Supa on Books!

"If you want to work on your art, work on your life." ~ Chekhov

What's happening, Blogger Fam?? Hope all is well in your worlds! Yep, Supa is still in hibernation mode, nursing her foot, and taking some time to work on her art and work on her life. (how great is that quote!)

Meanwhile, wanted to share some of the craft/creativity books Supa has been absorbing - some of them new, some of them not, all of them relevant.. First is this one:


The Artist's Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity by Julia Cameron

I'd heard about this book for years in creative circles, then Supa received it as a gift awhile back. It's turning out to be an invaluable creative tool. Not just for writers, but for all artists - painters, photographers, dancers, etc.

The Artists's Way links creativity to spirituality by showing how to tap into the higher power that connects human creativity with the creative energies of the universe, and guides you through a variety of highly effective exercises and activities that spur imagination and capture new ideas.


Next one is: Callings: Finding and Following an Authentic Life by Gregg Levoy

My girl Jude from the Writing Crew posted a few excerpts of this book on her blog last week, and I knew I had to pick it up. This is one of those books people say "changed their life."

In Callings, Levoy guides readers to ask and answer fundamental questions that arise from any calling: How do we recognize it? How do we distinguish the true call from the siren song? How do we handle our resistance to a call? What happens when we say yes? What happens when we say no?





Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype by Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Ladies: Go get this book. First time I read this, I was astounded. Now, as I re-read, I believe it to be a necessary guidebook for every woman who wishes to reclaim and retain the knowledge and power contained within the feminine soul.

Through the stories and commentaries in this remarkable book, we retrieve, examine, love, and understand the Wild Woman, and hold her against our deep psyches as one who is both magic and medicine...Estes has created a new lexicon for describing the female psyche.


Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke

According to Wikipedia, Rilke is generally considered the most significant German poet of the 20th century. I was introduced to his work via another writer, and the prose is so beautifully haunting and inspiring, I find myself flipping through this book at least once a week. A must read for every writer.

One of my favorite quotes: "Then, as if no one had ever tried before, try to say what you see and feel and love and lose."


Guerrilla Marketing for Writers: 100 Weapons for Selling Your Work

Uhh, pretty self-explanatory. This book is an essential guide for promoting and marketing your work!







Finally, one of Supa's all time favorites: Wild Women Don't Wear No Blues: Black Women Writers on Love, Men, and Sex (anthology) edited by Marita Golden

Sonia Sanchez, Ntozake Shange, Judy Dothard Simmons, Bebe Moore Cambell and others provide their answers to the quetion: What happens when you ask a Black Woman to think, not in passing, but long and hard - about love, men, and sex? At first, there is silence. Not because there is nothing to say, but because there is too much, never asked, never sought or listened to.

Topics range from domestic violence to phone sex to personal discovery to the black lesbian community - a phenomenal read all around.


Anyone read any of these titles? Feedback!

Enjoy!!

Reminder: Spike Lee's Katrina documentary on HBO tonight. All 4 requiems are being shown in honor of the one year anniversary.

Breathe...Supa, Breathe...(!!)

Man...is Supa the only one who gets full on looney around full moon time? I swear. Summertime is ending and the stakes is high. Everywhere I turn, it's Back! To! School! And all Supa wants to do is go Back! To! Bed!!!!

Then, went on some sort of impulsive, half-way maniacal cleaning rampage yesterday afternoon, and just starting pulling shit from everywhere (closet, kitchen, RR's rooms) - old clothes, receipts, papers, shoes, pictures, etc., and proceeded to dump! Purge like a mufucka. (well, the clothes are going to Goodwill this weekend)

In the process, when Supa yanked a bunch of to-be-donated clothes outta the closet, her very nice and very heavy iron fell (full force, from waaay high up on the shelf) on her bare foot. Yes, bitchez, I cried like a baby. Because that shit hurt. (Or, it "hurt-ed," as we use to say in and around those beautiful streets of the ghetto.) Least my luck 'aint terminally bad - the iron wasn't ON..but I think I may have to buckle down and go to the doc, if it 'aint feeling betta by tomorrow..

