Cast of Love & Hip Hop Atlanta
“Love and Hip Hop Atlanta” reminded me of the first season of “Basketball Wives.” I remember thinking (then), This is very entertaining! Unlike “BBW” it doesn’t seem to be lacking a plot and giving us puppeteered scenes and situations.
The good: Not only are there Black women on the show, they’re brown-toned beautiful—no matter how flawed—women at that.
The bad: Nothing yet. There’s lots-o-drama, but you have to recognize that you’re watching television. You shouldn’t have a problem seeing real issues on the screen if they’re done tastefully. If you haven’t watched the show yet, it comes on VH1 and you can catch full episodes online at VH1.com.
There are a lot of people on this show. Here’s my breakdown of the series opener:
Mimi had the most drama with her boyfriend of 15 years, Stevie J. You read that right: BOYFRIEND. They have a two-year old daughter together, who he apparently has NO interest in spending time with. I knew something was wrong the minute she said they’d been together for 15 years but she wasn’t his wife. I like Mimi so far. She’s a pretty chic with a real personality. Her only downfall at this point is being a fool in love and not loving herself. I tweeted
that I was going to start packaging and selling self-esteem so that I could send Ms. Mimi a tub. She needs it. She’s too cute and loyal to be sticking to a dude who is blatantly disrespectful in real life and on camera.
I don’t know if she is just the Robin to Mimi’s Batman or what, but that appears to be the case. She’s the typical friend that sees the problem, hates the man and wants her girl to do better. So far so good.
I IMMEDIATELY became confused as soon as she started speaking. I was wondering why her English was so bad. Why does she sound Hispanic but have a nappy wig on? I must confess those alleged rumors about her really being a man began spinning through my head. She’s not very womanly. It’s one thing to be rough around the edges, but it’s like, there’s something really unnatural about “her.” Already, I’ll say she’s the worst kind of person. She knows Stevie J (Mimi’s boyfriend) is in a relationship, but during all of her confessionals and time with him she speaks as if they are an item, saying things like they’ll be together forever and that he f*cks her mind. I also feel that she came pretty recklessly at Mimi and—in the words of Tami Roman—"where I’m from" that would have gotten her two to the body, one to the head. She’s narcissistic, completely out-of-line and I’m willing to bet talentless. (I’m just saying, there’s a reason we didn’t see her in a studio singing). P.S. She used to be a stripper. P.S.S. She still acts like one.
Lil’ Scrappy’s baby mama/girl. She seems to have a decent mindset. However, she’s already played herself by taking him back after he was cheated on by the girl he cheated on HER with. She’s slightly insecure about why he’s with her too. I know men say women choose, but it seems like she’s looking for him to convince her of why they should be together. I’m more concerned about why she chose to take him back.
Lil’ Scrappy’s mama is off the chain. I saw something on Twitter yesterday about her trying to outdo Frankie (Keyshia Cole’s mama) but I don’t think that’s the case. I think black mamas are just crazy. Mama Dee, Frankie, Jim Jones’ mama; they just have some flare to them: “In that order!”
Didn’t have much going on. Her makeup was kind of caked on in the scene with her and K.Michelle. It made me nervous (lol). I think she’s a pretty girl and it’ll be interesting to see where her storyline goes.
K.Michelle is a singer (kind of sounds like the old Keyshia Cole) most known for her song “Fallin’.”
Wiki says she’s 26 but she looks at least 10 years older. Hard knock life, I guess. She just got out of a very bad relationship with her ex-record exec who beat her and stole money from her recording budget. Though I understand the situation, I don’t want to see her crying about it every week. I’m just saying. I think she has a good storyline but she’s gonna have to let the past go.
Karlie is the “Susie” of the bunch. Although she said she and Mimi were friends and that Mimi is her girl, she seemed to be enjoying telling Mimi that Stevie J was Joseline’s man. I don’t know if there were some deleted scenes, but I don’t recall Stevie J and Joseline kissing in front of them (not that it would have mattered because all of their interaction was downright out-of-line anyway). She’s a shit-starter though and her face is weird.
Not much to say; I definitely think he got back with Erica on some rebound stuff and his mama prevents him from being a man.
Your typical coon: chasing money, fame, refusing to act his age and adjust to the reality of his life, disrespectful, uses his “charm” to connive women, not a loyal bone in his body and quite frankly deserves whatever happens to him. (In that order!)
Hope you enjoyed my recap. Drop a line; share your thoughts.
