The Diary of Jaimie

In Tribute I Do Pay

2007-06-17T19:26:00.000-07:00

I have always been writing, and in turn, have always been reading.

It was my favorite authors who inspired me to write, unknowingly giving me the push through the literary door that I needed in order to express my ideas on paper.

So, this post is in tribute to them:

Zora Neal Hurston...Stephen King...Truman Capote...Jamaica Kincaid...Ernest Hemingway...Richard Wright...Langston Hughes...James Baldwin...Alice Walker...Toni Morrison...Flannery O'Connor...Sophocles...Alex Haley...Jean Rhys...Anais Nin...Homer...and Wallace Thurman.

Thank you for your words about love, fear, murder, family, money, race, incest, discrimination, war, history, slavery, sex, and skin color.

Who Is Your Favoite Author?

You Had Me At...

2007-06-13T17:50:00.000-07:00

Recently, a friend and I were talking.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" he asked.

"Nope. I believe in lust at first sight." I answered.

"Why can't it be love?" he wondered.

"How can it be? You don't even know the person. They could be just a really sexy lunatic."

In my opinion, love at first sight is unrealistic.

I once made the mistake of telling someone that I loved him on the fifth date. Needless to say, he went running, stayed gone for a few months, came back...and we never talked about it again.

I discovered that it was not love, but lust that made me say what I said. Honestly, I said it after a night of heated physical play...not a night of talking about our plans, goals, and dreams of a future together.

Do You Believe In Love At First Sight?

He's No Lady

2007-05-08T22:02:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: After reading my reader's comments, I realize that I may need to clarify this post. This post was written for a specific person who decided to attempt to sue me in front of 10 million people (you can rack your mind for the various court shows that are on television right now), and I found it quite funny that he can't move on with his life. He is a LadyBoy.

Dear Diary,

He should be stronger than me because he's been here ten years longer than me.

Doesn't he know he's supposed to be "the man", and not pale in comparison to who he thinks I am?

I feel like a lady, but he's a Ladyboy...

and he should be stronger than me.

Why does he always put me in control?

I always have to comfort him every day.

Is he gay?

I feel like a lady,

but he acts like a LadyBoy...

Who's Emotionally and Mentally Stronger: Men or Women?

I love you Amy W.! Thanks for your great words!

You Know You Love Me

2007-04-30T17:08:00.000-07:00

Dear Male Bitch,

Well, everybody got an opinion now, don't they?

But it aint no thing to me.

It really don't make any difference now to me if you don't like what you see.

I pay no mind to the negative kind,

Because it's just no way to be.

I don't stop to please someone else's needs

Gonna live my life for me

Cause whether they love or they're hatin' on me

I'll still be the same girl I used to be...

I've never been the type to be shy

I know that some would say I'm too headstrong

But I’d rather be a woman who voices her mind

Whether you think I'm right or wrong

And I know some people wanna criticize me because it makes them feel better about themselves, so say what you will, but time will reveal in the end that I will be here still.

So, stop "lurking" around my blog m****f**** and cowboy the f*** up.

Sincerely,

Jaimie

Why Do Men Read this Blog, Judge Me, and then Comment Anonymously?

Thanks to my girl Xtina for unknowingly letting me tweak her words for my advantage.

Disclaimed

2007-04-27T18:23:00.000-07:00

You know how it happens when you are bored and sitting in your therapist/gynecologist/dentist's office and reach for that People/US/National Enquirer to read all about how Nicole/Lindsay/Calista are near death, and Britney is a weirdo, and Demi and Ashton are about to break up?

You know how suddenly interested you become in other people's business, thumbing through the magazine, reading about the latest "gossip", "break-ups", and rehab trips?

And then the receptionist for your therapist/gynecologist/dentist calls your name and you drop the magazine, forgetting all about their problems, but also assuming that most of it is true because...well, its written in a magazine.

This blog is kind of like those magazines.

Don't get all excited and believe that this is really a diary. This blog is for entertainment purposes, for discussion, for self-evaluation.

I am Jaimie, the author of this blog.

And I am also an anorexic, alcoholic, drug addicted tramp who plans on stealing Ashton Kutcher from that old bitch Demi one day soon.

What Is The Purpose Of Your Blog?

Rug Burned

2007-04-24T19:39:00.000-07:00

Dear Diary,

When I was 17 I had a boyfriend whose initials were JJ.

JJ had a mother with a perfect house. Perfect. Everything was white; the sofa, the armchair, the carpet, the dining room table, the chairs. White.

One time I went to visit JJ. We were upstairs in his sister's room eating hot dogs and drinking root beer.

When we finished eating I said, "We better take our plates downstairs before your mom gets home and trips about the mess we made."

"Yeah, you're right," he said, and we walked out of the room.

I walked in front of him, down the perfectly white carpeted steps. He followed behind me.

Suddenly he said, "Oh, did you hear? Kurt Cobain killed himself."

"What??!!" I said, swiveling my feet around on those slippery, white carpeted steps.

And there I went...down, down, down the steps, on my back, the skin ripping from the muscle like a banana being peeled. The root beer and ketchup flew out of my hands and splattered all over the walls, carpet, and furniture.

I tumbled down the steps, screaming in agony. "My back!! My back!!"

And JJ...guess what he did?

He stepped over my limp body, ran to the kitchen...

...and began cleaning the carpet.

"My mom's going to kill me! Shit! My mom's going to freak the f*** out!"

"My back...my back..." I whimpered. "I think it's broken...my skin; its, its burning."

"Get up and help me clean. My mom's going to be back any minute. Shit!"

I slowly got up and was surprised to find out I wasn't paralyzed. I touched the skin on my back and it was wet. My skin was stripped raw.

It wasn't until I was up limping to the bathroom that JJ realized that his mother's carpet wasn't nearly as important as my ability to walk. He jumped up from his scrubbing long enough to take a look at my back and say,

"Damn, that's going to leave a nasty scar."

What's Your Most Memorable Injury?

50/50

2007-04-21T15:37:00.000-07:00

Dear Diary,

For him, I was a flame...but love is a losing game.

Remember the 5-story fire when he came?...but love is a losing game...

I wish I never played

Oh, what a mess we made

This was more than I could stand...love is a losing hand.

I was self-obsessed--he was profound,

but I thought it would last til the chips were down...

Now, I know he's a gambling man...love is a losing hand.

We had futile odds, and were laughed at by God...

So here's the final frame: LOVE IS A LOSING GAME.

Thanks to Amy for help with this post.

Why Is Love Such A Gamble?

Peaks and Valleys

2007-02-12T16:45:00.000-08:00

Going through some life changing events right now...

If you don't hear from me, know that I am climbing the mountain of adversity...

...but I will rise to the top.

Will You Think of Me?

Pearl

2007-02-05T07:00:00.000-08:00

I had my first orgasm at age 24.

Prior to that, I had been having sex for 9 years and didn't even consider an orgasm as part of the equation. I don't think my partners ever considered it an option either, since we spent most of our time focusing on their pleasure with me.

When I have asked men what an orgasm feels like for them, they mutter something like, "Uh, it feels good?", as if it is a question.

"Good like what? Describe it for me," I insist.

"I can't describe it."

Finally, it happened for me, and once it did, there was no going back to sex without an orgasm.

Because sex without an orgasm is so...well, pointless.

Who Likes Orgasms?

A Peace of Me

2007-01-29T16:37:00.000-08:00

Dear Diary,

When I was in my early 20's, this is what I wanted:

1. Big chips.

2. A nice whip.

3. Nice boots with jeans that just fit.

4. Perfection.

5. Clothes that stick to my hips.

6. A walk that's vicious and delicious.

7. To be a millionaire's wife.

8. Not his mistress.

9. A look that said "Come get this."

Now, in my early 30's, this is what I want:

Peace.

How Have You Changed?

Thanks to my man Ne-Yo for some random inspiration for this post.

In Praise of Difficult Women

2007-01-22T17:49:00.000-08:00

Dear Diary,

In high school I had a boyfriend that all the girls wanted.

I mean, he was the cutest half Mexican, half Scottish boy in the school. He was a football player. He was popular. And he was FINE.

We met, liked each other, and were instantly boyfriend and girlfriend.

I was so proud of my newfound relationship, that I wrote on the girl's bathroom wall, near the paper towel dispenser:

Salvador + Jaimie=Forever

A few days later my friend and I were in the bathroom, washing our hands. We walked to dry our hands and saw what I wrote, with my name crossed out, and over my name was scribbled...

Bitch!

Yes, I can be a bitch at times, especially when I'm hungry or sleepy. Or when I have a headache and you're getting on my last nerve.

But just because I was dating the hottest boy in school did not make me a Bitch. And, we must remember, high school girls' experience with bitches is limited to their past 14-18 years,and not a lifetime of knowing women.

But every woman has a little Bitch in them.

Right?

Roll Call

2007-01-11T09:08:00.000-08:00

Dear Diary,

These are the names that I have been called:

Bitch.

Whore.

Tramp.

Stupid.

Crazy.

Doll.

Babe.

Baby Girl.

Baby J.

Hi-May (Jaime).

Vogue.

Ms. DSL.

Zebra.

Mommy.

Mami (with a Spanish accent).

Girl.

Sweetie.

Honey.

Lady.

What Do People Like to Call You?

Lip Service

2007-01-04T20:40:00.000-08:00

When I was in high school my best friend and I used to eat lunch on "The Quad" with everyone else.

One day, a boy sat in the quad and watched me for a while, and then called my best friend over to him. He was a friend of hers, and someone I didn't know.

She talked to him for a while, started giggling, then began walking back to me. She had "the look" on her face, the look that us girls give our friends when something hilarious just happened, but we don't want to make it obvious, but we can't wait until we tell the next person.

She pulled me to the side, trying her hardest not to laugh within eye shot of the boy. "What? What is it? What's so funny?" I asked. "I want to laugh too!"

She tried to keep a straight face then blurted out, "He said you have dick-sucking lips!"

"That's funny?" I asked, confused.

"Well, yeah," she said. "I mean, who compliments someone by telling them they have lips good enough for oral sex?"

I didn't see the humor of it until later that day. From then on, our inside names for each other were "Ms. Dick Sucker" and "Ms..."...well, I'll keep her's a secret...

What Part of Your Face or Body Do People Like To Talk About?

An Open Letter To Mr. James Manning

2006-12-17T10:17:00.000-08:00

Dear Mr. Manning,

Me and you, we're different. We don't always see eye to eye. You go left, I go right.

And sometimes we even fight.

That doesn't mean that I won't need you to be my friend.

You and me: we're in this to 'till the end.

Through all of the lows and highs, I want you by my side.

The love I feel for you grows every day, and the more we learn from our mistakes.

I think we're on our way...

Who Do You Love?

Thanks to Xtina for help with the words.

Thou Shall Be Judged

2006-11-23T11:33:00.000-08:00

Recently, I found myself in court (but not because of the reason in the post below).

While waiting for the judge to read my reason for being in court (and believe me, it was a juicy reason), I had to sit and listen to three small claim cases.

Boy, they were entertaining.

Case #1: Funeral Home vs. Poor Mexican Woman with No Money

A funeral home was suing a woman who wrote a bad check for $5000 to bury her father. The woman claimed (through a translater) that she did not "knowingly" write the check, but rather her neice shoved the check in her hand, and in her grief, signed her name.

The judge ordered her to pay $5000.

Case #2: Rich Black Dentist and his Rich Wife vs. Poor Black Man who Had Much Needed Dental Work Done

A dentist was suing a young man who wrote a bad check for $2500 to have dental work done. And what made it better, the dentist was also suing for another $2500 in "punitive damages". The judge threw that notion out, and decided not to put a judgement against the man, and ordered the man and dentist work it out among themselves.

Case #3: Motorcycle Custom Designer vs. Some Couple Who Have A Business Sending Parts through Customs

This was by far the most boring, long, confusing cases of them all. It had something to do with the designer wanting to build a motorcycle by the time there was a big biker rally, and the couple didn't send the parts in time, and blah, blah, blah. Finally, the judge told him that the testimonies were going on too long, and a woman shouted out "Thank God!" from her seat.

Have You Ever Been In Court?

Order In The Court

2006-11-06T18:15:00.000-08:00

Bailiff: Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?

Jaimie: I do.

Judge: Ok. Tell me what happened.

Jaimie: I was really young, with such innocent eyes. I always dreamt of a fairy tale life, and all of the things that his money could buy...

Judge: Go on...

Jaimie: I thought that he was a wonderful guy.

Judge: What happened?

Jaimie: Suddenly, things seemed to change. Actually, it was the moment I took on his name. He took his anger out on my face, but I kept all of the pain locked away.

Judge: So you left?

Jaimie: It was the day that he turned on our kid that I just knew I had to leave him. There were so many voices inside of my head, saying over and over and over, "You deserve much more than this."

Judge: And you did.

Jaimie: I was so sick of believing the lives and trying to hide, covering up the cuts and the bruises; so tired of defending my life. I could have died for the life of my daughter.

Judge: Divorce granted. Sole physical custody awarded to the mother. Child support set at the ordered amount.

Why Is Love Blind?

Thanks, again, to Christina Aguilera for help with this post.

Ugly Betty

2006-10-18T18:56:00.000-07:00

When I was a young girl one of my teachers told me:

"Life will be easy for you Jaimie because you are beautiful."

