Every Table Ain't Meant For Sitting

So ok it happened and I can't just not write about it.

Let me preface this by saying, my blog really doesn't deserve any mention of 45 or his antics but here we are. I write solely to unload the thoughts held captive by my brain and since I would prefer not to keep rehashing recent events in my mind, I'm gonna gone head and just state my peace and move on.

By now you've all heard about 45's most recent meeting with "inner city" pastors. Seated around the large refurbished Kittinger table were what some media outlets have helmed the "most influential religious leaders" in America. All of whom were Black and or Hispanic, male and female. 45 has met with random athletes, celebrities, and opportunists of color before so it wasn't shocking to me. The meeting agenda was said to be an opportunity for these men and women of GOD to discuss prison reform and reentry efforts with the current administration. The same topic of discussion Kim Kardashian was said to have with 45 in May. 

I watched the 30 minute White House streaming of the meeting and while I could easily go in on Ohio pastor Darrell Scott's personal annunciation that 45 is "the most pro-black president that we've had in our lifetime" while simultaneously defaming Obama's name and advertising hair dye for aging men I won't. My typing fingers have not the energy to entertain his delusions of grandeur. 

I couldn't however let the day go by without discussing the pastor sitting to the right of 45. Pastor John Gray of Relentless Church in Greenville, South Carolina. Gray strategically placed next to 45 because of all the pastors in the room he is the most socially notable. He's known to have made some very interesting commentary about the relationship between men and women that frequently have gone viral. His most recent relationship discussion he had "a seat the table" of the Sister Circle talk show. He also was seen on this season's episode of Basketball Wives as Tami Roman's spiritual advisor and he was also apart of the cast of The Preachers talk show on FOX, which I enjoyed. Pastor Gray seems to have incorporated mainstream media to push forth his mission in ministry. 

Since America is currently living in a long disheartening reality show taping its not odd that the top billing cast member, 45, wanted Gray sitting right next to him during the live streaming of this meeting. 45 even asked Gray to open with prayer which he did eloquently as most Black pastors do. IMDb credit worthy I'm sure in 45's eyes. During the portion of the meeting that viewers were privy to Gray thanked 45 for the opportunity to have "a seat at the table."

After the meeting Gray had "a seat at the table" with Don Lemon who asked what we all are thinking. WHY? Gray, strongly told Lemon, "I believe the Lord sent me." Gray also said upon agreeing to attend the meeting he told whomever that he did not want to be photographed. During the conversation with Lemon, Gray again mentions "a seat at the table" as a place where you have the opportunity to discuss pertinent issues.

I can not challenge what GOD tells anyone to do. The conversation Pastor Gray had with GOD is a personal one. I strongly believe that GOD will indeed send us places we never thought we'd ever go. However, the lesson in this for me is that every table ain't meant for you to sit at especially when the table itself is the most sensible entity in the room. In fact as evident in the Bible sometimes GOD commands us to stand not sit. 

Pastor Gray its time for take two of your conversation with GOD. 

Be blessed.

The Year of 35: Am I Enough?

My 35th birthday was this past Sunday, June 10th!

I was very excited about seeing 35 because I am extremely proud of the woman I have become. That's a major acknowledgement coming from me because I am extremely critical of myself and don't often see the praises of others as truth. I often feel like goals I've set for myself are unattainable dreams that won't really manifest themselves. I realize self-doubt isn't uncommon but in the age of social media announcements of wins one can only question:

Am I enough?

 It's not easy balancing where you are and where you think you should be. With the rise of suicide amongst children and adults I've made it a priority in these last couple years to take care of my mental state. One way I've done this is by reading my old journal entries as proof of how far I've come in this thing we call life.

As my birthday approached, I found a list in my old journal of things I wanted to accomplish by the time I turned 35. I am not really sure the exact age I wrote this list but the journal had notes in it from a peace studies lecture. "Ooooh peace studies class," I thought. I knew this list had to be written when I was liberally zen-ing through my undergraduate years in ChiTown. So I probably was around 19 or 20.

