singdammit

So I'm hanging out in San Francisco for three weeks, transitioning from artist and arts professional to full-time scholar. The process largely involves a great deal of reading, followed by a great deal of drinking...rinse and repeat. But I sacrifice for my career.

I am wandering along Haight (I'm living in Lower Haight while I'm here), and stumble into a bookstore tucked away along the various T-shirt, hookah shops and tattoo parlors. They have no romance novels (infidels!), so I browse the list of upcoming authors to do signings.

Her name caught my attention first; a clang from my Slam past (is it ever a past, or does the Slam urge just lie dormant?). She had two new books out; one a collection of poems and shorts, the other, a collection of erotic stories featuring her as a character. Some were true, some pure fiction. Intrigued, I decided to attend the reading.

I don't often get tongue-tied around celebrities, but I revert to my screaming New Kids On the Block days when I meet "famous" slammers. Patricia Smith, Roger Bonair-Agard, StaceyAnn Chin, Sarah Jones...you get the point. Daphne Gottlieb ranks up there for the awesomeness of her presence alone. Her locks, her height, the style that says "f&^% you clothes, you serve me-" she bowled me over. She gave away prizes, and I wound up with plastic birds, not plastic handcuffs.

I dragged along another woman from the Institute, a Mainer who is as Tri-Delt as I am boho. We both noticed how human Daphne was; she was nervous through the entire reading. Her voice was really warm, like she'd be a great hostess and offer you cookies and extra blankets. We'd both bought the stories about her, me to see what kind of bravery is takes to invite people to write about screwing you, and E (the woman I was with), because she met one of the book's contributors in the store.

As she signed books at the end, I, blushing, stammered how I'd come to know her name ("I slammed in Ohio-" akin to Baby's "I carried a watermelon" in Dirty Dancing, and dropped a few names she might recognize (she did recognize them). And that was it, until I read the inscription. "You didn't have to come all the way from Ohio to meet me, but I'm glad you did." Aww... see why I have great big poet crushes?

And the book, titled F&^%ing Daphne, is really good. Fan-tastic. Get it.

In the wake of the long, slow drag towards deciding on a Democratic nominee, I am left with a lingering taste of bile in my mouth...

When did I stop being a woman?

When Hillary Clinton announced her candidacy, I think I was still a woman, according to media reports. I remember seeing people who looked like me (read: black and female) interviewed on television. Our opinion about the "historic campaign for women everywhere" counted.

And then, somewhere around South Carolina, women became white, and the rest of us; Latina, Asian, multiracial-Puerto Rican mulatto coloreds (read: the rest of us who are not white and middle-aged)- we simply disappeared.

I know what happened to me. I became Black; one of the 11 percent of the electorate so enthused by a viable Black candidate that we lost all other identities and became a solid voting bloc of Black (now if you believe that, I've got some swampland...).

Every interview, since South Carolina that I have seen has aired the grievances of the above-mentioned white Boomer women; their angst at the sexism in the media, their criticisms of Obama as elitist (are you kidding me? Seriously?), their threat to go to McCain come fall, yadda, yadda. And I sort of get it. It's disappointing to find that the world is not your oyster after all. It's a shocking change to be reminded that there are hierarchies in society, and that sometimes, you're not the delicate and gentle snowflake everyone rushes to protect. But here's where Black women and other women of color could have helped you; this is totally not new to us.

If Barack had not won the nomination (in a fair fight), there would be no news stories about the Black voting bloc (BVB) threatening a GOP shift. Politics by vengeance is not possible when the stakes are so high. The BVB would have been a bit sad, but in the end we'd shrug, put our yard signs in the attic for future generations to see what we almost did, and we'd start stumping for Hillary.

So this message is twofold. To the media: thanks for reminding Black women again that our femininity is always in question, and that we must constantly choose loyalties between race and gender standpoints. And to the White, Boomer women who are upset- this is America, sweetie. Life is pain. And your behavior, hogging camera time and nearing shrillness, is the reason feminism isn't integrated. Now tuck your lip in, stop acting like a brat and grab an Obama sign. We've got important work to do, as a country. Quit bull-sh..ting.

Love, the Black (Female) Voting Bloc.

Happy Birthday [Bad username: nerak_g �! Happy birthday [info]momoyeahmomo]

I'm sitting in my favorite coffeeshop, procrastinating writing a final. My heart is as heavy as the skies outside, and thank God it's raining so hard, I don't feel compelled to cry.

