I grew up going to church. I didn’t even realize attendance wasn’t mandatory until I was almost fifteen years old. This may partly be due to the fact that I’m a slow learner, but I’d also like to think it’s because I was an obedient child. When my mother beckoned me from the garage door to get in the damn car right now don’t make me come back into the house to find you stop putting more Sun-In in your hair it’s church not the beach you dummy, I followed her orders without hassle. Being such a pleasure to parent is probably the reason I gave birth to a good kid myself. I hear God doesn’t play favorites, but just look at how that all worked out. Suspicious, amirite?

After I became an unwed pregnant teenager, I stopped attending regularly because I feared judgment. Not from God, but from the other churchgoers. It wasn’t a sure thing that my situation was going to light up the gossip circuit, but people were still talking about how a certain family had moved from a five-bedroom home into a duplex. I was pretty sure an 18-year-old’s surprise pregnancy was almost as interesting as a real estate step-down. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just being bigheaded.

Not going to church didn’t mean that I no longer believed in God. I still hollered at Him from time to time when I felt especially broken. My prayers became casual conversations. Not like a real-time chat where I would share an issue and He would respond immediately. It was more like a text exchange where I sent off a thought, knowing He would get back to me eventually. Sometimes, it would take weeks or months, but I have other friends who lag like that. I’ve learned to accept them for who they are.

Because I missed the sense of community, I started going to a different church when Cal was a toddler. The new place seemed legit, and I still know people from my brief stint there who I am proud to call my friends.

I stopped attending after the pastor’s wife pulled me aside to express her concern that bringing Cal to church might influence the youth group kids into believing that our church condoned teen parenthood. Just like I have a personal policy about not hitting other people’s kids, I also won’t hit a pastor’s wife. Or a pastor. We all need to set boundaries for ourselves and those are mine. (It may seem like I go around hitting people, but I want you to know that I haven’t gotten into a physical altercation in YEARS. I also don’t hit animals or old people.)

I still believe in God. I’ve never really talked about being religious before, and I was scared to do it today, but just because I don’t talk about something doesn’t make it less true.

I also still believe that not all religious people are narrow-minded or judgmental or that being a pillar of a church community exempts a person from making very human mistakes with their words and actions. I won’t blame that pastor’s wife as the reason I haven’t made an effort to attend church regularly for the past twelve years. It was a choice I made.

For years, I waved to Harv and Cal as they left for Sunday service. In the past few months, I’ve started joining them occasionally. I’m always nervous when I walk through the heavy wooden doors. The sheer amount of swearing I do each week makes me think I’m going to burst into flames. That’s probably not how God works, but I don’t put anything past that guy. Even if He is my homeboy.

P.S. Stay connected on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page and on Instagram (username: flourishinprogress) for not-seen-on-this-blog pictures and other random shit that a small portion of the population finds mildly entertaining.

MAY: REVEALING BEAUTY

I try to find beauty in all things, but I am most drawn to what resonates with my own personal truths. And because life is never simple, and because there is always a layer of Light and Dark in everything, I deeply admire those who can convey all of the nuances of complex emotions. When I am knee deep in Love or Fear or Loneliness or Joy or Sadness, it sometimes feels like I am the only one who has felt that way and that no one could understand what this is like.

I’m pretty sure I’m never going to say this again because as we all know, I’m perfect, but in this one lone case, I am wrong. And I’m glad about it.

We are never the only one. Someone else has waded in those same trenches.

Carolyn Hampton amazes me. It is a special gift to be able to translate the remnants of dreams and nightmares and memories and recreate them in a way that others find striking and memorable. It is an even rarer talent to move a moment from being just a deeply personal experience to a shared work that is relatable.

This one is my personal favorite. I look at it often:

EJL: I’m currently working the Instagram grind right now and I don’t want to brag or anything, but a lot of my pictures aren’t even blurry. How many more weeks do you think I need to practice before I start taking pictures like you? How long have you been a photographer?

