CREATING SOMETHING NEW

I write when I have something to say, yet I feel that I don't have anyone that I want to share it with...It is easy for me to cast my feelings upon the world for others to read without my knowledge.

Tonight I am writing about love...rather the better word would be lust.

To give you background on my thoughts of love, I think it does exist. However I do not believe in the "love" that one typically thinks they feel when they first meet someone....I believe that love is built over time by a willingness of two(or more...two in this case though) people.

With that said I have loved few in my life. The first guy I was in a long term relationship with (and produced and son out of) I didn't love him. I liked him at the time, and had a certain type of love for him, but he wasn't/isn't the person I could see myself growing old with.

The second guy I had a long term relationship with, I loved him. I had a deep and profound care from him and could see myself growing old with him. However since he didn't have the same idea of growing old together I had to ease that thought out of my mind. While trying to tame my thoughts I went through a ton of emotions (some good and some bad) for about three years. I thought my life was over and that he was the ONLY ONE. Boy was I wrong, and to be quite honest I am glad I was wrong. I never knew what an unhealthy relationship was until about 5 months ago. Don't get me wrong, we had our good times and we had our bad times, but in the end that relationship wasn't good for either party.
I thought I would grow old with him, hell I thought I wanted to grow old with him... however as the days go by and I get older and older I realize that if you try to force something it usually ends up breaking....

That leads me to the present. If you know me this will make sense...if you have free thoughts this might make sense, if you are closed minded this will not make sense.

I found my 2%. At least I think my 2% has come along. However it is in the fridge....just there waiting for the day. Actually the 2% is still hanging out with the strawberries, 2% really likes the strawberries. No, 2% loves the strawberries. I get the feeling that 2% really wants out...but it is a "hopeless romantic" and has known the strawberries since lactate times.

But I am the chocolate. We just go together(as least I think we go together). Well we have worked for all this time, I don't see why things would be different later...2% is there....but 2% is torn. It is loyal and doesn't want to hurt anyone. 2% wants love that will last a life time and not fade over time. The strawberries are good seasonally; they only come around during a certain period. But when they do come around,they are wonderful! So why would 2% leave the strawberries for the chocolate? What could chocolate offer that would last a life time? Hell, to the 2%...everything. However the chocolate could be wrong. It has been wrong before.

What is chocolate suppose to do now? Wait? Wait for the strawberries to go bad?

or wait on its' turn to mix with the 2%?

I mean, if the latter happened then you would get chocolate milk....

a combination that seems to fit....

I sit

I sit in the bathtub as blood is running down my face. My heart is pounding; beating as if at any second it is going to stop. I lay back so my hair is now in the water, nipples above. What can I do? My legs cramp, abs are tight. I close my eyes and say a prayer. I don't usually pray, I have never seen the point, but if any this seems like a good time. I suddenly raise up. Water sweeping my face. I try to scream but only air comes out. I am yelling at the top of my lungs, but someone has taken my voice box. I can't shake this. I need to get out, I need to run. I have all this energy but it has no place to go. I jump out of the tub leaving the blood and water behind...I run outside. It is raining. I trip over a rock and realize my foot is bleeding...I forgot to put on shoes. The bottom of my feet have been carved by left over glass from a broken car window. I can't get out. No matter where I go I am followed. So I sit....The rain wipes the blood from my cheeks.

Pi

Thoughts in the gym today...

They are basically in order...starting when I arrived to the run:

-Boy am I tired...I really don't want to workout today.
-I love this sports bra...it says: 'Train Like A Girl'
-Run or stair stepper?

(after 30 mins on the stair-stepper)

-Man I am glad I came to the gym
-I wish I could hear what Oprah is saying on T.V
-I can't wait to go wake boarding this summer.
-Should I do another 15 mins...why not?
-Okay time for weights.

