Housekeeping Vol. 5

I’m trying to use Instagram less (you’ll see why in this Wednesday’s post), which means more mini-posts over here. Yay for more content, yes? Yes.

Last week, my hometown elected a 34-year-old, black, male, progressive mayor. I voted for him (with the heavy dose of skepticism that comes with voting in a failing democracy) and while my hopes are not high, I’m curious to see what he’s able to accomplish.

Continue reading Housekeeping Vol. 5

Housekeeping Vol. 4

Photo by Eden Constantino on Unsplash

There’s nothing like coming home after a vacation. Apparently, I’m not a “stare longingly at my vacation photos, thinking ‘Take me back’” person. I happily returned to my home, things, and routines. I even found myself eager to put on work clothes Monday morning and get back to the office. (This may or may not be related to how…um…exposed my fluffier parts were in my short shorts and bikinis. Yikes.) What can I say? Absence truly makes my heart grow fonder.

Since we’re talking about my fluffier parts, before my trip, I was already thinking about the next stage of my fitness journey: strength training. The year of walking did wonders in shifting my mindset on working out (it also did wonders on my legs, thighs, hips, and ass), and I was ready to start challenging myself. 

Saturday, I attempted this alleged Full Body Lazy Girl Workout and let me tell you, if this is the “lazy” version, ya girl has a long row to hoe. I thought I might add two strength workouts a week to my walking routine, but I’ll start with one and work my way up to two in a month or so. For now, getting in the habit matters more than the result. Once strength work becomes a habit, I’ll see where I am and consider some goals.

Here’s the thing about R&B Voldemort finally going to jail… In 2021, if you choose to listen to that man’s music, I need you to let that be your business instead of trying to assuage your shame by convincing the rest of us he somehow got a raw deal. He didn’t.

How you negotiate your values and actions is between you, your loved ones, and whatever god you serve, so I don’t care about your listening habits. I do care that you’re defending a fucking monster because people on the internet make you feel bad about your choices. If you can’t do one without the other, ask yourself why.

One of the more literal manifestations of astrology in my life recently has been intense skin inflammation when Mars is in hard aspect to my natal Sun. The sorta-like-eczema breakouts on my face and neck flared up pretty badly when Mars was in Aries (opposite my Sun) in the spring. By summer, I appeared to be getting back to normal, but nope. As soon as Mars entered Libra, everything went bonkers again. With Mars conjunct my Sun for this year’s Solar Return, I really hope I’m not in for another full year of skin issues. Between the dry, patchy skin and the midsection fluff, I don’t know how much more my ego can take.

My birthday is in 11 days. I’m happy to see another year and will honor the day with some quiet reflection, but I’m over getting dolled up and having people gather in my the name of getting me drunk for the foreseeable future.  We’ll see how I feel at 40 (I’m really feeling a solo trip to Seattle but we’ll play that by ear), but for now, all I want for my 38th birthday is a cleaning service to handle the neglected baseboards in my apartment. 

While hanging out for four hours in LAX, I picked up Gabrielle Union’s new memoir You Got Anything Stronger?. I’m about 85% through it and have enjoyed her sarcasm and candor as always (I often consider her my celebrity variant — or maybe I’m her layperson variant?), but she’s doing the thing that women who aren’t inherently vulnerable or nurturing do when they get married or have kids and convert to the church of love and family. Like the thing Jeannie Mai is doing

I don’t want to project my shit onto the lives of women I do not know. And if they’re happy, I’m happy for them.  But. I do take issue with the notion that they’ve somehow “grown” because they’ve changed their minds about marriage/children, instead of just choosing something different.

So please, please don’t use celebrity examples to judge the women in your lives who don’t want marriage or children. Who are a little distant and a lot sarcastic and not into traditional “happily ever afters.” Many of us aren’t the “right one” away from “changing our whole mindset” and your insistence that’s all it takes is annoying as fuck. 

That kind of thinking is exactly why I was so happy to have my tubes removed. I got so tired of people thinking my choices were conditional upon finding the right man.

Things I’m Into Right Now: 

  • Harlie Quinn & Titans on HBOMaxSince I’m enjoying What If on Disney Plus, I finally gave HBO’s animated series Harlie Quinn a chance and yo. It’s as good as advertised. Adult, laugh-out-loud hilarious, and fun storytelling. I inhaled the first season in one sitting. Because I was on a DC kick, I then started Titans and I didn’t immediately love it, but it’s grown on me. It’s dark, which I always like. And the Dick Grayson/Robin character is jusssst my type of violent/conflicted hero. 
  • Priest by Sierra Simone: Okay. So. Don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m a fairly rabid consumer of dirty fiction. No “guilty pleasure” about it — it’s fun. You want to talk about a brow-raising read? Try a man of the cloth who suddenly finds himself tested by one of his parishioners. Extra points for the academic/philosophical conversations about God and religion sandwiched between some very sacrilegious/blasphemous sex scenes. 
  • “Goddess” x Jaira Burns: “I’m a goddess/ I’m fuckin’ flawless/ let’s not be modest…” As the kids say, “energy.” After hearing this song on a book trailer, I’ve had it on repeat on-and-off since August. This will def be my theme song going into a double Venus year on my next birthday (more on that in a later post).

