you ever wish that maybe you didn’t
know as much as you do
because you know too much and
knowing brings understanding
which in turn bares confusion

does this make sense or should I stop?

you witness injustice, hate, and crime
and claim that you just want
everything to be kept REAL
but then that turns out to be
just TOO **** REAL!

does this make any sense?

you feel things that others feel
shouldn’t be felt but you
can’t deny feelings
although you wish it were possible
and conscious efforts are made

really, should I stop?

yeah let me stop…

Greetings beautiful people! Mentally and emotionally this has been a weird month for me. I’m getting older and I feel really indifferent about it. I feel middle-aged, paternal and like my biological clock is ticking. By the end of the month, which is the end of the year, I’m going to attempt to decompress and prepare for the new year and release the clutter and chaos. I shall return to posting in January. Enjoy your holiday’s and remember, it’s not about you. It’s about ME! 🙂

p.s. Why is Jared still doing Subway commercials? UGH! #OverHim


Love without Love

Hello beautiful people. The past week has been slightly busier than some of others so I’ve decided to share a poem of mine from the archives. I feel that the subject matter is still relevant, and more than likely always will be. Plus, it’s one of my favorites…not just because I wrote it. All lies…it’s especially because I wrote it. Hope you enjoy it. XOXO

I was sitting here and going through tons of old emails from past lovers and past loves.

I was able to smile at some because I recalled and relived them briefly and the memory felt good.

I was able to sit in contemplation and re-read some a few times to really comprehend the depth of the exchange and (then) emotions.

I was reading old arguments and misunderstandings.

I was reading old hopes and even old dreams.

I was picturing faces, and bodies…Remembering scents, and trips, and meals.

I was recalling first touches, loving glances, and being called baby by every last one of them.

I’ve made and lived a life out of love.
I’ve made a fool (and been made a fool of) out of love.
I’ve shed tears.
I’ve raised my voice, and have even gotten silent when I was losing my grip on love.
I gave each person the parts of me that I felt they deserved and could handle…because MY love…was really too much for me and would surely be too much for them.


I nurtured my own ego and fed it well during love.
I tortured my own soul, while years past in a month while in love.
I explained why you couldn’t have me and why I couldn’t have you, and why love wasn’t enough to make either of us put up with the other over love. I’ve made love make sense when it didn’t and I made it not make sense when it could have.
I would have given you me completely, unreservedly, plainly, freely, sloppily, neatly, discreetly, sweetly, but wasn’t sure if you’d then keep me.
Or if I’d choose to keep you because I didn’t want to want and not be wanted the same.
The first to inflict pain is the one who never ever feels it.


I’ve had phone conversations about this love and that love, and why they weren’t loving me but still treating me lovingly because they lacked the experience, and knew that when it came down to love, I experienced it and couldnt be told just anything.

Love kept me up late, love woke me up early.
Love called me during lunch and on my way home.
Love shared and love let me fall asleep.
Love Washed my clothes, and I folded loves plain white t-shirts.
Love had me making sandwiches with verbal instruction from the next room when we were the same distance from the kitchen and could get there at the same time.

I was driven to the doctor by my love when what I would have loved was a miraculous healing instead because If I had to get out of bed, I would have rather done something interesting.

When I was in love we took walks just because, chose restaurants for dinner based on how close they were to the house, and how quickly we’d get what we ordered after we ordered it.

I wired money to love.
I bought cars for love.
I dressed love up in what I wanted it to wear and tossed shoes in the trash that love didn’t approve of.
Love is all about approval.


I wrote songs for love.
I gave half-a** apologies to love with my whole heart.
I cut my hair for love.
I grew my hair for love.
I rubbed shea butter on the feet of love.
I gave love my permission, while I did what I wanted because I was told I’d do it anyway.
I loved with conviction without direction full of purpose was my love.
I meditated on,
I asked for,
I dreamt of,
I even prayed for love.

Some love left me,
I left some love behind
but the most important love still remains.
That which was there unconditionally, can never leave
First, last, and lasting.

love without love always becomes what it needs to be.
I still love Love
but now we BOTH love me!!!