Here's what was on my list:

1. I want to be successful. Not to be confused with famous because I don't want people all up in my face like that! Just plain successful with a nice car.
2. I want lots of stamps on my passport.
3. I want a child. Not a husband but a child.
4. I want my own business.
5. I want to be an actor. Like a good one.
6. I want to be a writer. Like a good one.
7. I want to see the world. 
8. I want to be happy. Like not superficially happy but genuinely happy.
9. I want to build strong friendships.
10. I want to help women and children.
11. I want to move to Africa.
12. I want to make my parents proud.

Looking at the list I thought, damn, I have accomplished 10 out of the 12 wants from my 19/20 year old desires. I don't have a child, although I have amazing god children, and I haven't moved to Africa. Not too shabby. I immediately felt immense gratitude and calming assurance.

I have decided to leave behind in my year of 34 this constant desire to beat the clock and use of comparing tactics to self shame and down play my achievements.

I enter the year of 35 the happiest I've been in years. It is my number one goal to live my life on purpose and I affirm myself in the belief that:

I have nothing to prove to anyone other than myself.

Purpose knows no competition. 

Fear is temporary and best remedied by action. 

I am more than enough.

I am more than capable.

Even my most lavish dreams are attainable. 

I'm excited for this year of 35 and I am ready to see what I do next!

Even in Your Silence Your Eyes Will Tell Your Truth

In grad school I had the privilege of studying abroad in Paris, France.

Of course while in Paris I did all of the touristy things like a photo under the Arc de Triumph and going to the top of the Eiffel Tower. But the unique part of my studies was exploring Black Paris. A typical day at the Louvre wasn't just standing amongst droves of people trying to get pictures of the The Last Supper or Mona Lisa, I was tasked to explore art from across the diaspora in the infamous museum.

Of the many paintings I saw one forever stands out to me,  Portrait d'une négresse, by Marie-Guillemine Benoist. I loved this painting so much that I bought a printed copy of it which still hangs in my bedroom 12 years later. This past Sunday as I was focused on throwing the whole room away, I looked up and saw the woman in the painting staring back at me.

Now, Louvre art historians will have one to believe that this piece, painted six years after the abolition of slavery in France, became a symbol of the emancipation of Black women. However, if you look at this woman staring directly at the artist with one breast exposed her eyes tell a different story. She doesn't look emancipated, she doesn't look free, she doesn't look happy, and she damn sure doesn't look like she wanted to be in that space and moment in time. I do not claim to be an art historian but her eyes (nor mine) are not playing tricks on me.

Let's pause here for a brief history break. I know, I know, but I couldn't write this piece without some facts. Post the abolition of slavery in France Black women were in fact not "free." They became minor class citizens lower than their Black male counterpart. Though legislation had changed gender relations had not. Race and social relations had not either as we are fully aware of 170 years later. So needless to say the delusions of some historians, art and otherwise, romanticize slavery, emancipation, and gender relations in the world far too often than not. It's repulsive. Reminds me of the time I was visited Robert E. Lee's plantation and the guide told my tour group (full of Black folk) that Lee paid his slaves and slaves wrote Lee letters thanking him for enslaving them. I was there the day before the white supremacist tiki torch death rally in Charlottesville refuting the removal of Lee's statue. Again, repulsive.

With historical context enlightened I proudly stare back at the woman in the painting that graces my bedroom wall. She was not where she wanted to be, internally in pain, and externally tired. The years of constipated tears stain her sclera. Adorned with borrowed cloth she exposes one of her two breasts clearly not by choice but demand. Who exactly is she being painted for? The skeptics? The stakeholders? The white women who chastise her to her face yet secretly admire her body's shape and her mahogany skin that they cant seem to recreate with their cosmetic blends of beeswax and cochineal? The white men who love to control every ounce of her mind and body but can't ever tap into her soul by violating her temple?

None of the later deserve this painting and since I can't rip this painting from the Louvre walls, I'll do the next best thing and attempt to tell her truth.

This painting is in fact for you Black girl as a reminder that you are not defined by the perception of others.