When I was a young girl my father told me:

"Stay in school. No one can ever take your education away from you."

Both of them were right. Kind of.

Life hasn't been that easy for me: My parents divorced when I was 2. My sister committed suicide when I was 15. I was divorced and a single mom by age 28.

Yet, life has been kind of fun, and my beauty helped contribute to it: people are nicer and more forgiving, people have asked me for advice about clothes, hair, and make-up since I was a teenager, and don't forget: dating, dating, and more dating.

Yet, more than anything else, its my intellect that I admire the most about myself.

Without it, I am nothing.

Would You Rather Be Beautiful or Intelligent?

An Open Letter to My Best Friend's Ex-Husband

2006-10-10T16:28:00.000-07:00

You know who you are.

This is for you.

She thought she knew who you were.

She sees now you were a lesson to learn...

and all she is to you now is a bridge that's been burned.

She was the first to believe; she made you part of her family dream...

And your thanks to her, came without an apology.

You met, married her, traveled...those are all part of your history.

Don't forget making a baby, too.

Yeah, these words are for you to remind you

That she's moved on, save your photos, because she's got no regrets.

Hope it all was worth it...

Who Do You Need to Defend?

Thanks to Christina Aguilera for help with this post.

To Tell You The Truth

2006-10-06T18:20:00.000-07:00

I had a friend in college who, one day while dining with me, asked me a question.

"Do you know what tact is Jaimie?" he asked one day.

"Yes," I answered.

"Well, you have none," he said.

"What do you mean? I'm the nicest person you know!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, you are. I'm not talking about being 'nice'. I'm talking about 'tact'. The way you say things."

Oh.

I believe in being honest. I'm very honest. I rarely lie.

For example, when I was in high school, I worked at a shoe store.

"Do these look good on me?" a customer asked me one day, looking at her feet in the mirror.

"No," I said.

The manager pulled me to the side. "Don't say that!" she hissed at me. "We're trying to make sales here!"

"But they don't look good on her! You actually want me to lie?"

"Yes!" she said, stomping to the back of the store, frustrated.

Is It Ever Okay to Be Brutally Honest?

Joseph Pilates

2006-09-26T22:08:00.000-07:00

I've always been obsessed with my stomach. When I was in high school I actually loved doing sit-ups, usually doing 100 a day.

As soon as my daughter was 6 weeks old I began working again on my stomach. Pilates became my best friend.

I had always been known to have a tight, sexy tummy. I wasn't going to let a little baby stand in the way of achieving what had always been my body's shining glory.

I managed to get the tummy as back to normal as it could possibly get, considering that it had held a nearly 8 pound, 19 inch human being.

To me, flat or with some meat on it, the tummy is the sexiest part of a woman's body.

What Is The Best Part of A Woman's Body?

A Man's Job Is Never Done

2006-09-23T18:19:00.000-07:00

I made him think that he didn't understand.

I used to think that happiness could only be something that happened to somebody else.

Everybody believed, everybody but me

I've been hurt so many times before that my hopes were dying

But then he came into my life and he opened up my softer side

There were many walls he had to climb if he really wanted to be mine.

After all the hoops I put him through...

Now I see that I'm in love with him

Now, I hope he finally understands...

Why Do We Make Others Work For Our Love?

Thanks to Christina Aguilera for help with the words.

XXX

2006-09-16T17:53:00.000-07:00

After picking James up from work one night I said, "Why don't we visit the neighborhood sex shop?"

"Um, okay," he said.

We walked in the door and I suddenly felt so shy. I found it hard to make eye contact with the salesgirls, especially when they kept coming up to us to ask us what we were interested in and if we would like "to see anything out of its box."

James seemed to be highly interested in the S & M products, but I managed to divert his attention to the sexy outfits. "What about this naughty school girl one?" I asked hopefully.

Here comes the sales girl again...

"Would you like to see that out of the box?"

"Sure," we said.

She led us to the counter and opened up the costume. It was very sexy, but we decided against it until next time.

We ended up spending $50 in the store. What did we buy?

That's our little secret...

Do You Use Toys?

Once Upon A Time

2006-09-12T20:56:00.000-07:00

Here is a picture of my parents.

4 years after this picture was taken, they were divorced.

I suppose my father's cheating may have had something to do with their downfall.

Or it possibly may have been my mother's controlling behavior.

Whatever the cause, they didn't last, and my mother was devastated. There she was, alone with three kids, and a fantasy that she had created in her mind was now completely over.

People often wonder about soul mates: Do they exist? Will I ever find mine?

In my opinion, I don't know if I believe in soul mates.

I do believe that we find someone who we are the most compatible with, and manage to love through it all.

And if we're lucky, they'll stick around forever.

Do You Believe There Is One Person In The World Made Just For You?

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

2006-09-08T22:13:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up, my mom had a friend named Trina.

Trina was white, but insisted on only dating black men.

"Why does Trina only date black guys?" I would ask my mom.

"That's just what she likes. I can't even imagine her with a white guy," my mom answered.

I once went out on a date with a black man who told me he only dated white and Latino women. He kept commenting about how surprised he was at my beauty and my niceness, considering...

I was a black woman.

Needless to say, I never saw him again.

What Do You Think of People Who ONLY Date Outside of Their Race?

My Country Tis Of Thee

2006-09-02T19:10:00.000-07:00

Everyone who meets James, reads his blog, or has the pleasure of being in his company always tell me one thing:

You are so lucky to have met such a wonderful man.

And of course, anyone who lives in L.A. is shocked and awed that such a man exists in the City of Angels.

L.A. is infamous for producing men and women who are "Hollywood", materialistic and cell-phone attached robots with no soul.

Yes, I am a Los Angeles native, but James is not.

James is a midwestern boy, raised with Southern hospitality.

And, he is the furthest thing from Hollywood you can find.

Which could be, quite possibly, the reason he is the man who he is.

Which Region of Our Country Produces the Highest Quality Men?

The Bridges of Los Angeles County

2006-08-29T22:02:00.000-07:00

Once my mother and I watched "The Bridges of Madison County," the story of a woman who was married with two children who had an affair with a traveling photographer. She had to decide whether to go with the photographer, or stay with her family.

She chose to stay with her family.

"Good," my mom said when the movie was over.

"Why is that good?" I asked her.

"Because, that's what love is about. You stay with the one who's been there for you. All that other stuff is just fluff, it never lasts."

I fell out of love with my own boyfriend recently.

Yes, that boyfriend.

No more butterflies in the tummy. No more kissing. No more plans about getting married and having children. Nothing.

But through it all, we kept talking. And talking. And talking.

I fell in love again, but this time it's a different love. Its the deepest love I've ever known. A love that will exist through this lifetime, and the afterlife.

A love that will cross the bridges of this crazy thing called life.

What Is Love?

The Problem With Blood

2006-08-28T12:57:00.001-07:00

My daughter's father has a slight problem:

He's mentally ill.

I suppose the signs were there early, but I didn't know what they meant.

For example, he would disappear for hours, gamble our money away and not remember...

...and then days later be in the bed depressed and crying.

And then there was the paranoia...

...like when he insisted that someone broke into our house while we were sleeping and left termites in our kitchen. How ridiculous, I told him, We have termites because of all of the wood cabinets and paneling in this apartment.

...or when he insisted that the security guards outside of a bank on Manchester Boulevard were actually planning on robbing the bank, and were "casing the joint", as he would tell me. No, I would insist, They're security guards.

Now, that I am divorced and away to look at his behaviour objectively, I know the truth.

He has bipolar disorder. He has massive, angry, delusional mood swings that effect everyone who loves him, and then after deconstructing relationships, falls to the ground exhausted, hurting, and depressed.

The problem with blood is that he inherited this disease. His mother robbed banks, then decided to traffic drugs. She was a sociopath, hellbent on destruction and living on the edge.

And my blood isn't all that pure either: depression, panic disorder, and borderline personalities run through my family as well.

Now, if I can just manage to save my daughter's blood...

Do You Know Anyone Afflicted With A Mental Illness?

The Day The World Stopped

2006-08-21T19:44:00.000-07:00

It was early in the morning. I had just gotten out of the shower. My phone rang.

"Jaimie, where's David?" It was my then-husband's father.

"In the shower. Why?"

"Jaimie, they just hit the World Trade Center with an airplane."

Here was a man who had no fear.

A man who raised his children in the projects of New York.

A man who used to run a numbers running joint in the back of his liquor store.

A man who sounded terrified.

We hung up the phone.

David got out of the shower. We watched the second plane hit Tower 2 on television, not believing what we were seeing.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" he yelled.

"Come on, we gotta go to work," I told him.

I was 5 months pregnant, and for some unknown reason, I didn't have morning sickness this day.

We got into the car and tuned to the talk radio. And then we heard it.

The buildings fell.

"No!!!" David screamed.

"It's okay," I told him. "We saw the people leaving the building. They probably all got out."

"Impossible," he said. "They're dead. All dead."

When I got to work, we were walking our classes down the hall like zombies. Only half of my class was there that day, and those that were there had a lot of questions.

How do you explain to 5 year olds why thousands of people died right before their eyes?

Where Were You On September 11, 2001?

Her Aversion to Bondage

2006-08-20T14:23:00.000-07:00

I don't like to be controlled. In fact, I absolutely hate it.

I had a boyfriend. We'll call him "D" in case he happens to come across this blog, recognizes my writing and my eyes on the top of the page, and sends someone to come beat my ass.

"D" was highly controlling. He liked to call me at 2 in the morning, just to make sure I answered. He always insisted I was flirting with every waiter in LA when we would go out to eat, although I could be asking for something as simple as a refill on my iced tea with a smile on my face.

"D" had a complex relationship with his mother. In fact, his mother was very controlling of him, and he hated her for that.

Because I felt sorry for him and his ego, I let him believe he was controlling me, when in actuality...

...he never really had me.

Why Are Some People So Controlling?

Peek A Boo, I Know You

2006-08-15T09:12:00.000-07:00

It's always been there.

Sometimes I ignore it.

Sometimes I don't.

Once, I went to the horse races with a friend. "Mike says to ask you who's going to win the race," she said.

"Oh really? How would I know?" I answered.

"Mike says he can tell that you just know things like that. So, who's gonna win Jaimie?" She shoved the program at me. I looked at the horses' names.

"This one," I said, pointing to a horse and handing her back the program.

The horse won.

I can pass by a person and know things, without knowing them. I can know if they have done something horrible to someone else...I can know other things too.

Recently, the California Lottery jackpot was over 100 million dollars. I filled out the lotto card and kept seeing the numbers 2 and 8 in my head. I dismissed it quickly. February 8 is my ex-husband's birthday, so I defintely wasn't going to play those numbers. I bubbled in my usual numbers.

Needless to say, I didn't win, but 2 and 8 were part of the winning numbers.

Damn...

Don't worry...I don't see dead people. Well, okay, maybe one, but he meant well. He floated along, right past my grandmother's bedroom door while we slept. Hi, Granpa.

And my daughter? She likes to tell me things like "The angels gave me the answer, Mommy" and "People are afraid of God because they don't understand him."

Yeah, she's got The Gift too.

Do You Have The Gift?

Experience Preferred

2006-08-12T09:09:00.000-07:00

My best friend has a very lucky husband.

By age 28, the age she married, she had only had sex with two other men. He practically married a virgin.

Or is he so lucky?

She and I would have many discussions about sex when we were in high school and college.

"Aren't you curious?" I would ask her.

"Not really," she would answer.

"Have you ever, you know, had an orgasm?"

"I..don't..know..." she stammered.

"Nevermind. If you had, you would know."

Which Is Better From Your Partner: A Little Experience or A Lot of Experience?

Why Men Cheat

2006-08-09T13:58:00.000-07:00

Every man has a repressed, little boy inside of him. A boy who misses his mama's kisses and cooking. A boy who longs to play with GI Joes rather than pay his bills. A little boy who refuses to grow up.

Everyone knows that girls mature faster than boys. Take my daughter for instance: she came home one day and told me that she had a boyfriend and that she loved him very much. When I went to pick up my daughter at preschool, her "boyfriend" seemed confused when I asked him if he was dating my daughter. "No," he said, "But I like Spiderman."

I've come to the conclusion that men are just stretched out boys who still like to play with games and toys. Unfortunately, we often become the toys. And when they become bored with their toys THEY WANT A NEW ONE AND THEY WANT IT NOW!!!!!!!

So, next time your man/boy appears agitated, bored, or withdrawn, buy him an Ipod, digital camera, or video game. He will probably be captivated for months and find a newfound love for you. He might even want to marry you.

And remember...in my opinion, we're the more intelligent gender anyway.

Who Likes A Mama's Boy?

Karma

2006-08-07T19:51:00.000-07:00

I've been stood up. Once. But I deserved it.

There was a young man who I once knew. He was my "temp", my rebound, my transitional man. He actually was quite boring, but nice looking.

He asked me to spend the day with him. I said yes. I was walking out of the door when my ex-boyfriend called.

"Hey," he said.

"What do you want?"

"I'm going to ignore that. Can I see you?" he asked.

"I already have plans. No."

"Come on," he coaxed.

After some pushing and pulling, he convinced me to see him. I waited for him to come pick me up, and we spent the day together.