©2008 DC Jackson

Untitled (I live for the applause)

First of all let me say that the cold in Chicago is real. Everything that you’ve ever heard about the harsh winds and frigid temperatures is absolutely true, times three. I woke up this morning at 3:00am because I was done sleeping I suppose, but also because it was freezing. Fourteen degrees isn’t cute, and as a matter of fact I no longer like any numbers below forty. For fun, I converted the Degrees to Celsius and that made it ten degrees below zero. Waaaay more dramatic, right? At any rate, let me crank up the heat and get started.

In the past week I’ve made friends with one of my twitter/instagram/facebook followers. Very sweet kid, and sort of reminds me of myself. (Radiant heating beneath our hardwood floors would make life more bearable). Right now his struggle is on finding himself, and discovering what it is that he has to offer the world. He doesn’t feel like he has anything valuable to contribute to the world and doesn’t see a point in existing on an earthly plane any longer. He doesn’t believe that he has value or worth and that he somehow creates a burden, or spreads a poison to the life and people that surround him. I’ve been able to be sympathetic as well as empathetic.

Five years ago I was at an extremely low point, and made an attempt to take my own life. I had ingested every single pill that I had in my possession. Anti-depressants, anti-anxiety pills, Tylenol with codeine, vicodin, and a complete bottle of ibuprofen. I felt like this should be a sufficient amount of pills to shut it all down. I felt like everything I had to give I had already given, and at that point was just unnecessarily occupying space. To feel completely empty and alone is a very crippling state of being. I was existing just to take medication, and to go to the doctors. I had no idea how to begin to live again, and probably wouldn’t have exerted any effort even if the idea was dropped off at my doorstep.

In true DJ fashion, the scene played out like an episode of a soap opera. My mother rushed to my side, the paramedics were on the scene, as well as a good friend of mine. I remember flashing lights, I remember being carried from my bedroom to the ambulance, I also remember thinking “These bitches better not cut my damn shorts because I’m going to want to wear them again if I survive!” Everything after that was a complete blur. I vaguely remember my best friend and her mom at my bedside in the emergency room praying life over me. I remember hearing a nurse say, “Wow, his nails look better than mine!” and because I have a tendency to be catty I wanted to tell her that I can tell her where I’d gotten them done but couldn’t guarantee hers would look as good as mine because my nails are naturally beautiful. I never got the words out.

If you’ve ever ingested something poisonous or know of anyone who has, then you likely also know that they make you drink a large cup full of charcoal. Now this stuff didn’t have much of a taste but was like drinking a warm foamy black milkshake. I finished the cup and fell asleep. The next day I woke up in yet another ambulance and was being taken to a psychiatric hospital. I tried to convince them that I wasn’t crazy and that I was perfectly fine to go home. They looked at me with eyes that said, “sit your crazy ass down!” so I did. Once I made it to the restroom to get changed I was super upset because the charcoal turned my lips black. I was so annoyed that no one wiped my black, dry, cracked lips. I mean where is that cute?

Over the next few days under lockdown and constant surveillance I had a chance to read, to think, to rest, and to pray. My parents would visit every day for the allotted hour and my best friends came as well. For some reason, it began to seem like the world was slowing down. It felt peaceful. It felt brand new. I was amazed by the trees that I could see out of my window. There were also wild turkeys outside the window. Well I’m assuming I’m correct in calling them “wild” because they weren’t on leashes. Who knows?

Anyway after 72 hours it was finally time to leave and my step dad came to pick me up. I was totally over that place because I couldn’t shave, and they stole my bottle of baby oil that I asked my mom to bring because I was ashy. It was brand new. Ugh. After leaving, I got to go to the hospital to see my big sister and the new baby she and my brother-in-law just had a few days prior. Seeing my new niece I really began to realize how amazing and beautiful life was (and is). I had nearly denied myself the chance to meet this beautiful child. I selfishly made a decision based on a temporary circumstance that could have permanently removed me from everything and everyone I loved.

I realized that I never wanted to die, but I did want the pain, and confusion I was feeling to stop. I did want a clearer understanding of what I felt like I was put here to do. I’ve always been great at everything I’ve tried, but once I mastered it, I was over it, and needed something else to conquer. It was the same way with all of my personal relationships. This didn’t feel normal to me. Because that didn’t feel normal, I didn’t feel normal. I felt defective and emotionally insatiable. No matter how much of anything that I consumed, I always needed more. The one thing I really needed more of was love for me. Not the kind of love that gets facials, and buys clothes, shoes, and jewelry, but the kind of love that allows me to rest and make mistakes.

