Whyyy Did I Ever Watch These Movies?

Jason’s Lyric – I saw this movie years after it’s release, because I was a child back when it was popular. I don’t remember who I watched it with, but I do remember being extremely uncomfortable during the love scene in the woods. I’m pretty sure I watched it with family. How awkward is that? Sitting with your dad while Jada Pinkett is getting it on all out in nature. I’ll pass. And then there was the big blow up crazy man shoot em up scene. I don’t like crazed gunmen. I don’t like emotional shootings. This was all that and then some. I couldn’t do it. Will never watch it again. *Shudders*

Precious – This movie here…. My first tear fell somewhere in the beginning of the movie after my first cringe when poor Precious got smacked by her mama at the sink. Every time they seemed to dry up, something else happened to  get me upset again. I was also pissed because no one warned me that I would cry. I would have come with an entire box of tissue. When that baby went tumbling down the stairs! Queue the water works once again. It was really downhill when Monique decided that she was going to explain to Paula why she treated Precious the way she did. Come On!!! Was I really expected to sit through that without crying and sniffling all over the place? Never will I ever see that mess again. I wash my hands of all that emotion at once. Ugh!!

Passion of the Christ – First of all, let me just say eff Mel Gibson for creating this movie. Why? Because it is enough seeing my Jesus on the screen at church every few months during communion. The crucifixion that they show from that old school movie is pretty sad. Mel decided that he wanted to recreate the whole thing and do it with a bigger budget and make it all types of realistic. And of course my church had to book a theatre. Literally. We had movie tickets and there was not one person in that room that wasn’t a member of Born Again. I have never been in so much pain during, well, anything. I was one tense muscle. I cringed every time they hit my Jesus. Every time He winced I winced. And every time they showed his mama crying, I cried. Yea, eff Mel Gibson. My daddy bought the dvd when it was released (because it’s about Jesus and all). I don’t remember it ever being unwrapped from the plastic.

American History X – I am still mad at the person that made me watch this mess. We were supposed to chillin’. Spending quality time together. Last time I checked, watching someone get their teeth kicked into a sidewalk wasn’t a cool way to spend time with someone you like. Yea I’m still mad. Just a little bit. I’ll never watch that movie again because of that there scene. Makes my skin crawl.

Only happy movies for me. I’ve been scarred enough.

 

Sidenote: I’m on a mission to get my Gigi to go thrifting. If I’m successful, I’m writing a post about it. Wish me luck!

Music That Moves Me: 4th Edition

This post isn’t about the song. Well kind of. It’s about art.

See, I’m a huge fan of the Fox hit So You Think You Can Dance. I watch every season from auditions to finale, and even vote for my favorites. There are some performances stick out every year. This particular performance brings tears to my eyes no matter how many times I see it. Everything about it is just right, and you can tell that the dancers are sincere in every movement. 

Enjoy

5 Things To 5 People

I’m on a roll this week!! I’ve found that my lovely father has grown fond of commenting. I don’t mind, because I know that he doesn’t expect me to begin censoring myself.
Onward with the post!

Keeping with the usual humdrum around these parts, I have another list. This time it’s a list of people. Well, a list of things that I want to say to a list of people. Wait, why am I explaining myself?

1. Did I do something to you? Like personally? Because I’m thinking that there has to be some reason for the sudden change in attitude. I’m also thinking that I’m not going to ask you why you’re mad, or why you’ve chosen these actions to show me that you’re upset. See, I’m not that interested. I’m shrugging you off.

5. I’m choosing my words carefully, because my daddy has been adamant about my consideration and word choice for the past few months. I will say this:
You don’t know me. You have yet to try to get to know me. You only know what others have told you. Your attempts at being nice fail because I don’t care about how much money you have or can spend on trips and clothes in stores that I will never have an interest in shopping at. You have repeatedly been the reason for more tension than a little bit, however intentional or unintentional it may be. And although you may mean well at times, you suck at showing it. You also should accept that your way is not the only way. There are always other options. Pouting does not look good on grown ups. Well, it’s ok for me because I don’t really mean it. Also, just as an FYI, I’m stubborn which I know isn’t a good quality. This means that I’ll never make an apology if I don’t mean it. Asking will be in vain.

4. Dear everyone. I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it. If I did, I’d call you and talk. I’ve never been a talker; so don’t act like this is new.