If you’re not an avid gossip/”celebrity” blog reader first of all let me say good for you. Secondly, you probably don’t know who Chrissy Teigen is or why she would appear to be a hater. I’m going to be honest, I, like most people, didn’t know who she was—and quite honestly had never heard of her—until I saw her and John Legend (“Ordinary People” crooner) on “Watch What Happens Live.” However, she is a model. More importantly, she is John Legend’s fiancée. At this point, you might be nodding your head thinking, Oh, okay; it all makes sense (why she’s “important”). Well, just to catch you up, on that same episode of “WWHL” John Legend was asked what he thought of Rihanna and Chris Brown collaborating on two songs. John Legend took the politically correct way out but Chrissy did not. She was very vocal about her feelings, stating she thought it was “terrible.” That’s no big deal, right? I, too, thought it was a bad look.
Well, fast-forward to the Billboard Music Awards this past Sunday and Chrissy let’s her opinionated thoughts boom out again. She subliminally tweeted, “Lip syncing is a helluva drug.” This wouldn’t have been a big deal had she not coincidently tweeted it while Chris Brown was performing or so close to his performance. It’s subliminal because she didn’t come right out and say “Chris Brown you suck for lip syncing.” Her tweets led to public backlash by “Team Breezy.”
The backlash led Chris Brown to diffuse the situation where he referred to the person they were tweeting, subliminally, as leading a “pointless existence.” John Legend then comes out and states he doesn’t think her existence is pointless, some mumbo jumbo about being able to take criticism and how having a differing opinion doesn’t make you a hater, and also that people need not tell him to silence his woman (I’m putting it nicely) because, after all, it’s not 1950. Chrissy feels great in her spirit and tweets something along of the lines of him being the wind beneath her wings and that’s why she wants to marry him.
Okay. John Legend is right: having a differing opinion doesn’t make you a hater; as a musician or artist of any kind, there will be some people who don’t love what you do. The problem is A) Chrissy shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about women, opinions, voices and
sharing them. However, if she didn’t want the backlash of thousands of Breezy fans, she shouldn’t have addressed him at all, subliminally or other. B) She also looks like a hater because she’s talking “smack” (to keep it clean) about the hottest dude in the game right now, while her dude is doing...”Duets”? Let’s just be real, the last time we heard John Legend before that ghastly performance on the Billboard Music Awards was when? C) Speaking of horrid performances, another reason she shouldn’t have said one word is because John Legend’s tribute to the late, great, Whitney Houston, though “live” was downright disrespectful, unnecessary and a waste of time and effort. And finally, she looks like the ultimate hater because this is not her first time having something opinionatedly negative to say about Chris Brown. At this point, you simply just have an issue with Chris Brown. You just don’t like him. That’s fine. Like Mr. Legend said, you have that right; but if you nitpick a celebrity with a young, dangerously loyal following you’re going to get chopped up, chewed up and spit out.
The reason why I have to unfortunately agree with the women who say John Legend needs to shut her up is because while she may not be in the music industry, he is. The name “Chrissy Teigen,” for most of us, doesn’t mean a thing. It gains meaning when you say, “John Legend’s fiancée.” As such, she represents him. And when it comes to men and women beefing, if your chic is talking recklessly, then YOU need to get her. I don’t have a problem with her opinion, only with the timing and the shade. The reality is, damn near everybody who hit the stage that night was lip syncing, so why mention it around the time that he is on stage? It seems intentional. It seems like shade. And being that this isn’t her first time having something to say about Chris Brown...it seems like she’s a hater.
The fact is, there is nothing wrong with being opinionated, boisterous or vocal, however, there is a time and place for everything. Chrissy needs to realize who she’s dating. She’s said that she’s not in the music industry so she can say whatever she wants, but that’s not true. Your words might cause problems for your man. If you’re choosing to date a public figure then you have to understand what goes into that and adjust to it. If you choose to ruffle feathers, that’s fine, but understand, just like last night, you make him have to defend you and get in the middle of it by doing so. Just like Michelle Obama can’t jump fly because of who she dates, the same is true for you.
If you choose to start a war, don’t be upset when you get hit with bullets.
As I read about celebrity (women) being accused of adultery and the common stance they take that they didn’t cheat, I wonder, Why didn’t you just wait?
It seems like, skilled with the best publicists money can buy, that they would tell the Alicia Keys’ and Gabrielle Unions and even the Fantasias of the world to wait. In a recent interview
with Jet magazine, Gabrielle Union adheres to her innocence in this whole matter relating to adultery with Dewayne Wade. But she was clearly out with Dewayne Wade before his divorce was finalized. The same is true of Alicia Keys who swears that she and her now husband, Swizz Beats, are soul mates. My thing is, if you all were going to be together anyway, why not just wait until his situation was cleared up?
