The Twentieth Day…

…the most memorable day of your childhood

Well, I was gonna talk about the day I almost drowned in a pool at a park…but, I decided not to make it a bad memory. (Trying to keep a good balance of smiles and heart strings).

I saw the pic that accompanies Lamont’s blog for the day and decided not to blog my trip to Disney World, but then I thought…hell…it’s okay to blog similar things. “He had her [Disney] HIS way and I had her mine!” lmao (a little Color Purple reference for you).

ANY way…when I was 5, my mom and dad took me to Disney World. I remember very little, but what I DO remember tickles me a lot.

I remember we parked in the Goofy Section of the lot…and that as we were on our way inside of the park, I dropped a piece of Oscar Meyer bologna that my mother had given me. Upon returning, my bologna had NO name…because it had fried and BURNED on the asphalt. THAT is how hot it was.

I remember that I got on the Mad Tea Party ride…or was it the Mad Tea Cup…well whatever. The individual cups went around in circles while the whole platform went in circles in the opposite direction…making for a VERY dizzy Kali. I giggled the whole time…bumping my head and going between “ouch” and “hahaha”.

A lot of the trip gets fuzzy. I want to say that we visited my grandfather on the way home, but it might’ve been on the way to Fla. Here’s me with his dog…I think I was up to something.

I also believe we visited my great-grandmother somewhere along the way, but that could be total imagination or jagged memory (remembering a visit but at the wrong time) lol

I remember us losing our way…or dad being pulled over by a state trooper. I vaguely remember my father calling someone a racist motherfucka…but, again…I could have it all wrong. (I doubt it). lol

I know that my mom tells me that she was pregnant with my baby sister at the time. She says she and my dad were breaking up and he INSISTED on this trip…I suppose as a last ditch effort to save their relationship.

Nonetheless…I remember going, bringing home Mickey ears…and viewing the pictures that were in my dad’s drawer in his room. I may ask him if he has anymore pics from that day. If so, I’ll probably show them on Facebook. lol

The Fourth Day…

I hate this picture. The HELL did I have on?

…a day in high school

High School for me was a crazy declining of my GPA and scholastic aptitude and a speedily incline of emotional turmoil and drama.

I went from bad grades to worse, falling asleep in class incessantly without explanation (now diagnosed as Narcolepsy) and feeling insecure about that, my weight and having to answer to my mom and family for the never school issues. One which was my behavior.

I pretty much left folks alone, because I didn’t like to fight. I’d try and “reason” with folks because I didn’t want to get in trouble and I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of some of the brutal things I’d heard (sliced faces, acid thrown, face stomping). Shit was real in Mt. Vernon. LOL

On THIS particular day…shit was TOTALLY unnecessary. I was sitting in math class…I hated math, so I ALREADY had a damn attitude. This guy who lived in the PJ’s with me, but in a different building was ALWAYS bothering me. Chris…that was his name. He was an ASSHOLE!!

The period he’d pick at me. Say something smart. Push his desk in to mine. We were sitting in a group of four with our desks pushed two facing two. His dumb ass was facing mine. I couldn’t stand this ass. If it wasn’t that he would push my notebook around with is pencil as I wrote. CHILE…I LOST IT!

I jumped up and screamed for him to QUIT FUCKING WITH ME! He laughed. This only made me madder. I chased his monkey ass around the room. He ran behind the teacher’s desk (as she yelled for me to stop). It was catercorner so I pushed this big metal desk into the wall until he had to jump from behind it and over it. I tried to grab him, he was too fast…so, I picked up a desk and hurled it at him. Then the chair. Finally, a hall monitor came in and calmed me down. I got escorted out and sent to my division’s principal. (The school was broken up into Divisions A, B, C and D…can’t remember it there was an E). I was in Division C. My principal liked me. He said, “Kali, why let this knucklehead upset you? Now, we have to call your mother…”

I didn’t care. I swear…I was scared WITLESS and SHITLESS of my mother, but in that moment I felt like FUCK it. His ass is mine. LOL

I go home, inform Mom and she eventually tries to understand my view. She just said she wished I didn’t have such a temper. So the next day, Mom comes to school and the craziest thing happens. She gets to the class and sees this dude and the first thing she asks? “You have a crush on my daughter, don’t you?”

::GASPS:: WHAT THE?? MOOOOOOM NOOOO!! He’s ugh and ewwww mom, NO! LOL

He smiles…

What’chu smiling for fool?

