Guilt trippin…

She called… but I never made it around to call her back. I kick myself for not having done so.
I met my friend Shareedah at King Estates junior high school in 1990. For our three years there, the crew that consisted of us, Marisol, Omeka, Tahlia and the Twins were pretty much inseparable. I often times felt that we didn’t fit into the rest of the crowd – in that moment, this felt sooo uncomfortable – but looking back, I think that was kinda cool. We always looked out for one another, ate lunch together, studied together, talked crap together – all the stuff young teenie boppers do I guess.
Our little crew would always look out for Shareedah, as she had epilepsy. Don’t get me wrong, she was very strong willed and had no problem speaking her mind – not to mention that she had a black belt in Karate no less – but often times other students and even teachers didn’t know what to do when she would have seizures. These instances were very difficult – but I did learn a great deal – I learned a lot about understanding, the act of not being judgmental, and the importance of solidarity – qualities that no text book can ever teach you – you just have to experience it.
In June of 1993, this crew of trailblazing chicas went different ways – Omeka, Tahlia and I to Oakland Tech and Shareedah and Marisol to Castlemont.
I would still talk to Shareedah from time to time. She’d send letters and I would send some back – we’d chat on the phone here and there. Still trying to hold on to a bond that was cultivated out of necessity and sincerity. I kick myself repeatedly for not holding up my end of the bargain.
It had been a few years since I spoke to Shareedah. The last time I spoke to her, she was still working at the Oakland Airport, and it seemed like she was really coming into her own. Last year she moved to Atlanta – I’m not sure if she did so with family, or on her own – but still a huge and admirable step nonetheless in my opinion.
However, I recently got some news that I was not expecting. After I got back from my LA trip last week – my mom had some news to share. It’s funny – I can always gauge when my mom has some unpleasant news to share – there is always this eerie silence and extremely calm, yet strong expression on her face. Shareedah passed away. What? My mom said that one of her sisters called with the news – it seems that she passed away after a bout with pneumonia. As soon as the news hit my ears, I could feel the guilt churn in my stomach – beginning to boil over. How could I be such a damn jerk?
Shareedah’s service was held this past Tuesday, and obviously it was extremely hard to handle. I was a mix of emotions – angry, sad, calm, numb – all rolled into one. My sister and my mom attended the ceremony with me – which made it a bit easier to process and deal.
I think the whole ceremony was reflective of who Shareedah was – very loving, respectful, filled with positive energy, supportive – as one of the eulogist said, a ceremony we only hope to have done for us some when our time comes.
Today, it's a bit easier to handle – but I must admit that my eyes are welling up as I write this. Today I had the strength to look at her program again – and I ran across some pictures of us from junior high- remembering all the happy and fun times we had together. That helps to melt away the pain and the guilt.
There are so many things that stick out from the service for Shareedah – but something that was quite poignant came from another eulogist/family member – she remembered Shareedah as a kind and loving person, and no matter what happened in her life, she never passed judgment or looked down upon anyone – which is what made her so special and unique. The eulogist’s hope was that we follow Shareedah’s legacy and work to become a bit better than we already are. Again, another instance in which I learned something that is so priceless, words cannot express how thankful I am to have been revisited with this realization. For that, I will be forever thankful to have Shareedah in my life.