So. Last nite, stayed up and wrote 'till 3:30 am (thanks, Jude, it's rubbing off on me, now) and tried to go to sleep while watching CNN, trippin' off this dude who claims to have killed that lil' white Colorado gal. And I gotta say, that dude is one crazy lookin' muthafucker. CRAZY. His ass did something....

Anyone catch Spike's documentary on Katrina, "When the Levees Broke?" Feedback? I tried to watch, but that shit got in my heart too deep. Gotta stop when I start crying and feelin' the anger rise...recorded the rest, will get back to it when able.

At any rate, I think it's 'bout time for Supa to breather...take a lil' bloggin' breather, that is! And take her ass back to yoga on a consistent basis... But don't worry, I'll return sometime next week...trynta stay on my creative flow now that I'm actually (actively) outlining two new manuscripts. (one fiction, the other non)

And any day now, The 3P remix will be available!! Yay! (thanks again BBME, for hooking up the cover...wink.) Will keep ya'll in the loop. :)

Be blessed, Blogger Fam!

Irons are evil!

I'ze Alive!!! Update...

Update: Yes, Supa's alive. Barely.

How ya'll been, Blogger Fam?! Thank you for keeping Supa in your prayers...yesterday was the real test - Back To School shopping with The Girl. I did adequately and didn't have an anxiety attack in Old Navy. Indeed, Supa traipsed in and out of every gotdamn store (Penny's...Macy's..Claires...Rave...Foot Locker...et al), cooed and gave interesting input on appropriate outfit selections, made an infinite number of trips in and out of the girls' dressing room, dutifuly replaced all undesired shirts, skirts, flared jeans back on the hangers (vs. leaving that shit in a pile on the dressing room floor) and smiled weakly whenever The Girl busted out of the dressing room to practice her America's Next Top Model walk each and EVERY time she found an outfit she really liked......

Lawd. Lawd lawd lawd.

So, this time - to balance out all the mommy shit - Supa went out (escaped momentarily) allll weekend! (Christie - ya heard!!!) Worked in some fun and laughs with some real live grown ups, versus isolating herself in her room while watching "Mommie Dearest", drinking Smirnoff's, and making angry crank calls to the ex about the night he sweet-talked her into the idea of how it was their debt to society to mix good genes and procreate. Sneaky fucker!

Nah, not really. I've never done that! I mean, usually while watching Mommie Dearest I drink Bloody Mary's.

But yo - it's Tuesday, but it's still early, yet...gotta go throw out some food to the RR's, then go hide....

Meanwhile: What's been good in your lives, Blogger Fam?? Holla atcha girl!!

T, I'ma check out your links and pick out my wordpress theme - PROMISE!!! lol

Updated update: New news. My break won't come 'till Wednesday. Thanks to whoever suggested the "Hansen-tini" - I love it. Will mix one up tonight and report back... :)

Pray for Supa...

She's baaacck...

That's right, boys and girls. After 10 glorious unmolested days, Ruff Ryder #2 (The Girl) has now returned from her annual New Jersey summer trip with her favorite Auntie. (my ex-sister in-law and current best friend)

My anxiety kicked in early this morning. I placed the usual ungodly hour, long-distance call:

Supa: Can...she stay...just a few more days? (small unstable voice)

TiredAssAuntie (who thinks she wants kids, but currently has none): You're lucky I didn't send her azz back last week!

Supa: Sadist!

TiredAssAuntie: Heiffer! You just came back from Puerto Rico!

Supa: But...but I was just beginning to feel like a real person (vs. a tired mother. Real tears, now) You don't know what it's like!! She thinks my name is Mommy!! She's a vampire! I swear, she wants to eat me!!

TiredAssAuntie: She'll be on the six o'clock flight. Stock up on the Vodka, that's all I can tell ya. (click)

Supa, hands shaking, hangs up phone....began pacing in the backyard like a newly released felon two hours late for the half-way house. Fool. Your parole is ganked. (not that I 'aint had RR #1 (That Boy) to deal with, but still....)

This evening, her daddy/my ex-hubby happily scooped her from the airport, and delivered her straight to my door. It's his turn for a break; we've been playing tag team all summer. "I told her to go easy on you," he says. "Cheer up. By the time you're completely insane, I'll be back to pick her up....on Tuesday..."

