Is Hoping Funny Is the New Sexy

That is all.

Safer To Be Ugly, More Advantageous To Be Beautiful

It's my morning. 4PM. I finally decide to leave the house and do a few errands around town. I love to pretend I'm some avant garde celebrity when I leave the house, therefore, you'll find me in the latest attire K-Mart has to offer. I make sure I look like a hot mess. I simply do not want to engage with people or even be looked at. Yes. My neurosis exposed.

The library. The calmest place on earth. Minus the homeless people snoring or talking to their "friends" in a level 8 voice. But before I swiftly run into my safe haven to drop off a few books my skin already begins to feel tight. Someone is looking at me. Oh Lord. Walk faster Patrice. "How YOU doin'..." He repeats it about two more times.

The left side of my body begins to twist in the direction of the Pimp Talk. Patrice don't turn around! But I have this horrible guilt when it comes to ignoring someone who is blatantly talking to me. My body is fully turned now. I have to commit.

With deep disdain in my voice, "I'm...good". I notice that my voice is quite a few octaves lower than normal. Really, Patrice? Were you trying to sound like a man right now, so he would leave you alone? Wow. I mean, the voice that came out is in no way close to my real voice. I start to laugh inside my head--which is then interrupted by the man saying, "YES YOU ARE." I cringe. Walk awkwardly faster into the library and catch my breath. And then I catch the eye of the security guard inside. He is already starting to lick his lips.

I have this conversation with my mother all the time. Why is it that the Pimps have no problem hollerin'at a lady. And it seems that the Decent Dozen won't give as much as a head nod. Oh the ways of the world. I guess it all comes down to security and beauty.

Did I fail to mention that this man that was hollerin'at me was elderly. No, I'm not kidding.

Scattered, The Wind Will Blow

Why is it that the truth can be so elusive? And not just in the overall quest for truth, but in the gritty day to day of honest folk making an honest living doing regular honest things. Somehow the line is not as clearly defined. Could truth be like math? 2+2=4. Or is truth more like love. An emotion that is much like the wind, never knowing how it truly comes, but when it does we are moved in a certain direction because of it.

Today I wondered...What am I doing wrong? I thought this plus that would equal the certainty. And now, it's as if the rules of the equation have changed on me in my mid-solving mode.

Or maybe truth is like math and the wind. Secure but unpredictable and always interested in surprising the hell out of us.

In either case, I am a bit scattered. Oh, look at me trying to save face. I'm scattered, unsatisfied, dimly hopeful, and somehow loving. I'm confused and frustrated looking at this equation before my eyes. I need a mathematician to come in and help me solve this horrible calculus.

Fickle emotions, how you pull and drag me to a room I don't think I want to stay in. But yet, I somehow got myself here anyhow. Why? What truth was acted upon that got me here. No reason? Bad things happen to good people. Tragic. But truth.

And yet, I still, in my dimly hopeful mood, feel a weak bit of anticipation for redemption. That would be of a math I have not fully studied or received a degree in. But I know the school and degree exists.


And many times, the winds simply come as the trumpet of a storm that is to follow. Yes a storm. In the most beautiful way. Bringing rain that will once again give life and change a landscape. Because a change in the weather is exactly what is needed sometimes.