The Freakin Weekend Part 3: Sufficient in Solitude.

He got me out my momma crib.  Then he helped me get my momma a crib. 

- Kanye West, "Big Brother."

     I can go a while without getting lonely. But eventually it kicks in again. To be honest, there was a point when I tried to fill the voids in my heart -- rather ignore because my methods for fulfillment didn't work and masked the issue instead. I would be more inclined to call men for comfort than to call people who really loved me... and I know this is going to sound super corny, but when I get lonely now, I call my mother. 

     I hated my mother for a really long time. Some people hate to hear me say that. And while I'd love to lie and say I always loved her, I'd be lying. It's far too much to explain here, but I had my reasons. Mostly because I didn't quite see my mother as my mother until I was good and off to college. The periods when I hated my mother were the points when I almost succeed at destroying myself. I willingly gave myself to men who didn't deserve me. I found myself losing myself. After having lost so much more than myself, I see the true value of things now.

    I loved my friends more than I loved my family. That's because I had my friends when I didn't have my family. But luckily I had my family there as guardrails to make sure I didn't fall into the gutter. And that's how I've made it this far. I know that's a vague synopsis, but I can truly only say so much. What I will say though is that there are times when I sit alone and thank my brother for how far I've gotten. Sometimes, I even consider kneeling on the cheetah print rug beside my bed and praying to gods I don't believe in. All of them. In case one exists and not the other. I'm not ready to put all my chips in one basket just yet. 

  This Sunday, I sat in my room alone and for the first time in a while, I noticed that I was alone. I mean, Sundays are the loneliest days of the week when you're single. My roommate was in his part of the apartment cheffing up vegetables for a girl who has been there almost 4 days now (I say has cuz she was there when I woke up Sunday and was there when left this morning & it's Wednesday.) I typically try to stay away from couples... as if I might catch something. I mean, there's nothing worse than being around love when you aren't in it. It's both nauseating and envy inviting. I want part of neither feeling. As I sat in bed (comfortable as hell) I looked around and realized I had no one. No one to come lay with me. No one to hold me. No one to tell me they love me, and that's what I miss the most. I think that's what trips women up the most. You just want to be loved even if it's a lie. You feel like you have something when someone is saying that to you. Like you finally mean something. 

    I keep a picture of my brother on my nightstand. The one above. It's a terrible picture, isn't it? And really he's only half-way in it. I'm the focal point. I had to have been maybe two years old and it was the time frame when my mom had cut all my hair off because I wouldn't let anyone comb it. (Later on in life, when I would cry while getting my hair done, my mom would call my brother into the room, "ENVER!" and I would sit and sniffle the boogers into my mouth while I held back tears. Meanwhile  my mom yanked and Enver towered over me with his arms crossed.) But no matter how much of a homeless little boy I look like in that photo, I can't get passed the smile on my brother's face. & the fact that the picture was taken in the back seat of the red '88 Cavalier we had. I don't ever remember him being in the back seat with me although I remember countless times getting kicked out the front. There's a little sister thing about my big brother being in the back seat with me that reassures me that the didn't hate me. He might have even liked me.  So that's why I'm positing it here. Because it means too much to me to care about what I look like. Besides, when you Google pictures of siblings, it's two white kids or two black kids and my fmaily is a healthy mix of skin tones. We like versatility. & PLEASEE tell me this pic isn't sooooooo 80s its fuckin beyond awesome. Y'all know I love the 80s. All two years I lived it lol ;)

     If you haven't noticed yet, I couldn't love me mother because I had willingly given all my love to my brother. After  my brother passed, my mother asked me, "Did you love Enver more than you loved me?" Very plainly I answered her, "Yes, I did." Now you might think that was harsh, but I don't think it hurt her at all. I think she knew the whole time. Truth be told, I think we all loved my brother more than we loved each other. He was the man in our lives. (Except for my sister, I guess --but I don't doubt she feels the same to some degree.)

