Where in the world is D’Angelo?
No, really. I want to know. After watching the “Untitled (How Does It Feel) video for the seventeenth time in a row, I think its only fitting that I find out what happened to the man who caused me to lose my composure on multiple occasions by simply standing there…naked…with sweat dripping all over his body…
I’m sorry, what was I saying?
My pinky finger still smarts where I accidentally bit down on it as D’Angelo licked his lips for the fourth time. My eyes are watery because, for fear of missing something, I didn’t blink for the entire four minutes and twenty-eight seconds he was on the screen.
All kidding aside…actually, I’m not kidding, but I feel I should probably move on to the meat of my story before I get too distracted by the side dishes…
What happened to good music? What happened to FEELING a song instead of just singing it? What happened to songs that make you close your eyes and reminisce each and every time you hear them. Songs that, years later, you are amazed because you still know all of the lyrics?
Lyrics. What happened to lyrics that made you shiver while still leaving something to the imagination? Now, singers are licking you and sticking you, and making sure the neighbors know their name without even attempting to romance you out of your panties. Nothing is sacred. Instead of making love to your ears, they are just screaming about SEX. Excuse me, but when did SEX become a romantic word? Okay, unless you are talking about ‘Sex Therapy’ and in that instance, my man Robin Thicke gets a pass. Hell, he gets five passes and get out of jail free card, but I digress.
I don’t think I’m asking too much by requesting REAL MUSIC make a comeback. I don’t think I’m out of line by requesting lyrics be the forefront of a love song instead of just a banging beat and a hip-hop collaboration at the bridge.
D’Angelo… I humbly request your presence. You once asked your audience, “How does it feel?” Well, I’m here to tell you that, musically, things aren’t feeling too swift right now.
My name is Ebony Farashuu and these have been the random thoughts of a black butterfly.
Showing posts with label black. Show all posts
Showing posts with label black. Show all posts
Friday, June 25, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Day 1...
Okay. Let me start out by letting you know that although I’m not fat by a normal American’s standards, if I were to walk up to Tyra Banks and tell her that I was America’s next top model, she would look at me as if I’ve lost my damn mind. I used to be “model skinny”. At age 25, six months after having my son, I was wearing size 2 jeans out of the junior section of any given department store. Look at that skinny girl to the left! That is ME at age 25 and 12o pounds!
At age 37, the junior section is a thing of the past and my fourteen year old daughter is now wearing all of the things I wish I could still fit.
By age 35, I was still wearing a size two but this time, the size two was from the ladies section and not from the same section that my daughter shops in. Womanly curves had replaced the sharp angles of my stick figure and for the first time in my life, I felt fat. I don’t have an eating disorder but going from weighing 120 pounds post ba
by, to weighing 150 pounds was a huge transition for me. I got used to those curves and learned to LOVE the new womanly me but it was a process. The picture to the right is ME loving the hell out of some curvaceous ME at age 35 and 150 pounds!
I got no sympathy because, in the eyes of many, I was just another skinny bitch looking for attention. It was beyond their comprehension to understand my mental anguish.
Let me explain something to you…I weighed 150 pounds when I was nine months pregnant. Pardon me for being horrified at the thought of actually weighing in at 150 pounds without the excuse of pregnancy. It wasn’t normal for me and the fact that people were blowing off my concerns as simple attention seeking really pissed me off.
Today, at age 37, I stand in the mirror in my bra and panties and see a woman who, at 164 pounds, could definitely stand to lose a few. I will NOT be posting that pic, but WILL possibly show you some pics later! LOL. I don’t like what I see. If I keep trying to suck this gut in, I’m going to pass out and I’m sick of seeing my daughter prance around in all of the jeans and t-shirts that I was prancing around in just this past summer.
She’s like a vulture…biding her time, waiting on me to pull up my pants halfway and then toss them on the floor in disgust when I realize they don’t fit. She’s always right there, ready to pick them up, shake them out, and hang them in her closet.
The last straw broke this camel’s back a few days ago. I had just gotten out of the shower and oiled myself down. I went to put on my favorite pair of jeans and after five or six tugs it was obvious that even if I DID manage to pull those jeans over my hips, I was not going not be able to breathe in them.
I peeled the jeans off of my thighs and walked in the living room where my daughter was lounging on the couch talking on the phone.
Without a word, I tossed the jeans to her and walked out of the room.
“Yesssss,” I heard her say. “It was only a matter of time.”
It was only a matter of time. My own daughter was sitting around waiting on me to get fatter so that she could have my favorite pair of jeans. Pardon my French, but Ain’t that some shit?
My son stares at me with pity in his eyes when he happens to see me in any state of undress.
“Mama, I’m not trying not be mean but…when are you going back to the gym?”
His favorite past time is poking me in the stomach. I wonder if he think’s I’ll eventually say “woo hooo” like the damn ‘Pillsbury Dough Boy’.
