Tie My Hands -- What Am I Supposed to See

In talking with people who are either from New Orleans or have kin there, I had heard a story about people, shortly after Hurricane Katrina, attempting to evacuate but being stopped by armed police who shot at them and turned them back.

As always, I relay all pertinent NOLA information to my mother (I am intent on getting her to learn to understand my new unflinching commitment) and she immediately doubted the veracity of the story -- attributing it to exaggerated hearsay. Let this post be the first of many dedicated to the events surrounding America's WORST natural disaster in modern history.

From 60Minutes/CBS.com, original air date: December 2005 [link: http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2005/12/15/60minutes/main1129440.shtml] :
{ Highlights are in BOLD}

(CBS) When Hurricane Katrina blew through New Orleans three months ago, thousands of people left in the city were trapped with no food, no water and no shelter. They were desperate to escape the devastation.

The bridge that spans the Mississippi River from New Orleans to Gretna was one of the few ways out, until police from Gretna used force to stop pedestrians from crossing it. Since most of the police officers were white and most of the evacuees were black, the incident quickly took on racial overtones. 60 Minutes wondered why, under any circumstances, people who were only trying to walk out of a devastated city would be prevented from reaching relative safety.

Correspondent Ed Bradley went to New Orleans to find out. But, as with so many things in America, when it comes to race, the answer is hardly ever black and white. The bridge where the incident took place is called the Crescent City Connection, linking the city of New Orleans with the west bank of the Mississippi River.

It was Wednesday, three days after Katrina had struck, when thousands of people started to walk across the bridge. Some 6,000 were put on buses. The exodus continued the next day when a group of tourists who had been staying in the French Quarter started heading in that direction.

Along the way, they were joined by hundreds of locals. But when this group tried to cross the bridge, they were met by a line of armed Gretna policemen who fired shotguns over their heads, told them Gretna was closed and turned them back.

60 Minutes found eight people who were on the bridge that day. Cathey Golden, who now lives in Boston, was visiting her hometown with her daughter, her son and three of their friends. Larry Bradshaw and Lorry Beth Slonsky, both paramedics from San Francisco, were in town for a convention. They all met the morning they were forced to leave the hotel where they had been staying since the hurricane.

“There was no electricity or plumbing and so after four days it just became, I'm sure, a danger to not just the hotel, for us! We needed to get out,” remembers Slonsky. They joined thousands of people who had been left behind in New Orleans and were walking the streets looking for help. Two hundred people from the hotel ended up stranded across from the police department’s command post.

“A gentleman came out and identified himself as one of the commanders. And he said ‘I have a solution. I have buses waiting for you across the bridge,’” Bradshaw recalls.

With that assurance, they joined hundreds of other people who were walking toward the bridge to Gretna. Images taken that day by a CBS News crew driving across the bridge show groups of evacuees approaching a line of policemen holding shotguns. The police car was marked Gretna Police.

Cathey Golden told 60 Minutes that when her group reached the police line, they were told there were no buses, and stopped with a shotgun blast. What was her reaction when she heard the gunshot?

“I was scared at first. I've heard gunshots before, because I live in an inner city area. But not a shotgun. And I was concerned about my safety and those who were with me,” she says.

One of the people on the bridge with Cathey Golden was Shauron Holloman. She says she saw police officers fire their guns. “We were close enough to them. They'd rack their shotguns and let off a warning shot. We were this far away," Holloman says with a gesture. "This far away from you as I am,” says Holloman.

Larry Bradshaw, who was at the front of the group, says he tried to get an explanation why they were being turned back.

“The only two explanations we ever received was, one, ‘We're not going to have any Superdomes over here,’ and ‘This is not New Orleans,’” Bradshaw says. “To me, that was code language or code words for, ‘We're not having black people coming into our neighborhood.’"

With nowhere to go, they set up a makeshift camp in the middle of the highway. The plan was to spend the night on the bridge and try to cross again the next day. But then a vehicle with Gretna police markings drove up.

“He sped down in his cruiser and over the loudspeaker he just continuously said, ‘Get the f*** off the bridge,’” a male eyewitness who was on the bridge that day told Bradley. “And would point his gun at some people.”