So what I’ve been trying to tell my new friend is that all is not lost, and that fundamentally he’s right where he needs to be. You plan for the life you’d like to have and then the plan gets modified along the way as you discover your true self. Ends are sometimes beginnings and mistakes are often lessons. There are no tragedies other than wearing white pumps with black stockings. Change is constant and if you didn’t give life to yourself, then you sure as hell can’t take it away.

Sorry this was so long and my apologies if it seemed random and unfocused. I’m cold, hungry, sleepy, and I can’t stand Iyanla Vanzant. If you’re still twerking, stop. And if you own a white belt…I just can’t do you right now.

Until next time…


Relative Strangers!

For some odd reason, I’ve gone through four potential posts in the last seven days. I was trying to force a very specific feeling from myself, and in order to do so, I needed to be extremely focused and direct my mental energy to that place. But during this process, I became even more undone. I’m all for rules and boundaries with regard to crime and punishment but when it comes to feelings, thoughts and emotions, the situations don’t flow as neatly. It’s nearly impossible for me to write under any type of rules. Well, not exactly impossible because I often work as a freelance technical writer, but it’s something that I refuse to do in a personal capacity.

What I also refuse to do is to continue spend any more of my time or energy on people that don’t reciprocate. The issue I’m having right now, and the reason I’ve been fighting this contentious battle between what to write is because I’m trying to make sure that I’m not overdramatizing any situations because I’ve been known to do just that. And I do so notoriously. I was trying to allow how I was feeling to grow into, grow up from, or grow apart from its poisonous root, to hopefully reach toward a source of light that would ultimately cause it to repair and heal itself.

I began to discover that sometimes you have to uproot a plant and either replant it or allow its source to reclaim it and use it however it will. I’m sure this sounds a bit vague and cryptic so I’ll leak some of the specifics so that everything preceding will become clearer. I usually believe what someone says until their actions prove otherwise and certain people in my biological family plain and simply don’t say what they mean. They don’t follow through with any sort of action or make any effort to be any better than they are.

Recently I found out through my eldest sister that our father was in the hospital. My sister found out through our half-sister’s Instagram post of our father lying in a hospital bed. First of all, this pissed me off because why did this have to be the way for us to find out his condition? Why didn’t he ask his daughter to contact us, his first born children? Why didn’t his daughter herself think to contact us? I mean damn, why didn’t he contact us himself? After all, he made sure she was notified. Since my sister didn’t have any desire whatsoever to speak to our father, she contacted me and I then sent him a text to see if he was ok. Immediately he calls me to brief me on his situation, cries, tells me that he needs me, and promises to keep in constant contact. This lasted about three or four days. Now, having been two weeks later, I can barely get him to call me or return my calls. I make a daily effort to call to check in with him to make sure he’s doing well, but I’m not given the common courtesy to even bother returning a call even after saying he would.

Our father is definitely not making it easy to have a relationship with him. My sister Ginette and I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in eighteen years and she decided in 2006 that we should attempt to have a relationship with him. Every step of the way I fought it. I had such strong distaste for him that I couldn’t wait to tell him I was gay hoping that he’d be completely crushed. He wasn’t. In fact, he was totally accepting so I was crushed. Yes I was being that petty. I felt entitled to at least that. Afterwards, we spent years playing a passive-aggressive tournament of emotional Olympic table tennis. We were happy, we were pissed, we were happy, we were pissed. I became annoyed, he became annoyed. I lashed out, he lashed back. I forgave him, he forgave me. It was pure and total bullshit. I decided before reuniting that I didn’t need a father because I never felt like I was missing one. Now at thirty-two years old my feelings are still the same. Biologically he’s family, but I’ll never see him as more than a relative. Relatively speaking.

I have so much more to say but really, what would be the point? I just needed to release a little of what was holding onto me so tightly so that I might continue to move about freely on this journey of mine. The tension headache that I carried into today from yesterday is now gone and it’s time for me to rest my mind.

Until next time…


No Chinatown, No thank you!

Since you all don’t know me well enough yet I’ll just tell you. I really am a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll. In my mind I’m also a ninja, undercover cop, and I sincerely believe that I could qualify for the Olympics in track & field. So basically I have a healthy dose of confidence. I also love to travel and more than that, I obviously love to move state to state, and city to city on a whim in search of a certain feeling.