I never called transitional man to let him know I wouldn't make our date.

Fast forward 6 months...

Ex-boyfriend was gone. It was Saturday night. My phone rang. It was transitional man.

We spoke pleasantly with one another and he told me that he wanted to see me again. He told me to dress up in my best, because he was taking me somewhere really nice.

I did, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He never showed. I called my girlfriend.

She found my plight hilarious and asked, "What'd you do to him?"

Damn...What goes around comes around...

Right?

She's Come Undone

2006-08-04T10:37:00.000-07:00

When I was in college, my best friend was a stripper.

I never visited her in the strip club. I couldn't bring myself to do it. Another friend went to visit her. She told me it was disgusting, nasty, and intriguing.

My friend became a stripper because she got herself into a bit of, er...financial difficulty. Stripping paid off all of her bills and her car. She graduated from UCLA, and got a book deal within a few years of graduation.

I was once desperate too. Bill collectors were calling my apartment. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat.

There was this club I knew about. I walked in. I looked at the girls. I talked to the manager. He started to break down for me how much of a cut "the club got", "the dj got", and how much I would actually take home. Then he asked, "Ready to audition?"

"Audition? Where? Here?"

"No. In the back. For me."

Hell no.

I called my dad the next day. He told me how to handle the bill collectors, mailed me money, and helped my buy a new car.

I could not sell my soul.

How Far Would You Go?

Trophy

2006-08-01T12:31:00.000-07:00

Living in L.A., you're bound to run into a celebrity or two. Not everyone can say that they have dated them.

All names have been withheld to protect the guilty.

Celebrity #1: I was 17. He was a rapper.

I went to a dance club with some girls who were older than me. I walked away from them for a while, and when I came back he was there talking to my girls. He looked up at me as I was walking towards them.

"Jaimie! Look at this picture that (name withheld) has. It looks just like you!" my girl said.

He held the picture out to me. "She looks nothing like me," I said.

He laughed. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Jaimie."

"Well, Jaimie, my boys and I are going a hotel after this. Wanna come?"

"No. I'm not that kind of girl."

My friend pulled me to the side, convincing me that it would be okay if we were all there together. As we all walked outside, he pulled me aside as well. "Want to ride in the limo with me?"

"No. I should stay with my friends. We'll follow you there."

And so we did. He and I sat on the back steps of the hotel and talked for a long time. After, he rode the elevator down with us. As I got close to the exit, he called out to me. He wanted to see me again.

I did, for a few months. He bought me clothes and shoes. He introduced me to other famous rappers. Then he told me I was too young for him.

He told me I was just a kid. And I was.

Celebrity #2: I was in college. He was part of an up and coming rap group, who have now sold millions of records world wide.

I was at one of their performances, sitting a few rows behind the stage. His group members were talking to my friends. He and I both held back, observing. Finally, he spoke:

"You look like Sade."

"Nigga, do you know how many times she probably hears that?" his group member said, hitting his arm.

We walked outside and talked. He asked me for my phone number. I gave it to him.

We dated for a few months. He was confusing. He was unsettled. He was focused on his music. I was focused on my college degree. It ended abruptly and without apology.

Celebrity #3: I had already started my teaching career. He is an on-air personality for one of the most popular hip hop and r&b radio stations in Los Angeles.

It was New Year's Eve and I was at a party. When the clock struck midnight, some random guy grabbed me and kissed me. My eyes were open, and when I looked across the floor, a different man was staring at me.

I sat down and he came over to me.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I have a headache. I drank too much. Some guy just kissed me. I don't know."

"I know. I saw that. I felt jealous."

"Jealous? I don't even know you!"

We were together for a year. He was insanely jealous, although I had to deal with women all over him, passing him their phone number, promising him threesomes with their best friend if he would just call.

And he was jealous of me...

Would You Ever Date A Celebrity?

Play Date

2006-07-27T12:52:00.000-07:00

The first boy I ever kissed was my best friend. His name was Jason.

We were little kids. His mom was white (like my mom) and his dad was black and absent (just like my dad). Our moms got along well, and often hooked us up for "play dates".

Boy, did we play.

Jason liked to go under his blanket with me. We would be under, giggling, when he would suddenly kiss me. We kissed a lot. We would then get out from under the blanket and play.

"You're my wife!" he would bellow at me.

"No I'm not! I'm gonna tell your Mommy!"

I ran from his room, finding his mom in the kitchen.

"Miss Cindy, Jason says I'm his wife. I don't want to be his wife. I want to be the husband!"

"You can't be the husband, Jaimie. Wait a minute, why am I having this conversation? What kind of games are you two playing in there?" She peered behind me into his room.

I ran back into the room.

"Kiss me again," I would tell him.

I wish it was all still so simple...

Who Was The First Person You Kissed?

The Diary of Two Virgins

2006-07-21T20:29:00.000-07:00

The following is based on a true story.

Dear Diary,

Today I had sex with Brian for the first time. I can't believe it.

It happened in my bed, while my mom was gone. I didn't take all of my clothes off, and neither did he. I was too embarrassed.

It was alright, I guess. It's not like I have anything to compare it to. I hope he really loves me like he says he does. I think he does. He calls me every day and he always wants to see me. He's the best kisser ever.

There's my phone ringing...hold on...

Ok, that was Brian. He called to tell me he loved me.

I'll write more tomorrow.

Jaimie

Yo, Diary...

I had sex with Jaimie today. She was a virgin. So am I. I couldn't tell her that though. I'll tell her later. I wanted her to think I knew what I was doing.

I really do love her though. She knows it. I mean, I know we're only 15, but one day I might want to marry her. I can't tell the fellas that though. They would just clown me.

I like when Jaimie comes to my football games. I wish we went to the same school, so that I could see her every day. Moms likes Jaimie too. She's so nice to her its embarrassing.

Hold up...I gotta call her and tell her something...

Ok, I'm back. Told her I loved her.

Will write more tomorrow...

Brian

Who Was the First Person You Had Sex With?

You Used to Love Me

2006-07-16T17:41:00.000-07:00

Considering that I have been teaching Kindergarten for 8 years, I have seen a lot of students grow up before my eyes. Who I find the most interesting are the boys.

Let's consider a student who I had in my class this year. We'll call him "E" to protect his reputation.

"E" liked to make me happy. He liked for me to acknowledge everything he did right. He absolutely loved to give me hugs.

One day "E" brought me flowers before school. "Thank you," I said, placing the flowers on my desk.

The class sat on the rug and we began our opening activities. "E"'s hand shot up in the air. "Uh, Ms. L, are you going to tell everyone about the flowers I brought you?"

"Now?" I asked. "Ok, everyone, "E" brought me lovely flowers today. Thank you. Let's continue with the Calendar. What day is it today class?"

"Ms. L?" It was "E" again.

"Yes?"

"Will you tell everyone how much you love the flowers?"

And so, to boost "E"'s longing for recognition, I told the class about how much I love the flowers.

Fast Forward 6 years...

Suddenly, boys who used to "love me", bring me flowers, apples, and presents look down when I pass them in the hall.

"Didn't you used to teach him?" my coworker asks.

"Yeah," I said, "And him, and him, and him over there too. They act like they don't know me anymore. I remember every single one of them, but I can't even get them to look me in the eye now."

"They're probably embarrassed," she said. "I mean, think about it...they're practically 12 year olds, they probably had a crush on you, and not only that, they have to see you walking the halls every day. They know that you know that they loved you." She laughed.

Did You Ever Have a Crush On One of Your Teachers?

The Interview

2006-07-12T20:08:00.000-07:00

I've grown to like Bossmack. I think its so cute that he has shirts made with his name on them, and I have much respect for him for showing up at the West Coast Blogging Hotties Dinner, in full effect (although I wasn't there). If the name Bossmack is new to you, he is a man who dedicates his entire blog to his bitches. Yup.

Here is a repost of my interview with him.

Enjoy!

Jaimie: What is your first name?

Bossmack: James

Jaimie: Where were you born?

Bossmack: Milwaukee, Wisconsin

Jaimie: Tell me how old you are.

Bossmack: 32

Jaimie: Tell me what your blog is about.

Bossmack: My blog is about the adventures of Tha BossMack TopSoil, a Mackman; not a pimp. There's a difference, but I'll elaborate on that later. My blog also is a discussion in techniques that can be used to gain an edge on your mate, specifically women, however some of the techniques discussed here can be used on men by women. On a deeper level I feel I give the readers a certain view of the inner urban Los Angeles cityscape, which includes Long Beach, Compton, Watts etc.

It is my intention to shock the readers with vulgar language, and vivid character portrayals. The writing is real, yet it almost always comes off as humorous.

I would also like to add, the way I write on the blog is like the way I talk to one of my Niggas on the street, straight hard conversation.

Jaimie: Has anyone ever gotten really angry at you for what you write on your blog?

Bossmack: Yes, you. I remember when you seemed like you were upset with me. All I did was notice that you were from Los Angeles, and that you were a professional, so I offered to put you on the guest list for the Conga Room on Saturday Nights. You went on to shit all over me, like I had called you a bitch or tried to get at you. I thought it was funny. I appreciated the post you dedicated to me also. I know I kind of went on a tangent there, but yes people do get upset, and it's expected.

Jaimie: From what you know of me, would you refer to me as a bitch, like "I like that bitch Jaimie's blog," ?

Bossmack: LMBAO! You know what, I have already done that. When you wrote that post "Beat Him Up!", I told my Niggas, "Look at this bitch right here, she hates my guts and she doesn't even know me". So I started reading your blog everyday, and thus I came to respect your writing and perspective of life, so now I say "Jaimie is a sagacious bitch for real, I like her blog". Don't be offended.

Jaimie: I'll try not to be. Would you ever call me a bitch to my face?

Bossmack: It is in the realm of possibility, but highly doubtful. You would have to say some ugly things to me first, and thus force me into a position of defending myself. I would like to say this, judging from the way you handle your dude right now, I really doubt I would say that to you.

Jaimie: What makes a woman a bitch?

Bossmack: In my opinion the word "Bitch" is like the word "Nigga". They both have a huge dynamic range of context. Both words can be used with extreme love, and both can be used with extreme hate. I love that about both words.

When I was small, about 7 years old, I used to watch my uncle handle women. He was a pimp for a minute back in the day. He never called women "Bitches" when he knew I was around, but somtimes I'd be around and he didn't know it, and it always fascinated me the effect that that word had on women when he said it.

So I started going around calling women bitches, just to see them get mad. I found out the hard way not to call Moms that. I called her a "Bitch" one day under my breath and I thought she slapped my head off.

Now at the same time, I have heard many women call each other bitches with love. I believe words are vehicles for emotion. I also feel that all women have to be bitches everyday to a degree just to defend themselves inthe world on a daily basis.

I'm sure from time to time as a teacher you have to act like a bitch toward the administration, or else they would run you over or take your needs for granted. So therefore, all women have a degree of "Bitch" in them. Shit, some Niggas is Bitches too.

Jaimie: If you had to choose between a lifetime of good sex with random women or a lifetime of being with one companion who was your best friend and lover, what would you choose?

Bossmack: Hmmmm, I really don't have sex with random women now. I have a set of females I deal with, but it takes me a while to have sex with a new female. I am loquacious. I need to know a lot about my females. I am going to end up with one female in the end. Thats what happens to all Macks eventually. Macking is not really about having sex. It's really about conversation and the promise of sex.

Jaimie: Have you ever been in a serious relationship for a long time?

Bossmack: Yes I have, and it turned me into who I am today. I have been in love with love, ya dig? It's like you know, your first big love, you don't know what you would do without this person. If they deficated it would smell like Channel perfume to you. In the end it was brutal, yet it had to happen. I used to be a sucka, but I still had principles. I stood on principle and suffered a horrible heartbreak, yet I came out at the other end relucent.

Jaimie: Would you say your heartbreak led to your misogynist view of women?

Bossmack: I would say my heartbreak made me realize certain things about relationships. My mysogynist views have been strong since I was small. I have seen women destroy weak men, many times.

Jaimie: Thank you Bossmack.

Bossmack: Much Love. Keep doing what you do!

What Do You Think of Bossmack?

The Whore Speaks

2006-07-11T09:33:00.000-07:00

Ok, I admit it: I'm a little sensitive.

Like when PuertoRock called me a "dirty whore." I suppose he was entitled; I mean, I did write about using men to get what I want. I suppose I did open myself up for a little male backlash. And then, surprisingly PuertoRock came back quite respectfully, commenting peacefully about other issues.

I still felt slightly like a dirty whore, though.

So when "Anonymous" called me an idiot, I was hurt. Keep in mind though, I had just been called a "stupid crazy whore" by the sperm donor of my daughter (also known as "Satan"), so I was a wee, bit sensitive.

One thing I did not realize is that people across the world actually read this blog. Many people read this blog, but never comment. I had no idea that people really cared that much about what I write.

Thank you.

Oh, and by the way: I prefer "slut" to "whore."

What Surprises You The Most About People?

The End

2006-06-30T19:48:00.000-07:00

So much has been going on in my life right now.

A lot of pain, a lot of hurt.

A need to make the past dead...gone forever.

A need to rid myself of a toxic individual, as well as others who are toxic to my spirit.

I read two recent comments, posted anonymously.

Anonymous, yet calling me an "idiot."