CH: I got my first 35 mm camera when I was ten because my parents were willing to support all of my interests. Since no one else in my family owned a camera, I became the official family photographer. I went to Africa when I was 25 and shot fifty rolls on safari. The light there is so beautiful. After my daughter was born, I took it more seriously. But it wasn’t until 2009 when I was shooting for fun in an abandoned hospital, and I started remembering recurring childhood dreams, that I began focusing on my photography.

EJL: If I’m not immediately good at something, I’m not interested. Of course, every time I discover that I lack a particular skill, I’m shocked. I took up speed skating in my late 20′s and quit three months later. When I started, I thought for sure I was going to be an Olympic contender. Have you always had an eye for photography? If not, what compelled you to stay in the grind?

CH: I stayed with it when I was younger because I liked preserving a moment. I can still remember how I felt or what I was wearing when I took a particular picture. The more successful I am at recreating what’s in my head and the closer I am to that truth, the happier I am. For me, photography is something I enjoy so much. It’s almost therapeutic.

EJL: I’m floored by the way you conceptualize some of these shots. My brain doesn’t even work that way. Where do you get your inspiration?

CH: I can remember far back into childhood, and a lot of my work is based on recurring dreams and memories or fairy tales. Late at night, I think of things and sketch stick figures or make notes in a notebook I keep by the bed. I spend a lot of time planning afterwards, scouting locations, picking the wardrobe, and discussing the concepts with my daughter.

EJL: Your daughter is the focal point of so much of your work. Has she always been down for it?

CH: Definitely not! I’m grateful for that though. She would give me so little time in the beginning that I knew I had to get the shot quickly because there were a million other things she’d rather be doing. I spend a long time planning, but the actual shoot is often less than five minutes. I think the redhead enjoys it more now because it’s been a way for her to understand where I’m coming from and what my childhood was like. It really is a family affair. My husband often carries gear or holds the reflectors and some of these shoots take us to places we normally wouldn’t go. We’ve shot in abandoned hospitals and prisons…which was a perfect scared straight moment for her.

EJL: Prison scares me too. Which is why I try to act right at least some of the time. What’s your best life or work advice?

CH: It’s important to be well liked. People want to be around others they like more than someone who is just brilliant. Also, it’s important to be nice to everyone. Too many people are invisible.

And know what’s most important. Life gets easier when you can make that distinction.

SEE CAROLYN HAMPTON’S WORK IN PERSON:

Solo exhibition (Opening reception and book signing June 7th from 6-8 pm)
June 7-July 13, 2013
Duncan Miller Gallery
2525 Michigan Avenue, Santa Monica, CA 90404
____

Stay connected on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page and on Instagram (username: flourishinprogress) for not-seen-on-this-blog pictures and lots of random shit that is sometimes entertaining.

I haven’t confirmed it with a medical professional, but there is a high likelihood that some sort of synapses misfiring happens between my brain and my mouth every time I talk. Actually, if I marinate on it a little more, it also happens when I don’t talk. I think a lot of fucked up things. Also, I’m not good at remembering when to use a semicolon. Harv says that last sentence doesn’t really “go” with the rest of the paragraph, but I told him that I didn’t really care, and then he walked out of the room like he was really frustrated. I don’t know. Maybe he just got thirsty. I respect a person who honors the body’s call to stay hydrated. Please drink some water, y’all.

Of all of the awkward mumbles that come out of my mouth, the worst offenses happen right after someone pays me a genuine compliment or says something else equally as nice. I know a lot of people walk around saying bullshit they don’t really mean. I don’t blame them. It’s so much easier to say, “What luck! I’m so happy I bumped into you. Your teal-colored ensemble really highlights your eyes!” Who wants to cause problems by groaning and shouting, “Get the fuck away from me, you bitch! I know it was you who signed me up to make blondies for that stupid 4th of July BBQ!”

I’m well-versed in responding to bullshit with bullshit. There are NO synapses misfirings there. But the genuine goodness, the words that immediately fill empty crevices and boost me from the trenches because they are so kind and thoughtful and encouraging…those are the words that make me freeze.