"Please don't leave me here...it's not safe...they wanna eat me..."

He peels off, hittin' co'ners. Don't even look back.

And for the last three hours it's been Mommy, can I have a snow cone, Mommy where's the ice cream truck, Mommy when are we going school shopping, Mommy why can't I get highlights in my hair, Mommy why do I have to pick up Sassy's poop who picked it up when I was gone, Mommy do ducks fart, Mommy why can't I wear lipgloss, Mommy let's make up a new dance, Mommy did the Ti-vo record all the episodes of That's So Raven, Mommy, Mommy? Mommy. Mommy!

Supa, hands shaking, fumbling for Vodka...

Puerto Rico: The Final Chapter

The gods envy us. They envy us because we are mortal; because any moment might be our last..everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now..We will never be here again..

the end/beginning...

(wink)

Finito!! Puerto Rico!

So okay: Supa had to take a lil’ breather (you know, monthly womanly issues and general life shit), but she’s back, bitches! Hope everything has been fabulous and funky in your worlds…meanwhile, lemme hurrup and do this Puerto Rico wrap-up!

So get caught up here and here and here.

Next: Supa does the rainforest. El Yunque National Rainforest to be exact. The place was pretty cool. All nature-istic and shit. The drive up there was a lil’ crazy, ‘cause it was waaaay up in the mountains and you had to drive this lil’ dusty one lane road. No side railings to keep your ass from plunging over the side, feel me? Kept tellin’ Something Special to slooooww downn – Sup was having flashbacks of Left Eye’s fatal accident…

Here a few shots along the rain forest trail:




there's a butterfly in this picture, on the leaf!


THEN – that night, ya girl did it big. Took her lil’ ass over to the resort casino, and straight came up on the come up!! Now, Supa doesn't gamble (she shops), but she will play a lil’ blackjack. ‘Cause even when a lil’ tipsy, she can still add up the numbers “21.” (Eventually.)

So, I started with two five dolla chips and parlayed into over a hunnid. Ya girl was on fire!! The drunk ass Puerto Rican dude playing next to me kept congratulating me then cussing in Spanish. It was big fun. Supa played for a bit, won a little bit more, lost a little, then called it a night.
Then the high rollers came through, so me and Something Special watched them floss for a bit…one dude had stacks of $100 chips, he might’ve been holding two or three thou, easy. Of course Supa’s crafty ass was thinking, so okay…if I just snatched one of them stacks and made a run for it, wonder how far I could get in my wedgies…


Then finally, a last crazy night in Old San Juan. Did it real big! Dining, shopping, cocktailing, taking in the sights, visiting one of the forts, and bar hopping like the grown-n-sexy do! Visited some cool little spots - one named Aquaviva which was real funky and Supa's kind of steeze - and they had the best mojitos I've tasted outside of Miami. Rolled into another spot called Tantra, a contemporary/morrocan style Indian joint, and we did some of this.

Made our way to some more spots, listened to some jazz, and basically ran free through the Puerto Rican calles...(streets, ya'll) Note: this is where the whole slight public intoxication came into effect.
(Aqauviva Restaurant)



Streets of Old San Juan


Lovely balcony, love the architecture

Supa, at the waterfront

The fort


Supa says, adios, Puerto Rico! It's been real! And thank the lawd I'm free of the round the clock reggaeton and back to the real world of crap rap...and also, back to the real world, the beautiful struggle, and the refreshing surprises it sometimes brings.....

In a minute, Blogger Fam...

Happy Fucking Friday!!!

Hope you're having a great day, Blogger Fam!! More Puerto Rico exploits to come.... :)

Life: The Beautiful Struggle (Momentary PR Interruption)

You need to claim the events of your life to make yourself yours. When you truly possess all you have been and done, which may take some time - you are fierce with reality.
~Florida Scott-Maxwell


There is more here than meets the eye. ~ Lady Murasaki


I met a man today. An interesting man; an unapologetically candid and real and visibly wounded man. He took my order at the café I’d settled into this afternoon, when I was in search of soup and a salad. As usual, he asked my name, as to associate it with my order. I told him. He stared at me.

“No. My name is yours as well. How did a woman get such a name? Where are you from?”