You can’t assert innocence when your actions make you look shady. At what point do you say, whether as a friend or a lover, “I’m going to give you space so that you all can do what you need to do”? No, you might not owe the estranged wife anything, but why the urgency? It reeks of desperation. Not to mention, in the waiting period, closure can be found; for both parties. If there’s an arduous divorce with children involved, that guy that you’re trying to date needs a moment to heal, to collect himself and work out the relationship with the mother of his child before he gets into another relationship. Has he resolved his issues with women that may’ve arisen as a result of not only their divorce, but also by things that happened within the course of their relationship?
If it’s not recommended for a person to go from relationship to relationship, meaning one shouldn’t leave a five-year relationship and the next day pursue another, then why would that be any different from someone leaving a ten-year marriage or one dating back to his early teenage years?
Who are you really
thinking about when you pursue these situations before letting them heal? Are you just focused on what you want, at any cost? If so, are you prepared to face the consequences that come with this behavior—some of which may include you being looked at and referred to as a homewrecker? What happened to, “If it’s meant to be, it’ll be”? Are you so desperate to have it now that you can’t wait for it to “be”?
Like I always say, “Learn to wait before you end up pregnant.” There is a season for everything. So, if there’s a season to be together and a season to be apart, there has to be a season to examine what was learned, lost and where to go from there. If not, how do you do better in the future? I know Hollywood has a different dating and moral code. But maybe, just maybe, this urgency is why it is so difficult to maintain relationships. You have to respect the season, the waiting period. If you do it right the first time, there’s nothing to clear up later. You don’t have to go back and assert innocence if you never tie yourself to the situation to begin with. The Good Book tells us to be self-controlled. I definitely think that’s a lesson to live by. Know better. Do better. Respect the waiting period.
Recently there was an article published about singer Rihanna in a Dutch magazine in which she was referred to as a “NiggaBitch.” Now, before you go getting all up in arms and making this a racial issue, which it’s not, let me finish explaining what happened. Apparently, the writer and editor of the magazine derived the term from “American music.” They first called it a joke, telling the singer and the audience not to be so “sensitive.” When Rihanna responded, the nail came down and it lead to the editor resigning. Now, you may be thinking, Great! That’s exactly what she needs to do! Well, I disagree.
There are so many things wrong with this whole debacle that it’s ridiculous. First of all, I don’t believe it’s a racial issue. I think Black people will make it a racial issue despite the fact that in the same breath they will tell you when they use the N-word it’s a term of endearment. Also, women who call each other bitches will tell you it’s a term of endearment. So why NOW is it a racial offense? If “nigga” is the equivalent of “homie” why be upset because a magazine called Rihanna one? If “bitch” is a loving term among women and something to be proud of like the songs “5 Star Bitch” (Yo Gotti) and “I’m a Bitch” (Alanis Morissette) suggest, then why are we angry?
But beyond that, it boggles the mind why a woman who refers to herself as a “Cunt”—even walking around with the matching necklace—would be upset because someone calls her a “NiggaBitch.” Is it because it was in a well-read magazine? Is it because it was a white person? I don’t get it. She goes around cooning on camera and on stage but then she’s upset to be called a “nigga.” The reality is, not only were these words picked up by American culture/Black music, but they’re appropriate. The writers were probably wondering, What do you call a woman in jean panties, fishnet stockings and high heels, with gold teeth and a pimp cane that’s constantly writhing around simulating masturbation? Hmm...well rappers would call her a bitch...and because she’s so “down,” we’ll call her a nigga.
I don’t see this as a racial issue because I don’t think this magazine would refer to Beyonce as a NiggaBitch, nor would they refer to Michelle Obama as one. I just think it’s time to take a cold hard look at what we put out. Rihanna doesn’t garner respect. She’s sexed up (x-ed up) and doesn’t want to be respected; she’s quick to let folks know she’s not a role model.
Racism does exist, but so does ignorance in “American culture/the Black community.” We okayed the words “nigga” and “bitch” so we shouldn’t be upset when they’re used against us. You can’t put these words (and coon-energy) into the universe and not expect people to label you with it. If you want to be upheld with the highest respect, then start acting respectable. If you want to be called something other than “NiggaBitch” quit calling each other “niggas” and “bitches” and quit acting like ‘em. Guess these words aren’t so endearing after all, are they?