In my later teens I felt like I’d always live in California because well I guess I loved it. Not really sure why I felt the way I did about it. This is actually my first time trying to recall what my thought process was or recount why I was so enamored with it. If I had a gun to my head and had to venture a guess I suppose I could say it’s because it was very familiar and I felt that it had everything I could possibly need.

It didn’t take long for me to feel like I had outgrown the place that I was raised because at nearly every turn there was someone who knew me from somewhere or somehow needed me for something. I was also dealing with deciding how to express my sexuality. Back then, I felt that sexuality was something that needed to be expressed outwardly because there was strength and pride in saying it making it known. I was a kid, and obviously didn’t know nearly as much as I thought I did.

However, what I did know was that it was time to move on. I tried New York and loved it but I was indirectly forced out by a horrible relationship that crashed and burned. Next I tried Atlanta because it was the polar opposite of New York and I lasted a few years but it started to bore me. I went back to California and felt at ease again. The feeling was short-lived so I then moved to West Palm Beach, Florida with Lavarro briefly before moving back to Georgia. I hated Georgia even more the second time so we went back to California for a year then we moved to Dallas. After nearly three years in Dallas I began to think about what it was that I was not only wanting from a city, but also what I expected as well.

First of all, I needed there to be an efficient subway and bus system that operates 24-hours. Not that I utilize either of them, I just like to know that they’re there. Well I’d totally use the train if I had to, especially when going downtown because I hate looking for parking or paying $30 to park for four hours. I needed there to be taxis galore, luxury car service, a garment district, cheap (but good) Chinese food, an Hermes, Bloomingdales, an Intermix (for Kotur clutches), Hugo Boss, United Colors of Benetton, a financial district, numbered streets, a Broadway street, a huge designer fashion fabric store, activism and protests, museums for days, outdoor ice skating in the winter, a Trump hotel, a Ritz-Carlton, Four Seasons,or a St. Regis. I need for there to be a Spanish neighborhood, a Jewish neighborhood, a gay part of town, and the most important qualifier for me to consider living in any particular city is the presence of an official Chinatown. Not a part of town that has a few Chinese businesses or where Asian people have frequently been spotted, but a bona fide Chinatown where English isn’t spoken, where I can’t read any of the signs, where people are shopping for the days meat and fresh veggies at 6:00am, where tai chi is going down in the park, where the banks are Chinese, where hole in the wall stores advertise and sell Shiseido skincare and cosmetics, where greasy ducks hang in restaurant windows, a place where you can buy exotic herbs, spices, and remedies. This place has to be littered with jewelry stores selling 18k gold and jade, a community center, and tons of dry cleaners.

Whether you choose to visit Chinatown or not, is totally irrelevant and beside the point…it just needs to be there. For me it’s symbolic of a city that’s progressive, inclusive, and culturally diverse. It provides a very necessary dimension to any city’s downtown atmosphere and I can’t live anywhere that doesn’t contain one of these non-English speaking hotspots. If I were able to deal with the often unidentifiable smells that make me nauseated, I’d consider living in Chinatown. Or maybe I’d just buy an apartment building there to rent out to because I’m sort of turned on by the idea of being the owner of a building that I rent to Asians. Don’t be mad at me, I’m just being honest.

Anyway, you can pretty much be guaranteed that if there is a Chinatown, then there are all (or most) of the other elements I’ve previously mentioned. Ok well I’m done for now because I need to use the restroom and have been holding it for two hours, my face itches because I haven’t shaved this week, and I’m tired of typing because my hands are ice cold.


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Reality is really just a concept!

Although I’m quite young, tender, spry, and amazingly in touch with what’s going on today, I still feel like the era in which I was raised and grew up in is so far removed from present day. There seems to be so many people that have lost their way, or never had it, but now we know it because their lives are plastered all over social media, the internet and television. The air of mystery no longer exists and it’s been replaced by an explosion of faux reality. People living leased lifestyles so that people that don’t know them will think they’ve arrived and are somehow more blessed than they are. In order to pull this off you have to make everyone else feel like their faith isn’t as strong, and their talents aren’t as bankable, so their blessings aren’t as great.