Kind words terrify me.

I have never been able to accept a compliment gracefully. I’ve tried to peel apart the chain of events right after someone goes out of their way to tell me that they liked the way my hair looked or how much they enjoyed a piece I wrote or how they appreciated me for picking up the dog shit on the sidewalk for the third time that week even though I don’t own a dog and that lazy neighbor better come correct.

I nod and say nothing (sometimes my mouth is hanging open too). I chuckle and point to the shit-filled grocery bag. I make a swatting motion like I’m trying to kill a gnat. I stare at my feet. I deflect. I blush.

Once last fall, after reading a personal essay in a show, a woman chased me across the street afterwards to tell me how much the story had moved her. She thanked for being brave and for sharing. What did I do? I looked behind my shoulders to make sure she wasn’t talking to anyone else. Then, I avoided her gaze and mumbled a soft thank you. Uh, and then I ran away.

In my mind, I have replayed that moment a dozen times. If I had the luxury of a rewind button, I would look her in the eyes and speak loudly and clearly as I thanked her for being kind and for going out of her way to give me a boost that will surely stay with me for a long time.

I have watched my friends accept compliments with grace and ease. When thoughtfulness is received in the same spirit it is given, both parties experience joy.

And to you: Thank you for being patient with me. I appreciate the goodness you bestow in my life. 

____

Hood Good #4: (T)HUG THOUGHTS MAGNETS

Production: 50 sets
Cost: $5.00 for 2 magnets and $11.00 for all 5 magnets
NOW SHIPPING TO CANADA

For purchasing info, please visit the Hood Goods Store

P.S. Flourish in Progress Instagram Peoples always get first peek and first dibs on Hood Goods. Follow along on Instagram and on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page for Hood Goods and other random shit. Like the 11 jars of pepper jelly I bought myself for Mother’s Day. BALLER AS FUCK.

APRIL: RIDE OR DIE

I’ve been in a deep funk lately. When I woke up with The Gloom a few weeks ago, I chose the course of action I thought was best- I ignored it. I apply this grown-up approach to almost everything unpleasant in my life. Avoidance usually leads to one of three outcomes. 1. The un-good goes away on its own (top two in this category: hormonal acne and insolent children on airplanes). 2. I eventually deal with it (This most often pertains to household chores. I swear to God when I say this: There is only a finite number of times you can turn a pair of socks inside out before your life spirals out of control.). 3. I keep ignoring it, and it keeps NOT going away (top two: parking tickets and depression).

A bout of blue here and there isn’t unusual for me. I try my best not to wallow because the longer I swat away the goodness in my life to focus on my goddamn feelings, the harder it is for me to remember how to be happy. When it started a few weeks ago, I put on a happy face for the first few days, got out of bed, and tried to fix myself up so I didn’t look homeless. Then, one morning, I just said Fuck this bullshit and stayed in bed. For, like, days.

My family graciously carried around the extra burden of having a non-functioning member without guilting or shaming me. One morning before school, Cal knocked softly on my bedroom door before peeking her head in. “You know, Mommy, a rock isn’t just a rock. If it’s a rock on the side of the road, it’s okay to ignore it. But if it’s a rock in my shoe, I have to sit on the curb and take my shoe off and get the rock out or I can’t walk right. I think you have a rock in your shoe.”

I thanked Cal for her wisdom, and then I laughed the kind of deep and roaring laughter where sound ceases and you eventually end up coughing because your body needs air.

The Ride or Dies in our lives will always give it to us straight without being cruel or careless.

The family we are born into and the family we eventually create can be two totally different experiences if we want them to be. My biggest hope is that Cal’s first family experience is the one that teaches her about love and patience and compassion and forgiveness. It wasn’t my first family experience, but I’ve learned about these goodnesses through the family I’ve created- Harv and Cal. My ride or dies.