Toyota Tacoma Diaries…

As I sit at my desk, my mind is wandering big time. Man, I need a vacation. I think the little taste of an excursion that I had this weekend hasn’t quenched that feeling… but it was still the bomb nonetheless. This past weekend, my partner in crime Beto and took a turn around trip to SoCal – leaving on Friday and coming back Sunday… damn! Where do I begin… I guess at the beginning huh? We left East Bay around 2ish, which was a little trafficky around the Tracy area. On our way through the Modest area, it felt like we were in a damn oven – having to turn on the air conditioner periodically before we melted away – can’t say the same for the nutritious gummy bears I brought to tame our hunger, as they wound up becoming a yummy gob of gelatin… not the greatest sight to look at, but when your hungry, who really cares if it hits the spot, right?
Here is a smattering of the highlights along the way:
We passed through a city called Los Baños (the bathrooms) – imagine telling someone you live in Los Baños… hehe
We passed through a city called Panoche (which is Spanish for a woman’s nether region – but it’s a cuss word, so don’t use it unless you wanna get slapped) - again, imagine you saying I was born in or live in Panoche… that’s kinda gross come to think of it…
We stopped in Coalinga for a break and to eat something that didn’t taste like the pineapplecherryorangeapple creature we had been dining on. In Coalinga, there is essentially nothing! Where there are some things – at least the place where we stopped. There were a few gas stations, a Carl’s Jr., and Red Robin’s – which is where we ate and overused their sweet, free air conditioning. Both Beto and I were imagining what it would be like to live in this spot, and we both agreed that we would have more fun poking our eyes out with a spoon. But who knows? Maybe they have hidden raves and parties all night long and we missed it – yeah, I doubt that to.
This area all kinda looked the same after a while – lots of fields with thriving or dead vegetation, prisons, cows, hella cows, more cows, horses, sheep, a few llamas, cow shit, tons of cow shit, and another prison.
After we ate, we hit the road again and listened to the same 4 or 5 CDs over and over again (Bob Marley, Akwid, Santana, and Cumbia), but I didn’t mind – they were really dope. For more entertainment, Beto and I would crack jokes about the things we saw, crack jokes on each other, he’d help me with some of my Spanish, and I would help him with the beautiful language and technique of sarcasm, which I think I use oh so well.
Finally we reached LA, but we didn’t really didn’t know our way around – I mean REALLY didn’t know our way around. We didn’t have a map or anything – just guesstimates – like I guess we make a right here, or I guess we go straight, etc. We tried calling our LA connections for directions, but they weren’t answering or calling back. *sigh* It was getting late, we were hungry, and poor Beto had been driving the WHOLE time - I can’t drive stick =(
We finally found a place to eat in Downtown LA, which was about to close, but the staff there let us in and hooked us up. Just one of the many places on this trip where I’m sure the pounds will pop up on me soon. Later, we found a nice and reasonable place to stay, and made lightweight plans for the days to come.
On Saturday, we drove around Downtown LA again. To me, this place looks a lot like the Mission in the City or E14th in Oakland, so Beto and I felt quite comfortable (you can take the folks out the hood, but you can’t take the hood out the folks). We parked at a lot and walked around for a few hours. I bought some knock-off Claratin for my allergies and Beto bought a charger for his phone and some spices. Again we ate our faces off, and then we made our way to East Los!
Again, it’s amazing to me how all these areas look the same – it reminded me of some parts of Hayward and East Oakland near the Coliseum and the train tracks – only some of the companies here were still thriving, and perhaps still pumping who knows what in the surrounding neighborhoods via the water supply or plumes of smoke that would explode here and there.
We stopped at a Starbucks to steal some of their air conditioning and hatch a plan for what was next on our agenda. Here talked some more – about how we grew up, where we want to go in life, where the hell is the freeway, etc. Beto told me that in Mexico, he and his friends would take weekend trips every weekend. Man. Imagine that? Just saying lets bounce, and you do just that! I think I need to take advantage of opportunities like that more often. Even though we didn’t have a map, I didn’t really care – this was the first time in a long time that I did something without a strict time limit or an order – and it felt great!
But we did have to find a map on how to get down to San Diego, so we crossed the bridge that Ice Cube and NWA has filmed hella videos on and picked up several maps – we looked so touristy. By the evening, we made it to San Diego. Beto has a friend that lives there, but she wasn’t home *sigh* So again, we had to find food and a place to lay our heads. We wound up eating hella food a Coco’s and then headed down to Downtown SD – particularly the Gas Lamp Alley. To me, it really wasn’t all that – too many people – and there was a fitness convention – so it was too many fake tan/fake titty people for my taste. The main highlights for me was us walking around and getting kinda lost, eating ice cream, passing by Padres stadium, and seeing two homeless people fight. Way to go.
We then circled around and looked for a place to stay, but everything was super high, but we eventually found a place that worked out. The hotel had a bar, which was kinda like a whole in the wall and it was karaoke nite – yay. A room full of drunk people singing old rocker and slow jams, or country. The ultimate was when someone sang “Baby Got Back” and there was not any “back” in the house except mine. Go figure. The bartender was nice to us, but after our drinks, Beto and I had enough and went to sleep.
On Sunday, we hit the road to head back up to NorCal.
Again, we saw hella cows, tons of shit, and truck loads of tomatoes.
We passed by Anaheim Stadium and Disneyland (which I have still never been too, and not sure if I want to), while listening to the same 4-5 CDs and munching on the gummy bear glob.
We passed through our favorite party spot, Coalinga, crossed over the Panoche river (hehe), and passed through Los Baños (hehe).
Before we could make it all the way home, as we visited a very good friend of ours (kinda like a brother to me) Katipunero and his wife. Here we used their sweet air condition as well, and checked in with each other about how things have been since we went through our masters program. Later Katipunero took us all out to dinner… balllin!
Finally, we made it back to the East Bay! Back to the grind – boo!
Even though this trip was very short and within the State, I still learned a lot:
I learned that it’s really important to be thankful all the people that I truly cherish that are in my life; that freedom to do whatever you want should not be so intimidating;
and that there is a city called Panoche!!!
The end.

