Teeth Don't Fail Me Now

I think there is something seriously wrong with my teeth. I mean, they're straight & everything, but it hurts when I bite down...on both sides.
Even toothpaste seems too sweet these days. :/
I don't know, but I can't get the taste of the $10,000 bucks (of which I do NOT have)...that it's going to cost me too fix them...OUT of my MOuTH!
All they're really going to do is prop my mouth open & play around in the moist cave of silver & off-white...with clanky metal teeth utensils.
Oh how I despise the feeling of that drill that the over-indulgence of Reeses Peanut Butter Cups have led me to.

Ohhh the route of a root canal.

By the way, Dirty Dancing LIVE is coming to the Boston Opera House. I soo want to see it.

Back to my homework, and away from all these distractions.

Chrisette Michelle and John Mayer help me through it.

BOMPF*

Model Minorities

Today, my boss told me about the 80's term, Model Minorities & how it originated with Asians, then Caribbean Islanders in the U.S. It's basically how these groups of minorities come to America and despite their initial economic and financial mishaps, find a way to survive and take-on entrepreneurship and education like no other ethnic group could. The emigrated people of Cabo Verde also picked up this trait when they came to the land of opportunity, but

"when CV boys dropped their native tongue, and picked up the gat, sh*t went DOWN!"....said he.

Lol. What a character, he is.

Then, he flicked a

at me.

I wanted to... him.


Not because it popped me on the back of my neck, and startled the horse sh*t out of me. Of course not. But because I had the suckiest assignment today!


Well, maybe it wasn't that sucky, it could've just been because I had one of those weird headaches I get. Where I feel pressure behind my eyes, that eventually leads to a massive migraine by about 7PM.

At home, I fell alseep thinking, "I've done MRI's & all sorts of test, but still no explanation for these head-attacks I've been getting since about age 10." I've concluded that they're probably caused by the heavy thoughts I consume my mind with. I think way more than I speak.

Maybe I should cease writing and pick up motivational speaking.


Sike.


Ohhhhhhh! I saw the final edits of our three TV commercials today & I heard our radio spots the other night!

(she screams with excitement)

I didn't know WHAT to do with myself...but I'll blog about it later, I'm

soooo

tired...

zzzzzzzzZ.



Oh yeah,

BOMPF*

Never, Say Never

I didn't ever believe in blogs.

I was totally against the thought of having anonymi's {there goes another one of my self-made words} peering into my thoughts, feelings, and emotions.

A blog (a contraction of the term "Web log") is a Web site, usually maintained by an individual with regular entries of commentary, descriptions of events, or other material such as graphics or video. Entries are commonly displayed in reverse-chronological order.
-extracted from an unreliable, implausible source that a writer/researcher shouldn't ever use

What I'm telling you is I'm a very private person. I refuse to let people really get to know me. I just feel that once a person knows too much, it makes you vulnerable in a sense. More susceptible to get hurt.

I've been called secretive, furtive, and surreptitious many times. Surreptitious, in my opinion is taken it a bit too far, but I accept the constructive criticism with open arms.

I truly believe that you telling me things about myself, teaches me more about me than I can come up with.

I mean, we don't ever really know ourselves, do we?

& no, it's not contradiction, I didn't ever say you can get in my head, just that you can see things in me, that without an out-of-body experience, I couldn't see for myself.

Throughout our lives, we go on these soul-searching, self-finding expeditions, and when we return home we're hit once again with the reality of others perceptions of us. So is it what you think of your self, or what people see you as, that really matters?

The secret to getting past my furtive ways is simply asking. I'm private, but honest & I've been told, that is what saves me. You can pretty much ask me anything & I try my best to be honest, give the whole truth & nothing but the truth, so help me God. If there is something I don't want to talk about, I simply won't answer.

Therefore,

I blog because over the years it's been so hard to resort back to my one true love. I've been distracted by school work, textbooks, RTV, no, not MTV, RTV - tell me the last time you saw a music video on that channel, maturing, living life, & last but not least the inevitable, unforgivable male species.

I blog because 20 years from now when my children are in their prime, they can have a place to recount the life of their mom, whom ever she will then be. Revel in her thoughts and get to know her in a way spoken words couldn't ever explain.

I blog because since I've started, I honestly haven't been able to stop. So I'm stuck between the compilation of eons of stickys & palm memos, & word documents that have been veiled, due to the lack of a venting source.