We’re now living in the day and age of self-centeredness, self-seeking, and self-interest. So much energy is devoted to creating illusions and fighting for a spotlight that’s already dimmed because everyone else is sharing it that we don’t know how to interact with one another. Everyone wants to feel relevant and necessary and don’t realize the price of this alleged fame. Celebrities are now being seen as real people and real people are now becoming celebrities. I don’t know how everyone else feels but it’s confusing, weird, and a little unfortunate.

I recall the days where real and actual talent was the only thing that counted. People weren’t given chances just because they looked a particular part. In all honesty, I could record an album and become a huge commercial success with my horrible off-key voice, with great and creative engineering. Ok my voice isn’t horrible but I’m no Brian McKnight. Google it, it’s a thing. Or better yet, he’s a real person. He’s been irrelevant since the late nineties but he’s very much a real, living and breathing human being.

Anyway, when did scandal, drama, drugs, and sleeping around did a celebrity make? Ok midway through that Marilyn Monroe popped into my head but I was already fully vested in making the statement so that’s something else we’ll just have to deal with. Apparently we’re also going to have to deal with this new method of creating stardom and quicksand riches. Ok I’m so on a roll tonight because I JUST made that up for you guys on the spot. Quicksand riches are the immediate and fleeting finances of these new celebrities. They’re not able to hold onto they money because it’s so new to them that they have to spend it all so you know that they have it. How many children can you give a five dollar bill to that won’t want to run out and immediately spend it? 9 times out of 10 they’ll believe that fiver will buy them something much greater than five dollars. The reality of how much five dollars really is doesn’t register because you don’t get an understanding of monetary value until later in life. Or do you? Perhaps not. In fact, what ends up happening is that people are extended lines of credit so that they can spend more than they have. I don’t believe this is credits intended purpose, but definitely the way it’s used. Those kids never grow up, they merely grow older.

I guess I said all of this to say we really do need to reconnect with not only other people, but with ourselves and with God because we don’t need our children to grow up with a poor understanding of how life works and how much work they have to put in to receive a fruitful return. Don’t be influenced by what you see, but rather by what you know to be true. Mirrors break and smoke dissipates eventually. At the end of the day, what’s left is all that’s real.

This post totally didn’t go in the direction I had initially intended but I didn’t want to fight to keep it going in any particular direction because I want this blog to be as honest an organic as possible. Sometimes you just have to let things become what they want to be, and love them anyway.

Until next time…

If not for the children…then for me!!!

Being in my early thirties means that all of my friends, acquaintances, and peers are either in relationships, have careers, children or some combination of the three. In addition to some being in relationships, some are even married. Although I didn’t grow up witnessing many (if any) evenly yoked marriages or relationships, I’m still a huge proponent of marriage. I believe that for each person out there is another person fully equipped and capable of being everything that the other needs. Notice I did say needs, and not wants. What we want in a person is usually based on superficial ideals of marriage, love, and romance.

In a dream world, we’d all have partners that are physically fit, eat well, have awesome high-profile, seven figure jobs, they cook, clean, puts it down in the bedroom, anticipate your every need and wish, and has a head full of hair, or are bald by choice rather than by nature. This person is considerate, puts you first, is well groomed, has great, healthy relationships with their family, has never been married, has no baby mama’s or baby daddy’s and no baggage. Most of all, this person is God-fearing and supports our choices wholeheartedly.

If that’s what some of us are waiting for, then we’re in for a world of hurt and disappointment. Partners aren’t perfect and neither are we. I’ve been with Lavarro for a long time now, and although we mostly know each other, we still grow and learn something new about each other every day. I’m so far from perfect that on paper I’d probably seem like the least likely candidate for any form of person-to-person relationship. However, if you’re able to see beyond my need to be the center of attention, and my diva-like ways and antics, you’d discover that I’m a super sweet person that will give anything to make sure those I love have what they need. I don’t know who remembers the Lyfe Jennings song “Must be Nice,” but there’s a line that says, “…someone who’s slow to take and quick to give.” That’s me. That’s the way we all need to be and the way I believe we all want to be but are too afraid of being hurt.