At that point a helicopter dropped close to the encampment and its downdraft blew things everywhere, forcing the evacuees off the bridge. They believe that the motive was racism.

Why does the eyewitness think they were turned away? “I think because the group was 95 percent African American,” he says.

Asked if there was any evidence to support that, Shauron Holloman says, “A group of people trying to leave a city that's predominantly African American. And you have the officers who were white. That's the way it appears. And in that situation, that's the way you feel. We weren't given any information as to why we couldn't leave. So just appearance alone would make me feel that way.”

And I agree.

The issue of racism is one that whites are quick to deny with "No, I'm not racist". As if words speak louder than actions. A simple denial of prejudiced leanings is not sufficient.

What happened in New Orleans is the most blatant display of racist oppression that I have seen in my lifetime. Not just that, it was perpetuated on a municipal, state AND federal level.

I asked a couple of friends what they thought of this story -- to make sure I am not spouting from a soap box. Here's what they said, and I absolutely appreciate further feedback:

{francesca.****@****.com says}:

What a disturbing article. Even if the people of that little town were not able to care for refugees, they needed to open their parks and streets. It's plain old illegal for police to restrict the movement of Americans on public land. I looked this up a little; it's considered a natural and common-law right. This snippet from a past case doesn't mention walking on foot, but it's the same idea and logically includes walking:

"The right of the citizen to travel upon the public highways and to transport his property thereon, either by carriage or by automobile, is not a mere privilege which a city may prohibit or permit at will, but a common law right which he has under the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." Thompson v. Smith, 154 SE 579.{...}

I'm not sure that these victims are owed anything by the U.S. Government, who was not the acting authority - I think they're owed damages by the police of the little town, who overstepped federal law, and I would love to see the crap sued out of them. It would set a precedent for every police chief of every town to think twice before he restricted access to public streets (which we all know, underneath, is about keeping out the homeless, whether they be displaced from a hurricane, or one or two at a time in the classic sense)."

{bettina.*****@****.com says}

Well if its not racist, then what its it? If the city of gretna was compassionate, then they would let people into it who are suffering. But i mean it just doesn´t make sense why they would shoot at them or block them from coming in anyway? Its not a country. Its a city in a mutual state. Maybe it wasnt racial, but it was fear. But if it was fear we have to take into account the race factor cause that usually plays a part in cases like this when fear is concerned in america.{...}

These individuals have the right to sue the U.S. government because since the U.S. government was not there for them at the right time, and in the right manner, they had to flee to another city (having already faced all of that shit above, and im sure a lot of other stuff) where they were met with rejection (and wtf, guns?)."

Thoughts?


Forever Always,
SydVicious

To Age Like a Fine Wine

As we may all have learned in Biology class, certain animals shed their skin, leaving delicate shells of their body behind. Also, as we may have been told by our elders, as you get older, people in your life will drop like flies. This may arise from a more keen sense of self and stronger dependence on self-reliance or these people who were once so close may even voluntarily slip away. Either way, in the past 6 months for the first time in my life, I have shed, not skin, but people. And just like the reptile who slithers out of the old and into the new, I don't look behind with regrets anymore.


Call it self-preservation.

One pattern or trend that has always been apparent, is the potential for grave disappointment when placing ones eggs in the hands of another. Whether those eggs hatch feelings, secrets or any other vulnerability, those people close to us are entrusted with such personal treasures. I can't afford to have another egg break on another's accord.

With no regrets I take the next step -- for fear the regret may hatch a poison to my soul. In accordance with these natural laws I must live, and one day I will see the merit. I fully anticipate my wisdom at 40 or 50, even 35 years old.

In this 26 year old frame, perhaps I do have one regret: that it has to be this way.

Until then,
SydVicious

9:16 AM -- Washington, DC

Knowing that anger is perhaps one of the worst emotions to harbor, I try my best, from situation to situation, to avoid letting it get the best of me. But sometimes during the morning commute on the Washington, DC subway system (the "Metro"), I get so furious with people that I can feel my brain swelling and my eyesight start to grow dim. Again, anger is poisonous, so I really hate this feeling, but every day without fail, it rises in me....