      He reminds me of what's important. He's the only person who could ever keep me grounded. If it wasn't for him, I'd have been running around like the rest of them out there.  I remember that some random man can never fulfill me. That having a man in my bed means nothing for me and even worse for him. I keep the picture there to make sure I make a conscious decision if and when a man ever sees my bed. I remember how good I have it. Fully employed and inevitably moving forward. I remember that one day, I'm gon' by my momma a house, even if I don't have one for myself yet. I remembered that I deserved everything I was sitting around staring at. Even the bright city lights shining outside my window.
    
      He's the reason for me. The reason why, even though I have a post called One Night Stands, it's not what you think. The reason why in Birds of a Feather, I claimed my place as eagle and soared alone. It's hard to be alone. To see people posting up pictures of themselves and significant others all happy in love. I want to be bitter. I want to play the "she aint even all that" game, but I can't bring myself. The key to being alone and being ahppy is to find love elsewhere. Look for love in the places they will never falter. In people you never have to question. Those who truly never have to say it. Like I said, I call my mother. Call me what you want. I'm my mommy's little girl & damned proud of it. 

      It's not that I don't need no man, it's that I don't need no man, right now. I'm not going to lie and say I wouldn't like the company. That I don't want to date. That I don't want to get married had have children one day. It's just that... that day ain't today. So even while I'm excited about future possibilities, It don't mean nothing to me. I already have a man in my life: My big brother.

And now... as I get ready to leave work, I can't wait to go home to my empty bed & my book of Homeric poems :) Cuz I'm the one payin rent in that muthafucka!!!!  whoop whooooopp!! lol

Death to RIP Messages.

     

    People fight to experience death. When someone passes away, all of a sudden, there are text messages, Facebook statuses, tweets, blogs, posts, tagged pictures and t-shirt emblazoned with dedicated RIPs. I mean, to each their own, but I'm just not with it. IT's like everyone just wants to know someone who died so they can pretend to have experienced loss: Trust me, you don't want to know what that feels like. You don't want to know what its like to have wished for nothing me than to die yourself. When you truly lose someone, you can feel that part of your heart wither away. You can feel it as it deteriorates and dies. That is loss. When people blame everything that's gone wrong with you on that one fateful day when you're entire world changed. It's not just the holidays that are different. Not just parties or birthdays. But every single day is different. Every single day I want to send my brother a text message. A "Yo," maybe. So that when he responds "Fuck you want" I can say, "Ya breath stinks. I can smell it in NY." Things along those lines.

      I attended my Aunt's wake yesterday. Wakes are the most bizarre happenings in the world. My favorite is the people who walk in with a smile on their face. Really? You're happy? Meanwhile, everyone exchanges stories about the last time they spoke to the departed. In real life, friends are hard to come by. But wakes are infested with best friends you never knew you had. There's so much "love". Now I didn't know 95% of the people at my Aunt's wake and to be honest, I barely knew my Aunt.  I'm not a fan of wakes. I mean no disrespect but I only felt so much. I saw her sporadically. Like I mentioned before; Holidays & Parties. She was also kind. Always smiling. She radiated love. I'd vouch there wasn't a teaspoon of contempt in her blood. So yes, I was sad to see her go. Because there will no longer be that  smile at family gatherings that I always looked forward to. But it won't change my every-single-day life. 

       I'm not interested in pity. Everyone is always sorry for someone's loss when that someone isn't really even sorry. Most of all, I felt for my Aunt's children. To lose a parent is something I fear. But I can't experience that through someone else. Not saying that I want to, but my time for that will come eventually. (Hopefully it won't be anytime in the next 50 years. ) I think people just like to cry. My mom's the worst of them all. She's a "hollering" crier. She wails. It's embarrassing. It was even embarrassing at my brother's funeral. But I think mother's are always dramatic. Sorry if this sounds wrong, I'm not saying their loss isn't great, I'm just saying that tears don't have noise. You can cry without wailing. It's possible. 