At that moment, I knew it was time to end this blog.

Once I feel that something I love has been tainted and poisoned, I feel the need to disown it.

It is no longer mine.

This blog is no longer mine. It has been tossed around, pulled apart, presumed, faulted, destroyed.

It's gone.

It's All About Me

2006-06-22T17:00:00.000-07:00

A healthy relationship goes something like this: The two people involved in the relationship respect one another and comprise with each other. They discuss important issues and do not make huge decisions without first consulting with their partner. They are each others' first resource. They do not lie to each other. They do not steal from one another. They do not cheat on each other.

My marriage did not contain one aspect of anything that I wrote above. My ex-husband had a narcissistic personality disorder, and I didn't even know it.

I was not blind. There were things that didn't make sense to me, like: Why did he say that he loved me, and then search on Match.Com for available women? Why did he say that he was not an alcoholic, but was unable to stop drinking? Why did he yell at me for being terrible with money, then steal $500 a month from my checking account every month, without any explanation? Why did he brag to everyone about how beautiful I was, and then pick on me about every one of my physical attributes? Why did he say that he loved being at home, and then disappear all night? Why did he not care about how he made me suffer, but break into uncontrollable crying over shows on television?

Now, that we are apart, but have to share time with our daughter, I listen to him whine and tantrum about how I didn't love him. I listen to him rant about how he was never drunk and never layed a hand on me. I listen to him lie, and then listen as I hear the click of the phone as he hangs up on me with all of his fantasies still swirling around in his head.

His reality is a lie. His life is a fantasy.

Why Are Some People So F***ing Crazy?

Mommy Dearest

2006-06-18T20:09:00.000-07:00

Recently I was at a store.

I heard a woman talking. Loudly.

"He thinks he can have anything he wants. He tells me he wants me to buy a house. Can you believe that shit? What? Does he think I'm made of money?"

I turn around and look at the woman. She is speaking to the cashier about her 8 year old son, who is standing beside her.

I walk out of the store and they were behind me.

"You're good for nothing. And all you're going to get is those chips in your hand. Don't ask me for another damn thing. Shit, I can't stand you sometimes! Don't say a damn word! Get your ass in the car and don't say a damn word!"

I turned around and looked at the boy.

He never said one word.

I thought to myself, This boy is going to grow up hating black women.

When James came home I talked to him about it.

"So what do you thing about my theory? Do you think black mothers are responsible for the way their sons grow up to mistreat black women?"

"Yes," he said, "I think so."

Are Black Mothers to Blame for How Their Sons Treat Black Women?

Vegas, Baby

2006-06-12T18:09:00.000-07:00

I bought a card for my coworker. It was a cartoon drawing of an old white lady pushing a grocery cart down an aisle. She is being flashed by a naked white man. She says to him:

"Thank you my dear. I almost forgot to buy the baby carrots." I thought it was hilarious.

I showed the card to James. He appeared confused.

"She's telling him he has a small penis," I said.

"Oh, okay, that's funny," he answered.

I gave the card to my coworker, and she showed it to another one of our coworkers.

"Well, it's true. White men do have small penises," she said. "Actually, I don't know that for a fact, since I've never been with one, but I heard they do. Jaimie would know. Jaimie, do white guys have small penises?"

"What makes you think I'm the expert?" I asked.

"Well..." she said, waiting for an answer, tapping her foot.

"I've only been with two, and one was half Mexican, so he doesn't really count. They both had large penises. It's kinda the luck of the draw, I guess. A crap shoot. You never know."

"Well, I'm sticking with black men, 'cuz there's no Vegas odds with them," she said. "It's always big."

Do Black Men Always Have Large Penises?

Change Your Mind

2006-06-04T18:30:00.000-07:00

People, I believe, are generally nice.

There are some things that people say that really make me feel good, like:

1. You're such a great mom.

2. You're a good writer.

3. I love you.

4. You're a great teacher.

5. You're the best.

6. You are so smart.

7. You're beautiful.

8. You deserve the best.

9. You're so nice.

10. You're a good cook.

Affirmations, whether made by someone else, or yourself, can change your life.

What is Your Affirmation About Yourself?

Eve Was Framed

2006-05-31T19:15:00.000-07:00

I would never want to be a man.

I love being a woman...but there are some things that are rather, well...difficult.

Like:

1. Most of us don't look that great without a little make-up.

2. Greater America views us as sex objects, more so now than ever.

3. Periods. Cycles. Times of the Month. Rags.

4. The pain of childbirth.

5. We make less money.

6. We're single, with children.

7. We are blamed for the fall of man.

What is the worst thing about being a woman/man?

"In passing, also, I would like to say that the first time Adam had a chance he laid the blame on a woman."

—Nancy Astor (British Politician)

Questions

2006-05-23T16:32:00.000-07:00

1. Would you rather live loveless?

2. Would you live for me?

3. Would you climb the highest mountain?

4. Would you swim the deepest sea?

5. Would you put your life on the line?

6. Am I worth the late night phone call (when you really want to be asleep)?

7. What would you give?

8. What would it take?

I need to know...

Am I Worth It?

Thanks, Heather.

Jealousy

2006-05-12T19:56:00.000-07:00

Dear Queen,

It's me.

You're dead now. Laying deep in the soil. Maggots making a home in your body, nestling within your flesh.

You deserve it.

I wasn't going to cause you any harm. How could you be so jealous of me? I was only 16. I was just discovering who I was...

How could you send the huntsman out to kill me? He had the knife right there at my heart, ready to remove my life source...but he felt guilty...so guilty. He couldn't do it. He saw my tears, and he let me go.

The dwarfs found me, laying dehydrated in the woods. They carried me to their home and nursed me to health. They didn't want to leave me alone, but they had to go to work.

That was when you got me.

I still remember the taste of the apple. I'll never forget this experience. At first it was sweet, and then suddenly bitter. As it went down my throat it felt like shards of glass; and once it hit my stomach, I felt my intestines twist in pain...a pain I could have never known before.

I remember falling to the ground. I remember dreaming beautiful, and at the same time, horrible dreams without end. I remember feeling seasons change around me, but not being able to open my eyes. I remember hearing voices, laments, screams, sighs. I wanted so much to scream, "I'm here! I can hear you! I'm not dead!" But...I couldn't.

You would be disgusted to know, dear, dead Queen, that I am now married to a Prince, and alive and well. I have held my reign, while you rot in God's soil.

Good will always surpass evil.

Immortally Yours,

What's the Best Fairy Tale of All Time?

White Nights

2006-05-10T19:11:00.000-07:00

As a young woman, I have spent many a night in a dance club.

There is one night in particular I remember fondly.

My girls and I went to a club in LA which will remain nameless. We brought along our "cool white girl" friend. This girl could dance like you wouldn't believe, and not only that, she loved black men. Who better to take to a predominately black, hip hop/r&b club than a down white girl?

As soon as we walked in she said (pouting):

"Uh, I'm like, the only white girl in here. Everyone's going to hate me."

"You'll be fine," I said, patting her hand. "Oh, I think that dude over there wants to dance with me. Be right back."

"Ok," she said, frowning.

Within 10 minutes we had all found a dance partner except Cool White Girl.

I found her in the bathroom crying.

"No one will dance with meeeeee!!!" she wailed. "I mean, are they like, assuming, that since I'm white I can't dance? Or is that they don't want to be the one dancing with the white girl?"

"Don't worry," my friend said. "We'll find someone who'll dance with you," she said, grabbing her hand.

Cool White Girl ended up dancing with a man in a wheelchair.

I think he fell in love that night.

What Was Your Best Night Out?

Whispers

2006-05-06T08:42:00.000-07:00

I used to sleep with a knife and a cell phone under my bed.

I wasn't really sure if my ex-husband was going to kill me, but I practiced whipping out the knife quick enough to stab him before he got to me first. I kept the cell phone under my bed just in case I needed to make a quick emergency phone call. My best friend, who wanted me to leave him, said, "Well, that's the least you can do."

My ex-husband was physically violent a few times, but verbally and emotionally abusive all of the time. And when he couldn't remember strangling me, I felt highly alarmed. Yes, he was drunk at the time, but I couldn't comprehend a man who could not remember that he nearly took the life of his wife.

One day, very clearly, I heard the voice of God in my head:

Leave him. Leave him now. If you do not, you will horribly damaged.

I didn't listen to Him right away. It took me a few months. And after I did, His voice quieted down, and he watched and waited...and wondered...

Will she go back to him?

No. Never.

God whispers to you. The whisper becomes a problem. The problem becomes a crisis.

The crisis becomes a disaster.

This post is dedicated to Yvette Cade.

Why do Some Men Abuse Women?

Swirl

2006-04-26T17:58:00.000-07:00

If you've been reading my blog a while, you know one very important thing that makes me who I am: My mother is white, and my father is black.

And not only is my mother white, she's a traditional, somewhat conservative, white woman from Texas. She kind of fell upon my father; it was not planned or intended. I think she just thought she'd try something new.

My father was gone by the time I was two, and my mom was left to raise me alone.

Througout my life people have asked the same questions:

So, what are you?

What race do you consider yourself?

Are you black?

Is that really your mom?

Why are you trying to act white?

Why are you the only black girl in AP classes?

Why do you only date black boys/men?

What do you put in your hair?

Do you think you're better than everyone else?

Is life hard for you?

Wouldn't you like to know...

I love my life. I love my mother. I love my father. I love me.

How Important Is A Person's Race?

Dancer In The Dark

2006-04-25T22:35:00.000-07:00

One thing that I have learned after being a teacher for 8 years is that every human being has a talent. My talent is dancing.

For some unknown reason, my mother put me in dance class at age 3. I don't remember much about it, except that there was a recital and my mother was there, smiling proudly and snapping away with her cheap camera.

I continued taking dance my whole childhood. My dance teacher told my mom, "You know, she really is quite talented. She's one of the best in the class." I beamed at the compliment.

In high school I was a cheerleader, but this was not a true dance experience. The moves were regimented and stiff and there was not much room for improvisation. It was not until college that I was able to really explore dance.

In my college dance class, our teacher was highly eccentric. We had to dance as if we were machines, statues, and food. It was definitely interesting.

James likes to watch me dance. He seems intrigued that my body can move the way that it does without skipping a beat. "How do you do that?" he asks. "I don't know," I respond. "It's just so easy for me. I don't even think about it."

What is your talent?

He Made Me Do It

2006-04-22T19:00:00.000-07:00

One night, in 1998, after discovering pictures and love letters from another girl to my boyfriend, I decided to get a tattoo.

The next morning I called my friend Veronica and told her the news about my discovery. "Why don't you come out here?" she asked between my wails. "We can go to lunch and hang out," she continued. "Out here" was Pacoima, a true ghetto of the valley. "Ok," I answered, wiping away my tears.

After exiting the off ramp I passed a tattoo parlor. It was at this moment that I decided that I was going to get a tattoo and that my tattoo would define me. As soon as Veronica opened her front door I said, "I'm getting a tattoo." "Oookkaayy," Veronica said slowly. "Wait...you mean here, in Pacoima?" she asked, surprised. "Yeah, here," I answered.

I described where the tattoo parlor was, and Veronica shook her head fast. "Oh, no, I'm not taking you there. That place is super-ghetto. I know this other place, up the hill." She began describing the tattoo parlor, telling me about how there were sofas and air conditioning. "Don't most places have sofas and air conditioning?" I asked Veronica as she led me outside. "Not in Pacoima," she answered.

We got in the car and drove to the tattoo parlor. No one was inside except the tattoo artist, and Veronica was right-there were nice comfy sofas and the parlor was a comfortable cool compared to the valley heat. "So, what kind of tattoo do you want?" the tattoo artist asked. "I think I want something in Chinese," I answered. He pulled out a book filled with Chinese characters.

Veronica and I poured over the books. There were so many characters, but I had an idea of what I wanted. While looking over the characters Veronica said:

Veronica: You know, Jaimie, I can't believe (name withheld) did this to you.

me: I know. (tears welling up in my eyes)

Veronica: I mean, doesn't he know what kind of woman you are? And whoever that girl is, she's just some tramp. You have to be a tramp to mess around with a guy who is already with someone.

me: Well, maybe she didn't know.

Veronica: Yeah, right. She knew. I mean, you're one of the truest women I know.

That was it. I found my tattoo.

I walked over to the tattoo artist. "Ok, I know what I want. I want my tattoo to read 'true woman', in Chinese."

"That's dope," the tattoo artist said, nodding his many-pierced head.

He took Veronica and I to a back room. The pain at the small of my back was unbelievable, but through it all, I kept thinking, true woman. After it was over, I turned and stood in front of Veroinca and the tattoo artist and showed them my new tattoo. "True woman," they both said in unison.

Thanks to Veronica, the tattoo artist , and people in my life who have made differences in my life: good and bad, serious and hilarious.

Do You Have A Tattoo?

You Love Me, Don't You?

2006-04-16T19:09:00.000-07:00

Hey Father,

It's me.

You know, you really surprised me with this one. I wasn't expecting it at all.

Are You testing me? Are You just seeing how much I can take? Is this funny to You? Are You sitting up there, laughing at me, watching me and how I'll handle all of this?

You're quite humorous Father. I mean, You took this really great thing I did, and turned it completely upside down and backwards, just to see how I'd do with this completely ridiculous challenge of my sanity.