By rote, I rattled off the brief history of me and my namesake - which was bestowed upon me by my elusive Pops. My father, whom I could label as many things – brilliant, selfish, creative, womanizer, dope-addicted, unconventional, stubborn, talented, self-destructive – and most of all, absent – though to this day, I secretly applaud him for ensuring that as his first-born daughter, I would enter this world stamped with uniqueness.

But back to Jamal. (Him, not I.)

As we chatted over my food transaction, I learned Jamal was Pakistani and his father was a cook. We’d both lived in Maryland for a time – strangely, in the same city, around the same time. We jokingly claimed to be distantly related, and simultaneously pulled out our government issued identifications, then marveled that our names were the same, no variation in spelling.

He also wore a patch over his left eye. In his driver’s license picture, and today.

“So what happened to your eye?” I asked.

He laughed. “Wow, you’re brave. Most people want to ignore it, pretend it's not there; don’t even ask…”

“Well...What happened?”

“I tried to kill myself,” he answered plainly and without hesitation.

“Really. How?”

“February 22nd, 1997. I was in college and drinking with friends and I downed two twelve packs of beer before hitting the bar..then did a line of shots at the local pub until we got kicked out and I was so wasted on the way home that I drove myself into a tree and then into a light pole and cracked my skull in three places and my eye was gouged by a piece of metal… (he pulled off his cap; showed me the scars on his head)…I’d drank myself to a 3.8 alcohol limit and was in a coma for a month and my brain actually seeped out of my skull and it took more than a few operations before the swelling went down. They thought I was dead…but here I am. And not a day goes by that I don't remember it all.”

I took a second to absorb the story, then said: “Wow. You must have been in a lot of pain...”

“It took about six months to recover..”

“No, not after the accident. Before.”

He looked at me thoughtfully, then said: “You know people always remind me how stupid I was or how could I do that or what were you thinking and you’re lucky to be alive. You are the first person to even acknowledge there’s more to that story. And it’s true. My emotional pain is what led to the physical ones..”

“Well, I’ve learned to look beyond the obvious…and trust, I can recognize pain. I can see underneath,” I half-laughed, as he handed me my change.

He held my hand as I reached for the remaining dollas. “Thank you for listening. I’m honored.”

“Thank you for sharing.” I took my receipt and turned to walk away.

“You have wounds of your own, I can tell.”

“Very good, but yo - we’re holding up the line,” I sidestepped. People behind me were hungry and didn’t give a shit….

“I’m due for my break,” he offered; slamming the register shut.

“I’ll be on the patio.”

And 10 minutes later, he met me there. And we had real conversation. No bullshit, no trivia, no minutia, no whoring off the minutes of God’s creation; but the kind of conversation one could have with a perfect stranger; that was more frank and connected and forthright than with people you'd known your entire life. Free-flowing and unselfish and spontaneous and real.

He studied me. Asked about the tattoo on my foot. "Now see," I told him – "that’s a very long story."

“Please. It's your story. I want to hear it.”

I did my best to keeep it short: My mommy whom I cherished and loved endlessly, who was so very beautiful and at the same time in so much pain and couldn’t find a way to heal all the things that had happened to her in life, and she smiled silently and struggled ten years before dying too young to The Cancer, and then exactly one year later my baby sister was shot in the head by her boyfriend who didn’t appreciate her being six months pregnant with their child, and after losing the both of them I kinda lost my mind and wanted very much to die and like you, was on the way to killing myself via irresponsible subtle suicide but when I miraculously didn’t, I tattooed myself to anchor me back down to the earth as a reminder to never forget yet still have hope for the future. And some days, I still wonder….

And he looked at me and said: I understand.

And I thanked him. For listening.

And he thanked me. For sharing.

And I came home and started thinking about life wounds and battle scars.

About the events in our lives, determined by destiny (or in our minds, damnation), those things that test and grind and break and shatter us and slit us open ‘till our guts hang out; but miraculously for some unknown reason, don’t kill us - the events that become the fabric of who We Are. The shit that, somewhere down the line (maybe waaaay far), helps the flowers bloom. Most of us wear our wounds, (and keep our stories) on the inside. Most times there is no eye patch or tattoo or visible scar to announce to the world: Something happened here.