18 dummy...

My calves still hurt. Yesterday I went to the UC Berkeley Charter Day event at Fort Mason in SF. For those who are familiar with this place knwo that parking is pretty much non-existent, so you could imagine what it was like to walk nearly a mile in 4 inch heels. By the end of the night, I was walking like Kevin Spacey in the “Usual Suspects”… only my walk didn’t straighten up as the scene faded to black.
These events are always funny to me… everyone dresses up to the nines to rub elbows, fatten up on dainty dinners, and get toasted on the rivers of wine and champagne that flows from the hands of servers they don’t even bother to look in the eye and/or say thank you too. I had a mix of emotions while I was there:
I cursed Steve Madden over and over again as I tried to Top Model walk to the venue.
I felt like a sell-out when I passed by the Union members protesting for fairer wages – everyone that pulled up in their cars were quickly ushered in – almost as if to shield people of the ugly truth about how the very people that build up this beacon of education are overlooked and underappreciated. *sigh*

As I walked in, I was greeted by one of the servers with a glass of white wine. “Hello beautiful! Welcome! I’m new in town and I…” He got quickly pulled away by one of the coordinators – I guess for being a bit TOO social… go figure.
After I took a swig, I checked in, put on my badge, and put on my game face – “the my feet are killing me and I’ll attempt to network” game face. An indicator of what the night was gonna be like for me was when I found a table to lean on and noticed that the beautiful Mexican bling bracelet my homie MJ got me was missing… *sigh*. That thing had been giving me problems all night long, as the clasp wouldn’t stay closed. I had just walked nearly a mile, uttering “f*ck you Steve Madden!” over and over again, in the drizzling rain no less, and now my bling was gone. I tried to retrace my steps as best as I could, as I was hopeful that the bling was indoors – “please Lord let it be inside!” “Oh honey, what are you looking for?” a soft kind voice said to me. “I lost my bracelet and I’m trying to retrace my steps.” “What does it look like honey?” I described it to her as best as I could – it’s a beautiful piece of jewelry, but it’s one of those pieces that priceless, because it came from someone that is really dear to you… know what I mean? “Well honey, you should go to the Courtesy Desk and ask them to keep an eye out for it. The bracelet sounds really beautiful; I hope you find it honey.” I thanked the woman for her kindness, but I felt like I cheated her somehow. I guess I was kinda caught off guard… someone at a high class event being nice to me??? Ok, where’s Alan Funt and the camera’s cuz I just got punked, right?
As the night went on, I continued to drown my sorrows in Gallo wines and tasty a devours, and chat here in there with some pretty cool folks – alums from the 50’s, 70’s, current students.
“Katherine… class of… 2001” muttered a gentleman that was trying to read my name tag (note to self, be cautious of where you place your name tag if you are wearing strapless outfit to an event that’s not well lit). I sincerely questioned if he was really interested in getting to know me and/or check out my boobs. “I’m blah, blah, blah…. Class of 1972.” We chatted a bit about our majors before the announcer belted over the loud speakers that it was time to take our seats at the dinner tables. Yay! I could finally get to take my shoes off on the sneak tip… and get more wine… dope.

