I am a mom of four that spends my time dong laundry, taking care of small humans and in the five to ten minutes I have outside of that-trying to write. I love Selena and books and anything Whitney.
Me and toni
A Monday Afternoon sometime in 2004. “She’s definitely going to love me. I mean I am more than a super fan. I am an everything fan. I know Toni Morrison better than Toni Morrison knows Toni Morrison.”
I want a name...
I want a name like a character in a Toni Morrison novel. One that rolls off the tongue with the feel of both being parched and nourished all at once.
If he wandered away I may have been worried. But he didn’t wander in fact, I watched him walk away and head downstairs to the basement to play video games. A thing I had watched him do at least a few hundred times over the last year. The basement was secure. There was an old rickety door that was virtually impossible to open- I personally had not opened it in three or four years and the windows didn’t open much past 8 to 10 inches, there was no physical way for someone to crawl through them. An hour or two later when I was starting to feel hungry and I figured he needed lunch, I yelled down to him to come up and eat with me. I could hear the monotonous background news of the video game and I assumed he was still playing. That song is like background music in my head, the repeated tone going back and forth and then gaining a crescendo and then back down again. I hum it sometimes in the shower without even noticing that I am doing it.
My "Middle Fat" Existence
I live in a state of what I like to call "Middle Fat.” Now, the great thing about this term Middle Fat is that it also describes my voluptuous mid-section and its double rolls. But what I ACTUALLY mean when I say Middle Fat is that I am neither thin nor fat enough to benefit from what I like to call “fat benefits” or “thin benefits.” I believe there is a point in life when people become large and unbelievably beautiful. For example, if you follow musician Lizzo’s Instagram, you will be inundated with pictures of her incredible backend with boas, feathers, and more lingerie than you have ever seen. She flaunts and twerks her body in a way that can only be described as mesmerizing. Her dimples and her rolls are styled and fashioned into couture clothing that would make any runway model jealous. While Lizzo is rolling around in stilettos of gold and a g-string, I can’t stop thinking about if I wore that everyone would just see my “jellyroll.” Jellyroll was, in fact, one of my childhood nicknames.
Tattoos: Why I Just Can't
I loved boobies as a small child. Now this might not come as a shock being that I am a lesbian, but my love for the boobies comes from an appreciation for my family being able to navigate basically giant watermelons being attached to their skin. Whenever the bras were flung off by my grandmother, my aunts, or my mom I was in awe of those giant jiggly body parts that would fly in every direction. The boobs were all shaped differently; some were round and some were coned and some were so big I couldn’t believe my aunt was hiding them under her shirt. They could do incredible tricks with them. They could make them go in circles, they could swing back and forth and they could even set things on them. Boobs were amazing. They just seemed like these mysteriously funny large adages that the females in my family carted around- and I loved them. I was a little obsessed with them, always asking to see them or touch them. They were kind of my happy place as a small child until this was ruined by a bad tattoo.
The Fertile Lesbian
In our thirties, my wife and I gave birth to four children in four years. We had a new baby every two years and, since we are lesbians, they were all planned. Well kind of. You see we each had two children and I was convinced both times that I would be infertile. What information led me to believe this? What scientific logic led me to believe I would have trouble conceiving under any circumstance? The thing about infertility is that currently everyone is talking about how no one talks about it. But I never found that to be true. Everyone I knew was talking about it, they were asking questions, getting referrals. They were trying to lose weight, they were questioning every joint that their husband smoked on a Friday night, they were using terms like TTC, BBT, BFN, DOR, and more. They were passing those infertility doctor names around like the local weed dealer (the one their husband probably used). If a bunch of people with access to endless sperm couldn’t make a baby how was I going to make one?
The Poet on 23rd
“What up Ese? What’s hanging” Jorge and Jose clasp hands in a handshake that takes at least 73 seconds. I only know this because I have timed it. I have seen it done so many times that I started timing it every time I see them together. They average around 73 seconds every time, if they are in a big hurry they get it down to 65 but never lower. If they are feeling happy or maybe even high, it takes about 85 seconds and I can write a whole stanza in that time.