I am one of those people who grew up just past the Civil Rights Movement. I'm privileged to have never grown up with any kind of overt and pressing segregation, nor any legal overtly racial discrimination policies (Reagan doesn't count). And my mom, trying to give me a better life, sent me to mixed schools and encouraged me to affiliate with all the students in my classes. Especially in elementary school, I had a rainbow coalition of friends. I knew we had differences; my friend Jennifer was black, but had a white mom, long, silky hair, and lived with her grandmother; Aine's dad was a nurse; and David's mom taught us Chinese customs and gave us chopsticks for Chinese New Year. My mom was a single parent. Differences, but-who cared?

High school was more difficult; we began to pull apart a bit, more balkanized by activities than race, although I did learn that it wasn't cool to be smart to some of the black kids at school- athletics were cooler. Band was so uncool as to render me largely invisible. But again, I had friends across the spectrum; fellow nerds in black and white, a tenuous alliance with tough black girls on drill team, and a huge crush on a cafe au lait boy whose ethnicity defied us for years. We called him Arab, Latin, mixed...turns out he was Dutch and Cruzian (St. Croix), by way of Aruba. OK...

But we all hung out, and danced to similar music mostly, and had similar goals. Yeah, there were only a few interracial couples around, but at the school for nerds, not that many people were dating at all. I even had a white, guy friend who, like me, thought all the race conflict we heard about (rarely saw) was stupid. When we'd pass each other in the hall, he'd yell loudly to me, "Whassup, Honky!" and I'd reply, "Wassup, Nigga!" Like smoking or getting pregnant, we thought being racist was just plain dumb. Culture was cool and being proud of your ancestry was awesome, but why waste time hating someone because they were lighter or darker than you? Dumb.

When I got to Cornell, I realized what I had been sheltered from. Vitriol and rhetoric of entitlement, violence and resentment, and this from kids who could buy and sell their way to a college degree! Here I was, this kid from Cincinnati, trying to sing Kuumbayah and hold hands, while the revolution started to televise itself. To say I wigged out is an understatement. I lived in the black dorm, had almost all black and brown friends (although they were Trinidadian and Nu-Jamaican and Puerto Rican), but I secretly penned a novel about two fish-out-of-water freshmen forging an interracial relationship amidst campus conflict and violence.

Coming home to Cincinnati didn't help. I was disappointed, angry, and scared; plus, I had discovered how hard dating was, and all the new rules that came along with sexual politics in America. I felt ugly and ostracized, from black men and white, and the only haven I had was the campus diversity organization, where freaks like me from all walks of life, countries, and colors came together, voluntarily, to talk about race and reconciliation (to be glib). I think RAPP (the last P is silent) saved my life. It turned me from an angry militant to a much more reasoned adult, no longer sheltered and naive, but also, not mad at the whole world for things outside my control.

Adulthood has largely been a mellowing period. I laugh at how little younger people think about race when forging friendships, but I cringed tonight when I saw a doe-eyed young black girl inviting a handsome white boy to her house for dinner. "Be careful!" my heart shouted, just in case... he wasn't as evolved as she. Projection? Hell yes. Rejection kills; disappointment only maims. Call me the Phantom of the Coffeehouse.

Anyway, to my heavy heart- Barack and America. Race and 2008. Resentment and anger. Halle Berry as the beautiful version of black women. Subprime borrowers getting a bailout vs. No Child Left Behind. And me, sitting alone in a coffeeshop, wishing I had some friends around me to tell me that it's gonna be ok. Because today...today, I wonder how the hell I'm gonna survive in Boulder.

Today has been a day of rants, but...I miss writing, and I miss hope. I had it; I guess I just misplaced it. Send me some if you see it, ok?

 ...Made me cry.

Barack,

I said the other day in class that race is no longer a primary factor in the average Americans' behavior- that similarities in values and actions were. My argument was that most white people only care that you act just like them, more than the color or your skin.

Man, was I wrong.

I've been watching the news this week- how could I not? And I have seen how folks are making Rev. Wright's words somehow about you...and about your love for this country, therefore your ability to lead it. And I have, to be much more stringent than your wonderful wife, rarely been less impressed with America than I am at this moment.