(Originally, I had planned to post this as April’s Hustle Hard Interview. However, the bulk of my waking hours have been devoted to wallowing and doing jack shit for the past few weeks. I’m now addressing that rock in my shoe. Things are looking up.)

EJL: First things first. Who’s your favorite rapper?

Harv: I thought you said this was going to be a serious interview.

Cal: I like show tunes.

EJL: Can you please not make this the hardest interview I’ve ever done? Sheesh.

Harv: Fine. My favorite rapper is that Chain guy. The one with that music video you made me watch twice yesterday.

EJL: Uh. 2 Chainz? Please never reference him as “that Chain guy” in public. I only showed you that video because you said a rap video couldn’t be tasteful or artistic.

Cal: Mine is the one that says “Go Shorty, it’s your birthday. We’re gonna party like it’s your birthday,” because you sing it to me every year on my birthday, but you bleep out all the bad words.

EJL: That’s 50 Cent, babe. Since you brought up the birthday song tradition, can you guys tell me what your favorite family tradition is?

Harv: Our Saturday morning trips to the farmers market. Even though you refuse to wait until the end of the trip to buy all of the heavy items because you’re afraid someone might buy “your” squash. Hey, are you going to mention that you didn’t know my birthday for the first two years of our marriage?

EJL: Stop.

Cal: I like our Mother/Daughter trips to Las Vegas every year because you always let me pick the activities. You said that cat circus was highway robbery, but I still think it was the best thing we did on our last trip.

EJL: Those trips are some of my fondest memories. And I appreciate that you’ve adopted my buffet philosophy: No breads. No fruits. Easy on the liquids. Start with the most expensive stuff first.

This question is just for you, Harv. A lot of people think it’s weird that we got married after dating for only 18 days. Well, no one’s really said that to my face, but I think it’s because they have manners. What compelled you to take that chance? And don’t say love or kismet, because I’m not tryna make this into a Hallmark special.

Harv: I don’t think you’re supposed to set parameters like that, but those weren’t my first thoughts anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I do love you, but I married you because I knew my life would never be boring. So, my answer is entertainment value.

EJL: That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.

This isn’t really part of the interview, but if I’m serving milk and cereal for dinner tonight, what do you think would make a good side dish?

Cal: I thought you said you weren’t going to do that anymore.

EJL: Yes, I did say that, didn’t I? We’d better wrap this up then, because I’ve got some microwaving to do. What do you think our family motto should be?

Cal and Harv (at the exact same time, like they rehearsed this shit): Keep it real.

A big shout-out to my family for keeping it real all day, eryday. Thank you for loving me, even when I didn’t love myself.

P.S. I’m so stoked to be a joining Alpha Mom as a monthly contributor! I rarely allow Cal to read anything I write, but she will definitely be keeping up with my new series: “Dear Cal: Advice To My Teenage Daughter.”

P.P.S. For not-seen-on-this-blog pictures, follow along on Instagram (username: flourishinprogress). For (t)hug life thoughts and lots of random shit, like the Flourish in Progress Facebook page. You will probably not be sorry.

This week: Anger management

My number one desire in life is to be less of a hoarder. I also want my daughter to grow up to be a profoundly happy person. I hope that even on the days she is feeling blue, she is surrounded by a shitload of people who appreciate her inner-core and help her to see that this too shall pass. But that’s a hope I have for someone else. I really want to focus on me right now, so yes, my number one desire in life is to stop amassing mounds of useless junk.

I’m guilty of hoarding objects. My animal pencil topper collection is pretty intense. The entire collection is housed in an airtight see-through container because most of them have a distinct yet subtle scent, and every time I open the lid, I am greeted with a cornucopia of fruity goodness. It’s very appealing to me.

But more than my collections of pencil toppers and rap lyric t-shirts and metallic tinsel, the “thing” that occupies the most amount of space in my life is the dirty pile of anger I have stacked, one rage-filled thought after another, in the middle place where my heart should be.

I’m just angry as fuck.