You know me--You know I'm a survivor. It's in my blood. I don't give up. I'll never forget that it is You who keeps me going when I feel defeated. It is You who I turn to, even though there is so much about You I still don't understand.

It's okay though. I still love ya God...

Jaimie

Why Is God So Confusing?

Necessary Objects

2006-03-28T18:34:00.000-08:00

For the first time in my life, I need a man. I absolutely need James.

Life would be so hard without him. He does all of the hard, dirty work, while I sit there and worry. He's a doer, a mover, a motivater.

On the other hand, he thinks that I do too much. I don't think I do enough.

Life before James was hard. I felt like I was floating, spinning through my life without a safety net. Now, I know that if I spin too fast, he'll be there to catch me.

Now, I know that men are necessary.

What do you think?

Are Men Necessary?

Because of You

2006-03-20T19:00:00.000-08:00

You were there, in the beginning. You told my mom that you wanted her to have your baby. Even though you were married when she met you, you promised her it would be different.

So there I was. Your daughter. Your little girl. But mom and I weren't enough. You lasted 2 years, and then you were gone.

So I wonder:

Would I have had so many boyfriends if you were a part of my life?

Would I have made so many mistakes with boys, letting them use me for their pleasure, if you were a part of my life?

Would I have believed him, had his baby, married him, and let him abuse me, over and over, if you were a part of my life?

Would I be so scared now, to commit to another man, if you would have been a part of my life?

What kind of woman would I be today, if you would have been a part of my life?

I will never, ever know.

Where's Your Daddy?

There Is No Such Thing As A Stupid Question

2006-03-15T18:11:00.000-08:00

In my daughter's 4 short years on this planet, she's asked some very, um, interesting questions, such as:

"Why don't I have 6 fingers?" Answer: Because we would look like aliens if we did.

"When you die, what's going to happen to your car?" Answer: Hopefully, my car will die before I do. Hey, are you trying to get dibs on the Cadi already?

"Candy is bad for you and makes your teeth fall out....(3 minutes later)...Can I have a piece of candy Mommy?" Answer: No.

"Will I look like you when I'm a grown up?" Answer: Yes. But hopefully you'll be taller.

"Why doesn't my daddy like Jimmy (James Manning)?" Answer: Because he's a jealous, insecure asshole who feels intimidated because of his innate shortcomings. Oops...Did I say that out loud?

"Why do I have to go to school? I don't want to go to school. Why can't I stay home?" Answer: You want to end up like your dad? Oops...said it out loud again.

"When I get older can I wear a bikini like you?" Answer: No. Well, ok, but only if you're married.

"I don't see God anywhere. Can he see me?" Answer: Yeah. So you better be good.

"Can I marry you?" Answer: No, honey. That's just weird. And illegal. Next question.

"Will you always love me?" Answer: Always.

I wish I was a kid again, full of curiosity and wonder. What did you wonder about when you were a child?

Cereal Killer

2006-03-14T16:23:00.000-08:00

Recently I went to the grocery store. We were in need of cereal.

Froot Loops were on sale. "Oooh, Froot Loops," I said, grabbing the box. My daughter just looked at me.

"You don't understand," I told her. "When I was little, Grandma never let me eat any cereal with sugar."

"But you let me Mommy! I love you Mommy! Can we have cereal for dinner?"

"No, absolutely not," I answered, frowning.

20 minutes later we were home, and I was breaking into the box of cereal.

I carried the bowl into the living room.

"Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"What are you eating?"

"Oh, this? Just cereal."

"Give me some. Please."

I gave her a spoonful.

"I don't like milk in my cereal, Mommy."

"What are you, some kind of alien? You have to eat cereal with milk."

"I'm telling on you! You said something mean!"

"Sorry. I'm just trying to help you understand the science of cereal. Cereal needs milk."

What's the best cold cereal of all time?

The Love Below

2006-03-07T19:07:00.000-08:00

Soon after James and I met he said, "You have a nice ATW."

"What is that?" I asked.

" A nice ass-to-waist ratio."

"Oh," I said blushing.

"Yeah, you know. Your hips are bigger than your waist, giving you that shape."

"Ok, thanks, " I mumbled. "But really, I don't like my butt. I think it's too big for my body."

I'm not very big. I got my small frame from my mom. I have my father's side of the family to thank for the butt.

I too find myself looking at women's bodies and measuring their ass-to-waist ratio. If they were to buy jeans from the Gap, would they buy curvy or straight?

I have a hard time finding pants that fit me. They are too big in the waist, and too small in the butt and hips. Levi's are the only jeans that fit me well, and only the low cut waist so that they can sit on my hips.

Men love a woman with a curvy body. When Salma Hayek appeared on the screen during the Oscars, suddenly James seemed very interested in what she had to say. I asked him a question, and he mumbled some hard to hear remark back to me, whispering "Oh yeah, Salma, I think I know who she is...uh huh..."

Why Do Men Love Butts? And What Do They Want To Do To Them?

F***ing Cowards

2006-03-04T12:17:00.000-08:00

as·sump·tion : Something taken for granted or accepted as true without proof

Brrring...

James: This is James.

Me: Hi, it's me. Guess what this one said?

James: What?

Me: "High yellow saddity bitch." Or something like that.

James: (laughing) For what post?

Me: The one about prom.

Brrring...

James: Hello?

Me: Some guy named "PuertoRock" called me a "foul, dirty whore."

James: For which post?

Me: The post about being a tease.

Brring...

James: Hello?

Me: "Cynthia" thinks I don't like dark skinned girls.

James: What??? How did she get that?

Me: She assumed that from the post "Stuck and Unfinished."

Brring...

James: Hello?

Me: According to "Anonymous", I am the reason why my senior prom was so bad. He said it was due to all of my bitching.

James: (laughing) I'll check it out.

Writing is a form of sharing information. It is also a form of entertainment. It is a place to share ideas.

You are welcome to share your ideas with me. In fact, I want you to talk to me, write me, read me.

I do not want you to disrespect me. My blog is not a place for you to let out your aggression towards women and your dislike of any woman speaking her mind.

And besides, if you do feel the need to disrespect me, at least leave your real name. And your address. So I know where to find you.

What is the most interesting comment you have received on your blog?

Naughty Princess

2006-02-28T07:58:00.000-08:00

In my freshmen year of college I met a young woman from Anaheim, California.

Within the first day of my newfound friendship, she shared with me that on the weekends she worked at Disneyland as a "sweeper", you know--the teenagers with a small broom and a metal dustbin, busily sweeping up others' trash.

"It's really boring," she told me. "What I really want to do at Disneyland is be Cinderella. I mean, I have the blonde hair and blue eyes. I want to be Cinderella! Doesn't that sound like a great life?"

Actually, it did. She would be able to walk around Disneyland all day, pretending to be a very popular princess. Girls would love her, look up to her, and mimic her every move.

What kind of princess would I make? Unfortunately, Disney doesn't have too many princesses with dark curly hair and brown skin, except for Jasmine...but I don't find Aladdin attractive and that Genie would get on my nerves after a while.

And besides, I would be a very naughty princess. They definitely would have to lock me in a tall tower, cut off my hair, feed me a poisoned apple, and put me into a deep sleep for 100 years.

When you were young, who was your favorite princess/cartoon character?

RED FLAGS

2006-02-21T18:09:00.000-08:00

I will be moving soon. Life is hectic and busy (in other words, I have no time for this blogging business). So, in desperation, I have done a REPOST. I picked one that many seemed to enjoy, and one that everyone can relate to. If you don't hear from me in a while, trust that James has not thrown me into the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, but rather I am lost among cardboard boxes. Enjoy! And I will read all of your comments...cross my fingers...

Here's me, in my prom picture. The year was 1994, and my prom date was a Loser.

I met him the summer before senior year of high school at a restaurant in Beverly Hills. After a few dates he told me he was in love with me, but he was going to Japan, where he would be stationed for a year. Red Flag: Never believe a man who says he loves you, and then leaves the country.

He wrote almost every day, and called me quite often. He promised that he would return in May, just for my prom-and he did-unfortunately.

He showed up at my house with his mom, sister, and camera in tow. Red Flag: Never date a man who is a mama's boy. This was fine, except we were running late and I was supposed to meet my friends outside of the hotel in downtown LA where the prom was held. I forced a smile for his mother's camera flash about 50 times, before I asked, "So, where's the limo?" "Oh, I didn't get a limo," he said hastily. "We're taking my sister's Honda." Red Flag: Never date a man who doesn't get a limo on your big night.

His sister's Honda was about 7 years old and dusty. "Well, make sure you park underground so no one sees me," I said, frowning, staring at the car before me. "Oh, and before we get there, stop at the liquor store so I can get some wine."

"What?" he asked increduosly. "What do you need wine for?" Red Flag: Never date a man who won't let you drink wine. "What do you mean, 'what do I need wine for?' This is my prom! Pull into the liquor store!" He rolled his eyes at me and muttered something under his breath, but he did what he was told.

20 minutes later (because it only takes 20 minutes to get anywhere in LA) we were at the hotel. My friend Brandy was outside, waiting for me. "Hey, girl." "Hi!" I said waving, walking towards her. Loser stayed behind, staring at me. "Get over here," I said. "I want you to meet Brandy." "Hi," he mumbled. Red Flag: Never date a man who doesn't want to meet your friends.

As soon as we got into the hotel I wanted to dance. "Come on, let's dance," I begged. "I don't like this song," he complained. Five minutes later, when a song came on I thought he would like, he said "I don't like this one either." Red Flag: Never date a man who doesn't dance. Finally, after growing tired of sitting, I said,"Well if you won't dance with me, I'll find someone who will!" I stood up dramatically and knocked the table a little bit. This was enough for Loser, who was quite jealous and possessive. "I'll dance with you," he said. Red Flag: Never date a man who is only interested in you when he thinks you might have sexual intercourse with another man.

It was now time for us to take our prom picture. "Can you try to look normal?" I asked. "I mean, can you at least try to make it look like you're having a good time with me in the picture?" "What do you mean?" he asked. "Wellll..." I said slowly. "Sometimes you look kinda retarded in pictures." "Just because you said that I'm going to fuck up your prom picture!" he said in a huff. Red Flag: Never date a man who makes idle threats.

I had no idea how he looked in the picture because my back was to him, but as the photographer's camera flashed I silently prayed that he didn't look like a retard. Once prom was over, I asked him where we were going next. "What do you mean, 'where are we going?'" he asked. "We're picking up take-out at Jerry's Deli and we're going back to your place! I already called and ordered it. Corned beef, right?" "Yuck! No! I hate corned beef! And I want to go out! Oh, never mind. Whatever." I silently fumed. Red Flag: Never date a man who doesn't know what you like to eat.

When we got back to my house my mom asked, "How was prom honey?" Before I could answer, he said, "It was great!" I glared at him and took my corned beef to my bedroom while he followed me in there. We spent the rest of the night eating on my floor and talking about-God-what did we talk about? Red Flag: Never date a man who only provides meaningless conversation.

Do not ignore Red Flags. They are quite informative, and if looked at in a different way, quite hilarious.

What's The Biggest Red Flag For You?

Rally Cry From The Brick House

2006-02-18T19:05:00.000-08:00

To Every Man Who Came At Me and My Girls With A Fumbling Pick-Up Line:

You're stupid.

There--I said it.

You go all goo-goo-ga-ga over us. We wear a short skirt and low cut top and you're falling all over yourselves. We dress like librarians with high heels, walk down the street with a strut, and you run your car into a tree.

I have been told by many a man "Damn, you're sexy."

Do you think that I want to have sex with you?

I've been told there is "something in the eyes." My eyes that is.

I can't help it that my mother and father had sex, created an embryo, which developed into a fetus, which became a live infant with slanted "bedroom eyes".

Believe me, I don't want to have sex with you.

Stop whistling at us. Stop making sex motions behind our backs. Stop staring at our breasts.

Come at us straight.

"Hello" is always a nice place to start.

What's the best/worst pick-up line you've heard (or said)?

My Personal Favorite: "Girl, God made you too beautiful to be looking so damn mean." Um, is that supposed to be a compliment?

Sexiest (White) Man Alive

2006-02-16T17:15:00.000-08:00

Technically, since I'm 1/2 white (plus a little Portuguese), I can date whomever I damn well please and shouldn't hear that I'm "dating interracial" or being a "sell out."

Yet, I still prefer black men.

But, if I didn't, and if I would be with a white man, this is it. This is who I want.

There is just something about Matthew that I find addicting. His smile, his swagger, his Texas accent.

He's gorgeous. He's sexy. He's so modest and wears his sexuality like an old, worn shirt. It just fits him.

Who is the sexiest man/woman alive (that is of a different race than your own)?

Dear Valentine

2006-02-14T06:00:00.000-08:00

For some reason, unknown to us, God put us together.

And the truth is, I would have never known you if I hadn't been married to Nutcase. I would have never known you if I had decided to attend college in Atlanta instead of Los Angeles. I would have never known you if I had decided to become a teacher instead of a dancer.

I would have never known you at all if my father had never met my mother, and impregnated her with me.

You are more of a man than I have ever known. You are kind, forgiving, loving, intelligent, sensitive, tough, and you know how to rock a bed.

