Disorderly Conduct : Update Supa ‘08

“I’m right on the edge…I don’t know what comes next.”
~ Steve, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou

So, since the whole global financial market collapsed and we have a black President-Elect and OJ got sent upstate and Bush had a pair of Iraqi Buster Browns thrown at him, Supa decided to take a pause from this free-fall outta civilization and reflect on some of her personal shit. Yes!

Okay. So, according to her latest attempt at some form of fleeting dysfunctional female-to-male human bonding (a summer romance), Supa has now been dubiously labeled as a (wait for it) Disaster on Heels. Knowing full well that she falls neatly into the Beautiful Mess category, but whatever - he does acknowledge my stiletto game proper. And fuck him. Supa does not take personality flaw advice from a man with four children and an ex-wife and a sorta kinda current live-in girlfriend from Belarus. (all that spillage of seed and spawn is just disgusting.) And the whole thing only started because Supa hemmed him up in an elevator during lunch time and dared him to show her his thing. Because she’d done a whole year of the healthy, self-imposed celibacy thing and figured the jig might as well be up. Right then.

And molestation of a grown male, is like, a victimless crime.

Yes. Real sloppy start; granted. Even for me.

But it was radiant and ninety-eight degrees in LaLa land, the earth moved and birds sang and I began reading Anais Nin; he was exotic and new and forbidden and there, and I was freshly bikini waxed in a slinky summer dress, slingbacks and a thong, flossing a new Arabic tattoo; and forgive me for feeling ultimately fucking sexy. And thus he growled the words which propelled our short lived, shifty romance into full throttle: (He: “Damn, I must be some kind of lucky bastard,” when Supa accidently spilled the secrets in her bra). And off we went, sprinting toward the No, I’m Way More Fucked Up Than YOU finish line. Good times.

What can I say? It was summertime. My hormones were later proven to be unbalanced. He was cute. I was bored, on the prowl, inspired, determined to solidify my MILF status, who knows. I let him read (gasp!) some fresh writing material. He sat me down and tried to convince me why I was brilliant. (beware, the treachery of vanity.) We philosophized about everything from nihilism to Nietzsche. We each felt up the other in inappropriate, public places. Like the Mickey to my Mallory, we were wild and unstoppable. We were vibing so hard and yet he was so curiously/deliciously hesitant to join me in this sink-or-swim, emotional equivalent to chicken - which got Supa really excited. Or real determined.

Push/pull/back/forth/yin/yang/estrogen/testosterone. When the raw biological intensity reached its fever pitch, Supa allegedly trumped him by declaring, “Why can’t you just be my willing lover until I find out who I really want to be with, I mean, is that so WRONG?” (Supa, while violently reaching for his crotch) He then literally, how we say in this crumbling contemporary society - punked out.

Falling on his knees (as if I priestess and he confessor), he then tragically explained how he was a just momma’s boy (he’s 41 years old), and no good at these games with Alpha Females, he always loses (what the hell), how he had apparently bitten off more than he could now chew, and that my presence was pressing so hard (pun intended) against his existence that he didn’t like the constant horny disorganized state in which it left him.

The Got Me on My Knees Layla shtick. How original.

So since Supa was all good and heated and had the female equivalent of, how you say, Blue Balls..she stared blankly at fool, then immediately poked out her bottom lip, gathered her toys, and told him to not call her when he was ready to come outside and play.

What mutherfucka, what.

And here’s the kicker. We never actually consummated. Just engaged in a bunch of impulsive, drawn out, erotic and entirely senseless suckling and fondling, necking and petting. Which turns out to be the converse polar opposite of getting laid; when you’re coming off some kind of healthy, self-imposed year of celibacy type thing.

And don’t worry, we agreed his punishment was that I was allowed to blog about it all, as long as I didn’t reveal a solid timeline or drop hints about our haunts. Or call him a dramatic cunt. He goes by codename: The Culprit.

I left him with a bit of sage advice: Dude. Don’t ever finger fuck a poet’s feelings. Stroke them well, or you become fodder.

I told you I was trouble/you know, I'm no good.... Amy Wino

So now.