First, you did not ever endeavor to make race a part of your presidential race- you were loved and revered as the "transcendent candidate." But of course, certain people (I-can't-believe-we-ever-called-you-Black-Clintons) want to make it THE issue. And now you have to address not only your beliefs, but once again, like we do every day in classrooms, boardrooms and bars, represent for the entire race. And the question white folks finally want answered, once and for all, is this: "How can you be president, when you (and you people) hate America?"

That's the fear- the Fear of a Black (Barack) Planet. What the hell will happen to white people if they participate in electing someone who has centuries and continent's worth of reasons to hate the European, Christian, capitalist and colonialist values of a nation that has done very little to include you as a free citizen? I mean, the man is the nexus of what rage towards white Americans should be- he's half black, African at that- half white, the product of a single poor white woman, who by all accounts seemed to be a feminist, and was definitely and activist (and a n---- lover, but we won't speak ill about the dead); he was born in Hawaii, a colonised nation made into a state, and educated globally, witnessing firsthand the impacts of a so-called "superpower" on Third World countries. If white people were in his shoes, they'd hate them too...so how is he so hopeful? How can he be so...nice?

Enter Rev. Wright. Finally, something that proves that Barack is just like the others- he, too, hates white people. he, too, hates America! Because if he can listen to a pastor who can develop sermons that have snippets of sentences, that in a soundbite can appear hate-filled and vitriolic (no matter that they may be completely without context or analysis- the words were said!), then Barack has to believe everything the man says. He's no better than his wife; who just got around to being proud of America (and we know she's an emasculating he-woman, with her pearls and support and intelligence); he's no better than those hip-hop rappers who want to take our country over and transform them into drugged out ghettoes, with our daughters as their lily-white prizes; they're the reason we clutch our purses and scurry towards the exurbs after 6 p.m.

The message is clear- by attending the church of Rev. Wright, he proves it once and for all- Barack Obama doesn't care about white people.

***

I am often fed up by the media, and what it does, and how it does it. Bottom-feeding sensationalists pummeling each other for rhetorical booms that scare the public into purchasing their sponsors' solutions. The media is not a righteous beacon of truth- it is, anymore, obvious muckraking. And the most disappointing thing is to watch Americans eat up the rhetoric like a baby gumming applesauce; to see critical analysis and intelligent dialogue go out the window, replaced by panic and hysteria; to see them tear down what they have built up like a Tower of Babel that got too high and too scary.

Barack Obama now has to explain to white people, in a way that doesn't scare them, how the experience of being black is different, and valid. He has to do it in a way that convinces him that we won't riot and kill them; that we do love America; and that, if elected, he can control us crazy Negroes at home. Cuz if he can't control an old pastor from saying crazy shizznit and attacking the values that white folks hold dear, how's he gonna keep the rest of us cousins from acting a plumb fool and turning the White House black?

*End angry political rant*

It's pretty commonly known in the graduate school "angst universe" that March 15 is a drop-dead date for schools with strict (not rolling) applications deadlines sending out results for Fall admission. Ergo, the closer you get to the Ides of March, the more likely it is that you are on a wait list, or have been rejected.

I applied to nine schools. Three were my "top-tier;" schools where I had a medium-to-high level of interaction/communication with faculty before application, liked the location, the program description, and the funding structure. Five were schools that I could be interested in, but for various reasons, were not my first choices, and one was an outlier, a program that I applied to because it would allow me to do the bulk of the work I was interested in, near home, with a faculty I'd met and enjoyed- but it wasn't a Sociology program.

Well, the decision being made, I am now receiving the rest of my notifications from schools, which is sort of weird. I've been accepted to two schools, one with funding, one with no news as yet. I accepted the sure deal, for a ton of reasons, but the bottom line being it became a far-and-away favorite after my visit.

The results, so far:

U of Cincy- accepted, Master's, no funding (yet);
U of Colorado- Boulder- accepted, PhD, tuition, TA, stipend, subsidized health, fellowship (I'm going- top tier);
UC San Diego- rejected (they were ranked 7th on my list of 9)
U of Arizona- rejected (they were top-tier);
Emory University- rejected (they were top-tier);
Stony Brook- rejected (bottom-tier, very little pre-application contact);

I have not yet heard from:
Syracuse
Temple
OSU (the outlier program)

I don't care, as such- I just want the letters to end the waiting. It's a weird psychological defect, I'm sure, to have accepted an offer, and yet still wait for likely kicks in the teeth from programs you don't want to go to. But seriously, what about this undertaking speaks of sanity?