She said, “Mmm hmmm…he likes you Kali. That’s why he bothers you. You don’t even realize it. Boy, leave my daughter alone. She will never like you if you act a fool. Both of you need to get it together. Don’t make me come back here!”

He says, “Yes ma’am”

The class laughs…I’m like -_-

Yea…he didn’t bother me anymore…but, I changed my seat and counted the days to be done with that class.

I know…I stay fighting boys who like me. At least it’s not the story of the guy who hit me in the head with a frozen Snickers on a bus and then I waited to get off so I could cut him with a cracked Pepsi bottle…chasing him down the street. Nah…at least it’s not that story. LOL

Memoir Madness

Recently, I began writing my “memoirs”. I kinda hate that word. It’s too fancy. I’m just writing ’bout my life. lol

I’ve been writing this for about a month and I am not chronicling the entirety of my 39yrs…just a portion of it. The only thing is…that I’ve had to take a step back at least twice. Once I began writing about this specific time in my life…all of the memories (wait…I just saw the word memoir in memories *DING!*) …began flooding in. The deluge of these mental frames has me dreaming vividly…graphically...about that time and the people in it.

~sigh~

I’m reconsidering this particular trip down memory lane. I have come so far in the way of forgiving those involved in that time of my life, but SHIT…the dreams are killing my sleep. I remember a time when I couldn’t get to sleep (my trauma laughing in the face of my Narcoleptic disorder) due to the fears related to abuse from a past relationship. Try FINALLY drifting off to sleep after hours of sitting alone in the dark like O__O only to dream that someone is coming for you violently where you sleep. Yea…I went from O__O to -___- to @__@…

Then you have the feelings…yea…THOSE feelings. Remembering the love and chemistry between yourself and someone who brought you pain. It’s like reliving it all over again. Feeling the love, the fear, the lust, the pain, the hurt, the confusion, the relief, the abandonment, the fear again. It doesn’t help that the story spans TWO significant loves.

I look back at what I’ve experienced and shake my head in laughter at those whom think I’ve never been through anything. MAN…you have NO damn idea!! The glory in my story is that I don’t use my past pains for sympathy, attention and pity. I don’t wear it on my sleeve like a bad patch. I’m the kind of person who refuses to give a person the kind of power that renders me immobile. I dare not give over control of my life to someone who was too weak to power drive their OWN life’s ship. Someone whose weakness made them feel that alienating someone and abusing them was the only way to keep someone around. I say it to friends and I’ve said it to myself as a reminder…if you believe in God, then you have to know that God is Love and through Him, love is limitless. Even though it feels like you’ll never love, trust or be okay again when heartbreak has taken it’s toll…you can. All you have to do is know that love did not originate nor does it solely reside in the person who was the object of your affections. The love we have in others starts with God and then through us. Self love.

I feel like this story needs to be written. I’ll vaguely say that the story is dealing with the domestic abuse I endured. I wrote about some of it during Domestic Violence month one year. I know that testimonies are only testimonies because they’re told. Being able to say what you’ve been through and that you’ve survived is a blessing that is best shared. I just hope that when I REALLY get down to the details that make this story what I need it to be, that I don’t lose too much sleep doing it.

Beautiful Bean Footage

Do you know how some people have a soundtrack to their life? I have a movie reel as well. My father is a movie connoisseur and always had all the movies hot off the block…aka bootleg. Well, actually…he had what are referred to as “promotional copies”. It’s the actual DVD/tape meant for the vendor to view before purchase. He got the hook up constantly. If I wanted a movie…he got it for me. I usually watched until the tape popped and the video was no more good.


SO, tonight…I was in-boxing my sis (as per usual our routine) and I told her I was watching “Grease”. I went on to tell her that I remember seeing that movie in the theater with my 2 childhood besties, their dad and their dad’s girlfriend. (Except now, I’m remembering that I saw that movie with mom and her friend and kids) The movie I saw with the childhood besties was “Stir Crazy”. That movie was too funny. Although, I do believe that it wasn’t suitable for us kids. I saw “Beat Street” with my godsisters, their dad and their cousin. I loved that movie. I was crying when Ramo died. 😦


I remember viewing “Annie”, with my class. I still have the brass keychain which is an actual stamping of the tickets. I’ve loved Annie ever since, viewing that among other movies umpteen times without tiring. Something about Ms. Hannigan’s (Carol Burnett) crazy tub shinny swigging ass ordering around a school-ful of moppets.