It’s hard to recall anything I learned in high school which is understandable because I wasn’t really paying attention, but I do remember learning in biology that 60% of the human body is comprised of water. This confuses me, because if I had to guesstimate, I’d say that anger makes up roughly 81% of who I am. Apparently, every drop of liquid coursing through my body (plus a few organs) has a high level of fuck you, motherfucker.

I’ve been amassing rage like it’s currency.

I no longer trust myself. Sometimes, I call Harv to ask if I “should” be angry about something because I’m guilty of overreacting to small offenses, and maybe even worse than that, I don’t react at all in some situations where I should voice concern and disapproval.

Over the weekend, a random dude pinched my cheek. Now that I’m thinking about it, I feel a little embarrassed. I must look like the kind of person you can cheek pinch. Would anyone dare take a chunk of Ludacris’s face meat between their thumb and pointer finger? I DON’T THINK SO. This man didn’t think I was participating enough in the group conversation and pinched my cheek. I stood up because I wanted to gain better leverage and force before I smashed my hand into his temple.

My cousin stepped in and stood just inches away from my face before telling me to leave immediately. Which I did. Because I was enraged and because I felt such an overwhelming desire to be physically confrontational and because I didn’t trust myself.

Violence is never, ever the answer. Never. Ever. Ever. I’m ashamed and riddled with guilt that my thoughts could even venture into that territory. Yet, I am still seething.

I’ve resisted going back into therapy because I’m afraid that once all of my anger is gone, there will just be an expansive hole. I could, of course, fill it with other things like arrogance or laziness. Laziness is the front runner right now because I already have a lot of experience with it, and it just seems to come naturally.

I’m enrolling in an anger management class this week. I want to be a better example for my daughter. Also, I want to stay out of jail.

Stay connected on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page and on Instagram (username: flourishinprogress) for (t)hug life thoughts, random shit, and not-seen-on-this-blog pictures.

image via Meme Machine

I probably wouldn’t have needed braces again if I had diligently worn the retainers my orthodontist handed me in a durable yet discreet carrying case from my first four-year stint with chains all up on my teeth with a warning to “wear these motherfuckers every night so you don’t waste your parents’ hard-earned money, you little weasel.” Actually, those weren’t Dr. Chu’s exact words, but if you had an orthodontist named Dr. Chu, would you remember anything he said? OR would most of your headspace be consumed with questions about whether he only chose his profession because of his last name or if orthodontia was a calling he decided to pursue after turning away from his real passion of selling refurbished Datsuns?

Also, I was 16 years old. I remember nothing from that time except that I wore this beige dress with a side zipper that my mother got from an outlet mall in San Antonio, and I forgot to zip it up before school one day and not one goddamn person told me until after lunchtime. I was sporting large comfort saggy-bottom underwear that day. And it was 88 degrees. I guess memories do come back in waves once you’re brave enough to break down the walls you’ve so carefully assembled to guard your fragile psyche.

Am I getting too deep? It’s one of my faults.

Laziness is another one of my faults. I stopped wearing my retainers because the durable yet discreet carrying case had a pretty tough clasp and exerting that kind of energy before bedtime is just not the kind of life I’d envisioned for myself.

I fought against remarks that my teeth weren’t “that bad” and “it’s only one crooked tooth” and “you’re so vain,” but vanity, well, vanity is also another fault of mine.

I guess what I’m trying to say here is that I have a lot of faults but my teeth are really fucking straight now, so who cares if I’m imperfect on the inside. Self-improvement is a beast. That’s why I’ve decided to only tackle the things you can see.

P.S. I just finished I’m Not Saying, I’m Just Saying by Matthew Salesses. I didn’t like it. I LOVED IT. I was unfamiliar with flash fiction before reading the novel, but it was perfect for my on-the-go schedule and my short attention span (another one of my faults). Salesses’s beautiful writing about a man who discovers that he has a 5-year-old son is honest and raw. Good read, y’all.

P.P.S. Hood Good #3: Holler At Your Peoples Metallic Greeting Cards
These spectacular metallic motherfuckers were created one by one in a historic mill town in Massachusetts. Only send these to people you really like. These fuckers are too nice for stupid bitches.

