no favoritism there.  I don’t have a good picture on my computer of me and my Daddy, but that’s okay.  In so many ways I’m not sure that a photo does us justice.  I think music would do us better.  And if I had to pick a musical selection, I’d have to scratch my head and pick three or four because so many compositions come to mind.

First, let me tell you that my relationship with my father is unlike any other relationship I’ll ever have with any other man.  He is the only man on this earth that will love me unconditionally.  He is also the only man who has dedicated a large part of his life to making sure that I’m happy, healthy and well taken care of.  And people wonder why little girls adore their fathers..

As a 33 year-old woman, it’s no stretch of the imagination that I learned the most of how a man should love and treat a woman by watching my father.  It must have been disappointing for him to watch me fail as a woman  and a wife after he set the template for me.  Today, I still look to his example of what to look for in an “other”–be it significant or not.  True to form of Daddy and a man, they just don’t make ’em like they used to.  It’s rare to see a man who is actually married to his best friend, but I’ve witnessed my parents talk for hours and then go out together.  When I graduated from high school, one of the best memories I have of that sunset and that evening is one of my parents walking across Moss Field hand in hand, “one down, one to go.”  Later that night I would shoot baskets with him at the Senior party. When he got inducted into Illinois Coaches Hall of Fame, he reverently thanked my mother for letting him pursue his dream.

There are a lot of aspects about me that come from my mother but I feel as though the “essence” of me comes from my Dad because he made me “me”. He made me the light-brown eyed, procrastinating, sharp-tongued, right-handed, basketball-watching, ice cream-eating, bratabulous woman that I am today.  If I ever wanted or needed a hug or a kiss, I was definitely more inclined to get one from Daddy.  I’m sure that he spent more time than Momma did wondering about my whereabouts.  He never let me borrow his car with a full tank of gas and he’s always been up for a fight (fair or not), which I appreciate.  He is the master strategist, the consummate consigliere.  If you’ve ever looked at me and wondered just what I was thinking at that moment in time, that quiet storm quality of my nature definitely comes from my Dad.

If my mother is my right-brain, my father is my analytical left brain, dissecting information and people into smaller parts.  Every night at our house, we would have ice cream for dessert. Daddy loves Strawberry; Stacey does not.  So, if he had Momma buy Neapolitan, he would yell at me for only scooping out the Chocolate and the Vanilla.  Sorry Daddy….NOT!  He was also annoyed whenever I would add toppings (read: crush Oreo cookies in the ice cream with a metal spoon!! LOL), wondering how I ruin such good ice cream. Ha-ha Daddy!! I loved taking him to Thomas Sweet’s in Georgetown where they make their own flavors of ice cream. That was one way to quiet him 😉 He came out to DC/VA once to help me drive back to St. Louis and it was a great trip.  My father is a wonderfully intellectual, sarcastic, shrewd, rude dude.  But he’s also caring, compassionate and a sucker for a good cookie.  Oh how I adore him. There were many nights that I stayed up watching Basketball with him–me with my pom-pons and him yelling at me to get from in front of the television.

I grew up listening to Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, Earth Wind and Fire and Michael Jackson and countless others.  My sister and I learned early on that music soothed savage beasts (such as ourselves), and I don’t recall many times when there wasn’t music in the background.  My dad also encouraged my love of Jazz.  He also made sure that I knew how to catch (cause face it–girls that can’t catch are WHACK!) and just contributed to my overtly badass-ness that makes me “me”.  Many things in life are replaceable, but my Daddy definitely is not.  I love you, Daddy.

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