I remember that dad had folks in the PJ’s knocking on the door borrowing movies.  He had the TV hooked up to the stereo system which made it sound like theater surround sound. When the kids and I watched Poltergeist the night of my birthday party…we felt like we could hear that creepy short chick…right beside us.


I remember that I was deathly afraid of “The Exorcist”, “The Thing”, “The Omen” and “The Shining”. I was also scared after watching “Dracula” in the movies with mom and our crew. My cousins cracked jokes on me for a day because I cried in refusal to watch Linda Blair throw up pea soup. Hell nah…get that outta here. Today? I’m a horror flick lover. The scarier the better. I got mad when “The Grudge”, “The Village”, and “Hostel” were wack. O_O


On the flip side, my dad forbade me to watch “Caligula”, which of course I sneaked to find and watch with my first love. I was between 14 and 15…which made him 17 or 18. WRONG MOVE. We’re watching all of this explicit sexual content (one scene so unforgettable, where dude fists a man’s ass on his wedding night O_O) and getting riled up. There was everything from deformities and bestiality to homosexual sex, which was unheard of then. While watching…my crush ends up feeling me up…that is, until my grandmother comes home. *insert scene of us jumping up and sitting on opposite sides of the room before she sees us*.


I have my movies that I watch ad nauseum, every time they air. I’m REALLY a movie buff, so I deplore movies aired on cable networks where there are commercials. Movies like “Color Purple”, “Titanic”, “The Notebook”, “Last Dragon”, “What’s Love Got To Do With It”, “Coming to America”, etc…all should be viewed with no interruption.


I am the girl who wants to make it to the movies on time for previews and credits and will sit there at the end for any blooper reels, soundtrack info or to spot who played whom. If a movie I’ve never watched comes on and I’ve missed the first 15 minutes…I won’t watch. I’ll look for the next airing so I can catch it. The most intricate pieces to the plot happen in the first FIVE to ten minutes of a movie. Miss that and you’ll be asking, “Wait…what’s going on?” until the plot is revealed. LOL


Some of my faves?


Claudine
Star Wars Trilogy
Mahogany
Seven
Hope Floats
Pillow Talk (with Doris Day and Rock Hudson)
Sleepaway Camp
Steel Magnolias
Terms of Endearment
Malcolm (X)
Distinguished Gentleman
Which Way is Up?
I’m Gonna Git You Sucka
Ghost
Clue
Dr. Detroit
Howard the Duck
Sixteen Candles
Fifth Element
Dirty Dancing
…I can go on and on. I know I’m missing stuff…but, oh well. That’s bound to happen when your love of movies is vast. I love obscure independent movies, classics, black and white (like “The Hounds of Baskerville”), science fiction, horror, suspense, drama…yea. You get it.


Movies along with music, TV shows and books…are key to helping time stamp your life’s moments. I remember MANY things around movies, songs, what I was reading…or even where I visited. Share some of YOUR favorite movie moments with me…


…ROLL that beautiful bean footage! lol

Two G’s

For the longest time…I had TWO grandmas. I was so proud of that. I didn’t know my maternal grandfather. My paternal grandfather…I knew barely. So, I loved that I had a power duo of the grand kind!


Growing up, my grandmothers from time to time hung out…drinking Miller beer in front of my maternal grandmother’s store front walk-up apartment. Not too long after they’d both find God and become Christian women deeply seated in their churches’ congregations. For as long as I can remember, they attended church for the most part and took care of their families.

Mary…


My mother’s mother. My earliest memories of her are when she’d babysit for me while my mother was at work. She and my mom’s only sister, Iris…would take care of me and my younger sister. I remember Apple Jacks at her breakfast table and playing in her living room with my cousins and uncles…the latter which were only 7 & 8 years older than me. My “Grandma Catherine” as I’ve always called her when differentiating, was always the sterner of the two. She to this day…is a hard nut to crack. She can be downright mean at times…some would say evil with the things she’s prone to say. Yet, with me…I’ve learned to love her past those things. She can be tender and caring…but it takes a little cajoling and a lot of understanding. I’ve always been straight no-chaser with her…not allowing her to get away with some of the things that make it hard for some to connect with her. I do see her softening a LITTLE with age, but she’s still got that Taurean bullishness that can sometimes push folk away.