2. Why are you so cool? Why do I like talking to you so much? Why do I want to know so much about you? These are the questions that I ask myself all the time. Questions that I don’t have the answers to, and don’t need. I am perfectly content. Although everything isn’t ideal, I am content. So expect more from me. You told me that it would be an uphill climb. I’ve never been one for strenuous exercise, but I’m so down for the challenge.

3. You should be happy that I’m not a man. You should be very happy that I’m not a man. You should be happy that I don’t live where you live. If I lived, and I was a man, I’d kill you. I don’t play around when it comes to my family. Apparently you think that hearts are footballs that you can toss around for entertainment and then leave out in the yard. Oh, but once you get bored again you’ll go out in the yard and rummage through that grass and weeds for that abandoned deflated football. Ready to play.
You need to find another heart to play with, a heart that is not in my family. Because if you fuck with this heart in particular, put a bruise on it, deflate it any more than it is, I will pretend I’m a man. But remember that I’m a woman, so my wrath will not be normal. Think: SNAPPED.

“I Was Gonna Write You A Love Song”…. But Cee-Lo Wrote It First

I am in love with love songs.

Am I in love? Ha!! Love is on another planet, and the shuttle to bring it to me is missing an engine.

But I am in love with love songs. I can’t identify with any of them, but they are in constant rotation on my ipod. Why? Because one day i will be able to recall a situation for each and every line in each and every one of those songs that I love so much. With that said, here is a song that has been on repeat for the past two weeks. Just listen to the words.

Learning From Colored Girls

This weekend I learned a great amount without even trying, and it all started with a date to go see For Colored Girls. (No this is not a post about the movie. Calm down) The movie was…. Intense. Our discussion following the movie, over wine and cheese (yeah we’re fancy), was even more intense.

I learned so much from talking to a few colored girls.

See, prior to this weekend I looked at all of these women with the same eyes. They were the eyes of perfection. Cookie cutter happy lives, with cookie cutter issues that always have a happy ending. I was wrong. These women have been through LIFE but you would never be able to tell. They are strong. They are stronger than strong. They have been through hell and back again, some more than once, yet they wake up every day and pursue their dreams. They don’t sit and wallow in their sorrows or dwell on their pain.

I know that people go through things, but my naivety and slight self-centeredness always had me thinking that they all show it in one way or another; that somewhere in their personality, there’s an element of damaged. An indication of the pain that they’ve endured and the scar that was left behind. Then I realized that no one knows my pain unless I let them know. Yes, I know what behaviors and hang-ups display my pain, but how would others know?

What else did I learn? I learned that it wouldn’t hurt to be more like these women. I have a habit of allowing things to hold me back. Something bad will happen and I will completely shut down. Forget what I’ve already accomplished in my life. Forget that I have the skills and knowledge to accomplish so much more. Fear tells me to give up before I start because there’s no way I can actually complete the task/meet the goal. The work is simply too hard. Surely I will give up along the journey. Why put myself through it in the first place? When I heard the stories of my beautiful friends and I know that they still haven’t given up it hit me. How dare I not push myself? Who am I to tell me that I can’t do anything?

All because I talked to a few colored girls.

 

 

It’sTime

I started writing for a reason. When feelings overwhelmed me and I didn’t know how to deal with them I wrote them down. I discovered that putting my pencil to paper made me feel better. It became second nature. Writing was my way to cope. Angry, scared, frustrated, confused, happy or anything other emotion sent me straight to a notebook. When asked about my feelings I wrote them down, never spoke them. This resulted in thought out, well articulated explanations. I ventured into poetry. I wasn’t very good, in my opinion. But I quit before I graduated from highschool. I eventually quit writing. I still picked up a notebook from time to time, but I quit writing with the fervor that I used to.

I find myself having cravings. I don’t know what else to call them. I have a hunger to write more than what I’ve been writing. To dig deeper. But I haven’t. I punk out. I’m honestly scared of what I’ll uncover about myself. I think that it’s about time that I woman up. I’ve run out of excuses. I have nothing holding me back but me. I don’t know where this journey is going to lead. I don’t know if the result will be rants, poems, stories or something that I can’t explain. I do know that the journey will be well documented at all times. If that means writing on my arm until I get to paper, so be it. I’m ready.