The rest of the night was filled with inspiring stories, bad jokes, long speeches, gourmet food, jokes in my head about the shit people really didn’t need to have on, etc.

As the event ended, I made my way back to the courtesy table, with the hopes that they found the Mexican bling… no such luck. They took down my name and number, and said that they if they found it, they would hit me up. At this point, my buzz was beginning to wear off and the bummed feeling began to consume me again. As I walked away from the table, I looked down and noticed my purse was open… everything was there, except my celly-cell… when it rains it pours! Now I had to walk back across what was now a dance floor, back to the dinning area to look for a black cell phone, on a black floor. Good luck sista! I felt like such an idiot looking under table cloths, hoping that it didn’t get pulverized… even though it’s a material item, I swear I felt naked and vulnerable without it… sad huh? I asked one of the servers if she had seen it or who I should ask about keeping an eye out for it… she told me that they didn’t break down everything and that I would have to wait until 3am. Bitch, are you serious???? She was clearly being a jerk, so I had to go back to plan A… look for myself. “What’s wrong?” another kind voice asked. I told her I lost my cell phone. “What’s your number, I’ll call it.” “It just want to voice mail…. Honey, she lost her cell phone.” “Oh, ask to speak with the catering coordinator, they can alert their staff to look out for it. We hope you find it.” I thanked them both, but again, and again, I felt like I cheated them… *sigh*. I continued to kick myself until I found a server that was much more polite than the first. She took me to other servers and asked them to keep an eye out for it, as well as took me to the catering coordinator… she was really bending over backwards to help me. “Oh honey, I hope you find it.” That was the mantra of the evening.

Again I put on my gumshoes and retraced my steps and walked back towards the courtesy table… past the dance floor, in which I heard the singer ask the audience if they were ready to get “crunk” before she launched into Mary J’s “Family Affair” – I laughed on the inside and outside at the same time. When I got back to the table – “There you are! We tried calling you! We found your bracelet!.” Yay, but now I lost my phone… *sigh*.
When I looked down, I saw something flashing under the table… it was my phone! YAY, all was good in the world!!! I was now free to go out in the rain and cuss out Steve Madden all over again. Before I left, I thanked the folks that helped my find my shit… this time I didn’t feel some empty afterwards… I felt complete… not only cuz I got my stuff back, but because it was good to see that some sincerity still exist in the world, even in places you don’t expect to find it.

So the moral(s) to this long story is(are):
Prejudgment causes you to put up unnecessary bridges, so just let go!
Alcohol makes things all better.
Don’t wear Steve Madden’s when you have to walk a mile -- “f*ck you Steve Madden.”
The end.

Makin moves…

I swear time flies!!! The year is almost over, and in the past few weeks I have been delinquent in my blogging duties. Here are the things I missed talking shit about:
Rummy gettin the boot
Michael Richards gone wild
Flava of Love finale (New York got shitted on twice!!!)
So many news worthy items I totally missed the boat on. *sigh*
Oh well, there are always new things like… the new Rocky Balboa movie coming out on December 20th!!! I can’t wait! Who cares if Sly is pushing 70 and kind of resembles a plate of melted butter in boxing shorts… it’s the principality of it all. The whole nostalgic piece associated with American cinema. I think with each film in the Rocky saga, I can associate some found childhood memory that makes me smile, laugh, or sigh. I can remember crowding around our busted TV that my uncle hooked his laser disc up to so we could watch Rocky II and III over and over again (damn, do laser discs even exist anymore???); never getting tired of watching Rocky getting his ass whooped by Clubber Lang, or my favorite part, him telling Adrianne to come to his place so he could show her a real man… haha… prize winning acting I tell ya. My bro, sis and I would laugh so hard, and get so amped for Rocky as he fought his way to get back to the top… it was such a thrill. My siblings and I don’t get to have that same experience very much anymore, but we definitely capitalize on the opportunities when they arise. So where will I be will numero six hits the silver screen… in Sin City, standing in line with my bro and my sis and the other Rocky marks that like to hold onto a little nostalgia, especially considering how funked up the times are lately. YO!