No matter the pain and hurt you may experience throughout the years hold your head steady upon your shoulders and stare your tribulations right in the eye.

Learn to love yourself unwaveringly.

A smile is not a requirement to remedy the discomfort of others.

Find your rightful place and space.

Take charge of your healing.

You are love.

You are hope.

You are art.

You are emancipation.

You shape the discourse past, present, and future.

& even in your silence your eyes will tell your truth.

Red Table Talk Reflection: Seeking Warmth in the Discomfort

June is here and I couldn't be more ecstatic! Mainly because it marks the halfway point of the year. A time where we can conduct our own life audit and prepare ourselves to purposefully finish out the rest of the year. The living on purpose mantra. On June 1st I woke up per usual early. Instead of getting up I laid in my bed for awhile. Read some news articles on my phone, responded to some emails, and scrolled through social media. When I opened up my Facebook app I saw that there was another episode of Jada Pinkett-Smith's Red Table Talk which I absolutely adore. I looked at the time and I fortunately had 20 more minutes to spare before getting up and heading out in the world to be great. The day before was a terrible for me, but I had vowed to not let one bad day have any permanency in my tomorrows. I knew Jada would give me some good feels to add to my day.

This episode, Girls Trippin', Jada sat down at the red table to talk to Gabrielle Union. I love Gabrielle. I remember in the early days of her career when my little brother was crushing on her hard, I didn't get positive vibes from her. She seemed mean. Maybe it was because of Bring It On? I don't know but I wasn't a fan like I was for like say Regina Hall. However, post the uprising of social media my feelings changed. I love the affirmations she did on her pages, I loved the way she handled controversy surrounding being in love with D. Wade, I enjoy seeing virtually her business ventures and collaborations come to fruition, I love her voice in the #MeToo movement, and I adore seeing posts of her travels around the world. So needless to say I was excited to see two amazing Black women in dialogue with one another on a Friday morning. It was disheartening to know that there was ever discord between them but comforting to know that the discord could be resolved.

The conversation was everything I'd hoped it would be. There were so many golden nuggets that I wanted to keep and plaster on my wall. Jada felt it to frequently affirming Gabrielle's sentiments with "That part!" The women talked mostly about the importance of owning your role in the dissension amongst friendships with women and taking solace in the fact that there isn't instant gratification in taking the high road but it's a road that must be traveled through your healing.

"As an evolved person, as a healed person I am not interested in pain and I'm not interested in hurting you either." Gabrielle accounts.

She attributes her healing and evolution to therapy and silence. I can wholeheartedly relate. I know lots of people can't stand silence and are apprehensive about going to therapy but those two strong components have changed my world drastically. I think the main issue when you are opposed to therapy and silence is that you are afraid of confronting yourself. We all have to be fearless in our own healing in order to evolve into the best version of ourselves.


Success is the warmest place to hide and according to Jada and Gabrielle so is claiming the victim role in situations that affect our lives. Kudos and so much love to these two beautiful women for seeking the warmth in the discomfort and standing boldly in front of the world...no hiding.


A little more...
In this episode Gabrielle talked about a defining moment in her life when she was asked to name 10 things that make her happy and she couldn't. I thought I'd make my own list and share it as my blog is a living and breathing time vault of confessions that I hope to revisit years to come!

10 Things That Make Me Happy:

1. Seeing God's grace in my life
2. Creating/Acting
3. My family
4. My noodles
5. Farmers Markets and restaurants with my Mommy
6. Ladybug and God Mommy Adventures
7. Traveling
8. Long lasting friendships
9. Netflix, wine, and chocolate
10. A good unique cocktail

On Therapy: Thank You Carefirst!

Painting By: Anastasiya Valiulina

A few weeks I had my first appointment with a new therapist. Having tried the therapy route a couple years ago and it going completely left, I admit I was extremely nervous about trying it again. Nevertheless, it has been my goal in recent months to be clear in thought so that I can keep realizing my dreams. I often struggle with what I call scrambled egg visions. I have so many thoughts racing and mixing together that it becomes overwhelming. The presentation is always noteworthy but the thought process is chaotic and at times unbearable, if that makes any sense.