Today I sat in church reflecting on my life this time last year. Last year today, was my birthday; I started the day by helping out the youth ministry, sold a few books and then enjoyed St. Johns Downtown’s Christmas show, which was downright amazing! There was great music and dancing. I had the birthday money-pin and received well over a $100. Then I left church and met up with my friends. I went to a friend’s house for brunch where she had prepared a lovely spread of chicken wings, pancakes, mimosas and more. It wasn’t just the fantastic food that made it great, it was the company I was with. That group of friends I have in Houston is A-MAZE-ZING! They’re a concoction of singers, writers, preachers, teachers and just downright good people. I’ve never seen anyone grind as hard as these people did and still do.
This year, I don’t have the luxury of being in Houston attending my wonderful church home or interacting with a hodgepodge of people I’ve come to love over the last four years. I don’t even have the opportunity to be home in Oklahoma playing with my babies, singing and cooning with my beautiful sisters or dining with my awesome friends. But that’s not what stands out to me. What stands out to me is that I have a peace I didn’t have last year. Last year I was high-strung about how to sell books and how to make money. My faith wasn’t nearly as strong as it is now. 2011 has been one hell of a year for me, but oh what a difference a year makes!
I’ve grown in ways I never knew possible. I’ve learned to control myself and my interaction with people who can potentially set me off; I’ve learned to adapt to any situation; I’ve learned to let go of the past—to take each day and live in it—and most importantly, I’ve learned to “Be still and KNOW” (Psalms 46:10).
I like a good party—especially one in my honor lol—just like the next man. I love being around my family and friends and I want to be successful as an author, editor and whatever else God has in store for me. However, there is no price tag for increased faith in God or His peace. So, what will I do in The-Middle-of-Nowhere, GA? I don’t know. But I do know, it’s my day, one the Lord has made, and I will rejoice and be glad in it. Let the church say...
Oh what a difference a year makes!
The Birthday Girl
Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you should know about the shade that’s being thrown at Beyonce regarding her pregnancy and music. Instead of a giving Beyonce a round of applause, people are slapping her in the face. The same folks who practically begged her to get pregnant have all but turned their backs on her, calling her everything but a child of God. Listen to the media and you’ll be led to believe she’s wearing a prosthetic baby bump... which in itself is just ridiculous (she’s Beyonce, why not just go off the scene for ten months and then say she was away because she was pregnant?). Then it’s she got pregnant and is being covered by the blogs for attention because her album sales are low (which I don’t quite understand how selling 300k records the first week is low. It may be lower than her past sales, but other female singers would kill or die to sell 300 thousand total).
I can imagine Beyonce’s job description sounding a little something like this: “Sing, dance, perform, be happy, travel, be away from your family, deal with ridicule from fans, bloggers, the media and critics without retaliation, without lashing out and disrespecting anyone, always be in the studio—simultaneously on tour—and put out an album people love, yearly.” Of course, “other duties as follows” would be tossed in at the end. That includes interviews, staying fly and made up even while on vacation.
It’s amazing to me how people who can’t even walk an hour in Beyonce’s stilettos have so much to say about how she chooses to live her life. I’m biased. I’ll be the first to say it. The truth is, I JUST became a Beyonce fan. I wasn’t sold on her being a great singer and felt that I knew girls in the hood who could dance much better than her. What changed my perspective were the facts. People downplay 15 successful years in the music business, especially as a singer. The reality is, singers of our generation don’t have the same consistency as legends of the past—Mariah, Patti, Madonna. Beyond that, when is the last time a girl group split up...wait...ANY musical group split up/went solo and was successful afterwards? Don’t worry, I’ll wait. Xscape...No. SWV...No. Changing Faces, Total, Envogue; the list goes on. It’s not something that happens. So the fact that Beyonce has been able to go from a girl group of 4 to 3 to an international solo artist...the odds of that happening and her being successful at it are slim to none. Give the girl her props for beating the odds.
She’s done it all while not having any public meltdowns, not being arrested, not killing anyone, NEVER throwing shade on anyone, even though, she could. She said several years ago she wanted to become a mother at 30, she’s doing it. Even though most of her critics are women, she still makes music for them, empowering them. That in itself is deep. She has the money, the time and the resources to really write, sing and perform some killer rebuttal ish, but she doesn’t. You say she’s an attention whore and she’s trying to teach you a lesson on how to run the world. It’s been said time and time again that women need to stick together and uplift one another. Maybe we should start with uplifting Beyonce. After all, all she’s trying to do is pave the way for women to be successful and live and enjoy her life in the process. She happily gave a piece of her life to an audience who wasn’t entitled to it and didn’t deserve it; the least you could do is let the girl shine. Enough with the shade.