     I saw death once before I experienced it. My brother's best friend lost his brother a while back. The night of his bachelor party, actually. They lived 3 houses up the street from me and their house had this elevated porch. I remember we were driving down the street on one of the days of the wake. I looked up and saw my brother's friend on the porch. He was staring straight forward and from the car, I could see his bloodshot eyes. He was empty. His eyes said nothing. He didn't move. He had no expression. It was like he sitting there, dead. Not until I lost my brother did I understand what I saw: He was looking at everything and nothing. You're hyper-aware of everything that is going on but nothing matters. You have no life left in you. All you can do it breathe --even though you really don't even want to do that. You just want to lay in the casket and die, too.

      I didn't mean to disrespect my Aunt with my distance or lack of emotion at the wake... but I can't feel anything for anyone else anymore. The whole time, all I could think about was my loss. Everyone else in this world can die off one by one and I'll attend every wake. Every funeral. & for many I will even cry. When a friend passed from Diabetes, I surely cried for her... I sat in the park, on a swing & lit a Black(&Mild). It was all I could do to keep myself calm and not think about how I found out via an RIP AIM away message from a girl who was never a good friend to her in the first place. I was 8 hours away at school so I had to send my mom to attend in my place. Out of both respect & love...while she was there, I talked to her best friend, Candy, on the phone & that was my mom's purpose there (and the purpose of any wake actually). To express my condolences to the people who knew I meant it.  But I don't think I'll ever hurt like I did for Enver. When he passed, one of my cousins came up to me and asked "How does it feel? How does it feel to have your brother die?" The kid's always been a little off his rocker so I just looked at him. And he just looked at me, actually waiting for a response until my brother-in-law asked him to give me some space. 

       Because I did't want anyone's sorries. I didn't want their hugs or their condolences. I didn't want their help or their company. (just the truth) I wanted to die. I wanted to stop breathing. I didn't want to exist anymore. I wanted it to end. I just wanted the world to stop. I was tired of people crying and pretending and paying attention to me because I'm the sad little girl who just lost someone. Some people like that attention. I didn't. Especially because it was coming from the people who said the shirts my brother's best friend was selling were too expensive, even though he gave that money to my mom to help with the funeral costs. So I left. I went for a drive. Then a walk. Then I walked the dog.... I hate wakes. Matter fact when I die, I want it like this: If I should Die. 

       Thing is, I'm not the type to pretend either. My most favorite thing in the world is RIP Facebook groups. Everyone joins. Everyone wants a piece of the sadness. Everyone wants to post something about how they knew the person when in reality they never really gave a fuck and probably didn't even know them. Beyond that I love the people who think they knew the deceased --like girls who used to sleep with them. They're really the best grievers. They think they know everything. But they only know so much. I remember being at my brother's wake and seeing the girls file in. They might know things I don't, but they didn't know him. The things no one notices, the things only siblings know... like how he always use 3 ice cubes; no more-no less. But RIP messages and all that seem unnecessary and.... fake to me, to be honest. Because I sure as hell didn't want to talk about it when it happened. 

       I guess everyone experiences loss in a different way. Can't knock anyone... just speaking on my own behalf. It just seems people show the same amount of emotions for all loss when they've never really experience it. Like all the people who grieved for Michael Jackson's loss. I feel for his family, but Michael doesn't affect my every-single-day. And probably not yours either. (I don't know how I feel about Jay-Z just yet.) But my mother, my sister and I --and I'll even grant to his best friend (everyone knows who that is) --always have to make plans and realize that we can't call Enver. He can't come along. He can't be there. Like, how do I tell me kids about Uncle Enver? & before that... who's walking me down the aisle?  More so,  Jay just dropped Decoded and that would have been a great Christmas gift for my big brother. With an album. And maybe a fly blazer. Or a money clip... 

IDK... just my thoughts, man. Right or wrong. Just what I'm feeling at the time. 

Gay is the New Black.