What I seem to notice most is that we’re willing to overlook and accept flaws in friends, but don’t give our partners the same compassion or room to err. We set-up our intimate relationships to fail a lot of the time because we have expectations that we don’t communicate because we think that if the person really, truly loves us then they’d magically know how to treat us and what we need and want from them. This type of thinking is dead wrong. We have to plainly and clearly communicate whatever we want them to know. No excuses. No…*side note* I think I want to be a Japanese pop star. I mean the Japanese embrace quirky, weird, cartoon-like characters who sing poorly but dance well. I may just be able to pull this one off. I’ll run it by Lavarro and see what he thinks. Twenty bucks says he’ll shoot it down, I’ll throw a tantrum, tell him that never supports my dreams, and then he’ll tell me to go ahead and ask what he needs to do and I’ll tell him nothing because I’m over it and would rather have some new Rick Owens shoes or a new Balmain leather jacket. Total and unnecessary drama. But yeah like I was saying before my adult A.D.D. flipped on and took the reins, we can’t make excuses for ourselves but not others. The opportunity to make mistakes has to be equal.

The older I get, the more I’m beginning to notice relationships breaking up, marriages ending in divorce and people who once felt they couldn’t live without one another, doing just that. They’re splitting up, moving apart, dividing assets, sharing custody of the children, and being in contempt of their once loved ones. I can’t take it! It’s weird, it’s selfish, and it’s unfair to me. Yes I made this about me…if you don’t know me, it’s what I do. How am I supposed to remain friends or friendly with your ex if you’re not, and we’ve developed our own personal friendship over the course of your relationship? Do I unfriend them on facebook, and block them on Instagram and twitter? If I run into them and they invite me to their birthday party or house warming do I politely decline or make up an excuse about having plans at the exact date and time of their gathering? Do you see what this is doing to me? All I can say to all of you in relationships is, STAY TOGETHER! If not for the children, then for me!!!

That’s all for this week. I’m not even going to read and edit this post because my mind isn’t functioning at peak performance because I’m on a diet and healthy eating and exercise have made me more impatient than usual.

Thanks for visiting and don’t forget to “follow” and “like” my blog and posts. XOXOXO


Feeling slutty should always be a choice!!!

Recently my husband and I made a quick (yet long) trip to Dallas for a photo shoot as honorees for DFW Style Daily’s best dressed 2013. I call the trip quick because we were only in Dallas for about twenty-six hours but feeling adventurous and curious about this MegaBus we’d been hearing so much about decided to use it as our mode of transport. I guess my Manager/Publicist was feeling extra “down with the people.” Who knows, but it was a very inexpensive option, and even more so if you calculate the cost per hour. I’ve taken more expensive cab rides from Ft. Lauderdale airport to downtown Miami. Wow is all I can say, because it took us about twenty hours to get there and another twenty to get back. Nearly two days’ worth of road travel with the most obnoxious group of strangers ever assembled. I’m talking about over the hill five foot tall muscle heads, older ladies with drawstring ponytails, females with blood red contact lenses, and a host and array of other odd characters. I couldn’t have chosen a more diverse group of individuals if it were my job and had been for the last decade. However, I digress. Finally making it to Dallas after moving from the metroplex two months prior was an interesting feeling. I missed it dearly but couldn’t wait to leave it again and head back to Chicago.

After calling for car service and arriving at our nameless, faceless, soulless hotel, who earned these titles because they charged us an additional fifty dollars for checking in early, although the room was ready and totally empty. Our twenty hour bus ride meant nothing to them. Anyway after getting to our room, my focus was on the plush king-size bed because I desperately needed a nap before we had to head to the Galleria Dallas for 4:00pm. I plop down and immediately fall asleep. Four hours later I wake up and call my mom in California because I knew she’d answer. During this entire time I feel like we had everything we needed for this trip, and maybe a bit more than was necessary.

Our alarm sounds and Lavarro wakes up and he shaves and showers and proceeds to get dressed. After he was done, it was my turn shave and shower, which also went smoothly. In case you’re wondering why he went first when I was already awake, it’s because I take 200 degree showers that make the walls drip sweat and set off smoke detectors. Lavarro only uses cold water and he’d have to wait too long for the heat to dissipate before he could even step foot beyond the doors threshold. Anyway, it was time to get dressed and then it hit me like a ton of bricks! The only underwear that I brought with me was the pair that I was wearing. How in the world did I manage to bring nearly every piece of jewelry from our safe, and like five pairs of jeans and two wool jackets, and my arsenal of Dior skincare and forget something as essential as underwear? If we were at the St. Francis in San Francisco I could have run down to Victoria Secret in the hotel’s lobby and purchased a pair of panties big enough to wear for the day. It wouldn’t have been the first time I was forced to wear women’s panties in a pinch. Perhaps one day I’ll tell you that entire story. Right now it’s between Lavarro, Della, God and I.