Lately, all I can do is take each moment I can with her…especially since. I’ve only got ONE G now.

Josephine…


My father’s mother. She died this year. March 2nd, 2010. I’m a LOT better than I was. Some days I woke up crying…and fell asleep that way. I have to admit that each time it wasn’t JUST my grief…but, the other things were just weights on top of a ton of pain. When she left here…a part of me left, too. 


My earliest memories of her were in her apartment in the projects. Sometime ago, the projects was a beautiful, green, gleeful place. Where she lived, kids played freely. Parents watched over all of the kids…not just their own. No nonsense was allowed…if you weren’t supposed to be in that playground (read: no pervs, thugs, etc.) …you were told to go. It was a place where the kids could play outside AFTER the street lights came on…and I miss that in today’s communities. I lived with her for a long time during my grade school years. My lunch box was filled with FOOD. Not a sandwich (which sometimes my kid mind preferred)…but, I’m talking a warm cheeseburger and chocolate milk. I’m talking a meatloaf sandwich with cheese. I’ve lunched on BBQ chicken wings. There was always a Twinkie or a Hostess cupcake in my lunch. Damn, I realized that she might have contributed to my “thickness” as a child. LMAO. Funny thing…I was a celery and carrot stick girl. I loved granola bars and oatmeal. To this day, I can’t stand processed sweets. If it’s not homemade, I’ll bypass it. I definitely prefer a pear to a pie…but, watching grandma…I learned to love the WAY pies were made. She made her own dough, just like she made her dumplings fresh. Her spaghetti sauce was homemade and she rarely bought a frozen entree. “Grandma Gunn” as I called her…cook put her foot in some mac-n-cheese and make a kid love green beans.


When I got older, I could call her and discuss anything with her. She taught me to be a loving kind individual. She taught me to not spare the words “I love you” to those that meant the world to me. Her laugh echoes in mine and her legacy is in my face. Some days I ache for the sound of her voice. I somehow thought in my mind that she’d always be here…and I found out that grandmas DO live forever…just not here on Earth.**


Now, that she is gone…I’m down one grand…I used to roll with TWO G’s. Now there’s only one. That’s okay…I’m still rich. 😉


I love you, Josephine Gunn. I love you, Mary Monroe. Two sides of the same kween. hehe. 


**Addendum. (mental note: Don’t blog while talking on the phone) LOL

"Wriiiiiiiite" ~Celie

Writing…it is the next thing we’re taught behind reading. It’s the next reasonable step to becoming literate and worthy of “moving up” in school. Don’t get me started on actual comprehension, composition and flair…those are totally relevant to each student’s capacity and willingness to learn. What I AM referring to…is the passion to write.

I have been writing (in the passionate sense) since I was in grade school. We had to have “salt & pepper” composition books with our names on them. We would be given a time of day, each day…to write our thoughts journal-style. No one was to read our writings but the teacher. WELL…clearly, as much as people like to dip in my business NOW…they did so then. I was out sick one day. When I returned…some of the girls in my class (which was comprised of 5th and 6th grade “above average” humanities students) …were standing waiting for me at my desk.  We made our way up to the coveted third and top floor of the school and into the one class that housed a stage.  It was also connected by way of the cloak room to the music room…this class was my haven. Yet, before we’d gotten there…none of the friends who spoke to me all of the time paid me any attention.  I didn’t think anything of it. So, I approached my desk they figuratively tapped their Buster Browns in anticipation of my arrival to confront me…meanwhile, my heart dropped at what they could possibly want.

“Why did you say you cant stand ******?”

“I didn’t say that…” I replied

“Yes you did…it’s right HERE!” as one pulls out my book and shows me my entry.

“I didn’t SAY anything…I wrote it.” I justified.

“Are you being smart?” one asked, who was a 6th grader to my 5th grade status.

“No, I’m answering your question. Anyway, it’s my book and no one is supposed to read it.”

“Well, we did…and we don’t like what you said. She cried when she saw this. You should be careful what you write.”

They didn’t speak to me all day…and quite possibly a few weeks longer. I actually remember that in the interim, a new girl came to the class named, Samantha…who I became fast friends with.  As I played with Samantha, sat with Samantha, had lunch with Samantha, slept over Samantha’s house…they slowly but surely befriended me again. They had no idea that I wouldn’t cry. They also didn’t know me very well…I wrote everything they did to me down in that very book! Hmph!

