Don't Take it Personal

I haven't written in a while and that's sad. Because truthfully, I really do enjoy it, even if nobody out there is actually reading it. It's a nice way to spend some time with myself, making myself laugh (or cry depending on the day). I feel like, even if I'm not evoking emotion in anyone else, at least I'm squeezing a little juice out of myself.

This has been one of those days that makes me lean on the "cry" side, quite frankly and here's why:

a) I had to wake up a 6:30 am. Never good. NEVER GOOD.

b) I had a kind of stressful appointment early on in the day and although I ended up enjoying myself and learning somethings about myself (I'm pretty incoherent and "off-the-ball" at 8:00am) I'm disappointed in what's sure to be the outcome.

c) The Momes. For those of you who have been reading, you'll know that he's my pride and joy. A little bundle of fur with, it turns out, special needs. Last night we had a scare that he may have had another seizure (he had one in late December - but has been seizure-free ever since). Today he wasn't himself and we had to once again rush him to the vet. GOOD NEWS: 99% sure that he DID NOT have another seizure. BAD NEWS: He seems to have sprained, or torn something, in his knee. Now we have a hyper-puppy who is not allowed to walk. Not fun. Very stressful.

d) Britney Spears announced that she's pregnant. I'm not sure why this makes me want to cry, but it just does, okay?

e) I caved and ate a Harvey's burger for lunch. MMmmmm was soooo good though.

f) I'm now in some state of semi-shock from all of the events of the day. I'm worn out, scared, anxious and a little overwhelmed.

What else can I say? It's just one of dem days.

I Need Love

Valentine's Day.

Hm.

What do I think about Valentine's Day? I dunno. Seriously, I really don't.

I used to fancy myself a romantic but I'm not so sure anymore. And is Valentine's Day REALLY romantic anyway? Isn't it just a chance for people who aren't genuinely romantic to force themselves into it once a year?

What is romantic these days?

I love chocolate and flowers and diamonds. But I love those everyday and while on Valentine's Day I'm not going to turn any one of them down, I still think they'd mean more if they came on a totally random unexpected day.

I love long walks on the beach at sunset.

I'm a sucker for a public marriage proposal. Take me to a wedding? Forget about it, I'm a mess. I bring a whole package of tissues and I use them all. But I'm constantly telling people that I don't want that kind of wedding for myself. It's too public. Maybe I'm only privately romantic?

Write me a love poem? I'll laugh at you. Sorry if you're sensitive, but poetry? Not my thing.

Love songs? LOVE love songs. The title song of this blog, "I Need Love", by LL Cool J? My heart pounds when it comes up on the iPod. And most people laugh at the cheesiness of it. For me when it comes to love songs, the cheesier the better. I even love the final ballad on JT's solo album so much that I'll listen to it two or three times in a row. [Did I just really reveal that?]

Love stories? Awesome. I used to judge a movie's worth by how much it made me cry. Pretty Woman, My Best Friend's Wedding... all the Julia's. All of them. My favourite romantic movie? Terms of Endearment. TERMS OF ENDEARMENT people. Saddest, sappiest love story of all time.

I love puppies and teddy bears and babies... oh my!

But despite all the evidence I've listed here to the contrary, I just don't think I'm very romantic. Or maybe I'm just not good at forcing romance.

For me the most romantic moments happen when I'm least expecting it. It's found in a photo that someone took of me when I wasn't looking. A photo that shows how beautiful they think I am (even if I think I look chubby).

It's found in the quick kiss I get when I'm in the middle of a totally mundane sentence. "So, then we have to take the dog for a poo, then I'll put [INSERT KISS HERE] clean sheets on the bed, then we can watch the news and go to bed."

Now that's romantic.

Valentine's Day. You know what? Whether you love it, or whether you hate it. I hope you find a few stolen and unexpected moments of your favourite kind of romance tomorrow. A wink, a proposal, a loving slap on the bum. A quiet cuddle with your baby or your puppy. A romp in some new lacy lingerie.

I may not need conventional or contrived romance to be happy. But you know what I do need? I need love.

Manic Monday

So this past weekend pretty much blew.

Actually, wait, I take that back. The weather blew. I'm not a fan of winter.
Winter blows.

The weekend was ok. Minus 30 degrees and a significant snow storm forced weather-wimps like me to shack up indoors. The thing is, a few years ago I'd have seen that as a blessing.

An excuse! To stay in bed! All day! Yoohoo!

But now I'm old. And try as I might to relax and let go and sleep all day just because I can, I can't. 10 p.m. is the absolute latest I can sleep in. Then, if I really force it, I can lounge in bed with my book, or the paper for a while (I quite love this quiet ritual). But marathon-PJs-all-day-sleep-fest? Forget it.

Now something annoying in my grown-up brain says, "Get up. Get showered. Get out." It won't allow me to "waste" the day away. There must be a chore to complete, a store to hit, a movie...? A museum?

This weekend it was a trip to the grocery store one day, a trip to the mall another. Sounds measly, I know, but considering the storm and the absurd cold, it was actually quite a hardship. Yet I did it. I didn't take the excuse and stay in bed all day. I didn't take the gift that was handed to me by Mother Nature.

And now it's Monday. And what do you think my very first thought was this morning at 7 a.m.? It's an easy guess and I'm sure that all of you have already said it to yourself.