I also realize its not something I can just pray about and let go. I've tried. Born and raised in church you know "prayer is the cure for everything" Momma always said. Prayer absolutely works but mostly in conjunction with the work you put in. 

So I did it. I got a referral for a therapist, booked an appointment, and found myself being buzzed into a row house office space in a zip code close to my home which was important to me. The receptionist greeted me by name. She was a nice woman, all smiles, with a sing-songy voice.  Of course like most new patients I had a boat load of paper work to fill out. The form where I had to check off my symptoms was probably my favorite:

Do you dream of Lemon Pepper wings? [CHECK]
Are you in a relationship with Netflix? [CHECK]
Are you a homebody but scared of cats? [CHECK]

I gave my completed forms to the receptionist and she unveiled to me...

THE CANDY BOX!

"You can have anything in here you'd like..." she said. This wasn't your ordinary candy box either I'm talking everything from Sour Patch Kids to Fruities. The comforts of nostalgia will turn any intense moment into high fructose corn syrup bliss. I immediately thought to myself, if the therapist is anything like THE CANDY BOX I'll be able to get through telling a complete stranger my innermost thoughts without a problem. I sat down in the waiting area for a few more minutes admiring the art work of melanin beauties on the wall. One hope I had before visiting my new therapist was that she was a Black woman. There was a painting on the wall of an African woman, Senegalese I think. She looked as if she was headed to the marketplace. While staring at the painting and worrying if my therapist was a white woman like the hypnotherapist from Get Out?

Will I spend the rest of my life in this office smiling with tears running down my face? 
Will this white woman try to steal my organs to keep her race "pure"? 

My Senegalese sister in the painting whispered, "Jaam liir, she's Black and legit!" I sighed with relief.

Nerves at ease, I didn't have to wait much longer when in walked a woman (not from the painting). She was probably in her mid to late 60's, perhaps even early 70s. Her hair short, seemingly soft and as white as freshly fallen snow. "Ms. Dorsey is it? Please head to the last room down the hall." I walked to the end of the hallway wondering how the room would look? I imagined there would be a huge couch for me to cry-lay on with a bedazzled tissue box on an end table and one of those huge reed diffusers lifting lavender or lemongrass into the air. Of course my imagination often surpasses reality but I found the actual room most charming. There wasn't a large couch for cry-laying like we often see in movies. The furniture reminded me of beach house furniture. It felt like I had lived my life, retired, and was moving into my Ft. Lauderdale, Florida beach house to live out my final days in peace. There wasn't the smell of salt water in the air or lavender or lemongrass. The room smelled neutral.

Untouched.

Unaltered.

I love aromatherapy scents and essential oils so I was a little disappointed.

Of the four areas to sit I chose the one closest to a door that led outside to the alleyway behind the house. Close enough to plan my great escape if the session went left. There was a small table of sorts next to my seat and on it were engraved serenity stones and healing crystals. I didn't see any sage or finger cymbals. I didn't see one of those singing bowls and beads like when Tina Turner (Angela Bassett) was doing her meditation chants in What's Love Got To Do With It. Yet the room still had a zen, nam myoho renge kyo vibe to it but in a retirement village sort of way. On the other side of the room was a bookshelf full of books. Large bookshelves over flowing with books always gives a room the sort of distinguish aura it deserves. That's why I adore the therapist's office in HBO's Insecure because of it's enormous and plentiful bookshelf. Even though Molly (Yvonne Orji) suffers from the Im-Smart-But-My-Vagina-Is-Not Syndrome, when she meets with her therapist the bookshelf sets the atmosphere for intellectual and cultural therapeutic healing so Molly-Moll can get her mind and vagina right together. My nervousness had now turned into excitement. My therapist was Black, female, enjoys candy, beach houses, healing crystals, and is well read! Thank you CareFirst!