I've found you.

I've always planned to get back to writing, so now when I ask him, "have you been rhyming," & in rebuttle he hits me with, "have you been writing" I can proudly say, "yes, feast your eyes on belleposh.blogspot.com"

It's been difficult to pull away from my worldly distractions long enough to show my .first. love that I didn't ever give up, didn't ever stop loving, & always will remain true because

sticks

and

stones

can

break

my

bones,

but


words


won't

ever

hurt

me.


BOMPF*

Recess & The Recession

I was going to wait a little while to write this entry, but today's headline jolted me back to reality, asking myself the question, "What are you waiting for? Its not about to happen, it's happening."

Remember when you were a child, and every day you would wake up and your biggest reason for not crawling into bed with your Mom and/or Pop, holding on to your tummy because you swore it would explode if you had to go to school today, was because you were looking forward to Recess?

During science, you day dreamed about kicking the ball over the fence so that the recess monitor would have to leave the school yard, march into the street to retrieve the dirty, red, bouncy ball, just so you would have 40 seconds of independence without having an adult peering over your shoulder?

Or in English, you imagined Bobby from Ms. Luck's class slipping you a note, while you played jump-rope singing, "Down by the acres, where the green grass grows, I smell Lisa pretty as a rose," that read do you like me, yes or no? Circle one.

During lunch, you hurriedly ate your fish and cheese patty and gulped down your apple juice thinking that would shorten the time until Recess.

Remember while trying not to go deaf from screams of joy and get trampled by the overly excited kids that didn't get to play outside when at home, you spot your clique and head towards them with that extra cheesy smile & sparkle in your eye?

Then the Recess monitor blows that silver whistle, attached to a WWJD chain hanging from her neck signaling the end of Recess. When you look around to make sure you weren't leaving any friends behind, all you see is yourself sitting at this desk in that purple cardigan sweater your mom bought you when you got your first job, behind a stack of paper that has been there for over a week, with that Friday morning deadline pounding its remnants into the back of your head like a hammer. Right before your brain splatters onto your desk, ruining the 1/8 of work you've gotten done so far, your boss walks in delivering your fate.

When he leaves, it's like your frozen in time. Wondering, what the hell just happened?

You think it's Recess time? You think your getting a break? Vacation? Being granted a sabbatical?

No, you've just been laid off.

Still want to try that, my tummy hurts excuse tomorrow morning?

Just when you thought you had eluded the falling economy because you could still buy those Bobbi Brown & MAC cosmetics you love so much. Not knowing that the only reason you were buying so much lately was because you could no longer afford those expensive garments you once treasured. The unconscious purpose of your make-up binge was to hide your true feelings of fret and cover up your sagging face, caused by this stress induced economy.


You are now officially inducted into the age of the Recession.


See for yourself:


Distraught Father Kills Wife, 5 Kids, Self


Goodnight bloggers, Lost is on.

BOMPF*

My Embarassment, Your Amusement

There hasn't been a time when I haven’t gotten caught while being nosey.

The more I try to be sneaky, the worse I make a situation. My inquisitive and curious ways led me to one of my most embarrassing moments ever.

Might I mention, Facebook is the perfect source for investigating.

I got in contact with a childhood friend who had moved away many years ago. I hadn’t spoken to him in about 4 years. When we were younger we both had a crush on each other, but time and distance had separated us.

While looking at his Facebook page and his wall, I found myself going through his many pages of comments. Then I came across a comment that had a link. I figured it was a simple survey so I decided to take it. When I got to the site it was a questionnaire that asked you questions like:

.Who was your first crush.

.What was their name.

.Who is your crush now.

.Who is the first person you kissed.

Coincidentally, this person was all of the above.

The next thing the questionnaire asked was your full name and email. It said that you had to give this information accurately, in order to receive accurate results.

Now, the embarrassing part came at the end of the survey when I got to the last page and it said,

"You’ve been tricked!"

All the information was being sent to someone’s email!

I had no clue who the person was initially, but it turned out that it was his GIRLFRIEND!

How Embarrassing!

You think curiosity killed the cat?

No, it killed me. That was the last time I did a Facebook investigation.

BOMPF*

"Don't Get Left Out In The Cold"

Today is the first day of my second semester of Grad School. Boy oh Boy. I have to get up in a few, long day ahead. Work, then class until 9:30PM {Eastern Time}. What a drag, wish I could be more excited because I've had a long break and it's only the first day.
I'm not. It's just not easy. Hopefully it will be a little less stressful this semester.