So in typical DJ fashion, I ask Lavarro if he’d packed underwear for me, and blamed him for not making sure I had not only an extra pair, but several extra pairs so that I could choose the pair that best fit my mood at the time of getting dressed. I pitch a fit, refuse to get dressed, and then I’m presented with a fresh pair of underwear by my better (more organized) half. You’d think this would have solved my dilemma, but it only presented yet another obstacle. You guys, these underwear were so freaking tiny and slutty that I got upset all over again. Why’d I have to wear the slut undies? Why couldn’t Lavarro trade with me and let me wear the full coverage pair? Seriously guys these things were super-duper slutty. I want to show you a picture but I don’t know if my husband would permit me to. I’ll do my best to describe them. Ok first, they’re powder blue and sheer. They’re super low-rise, and they have a black waist band and also a black band that goes from the front top of the waistband and down around the jewels and cups them and presents them in a way as if to say, “These are for you! Enjoy!” I was soooo humiliated because I was imagining having to get changed in front of strangers and then they’d judge me and think I was some back room, glory hole, freak of the week. This was such a tragedy.

Fortunately, we made it on time to the photo-shoot on time and no one ever knew my dirty little secret. I looked like a gentleman, and the photos perfectly reflected that. Just so you know, after that incident when we got back home, I ordered that underwear in every color for Lavarro and myself. I guess I discovered a side of myself that I thought I’d left in my early twenties. You’re never too old to feel sexy. I simply wanted a choice.
Remember that “Love never fails.”

Until next time…
-DJ Hurley

Don’t shoot the Messenger!!!

Greetings fine people. My apologies for not posting last week, but as a new resident of Chicago, with a strong preference for warm and hot climates, I’ve been not feeling the best because our weather is changing. Lavarro and I relocated here from Dallas at the end of June so this is our first fall/winter in the windy city. If you haven’t been here, and aren’t aware, the cold is REAL. Right now we’re only in the 30’s, and although we’ve had no snow yet, we did have a freeze warning for yesterday October 22nd.
Another reason for the lack of a post last week was that I was grossed out by the internet. I guess now is a good time to let you all know that I’m super dramatic, and moody…especially when I’m not feeling the best.

Anyway, trying to decide what to write always seems to change from day to day but throughout all of the mental changes and anguish there is always a topic that begins to weigh heavier on my heart and mind than others.

Since you’ve heard from me last, the subject that has filled a lot of my waking thoughts is how to drive more traffic to this blog. How to appeal to the demographics that I feel I’m a voice for. In doing so, I’ve come to realize that the group of people I was hoping to reach initially, more than likely will not be receptive to what I have to say. It pisses me off because if this were a blog of nude male images, with posts of explicit sexual acts then I could quite easily have the most popular site within the gay community. Why is this community so strongly led by lust, temptation, and overt sexuality? I refuse with every ounce and fiber of my being to succumb to the pressure to author a successful site by filling pages with the type of trash that I don’t stand for. I hate to feel like I have to abandon a segment of the population that I feel *hold please* (just got an urge to see if I could beat box…epic fail). Yeah so I don’t want to feel like I’m giving up on a segment of the population that needs more positive light shining upon it. Nor do I want to feel like I’m no longer a part of a vibrant community of passion, talent, and colorful people that has shaped me through the struggle and stigma that we’ve all had to deal with. No matter the socioeconomic status of gays, they’re still seen with a red light cast upon them symbolic of the back rooms and bath houses they’re assumed to be frequenting. It is so difficult trying to work against the negatives stereotypes, while maintaining a connection to the gay community and doing more for you.

I don’t know you guys, am I supposed to continue fighting for an underserved demographic or do I put the energy toward those that are giving positive energy back to me? Perhaps those that I felt I had to reach and who would embrace me isn’t who I’m writing for anyway. At this point my feeling is that I’ll assemble the words in sentences, quotes, and phrases and let my audience decide who they are, and if and when something I say applies to them. I’m merely a messenger, and my message is all-inclusive. #GunsDown #DontShoot

Remember that “Love never fails.”

Until next time…
-DJ Hurley