P.S. Rest in Peace my dear friend Adrian… keep dancing in heaven! =)

What I am learning... well, I already knew, but just gets validated each and every waking day...

There are some dumbass people in the world. I can safely say that over the past week or so, I have encountered countless instances of ignorance, absentmindedness, insincerity... the list goes on...
I went to a fundraiser party for a friend/co-worker ... she has founded an awesome organization to provide medical and educational supplies to her mother's village in Peru. Anywho, my friend would do short presentations throughout the event and in one part, she talked about a weaving program that some of the women partake in to earn money for the family. She talked about how some of the women gloat and show their husbands that they are able to make money as well. As my friend was talking, a women sitting next to me goes ' yeah, cuz the men just spend all their money on alcohol... haha.' WTF??? I shot her the coldest look ever and she sat there looking hella dumb. Where do people get off? I guess because I wasn't Latina, then it was safe to say something that stupid. Ridiculous. I really don't know what goes on/doesn't go on in their brains. What for her made it a "safe zone" to talk shit about another ethnicity? Hella dumb.
I have an idea for an invention. All the stupid ass people get shocking devices implanted in their left ass cheek. Each time they say something dumb, a shock strong enough to fry an egg is sent. Yeah, I think that would sale... like hotcakes! Who wants to help me make that happen???

Hidden meanings…

How do you write poems about happiness?
Elation?
Hope or optimism?
Does it take experience?
Practice or a divine intervention?
Do these poems come from the soul, the mind, or the heart?
Where do they generate, germinate, and cultivate?
How are they harvested from the deep and fertile soul of emotions and virtue?
What do these poems taste like?
What do they smell like?
What do they look like?
Maybe poems are like rose that sprout from the concrete… despite the cold, gray stone that surround them, they still blossom with beauty and sweetness.
Can poems grow and survive in the ghetto?
Or are they only from lands filled with bounty and abundance?
Maybe they can come from both?
Wherever they come from, or however they get here, they all serve the same purpose…
To enlighten, inspire, reflect, ponder, or be just whatever you want them to be…
So, where do you think poems come from?

I ain’t bullshittin!!!

MAJOR VENT COMING

I hate bullshit. I hate bullshit artist. I hate the aftermath of bullshit. I hate when people talk or start bullshit. Did I mention I hate bullshit?
I feel that lately a lot of it has been shoved in my direction and I don’t like it. Why must we live in a society where folks pride themselves by getting over on the next person? Where taking advantage of others supercedes the concept of doing actual work (be it physical, mental, emotional, etc.)… where honesty is a figment of imagination, and deception becomes a reality. Interesting huh? Interesting and quite sad I must say.
I think I have a pretty good bullshit radar… but sometimes it’s a little off. I guess because I want to see the good in people no matter what, and tend to give folks the benefit of the doubt. However, when I begin to smell the whiff of that pungent “Eau de Caca,” it’s about time to hit the wind and peace that sucka out.
But I guess people all have their own ways of handling deceit and lies. I tend to go for making that offender’s life miserable… I guess I’m just petty like that. But in all seriousness, I tend to not respect people that give bullshit… some folks may think that this punishment doesn’t outweigh the crime… but in my mind it does. Who wants to go the rest of his or her life being branded as a liar… someone that cannot be trusted… and not worthy of respect?
Alls I gotta say is that if anybody every thinks of trying to pull the wool over my eyes, they will be very sorry… The wrath of KattyGirl is much too strong to bear!!!
So how do you handle bullshit and bullshitters?

On a lighter note… thank goodness for dance! It’s nice to get away from bullshit for a few hours and be around genuine folks.

p.s.: I was only half kidding about making a liars life miserable… it’s a fun way to entertain urself… =)