Actually, I take that back. It will be less stressful because that's how I'll make it.

So I'm remembering a couple months ago when we shot a commercial for the upcoming season. It was my first time on set. I've been around the lights, camera, action before, but it was different, you know. I was actually watching a commercial being shot. New for me.



Maybe every time it's aired people who know me and my association with it, will think of me.



.Cool.



Anywho, I met J.P.K for the first time that day. I mean, I've seen him a couple times at work, but its usually his back as he's walking away. Ha.



You know that saying, "hate to see you leave, but love to watch you walk away." Ha. There isn't anything about his "back" that I like to see, it just made me think of the phrase. Yea.



He's pretty cool. He saw me and actually stopped to greet me & ask who I was. All I could think of was, "this man could go anywhere in the world, and he'll be respected & recognized. All he has to do is say his last name."



He did great in the commercial by the way.



BOMPF*

Find Yourself

.these days I feel alone.

.theres no one here but me.

.no.

.one.

.here.

.but.

.me.

.trapped in this insane mind of mine.

.thats races about a thousand miles.

.an hour.

.times 24.

.a day.

.thoughts of you.

.thoughts of him.

.cant decide.

.dont know where to begin.

.if I go this way.

.the decisions made.

.if I go that way.

.my world is changed.

.im told that life is just a game.

.im only a pawn.

.that I might not rise at the wake of dawn.

.that I will always be this way.

.that of which I am.

.for God made me this shade and I will never change.

.no matter the amount of money I make.

.i will always be.

.this.

.though i am destined to be more than this.

.this life.

.for I know I have the gift.

.that of light.

.to make you see.

.theres more to me.

.more to this world.

.than what we perceive.

.although not perfect.

.no where near utopic.

.we make the best of it.

.reap from it all that it owes.

.find yourself.

.we all have a place here.

.dnt go astray.

.dnt just let this go.



Constitution Date: October 2006

BOMPF*

Obama!

This picture of Michelle and Barack Obama was taken on May 26th, 1996 while the couple were doing an interview with Mariana Cook. Cook was compiling a project on couples in America, and the Obama's were featured.


When Mama Yayo showed me this picture on Friday morning, I was immediately taken aback. Seeing our President and the First Lady plainly sitting on their couch, almost 13 years ago, before they had children, in their Chicago home as regular BLACK Americans, took me right out of my element!


I would've gone into an episode of bawls if I didn't have to sit in front of a row a people wondering what my issue was so early in the morning, while riding the train to work.


Each and every time I see Michelle, I feel a rush of confidence. It's almost like my adrenaline starts pumping as though I were experiencing the excitement going on in her life. She exudes Encouragement. Motivation. Pride.


To see such a beautiful, unadorned, intellectual BLACK woman in a high position reminds me why the Rev. MLK fought and died for the respect of the black "race." I mean, we have our very first African American President, and no he's not married to a Caucasian women. Our President is BLACK.


The Obama's are my motivator to all young people, not just BLACK, who need to see positive role models showing that with will and perseverance, you can do and be anything you want in life.


This is my silent cheer to the Obama Family. Can you hear it?

BOMPF*

Allow Me To Pre-Introduce Myself...

I am unfounded and unexposed. Indited-ly pure, yet terminologically corrupt. My words reflect infection within themselves, within the passages written on each sticky, in each memo on my Treo, in the notes of my datebook, random pieces of paper, cyberly morphed into blog posts...

There is a deep, more profound abyss in defining my self-made words, that turn into sentences, then paragraphs into stories that only I sometimes understand.

At times I feel verbally crippled, linguistically challenged; thoughts only appear on paper, or on 17” plasmas by way of click-ety key strokes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was five when I wrote my first poem. I think. At least that’s what my cousin Karen remembers. A few years ago we took into recollection the creation of my very.first.poem. She says everyone was shocked by the words I managed to compose on this little sheet of paper. She thinks I wrote it before I was even able to read. Ha.

I’ve said it before, and I shall say it again:

“Writing Is My 1st Love. Everything else in my life has fallen into place behind it. I can draw a direct line from when I first fell, to now, today. It all coincides. In time the dream will be mine. So until then, here I am...Chasing It."

If only I still had .it. today…

BOMPF*