It was weird- when I got the offer from Boulder, something clicked into place- a knowing that regardless of the other news, we had selected each other. Indeed, it was difficult in the scant days after my return from the visit, to not get geeked about the program. As it was, I was looking at apartment costs and soliciting bids from movers the very day I got the good news. Love at first sight, I guess.

For fans of The Secret, some of the things I wrote on my list of desired items were; to feel that I was wanted/being recruited; a phat financial package, and a faculty of up-and-comers who took a direct interest in the success of their students. I got all of that. The rest of the list I can't fully remember and some of it remains to be seen, but it's more than a decent start. To quote my friend Gabe, "Universe?! Hey, boo...thanks!"

Things are getting that "far-out, way-too-real" feeling.

I am excited, yes. Sure. Absolutely. It is going to be an exciting change for me- a bright new chapter, blah, blah, blah. But as one student said to me during me visit, "grad school brings up all your shit."

Yup, it does.

I have this fear, probably irrational, that when I leave home, bad things happen to my family and I can't get back to them. It's happened both times I've lived apart from the inmates at Camp Freak-a-Lot. So imagine my angst yesterday when I get a call from my mom- she's in the emergency room. Again.

My mom has random ailments and spells usually when she's traveling, but luckily she works at the hospital, so she's relatively well-versed and when she's at home, she gets rock-star treatment. But it certainly didn't make me feel warm and fuzzy about leaving her here to fend for herself, especially with Man still needing a kidney transplant and getting sicker every day. 

These are not older people- my mom is only 19 years older than I am...and I ain't old. But their frailties worry me- what if something happens while I'm taking my comps? At a conference?

I know, in real life, people deal with this stuff all the time. And I know there's nothing I can do to stop things from happening. But yesterday, as I booked my one-way flight to Denver in August, I felt like Alice sliding down the rabbit hole. Here. We. Go.
 

I just got the best email of my life... Univ. of Colorado's (Boulder) Sociology PhD program. Tuition + TA...I am so excited! It's my first choice program.

*Happy Dance*

I was comparing the process of waiting on decisions for graduate school like being a contestant on The Bachelor; waiting for the damn rose. And you don't know if you're geeked over the guy holding the rose, or just conditioned to want to be picked?

So...I guess I stand here hoping I look cute enough to get a stupid flower...but if the flower comes with tuition and a stipend, cool! :)

From Arizona...a school I liked the idea of, a lot.

I wasn't crazy about my interaction with them, but I figured, a top tier program, full funding guranteed for all admits, and the weather in Tucson is AWESOME!

And they rejected me...*sigh*. I'm honestly not that upset about it; I wanted some word from somewhere, and I got it. But did that word have to be a bad word on a Friday night when I just left the bar with a nice Happy Hour buzz?!

6 more to go...screw YOU, University of Arizona! And you too, UC San Diego!!

U of Cincinnati clearly has better taste than you do. Bleh! *Sticking my tongue out*

Dear Singdammit,

I am Director of Graduate Studies for the Department of Sociology at the University of Hometown. I have the pleasure of writing today to inform you that your application to the Sociology M.A. program has been accepted. Congratulations. We very much hope you can join us this fall.

The Sociology Department's Graduate Program Committee makes graduate student decisions in two steps. First, we decide whether to accept applicants, and we communicate that news -- which is why I write today. Second, we make decisions on funding, based on the resources the department has available, the number of eligible students, etc. The GPC is in the middle of working on those funding decisions, which I hope to communicate to applicants within the next three weeks.

If you have any questions, please contact me or Ms. Super Cool, who is the department's Graduate Program Coordinator.

Director Guy -- ph. 555-XXXX; director.guy@Hometown.edu
Super Cool -- ph. 555-XXXX; super.cool@Hometown.edu

Again, congratulations, and we hope we will see you at Hometown.

Sincerely,

Director Guy
Director of Graduate Studies

Acceptance #1: University of Hometown. Master's program. Funding decisions to follow.

OK, Dr. Dave, you were right.

I'm happy. This is my alma mater (twice as of June), and after all the drama of my undergrad, I so did not want to apply here.

But I am grateful for Dr. Dave and my mom, who made me apply. I'm grateful for Rhys, who put up with me all fall. And dammit if I'm not grateful for the process, which was the easiest of all the schools I applied to, and Cheryl who runs things, has been incredibly responsive.