(20 min into weight session)

-I wish that guy would quit starring at me.
-Damn there are a lot of hot guys in here today.
-Wow who in the fuck is that guy??? I have never seen him before. Damn all of his muscles are pow! I wish he weren't gay. (I put him in the homosexual category b/c the dude he is with is gay.)
-I know I look good when I am working out...but sometimes I just want to workout in peace without men drolling.
-Well the right one can drool and maybe get dinner...my treat. :)
-Damn that guy is hoottt. Maybe I will see if he is bi...
-Nah I will leave things up to the imagination. Plus I just want one....Kinda ready to be in a relationship.
-Hmmm I wonder who I will setting down with. I am looking forward to an easy going relationship.
-My arms are starting to pan out....wish my abs would.
-Damn nice ass(as I look in the mirror at myself).
-Wait, no I am still FAT.
-Who is that guy?? Is he the one that had the kid last year?? He looks so kind...those are the ones that tend to turn out to be an ass.
-Why do I keep checking these guys out? What a hypocrite.
-I am getting one hell of a workout. Super happy I came in today.
-I really don't want to workout with someone else...I like doing the solo thing (this is after someone at the gym asked me if I would help her train....I don't believe I am in shape like that yet to help someone else...I am still working on me)
-Fuck where did that fine ass dude go? Boo I think he left. Oh wait he is right there.
-Okay time to hit the treadmill for a run.

(After a few mins running on the treadmill)

-I hope the guys in the back aren't looking at my ass.
-I wish I were going to leave the gym and enjoy the beautiful weather with someone I care about...
-Well guess I will enjoy the weather by myself until someone I like comes along.
-Phenomenal workout!

Pi

No one ever said life would be easy....

No one ever said life would be easy...and if they did they were completely wrong.

I sit in the bathtub as I contemplate life. I rarely take a bath so when I do one should know that there is something weighing down on my shoulders. I sit with my toes under the faucet. I like the feeling of the water as it sprays out onto the top of my foot....the steam fogging up the mirror, and the only thing I can do is take a big sigh before my thoughts come pouring out of my brain. Today's thoughts are: growing up in life. I am not sure which one is flowing faster...the water or my thoughts.

The thing about the word wiser is it is paradoxical. In my opinion, you can't say someone is wiser b/c they now live on there own and have to pay bills. Yet you could say one is wiser b/c they realize that they are living on their own and have to come up with the funds for the bill...and they do just that, then pay the bills. That is neither here nor there. Let me relate the first statement and the word “wiser” to my situation.

I suppose as we grow and get older wisdom should come along through the lessons we learn along the way. We make a mistake, we realize we made the mistake, we learn from it, and we try not to do it again. That has not been my life. I have made plenty of mistakes only to turn around and make the exact same mistake expecting different results. Now this may sound foolish you. Hell this sounds foolish to me. Why on earth would someone realize they did something wrong and continue to beat their head? Well to be honest, I am not sure if I can answer that question just yet, but what I can do is take a look at my past.

Growing up life was relatively simple. My mom wasn't around much therefore I could do pretty much what ever I wanted to do. I was never into drugs, but with the lack of attention from my mom, I wanted to fill that void by getting attention from others. I would run around all hours of the night and come home when I pleased. There were no guidelines and the only time I ever got in trouble for something was when my mother wanted to see my father. See, from my point of view, the only time my father would come over was to discipline me and that was my mother's in with my father. She used me to get to him. So from an early age I figured out how to use people to get what I wanted. (not one of my best qualities or the one I like I highlight)

I learned how to play my mom against my grandmother, or my mom against my aunt. If I wanted something and someone would not give it to me I knew a little pouting and tears would do the trick. Looking back I am not proud of who I was and what I learned....that is why rectifying myself has become a big objective of mine.

Anyways using people carried into my adulthood. To be honest I didn't know who was trying to help me and who was trying to hinder. All I knew was that the women in my family all had tricks up their sleeves and the only way to win in their game was to out trick all of them. So I became a manipulator.

When I was 12 I stole a car, my mother's car to be precise. I had to go to court and the judge was going to let me go with a warning. However my father stepped in and asked the judge for a harsher punishment. I was very angry with my father at the time, but little did I know how much I would appreciate his discipline when I got older....At age 12 I was “locked up” at juvenile detention for three months before being shipped off to Boys and Girls Town in Missouri. Though I am not going to go into great detail about my stay there on this blog it defiantly helped to give me the structure that I needed/wanted in life. I was there for about two years and the only people that came to visit me were my grandpa and grandma....I believe this is the time when I decided that I was going to have my back whether I was right or wrong; I started thinking everyone was my enemy and I needed to defend myself no matter what.