My boyfriend, bless his heart. He loves me no matter what. He tells me that I’m beautiful every single day and that I don’t have to change for him. He means this with all of his heart, but I’ve allowed myself to become too comfortable in the perfection he sees when he looks at me.
I’ve gained that happy weight that has me looking in the mirror like “what the hell happened?”
I used to be a badmammajamma…now I just feel like I look bad in my clothes.
I used to STRUT everywhere I went. This morning, when I got off of the elevator, I simply walked slowly to my desk. I’ve lost my strut. I can’t do it anymore. I want ME back. I want my strut back, I want my confidence back. I want to once again, look in the mirror and say to myself, “You go girl!”
I know that I will. This Blog is the first step. It’s not just about looking good. It’s about FEELING good. I have high blood pressure, migraine headaches, and I am currently suffering with the side effects of Zoloft withdrawal.
Losing weight and working out, and prayer are the first steps I am taking to restore my physical and mental health. This Blog will chronicle that journey and you’ll get to see me mentally naked…the good, the bad, and the ugly. God is still working on me so I’m not going to censor this blog. I’m going to say exactly what is on my mind. You have been forewarned. Hopefully, not only will you see my progress physically and mentally as the days go by, but spiritually as well.
I want my life back, and this is day 1.
By age 35, I was still wearing a size two but this time, the size two was from the ladies section and not from the same section that my daughter shops in. Womanly curves had replaced the sharp angles of my stick figure and for the first time in my life, I felt fat. I don’t have an eating disorder but going from weighing 120 pounds post ba
by, to weighing 150 pounds was a huge transition for me. I got used to those curves and learned to LOVE the new womanly me but it was a process. The picture to the right is ME loving the hell out of some curvaceous ME at age 35 and 150 pounds!I got no sympathy because, in the eyes of many, I was just another skinny bitch looking for attention. It was beyond their comprehension to understand my mental anguish.
Let me explain something to you…I weighed 150 pounds when I was nine months pregnant. Pardon me for being horrified at the thought of actually weighing in at 150 pounds without the excuse of pregnancy. It wasn’t normal for me and the fact that people were blowing off my concerns as simple attention seeking really pissed me off.
Today, at age 37, I stand in the mirror in my bra and panties and see a woman who, at 164 pounds, could definitely stand to lose a few. I will NOT be posting that pic, but WILL possibly show you some pics later! LOL. I don’t like what I see. If I keep trying to suck this gut in, I’m going to pass out and I’m sick of seeing my daughter prance around in all of the jeans and t-shirts that I was prancing around in just this past summer.
She’s like a vulture…biding her time, waiting on me to pull up my pants halfway and then toss them on the floor in disgust when I realize they don’t fit. She’s always right there, ready to pick them up, shake them out, and hang them in her closet.
The last straw broke this camel’s back a few days ago. I had just gotten out of the shower and oiled myself down. I went to put on my favorite pair of jeans and after five or six tugs it was obvious that even if I DID manage to pull those jeans over my hips, I was not going not be able to breathe in them.
I peeled the jeans off of my thighs and walked in the living room where my daughter was lounging on the couch talking on the phone.
Without a word, I tossed the jeans to her and walked out of the room.
“Yesssss,” I heard her say. “It was only a matter of time.”
It was only a matter of time. My own daughter was sitting around waiting on me to get fatter so that she could have my favorite pair of jeans. Pardon my French, but Ain’t that some shit?
My son stares at me with pity in his eyes when he happens to see me in any state of undress.
“Mama, I’m not trying not be mean but…when are you going back to the gym?”
His favorite past time is poking me in the stomach. I wonder if he think’s I’ll eventually say “woo hooo” like the damn ‘Pillsbury Dough Boy’.
My boyfriend, bless his heart. He loves me no matter what. He tells me that I’m beautiful every single day and that I don’t have to change for him. He means this with all of his heart, but I’ve allowed myself to become too comfortable in the perfection he sees when he looks at me.
I’ve gained that happy weight that has me looking in the mirror like “what the hell happened?”
I used to be a badmammajamma…now I just feel like I look bad in my clothes.
I used to STRUT everywhere I went. This morning, when I got off of the elevator, I simply walked slowly to my desk. I’ve lost my strut. I can’t do it anymore. I want ME back. I want my strut back, I want my confidence back. I want to once again, look in the mirror and say to myself, “You go girl!”
I know that I will. This Blog is the first step. It’s not just about looking good. It’s about FEELING good. I have high blood pressure, migraine headaches, and I am currently suffering with the side effects of Zoloft withdrawal.
Losing weight and working out, and prayer are the first steps I am taking to restore my physical and mental health. This Blog will chronicle that journey and you’ll get to see me mentally naked…the good, the bad, and the ugly. God is still working on me so I’m not going to censor this blog. I’m going to say exactly what is on my mind. You have been forewarned. Hopefully, not only will you see my progress physically and mentally as the days go by, but spiritually as well.
I want my life back, and this is day 1.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