This is my love letter to you.

How Much Do You Love Me?

Our Eyes Were Watching God

2006-02-11T18:11:00.000-08:00

In high school, I read Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neal Hurston. Actually, I was forced to read it in Honors English class.

My girlfriends and I made fun of the book. We made fun of the old Southern dialect. We didn't understand it. We didn't understand the main character, Janie, and all of her "man" problems. We were high school girls in California, with popular football-playing boyfriends.

Now, as an adult, I'm reading the book again. Loving the book, actually. Relating to Janie in ways I never could before.

One night, I was too tired to read the book. I wanted to, but I couldn't keep my eyes open. I called James into the room.

"Will you read to me?" I asked.

"What do you want me to read?" he asked.

"Their Eyes Were Watching God."

He opened the book and began reading. He read to me about Tea Cake and Janie, about the one who finally loved her for who she was, and not for what she could bring to him. I fell asleep to James reading one of my favorite books to me, a book that I at first could not understand, and a book that I now consider an American classic.

What Is Your Favorite Book?

Floats Like A Butterfly, Stings Like A Bee

2006-02-08T18:30:00.000-08:00

God, I loved you.

I saw you once. I went to a party. I actually ditched my own mother on Mother's Day to go to this party, just because I knew you would probably be there.

And there you were, standing in front of me, signing autographs for a bunch of young boys. I stopped and nearly fainted. I grabbed my friend's hand and said:

"Oh, my God. He's here."

"Where? Oh, shit, Jaimie."

We walked around you to take our seat at the table, but you never looked up. You were too busy being a nice guy to those kids.

During the event, while sitting at my table, I attempted to send you telepathic urges to look at me, the girl with the curly hair and tight black pants, sitting up to the left at the round table. But you never did. Probably all of the other ladies' telepathic messages were getting in the way of my own.

I mean, all of the ladies loved you. You were beautiful. You were talented. You were intelligent. You were so young.

When my girlfriend called me and said,

"Did you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"Your boy's dead."

I could do nothing but drop the phone. I was in shock. We all were.

In my opinion, you were the greatest rapper of all time.

In my opinion...

You were the best.

Who Was/Is the Greatest Rapper of All Time?

Drama Queen (And King)

2006-02-05T14:44:00.000-08:00

Friday night James told me he was going to the video store.

"Get The Notebook," I told him.

He looked at me.

"Get it. Pleeeease!! Get it!"

"The Notebook?," he asked.

"Get it!" I insisted. "It's soooo good."

We watched the movie together. He said nothing the whole time.

The movie ended with me in tears and him saying, "Wow, that was good."

Movies are fantasies. Our lives aren't really like that.

Or are they?

James and I have been through a lot. He has been there for me through a lot of things, a lot of tears, a lot of laughs. And when I am sad, he is happy for the both of us. He has to be--he would hate to see me give up.

When we were laying in bed after the movie, I asked, "Would you do that for me? Like he did for her. Would you stay there and take care of me if I couldn't take care of myself anymore?"

"Yes," he answered, holding me closer. "This isn't a movie, a drama," he said, "But in a way, it is. We've been through a lot, and through it all, we'll always be together."

There's nothing better than LOVE.

Who Have You Loved? And did he/she know it?

Food Fight

2006-02-03T06:08:00.000-08:00

I'm nice. But I'm not that nice.

Let's take the other day for example. I was at a very cheap, low quality restaurant (Sizzler-Seafood! Salad! Steak!). I was attempting to sit at a table, but I couldn't pull my chair out far enough to sit because a woman was sitting so far out, I couldn't get in.

"Excuse me?" I asked nicely. "Can you move in so that I can sit down?"

You would think I had asked the woman if I could borrow $2000 dollars based on the reaction I got: She dropped her fork on her plate with a large "clang", rolled her eyes at me, sighed loudly, and moved in a grand total of 1/2 an inch.

"You don't have to be rude. I asked you to move in. What's the big deal?" I asked loudly.

"Listen lady, I'm not being rude to you," she said with demon fire in her eyes.

"Really? Rolling your eyes at me isn't being rude?" I asked, with my face in front of hers.

I could see that it was about to get ugly and my 4 year old daughter was watching the whole thing with a large amount of interest (and not only that, but the woman was about twice my size). I moved to another table and told the waitress what happened.

"You want me to say somethin'?" she asked, hoping to start a fight.

"No, that's ok," I said.

"You sure? I don't mind," she responded, pulling up her shirt sleeves.

After convincing the waitress that I didn't need her to help me beat up the woman, she then told me that she never knew how rude people could be until she started working in the restaurant business.

When I got home I asked James if it was appropriate for me to say something. "Well, yeah," he said. "She should have moved."

I should have kicked her in the head.

Why are people so rude to one another?

Sing Happy Birthday With Me

2006-01-31T08:52:00.000-08:00

We interrupt your normally blogging experience to bring you a special announcement from Jaimie's other half and the author of Peace on That.

Hi,

I'm James, Jaimie's boyfriend. You know, the guy that hates Jaimie's cats, talks too much about politics and irks Jaimie with caveman ways. That's me. The love of her life and the thorn in her side :)

Anyway, Jaimie is busy so I decided to hijack her diary to wish her a Happy Birthday. Yes, today is Jaimie's birthday. So today we celebrate the birth of a beautiful woman. I know many of you have grown fond of Jaimie through this blog. I will tell you that she is an extraordinary woman with a very kind heart. She truly is my best friend and I know that I am a blessed man to have her in my life. And this week, Jaimie's life is what we are going to celebrate! Say it with me.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JAIMIE!!!

The celebration started last night with dinner and tonight I plan to dance a jig while butt naked and covered with barbecue sauce. A messy proposition... BUT INSPIRING! And you're worth it, Doll.

In closing, I just ask that you celebrate this day with us by adding words of wisdom and encouragement. Send her some positive energy. Ok, I'm going to leave you now and return to my Bush-bashing rants. Ya'll have a good day. Thanks for ya time.

- James

Thank you. We now return you to your normal blogging experience already in progress.

One Flew Over

2006-01-30T07:07:00.000-08:00

A friend recently sent me an email. She had just come from a funeral. A funeral of a 23 year old kindergarten teacher who was stabbed to death by her boyfriend.

Imagine what her parents are going through. Imagine what her students are feeling...

And the boyfriend? He set himself on fire, but the police found him. He's in the hospital.

Why did he do this?

She found out that he was seeing another woman behind her back and she broke up with him. So he killed her.

Which got me to thinking...who is crazier? A woman who is jilted, or a man? We all remember "Fatal Attraction", with that crazed Glenn Close going nuts because she was only a screw, not a love, of Michael Douglas. But really, who is crazier?

Remember, men start wars...men started the hated war that we are involved in today.

In my opinion, men are more likely to go crazy when a lover leaves them. Men are innately more violent than women. Men are taught to be "tough", not to cry, and to always be "one up" on the competition.

And besides...

there are more restraining orders filed against men than are filed against women.

So...

When Jilted, Who's Crazier? A Man, or A Woman?

I Could Have

2006-01-27T07:17:00.000-08:00

I could have. But I didn't.

I considered it. He thought I was beautiful. He even told my mother he was interested.

I could have. But I didn't.

I imagined what it would have been like. I imagined the kissing, the touches, the love making.

I imagined a man different from my husband.

A man attentive, loving, sober. Any man other than my husband.

I could have done it. All I had to do was give him my cell phone number, or ask him for his.

But I couldn't do it.

I would look in my daughter's eyes and know that not only would I be cheating on her father, I would be cheating on her.

So I didn't do it.

But once we were apart, I was free...

And able to do whatever the hell I wanted.

Have you ever cheated?

Tag I'm It

2006-01-25T20:08:00.000-08:00

4 Jobs that I've had:

1. Selling neon necklaces on Venice Beach when I was 11
2. Working at a coffee house
3. Working with at-risk teenagers in a nuthouse
4. Teaching Kindergartners

4 Movies that I love:

1. Carlito's Way
2. Flashdance
3. The English Patient
4. Jungle Fever

4 Places I've lived:

1. Santa Monica, California
2. Los Angeles, California
3. Inglewood, California
4. Bonn, Germany

4 Television Shows that I watch:

I don't watch t.v. anymore.

4 Books that I love:

1. Roots
2. The Diary of Frida Kahlo
3. Memoirs of a Geisha
4. The Story of Art

4 Places that I have vacationed:

1. Paris
2. Barcelona
3. Berlin
4. Prague

4 blogs that I visit daily:

1. Peace on That
2. The View From Crazy
3. SonyaRed
4. A Stone, A Leaf, an Unfound Door

4 Favorite Foods

1. Enchiladas
2. Chili Rellenos
3. Arrroz y frijoles
4. French Fries

4 Places I'd rather be right now:

1. In James Manning's arms
2. In bed
3. Costa Rica
4. Spain

What is your favorite food, place, book, and job?

Sex Books

2006-01-17T17:06:00.000-08:00

My dad didn't say much to me when I was growing up, mostly because he wasn't really around. But one thing that he did say always stayed with me:

"You better stay in school. You might lose your money or your job or your house. But no one can ever take your education away."

It helped that both of my parents were college-educated, and it also helped that both of my parents were teachers.

What did not help was that I was boy-crazy.

"Are you going to study tonight?" the boy at the time would ask.

"Yes," I would answer.

"No, come over. My mom's not home."

Sex or study? Sex or study? Sex or...

Study. Somehow I managed to handle both. And when those college acceptance letters came rolling in, I knew that I made high school a success.

I knew that I had made my father proud, even though he wasn't there to see me return the acceptance letter back to my university of choice with my signature at the bottom.

And now that I am a teacher, I tell the students at my school how important it is to stay.

No one can ever take your education away.

Did you like school?

Sausages

2006-01-16T17:50:00.000-08:00

I've had a variety of jobs. The strangest one was as an assistant to a personal trainer.

I found the job through my university's job center. It paid well and seemed easy.

The interview was held in his office of the gym he owned. He was rather, well BIG, and a little frightening.

BIG GUY: So basically, I just need you to put some info into the computer, answer phone calls and walk my dog.

Me: Walk your dog?

BIG GUY: Yeah, it's just a little cocker spaniel. She's a little crazy, but she'll warm up to you. Come on, I'll take you to meet her.

We got into his red Corvette and drove to Marina del Rey, where he owned a condo. We walked inside and there was the spaniel, looking totally normal and cute. I reached out to pet her and she growled.

BIG GUY: Precious!! Precious, stop that now!! Sausage! Sausage!

Me: Do you give her sausages?

BIG GUY: No, I just threaten to turn her into sausages to scare her.

Weirdo.

He gave me the keys to his apartment and told me I had the job.

The next day I went to his apartment. I could barely get into the door. The dog barked and snapped at me. I inched my way along the wall and grabbed her leash.

"Come on, Precious," I coaxed. "It's me, Jaimie. Remember me from yesterday?"

Growl.

I walked out and drove to the gym.

"I'm not walking your dog. Sorry," I told BIG GUY.

$10 a hour was not worth fighting a damn dog for.

Even if she would eventually be turned into sausages.

What was the strangest job you have ever had?

The Particular Order of Life

2006-01-14T18:01:00.000-08:00

My birthday is coming. I'm turning 30.

How I spent my childhood years (in no particular order):

1. Playing

2. Dancing

3. Reading

4. Crying

How I spent my teenage years (in no particular order):

1. Crying

2. "Hooking up" and "Breaking up" with boys

3. Yelling at my mom

4. Studying like crazy to get into a university

5. Dancing

How I spent my 20's (in a very, specific particular order):

1. Going to a university

2. Having a lot of sex

3. Dancing in clubs every weekend

4. Hanging out in bars in LA every weekend

5. Becoming a mommy

6. Getting married

7. Getting divorced

8. Crying

9. Meeting the love of my life

And the best year of my life? 22

I'll let you know in 10 years how my 30's were.

What was your best age?

The Aviator

2006-01-12T15:46:00.000-08:00

Beds are meant for sex and sleeping. James used the bed, twice, as a place to put his dirty, sweaty socks.

Damn.

How many times have I expressed to him that I have a mild case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and I feel utterly disgusted with dirt? In fact, it makes me sick to my stomach.

I stared at his socks last night. I loathed his socks last night. I imagined choking him with the socks while he was sleeping. Instead, I decided to write him a nicely worded letter:

Please do not put your dirty socks on the bed. I find it disgusting. And besides, I just told you yesterday. Don't put me in this position.

When he came home from work I smiled and said, "There's a note for you on the table."

He looked at me with that "Oh, shit" look. You know the one-the "What did I do wrong? Do I need to pack my bags?" look.

He stared at the note. He read it silently. He looked at the table. He cleared his throat. He shuffled his feet.

"Pick up the socks!" I screamed.

Howard Hughes and I have a lot in common.

What Drives You Crazy?

You Are My Puppet

2006-01-11T18:20:00.000-08:00

I am the mother of a young girl. A girl who very much looks and acts like me. For example:

When I laugh, she laughs.

When I cry, she cries.

When I wear a black skirt with a green top, she wears a black skirt with a green top (except her top has a big heart on it or something).

When I have a headache, she has a headache.

When I don't eat red meat, she doesn't eat red meat.

When I have PMS, she has PMS...