     One time, my brother and I didn't speak for almost a month because he said something... anti-gay. I have no idea what he said, I just remember that it upset me and I called him ignorant. Him being 11 years my senior, I couldn't call him anything without getting body slammed. 


     I remember my mom saying something about gay people (don't judge my mommy. She's old-school Dominican and she's changed. Believe me.) and I asked her, "What if people treated me the way you treat gay people? You want people to treat your kids like that? You know some people don't like me because my skin is dark. What if they talk about me the way you talk about gay people?" She had nothing to say. I walked away.  I've always been a very outspoken person, but I was definitely worse as a child. It might have been rude coming from a teenager, but someone had to tell her & I'd rather it be me. 

    The first time I met someone (openly) gay, I was in high-school. It was a boy. But his boyfriend didn't go to our school so it was like a... you're gay but I don't have to watch you be gay. I saw them kiss at a dance once and... honestly, I still don't like what that looks like. lol.  This isn't to say that I wasn't accepting, knowledgable or conscious of the gay community. I just didn't personally know anyone who was outwardly gay. Gay wasn't exactly cool. & I don't think a gay person in my elementary school or middle school would have made it through the year, to be honest. We were ignorant little kids. And even though I saw nothing wrong with it, I was a kid and I did what kids do. If I had to, I'd have been cruel. I remember this one girl I went to middle school with used to poke other girls in the stomach... you know... like guys do? I got fed up when she did it while we were walking to lunch one day and I yelled out "_____________. Stop poking me. I'm not gay!" In front of everyone. She didn't sit at my table for a while after that. lol.

Pause.  You can stop judging.

       I'm delusional and think I'm the next Carrie Bradshaw, I LOVE gay men. Carl is my Stanford Blatch (Yes, bitch. You are MINE.)  While that was a little joke, it remains true (at least for me), that most girls want a gay best friend. Here's why I love Carl. He lives his own life. We don't double date or hook eachother up, but if I met a gay man who might be Carl's type, I'd gladly introduce them. Likewise, if he met a tall, athletic, rich super straight man, I better the first in line. Meanwhile, I don't have to worry about Carl taking my man and I don't want his. Anyways, the gays aren't collectibles. It was pure chance that brought me and Carl together, especially since I didn't like him at first. Luckily, I like him as a person. His good and bad qualities, because we all have them. The search for a gay best friend is what's bizarre. If you don't have one, you don't have one. Hunny, there's one sure thing with the gays, they either like you or they don't.  & They'll let you know it.  

      Maybe you shouldn't have stopped judging me. Notice that I only confirmed my "acceptance"  because I have a gay friend. Sound familiar? lol.

  

     I know that there's no age to figure out your sexuality and that it's different for every person, but I do wonder what the "right" age to expose a child is. (This is looking like another "Perfect Timing" blog.) The questions that run through my head are, are kids being forced to think about these things earlier than they have to? Can exposing a child to the idea of "gay" make them gay? What would I do if my child were gay? As kids start "deciding" earlier and earlier, I start to feel the same way about sexuality as I do about religion: There's no correct path, and you shouldn't go through with confirmation until you're sure and have lived a bit. But then again... I'm not gay. What do I know?

   Another "gay" trend I have a distaste for? Girls kissing girls just to kiss girls.  In high-school, all the girls were gay... or bi.. and then it happened again in college. & Now those girls are straight again. Many knocked up and nursing their babies (for those who don't know, 2 girls cant make a baby. Something else was in there.) Others are just sleeping with everyone. Last year, with a particular person, my only thought was... Are you really Bi or do you just want to sleep with everyone? Because... well. You know. If you're gay, you're gay... Cool with me. But if you just need some extra action, there's another term that suits you a bit better.  More than one, actually.    

   If I were to take part in gay activities, she'd better be one bad bitch. & my liquor had better be strong. Because if I went home to my mother, friends, family, employers... anyone, they'd all first think "Really?" Then, they'd see my girlfriend and say "Can I be gay, too?" That's the reaction I want.