Case In Point

This morning, the man sitting next to me decided it would be as good time as any to read his morning paper: The Washington Post Express or The Express for short. First of all, this paper is handed out by homeless people (?) every morning at nearly every subway. If you don't pick up a copy there, you can always find a spare on your seat once you board the train. Either way, to me, the Express is the tabloid version of the Washington Post, and anyone who gets their "news" from this paper is already a classified imbecile.

This man in particular was of the latter sort: he had picked up his copy of The Express from his seat before he plopped his touckus down. I have perfected my metro chair stance insofar as I pile my belongings on my lap, push my coat under my thigh (if it's winter time), and do my best to avoid crossing the line between these shared seats. Some imbeciles are obviously not as evolved, including the gentleman I shared a seat with this morning.

He proceeds to take his Express and open up the paper completely -- arm span width. Like this:

Except he wasn't at home on his recliner with a cup of joe on the sidestand. We were sharing a damn seat on the metro -- with about 4 feet total to split between the two of us. Right then, was NOT the time for him to get comfortable.


Most people would then fold the paper in half to read one leaf at a time. Hey, just flip it over when you've come to the end of the page, and if you come to the end of THAT page, then by all means, open it completely -- but fold it back in half once you've reached the desired page. Like this:

Because I am a notorious lover, not a fighter, I tried a passive aggressive look in his direction as his hand unfolded the paper, practically spanning my lap. Aware of the rot anger can bring, I was hesitant to open my mouth and engage in a lesson in manners and mutual respect in public. Seriously, that's all it was -- a lack of respect and self-awareness on his part, probably brought on by a poor upbringing, centered around a sense of entitlement. Alas, I just let my blood boil, wrote the experience down in my journal, and swore to blog about it today.

But, please understand, this situation is not lone. Every freaking morning, some imbecile on the Metro does something to piss me off. They may choose the seat right next to me, despite the 20 other open seats on the train. Or they stop in their tracks upon entering the car, to look to the right and left and pick a seat, although their is a line of 10 people behind them, and the "Doors Closing!" chime is going off. (These idiots deserve to get pushed, and I will push them. This is probably the extent of the anger I will display.) Or maybe they see 25 people running to catch the train at the platform...that is practically pulling off...but they just stand in the way as if they are not aware that people on their way to work (their source of income, livelihood and sense of accomplishment) are trying to board the EXACT train whose doors they are blocking. Again, these people deserve to get pushed, full speed and impacted (much like the lady I knocked out of the way this morning, while I was attempting a transfer to the Orange/Blue line at Metro Center).

Either way you cut it, one of these mornings, I am going to go postal -- nay, go Metro -- on these imbeciles. In trying to rehabilitate my morning emotions, I have deconstructed these scenarios countless times. I did NOT have this problem on the NYC subway...not at all! Despite the fact that NYers pushed into the car like sardines, they wouldn't dare make these same violations. Is it because the stereotype is true (the "Hey! I'm walking here!" as you pound on a car -- something I also did this morning, after getting out of the metro)? So you wouldn't dare set anyone off? Or are NYers that much more street savvy than Washingtonians? In fact, I ENJOYED riding the NY subway -- the people, the adventures. What is the problem here?

Alas, I have no answers, only reoccurring rage. I don't like harboring this poison every morning, but until these Capital City imbeciles start using their brains, and get their heads out of their asses, I might just be angry.

Forever Always,
Sydney

NEXT POST: The long awaited: Late Resolutions for a New Year, 2009 version. This one comes with pictures, ya'll!!

The Haunting

{late friday, my phone rings}
{ 202-997-3*** } {that's him, i say}

The One.

---

What happens next is the disturbing part -- my palms start to leak, my stomach starts to turn with waves of nausea, sickness rising in my throat, my heart begins to beat so hard that all I can do is place my head between my legs and call the Lord's name repeatedly.*

Considering I was on the 6-11 shift at La Galeria, I knew I had to gain composure. I tried to stand up and couldn't. All I could do was continue calling His name, hand over my heart, staring blankly forward. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God. What in the hell could he want from me? At once, the possibilities ran the spectrum from logical to illogical.

I answered.

Quickly, I made him aware that I was working, could not talk and would return the call after 11 PM. His simple reply, "Ok".

"Typical", I thought, and hung up.

