Excerpts from the Diary of a Diva

If things don't look up soon, I might have to change the name of this blog from Excerpts from the Diary of a Diva to Excerpts from My Crappy California Chronicles . It's getting harder and harder to maintain my diva-tude while I sleep on my homegirl's couch. Maybe it's just me, but doesn't it seem like when you're at what you presume to be your lowest point, something happens to push you further down? Case in point: my homegirl went to the beauty shop yesterday. Since I don't have a key to her house, I'm at her mercy as to when I can come home. Okay, I'm not mad at that because she didn't offer and I didn't ask. Anyway, I decided to go shopping for clothes to kill time. Besides, like I said before, they're scattered everywhere and I need some solid outfits. I went and picked up a couple of pieces and headed to my second job. I didn't want to stay too late because I'm trying to respect the fact that my homegirl and her man both ha...

I'm living with a friend while I wait for my apartment to get ready. I don't know if you've ever been forced into this kind of situation, but I can honestly say that it's not cool. Don't get me wrong -- my homegirl is being extra gracious, and I appreciate her generosity. However, who wants to impose on someone indefinitely? I certainly don't. It's hard to get my thoughts in order when everything else is all over the place. For example, I have stuff in the storage space at my new place, my neighbor's van, and my car. Is it any wonder that I don't know where anything is? Let's not get it twisted -- I'm not exactly organized on a regular basis -- but at least everything was in one place. I'm trying to figure out where my clothes are. I have some with me, but I don't have any complete outfits because I was just trying to get the stuff out of my house. In fact, I'm getting ready to bathe and go pick up something to wear. I'm going...

Well, I can safely say that I'm finally out of my apartment. It was hard, but that chapter of my life is over. Now I'm looking forward to my next residence. Unfortunately, it won't be ready for a few days. That means I'm officially homeless. Where will I go, you ask? I'm wondering, too. One of my friends has offered her roll-away bed, while a neighbor offered to either pay for a hotel room or let me sleep on one of his four couches. My wonderful cousin lives with boyfriend in his house, so the thought of staying with them is completely out. He's trying to put me up with his family members, but that's not an option because I don't believe in staying with strangers. So far, I'm staying with my friend. This will be my first night on a roll-away bed. I'm at her house now, watching TV and contemplating my next move. I have a car full of stuff that I'd like to take to my new place, but I can't reach my new landlord. That means I'...

Those of you who read this blog regularly have probably noticed that I haven't be posting as often as before. Let me catch you up on what's been happening in my life... I was supposed to move into my new apartment tomorrow. When I asked the guy when the place would be ready, he assured me the work that needed to be done -- cleaning carpet, replacing baseboards, painting, etc. -- would be finished by the time I was ready to move in. Even though the place isn't exactly what I wanted, I thought it would be a good idea because a) he's the brother of a friend of mine, and b) he agreed to work with my lack of funds. When we shook hands on the deal last week, I thought all would be well in the land. I got my first whiff of BS when I brought him a partial deposit on Tuesday. He said that although he hadn't started on the apartment, I would still be able to move my stuff in starting on Saturday. When I pressed him about whether I could start moving earlier than that, he hem...

Dear Tavis, I heard about your imminent departure from The Tom Joyner Morning Show . You apparently couldn't take the heat generated by your comments about Barack Obama. While I don't have the pleasure of listening to you on a daily basis, I know you're commentary will be missed by some -- especially your soon-to-be former boss, Mr. Joyner. I'd like to say that I'm shocked by your decision, but I'm not. Most people who've deemed themselves to be all-knowing have a hard time dealing with dissension. You've always portrayed yourself as a man who speaks for the people. My question is and has always been, which ones? You've never really spoken for me or any of my friends. Your State of the Black Union address usually brings up some very good points. However, it's never marketed to the people who actually need the information. If you're so concerned about "the people," why would you broadcast it on CSPAN, the one station most fo...

Now that I've decided to make blogging a way of life, do I still have a right to privacy? After all, it's my choice to allow you a glimpse into the inner workings of me. Do I therefore have the right to restrict that choice? One could argue that if I don't want you to know, I shouldn't write about it. This is true. However, since I'm using this forum to exorcise my demons, it would stand to reason that I'd have to expose some uncomfortable truths about myself. Furthermore, my demons may directly -- or indirectly -- affect people some of the people who choose to read what I've written. The question then becomes, "How much is too much?" Where am I to draw the line in this situation? For the most part, I've chosen not to use my name or the names of anyone involved. Is that enough? If you can recognize yourself in the details, are you then exposed like I am? Where is all this coming from, you might ask? After careful deliberation on my pa...

Now that I've been in bereavement mode for over a month, here are a few things I've observed... I've been hinting at this before, but now it's official -- the bereaved mind is completely delusional. Think about it. No matter how a raggedy a person is in life, everyone celebrates them when they die. Pookie could have sold drugs, had 15 kids by 13 baby mamas, and the day he gets shot, he becomes St. Pookie the Divine in the eyes of those who love him. Maybe not quite divine, but you get the picture. Grieving can really work up an appetite. It's hard work being sad. Even though I'm not crying as much as I did at first, the sadness can creep up on you at any given time. That's very draining, which makes it necessary to eat. Coupled with the fact that I just returned to the gym yesterday, I've gained at least 10 pounds this month. Of course, keeping up the figure is really hard when you consider my next point... Black people believe that fried chick...