"What I wouldn't give to just be able to stay in bed all day and do nothing."

In other words: I wish it were Sunday, that's my fun day.

Straight Outta Compton

Ok. Not so I'm not quite straight outta Compton. Shit, I can't even claim to be straight outta Coxwell. Nope. I'm straight outta the lily-white, yuppy-infested, politically-correct, pseudo-liberal Beaches.

But I have a secret. I love gangsta rap. Specifically, I have a huge warm spot in my heart for the west-coast 80's bad-ass Compton crew NWA.

You're shocked, right? Hm. Well, that might just be why I like it so much. I've been listening since NWA came on the scene, and admittedly at first it probably had a lot to do with the fact that it was rebellious to be blaring this profanity in my feminist, socialist, non-racist, non-sexist, non-ageist, non-religious home. Yes, I can admit that.

However, rebellious or not, the funky beats from the "Straight Outta Compton" album and the cool, self-assured voices, tinged with teen angst and South Central style, of Eazy-E (RIP), DJ Yella, Dr. Dre and Ice Cube quickly settled into my soul.

Pretty soon this white yuppy-raised sweetheart was a little less girly and a little more gangsta. And guess what? I never grew out of it.

In fact, I think I grew INTO it. With every passing year as I listened, I developed a little more, I had a new outlook on life.

Early on it was definitely defiance. "Yeah, fuck tha police!" I thought.

A little later it was sexual. "Well, what do you want me to do with it? It don't matter, just don't bite it. She swallowed it! It's the worlds biggest dick."

But before long, as I grew and studied and expanded my mind, my understanding of the sociological meaning behind the music grew too. "I'm expressing with my full capabilities, and now I'm living in correctional facilities. 'Cause some don't agree with how I do this. I get straight and meditate like a Buddhist."

And saw the hypocrisy of the industry, "Some professionals cuss at home, too scared to use profanity when upon the microphone. Yeah, they want reality, but you will hear none, they'd rather exaggerate a little fiction. Some say no to drugs and take a stand, but after the show they go lookin' for the Dopeman."

I still remember quite vividly when Eazy-E died of AIDS. I'd known other people to succumb to the disease, but this one hit me in a different way. This was someone who, for reasons I still don't fully understand, I related to. He was from my generation. Hell, he was in my CD player! "I'm Eazy-E the one they're talking about. Ni**a tried to roll the dice and just crapped out." Looks like Eazy's the one who crapped out this time, huh?

One of my earliest, and dare I say strongest, celebrity crushes was on Ice Cube. Other girls I knew bought Teen Beat and pasted pin-ups of River Phoenix and Johnny Depp on thier walls. I searched the hiphop mags for shots of Cube. I watched Rap City religiously just waiting and hoping that they'd play one of his videos, not something that they did very often, mind you, until his solo album hit the charts. I admit it's a crush that lives on today. There's just something about him. He's in my Top 5.

You know, I don't know how to explain my passion for NWA. But I do know that despite the early corruption, I still grew up to be a feminist, socialist, non-racist, non-sexist, non-ageist, non-religious woman. I can listen to the music with a rebellious badass slant, but I can listen with a critical, sociological, intellectual understanding too. Do I agree with every message? Hell no. The point is, I still listen. And I still love it.

Shocking? Maybe. But when I'm dressed for work, grey wool coat and little black heels. Metallic pink iPod tucked dicsreetly into my black leather bag. I can't help but smile to know that on the other end of those earphones, unbeknownst to the subway full of commuters, I've got a head full of the NWA crew.

Hey, what can I say? If it ain't ruff, it ain't me.

Baby Love

Scarbie's in labour. Holy fucking shit.

It's early in the New Year, and as I mentioned last time, little Pecker decided to hold out for 2005. Good for you my little lovely. It's a mild, rainy day. The kind of day that makes you feel a little tired and a little sad. So why can't I wipe the smile off my face?

I spoke to The Dog about an hour ago. He called from the hospital (Thank GOD because I've been spazzing since about 10 a.m. when I called to check in with the 'rents-to-be only to get voicemail on home and cell). He assures me that they are all doing fine. Mommy has had her drugs and was chatting away in the background. That's my girl.

Long story short. Baby is on his way. Could be anywhere from 5 - 12 hours, but looks like Jan. 2 is going to be our newest bday to celebrate. A good day if you ask me. Our boy will always have a party to go to before his special day (on account of New Year's), plus the unique opportunity to start each new year of his life at the same time as a brand-new calendar year begins. Double reason to focus on making each successive year the best one ever.

Plus, Mommy and Daddy will still have New Year's Eve to themselves (well, as much as they will have any day to themselves now that there's a new person in the picture) and won't necessarily have to throw parties with clowns and pinatas on New Year's Day.

Hangovers + clowns = NIGHTMARE (or so I would imagine).

I'm not really able to concentrate on anything and so I'm off again to go and stare at the phone. I have a feeling that next time it rings, there will be news of a baby. A baby!

Now I'm crying again... it's out of pure joy, rest assured. Scarbie and Dog, my thoughts are with you. I hope everything is going perfectly. I'm so proud of you both and I can't wait to see you next... when two will have become three.

Amazing.