Also available:
I’M STILL NOT SICK OF YOU.
I WOULD TRADE TWO OF MY OTHER FRIENDS FOR YOU.
BEST BITCHES FOREVER

To order, please visit the Hood Goods Store page for more information.

images via Instagram (username: flourishinprogress)

Because I’ve failed at so many Monday Dares, I needed to boost my self-esteem by sharing something sensational. My first rap.

I haven’t titled this little ditty yet, but that’s because I’m really taking my time, not because I’m a quitter and I don’t have follow-through.

UNTITLED RAP 

You’re the best.
Not a calculus test.
More like a bowl of zest.
With no crawly pest.
Cuz they in they’s nest. 
This ain’t a jest.

And…..*bow*

A few additional notes/ free nuggets of wisdom:

-I took Harv to Medieval Times for his birthday last week. Why so fancy, you ask? Using my astute internet sleuthing abilities, I discovered that spectators get in free during their birthday week with the purchase of one full-price adult ticket. You may be thinking, “Wait just a goddamn minute, you mean to tell me that I can enjoy a majestic three-course feast and select non-alcoholic beverages while watching a carefully choreographed ballet of intense fight scenes and shit FOR FREE?” Yes, that is exactly what I am telling you. Criminy, please fucking pay attention.

-For a nominal extra fee, I could request a personalized birthday announcement during the show. The “nominal” fee was actually $16, so Harv did not get a personalized birthday announcement. Everybody gotta set boundaries, you know?

-There was a group of bachelor party peoples at Medieval Times. Somebody done fucked up that party planning. If your friend is getting married, please do not take him to a dinner and tournament show. Go to a place with utensils.

-Oh, and I got my 8th tattoo

“He is exactly the poem I wanted to write”

Images: Instagram (username: flourishinprogress)
Another good way to get at me because I’m on that shit so goddamn much that people tried to stage a fucking intervention once a lot of times:
Flourish in Progress on Facebook. Holler.

To celebrate my 32nd birthday, I started the Hustle Hard Interview Project. Each month for the next year, I’ll be interviewing one Hustler who embodies a skill or a quality I admire. I hope to uncover some gems that lead me one step closer to being a fully-formed adult.

MARCH: THE COME UP

When you start out from a place of Nothing and arrive at Something, it’s easy to get caught up in The Come Up. People lose sight of keeping it real and shed their barometer on humility, kindness, and loyalty because it’s easy to replace those qualities with self-importance and entitlement. But Jay Wunder, widely known as the Ghetto Genius, has lost none of his humble, self-deprecating humor or his proclivity to stay loyal to those who loved and cared for him back in the day. He has managed to keep kindness king during his Come Up.

With over 4 million hits on his popular blog, Inside the Mind of a Ghetto Genius, and 160,000+ fans on Facebook, Jay, along with his CREW, dish out real talk advice and cutting-edge humor on a daily basis.

I stumbled onto his site last year and loved it so much, I sent him an email. I didn’t expect a response. Jay not only took the time to email back with a personal response and words of encouragement, but he also asked me to be a part of the CREW. Hanging out with the Ghetto Genius family while writing under the alias “Flo-Rich” has been a test in avoiding arrest and alcohol poisoning. I’m happy to report that the entire CREW has managed to stay true to Jay Wunder’s two rules for our nights together: No one goes off on their own. No one dies.

EJL: I respect people who find a way to get their shit together and make something of themselves, even when they have the odds stacked against them. What gave you the focus to stay out of trouble and pursue your passions?

JW: I’ve had to hustle my whole life. Growing up, I lived in fear because my 4 siblings and I were in an unstable home with an alcoholic father, and the people I knew were heavy into gang activity, drugs, and scamming. I was the first one to go to college, somehow made it through, and ended up in Chicago after I graduated. One night, I was crying, feeling sorry for myself because I had fallen into drugs and seen some shit go down. I still cared about what other motherfuckers thought of me. Then, I starting thinking about my mom who commuted 1.5 hours each way to work for over 20 years and never complained once. NOT ONCE. She supported a family of 7. And I realized that I had no right to fuck up. I owed it to myself and to the people I loved to keep a straight head.