    This post is totally random & have no idea why I got on this topic... wait. I do. All this BS in the news about kids being bullied and then harming themselves and others on account of their choice in sexuality. You know how people wonder if people are gay by choice or by birth? I remember hearing the argument of "Why would anyone choose a life this hard?" and that kind of stuck to me. "Gay" is not new. I'm not saying we have to obligate our 5-year-olds to choose a preference, but as adults, we need to be ready to handle our children's choices and help our children accept the choices of others. When I say gay is the new Black, I mean it in all forms: in terms of discrimination and in the fashion sense. From people being ostracized or pinpointed because of their sexuality. Our society and its bizarre love/hate relationship with the gay community (You know majority gay areas have the best schools, restaurants and show the most economic growth? I'm just sayin').  

       I once had a conversation with two "educated" black men about sexual orientation. They claimed that when gays start getting rights, that's how you know the empire is about to come crashing down, like it did in Greece. Their argument was that if you start giving groups of people rights for things they "can't change", you make too many exceptions to your laws. I looked at both of them and said "then you should be slaves." They went on to tell me that when I get older and wiser, I'll understand their point better. If that's the truth, I never want to grow up.  You can't expect your group to be accepted into society and then deny others the same rights. They can put their Engineering and Math degrees side-by-side and I'll stick to my opinion that they are the two of the most ignorant men I've ever spoken to. 

      My brother didn't have a degree when we had our argument. He also didn't bullshit his way to a moronic conclusion. He was smarter than that. 

     When it comes to homophobia, I pity Black people the most. I guess history books did the right thing in making "Slavery in the US" one 10 page chapter. Seems like most people have forgotten historical oppression and what that can do to a people.  I'm definitely not arguing that the gays have it as bad as Blacks did, but does genocide have to occur before we start fighting for the rights of others? 

So yea... Gay is the new black. 

I'm Under the Belief it's Partly My Fault.

     So I'm under the belief it's partly my fault. Close my eyes and squeeze trying to block that thought. Place any burden on me, but please, not that, Lord. Time don't go back. IT goes forward. Can't run from the pain, go towards it. Some things can't be explained, what caused it? Such a beautiful soul so pure, shit. Gonna see you again, I'm sure of it.  

Jay-Z - "Lost One"

My brother is God. 

   I don't mean that in any theoretical form. There is no puzzle to solve or mystery to discover. My brother is my God. I worship him the same way many worship their majestic idols. I think of him. Pray to him. Live by the lessons he taught me. When I am confronted with a situation, I think to myself, What would Enver do? 

     My brother passed away on August 14th, 2006. Two weeks before I left for college. August 14th signified the beginning of my new life.  While the changes that occurred weren't immediate, the process took place like any life change would. You gotta go down to come up, right? 

     I've always been a... um... troubled youth. It's quite bazaar because somehow I've also always been an A student. I remember time after time teachers telling my mom I'm hanging with the wrong kids. That I should get new friends. Somehow I navigated both lives. I wasn't the smart girl no one talked to. I was the smart girl who finished her work and passed it around the class so we could all be finished and talk again. I wasn't the teacher's pet that everyone hated. I was the teacher's pet that got to bring the detention slips to the principal's office except I wouldn't. I would throw them all out and walk around with the "bad kid"for a little while. 

     I wasn't the best teenager either. When I was 16, my boyfriend was 21 and... after certain event, he wasn't allowed around anymore. The summer before my brother passed away, I lived with my boyfriend who had a less-than-legal job and I only went home to do laundry. But, I graduated from a top-rank private high school and got an (almost full) scholarship to a decent private Jesuit university. Somehow I worked things out. 

     But I didn't care. I knew I was going to college but not for what. I didn't care about myself. About my progress and when sophomore year in college rolled around, I cared about little less than alcohol, pretty dresses and high heels. 

I went through the worst period of my life. 