So I'm definitely going to school next year. Yay yay yay!!! *Does a happy dance*

Since The Cincinnati Post died, I have totally lost my yen to read local news media, but I had to point out two particularly crappy headlines from The Cincinnati Enquirer (in the spirit of full disclosure, they did pay me in 2006 to do several freelance articles).

*Obama takes 3 from Clinton. Seriously?! Are we talking about Legos here? How were the states hers to begin with? Grr.....

*Over-The-Rhine given hope . Wow, just what a transitional (code: black and poor) neighborhood needs- for some teenagers from a privileged (code: white and rich) private school who will grow up to be privileged college students to come in and open up a coffee house with the sweat of their own pampered brows.

I hate it when foreigners come into my neighborhood almost as much as I do when they get lauded for minimal efforts (like being there once a week), or as much as I hate when the media reports the big news like this, this here group of young white men swinging a hammer as an after-school hobby is gonna do a gosh-darn thing for the neighborhood where homeownership was at three percent, and now it's higher, but the additional ownership comes at the cost of low-income housing. And meanwhile, we have unscrupulous club owners and promoters trying to make a quick buck by promoting a street culture, and social service agencies crammed into every spare corner.

Oh yeah, Moeller kids, they're bringing hope. Give me a break.

I hate the Enquirer.

We sacrifice much for the things we really want.

For this dream of graduate school, I have sacrificed so much-

Sleep, for sure;
Money, in fees and tuition;
My routine, my friends, my sense of normality, and above all-
my relationships.

Men have never been my forte, but this graduate school pursuit, with all its intrinsic uncertainty, has made the men in my life cut and run, act out, and budding relationships never even start to flower. It's hard to experience when people don't support you.

And right now, I wait, for the acceptances and the rejections. For the "next." It's almost like holding your breath- it is holding your breath. I am suspended.

I am hoping it's all worth it, in the end. It probably will be. But with nothing else to do but wait...

 So-

I just got an email from Way, Way Out West University, that read-

Dear Singdammit,

Your application for graduate study in the Sociology program majoring in Sociology, at the Way Way Out West University has been carefully reviewed. We regret to inform you that you have not been selected for admission.

A number of factors are considered in evaluating each applicant. Please be aware that Way Way Out West University receives a very large number of applications and many excellent candidates could not be offered admission. Unfortunately, we are only able to extend offers to a limited number of qualified applicants.

Thank you for your interest in the Way Way Out West University. An official letter has been posted on the application status page of your Way Way Out West University application at http://website for way west.edu. I wish you the best in all your endeavors.


Sincerely,

Dean of Graduate Studies
Office of Graduate Studies
Way Way Out West University

Now, having said that- why is it that even when you get rejected by someone you didn't really want, it still stings? I've been trying to figure out how to deal with rejection for awhile now- how not to take it personally. But it IS personal, demmit!

I guess the only options are at a) magically turn off all your emotions and completely submit your ego, or b) never submit anything that might be up for rejection. Neither sounds interesting.

Well, so far I've got one flat out NO, and one, hey, you're looking aiight to us. Seven more to go (I killed one app of the 10, so I'm in the running for nine eight schools.

Party People... (all three of you);

I am having a fantabulous day. I have had a shitty 2008, but today, today is fantabulous.

Grad school will probably ACTUALLY (to those who knew him, give praise to Big T) happen.

I'm at work, having a better than normal day because my boss is unexpectedly ill, and my class (and a test) were cancelled (class was cancelled; the test just postponed). I check my email and see that Out West University has invited me to their Prospective Graduate Student Weekend. This is important, because when a university, any university, invites you to fly out on their dime, they are considering you. More importantly for me, they don't think you suck.

This is amazing- first, because the apps were mostly due at the beginning of January, and I have been a nervous wreck trying to wait patiently for a decision from the admissions committee. Now I have hope, and a trip to look forward to. Because if Out West University is willing to fly me out, the other nine schools can't think I'm pond scum, and even if they do, guess what- one school doesn't, and all it takes is one.

This is better than online dating...or online looking, more accurately, which I am also trying right now. With much less enthusiasm than pursuing my Ph.D., but- a girl's gotta have priorities.

I am loving life, and can't wait to go to out West and see what I can see. To quote- "You people really like me!"

And btw, thanks, shitty 2008. that made today seem so much sweeter.