A few minutes passed and in she walked, this time her glasses adorned to her face. She introduced herself and sat across from me. She opened a journal and asked, "What brings you in today?" Every random thought racing through my mind froze. I didn't even know what to say. I'm pretty sure I was silent for longer than appropriate because I could see her eyes peak out over the rim of her glasses. "Are you ok" she inquired. I was fine. I just didn't know how to verbalize why I turned to therapy as an option? So I took a deep breath and started talking about peace of mind and clear thoughts. She wrote in her journal as I talked. When I was done she asked me about each member of my family, their names, when they were born, and adjectives or phrases I would use to describe them when I was a little girl. After I went through my entire family she then asked me to go back through each family member and give adjectives or phrases on how I view them now. I feel like my childhood thoughts of family members have only changed within the last few years which she and I both found astonishing.

She ended the session with goal setting and answered questions I had. She said she's been a therapist for over 30 years and loves her job and working with her clients. I found comfort in that information. When you love what you do you tend to operate in love as you are working.

My private thoughts have always been easiest to express when written. With a therapist, I now have to verbally express my introverted thoughts and feelings leaving the comfort I crave when pen meets paper. Though this new endeavor terrifies me I left my first session feeling ready to try.

Here's to a new season of healing and peace of mind.

GOD, Can I Ask You A Question?

GOD,

I spent the last several weeks...
Not writing.
Just thinking.
No motivation.
Tackled by my dreams.
Ransacked by unfulfilled ideas running rampant in my mind.

I know you know cuz you were there.
Not judging me for drowning my sorrows in the bottom of my favorite Talenti pint.
Just waiting for me to talk to you.

I have so many questions.
Of which I am certain you're the only one who can answer them.
Bible toters always say never to question you. However,  there are quite a few passages of scripture where "ask" is in instruction format. So contradictory right?...Bible toters that is....I guess all toters really.

But I just have to ask:

Why is the male/female debate also assigned to you?
Why has gender assignment and pronoun usage become the topic of daily conversation?
Especially when it pertains to you?
Why are we constantly in search of the "unknown" when you are the only one who has shown us consistency in who you are? In the grand scheme of your grace and mercy gender is irrelevant, right?

Ain't that it?

Perhaps if we weren't so busy gender role assigning, labeling one sex weaker than the other, killing those who rightfully reassign themselves maybe then we'd pay everyone the same wages, celebrate our individual journeys collectively, and start seeing one another beyond just gender, right?

Am I correct in believing that we are more than just some minute label?
Am I wrong in thinking that labels taint the human spirit?

Why do we even limit ourselves with labels?

Why have we allowed ourselves to be what some bored, accolade seeking, solo think tanker came up with while lost in a stack of equation filled papers, news clips, week old coffee, and Xanax?

Aren't we more than ratios? Percentages? Words? Outside looking in descriptions? Evaluations?Taxonomic names?

We came from you right?

So that means we too are glorious, right? Royalty even?

Do you send people to check us before you have to put us in our place? Someone to save us from ourselves? Just like you sent Jesus? Is there someone like that here on earth now?

I wonder where they are?

I still think it might be that guy that lives across the alleyway.
Is it him?
You know, the one who's always in the bathroom with the light on at wee hours in the morning? Washing off the residue of saving the neighborhood in the middle of the night just like Luke Cage. He's about 30-something and parks his luxury vehicle in the back of his not so luxurious house in a gentrified middle class neighborhood with a surveillance camera facing his driveway.

Or what about that girl with the locs who works at Sephora. Late 20s. Remember she said her Mother was sick? Had cancer. She talked about finding a cure. She talked about cutting her locs in honor of her Mom. She talked about reading to the kids at Children's Hospital and doing make-up for the women her Mom met in chemotherapy. She talked while she pulled out her cellphone to take a selfie of the Trophy Wife glow-up on her cheeks.

Is that what GODliness with millennial tendencies looks like?

Do you approve?

What is a millennial anyway?

I keep telling myself I gotta get ready for what you have in store for my life.

Am I there yet?
Am I there yet?
Am I there yet?
Am I there yet?