     My Junior year consisted of psychological analyses and accusations of self-medication. They tried to label it this and that, but what it really was was a severe case of "Don't Give A Fuck." I partied everyday except for Sunday and Tuesday (because there was no party.. otherwise, I'd have been there too.) I rarely slept in my own bed and rarely made it to class. I failed 4 of my 5 classes that semester. The only class I passed was Creative Writing. 

    Then I went home and saw my mother. She had aged maybe 7 or 8 years in the past couple months. She was weary. Worried. There was a book about Bipolarity on the shelf. (That's what they initially said I was: mild bi-polar. I read the psych report and the grad student's conclusions. She said my mood changed too quickly. That when I talked about my brother I got too sad. And that when we moved onto the next question I calmed down. She also said that having trouble with math is a sign of being bipolar. Bitch, maybe I don't like math. She was a fucking genius, don't you think? After my experience with her, I changed my major from Psychology to Advertising. Same shit, less life damaging.)

     My mother was deported once... or twice. When you try to fight an immigration case, the person's kids usually speak on their behalf. Now, my family isn't mushy, so the best compliment we give usually relates to school accomplishments or a raise... something like that. Things that have a more tangible value. When they asked my brother what my mom meant to him, he said "She's my best friend".  Now this is a 29 year-old man calling his mom his best friend. After he died I realized something... if my mom was his  best friend, that he was hers. On August 14th, 2006, my mom lost her only son and her best friend. This realization changed me the most. 

    If you ask my friends, I used to hate my mother. I didn't want to be around her, near her, with her. I know that's hard to understand, but my life is my life and there are reasons for it all. I didn't really know her. Aside from my brother and people who "watched" me, I raised myself. I learned by myself. But now... she's my baby, too. We talk. We vibe. We laugh. I make sure I spend time with her when I go home to visit. Unlike when I was first coming home from school. 

  Additionally, I've never really been religious. Although I was baptized and did go through with my First Communion. On paper, I'm Catholic. Previously, I was Agnostic. For my final paper in my high-school religion class, my thesis stated that Hip-Hop is a religion. I was a Hip-Hop-ist? Now, I'm just Marjorie.

    I've never been okay with praying to someone I've never seen or thanking another individual (or entity) for something I worked hard for on my own. Instead of saying "thank god" I should be saying "thank me" or "Thank mom".  Just my point of view. The person I had learned most from, loved most and admired most was my brother. Not to say I don't love the rest of my family, but he raised me the most. He influenced all my opinions. You can read my "Book and Street Smart." Post to see just how much. Normal girls don't quote Jay-Z. Normal girls don't quote gangster films.  But I'm not a normal girl. I'm my brother's sister. I believe in Enver. 

     I love Enver more than I love anything else in or out of this world. If there is a heaven, he is in it and he can watch my every move (because he would like it like that). And if he was a King on earth, he must be a God in the afterlife. He wouldn't settle for less. He deserves no less. I no longer do anything (no matter if behind closed doors or not) that he wouldn't be proud of. Now I am no saint, and I am no prude... but I aim to conduct myself like a female my brother would have respected.  I just friended his best friend on Facebook and immediately scrolled through my profile pictures to make sure they were all decent. 

    When it comes to men & relationships... guys don't really mean much to me. I already had the greatest man in the world & had the pleasure of being his sister. I know what it is to be loved. I don't need any other man until he can stand beside me and stand up to the image my brother was. Enver still has a say in how far a man will get with me. & since he can't do it in the physical form, his cousins and friends have gladly taken on the burden. I might have lost one brother but I gained a dozen. 

     When I don't know what to do I listen to Jay-Z, because... that's my "mass" you can say. My brother believed what Jay had to say, so I do to. He was a real fan. While everyone threw flowers as my brother's casket was lowered, I threw the Reasonable Doubt I made them play at the funeral home.