I scribble and lounge in my loft after-hours; the constant companions at my side (incense, books, quotes, pooch, wine) and the incessant pondering begins. #1: Fuck him. Right? Besides, I think I kinda might be in love with somebody else, anyway. Maybe. #2. I’ve gotta get a treadmill. #3. Shall I read the Bible or watch the rest of Bad Girls Club? #4. What am I gonna wear to work tomorrow? #5. What is an Alpha Female, exactly? #6. And shouldn’t that make one more eligible for successful pairing with an Alpha Male? #7. What is an Alpha Male, exactly? #8. How the fuck can 1,000 new life forms just miraculously appear off the Mekong Delta? A hot-pink cyanide-producing millipede? Shit don’t even sound right. #9. Ralph Waldo Emerson was a helluva quote-ist. A quoteartistan. New word. #10. How does Tyler Durden make Number One on the 100 Greatest Movie Characters of All Time list? Ahead of Hannibal Lector and The Heath Joker? Get the fuck outta here. I do not accept. #11. Fire off series of furious text messages to Writing Crew degenerates, in sudden desperate need to accurately re-work list. #11. Did I feed my kids? #12. Am I an uptight bohemian? #13. Hippie? #14. I need to call Tia. #15. I think I was born in the wrong century, geographical area, and/or solar system. #16. Is there a way to stop myself from having impure thoughts about Obama? #17. Is Sarah Silverman actually Supa’s alter-ego’s alter-ego? #18. Dear Lauyrn Hill: Are you ever coming back? Please let me know. #19. Is this one of those nights when my therapist means “don’t ever hesitate to call, no matter what time?” #20. I’m a grown woman, and I should be able to control the thoughts going on inside my own head….(repeat Cage’s obsessive-compulsive rant from Matchstick Men)

#21…

Okay. I will release you from the insanity which goes on inside my brain now….

“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air…” ~RWE

Sigh. Well, at the very least, one could say at the moment:

Looks like Supa’s got her swagga back.

(Karen: Chile, look at me. Actin' UP)

…to be continued….

Music, Politics? Music, Politics....

Since I refuse to talk politics (am actively packing my bag to Canada), I pick music.

Supa's spawn advised that she was totally late on this one, but now she can't stop wishing this fly-ass-Sri-Lankan-gully-girl was her new best friend. Bona fide hustlas making our names. Enjoy!



Some some some I some I murder
Some I some I let go

Some some some I some I murder
Some I some I let go.....

Quotables: Anais Nin

"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage."

"..it suddenly seems monstrous to me, to expose the feelings one has, even those in the past, even the dead ones."

"...for no one has ever loved an adventurous woman as they have loved adventurous men."

"I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don’t mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated. I don’t mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling, be all that I am capable of doing, but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding."

~Anais Nin

author, woman, free-thinker

Sidenote: Dude. She's fucking awesome.

Carry on.

~Supa

(what are you reading?)

20 (something) Questions...

1. How's this big, beautiful, zany world treating you, Blogger Fam??!?

2. Who else still wonders if Tony Soprano actually got whacked, or is off somewhere living his ficticious, sociopathic life?

3. Sarah Palin? Really?

4. Why can I text all day everyday and night, yet get severely annoyed when someone attempts to reach me by making an actual voice-on-voice cell phone call?

5. What, is God mad at Haiti?

6. Where the fuck's Osama?

7. Do we change, or just become more fully who we really are?

8. What's up with this fetish I have: the male species and sexy accents? Whether it be Portuguese, British, Punjabi, Inglewood, Welsh, Australian, Compton-ian, Italian, Russian, East Los Angelese, Brooklyn, et al? (Not German. Or Dutch.)

9. Who else believes aggravated battery is the appropriate punishment for lazy ass folk who get on an elevator to ride one floor up or down, in like a 20 story highrise? Just me?

10. How come alcoholic beverages taste so good?

11. When September rolls around, who else starts wondering what the world would be like if Pac was still in it?

12. Will I ever get over my irrational Clive Owen crush? Considering I’m newly (and obsessively) infatuated with Bruce Wayne/Bat Man/The Dark Knight/Christian Bale? (He had me at The Machinist)

13. Why is it nowadays when I’m enjoying some bass-banging, inane, totally ignorant rap music in the whip, I turn the volume waaay down at red lights & stop signs - so no one else can hear what I’m listening to?

14. Does Supa still love hip-hop?

15. Should I be concerned that my dog appears to be lesbian?

16. And that while playing on the sofa, she attempts to include me(more specifically: my arm or leg) in three-way humping sessions between her girl stuffed rabbit animal, herself, and me?

17. What happened to the days when having a mediocre case of obsessive-compulsive disorder was explained away with cute little savory quips such as: “creative,” “special,” “organized,” "different," “quirky,” “eccentric,” “given to harmless fits of agitation,” “anal retentive,” or simply “control freak?”

18. What happened to the “Love Jones” movie sequel?

19. And where the hell is Larenz’ fine ass?

20. Is it evolved, pimpalicious (thanks D), or disturbing to have a get-together at a posh bar and invite three of your ex-boyfriends to come hang? And they all show up?