I didn’t need to get into trouble to prove my manhood.

EJL: Is your past what has allowed you to be so compassionate towards the fans who write in seeking advice? A lot of people are so casually cruel in the name of being honest, but you seem to have the perfect balance of keeping it real and not sugarcoating anything while staying away from the unnecessary bullshit.

JW: I’ve been burned a lot back in the day, and I know the hardest thing to accept is honesty. It’s difficult to take advice from people you know, even when it comes from a good place. I think that’s why people write in. And I respect that they trust me enough to share their tough times with me. This isn’t a job for me. I do it because the emails I get back thanking me for 10 minutes of laughter or the clarity I provided keep me going. It’s rewarding.

EJL: Do you ever get hate? How do you not let it affect you?

JW: I almost quit the blog because I got a lot of backlash from people I knew. The day I said, “Fuck what people think,” my whole life changed. No one else is going to make you happy or pay your bills, and you’re going to care about what they think? People say what they say out of jealousy and spite. But I’ve gotten good at pinpointing my Ride Or Dies- the people in my life who have my back no matter what.

EJL: You’ve saved me from myself a few times. If you had to school me on how to be a little more street smart, what would it be?

JW: Know your surroundings. Don’t come off as someone who can be taken advantage of. I always think of the worst case scenario when I’m in a place I don’t know. You can either start shit and get arrested or you can make friends or you can get the fuck out. And unless you owe them money or you gave them herpes, be suspicious of people who try to come back into your life.

(GG and EJL recording. On Instagram.)

P.S. GHETTO GENIUS ON THE RADIO: There is a good chance “Some shit went down” is going to apply to this show. And I mean that in the best way possible. Much love, GG. I got your back. Always.

HERE’S A LINK TO THE PODCAST in case you missed the show.

P.P.S. Stay connected on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page and on Instagram (username: flourishinprogress) for (t)hug life thoughts, random shit, and not-seen-on-this-blog pictures.

This week: Become a rap educationalist

When I stumble across something especially noteworthy, I like to share it with Harv. It’s my way of saying, “I love you, and I think of you first.” Most of the time, we use the convenience of email to send links or pictures, but if the thing I want to share happens to be a song, I will wait until we are face-to-face. Music has always ruled my life, and I want to build moments in my marriage through hi-hats and modulated bass lines.

Harv and Cal were in the middle of practicing some sort of guitar and vocal gospel duet last night when I broke up their Father Daughter Moment with my latest find, Ace Hood’s “Bugatti.” I’m normally not judgmental about rap lyrics, but it seemed a little suspicious to me that anyone could just “wake up in a new Bugatti.” Could that happen to me too? Am I just hoping for things that will never come?

These seemed like important questions, and I trust Harv to give me the hard truth. He’s not afraid to be honest, even when it ends up hurting our love. Like that one time four years into our marriage when he admitted to me that he had never listened to one entire Tupac song.

Now that I’m thinking back, I’m fairly certain that his admission wasn’t just happenstance. He waited until we were in public. We had just eaten a delicious yet reasonably-priced lunch. I was well-rested after eight uninterrupted hours of sleep. That dude planned this shit out like a boss.

Have you ever walked into a pillar in your living room even though you’ve lived in the same house for almost three years and it was daylight and the impact caused so much pain in the middle part of your forehead and the tip of your nose that your vision went blank for just a second?

It felt just like that. But in my heart.

It’s impossible to know everything about your partner when you marry him after dating for just 18 days, but still, you think the details will just work themselves out because our love is so goddamn strong and ain’t nothing and nobody gonna tear us apart and I don’t need a perfect person, just someone who is perfect for me. 

I moved across the country to a town where I knew no one else but my new husband and into a home that I had never even laid eyes on until I become his missus. I missed my friends and my family and the comfort of familiarity.