Soon after I got out it wasn't long before I went back to my old ways(bumping myself on the head). Only this time I had more hate in my heart, my eagerness to learn and be open wasn't there, and I didn't care about anyone(myself included). My mother had kicked me out of her apartment whenever she felt the need to be alone but this time I stayed out for good. I was 16 and living on my own. It felt good not to have my family saying harsh things behind my back and smiling to my face. I mean they could have been talking behind my back, but I was not actively speaking to any of them so they couldn't be catty to my face.

Years went by and I saw who I was and who I wanted to be. There was a big difference. I see how the mistakes and what I have learned as a child has affected me and who I am becoming and want to become. I do not know why I did some of the things that I did in the past...but I do know that shedding my old skin has been tough and sometimes I get a clear notion that I have a lot more work to do.

Nowadays I keep climbing that mountain in order to become the person that I want to be. Sometimes I slip and and take a couple of steps back....but those who know me best would agree that I am very persistent...however I am working on being persistent for the wars that deserve the fight.

No one ever said life would be easy....and if they they did their life has not begun.

Pi

Oppps I forgot what day it was....

I started my day as usual. Early morning rise, breakfast, errands, and spent most of the afternoon taking care of business...Usually when I am done with all of my daily duties I end up at the gym. Nowadays, I am pooped by the time I reach the gym...however I still get a pretty good workout in. Anyways today, when I arrived at the gym, I noticed that there weren't a lot of people there. Maybe 7 at most. I thought this was odd b/c the place I workout usually host people until the closing hour. 'Oh well, it doesn't really matter', I thought....'I am here to get my workout in not to worry about others.' As the hours passed and I am into my circuit, I looked around and realized that I was the only person in the gym. It was 8pm and I had the wellness center as my own personal recreation. 'Okay', I thought, 'there has to be something going on in America for people to neglect the gym.' I glanced at the television hanging from wall and saw a bunch a people wearing green. Oh, it is St Patty's day. Everyone in the world is drinking and I am exhausted and working out.

How could I forget that it is St Patty's day? Hell I come from a long line of Irishmen...both on my mother and father's side. Plus, St Patty's day is such a fun day....everyone gets to dress up in green, watches a parade, hangs out with friends, and drinks green beer...

Maybe if I remembered it were St Pat's day I would of ditched my responsibilities and added about 3000 calories to my normal calories intake...oh and I can't forget about that blistering headache after all the fun has died down...but my instinct lead me to my normal daily activities. I have a routine and I stick to it most days. Besides, I can barley remember holidays so I cannot be held responsible for days that aren't even marked on a calendar. Or is it marked on a calendar? Hmm I am not sure. It is not on my blackberry's calendar therefore in my world it doesn't exist.

I started my day as usual, but I ended it solo at a gym and laying in my comfy bed thinking about the differences between myself and mainstream America. I will save that argument for another blog, but to sum it up I will quote Charles M. Schwab: “The hardest struggle of all is to be something different than what the average man is [whether the differences are significant or trivial]”.

More Sex with less disease.

I remember people asking the question: Why can men sleep with whomever they want and they are considered cool, but if a girl has more than one sexual partner they call her a slut? While I don't agree completely with the question above, I have always wondered why couldn't we just be assigned one good ass sexual partner for the rest of our life and fuck like rabbits? Wait, is this called marriage?

As I mentioned before sex has been apart of my life since swing-sets were introduced to me. I have always enjoyed it and wondered how I could get the feeling of euphoria all the time. However the sex I wanted was the orgasm, not every man ramming their (you know what) in my (you know what). For me that kind of sex has only been shared with a select few and more recently I have been waiting for someone great (not just in bed).

ANYWAYS

Why do some women find it “okay” to sleep with several different men? Especially without either one of them being tested for diseases? Let's start out with a small problem: bacterial infection. Yes, this is something that can be cured, however not without a little burn or itch that will irritate you for a while. Moving on to something BIGGER: a virus. Who in their right mind would risk possibly getting a type of virus (which you will have FOREVER) for an orgasm (which you can get at home by yourself or with your mate)?? I mean that sounds ridiculous. Nowadays people have a hard time committing to dinner, why would you want to commit to treating a virus for the rest of your life?