In an attempt to gain whatever composure I could, my legs began to strengthen and I stood up. In disbelief of this physical reaction, and realizing I was still working, I threw myself into whatever busy, mind-numbing task(s) I could find, organizing frames, sweeping, whatever. This would have to be dealt with after 11 PM, after my shift. At that time, and only that time, could I fathom facing this.

Eventually, I decided not to call back. My reaction was pitiful, and I could no longer justify my sick attachment to this menace. Two days later however, I sent the elusive, intrinsically nonchalant text message. The rundown:

Me: "Is everything ok or are you calling because it's the holidays?"
Me: "It's just that it still kinda hurts..."

T.O.: "Everything is ok, just wanted to wish you and your family a safe holiday."

Me: "Please remember that we do not celebrate the holidays."

At this point, I am infuriated. Everyone that I know and has gotten to know me, knows that I do not celebrate any holidays, and neither does my family. Not only are we a small unit, we opt out for strict religious reasons. Don't think for a second that he is not aware of this, last season he pulled the same shit, to which I promptly replied with an emailed essay on "Why Christians Shouldn't Celebrate Christmas". While this may offend some readers, please understand that that was my express intention: To OFFEND.

T.O.: "I know, its just dangerous during the holidays and I wanted to make sure you were safe."

My anger rose.

Me: "We can't be friends. Please enjoy your life with your girlfriend and leave me out of it."

This is what happens every time we speak: all I think about are the new women in his life, his betrayal, my distrust, the weight and burden that I carry everyday, how quickly he was able to move on, how much I sacrificed for 'us', and how my biggest fear is that I will never get over him and may just carry this with me to the grave.

Me: "The last time we talked, you couldn't even say that 'you think about me sometimes'. You acted like it killed you to say. So please stop doing this to me."

He never replied, which is fine. In the silence, I realized that I resent him every time he pops up in my life like this. Whether it be for the holidays, or for the un-utterable fact that I crossed his mind. I repeat, I resent him when he contacts me. Not only that, but obviously, he triggers a nervous system response that certainly can't be healthy. In sum total, my words above are final. We can't be friends. Enjoy your life. And leave me out of it.

I know no other way to attempt this hurdle. Often I think, if only The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was possible. I know in the movie, the consequences of mind erasure are portrayed as dangerous, but I invite the risk. Either that or electro-shock therapy. Alas, both are not feasible in this century, so I must handle this burden in the only way I know.

I bid you farewell, my love.

Forever. Always.

---

*My symptoms were clearly akin to the sympathetic nervous systems' 'fight or flight' reflex taught in most psychology, cognition or behavioral courses. Simply put, and according to wikipedia.com, "the fight-or-flight response, also called the fright, fight or flight response, hyperarousal or the acute stress response, was first described by Walter Cannon in 1915. His theory states that animals react to threats with a general discharge of the sympathetic nervous system, priming the animal for fighting or fleeing."

Symptoms include "acceleration of heart and lung action, inhibition of stomach and intestinal action, general effect on the sphincters of the body, constriction of blood vessels in many parts of the body, liberation of nutrients for muscular action, dilation of blood vessels for muscles, inhibition of lacrimal gland (responsible for tear production) and salivation, dilation of pupil, relaxation of bladder, inhibition of erection**, auditory exclusion (loss of hearing), and tunnel vision (loss of peripheral vision)."

**This symptom was not a problem for me considering I have a vagina.

---

All at once, I finally took a moment and I'm realizing that: you're not coming back.
(And it finally hit me all at once.)
All at once, I started counting teardrops and at least a million fell, my eyes began to swell.
(And all my dreams were shattered all at once.)

Ever since I met you, you're the only love I've known.
And I cant forget you, though I must face it all alone.

All at once, I looked around and found that you were with another love, in someone elses arms.
(And all my dreams were shattered, all at once.)
All at once the smile that used to greet me brightened someone elses day. {You} took your smile away.
(And left me with just memories, all at once.)

All at once, I'm drifting on a lonely sea.
Wishing you'd come back to me.
And that's all that matters now.

Holding on to memories.
And it hurts me more than you know.
So much more than it shows.