So I wanna thank Jamal. A man with the same name from across the ocean, who by a chance/destined meeting (?) shared an hour or so of a sunny LA afternoon as we explained and honored our “scars for freedom,” who reminded me that we need to claim who we were and who we are, and the bridge between the two. We need to own ourselves and our entire stories (as individuals, and as a people): plainly, blatantly, humbly, unapologetically, proudly.

We all got a story. We all have wounds and triumphs, beautiful painful redeeming realities, that need to be accepted and acknowledged and shared. Don't hold them in. Write them. Speak them. Shout them. Embrace them...I applaud you.

And maybe these thoughts are just the writer in me. But I think it’s the humanity in us all.

So, thank ya’ll for listening. I'm honored. I’ll be back with the silliness shortly.

The spiritual journey is one of continuously falling on your face, getting up, brushing yourself off, looking sheepishly at God, and taking another step.
~ Aurobindo

If you don't tell the truth about yourself, you cannot tell it about anyone else.

~ Virginia Woolf

It is tragic that some gifts have to be made so costly.

~ Berta Damon

Be blessed, Blogger Fam. Don’t ever hesitate to tell your story. Care to share any of your "something happened here" moments?

Puerto Rico, Next Installment!

Get caught up on the Puerto Rico intro here:

So, as mentioned, Supa was delightfully present for the traditional Hindu wedding ceremony of Something Special's cool homie. And this was really cool: A relative of the bride-to-be hooked Supa up with her first henna tattoo (always wanted one). A very intricate process which took about an hour to complete, just for one hand. Peep...


she kept tellin' Supa, "you gotta hold still!!"


The final design. Must wait at least an hour for it to set and dry. The intensity and color of the final product varies for each individual, based on body temperature and absorption of the henna.

This is the end result after the henna is scraped off. Cool, hunh. Lasts for about two weeks.

THEN, there was the actual wedding!!! Wow. I'll post more pics, but right now I have a few flimsy ones that don't hardly do it justice. It was beautiful. (And hot. We were outside..)



Naturally, I mildly frustrated a certain someone because I had wardrobe issues before the wedding, and therefore was running a little late....(Clutch the pearls! Supa runs late??)

Yet all went well; the ceremony was spectacular albeit a lil' long, but that's how they do...I'm sayin', our most recent ancestors gathered family around then jumped the broom, and it was a done deal, but hey! lol. There is something very profound in a wedding ritual rooted in tradition; whether it's cultural, religious, or familial.



The reception was as equally spectacular. (no pics - except the one above, of the reception table) Supa was too busy absorbing the atmosphere, dining, toasting, laughing, dancing, etc. (translation: Being Grown-n- Sexy!)

So tell me: Do you get all weepy & emotional at weddings? I know this question ranges VASTLY depending on if you're a man or a woman, and if you've been married, are currently married, or never been married. Holla back, I'm curious!

Over the last zillion weddings I've attended over the last few years - Supa's thoughts are usually: Awwww, God bless 'em. How sweet. Wonder if later on they'll be serving red wine or white at the reception.....chicken or beef....I'm hungry...
Exception: Supa did cry like a uncontrollable baby during one of her best-est Supa Friend's wedding - they are my favorite couple. So maybe emotional attachment and witnessing the actual love affair unfold has a lot to do with it - for me)

Next Installment: Does Supa get lost in the rainforest?? Stay tuned, Blogger Fam!

Vote or Die, Bitchez!

Ha ha! Really though, thanks to Glam for hippin' a sista that the 2006 Black Weblog Award voting is now on and popping! From August 1st thru 15th, nominations are being accepted for a variety of blog categories - and they've got real prizes this year, too!

Go here for all the nomination categories.

Now Supa's already knowing some of the blogs she's gonna give props to - there are Best Hip-Hop blog, Pop Culture blog, International blog, Best New blog (example: The World According to Supa Sister), Best Personal blog (read: vote for Supa), and Blogs to Watch (uh...Supa Sis?) - and there's even a category for the best POST in a blog which is kinda cool.