Each one teach one. Live and Learn!
Journey with me through my Hair-volution! What's your favorite?
“Hi!” a middle-aged Caucasian man said as I walked toward the entrance of Kroger.
He was looking directly at me as he exited. “Hello,” I casually replied.
He gasped. I stopped walking and looked over my shoulder. Uh, oh…was he on his Bluetooth? I thought to myself. This wouldn’t be the first time I’d mistakenly engaged in conversation with someone who wasn’t quite talking to me. He was looking back at me, smiling; there wasn’t an earpiece in his ear. I shrugged my shoulders and continued into the building. I walked past the deli, continued past produce and headed to the seafood section. I knew why I was here. I eyed the salmon, catfish and tilapia. I kept scanning the glass partition but didn’t see what I was looking for.
“What are you looking for?” a male voice asked from behind me.
I turned and looked over my shoulder. It was him. I was a little taken aback. “Snow crab,” I responded.
As if on cue, the butcher walked over and offered his assistance. I redirected my attention to him. “Do you have any snow crab?” I asked, catching myself before I began salivating.
“Sure do,” the butcher said. “How much you looking for?”
“Gotcha,” he said and headed toward the back.
“Next time, the snow crab is on me,” I heard from behind me. I smiled at the stranger. “Did you hear me?” he said, straight-faced, inching closer. “I said ‘next time, the snow crab is on me.’”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I said. I looked around uncomfortably.
He rested his arms on a display of Old Bay seasoning and asked, “Are you going to be long?”
I paused. Awkward. “Yeah, probably so.”
“Oh, well…next time,” he said.
“Bye,” he said as he reluctantly walked toward the exit.
My mind began churning. That was strange. Was he trying to come on to me? Wait, wasn’t he leaving when I came in? He was definitely trying to come on to me, I figured. I walked around the store a little longer, picking up items to complement my dinner. I couldn’t stop thinking about how great these crab legs were going to be. I mindlessly paid the cashier and walked out of the store.
When I reached my car, I instinctively looked around for the man I’d met in the store earlier. He seemed to have been having a hard time approaching me. I wondered if he had given up and left or had he gone outside to his car to work on his lines. Who am I kidding? He’s not my type. I unlocked the door, placed my food in the passenger seat and got in. I put my car in reverse and headed home. I was starving. In thirty minutes, I’d be feasting on crab legs better than Red Lobster could prepare.
The thought of eating good food made me dance in my seat. I was in such a good mood. It had been a long week. The food, wine and weekend I was about to have were very much needed. I pulled into my assigned spot at my condo and killed the engine. I reached over to grab my purse and bag and noticed movement in my backseat. I jumped. I turned on the interior car lights and looked in my back seat. I screamed. Before I could defend myself, the mystery man from the grocery store grabbed me by neck and pulled me closer to him.
“Scream again and I’ll kill you!” he said. I felt something sharp underneath my neck. My breathing began to quicken. My heart was racing, pounding. It felt like a builder had dropped three bricks inside my chest. Great, if he doesn’t kill me first, I’ll die of a heart attack. Tears were running down my eyes as he opened the door with his left hand and held me at what I could only assume was knife-point with his right.
“Why are you doing this?” I fearfully asked.
“I’ll do the talking!” he said forcefully. He got out of the backseat and stood at my door. I was shaking uncontrollably. I’m going to die, I realized.
He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me out of the driver’s seat. “Owwww!” I screamed as he thrusted me face-first into the car parked next to mine. I could feel my cheek swelling. He held me away from him by my hair and fumbled around behind me. I thought about what he was doing and wondered, Where’s the knife? I carefully tilted my head an inch to the left and strained to look back at him. He was struggling to unbutton his pants with one hand. He had a look of frustration on his face as he tried with all his might to get his tan Dockers unbuttoned. I scanned the parking garage feverishly, praying that someone would come walking out. Unfortunately, no one did.
My attacker let out an exasperated sigh. He thrusted his elbow into the back of my neck and leaned on me, still trying to get his pants undone. My heart pounded as I imagined all of the things he would do to me: rape me at knife-point, stab me repeatedly before slicing my throat. I whimpered at the thought of an officer standing at my mother’s door, dropping this devastating news on her. And that’s when it happened…I panicked. I noticed the weight of his body on me as he busied himself undoing his pants, and I snapped. I kicked his legs from under him and knocked him to the ground. Without looking back, I took off running down the dimly lit garage.