All at once.
-- Whitney H., "All At Once", ca. 1985

---

Jockin' Sydney/Jockin' Sydney

While most may disagree (it is hard to believe), Beyonce Giselle Knowles has been jocking my style for a number of years. It's really difficult to prove that a celebrity is biting your style, of course most assume it to be the other way around: in your layman adoration of said celebrity, you emulate. Please do not be confused -- this is NOT the case with me and Mrs. Knowles-Carter.

She --jocks-- ME.

For years, I never had proof, only verbal speculation, which I mentioned fell on deaf ears of disbelief. The proof, my dear, is in the pudding, or rather yet, the proof is in Miami.


Please accept the following, Exhibit A:

DATE: January 20, 2008

LOCATION: King Size LES, NYC

ITEM: Blue, Diane von Furstenburg Dress (which looks fabulous by the way)



And of course, Exhibit B:

DATE: December 8, 2008 *nearly a year later*

LOCATION: Art Basel, Miami FL

ITEM: Blue, Diane von Furstenberg Dress





-- I rest my case --




Now, in the words of theYBF.com -- Who Ran It??

Frrrrozen Hibrrrrrnation

While winter has yet to officially arrive, some cold menace has descended upon the Nation's Capital. This morning, shortly after opening my eyes, I turned on the Fox Morning News. To my dismay, Tony Perkins announced that it was 24 degrees outside.

24 degrees.
24.

This is of particular concern as I have prohibited myself from wearing my warmest winter coat because it reeks of cigarettes. Knowing I would have to wear my winter jacket, I knew this morning would be tough. My only redemption on the walk to the subway was my thigh high leg warmers -- thank god for them, but one can only be kept but so warm by these knit confections.

And so, the question becomes, "should I hibernate"? As in, cease all unnecessary trips outside? Including those excursions were alcohol is inextricably linked? Garsh -- given my new freedom from professional servitude, I would hate to cut it short already. Perhaps I should've quit in May, giving myself 3 more months of jubilation.....







Nonetheless, you will catch me out this weekend at private and public fetes de Noel. The founders of Dissident Display (my FAVORITE gallery/studio/business in DC) will be feteing this Friday, and I am enchanted! I promise this time to bring a camera....






Forever Always,
SydVicious

P.S. Don't be mad that this post is so short. I am training myself to blog religiously, and if this is my start at it -- pat me on the back! My life brims with experience, and I am sure that I will be trained to report in due time.


UPDATE: Just confirmed, I will be imbibing at JR's this Thursday -- $10 all you can drink rail. It's to see my husband whom I haven't seen in a while. Please note, my marital vows are bringing me out of the house -- I am still afraid of the cold.

...{speechless}...

I must've been, to have waited so long to post.

But passing experiences with existence always lead me back to some journal/blog/diary. Countless volumes of unfinished diaries line my shelves -- they begin in a pivotal moment, and I suppose as I work my way through whatever it is, the need to write it down ceases.

So that must mean this present compulsion to write is on the dawn of a pivotal moment. And it is. And I am.

But alas, enough torment as to why --> moving forward.

"The Perfect Job" turned into a nightmare.
But as always, a diamond of a lesson formed of that pressure.

My resolve has proven to be steadfast countless times: a measure of spontaneity, a dash of passion, hope and Belief, mixed with a heap of wit. The Universe as always has a plan, and after my cataclysm* in New Orleans, a new path has unfolded and I must live and commit to this journey.

Quite possibly the hardest hill I have yet to climb, I will confront the law of the land -- by way of the LSATs first, then Law School itself, and finally passing the notorious bar exam. More importantly, I will amass this knowledge to be totally used for the benefit of descendants of the African Diaspora in the United States. Even moreso, my first ripple will effect those descendants who remained in the Southern US postbellum.

To put it simply: I'm going to pull up the people, pull up the poor. I'm sure as my path develops, there will be more to post on the subject, and to put my money where my mouth is, I will remain mum on that...until further notice.

"pull up the people, pull up the poor

i'm a fighter, fighter god
i'm a soldier on that road
i'm a fighter, a nice nice fighter
i'm a soldier on that road

bring me the reaper
bring me a lawyer
i'll fight i'll take em on
you treat me like a killer
i ain't never hate ya
i'm a soldier on that road " -- M.I.A. "Pull Up the People"

*definition: "an event that brings great changes", merriamwebster.com

Like a Rock {A Song in Thought}

Since August, I have been in perpetual motion. I have not taken a breather, not a real one at least. Yes, being a Convention Services Manager for the third largest hotel can be quite daunting. But to face professionals 20+ years your senior, and look them in their eyes, stand up for and sometimes FIGHT for your way, can be humbling.