Whoa, this parenting thing is getting kind of weird.

Thank God I'm not one of those "Sex-orgy havin', pill poppin', crack smokin', rubber and leather wearin' (with a whip)" kind of mom. Because if I was-I'd have one hell of an interesting daughter.

Are You a Mommy or Daddy?

Chop, Chop, Sleep, Sleep

2006-01-09T19:27:00.000-08:00

When we first meet someone new, we never know if they will chop us up into neat tidy pieces with a machete, or become the love of our lives.

After getting to know James, he asked me if I felt safe with him. “Right now I do,” I said. “But how do I know you won’t cut me up and put me in a box and throw me in the ocean?”
“Well, damn, that’s terrible,” he said, shocked.

Fortunately, James did not chop me up, and instead, has been quite nice to me. My favorite thing to do with James is sleep, just simply sleep.

The first night that James and I slept together, I slept like I never had before. I did not wake up once, except to snuggle closer to him. I felt so safe with him.

James and I don’t always snuggle. Sometimes I tell him to get off of my pillow when his elbows are in my ears. But usually, on most nights, we are in each others' arms. My favorite position to sleep in is my back to his stomach, his hand on my hair, rubbing it from roots to end.

Who is/was your favorite person to sleep with?

She's Hooked

2006-01-04T22:09:00.000-08:00

Within a month of James moving to LA, he said "We should start a blog."

"What the hell is that?" I asked.

"You don't know what a blog is?" he asked, surprised.

"Is that some nerdy computer thing? I don't do nerdy computer things." I said, shaking my head.

"It's kinda nerdy, but it's fun," he answered.

Whatever.

Now, here I am: Ms. Jaimie, author of "The Diary of Jaimie", Ms."I Don't Do Nerdy Computer Things".

And I'm loving it.

I read all of your comments. I thank you for your thoughts, your insight, your written words of commonality, differences, ideas, dreams, desires, sadness, and joy.

You inspire me to write every day.

Why do you have a blog?

Thanks JamesManning for the New Look.

Dear Mr. President

2006-01-02T18:38:00.000-08:00

First of all,

1. I tell you how I feel, but you don’t care.

2. I say tell me the truth, but you don’t dare.

3. You say the truth is a hell you cannot bare.

4. And I say gimme mine back and then go there - for all I care.

5. I got my feet on the ground and I don’t go to sleep to dream.

6. You got your head in the clouds and you’re not at all what you seem.

7. This mind, this body, and this voice cannot be stifled by your deviant ways.

8. So don’t forget what I told you, don’t come around, I got my own hell to raise.

And by the way,

1. I have never been so insulted in all my life.

2. I could swallow the seas to wash down all this pride.

3. First you run like a fool just to be at our side.

4. And now you run like a fool, but you just run to hide, and I can’t abide.

Listen,

1. Don’t make it a big deal, don’t be so sensitive.

2. We’re not playing a game anymore, you don’t have to be so defensive.

3. Don’t you plead me your case, don’t bother to explain.

4. Don’t even show me your face, ’cuz it’s a crying shame.

5. Just go back to the rock from under which you came.

6. Take the sorrow you gave and all the stakes you claim.

And don’t forget the blame.

Why is the president of our country a liar?

This post is dedicated to my lover and my fighter.

Thank you to Fiona Apple for the words of wisdom.

The Bikini Advantage

2006-01-01T19:17:00.000-08:00

When I was 15 I decided I wanted to be a model. I sent my picture out to many agents on SAG, and received several calls back. I decided to let Interface Model Mangagement represent me. The only problem was the agent was a pervert and attempted to have sex with every model who walked in his door.

Zed Cards are a necessity in the modeling business, so I thought nothing of it when the agent told me that he would love to shoot my bikini photos for the Zed.

We drove up the coast to Malibu, where another model was waiting for him. She had a robe wrapped around herself, but dropped it as soon as the agent took out his camera. She was nude from the waist up.

He began snapping her picture. I was in shock.

Then it was my turn.

"I'm not getting naked," I said.

"No, no, no, of course not," the pervert stammered. "But, uh, when you're 18, all models have to take nude photos."

"Really?" I asked. Young. Clueless. Guillible. Believing.

I never had to pose nude. I dropped him as my agent when I was 16, and after I talked to my photograper (the one who took all of my other photos for my ZED card) he denied what the agent had told me. "He's a pervert," he told me. "He's well known as someone who likes to screw all of the new models. Stay away from him."

I did.

Why Do People Take Advantage of Others?

Trust Life

2005-12-31T09:56:00.000-08:00

Trust life, and it will teach you, in joy and sorrow, all you need to know.

-James Baldwin

Here's to a fabulous New Year!

Sullen Girl

2005-12-30T08:55:00.000-08:00

A friend once told me "You are melancholic."

melancholy: a feeling of thoughtful sadness

That sounds depressing.

I prefer the term "introverted."

introvert: a person who tends to shrink from social contacts and becomes preoccupied with their own thoughts

I've always been this way. I've always been lost in my own mind and my own thoughts. At parties, I'm the quiet observer, the one having private, low conversations with strangers. I've never been the "life of the party" or the one to start a topic from across the dinner table.

Many people have asked me, "What are you thinking about?"

"How can you tell I'm thinking anything?" I ask.

"You look deep in thought," they answer.

I suppose I always am; I am always thinking about-well, everything. I am not aware of others around me, but at the same time, I think about people all of the time.

But it’s calm under the waves, in the blue of my oblivion. Under the waves in the blue of my oblivion. Is that why they call me a sullen girl?

Sullen girl.

Are you an Introvert or an Extrovert?

Thanks to Fiona Apple for the last paragraph of this post.

Sol Mates

2005-12-28T18:25:00.000-08:00

I met my best friend AlmaSol (which translates to Soul of the Sun) at Gymboree, a ridiculously expensive playground for children. I would take my daughter there alone while my ex-husband sat in front of the television, not moving.

When I first met AlmaSol she said, "You're daughter's cute. What's her name?" "Stella," I answered. Her daughter was adorable too, and I asked, "What's your daughter's name?" "Bella," she answered. We were instantly friends.

"Are you married?" she asked, when we went to lunch one day after the play date. "Yes," I said. "Are you?" "Yeah," she answered, "But I want a divorce."

Bingo.

We shared our horror stories, comparing whose husband was worse. Finally, AlmaSol divorced her Lucifer, and soon after, I divorced my Satan. We were single moms, together.

Babysitters were called, nights out were held, play dates existed, phone calls were made regularly, new homes were found, along with new loves who loved us right. Through it all, she remains my inspiration, my light, my friend.

Who Is Your Best Friend?

I Changed My Mind

2005-12-27T08:05:00.000-08:00

How many men have I chased? Countless.

How many men have broken my heart? Embarrassingly many.

How many men have I made cry?

Do you really want to know?

Ok-I'll tell you about one.

There was a young man in high school who liked me. He liked me a lot. I didn't realize it. I didn't know that he called me every night and talked to me until midnight on the phone because he liked me. I just thought we were friends. I didn't know that when we got off of the phone and he said, "I love you," he really meant it.

He was like a brother to me, not a boyfriend. He was attractive, but I wasn't attracted to him. He was nice, but too nice for me. And when he told me that his best friend would be perfect for me, I really didn't think anything of his love for me.

And after his best friend and I got together, and actually loved each other, he cried. "I don't understand," I said to him over the phone. "You said he and I were perfect together! You wanted me to be with him!"

"I changed my mind," he said. "You should have been with me."

Whose Heart Have You Broken?

Would You Like A Box For That?

2005-12-24T09:57:00.000-08:00

Dear Box Makers,

Once, at a D'Angelo concert at The Wiltern Theater in Los Angeles, I wore a black leather top, black skirt, black heels, and long, feathered earrings. I also had dark black eyeliner on. When I approached the bar, one of the bartenders whispered to the other bartender on duty, "Mexican Goth."

Mexican Goth?

me: Hi. I would like a glass of red wine please.

bartender: Sure. (pours wine)

me: I heard what you said.

bartender: (clears throat) Excuse me?

me: I heard what you said-"Mexican Goth."

bartender: Oh I was just-

me: Just what? Labeling me?

bartender: Well, no. I mean, well, you are Mexican, right?

me: No.

bartender: Oookkaayyy...well, are you into Goth music?

me: No.

bartender: (red in the face) Sorry.

me: (says nothing, takes wine, walks away).

Don't label us. Take us out of your neat little box. Life means much more to us than black, white, Mexican, Asian, Middle Eastern, African, Latino, European, poor, rich, middle class, smart, stupid, Republican, Democrat, alien (illegal or extraterrestrial), Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu and Jew.

Take us out of your box, and amazing things may occur. We might actually like you.

Sincerely,

The Box Breakers

What Kind of Box Do People Put You In?

Baby I Got Your Money

2005-12-21T14:23:00.000-08:00

Today I asked James if he loved me. "I love you more than anything in the world," he said.

"More than football?" I asked.

Momentary silence.

"More than football?" I asked again, my voice rising. "You better say 'yes', or there'll be a foot up your ass."

"Yeah, more than football," he said, laughing.

Wow, that's deep.

How much do I love James?

I would stand by his side forever. Even if he got taken away in handcuffs because he stole millions of dollars from his company, I'd be there, holding the money in Swiss Bank Accounts for him when he got out.

That's love.

What would you do for someone you love?

The Corporate Bitch

2005-12-20T13:02:00.000-08:00

This is not me. I do not work in the corporate world, because believe me, if I did, I would be the biggest bitch in the world.

Corporations are usually run by men. I am a teacher- a female dominated profession. Although I have a principal and assistant principal to answer to (along with that damn idiot from Austria named Arnold), I am the leader of my classroom. My students look up to me, respect me, think I'm "so cute" and they "like my shoes" and bring me flowers and apples every day.

Excuse me while I daydream a little bit...excuse me while I imagine a day in Corporate America...

1. I would have to wake up, take a shower, and put on pantyhose and high heeled pumps. Ouch.

2. I would have to drive all the way to downtown LA. Traffic. Yuck.

3. I would have to take an elevator up to the 255th floor, even though I have claustrophobia and fear of heights. Scary.

4. I would have to deal with some slimy, married prick eying me up and down and asking me for out for "a glass of wine after work. Come on, no one will know." Sexual Harrassment.

5. I would then have to go to bed, and wake up the next morning and do all of it again, with only 2 weeks of vacation. Burnout.

Go ahead, laugh. Your boss won't hear you (but he may ask you out tonight).

Do you work in Corporate America?

This post is for creative purposes only and is in no way indicative of what Corporate America is really like.

Men Love A Butterfly's Ass

2005-12-19T12:17:00.000-08:00

I was a big fan of Mariah Carey. I used to sing "Vision of Love" alone in my room when I was 14, pretending that I was singing to a large audience who had come all the way from some small God-forsaken town just to see me. Her voice moved me, sent chills through my skin, made me realize the power of music.

Then, like a butterfly, she metamorphosized into this:

I'm not innocent. I'm not a virgin. I'm not a prude. But this is ridiculous.

She must have realized that men love ass. There's no other explanation for her metamorphosis. A metamorphosis from a slow caterpillar who was just finding herself, to a showy butterfly moving quickly through the sky.

Unfortunately, butterflys have a short life span.

So what do you think of sex selling?

The Game

2005-12-16T14:15:00.000-08:00

Alright, I admit it-I'm a woman, and I play games. We all do. It's fun.

One time a friend asked me, "Do you ever act as if you are not as smart as you really are to get a guy to like you?" "Uh, no," I answered. "Why, do you?" "Of course," she said giggling. "It makes them feel better."

I don't act stupid, but I do enjoy using my looks to get what I want. I especially love to ask men for free stuff. Once, I purposely chose a pair of panties off of the rack without a price tag. I purposely chose a young, teenage male cashier to ring up my purchase. "Uh, ma'am, there's no price on these, uh, panties," he mumbled. And I purposely told him, while placing my breasts on the counter and purposely leaning towards him, "Oh, really? Well, honey, why don't you just give them to me for free and I won't tell." He looked down, and then stuffed them in a bag and handed the bag to me, without looking me in the eye. Sucker.

When I was a teenager, I used to love to suck on Blow Pops, especially around guys who I knew liked me. I would suck really hard on them, so hard that you could see the shape of the lollipop in my mouth. "Do you do that?" they would ask eagerly. "Do what?" I would ask innocently. "You know, girl. That. Go down on a dude." "Ew, no, that's so gross," I would say and walk off, swinging my hips with each step. Keep wishing.

What's your favorite game to play?

White Boys Don't Lie

2005-12-15T16:07:00.000-08:00

When I was in college, I lived in a coed dorm. It wasn't as exciting as I thought it would be. I envisioned women running through the hall in their bras and panties, and horny 18 year old boys chasing them. In reality, most of us kept to ourselves, studying like crazy.

My roommate was this really happy chick named Christie. She had long blonde hair that cascaded down her back, and she liked to go jogging at 2:oo in the morning. She had a huge crush on our neighbor, who like her, had blonde hair and was definitely the "surfer type." His name was Joel.

Joel had no interest in Christie, but he was very interested in letting me use his laptop computer. Because I was broke, I didn't have the luxury of a computer in my dorm room, but Joel did. He would offer his computer, and even provided the paper so that I could print out my essays in his room.