If not, what do I need to do to get there?

Am I really that gifted?
Will I end up stuck in what ifs and the possibility of possibilities?

Will it ever be a moment I can walk into a room and people won't see the FAT Black girl but see me?

Am I smart enough?
Strong enough?
Enough?

Im tired of the mantras and Instagram quotes.

I like the known.
No suspense or surprise.
Facts.
Hardcore evidence.

Exactly like how you have manifested your presence in my life.
I want to believe in myself as much as I believe in you.
As much as I believe in everyone else.

Are my parents proud?
Are you proud?
Of me?

Will I ever stop replaying scenarios of the past in mind?
Will I truly close chapters?
Is it even possible to make peace with the non peaceful?

Is there a such thing as being too woke?
Overly immuned?
Overly sensitized?
Empathy overloaded?
Is that what breeds anxiety?

Is agape love attainable in human form?
Is agape love attainable in human form?
Is agape love attainable in human form?
Or are we just settling?
Filling voids?
Passing time?
Waisting time?
Chasing time?
Racing against time?

What's the lesson you want me to learn in all of this?
Will I ever learn?

Is my living in vain?

GOD, I have questions and the only one with the answers is...

Sunday Brunch: A Date With My Thoughts

2017 is almost over and this is my first post of the year. I ought to be 'shamed!

I took myself out on a date recently. Wanted to celebrate wrapping my short film Critical Missing, regroup, and tap into my inner thoughts. 

To keep it real, I just wanted a cocktail (or 3) with fresh watermelon chunks in it. 

Yea, its a beautiful thing, trust me. I called my boo Google for some recommendations on good brunch places to go to.



It's Sunday.
It's hot.
Your toes are safe to expose.
You put oil on the heels of your feet. You smell shower fresh.

Sundays are made for being Black and brunchn'.
Let's do it!

I was already out in the streets so I pulled my car over and began searching on my phone for some place to go. Up popped the restaurant, Diet Starts Monday.

Story of my life.
Your diet plan starts repeatedly on a Monday!
Diet goin' up on a Monday!
That's corny.
Sorry.

Oh, this is the restaurant that caught backlash for having a drink called "Pill Cosby..."

Intrigued, I rolled around to 14th and found a parking spot with ease.

Oh, this brunch must be meant to be chile cause parking over here is always tragic.

I got out, walked down to the restaurant, got inside and realized:

This used to be a club back in the day and a BBQ joint and it still looks the same. 

Interesting.

It's so much wide open space should I go upstairs or something?

I walked over to the bar area and asked, "Where do I sit down and order?" The bartender said, "You can place your order here and sit anywhere." I looked around and there were a couple high stools with small high tables. 

I'm sure Ikea sponsored this decor. 

I'm too FAT to sit on plastic chile.

Oh, there's some plywood structure against the wall. That should be sturdy enough.

"Oh...ok..." I confusingly uttered. She slid the menu to me and I began to look it over. 

Drink menu first of course!

There's nothing with fresh watermelon in it. 

Oooh this cucumber jalapeno thing is intriguing!

As I was scoping out the food menu the bartender leans over and interrupts, "Before you make your decision, let me tell you what we don't have." 

Girl, what?  

Out of like 10 menu items they didn't have like 5. With my awkward Black girl self I pretended to take a call and inch my way out of the restaurant. Its cool because if you know the area you know its tons of places to get a drink. I went right next door to Marvins and they had a sign that the downstairs area was closed. At the top of the stairs I saw people showing their IDs and I could hear trap music and good time sounds. I walked up the stairs.

Lord please let this be the not-really-millennials-they-mislabeled-us-crowd...

I handed security my ID, and went on in. 

Its packed. 

No room at the bar. 

It smells like ganja, Hennessey, and yesterday's mistake. 

This is not the not-really-millennials-they-mislabeled-us-crowd...

Look down at your phone girl, look down!

The same person who called me at Diet Starts Monday called back so I had to take the call. I'm a good friend. 

Let me inch my ass on up out of here.