I learned from a sweet Little Birdie that not only was the quality of my work perceived to be slipping, but my personal capabilities were under question. In 2 months I had to flip the script on these people because I KNOW I am better than that.

"I jog in the graveyard,
Spar in the same ring.
I was housed by the building where Malcolm X was slain.

I spring train in the winter,
Round early December.
Run suicide drills over and over.

With the weight of the world on my shoulder -
that's why they call me 'Hova' -
I'm far from being God, but I work god-damned hard."

--S. Carter

All in all, I am glad to say that I have recovered as a polished professional eager to learn: as cliche as that sounds. I want to absorb and grow as much as possible, and for the first time in my life, I bit a piece of humble pie. And I must say I am all the better for it.

Literally, I was brow-beaten and weathered, and I was known to describe myself as a 'shell of the woman I used to be'. Better still, I emerge confidently and excited.

At times, I miss the random-ness of New York and especially LIC. The openness of experience and the welcoming comfort of mutual sentiment despite huge differences. Moving back to DC is certainly not for naught.

"An upside down kingdom where life is just not fair.
So many suffering 'cause deep inside they're scared.
Fear pumped into their veins to keep them from their destiny.
Where would they be if you and I don't care?"--MJB ("I Try f/ Talib Kweli)

Here, in my home, I am able to look at what 'building' this life means. I am able to look to the future, and hopefully in time engage in the present that was so miraculously apparent 212 miles to the north.

I look forward to it all though. And if nothing else, I have learned to smile through it all - at least you'll look better
:D

"Life is a beautiful struggle:
People search through the rubble for a suitable hustle.

Some people using their noodle...
Some people using their muscle...
Some people put it all together, make it fit like a puzzle.

(Come on, Say it now)
Life is a beautiful struggle:
People search through the rubble for a suitable hustle.

Some people using their noodle...
Some people using their muscle...
Some people put it all together, yeah. --T. Kweli

Modes of Therapy

Although nothing heals a wound like time, there are certain glosses one can apply. My weapons of choice, as of recently, are as follows:

DVD Therapy
- I currently own a personal DVD player. The screen is about as big as my hand is wide, but I turn off all my lights when using it, so as to obscure any visual stimuli other than that blaring from my little screen. It works. (*You can also get yourself a real DVD player, and television with which to play it...but that technically falls under Retail Therapy.)

- Get yourself a subscription to Netflix or Blockbuster online. It really is like the commercial - you have little surprises, or treats, or characters, waiting in your mailbox when you get home. I found it difficult to choose between Netflix or Blockbuster, but eventually decided upon Blockbuster.

-Starting my queue has been most exhilarating. I have everything from documentaries on the History of Western Art and films by Perdro Almodovar to The Hills/Laguna Beach series. Whatever might delight my little heart, I pursue. (*I do refuse, however, to watch any Romantic Comedies, or Romantic Dramas, or anything happy and Romantic. It's not conducive to my aura right now. And if anyone starts kissing, or loving one another, I just slip my DVD right back into its envelope, and mail the sucker right back.)

Retail Therapy
- I bought a car last week. I don't even have a license. Enough said.

- Well, one more thing: After I bought the car, I bought an I Pod.

Work Therapy
- Even though I have mentioned this before, I work pretty damn near 60-70 hours a week. I have two jobs, both of which are liable to scheduling any of the 7 days a week. More importantly, I choose to have two jobs: I enjoy what I am doing at both of them, and in actuality my tasks between the two are completely opposite. Something in me (for now) is satisfied with both environments. I sought each job whole heartedly, and wouldn't give it up for the world (or rather, the stress that may come with my schedule).

- After figuring out how to work remotely and access my work desktop at home, I can now wake up on a Sunday morning and do work! I feel like it impresses the clients I have to see an email, or room diagram, or menu sent to them at 9:00 AM Sunday morning, or in another case, 10:00 PM Saturday night. This is beneficial because it is those crucial times when I could be revelling in my state of being, but instead I can be productive.