Printing out essays in his proximity soon turned into dining together for dinner in the cafeteria. We would eat together, laughing at how terrible college food was. Eating together turned into sitting on the bed in either one of our dorm rooms watching "The Simpsons." Watching "The Simpsons" turned into him inviting me to a "frat party."

"Sorry," I replied. "I don't do those."

Joel: Why not?

me: The last thing I want to do is be around a bunch of drunk, horny white boys. I mean, you're cool, but the rest of them... (stuck my tongue out)

Joel: I'll take care of you. Come on, you'll have fun.

Well, Joel did take care of me, in a sense. During the party he consistently kept running back to me, checking to see how I was doing. Each time he came to me, he was drunker and drunker. When we reached the dorm, we rode up the elevator and walked down the hall in silence.

me: (turning key in lock) Well, I had a great time. Thanks.

Joel: Jaimie?

me: Yes?

Joel: Don't go yet. Come inside me room...

We went to his room, and then layed on his bed, without touching one another. Finally, he spoke.

Joel: I love you. I've loved you since the first time I saw you.

me: What? You're just drunk. You're kidding right?

Joel: No.

me: This could never work-you're so, well white. I mean, none of your friends are even brunettes. Everyone's so damn blonde. We would never work. (sits up)

Joel: (pulls my hand) Please, give me a chance.

And so I did-I gave him a chance. Joel and I left Los Angeles the next semester and traveled to Germany, France, Spain, the Netherlands and Belgium. We never talked about the future; we knew we would never be married and raise little blonde, dark tan children. What we did know was that life was too short to miss out on someone cool, just because their hair and skin was a shade lighter or darker than our own.

Have you ever dated someone of a different race?

Roots

2005-12-14T16:23:00.000-08:00

Hair. Our enemy. Our friend. Our fascination.

As a child, my mother had difficulty with my hair. She, being a white woman from Texas with a half black child, seemed confused and anxious about the upkeep of my hair. She would sit me on her lap and rake a pick through my hair. I would scream, and she would mutter "Sorry," and continue working through my hair, taking the teeth of the comb roughly through my curls.

Once I was able to get off of her lap and stand before the mirror myself as a preteen, I discovered that it was not necessary for me to comb my hair at all. It was too difficult anyway, so I opted to take a shower every day, put conditioner in, and rinse it out. By 10th grade I had unknowingly grown dredlocks underneath my curls. Once at a friend's house with a group of girlfriends, one friend discovered it after touching my hair. "Why do you have dredlocks?" she asked, confused. "I do?" I asked, surprised. I reached my hand under the curls and discovered two fat locks. It was time to comb my hair.

My friends and I cut the dredlocks out, which thankfully was unnoticed to any observer since they were growing under my hair. One of my friends, who was also biracial, gave me some suggestions for taking care of my hair, and its been taken care of ever since.

Black women's fascination with hair began so long ago, it is hard to find its roots. We can assume that it began with the rape of black women by their white masters. Suddenly there was a new race of humans walking the fields of the South, and immediately were just ever so slightly given a step up on the discrimination ladder. We now had a new race, with a curl that was slightly looser than their mother's and lips slightly thinner. They were now silently told that life would be easier for them, and harder for their mothers. What a strange burden to carry.

Hair. It can tell many stories. It holds within its roots the history of our lives.

Borrowing From My Daughter

2005-12-13T16:53:00.000-08:00

I knew my marriage was over. What I couldn't figure out was how I could financially afford the loss.

After the first 6 months of my 2 year marriage I used to drive to work silently adding and deducting salary and expenses in my head. I couldn't seem to ever come up with enough money to survive without his income.

I would check apartment listings, and seemed to find it so difficult to find an apartment in a safe area that I could afford. I even searched for roommates who would be willing to live with a young woman and her 1 1/2 year old daughter.

After two years, without a second thought, I told my husband to leave. I had no plan, and $50 in my checking account.

2 weeks after he left, while dropping off our daughter after a visit, my husband noticed my Cadillac was leaking fluid in the garage. He must have been able to read my face, because the first words I said was "How can I afford this?" "I'm not giving you shit," he said. "This is what you wanted. This is what you deserve."

I borrowed money from my mother and a friend. This was the only time I asked anyone for money. Or, at least the only time I asked an adult for money.

One day I took my 2 1/2 year old daughter into her room and took down her piggy bank. "Honey," I said slowly. "Mommy's going to have to open your piggy bank and use the money inside."

Stella: No! That's my money! I love my money!

me: I know, I know. But Mommy needs it. I'm sorry!

Stella: No! (pulling piggy bank from my hands)

me: Stella, I need to use it to buy food. You want food don't you?

Stella: (between sniffles and clutching piggy bank) Yes.

me: And milk? You like milk?

Stella: I love milk. I love milk a lot.

me: Ok, well, we need to open your piggy bank so that we can buy-well, milk.

Stella: Ok. I love milk. (gives me piggy bank)

We opened her piggy bank together and poured out the $30 in pennies, dimes, and nickles. We went to the store and bought milk and the other things we needed. I promised her I would pay her back, and I did.

Somehow, we made it. While married it seemed inconceivable that I could afford to live without my abusive husband. The true nature of my situation is that where there is strong will, there is survival.

Life is about more than believing "I can't."

Instead, believe "I will."

This post is dedicated to my star, Ms. Stella Leigh.

The Princess and The Neanderthal

2005-12-12T16:43:00.000-08:00

Many of you know James. You know that he is my boyfriend. You think How sweet, a cute little blogging couple. Please. We drive each other crazy.

Here's Why:

1. I am a bit, well how should I say this-ok, I'll just come right out with it-A HIGH MAINTENANCE PRINCESS. James is low, low, low bottom of the barrel maintenance.

2. I am very clean (in fact, I think I might be slightly obsessive compulsive with my cleanliness). James is a walking messy tornado.

3. I like things done my way. James will do things any old way he pleases and doesn't seem to notice the way I've been doing it for 29 years.

4. James has been a bachelor his whole adult life. He has no concept of changing a toilet paper roll, not leaving dirty socks in the living room, or throwing old food away.

When I first met James he told me that all of his female friends called him a Neanderthal. "What? You're such a nice guy!" I said. "You'll figure it out soon enough," he told me.

After I felt comfortable enough with James I opened up and was honest with him. "I have panic attacks," I told him. "Do you know what that means?" "I think so," he said, "But explain it to me anyway." He listened intently, and I knew then that he was someone who cared and would never leave my side.

Yes, James is a Neanderthal, but he's such a wonderful, giving, caring Caveman. He understands me, he soothes me, he balances my anxiety with his calmness and optimism.

Now if I could just get him to use a napkin...

The Temple of My Familiar

2005-12-10T16:42:00.000-08:00

I am a Christian. I have always been a Christian.

I've forgotten. Actually, I've forgotten quite often. I have forgotten what my mother has taught me, and what years in church have taught me.

I got distracted. Distracted by the teenage years, the boyfriends, the marriage, the child. And then I remembered-I remembered my personal temple. I remembered my Father and my best friend. I remembered what He did for me.

My mother is a Christian, but when I was old enough to understand she said, "You can believe whatever you want. You can follow your own faith, your own path. But Jesus was and is real."

Every Christmas my mother would let me arrange the manger scene that sat on our coffee table. After I would set up Mary, Joseph, Baby Jesus, the animals, and the wise men, I would look proudly at it and skip away. My mother always rearranged the figurines properly, but I didn't care. Jesus' birthplace was my very own doll house.

In high school I went to Church Camp. We would sing, play games, and kiss. We kissed a lot at Church Camp. There was a spot in the woods called "Inspiration Point" and this is where we would meet. I felt ashamed and wondered if He was mad at me, while my lips touched another's.

My faith is unexplainable. How do you explain to a non-believer that a woman became pregnant with the Son of God without having sex , raised the Son of God, the Son died for my sins, was resurrected, and will return and bring me to a Kingdom of Heaven? The truth is: I don't understand myself. I can't explain such occurrences.

I only have The Temple of My Familiar. And He knows my heart.

Closer To My Dreams

2005-12-08T18:26:00.000-08:00

There's a story to this song. Yes-that song. The one playing right now. The one moving you. You're listening to her lyrics, and relating. I did the same once upon a time.

2 days after I made my ex-husband leave my home I emailed an ex-boyfriend/good friend and told him he was gone. He told me to meet him for lunch the next day.

We met and discussed the horror of my marriage. The lies. The abuse. The mistakes.

2 days after, that he gave me a CD. "Who is this?" I asked, looking at the face on the CD. "Her name is Goapele," he said. "Listen to her CD. She's good."

I took the CD home and listened to it everyday. Actually, I listened to one particular song every day. This song-the one playing.

"Closer" is about growing closer to a dream. Leaving the fears behind and moving on. Going higher and higher, feeling it in your sleep. Sometimes it feels like I'm stuck forever. But I'm going higher. Closer to my dream.

She saved me. Goapele saved me at a time when I felt so scared of the unknown. Scared of life without someone who was killing my spirit anyway. Her voice made me realize that it is possible to go higher than where we are today.

Music can move you. Music can make you feel stronger than you did yesterday. Music is amazingly wonderful.

Criminal

2005-12-07T16:19:00.000-08:00

You wouldn't know it now, because I am such an upstanding American citizen, but I used to shoplift.

My best friend in high school started the trend. "Come on, Jaimie," she would taunt. "It's just lipstick." She was right, it was just lipstick, and would anyone really notice? No one seemed to, so one tube of lipstick turned into 3-straight into my pocket.

After we grew tired of "Wet N' Wild", we moved onto clothes. Our favorite store to steal from was "Rampage"-the staple clothing store for fashion-conscious teenagers. Somehow I would manage to steal entire outfits-I would walk out of the store with them on my back. Sometimes I would buy a cheap bracelet as a distraction for the salesgirl, and fortunately, never got caught.

My mom soon noticed my new clothes. "Where did that come from?" she would ask, confused. "Oh, I'm just borrowing it from (name withheld). Do you like it?" I would ask, twirling around. "It's nice," she would say, eyeing me over her book.

One of our friends did get caught stealing. She attempted to steal from Urban Outfitters, which was no-man's land as far as we were concerned. She gave us horrid details of her ordeal: she was put into a dark basement office and interrogated and threatened; the police were called, who in turn took her to the police station; her dad was then called, and she was prohibited from ever entering the store again. Shudder. I needed my Urban Outfitters. No more shoplifting for me.

Now, as an adult, I would never steal anything. And if I ever found out my daughter was a shoplifter, I would ground her for life. Why did I do something so stupid, something so wrong? What was so thrilling about taking something that didn't belong to me?

Going to jail is not hilarious.

Memories of the Way They Were

2005-12-06T16:21:00.000-08:00

A girlfriend once told me that the perfect breast size could fit into a wine glass. These were an exact description of the size of my breasts. She and I wore the exact same bra size, except that she decided to display her breasts nightly in a strip club, and I kept mine discreet behind warm sweaters.

I am considered petite, so my breasts fit me well. They were not too big or too small, and I could wear a triangle bikini top with ease. I could even get away without wearing a bra at all, mostly because my breasts seemed to always sit up. Gravity was kind to me.

The life of my breasts changed after I had my daughter. I chose to breastfeed, so for 14 months, my breasts were the size of cantelopes. I found it difficult to wear my regular clothes without looking obscene. I should have been able to keep the cantelopes, because what followed was not pretty.

Beautiful cantelopes drastically changed to limp pancakes. "Where are my breasts?" I wondered, while looking in the mirror. I would constantly push them up with my hands, longing for the perkiness that they once contained. Suddenly a small, polite voice entered my mind. "Maybe you should start wearing padded bras," it whispered. Oh.

After purchasing 3 padded bras, I wore one out to a night of wine tasting. "I like," my friend said, poking my newly padded breast. "New bra?" she asked. "Do you mind?" I asked, brushing her hand away. "And yes, it is new." "I can't live without my padded bra," she began. "Especially when it's cold. I hate the erect nipple look." I nodded my head in agreement while sipping Merlot.

James always says with a smirk, "They look fine to me, doll. Come here and let me take a look." Men are not very covert.

So now, here I am, with my breasts-my new breasts-that I have grown accustomed to. And I still look good in a bikini, kinda.

I Wish I Knew You Then

2005-12-05T16:26:00.000-08:00

November 22, 1985

Dear Jimmy,

Hi. You don't know me yet, but I will be your future wife. I know this sounds crazy, since you're only 16, but I just know it's true.

I saw you the other day, standing at the street corner on the Westside of Chicago, freestyling with your friends. I rode by on my red bike with the white basket. I was the little Puerto Rican lookin' chick with the long ponytail. You had on your Adidas sweatsuit and Kangol. I know you saw me-you glanced up at me as I passed.

I know I'm a little young for you, but you don't have to be my boyfriend yet. Before you know it, I'll be 16 too, and you won't feel so funny about dating me. You won't care what your friends think, or worry about sneaking around to see me. I'm sure my mom will love you just as much as I do.

Did I say love? I do love you. Do you love me? Yes, no, maybe? Please tell me how you feel about me. Tomorrow I'll be waiting for you outside of the shop where the lady sells the Boston Baked Beans candy that you like. I'll buy you a pack, if you want.

Jaimie

xoxo