21. And they chat and drink together, while you’re wilding out on the dance floor sandwiched between two random dudes; and you wink at said ex's while throwing up the peace sign?

22. Who else is considering a move to Canada if this November shit doesn’t work out right?

23. Can you say “American Psycho?”

24. Who else cringed while watching (and reading) this fool’s amazing, disgusting, sadistic fall from grace?

25. And who else now thinks four, five times before sending those raunchy text messages to the co-worker you’re (halfway thinking about) fucking?

26. How grateful would you be if today, you lost everything – and then tomorrow, got it all back?

~ Supa, out.

PS- Sorry for the junky formatting, either blogger or my new laptop is triipppin'

Thought Bombs...

So glad the sun finally came out today. These gloomy gray LA days suck big time. I need the sun. Need the warmth and inspiration of that bright glowing star. Otherwise I'm just a moody chick. I think that seasonal affective stuff is real. I'll use that the excuse for why I haven't called you back, Cinq. Caprice. Yvonne. Jude.....etc....

We're so full of shit. As a human race. As Americans. As Americans of African descent. What are we doing? What am I doing? How am I contributing to the world, to the global community? Cuz we're all the same. All of us. We all want the same things. A good life. Security, love, family, safety, health, access, opportunity. People in Iraq want the same thing. People in the Sudan want the same thing. People in Haiti, Mexico..hell, New Orleans..want the same things. To be happy and free. To be healthy. To have equal access and opportunity and the freedom to live your fucking life. To have the neccesities covered so you can dream a little. If you think what's happening on the other side of the world doesn't affect you, you're insane. If we think being an American doesn't hold us responsible for some truly heinous shit, then we're blind. I should be doing more.

Rap music is bullshit. Poison. Buffunory. I'm done. Again. Hip-hop is like a high-school love who had my heart at fifteen but can't do shit for me as a grown ass woman. We'll always have love and memories, but I accept that we've grown apart. So fuck it. Drum and bass and that abstract shit is really fueling my mind right now....Maybe I just need to go watch Brown Sugar..

I want to travel. Expand. My soul is itching to reach farther, a constant nudging I embrace but can't explain. I need new earth beneath my feet. Always wanted to walk the red carpet in Cannes. Maybe I'll get there, but if not it's still cool. I enjoy what I'm doing now. Feels like freedom. Running my own shit, working with people, doing bodywork. It's like being a composer. I hear tones and feel textures and see colors and it feels like jazz....

Why in the hell did I start watching the news again. Paris Hilton needs to get off my tv screen. Why does this silly girl's antics piss me off? Maybe beause on this particular news segment it was reported that she was too distraught to make an appearance in court... and I'm wondering what kind of excuses do normal non-heiress people have when they're too distraught to do whatever. Fuck that bitch. I'm trying to live a real-life life so forget I even mentioned it.

Talked about death the other day. Am still challenged with having unbiased coversation with folks who haven't experienced loss on the same scale, yet who through honest conversation give their insights and opinions with absolutely no malice intended, yet i still want to wrap my fingers around necks and declare softly you don't know what the fuck you're talking about. But I can't judge anyone else's experience. Nor can they mine. And I'm still working through some shit. And I gotta remember that sometimes even I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. And so the gap remains...

I keep so much inside. I have a story to tell so why aren't I telling it? Recording it. Writing it, like I said I would. Why doesn't anyone? We're all full of these stories waiting to get out. Can I write it as I'm living it, or do I need some distance and perspective in order to put it all together? How cool is it to be able to write your own endings. And beginnings. I will do it. You should do it. Everybody should. We can. I wonder if Rainier Marie Rilke knew his shit was prolific. Or did he feel just as lonely and hopeful and confused as the rest of us. What does any of it mean? Christ, I sound like AJ from The Sopranos.

Been reminiscing lately. Thinking of certain men in my life who were beautiful romantic disasters. Who would stay up all nite building/sparring with me about art and philosophy and the Harlem Renaissance and the existential crisis Peter's character went through in Office Space, or dissecting themes and symbolism and archetypes in whatever movies we'd both seen in our Netflix queues, eating day old take-out sipping chilled vodka while attempting to figure out our mutual and individual existences, or whispering into the clouds while chillin in a hammock, or sharing this overheard conversation or that obscure quote or whatever wacky historical fact...or smiling over frozen mojitos in bryant park...just be reminiscing on all the mental fucking sessions that replay in my head... it's a lovely hodgepodge...and quite refreshing when despite whatever happened you can still remember the good things..

Life is magic and I wanna learn some new tricks

Holy Shit, Man...

Dude. The Soprano's...Oh, Christophur!

