I mean...

Geneva

I mean, I agreed to do this because Noni promised I could house-sit.

J/K. (But am I really?) I'm actually excited about this venture. Writing about oneself has a profound way of putting things into perspective. I just hope I don't start getting emails from friends like "Girl! Is this you?!" I'm going to have to deny.I mean, my life is crazy... But most people have no idea of the sheer depth of my hotassmessability.

Secondly, Caroline-- You. Are. Not. Slick!

How dare you not tell us that that fine ass West Indian Adonis is moving to the city? If you don't claim him, I will. Wait until you get back from Paris (bearing gifts)!

What is my life? Lately I've been consumed putting on a production of The Colored Museum that I'm thrilled about. For those of you unfamiliar with this legendary play, it's a series of vignettes (exhibits) by playwright George C. Wolf that satirizes the Black experience in America. We take our audience aboard 'Celebrity Slave Lines' and tell them to "fasten their shackles". I mean there's satire and then there's satire. This play is meant to shock... and make Black folks think. Re-evaluate the masks we wear and the historical baggage we're carrying. It's something that even a Raisin in the Sun doesn't do and Tyler Perry couldn't dream of. It's one of my favorite plays off all time. We have an actor who just graduated from TISCH who's playing Miss Roj in the monologue "The Gospel of Miss Roj". It's funny as hell, but powerful. Miss Roj is a gay man in drag openly dealing with a double dose of discrimation. This actor is the TRUTH. Like Syndey Poitier-James Earl Jones- Paul Robeson. I get chills when I see him perform and I'm so ready for opening night, because the audience is going to fall out laughing.

Mother's Day was a situation. My sister and I visited mom at home. We made her a big traditional Ethiopian dinner, gave her gifts, all that good stuff. The problem is my older sister comes in from Philly with her knight-in-shining armor and then it's just me... looking crazy. My sister, I should say, lives this picture perfect existance. I mean, I love her dearly. She's my rock. But she has a fabulous job, dates a fabulous Eritrean attorney, wears her hair fabulously straight and is like a size-2. What???

I love my life. Mom loves me. Not so much my life. I found out her special someone was tagging along at the last minute. So, in a panic, I invite my friend. He's a PhD candidate in Af-Am. I love him. He's absolutely brilliant but even I admit he's eccentric. I think that's what draws me to him that and the fact that we could theoretically both pick out our fro with the same comb. So after he straight doesn't pick up for three calls, finally he's calls me and says he needs to study for a final. Really???

But don't you need to eat. I can't. But I bet you can come to my place for leftovers the next day.

That withstanding, mothers day was really nice. Mom was glad to see her girls. She managed to corner me though, pull back my afro and say, "Now I can see your beautiful face". That's code for, "I thought this natural look was a phase". And then she asked me if my waist was getting smaller. Code for, "But you could still lose about ten." That's alright. I've grown into S-shaped identity, and in spite of her nitpicky ways, I'm cool.

This was fun. We should do it again some time.

Heading to Starbucks...and then rehearsal.

-Geneva