- This type of therapy is also beneficial because it builds self. Rsther, it builds that part of self that is defined by a career. I could be sitting in my bullshit administrative position, faxing or filing or stamping or answering, with no compassion behind it. My jobs now, however, are different.


Sad to say, these three modes of operation are my glue right now - hence why I am posting about them. I appreciate how they are serving me right now, and highly recommend them to any one going through some tough shit. And you can trust me, I am a Bachelor in Psychology.....

Forever Always,
Syd Vicious

P.S. In the words of T.I.P. Harris (I forgot him, but he's my T.I.P. Therapy) -



"You can look me in my eyes [and] see I'm ready for whatever/
Anythang don't kill me, makes me better.
I ain't dead ****, you can take the fame and the cheddar/
And the game, any deal, I'm still a go-getter.
Take my freedom for the moment, but it ain't forever.
I got the spirit of a god, heart of a dope dealer.

I'm a king, seen hangin' with some cold killas.
I ain't never back down or ran from no ****.
I ain't sat down yet pimp, standing gorilla/
Even if I'm all alone or standin' with four *****.
Tell'em jump, pimpin' [cause] it don't get no real-er/
5'[2]" with the soul of a 6'4" *****.

I separated the fakes: paralyzed from the waist down/
From the real, stand up guys of the A-Town.
Can't even look me in my eyes, put your face down/
I'm outta [school] *****, what you gotta say now?"

Legend

He wants to be with everything under the sun/
He wants to be with everything under the sun/
And like a legend, who rises and unfolds, I cannot be his only one.
--Nelly Furtado, Legend

One thing about prayer is that it will be answered. Whether it is the physical manifestation of that which you desire or actual divine intervention, you will receive what you pray for.

While as of recently, my prayers have been answered in the most fortunate of ways (as in, I got what I wanted), I have tasted "Be careful what you wish for..." Consider this a prelude to my most shiteous day.

I have prayed, with every fiber of my being, to receive wisdom regarding The One. I remember the first time I prayed about him 2 years ago, on a flight back to DC from Texas. He was to pick me up from the airport, and the whole flight, I prayed for the words to speak my mind and the wisdom to decide whether or not to stay. I landed, got my baggage, called him, and nothing.

He did not pick up the phone, and eventually it stopped ringing and went straight to his voicemail. Eventually, I had to call my best friend out of her bed to pick me up.

That had to have been the first answer to my prayers.

More recently, I have prayed to work things out - I'll admit it. And I received my answer last night, over martinis, from a co-worker of mine. In order to maintain some semblance of anonymity on her behalf, I will simply say that the time she spent with him overlaps with the time that I loved him. She, merely prospecting, and I, head over damned heels, in love. Whatever the details and technicalities, I have come face-to-face with one of the women that I shared him with. And damn it if I don't have to face it every day for as long as I am employed with The Dream Job. (The irony, eh?)

While I struggled with this: how could my prayers have been answered LIKE THIS?! This is not what I asked for! I realize that this is exactly the answer I needed. There is no question for me any longer, I have the answer ten feet away from my desk. Every day. While this made for a nauseating day it will make for quite an opposite existence (in the long run).

This morning on the train to work, I realized that no matter what your heart may desire, through faith and prayer (or fervent desire) the universe will bring you what is BEST for you. It may be the most painful experience, humiliating, gut-wrenching, or bone chilling, but it is exactly what you need, if not exactly what you have asked for.

And despite it all, my prayer renewed --

I just want to say that:
I'm Thankful to have [had] you in my life.
I want to say Thank You.
I want to Thank You, for being in my life.

I want to say Thank You, I Miss You, and I Wish You
were here with me saying: 'Thank You
and I Love You for being in my life'.

I don't know/I don't know/I don't know/
What I would do, If I [hadn't had] you in my life.
In my life.

I just want to say Thank You, I Love You and I Miss You.
I just want to say Thank You, I Love You and I Miss You.
--Ashanti, Thank You

She Was Cautiously Optimistic

What a change of pace these past two weeks have been. I went from working about 20 hours a week at the gallery (for the past 2 months) to working 20 hours/2 days - 10 hour days - at The Job. But...I am not complaining.