     Example: I was talking to a guy this summer and questioned whether or not I should move forward with him... so I listened to Jay-Z.  Jay-Z has 11 studio albums, 3 collabo albums, 1 soundtrack and various compilation albums (If you know me at all, you know I own them all. Two of each. One for me and one for Enver.) and  of allllllllllll the possible songs that could play, I happened to listen to "Show You How" on BluePrint 2. (Yes, random.) There's a lyric that says "Ma, don't give him nothing unless he's treating you special. Soon he'll get desperate and go down and bless you. & When he come up for air, with a mouth full of hair, grab you're Coach bag and get the fuck outta there." --And that's the word. And that's how I live it.  

     I believe that he died for me. I know that sounds blasphemous or whatever... but you're allowed to pick your God, I'm going to pick mine. And at least I knew mine. And he loved me more than anything. I know it. If that "real" God everyone else seems to believe in exists, he knew that this is the only way I can be controlled. He took one life for another. Because, believe me, I might not have lasted. Maybe one day if/when I write that memoir and let you all know the true truths about me, & you'll see what I mean. 

For now, I just wanted to tell you about my brother. 

     

Happy Birthday, EJR.

Today was a good day. -Ice Cube (It's ALWAYS an Ice Cube quote.)

I had the day off. For the first time in a very long time, I had the day off. & i did exactly what I wanted to do. I’ve never felt more free. More happy. More intoxicated and liberated by joy. 

It was my brother’s birthday. His name is Enver. Enver Jose Rodriguez.

I'm a rockstar so my day always starts the night before. I ended the 23rd with a bubble bath. I take bubble baths in the dark and play music to clear my mind. Music seems to guide your thoughts, depending on who you listen to, your thought process shifts. On this night, the chosen artist was Alicia Keys who just dropped her album, Element of Freedom. When I lay there, I think about everything bothering me, leave it there and feel cleansed. In other words, I came into the 24th with a clear mind.

I didn't do much. I woke up and said good morning to Diamond, my pitbull & partner in crime. Then I washed my hair and let the Dominican in me do magic. After my hair was blow-dried, Diamond and I went to the cemetery to bring Enver the flowers Mami cut from the backyard. (She swears she's a farmer.) Even the cemetery was perfect. Enver's site is in the sun, so when it's hot or raining, it's terrible out there. Today, it was warm and cloudy. Perfect. We sat and played Kingdom Come off my iPhone until it was time to leave. When I visit, I try to play Enver the songs I think he'd like to hear most. Today I played "Kingdom Come", "Lost One", "Do U Wanne Ride", "30 Something" and "I Made It". Diamond and I walked off to "Anything," and seeing how my brother took care of us ladies, I took that as a sign.  

I dropped Diamond off at the house and headed to the Goodwill where I met up with Mami and went on a $40 shopping spree --don't judge just yet, $40 means, Calvin Klein, Liz Claiborne, Givenchy, and plenty random vintage. (Check my Label Whore Diary for details of the finds!). My mom and I get along best when we're shopping. Had my first paycheck in a while so I finally paid for myself. The drive home is always good with her too, it's like Driving Miss Daisy. My mom is annoying as ever, but she's also the sweetest woman to grace the earth. After we got home from shopping, my little familia always goes through the fashion show. It's what we do with each other, my mom, sister and myself. We shop, we talk, we show. We congratulate each other on the good finds while asking my mom if she thinks she can hem a pant or take in a sleeve. 

Hung out with my mom till she fell alseep. With her, its as simple as being in the vicinity. She just wants someone to be there with her. She talks every once in a while but, we're music people. We'd rather shut up and listen. After she went to sleep, my booooyss picked me up and we put one in the air. It rained for about 40 seconds, almost messed up the night. But then it stopped and Harvey says "God looked out!" What he didn't know is that that was actually my brother. I knew an L was the way to go. Sabrina had wanted to go out to the club but, I'm on minimum wage and trying to get this car registered, so the money's got to stay in my pocket for now. I don't think my brother liked me at the club anyways. I gave him his birthday gift: I stayed home with my mom. I vented to her. Told her stories. Told her A LOT more than I used to. Today, I realized that she's my best friend. 

Today was a good day.