Housekeeping Vol. 3

As usual, as soon as I address the elephant in the room (my indefinite sabbatical from Twitter), I suddenly have a bunch of things to say. You’d think I’ve developed some self-awareness after fourteen years of blogging. Alas, this is not the case.

As much as I’d like to neatly wrap-up the Twitter chapter of my life and move on, that’s not how addictions work. I’m twenty-five days clean and am only beginning to understand how Twitter affected me mentally and creatively. I have a feeling I’ll be untangling that knot in many posts to come.

The part of my brain that still runs Twitter feedback on autoloop is screaming “OH MY GOD. So you quit Twitter. Big fucking deal. Nobody cares. Talk about something else.” To which I say the purpose of having this blog is untangling the knots in my brain.

More importantly, fuck you. This heah mah jook joint. I do what I want.


Along those lines, I’m imposing some hard rules and boundaries around communication and conversation because I’m literally purging years of junk, lazy writing patterns, and self-help meme jargon from my brain. There will be pop culture bits I refuse to engage even in casual conversation, slang I won’t use, and in general, sending me memes* as conversation starters will be a “no.” Just think of me as a stone-faced Stannis Baratheon to all things the Internet considers “fun” as I fight to reclaim my mind.

Stannis Baratheon - Game of Thrones Wiki


It’s official. One of three of my best friends is married and my stint as a Maid of Honor is over. I wore a face-full of makeup and a dress that did fantastic things for my tits (you’ll have to take my word for it—too many creeps on the web for me to post a photo here), and gave a toast that a: gave me faith that a decade of tweeting hasn’t completely destroyed my ability to write and b: would have made my college communications professors proud. And because I am cotton ball soft for my friends, I have already told my other two best friends that despite my insistence that I’ll never be in a wedding again, if they really need me to, I will do it for them.

I’m such a punk.


With the wedding behind me and a post-vaccination summer ahead, I’ve been slowly re-introducing myself to society with an “OMG. I Haven’t Seen You in a Year!” list. So far, I’ve had a delightful, restorative brunch and art museum Sunday, checked in with a homegirl I refer as Thee Worst (which should tell you all you need to know), sat in the passenger seat of another friend’s fancy ass Tesla as the car basically drove itself back from the restaurant, and caught up with my OG BFF of twenty-seven years in her parents’ spectacular home bar. I’m still not ready for close, confined spaces yet (looking at you, clubs and parties), but outdoor and well-ventilated spaces are a go.

As soon as I buy summer clothes that fit. Which could be a problem since I spent all my “play” money of the last six months getting my friend down the aisle.

Reunited with the Cleveland Museum of Art
(and it felt so good) – that isn’t me, btw.


Things I’m Into Right Now:

  • Sebastian Stan. Okay. So. I have hinted at this since I watched episode five of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier but I’m sort of obsessed. Like, teenage girl with a crush obsessed. Like, haven’t been this into a celebrity stranger since I discovered Charlie Hunnam in 2009 obsessed. I wish I could tell you that my shame at being a 37-year old woman taken by a celebrity I’ll never meet will make me stop obsessing—I really do. But, it won’t. I have replaced my mindless Twitter scrolling with mindless Pinterest scrolling and my feed is an endless treasure trove of Sebastian Stan’s clear blue eyes and perfectly-angular jawline. Let me tell you, “Goddamn! He is so fucking fine” is a vassssssst improvement from “Oh, my God. People are so fucking stupid.”
Help. Me.
  • My Fitbit. While I am still anti-smart watch (I do not want my phone on my wrist), the hourly buzz to get up and move once an hour is helpful in my mission to be less sedentary.
  • The Off Season – J. Cole. Yes, Jermaine is still a bit self-righteous sometimes and I can do without just about every “who is this young nigga I don’t care about” guest verse on the album, but there is more than enough rapping ass Cole to make up for it. And that intro? Yes. Pander to my Elder Millennial sensibilities with a Lil Jon call and response and Cam’Ron adlibs over a Dipset sample.
  • The vocal stylings of Dinah Washington. I will not explain the mental rabbit hole that led me to Dinah Washington’s catalog, but I have unearthed some bangers. The beautifully heartbreaking “This Bitter Earth,” a cover of Bessie Smith’s “Send Me to the ‘Lectric Chair” (a song that makes “Bust Your Windows” sound like child’s play), and my favorite, the seductive “I Want to be Loved.”

[*] I will make a “don’t send me memes” exception for memes involving Sebastian Stan. Send me those annnnnnnytime.