I saw a place called Provisions across the street so I walked over. It was empty except the group of 4 that walked in in front of me.

It's kind of cool in here.

This is giving me rustic, cowboyish, boom boom room.
Weird but posh, I guess.

"You can sit anywhere but the tables," the bartender smiled.

Ummm so like where sis?

I guess she means only the bar is open?

"Oh...ok..." I confusingly uttered.

She handed me the menus and said, "Just so you know you can only order drinks and small bites."

So this ain't no brunch then, sis.

This is appetizer Sunday.

Where are the watermelon drinks?!?!?

I got up and creeped on out the door.

"Um, hey, bye-bye..." the bartender said.

I smiled and waved...very socially awkwardly.

I had given up on Sunday brunch. 

Let's go home, eat some multigrain tortilla chips, drink some Crystal Light with a shot of whatever your brother got and binge watch something on Netflix.

No! Let's just go to Busboys or Mulebone.

Eeenie...Meenie...

We always go to Busboys. Let's just go to Mulebone.

You know they are owned by the same person right, so either way you are doing the right thing.

I walked in Mulbone and as always greeted by my favorite Zora Neal Hurston quote.

Yasssss Zora!

E. Badu was melodically whining on the track filling the restaurant with Neo Soul vibes.

Yasssss Erykah!

The host wasn't at the stand but I could see her seating another party. She walked over towards me snapping and singing Badu chords with multi colored fur flip flops, a blonde wig, and bright pink lips.

She snapping hard as shit.
Or maybe its those flip flops

I wonder if that's Nicki Minaj's MAC Pink Friday on her lips?

I'm here for the platinum blonde pixie cut wig sis.

Yasssss strong fingers!

After our brief discussion on the bar vs. a table she sat me at a booth.

Yassss self date! We boothn' it!

I looked at the menu.

NO. WATERMELON. DRINKS.

Ugh!!!

My waitress came over, "Hi sweetie, my name is Indigo and I will be taking care of you today, can I get you something other than water to drink?"

Indigo...I like that.

Green hair.

Blue top.

& plushy just like me!

Today is gonna be a great day!

Yasssss Indi-go-go!

"Um yes, can I have something with elderflower in it?" I said.

Since there ain't no fresh watermelon drinks on the menu.

"Let me see what I can do for you...what did you want your base to be, vodka...?" she inquired.

"Um...how about rum?" I said.

"Got it! Be right back sweetie." she said.

Indigo brought back the drink and it was FIY!!!! 

Ahhh...everything!

I ordered corn and crab soup and some biscuits.

My trainer would kill me...ahhhh welp!

My diet starts Monday.

The restaurant was moderately busy. There was a table of four girlfriends and one of the ladies brought her daughter to lunch. She had to be all of 3 years old and Mom was getting frustrated as she was trying to maintain her child's behavior and a conversation with her friends. Baby girl kept spinning and spinning and spinning around the restaurant and dancing to the music. "Amara, be still! Stop it right now! Listen to Mommy!" her mother proclaimed.

If this ain't enough birth control chile, I don't know what is?

Aweee she's so cute though and carefree.

Look at her hair in those four pune-pune ponys.

Go Amara, get it gurl!

Uh..oh...don't fall into the table Amara boo!
She's down.
She's crying.

In walked a girl with her fro poppin' and t-shirt that read, Legally Trappin'.

I need that shirt!

I should take my braids out and rock my fro for the rest of the summer.

Naaaah...nevamind...

Indigo came back with the dessert menu and recommended the peach cobbler.

Oh, Indigo-go the pressure chile!

I can't.

I shouldn't.

Don't do it Cyn!

But I did. And it was love and impeccable plating. Warm and delightful and a la mode. Coupled with Outkast's "Sorry Ms. Jackson" driving me down nostalgia lane.

We need another Outkast album.

Where are they at?

I paid the bill. 

Drove home.

Told her I loved her.

I am proud of her.

Keep persevering.

Thank you. 

I still ain't get my drink with fresh watermelon chunks in it though!