Different Promise

Just his smile can melt me. Knowing that he will always be there, makes me want to stay. I understand why, he was only made for me. Knowing this makes this day go smoother. When he laughs, I know that he won’t have a disappointing night, order drinks, Yes I would love this plate, talking about old times, and planning new. Yes I think that night will be nice. Can it be sooner? Jump of the heart when he grabs my hand. Only looking at you when there are others are lurking about. Yes he is mine. I’m not going to mess this up. Dessert ? Only with a promise..kiss outside the car, kisses inside the car. More, more. Like a drug, how can I kick this emotion. Damn he drove back home so quickly..should I ask him to come inside? No not tonight, I can’t mess this up. Walk to the door. A smile from his face, another promise has been made. Kiss lightly. Close the door and watch him walk to his car. Look at my cell. Wait for his call. Shower off this guilty pleasure. Dry, come back to phone, a text. “I miss you”. Damn. Hope this one works…

Start of Something New

Yesterday, my best friend Anthony decided to start a blog. He took up the time to do what I said that I was going to do for about a year now. He did two posts, made an account for it, and just did it without no one stopping him, or finding a way to get out of it. And it’s a GOOD start for his blog. It made me, Monique, the writer that was suppose to be published at 23, and have Oprah read the book, fall in love with it, and make 10 million women read it, laughing and crying the whole time. But now that I’m 27 and barely done with the first half of this magical book, and Oprah is retiring in a couple of years, I’m kinda screwed out of luck with that. I just find reasons to not write anymore. My first love, my first outlet on life, and I abandon it like horrible baby daddy, or a rich man that doesn’t want to pay his taxes. Why? Why do something like run from your joy. Maybe I think that I’m not good enough to write anymore. Or maybe I just grew to live the real world that I don’t believe in my young dreams. See when I was a teenager, my dreams made sense. All I had to do is finish college, have this great job, and with this great job, my dreams will come to reality quicker. That’s, the inner spark in you, that little child that still lives in you that still believes in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, and with a cardboard box, you can make your dream house, with that red Barbie car on the side. Its in us! But when you grow older, it slowly dissolves. You let the real world be your ether. And that’s what happened to me. I mean I might write something on facebook little note thing about something that just drives my nerves, or write on myspace to eat up time, but that’s nothing to me. That’s not going to bring back my joy. I want it back.

So then you’re asking me, Monique, how is a blog going to make things better for you and your joy? Well I’m glad you ask kind sir or madam. I know that a blog will actually make you work at it. Its different than the other social networks, because it won’t get lost in the news feed craziness. You write a note? Great! No one will read it. They are too concerned about what Bobby said about Stacey at status lines, then call their friends and start some other drama. Don’t lie, we all do it. Facebook is our fake reality show. Tracey says she isn’t in a relationship anymore?! Let me call Nikki and gossip about it for an hour. We all do it. I know I do. So writing a note for people to read isn’t a great place. Then myspace, shit, when is the last time you checked your account there? No, I will wait for you to answer that. I figure if I write a blog, and slowly send it to my friends, that actually will read it, and not front about it, I will have a little reading base. Not a lot, but a little. Then with that, and input with them, that spark will come back. My joy will appear. And if not, well I will find another way. So I will be a poser for now and do this. I also think that it will be my cheap emotional fix, my free Prozac, when my day is unbearable, releasing my feelings, and leaving it there on the computer screen, to not stem on the pass. So I will start this story, and I hope you will enjoy it. If not, believe me, this is the internet, find something on YouTube to entertain you.

First I guess I need to introduce myself, my name is Monique; I’m from the greatest city in the world, (well next to where Sade and Prince are from) Houston Texas. It’s the home of die hard football fans, REAL tex mex food, Patrick Swayne, rappers Scarface and UGK, and the highway 610. I was born a Taurus 80’s baby, which means a stubborn person that had great music playing early in life. My parents raised me with a balance, knowing what the world can give me, and knowing what education can get me. They never forget where they can from, and reminded me daily what could have happened, and what can happen to me, if I would be like everyone else. When your young and you’re getting this information, you thought that they were just being a pain to you. Now I think they were smarter than a lot of teachers and about 80% of world leaders. So now I thank them for that. During my teenager years I grew to love southern/mid west rap, anime, long but page turning books, cute basketball players, Prince, museums and shoes. I was a band nerd, with thick glasses, but I had friends that would understand the ways of being a nerd. And not only a nerd, but a black nerd in a white high school. I was misunderstood, different, confusing at times, but I loved being that way. I didn’t have to fit in at school; I didn’t have to be a stereotype, because I was a minnow in a huge ocean of fish, so I didn’t have to prove anything to anybody. That made me figure out what I was going to be. And at the time it was a writer. I would have my notebook in my backpack daily, and would write small stories, then my friend Nathan would come at me during 7th period and would read them, while not learning about History. It was a drive for me that was like a drug. He would criticize what I wrote and then I would improve it for the next day. Even though I complain about high school, I loved it. No one, expect my parents, warned me about college. And of course I didn’t listen to my parents, that is a unwritten law as a teenager, we don’t wash the dishes, and we don’t listen to parents, or someone who is legal guardian.

So then college years came, and so did my early 20’s loves turned to sushi, martinis, The Boondocks, and emotionally unstable men. College learning part wasn’t hard, it was the whole, “I’m in the real world and I don’t have no one to preach to me everyday thing”, that screwed me. I went to a black college, and my body kinda shaped to me different from others, so I got more attention than I did in high school. I didn’t handle it well at first, being shy, but being called “Stuck Up” because of my shy actions. But I learn how to grow out of that stage real quick. I just said things I meant, and didn’t have time to play games with others. I didn’t front, I didn’t act like everyone else in school. I figure I just be like I was in high school, but I had to talk a little bit more, and take more risk. That I didn’t have to prove to you to be my friend, or to respect me, that is you choice. And if you, didn’t want to be my friend, or even respect me, then that’s just one other person I didn’t have to worry about. With that, I made friends that are, still today, my bests of friends, like Anthony.

I would write more about me, but I should just leave a little mystery to my little blog, you know with the music bum, bum BUMMMMM, added on to it. But know that I’m a goofy, loving, confusing but funny woman, and I’m just me. I hope you enjoy my posts, and maybe this will jump start me…