After that, I kept several more journals that got violated down the road…yet, I keep writing in them. I wonder why? LOL

My desire to write is so strong that I write drivel when thinking. When I’m sad, I will doodle and write affirmations to myself. I’m always writing in some form…even if I’m not composing a blog, or a story or statusing/tweeting. Writing to me is like air. I write, even if I never post it or share it with another soul. Writing is my best friend…and it never lets me down. I don’t have to worry about what writing thinks of me…it loves me. It gives back to me WAY more than I give to it. 

I felt this movie line DEEP down the first time I heard it…

“If when you wake up in the morning, the first thing you think about is writing…then you’re a writer” ~Sister Mary Clarence/Whoopi Goldberg — Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit

That speaks VOLUMES to me. I go to SLEEP thinking of things to write. I wake up with plays, musicals and songs fluttering about in my brain. Writing is NOT formulating words in sensible paragraphs. It is projecting your soul into those paragraphs and evoking feeling, response and in some cases…awe, with those very words.

I am a writer…nice to meet you 🙂

Chicks, Butterflies and Hamsters

So, who HASN’T been on Facebook yet? It’s the DEBIL I tell ya…lol. I got this page a over a year ago at the urgency of my friend, Tish. She swore it was so much fun…but, I hated that I had to ok apps left and right and that I couldn’t do more with the page. So basic…*sigh*. Fast forward to a few months back, my family begins filing in…starting with my cousins in college. Next thing I know most of my immediate family and closest friends are on my page. THEN comes the elementary and high school folk. Well, just a few days ago…a friend found me there and within a 36hr period of accepting her request, she posts a class picture from our 6th grade class. Now, we were in “the smart class”. It was called IH (Intermediate Humanities). We experienced a few things that most didn’t. We incubated eggs and got baby chicks in 21 days. We were then given the opportunity to take a chick home over night, but that was a special privilege for the ones who earned it (I took home a lil yellow one). We also got to feed larvae, watch it morph into a caterpillar and eventually cocoon into a butterfly. Releasing them was bittersweet. I wanted to keep mine…but, of course they must fly. We had a pet hamster as well…CP (Class Pet). HE was fawned over until he had see through babies. LOL I remember how a few of the girls and I drew in a sketch book and created stories.

I remember how, Mrs. Brown our teacher (my favorite) would allow a few of us to “stay up” for lunch in the empty classroom. We had a huge class on the 3rd floor adjacent to the music class…and we had a stage. I remember dancing and singing on that stage with the girls, doing Michael Jackson’s latest steps.

I had such great memories attached to these people. One guy, Mike Phillips…told me today that he thought I was sooo sexy, because he loved the way I carried myself in my pics. Unafraid to let people see who I really was (instead of posting old ass pics) LMAO. Mike was the kid who kept his instrument…a sax with him 24/7. He had a crush on me in elementary…which must have been LOVE…cuz he beat me up after an altercation in class. LOL. He got amnesia and “didn’t recall” whooping my ass…but, that niggum shut my eye. (I think I embarrassed him). Oh, Mike went on to sign with Hidden Beach Records and has played alongside such artists as Jill Scott and Prince. I am so proud of him…his dedication to his sax, something a lot like Lisa Simpson’s…has paid off and he’s living his musical dream. Good for you, Mike!

I also found my friend Renee’, who as we were leaving high school had fallen ill with renal failure. She was my ROLL DAWG! Circumstances moved us apart and in spite of several attempts to contact her…we drifted. I dreamed of her often, wondering…praying that she’d recovered. Finding her was indeed a blessing. She’d lost so much weight and was barely recognizable…except for that smile. Wide and strong…that smile hasn’t changed.

…There is a down side to these reunions. Within the last few months…a young woman from that class picture up there died. Rachel Mack had leukemia and succumbed recently. Finding that out was heartbreaking. I remember us kids going to Rachel’s house for lunch, which was only 2 blocks away from the school. She and I used to compete for who had the best penmanship…I won. LOL What’s so weird is that I’d dreamed of her as well a few times in this past year. Almost in excess…which of course further freaked me out. She was in every class I was in from K to 6.

Rachel…rest in peace, girl. I remember you well. God bless your spirit and your family’s, too. Like the butterflies…I pray your soul flies high.