As RR#2 would say - OMG!

I must say, it's almost disturbing how much emotional investment I have in this motley crew of totally fictional muthafuckas...but the writing, acting, and production on this series is phenomenal. These sociopaths are my guilty viewing pleasure.

Only 3 episodes left..So what's gonna happen to Tony Soprano?? (hit up the new poll!)

Floating Forward...

What's happening, Blogger Fam! How you be, how's life treatin' ya, and what's good?!! (tell me, I really wanna know!)

Meanwhile Supa is over here, holding down her little spot on the planet, a lil' overwhelmed as of late, always hustlin', steady daydreaming, forever grateful. I have been so lame on my blog posts and reading, Ize feels like I dont know ya'lls anymore! (insert Sophia voice from Color Purple) I'm way behind on email and phone call returns too, so if you wanna cuss me out, there's a bit of a line. lol (Cocoa Girl, Cinque, Jude)

But trust, I haven't been slacking..running The Lounge keeps a sista pretty busy (happily busy, but BUSY)...I mean, I kinda knew starting your own business venture was a time-consuming deal, but one never knows just how much until she's IN it, right? But it's alllll good. Tia helped hook up The Body Lounge website and we got the Myspace page going, and I even started the lounge blog, along with planning our next big marketing push, all on top of holding down the Supa Pad and the RR's, pondering on going back to school this month and trying to get to JAMAICA next month...balancing social life, "me" time, a new honey(sneaky smile), and everyday existence....AND still trying keep up with the latest Soprano's episode (whew), so alla that should serve as quantifiable proof I 'aint been sittin' on my azz..Damn. I'd like a nap, please!!! (Tia, I don't know how you do it...AND stay sane)

(side note: Please add The Lounge as a friend in your Myspace, I swear that page is lookin' kinda lonely...)

So summer is knocking and I'm feeling the itch - the urge to slip on that summer dress, walk around pedicured and barefoot, sip homemade lemonade, lay around in the hammock & work on my tan, cocktail in the big city until all hours of the hot night...

..but damn. It's only the beginning of May...and plenty of work to be done until I can play. And this last month has been an adjustment period of sorts...life after the trial still feels strange indeed. The new normal...*sigh* Strange, indeed...more on this lata.

At any rate - shout out to blogger Bunny who sent me the nicest encouragement card in the mail after the trial, and to Christine who is the first to make a Body Lounge order via the web - yay! Who says these internets can't bring positive things and people together? Pffft.

Supa, signing out, and still floating forward...

Much love ya'll. And tell me, what are your summer plans? Might need some good ideas :)

and happy belated birthday Tam and Mwabs!!

Supa: Checkin' In..

What be the haps, Blogger Fam? Hope all is well in your worlds! Sincere thanks all for the messages and comments and concern and well wishes...

Supa's been good. Just taking it slow. Relaxing, regrouping, re-adjusting...didn't do Jamaica (yet), but took a mini-sabattical to the Palm Springs desert for a few (hence the cornrowed 'do!) ; enjoyed lazy life in the sun, thankful for the breather and change of scene; for some time to think, be still, reflect, smile, cry, laugh, get a lil' tipsy, and be thankful some more. (special bonus being, having a promising new fella at my side, who's been doing a damn good job of making me smile and honoring my tears....hmmm....) *smile*

Business at The Lounge is good, just been taking it one day at a time, cherishing the little things, keeping a tender hold on this thing called life. Been journaling like a madwoman, and an old/new manuscript is definitely in the mix. More on all this later. Meanwhile, keep livin', loving, and do what makes you healthy and happy. Ya girl is strivin' to do the same...

Much love always!! ~Supa

Ummm...

You know a sista's been busy when it's the fifth of February and she 'aint even done a Black History Post....Supa's bad!! Hope all is well in your world's Blogger fam! (a personal update post coming real soon promise! Meanwhile - what's good with ya'll?!?!)


PHILIPPINES By Runoko Rashidi -Photo courtesy of Alibata.org

“There are black Negroes in this island who pay tribute to no one.” —Early Spanish historian

Although the great majority of the people of the Philippines are Tagalog, the country is not ethnically homogeneous. In spite of their small numbers the original inhabitants of the Philippines are the Agta (diminutive Africoids), who still live there in some numbers and are commonly and pejoratively called Pygmies, Negritos and Aeta, and a variety of other names based upon their specific locale. In regards to phenotype, broadly speaking, the Agta can be described as physically small and unusually short in stature,dark-skinned, spiral-haired and broad-nosed. They are an extremely ancient people and, I believe, close representatives of the world’s earliest modern humans....Continue reading article here