He told me he liked cats. I took that in stride. He told me he liked the thermostat at 68. I froze my fucking ass off but gazed at him through the icicles forming on my eyelashes with affection. He admitted that he didn’t use coupons, even when they were attached to the item that he was purchasing. I still kissed him before bed that night.

But when he looked through my playlist and repeated name after name in a confused tone, “DJ Khaled? Rick Ross? Three 6 Mafia? E-40? Camp Lo?” SHIT JUST GOT TOO REAL.

I am not a rap pusher, but occasionally, I would share little snippets here and there, just to whet his appetite. I felt like a failure after Harv’s Tupac confession, but still, I just kept right on.

It’s time to step it up a notch. Rap music blasting through our crib, all day eryday. Thug Wife. Thug Life.

Stay connected on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page. Image via Instagram (username: flourishinprogress).

This week: Drugs. Take some.

I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard, “Holy smokes, I can’t believe you’re still alive, homegirl!” I would have a lot of money. Not Car Money but somewhere in the neighborhood of Name Brand Lip Gloss Money. This is not to say that I don’t appreciate the Disney Fairies Lip Gloss Compact that Cal gave me last year, but I get a little nervous every time I pull it out in public to touch up my pout. I can tell from some of the wayward glances I’ve been getting that it’s a hot ticket item. Thank god my purse has a secure zipper top.

The people who find my aliveness (word? not a word?) so noteworthy are folks I knew back in the day. My first instinct when I see these Party People From My Past is to run. Which I have done. If we happen to make eye contact, I try to be pleasant with a little smile or a gang sign and pray that they don’t come over for a chat. Which they do.

It surprises me that they recognize me at all. I look different. I am no longer that girl with the stringy, brittle hair and the acne brought on by not washing my face for three or four days in a row because I was too high to give a shit about a consistent exfoliate + cleanse + tone + moisturize routine. None of my clothes have cigarette burn holes. All of my shoes fit.

And I feel different. My intentions are not stitched together with ulterior motives. I no longer build friendships based on the quality of the eight ball of cocaine the other person has to offer. My feelings are no longer buried under a mound of cocaine, crack, speed, ecstasy, LSD, benzos, prescription pain killers, prescription cough syrup, or anything else I could grind up and snort, smoke, or chug.

But most of the people who only knew me when I was rooting around in the filth of my flimsy decisions will always see me as That Girl.

I don’t bother to explain to them that these days, That Girl rarely keeps alcohol in the house. And That Girl tries to act like a motherfucking hero by refusing Advil when she has a headache because she is afraid of becoming addicted. She has never heard of anyone becoming addicted to Advil, and she would like to keep it that way.

I don’t want to be That Girl. I am now This Woman.

As This Woman, I’m certain that I’ll still make the wrong choices sometimes, but it won’t be because I don’t give a fuck about anything or anyone, including myself. I give lots of fucks about lots of fucking things.

I’ve shied away from putting anything into my body because of my addictive personality, but I don’t think that’s the right solution for me anymore. I’m okay with doing drugs again. Like, the legal kind from Costco. I trust myself.

And besides, the last I heard, my dealer got out of the hustle. I guess we both got tired of being That Girl.
____

P.S. Big ups to everyone for being so supportive of the new Flourish in Progress radio show! Podcasts of the first few episodes are now available. This one is my favorite so far because I share my best piece of life advice: Every time you go to a strip club, pretend it’s your first time. I guarantee you’ll get great service.

P.P.S. Most of the Baby Those Thug Lips lip balm in Buttercream and Peppermint from the Hood Goods store are gone, but there are a few left. People, these balms are the bomb. If you’d like to order one, check out the page and drop me a line.

Stay connected on the Flourish in Progress Facebook page or on Instagram (username: flourishinprogress) for lots of random shit. Some of it is funny. Some of it is just stupid and pointless. Wow, that was a really horrible sales pitch.

image via blueq.com