So since ya'll 'aint payin me and claim to enjoy my shit, how 'bout you vote for a SupaSis, damn?! I promise I'll give all the shout-outs and say thanks to all my loyal readers and it was a pleasure just to be nominated and all that crap. And besides, I can't go in and push through a bunch of excessive nominations because the rules make it clear that any shiestyness will get your azz disqualified. (dammit) So...

Vote here!

Really though, this is the prime opportunity to show some love to all our black bloggin' folks...results should be very interesting this year because SO many bomb blogs have busted on the scene as of '06. Much props to all who've been making cyberwaves in the Blogworld! Supa sees you!!

Supa's PSA on The Art of Vacationing

First off: I'm back online, bitches! Lawd, I don't wish this techno drama on NO BODY. The past few days have been filled with Supa (a) whining/complaining/kicking herself for not backing up before leaving on vacay, (b) weeping pathetically over her old laptop, (c) having waking nightmares about all the projects and manuscripts which just might very well end up in literary purgatory, (d) figuring out the best way to hustle up on a new laptop, and (e) being excessively sweet and coy with the service boys up at Frye's, so Supa could get her possible data recovery project pushed up to priority status. (Thanks for your consolation and help, T)




Never mind I caught a flat tire today, and have been trying to love/threaten Ruff Ryder #1 through his latest adolescent existential crisis...



(note from kind stranger. yes I'll take a picture of anything))




Man! Was it just last week I was chillaxin in the Caribbean sun?!?!


So okay. I'mma try to get back on track with the Puerto Rico, yo!

And with that, Supa would like to take this moment to share her philosophy of vacationing.

Which is simply: Vacations are for relaxing. Unwinding. Releasing. For shaking off all the problems & bullshit one manages to hurdle on the daily...and unless you have lost all your money/ID and/or are about to be thrown in a Mexican jail (or Puerto Rican...or Jamaican...or LA County), there is neva eva a reason to be frustrated while on vacay. Ever. Supa's mindset is: Down for whateva; keep the mojitos flowin'. Long as she don't hafta think hard about shit. (sheeeeiiiit!) Supa uses vacationing as a prime opportunity to go purposefully and blissfully dumb. Like, I wanna forget my own gotdamn name. No pondering the mortgage or kids or the war or death or whether or not I remembered to turn off the damn fan or if oeste is East or West in Espanol.....

Hell. I'm on vacation.

And as long as I can stumble my way to the beach/the bar/the food/the club, and can navigate my activities in such a way where I don't get arrested or die - I'm good.

Yo, don't even ask me what time it is. It's time for you to realize I'm on vacation. The only coveted, elusive time in Supa's World when she's not forced to think, guide, decide, direct, problem solve, and/or be expected to juggle six thousand balls....(don't be nasty, ya'll)

So, if after a long week and a long flight and preceeding a much needed period of self-labotomizing, if a map should so happen to be shoved in Supa's lap, well, you know. Hey. She gon' do her best, even though she's completely shitty at directions (Supa's a Gemini. A flighty-ass air sign: East West North South Down Up, it all blurs...) Meaning, every now and then you can count on her to stop gazing blissfully out the window and declare, "Sweetie, I have no fucking idea..." I'ma be supa chill. 'Aint even gon' look sideways at a brotha if we end up a lil' lost! 'Cuz....yay! I'm on vacation! Supa gotcha back, even when you 'aint lookin'...hell, even when I 'aint lookin'...

(ain't my purse cute?? got them little stud thingies on it)

The Art of Vacationing is such that you might get a lil' turned around sometimes...You might start off at the Atlantic Ocean and end up damn near inside the Caribbean Ocean. Fucking cool! It's alll part of the adventure. Makes for a nice story to share with all your friends...

And as long as she 'aint on the verge of bein' dead..or in jail... -- Supa 'aint trippin'.

Why?

'Cause she's on vacation.

And FYI - Supa always loves the scenic route.




Out, bitches!! Second Installment to come!

Supa's PR Exploits Poll Results:

0% said Supa is an absolute angel. (ya'll know me well...)

13% said Supa would need bail money. (Thankfully, there wasn't enough time to break any laws)

3% said Supa would get into misdemeanor trouble. (we'll revisit this one...)