When I decided it was time to move on from my previous position, I had a glimpse of what I wanted - and I have received it, beyond my imagination. I half-heartedly believed in the power of positive thinking/visualization, but now, with every fiber of my being, I know it's true. I have surmounted a big impasse, and know that the model of positivity can be applied in any situation with success.

It is a sigh of relief to be considered a "Mid-Level Manager" at 24 (and to have my own admin on top of that!). My first week, I realized that I (with my Team) am responsible for directing every other department in the hotel. What I am working on and communicate directly affects everything from labor scheduling to food orders. Never have I been in this position - I have been on the other end, receiving the commands and following through. I invite this change of pace, and am impressed with the responsibility.

I must say things are hectic, as I am still learning new programs, new jargon, new people and new attitudes, but it's all very very worth it. There are people at The Job that have been there for 35, 22, 15, 5 years. I admire any company that can retain employees like that. There's something to be said for giving your life to an institution (and the government doesn't count).

Admittedly, I have felt often overwhelmed in this new position. Afraid to ask too many questions or no questions at all; Intimidated by my co-workers and their bond; Flooded with worry about how I am being perceived: too young, too dumb, too smart, too pretty, too plain, too timid, too loud. In time this will pass, I am sure of it.

And...I am not complaining - rather, I am Cautiously Optimistic.

--Inspired tonight by the art of Lisa Montag Brotman



"She Was Cautiously Optimistic", original oil on canvas, L. Brotman

To Begin Again

In a rage, I deleted my blog. I was embarrassed. My feelings for him, The One, had been blown back in my face, and in a rage I attempted to eliminate all traces and records of how I had felt.

But I rather enjoyed my blog, although in all honesty, I am not sure anyone read it. Nevertheless, here I am, beginning again.

I start The Job next Monday. I cannot wait to be working 50-60 hours/week...honestly. I need to be as busy as I possibly can, and what better way than to throw myself into work. Especially at a job that I am definite will be a necessary career step. I get an office (!) and a cell phone. There was once a time when I was frightened about the career path that lay before me. I thought I was destined for administrative hell. With a resume so clerical-heavy, I was not so sure that anyone would believe in me for much more than answering the phones and organizing their files.

But this job saw through that, and believed in me. Thank God, literally. There is something to be said for timing, and I am prone to believe that circumstances occur as a mix of destiny and chance (like Forrest Gump, more to come about that later). So it was a matter of destiny mixing with chance that allowed me to return from China, muster up the courage to quit my job with The Bitch, see the posting for this position, walk into the interview and shiiine. They did tell me that ordinarily they would be looking for someone with more experience, but at this time they wanted new talent, fresh faces and ideas. This mix was perrrfect.

Being out of work was actually a blessing. I was able to tie up some legal ends, community service, classes, etc. and would definitely not have been able to do so working with The Bitch. Although I took a financial hit, the personal time was worth it. Plus I couldn't imagine sitting at that receptionist desk anymore, with Them bringing thing after thing, issue after issue, file after file to me despite what I appeared to be in the middle of. Here's to not answering the phone anymore and transferring the call. Here's to not maintaining any one's schedule but my own and organizing no one but myself. And as horrible as this sounds, I feel sorry for them in that little office on Pennsylvania Avenue. It really is a sick vortex, albeit the perfect introduction to office politics. Abre Los Ojos.

Because I deleted my original posts, I will now repost my little treasures, my secret desire, my Christian Louboutin's. They will be mine....



The Beauties in Purple Patent Leather

For every occasion: Classic Black









Make it happen,
Vicious

P.S. As promised, more on Forrest Gump. I saw this movie recently, and although it has always been a heart tug for me, something about it really touched me this time. Forrest is the ultimate person to me; maybe because he was 'stupid' and did not have the forethought nor wherewithal to reason through his actions, he truly lived. He experienced anything that landed on his heart to completion and and utter totality. He's my hero and I can only hope to live like that.

"Jenny, I don't know if Momma was right or if, if it's Lieutenant Dan. I don't know if we each have a destiny, or if we're all just floating around accidental-like on a breeze, but I, I think maybe it's both. Maybe both is happening at the same time. I miss you, Jenny. If there's anything you need, I won't be far away." (For my Jenny aka The One)