Now let's move onto the emotional side of things. Unlike a virus your feelings can fade, but not without a big mess. See what usually happens is: boy meets girl. Boy likes girl. Girl likes boy. Boy and girl have sex. Boy and girl have LOTS of sex. Girl falls “in love” with boy. Boy meets another girl. And the cycle starts over only this time with another partner and lots of “complications” from the old girl. Not to mention the old girl has indirectly passed her “juices” onto new girl. My mind hurts thinking about all of the details I have left out. Point is, the 3 seconds of pure bliss is not worth risk....

Okay so there are diseases and complications, but what about the people who just love sex? What about the people who haven't found that one person to shack up with. Sex is apart of our DNA. We need to have it in order to keep our population growing. However in the mean time of waiting for “that one” my solution is: masturbation, masturbation, masturbation. It may not be as good a cuddling up to someone after the deed is done, or thrusting your stuff in something moist, but until you find that one that you can hump all day and all night without the worry of some type of infection, wait. Because there are too many risks involved in getting something that your hand can do just as well.

The Main Ingredient

Today is February 21, 2010 and I would like to talk about humans. However my talk is the cliff notes version.... Just simple thoughts.

I am an American girl with values from all around the world. I have lived in the states my whole life apart from one year when I lived in Morocco. While living in Africa I traveled to Spain many of times, Switzerland, and England. I must admit that I decided to move to Morocco for selfish reasons, but I left with a better perspective on the world and the people who live in it.

Before I can share my opinion of the people I have crossed paths with, I must introduce you to myself.

My story begins before I was even born:

I didn't know that I was meant to be a “worldly” person. I never knew that I was meant to understand the differences and, more importantly, the similarities of people. I like to believe that my fate started when my mother conceived me. See my mother, she is Caucasian and Irish. She comes from an Irishman that has a love for a good beer and a White American woman with a love of tending to family. My mother was always expected to marry; that was the expectation of her era. However she did not marry, but she fell in love. She fell in love with a black man, my father. Then I came along.

Jumping forward a bit: As a bi-racial kid, I knew I was different. When I was in grade school the kids were still separate. The white kids hung out with the white kids and the black kids with the blacks. I didn't know where to go. Name calling was not unusual by both groups. It was very common in a days time to get called a nigger by my white classmates and an oreo by the black kids. I never knew where to go...so I just listened and watched. It wasn't too longer before I realized how similar the two groups were; they all wanted the same thing.

Summers would go by and I would spend them out in the country with my grandparents. I would wake up every morning to the smell of eggs and biscuits in the oven. Hang clothes on the line in the evening with my grandmother and snuggle by the fire place at night with my grandfather. My grandmother used to my hair straighten and I always wondered why she didn't like my curly hair? I found out years later she straightened my hair b/c she owned a ceramic shop in a town where the chief of police was apart of the KKK...if people found out I was half black my grandparents would have hell to pay. So each summer I had straight hair, and blue eyes. The eye color is real however, I think that is the only reason that the lie was halfway believable. I mean what Negro could have blue eyes? Anyways, as the years past people started to find out my real background. My grandparents lost customers, I lost friends, and that is the real reason why my grandfather kept a shot got in each corner of the house. But apart from all the lost connections my grandparents and I still had one thing that we would never lose.

My blessing was my curse....

Life started to make more sense:

The first lesson: It was a cold night. About 11:30p. A friend used to hand out food to the homeless in my city. He wasn't with a group, and he did it on his own time. He would drive to some chicken joint, buy lots of chicken, and take it to homeless people on the street. He asked me to join him one night. That night, was a turning night for me. The people on the street were all different. Some white, some black, some young, old, fat, some skinny yet they all had one thing in common: they were human. I didn't get to hear any of their stories. Mostly b/c I was scared. This was the first time I interacted with people who weren't like me. But I knew that underneath dirt, the old clothes, the soiled blankets, they wanted what every human wants: love.