5% said Supa would committ both indecent exposure and public intoxication. (my bikini was pretty tame, and it never accidently on purpose became separated from my body.. But affirmative on the latter)

10% said Supa would incite a riot (walking down the streets of San Juan with another fly honey (Heey Shiela), sparked a mini one of sorts...)

and 60% said Supa would have grown n sexy fun!! (ya'll know me well)

Testing?

I've gotten a bunch of emails saying that my blog was all jumbled - too tiny text on top of overlapping text and pictures, and no way to comment. Let's see what happens with this post....

Hi Sassy.

Puerto Rico, Yo! First Installment...

So, Supa does Puerto Rico, yo!

I mean, Ya Girl been making moves: After the Black Writer's conference in Dallas (updates still coming) , I touched back down in Floss Angeles for a hot hot (heat wave hot) minute, then three days lata I'm throwin' tropical-and-bikini gear into that hot pink suitcase, preparing to catch the red-eye to PR! Like that.

The Supa Crew was leavin' loving hateration messages on her cellie voicemail 'n shit: Oh so you big ballin and jet settin' and 'aint got no time for us field negras no mo and Make sure you bring your fast ass home, don't become no Puerto Rican ho, and Trick be on your best 'cause we 'aint got bail money and Fuck you girl have a wonderful time! Shit like that. They crazy.

Next: Six hour flight. Yikes. But am sooo very happy to report that I sat next to the cutest little 10 year old Puerto Rican kid traveling all by his lonesome - he spoke no english and took his lil' ass to sleep straight away. Lovely. Ya'll know Supa's had enough of the in-flight Baby Terrorism lately. Lawd. The flight was cool though, Supa popped a sleeping pill and thankfully everyone kept their lights off. Don't you hate people who try to READ on red-eye flights? It's two o'clock in the a.m., bitch go to SLEEP.

Random thought: Who hates it when flight attendants wake you up just to ask you if you'd like a beverage? Anyone? Supa does. I mean, that's some real foul shit right there. Like, you see me, knocked out, with the blanket pulled allll the way over my head; how I look thirsty to you? Ignorance, I tell ya.

So. Touch down in Puerto Rico 'round 9 a.m., good and ready to do the damn thang! I just love islands. They have a different energy, I think. Something about not being connected to the mainland just makes you feel differently free. The air is different. Easy vibe. Or maybe Supa just likes to feel new earth under her feet, not sure. Pick one. Don't matta. It's all good.

Okay yeah. Something Special is on point and scoops Supa from the airport, and the adventure (cough cough) begins. Now, remember this map, boys and girls....it shall play a vital role very shortly. But we'll come back to that....


Ocean view from the balcony. Yep. Pretty balla.

Okay, so did Supa even mention that she was there for a wedding? Yeah! And it was a traditional Indian (Hindu) ceremony, which made for a very interesting and unique experience for yours truly. And you know, like these "ceremonies" go on for three straight days and nights, right? I'd heard that before - and Supa now knows it's for real. Like, for real for real. Straight Monsoon Wedding up in that piece. A beautiful thing to witness; with the elaborate setting, beautiful black people (they're brown, but you know..) in traditional Indian dress, ancient rituals taking place, etc.



Supa, watching. Didn't want to be rude, so I just snapped a picture of my pretty sandals and toes.... see? (ha ha)

Shot of my lil' outfit...I'm lookin' slightly cross-eyed, but the dress is cute.... (Note to self: Empire cut dresses make you look slightly pregnant. Heaven forbid.)

After the pre-wedding ceremony was complete, folks started mixin' and chattin', the food came out and the drinks and good times started flowin'. And like a damn script, (sigh) eventually a Something New makes his way over and starts grinnin' all up in a sistas face....one of those aging, hippy-ass white boys. You know the type...probably did a few sit-ins back in the 60's, lived in a commune and smoked hella "grass."... He was ai'ight, but had that sleazy ass grin, like you don't know if he's trynta talk intelligently with you, or peek down your fucking dress...

Dude was harmless, though. And since Supa was on vacay and feelin' lovely, she didn't revoke the charm and put a complete storm on him, but because old boy's wife was somewhere lingering, she just wanted him to back up offa her just a little...I 'aint come to Puerto Rico get accused of man stealing....lol.

to be continued!!!