 Stolen from martyoutloud

Because we never really know each other as well as we think, in response to this post I'd like you to ask a question. Anything about which you are curious, anything you feel you ought to know about me. Silly, serious, personal, fannish. Ask away. Then copy this to your own journal, and see what people don't know about you.

What Singdammit Means

You are a seeker. You often find yourself restless - and you have a lot of questions about life. You tend to travel often, to fairly random locations. You're most comfortable when you're far away from home. You are quite passionate and easily tempted. Your impulses sometimes get you into trouble. You are usually the best at everything ... you strive for perfection. You are confident, authoritative, and aggressive. You have the classic "Type A" personality. You are confident, self assured, and capable. You are not easily intimidated. You master any and all skills easily. You don't have to work hard for what you want. You make your life out to be exactly how you want it. And you'll knock down anyone who gets in your way! You are wild, crazy, and a huge rebel. You're always up to something. You have a ton of energy, and most people can't handle you. You're very intense. You definitely are a handful, and you're likely to get in trouble. But your kind of trouble is a lot of fun.

Meme ganked from Jackie Danicki.

1. What did you do in 2007 that you’d never done before?

Invested in myself, financially, in a big way. Writing, education, my home- I just did the damn thing. I spent $2,000 on a bed.

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

Resolutions? I think not- they’re for amateurs.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Megan Kalagayan is here!!!!

4. Did anyone close to you die?

No, thank heavens.

5. What countries did you visit?

Ha! Been stuck here in Cincy all darn year.

6. What would you like to have in 2008 that you lacked in 2007?

More funds, please. And a solid healthy romance.

7. What dates from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

August 6- broke up with the Pugilist (and meant it). First week in July- Writer’s Camp. September 19- found out UC screwed me over. December 2- first date with Andre.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Handling all this school business- the class, the applications, finances, and the past, simultaneously.

9. What was your biggest failure?

Not getting a part in Caroline, Or Change (but it was for the best).

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

I caught a wicked cold right before Xmas. It stole my voice and laid me low until just about now.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

Books, and tuition.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

Dr. Dave Purcell and Gina (bunnylove). They inspired me by living their own lives in a big way.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

Toss up between U.S. foreign policy, my brother ending his relationship and U.C.

14. Where did most of your money go?

Eating out- I discovered that I like high-end food, a lot.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Grad school.

16. What song will always remind you of 2007?

Jill Scott, “Crown Royal”

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

a) happier or sadder? Happier
b) thinner or fatter? I think about the same, more’s the pity.
c) richer or poorer? Poorer…school eats your savings.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?

Hugged, kept in touch, saved (money)

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?

Worried

20. How did you spend Christmas?

In bed most of the day, then dinner @ McCormick & Schmick’s w/ Christie.

21. Did you fall in love in 2007?

I did.

22. What was your favorite TV program?

Grey’s Anatomy, Season 3

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

Hate is wasted energy.

24. What was the best book you read?

I dunno…I remember “Baby Love,” by Rebecca Walker, ‘cuz I love her writing and she tells the truth.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Caroline, Or Change- the soundtrack- amazing!

26. What did you want and get?

I wanted to go to Antioch Writer’s Workshop, and did it, even thought the amount scared me.

27. What did you want and not get?

An easy grad school application process.

28. What was your favorite film of this year?

Why Did I Get Married- Tyler Perry (who knew?)

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

32, and I had a second, smaller party @ The Elegant Swing Oasis.

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

Spending the holidays well, and with people close to me. I was a bit lonely at the end of the year.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2007?

LOL…does it fit?

32. What kept you sane?

My friends, and my mom

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

I’m past celebrity worship, but I really respected the actions of the basketball player (Derek Fisher) who left his team (the Utah Jazz) to take care of his daughter, who has cancer in one eye.

34. What political issue stirred you the most?

Bhutto’s assassination. It hit me real hard for some reason, as a woman.

35. Who did you miss?

My friends. They seem to be leaving town/growing up at alarming rates.

36. Who was the best new person you met?

Andre Kelly.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2007.

Two, actually. 1) Being counter-culture for the sake of being counter-culture is exhausting. 2) Love yourself, or nobody else can.

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

Here am I now looking at 30 and I got so much to say.
I gotta get this off of my chest, I gotta let it go today.
I was always too concerned about what everybody would think.
But I can't live for everybody, I gotta live my life for me.(Yeah)
I reached a fork in the road of my life and ain't nothing gonna happen unless I decide- “I Choose,” India.Arie