The second lesson: I had made it to Africa. Yeah! No more problems, no more bad weather, no more bills, just fun fun fun for one whole year. I had plans to do everything. I wanted to take holidays while on a holiday. I wanted to go to the ocean everyday. I wanted to dance with Spanish. Well I did all of that and no doubt it was fun, but before that I learned a little more about life and myself and most importantly people.

Moroccans are not like Americans. Moroccans smile, they smile about life. They smile b/c they put food on the table. Not some big fancy meal, but rice and maybe a meat. They smile b/c they got their hair cut. They smile b/c they had the opportunity to have a guest at their house. They smile b/c the sun was shinning. On average Moroccans live on about 30$ a month. Now 30 bucks will get you a lot. I went to the grocery store(while in Morocco) and spent 20$ on that trip....the food I got lasted me for two months. The point is life is simple for them. The men wear Nike shirts and torn pants. The women wear traditional Moroccan clothing and/or what we know as rags with a ha-jib(head scarf)...however nobody complains. They work hard and try to marry their children off in the hopes of giving them a better life. Nobody complains about the lack of money, nobody complains about the lack of resources, b/c they want and have what every human wants: love.

I am an American girl and I will always be an American girl. I was different before I was even born. I have values of an American, Englishman, African, Spanish etc. I no longer let my confusion stand in the way of learning. My blessing is no longer my curse rather a wonderful teacher. I have let people from all walks of life show me that underneath it all, we are the same. I am in American girl and I want what every human wants: love.

Masturbating and the awarness my soul.

I have been consumed with the purpose of life since I was a child. As far as I can remember I would look into the sky and wonder if there was "more". I would think about what is right, wrong, and how would I know when I am doing either. I had my first indication of the thing that would tell me when I was five. This was also when I had my first orgasm. After the orgasm I remember a feeling of euphoria and kept thinking that I wanted to feel that all of the time...so I masturbated over and over and over again. Then when I was about 10 I looked into the mirror, after masturbating one evening, and it felt as though there was "something" staring back at me. It felt as if my body were standing there and "something" was in it. I referred to this "something" as a soul. I stood in the mirror confused. I wondered if my body had just masturbated or if my soul had. I knew it felt good and that feeling had to belonged to my body, but as I stood in the mirror my eyes starring at my body I felt as if my body and soul were two different entities.

In the book, Entangled Mines, Dean Radin, poses several questions that I have wondered since childhood. He asks: Why are we here? Is this all we're capable of? Does life have any real purpose or is all this emphasis on arithmetic and spelling just a distraction to avert our attention from more important questions like futility of existence? These are questions that my soul has asked; they are questions that come up when I stand at the ocean and my body feels micro. Even though the questions multiply, a bigger question always follows: will I be able to find the answers to all of my soul's questions?

Today I am just as confused as I was when I was ten. There are still a lot of questions that come to mind and little reasonable answers. I suppose I have the rest of my life to figure things out, but what happens when I do figure the above out? Will my soul leave my body like I felt it did after an orgasm, only this time for good....


π

The reason I chose Pi.

I have always enjoyed writing. Once I start writing about something that that I loved the words would just flow. I decided to start a blog after reading several of my friends blogs and thinking "wow, I love how they shared their thoughts indirectly with the world. So here I am. I decided to make my first blog about my chosen name: Pi.

Most people know pi as the mathematical constant whose value is the ratio of a circles' area to it's diameter, in other words: 3.141593.....also abvr as π. Other times, when one says π people think of pie. Which had a huge influence as to why I used pi.

Pi is an irrational number. I can be an irrational person. Per my past I have been unwise, illogical, foolish, and silly about more than one thing. As far as I have learned Mathematicians have tried to find a more precise number for π and to understand its' nature. This is the same with me. People have tried to find a more precise word for my personality and to understand my nature....bot mathematicians and those around me have not been successful thus far.

Now when one is referring to the circumference of a circle and they say it out loud most would think of PIE. You know a pastry, baked food good. Most people know that yummy little treat as sweet, warm, delicious and good for our soul...not a complicated mathematics transcendental number. That is me. Most people would think of one thing, but I am the other. I am very complicated and I am not what people usually think.

I choose π as my name b/c it is important to the community that it is in, mathematics....but to all the other communities it is just dough that tastes good.


π