“Get back here, bitch!” he called after me.
I kept running at full speed. I whipped my head and looked over my shoulder. He had stood up and was running in my direction. I picked up my speed, my flip flops clacking behind me. “Hellllllllllllllppppppppp!!!!!” I screamed. “HELP ME! HELP ME!” I shouted. I slammed on the back of car trunks as I ran, hoping to make noise, set off an alarm if possible. His shoes thudded behind me and I could tell he was gaining on me. If I could just make it to the black door ahead of me, I knew I could get help.
“Whoosh! Clink!” I looked backwards briefly then back ahead just as the knife he’d thrown at me slid across the pavement. He was still charging at me. Instead of heading for the door, I dodged toward the knife, swooped it up and stood still. My momentum instantly changed. I spun around, scowl on my face and charged towards him. The look on his face immediately shifted from determination to shock. He stopped dead in tracks and lifted both hands. “Whoa!” he said, his eyes wide, pleading. I kept charging full speed in his direction. He jerked backwards, tripped over his feet and hit the ground. “No! Please don’t hurt me,” he begged, covering his eyes with his hands. I drew closer to him and kicked him between his legs. “Owwww!” he yelled, moving his hands from his eyes to his private parts. I walked behind him, grabbed his short hair and put the knife up to his neck.
“Move and I’ll kill you!” I threatened. He froze. “Move your hands!” He groaned. “Move…your…hands,” I repeated and pulled the knife closer to his neck. He obliged. I moved the knife from his neck to right above his penis. I pressed the tip of the knife against his pants so that he could feel it. “Do what I tell you…or else.”
“I will! I promise!” His eyes were wide and fearful. Just like mine had been. I used my free hand and patted his pockets, looking for a phone. I grabbed his phone from his pocket and dialed 911. The phone searched for a signal for what seemed like forever before it finally rang.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I’m in the Majestic Towers parking garage with a man who stowed himself in my car, assaulted and tried to rape me! I have him at knife point and will kill him if he moves! I threatened, more to him than the lady on the phone.
“Okay, calm down, I’ve got an officer in the area; I’m sending him to your location. Stay on the line with me, okay?”
“Don’t you move!” I yelled to him. “Tell your officer to hurry!” I said to the operator.
“He’s pulling up now. What floor are you on?”
“Okay, he’s pulling in now.”
I kneeled over my assailant, “What’s your name?” He remained silent. “Answer me!” I shouted. I was almost drowned out by the sirens blaring in our direction.
“Kill me!” he pleaded. He started squirming beneath me.
“Be still,” I said, holding the knife to his neck. Two officers threw their doors open, drew their weapons in moved in our direction.
“Drop your weapon!”
“Not until you get him!” I shouted back. The officer from the passenger side ran over and placed his knee on the back of my attacker’s neck.
“I’ve got him. You’re safe now,” he assured me. With his gun pointed toward the man’s head, “On your stomach!” In less than two seconds, the officer had snapped on the cuffs and was walking the perpetrator to the car. I blew out a much needed breath and sank to the ground.
Karen tossed and turned. She laid on her right side for awhile, then flopped to her left. It was no use; the sun seemed to be beaming into her room from every direction. She pulled a fluffy pillow over her head and lay completely still. She waited. Rays of sun seeped under the pillowcase and beneath her pillow. Nothing was helping! She flipped over onto her back. She was frustrated. She had been up the better part of twenty hours and wanted to go to sleep, needed to go to sleep. Her first off day in three days, and she couldn’t even get to sleep. Oh, the irony, she thought to herself. She rolled out of bed and walked over to her espresso-colored nightstand. She grabbed her black sleeping mask. She walked back over to the bed, crawled back in and pulled the mask over her face. Finally!
Her joy wouldn’t last long. It was as if the sun had slithered under her windows, into her bed and underneath her mask. “That is it!” she yelled. She yanked off her mask and climbed out of bed, pulling her cover and pillow with her.
Walking into the bathroom, she flicked on the light and inspected the tub. Once she was certain that it was dry, she turned off the light, tossed her pillow at the head of the tub and climbed in. Karen extended her legs and then pulled them closer to her. She tucked her comforter around her body as she lay in the fetal position. She lay silently for minutes. Slowly, her eyes became heavy, her breathing slowed and she was taken away to a much needed place of rest.
© Tierra Allen. All rights reserved.