Tuesday, April 22, 2008



DATELINE…Upstate NY. Couple days after Thanksgiving ‘07

“Gum. Where you at?”
“Marshalls. What up.”

I shift my phone from one hand to the other, juggling it with my bag and small handful of things. Despite the Black Friday pillage a few days before, I manage to find a generous offering of my beloved CK panties.

“What time you leave?”

“Flight’s at 5 or 6 or something. You know I don’t know,” I laugh. I’d only seen my brother on Thanksgiving Day, and this is his goodbye call. He had called me the night before, teasing me because I was downtown at my favorite coffee shop, where he insisted “No Coloreds Allowed.”

With a flight to catch, and my nephew needing a ride from school within the hour, I’m in a rush. But I browse leisurely as I chit chat with The Boss of Me, as I affectionately refer to my big brother.

“I gotta tell you something.”

Though the phrase is preceded by what I imagine was a deep breath, there is no pause between sentences. But when you hear these words uttered, your brain switches to autosurvival mode, and stops time on your behalf. Allows you to catch a deep breath of your own. So as he speaks on, my feet stop moving at precisely the moment my racing heart refuses to.

“I gotta tell you something so I’m just gonna say it. I have cancer,” is how he actually says it in real time.

“Okay,” is my response, rendered in my own time.

“I started playing ball again, and I just started feeling funny. So I went to my doctor and she was like, 'it’s probably just your body telling you you’re getting older. Take some aspirin.' But I was like, no, I know how my body is supposed to feel. So I switched doctors and new patients are required to do blood work. So they saw something they didn’t like…”

Now I’m pacing.

“So they ran the tests and told me.”

“Where is it?” I ask, now rummaging through the Kenneth Cole computer bags.

“It’s in my blood and it's called...”

I can’t see the price tags. I don’t have on my glasses, but I don’t think they were prescribed to correct the blur from sudden tears anyway.

“I found out on my birthday of all damn days. Basically, I have to take medication for the rest of my life and obviously get regular check ups…”

“37 years ago, you came into the world on the wrong foot. Life’s a breach!! Happy Birthday!”

I sent him that text on his birthday, just a week earlier, and he never responded. Didn’t pick up when I called either.

“And I can’t play ball anymore. Can’t whup Miles’ ass on the court like I do his brother. And no, the kids don’t know.”

I suddenly remember my nephew who will soon be outside his school looking for my car to pull up. I shift my phone to the other hand, now piled high with things I didn’t realize I had picked up within the past four minutes. And I remember that my brother is a dad.

“If there’s one lesson I learned from Daddy it’s to always get a second opinion.”

Our dad took his last deep breath just three years and two months prior. Or I should say the venerable villain, cancer, took it without our permission.

“I need you not to do that.” He can hear me crying. I wonder suddenly if the security cameras have me in focus, racing mindlessly through narrow aisles not intended for shoppers, dumping miscellaneous items in random bins and racks.

“It’s gonna be fine. I’ve been wanting to tell you since you got home, but Ant picked you up from the airport…”

It occurs to me just now that when I walked into my parents’ house on Thanksgiving Day with two big bottles, my brother took the glass I poured only after I had mocked him relentlessly for refusing. Said he had a doctor’s appointment the next morning, to which I said, “All the more reason to drink.”

“And that’s why I called you last night. But now that I’ve told you, Mommy can stop worrying and she can talk to you about it.”

My poor mother. Having to hear this shit again. This time from the son who always took after his father.

“Quit crying. It’s gonna be fine. I need all positives, aight?”


“You gonna be ok?”

“Uh huh.” Whatever. We’ve made a living lying to each other. I’m hoping I’m the only one with no regard for truth this time.

“Ok. Don’t miss your flight, loser.”

“Yup. Love you,” I say, wandering around the houseware section. I've seen this movie before. I know the ending. The villain leaves, but always comes back.

“Love you, too. Peace.”

But of course what I heard was the hello of a Goodbye Call.

Sunday, April 20, 2008


If I'm to be judged by my body of work, I can live with that. I've shared lots of things with you all, mostly complete strangers from across the world. Nosy sons of bitches that you are. We exchange stories... some inane, others intimate or hilarious or tragic. We're kinda on it like that.

Looking through said body of work today, I tried to get a glimpse of what you see, the Wise you've gotten to know over the past two years. Some of you a lot more recent. Judging from the contents of my crates, I'm pretty consumed by family, love, boy bashing, TV, and the pursuit of premium liquor.

You know that I'm a NY girl, with island roots, the baby of my family. I have a dead dad, and issues thereof. I went to undergrad at Syracuse and hated it, so don't take offense when I hate on your schools too, Jam or La or Jonzee, et al. I have a love/hate relationship with NYC, my home for most of my adult life. Oh yeah, in March I turned 30 for the second time.

I'm terribly random. I admit. But also pretty direct and sincere. Particularly when it comes to the opposite sex. I started the blog because back in '06 I had had a succession of run-ins with young guys who were desperately confused about the women in their lives. And I mean simple, basic shit. This was my public service. But after a while you find your ego in the shadows, looking to shine, and the focus turns away from ridiculous dudes who lie on their dicks, to more personal relevant discourse. I've seen this exact shift in the bloggers I continue to loyally follow.

There's always that epic heart break. The thing you need to share in stunning detail and with jarring vulnerability in order for it to make sense in real life away from the blog. Judging from this body of work, heart break is an important fabric of Wise. Not only mine though. I acknowledge the shit you all share. The shit that fate brings to my doorstep.

Judging by my body of work, I've changed, as many of you have noticed. I'm chilling. Traveling. Boo'd up. Grad schooling it. Life is good.

And it is mostly. But it's also been dramatic. Lots of it not so good.

Lemme catch you up on who I am today, and you tell me what you see...


Wednesday, April 16, 2008


And just like that...I'm Back!!!

No, not with a post (duh!) I'm talking about Real.World Hollywood.

I know what I had said before
... but I'm in and I'm in big.

Clearly I'm in love with Will. Clearly there's no way he could be that attractive and be from like a really dangerous city. (That wasnt an ex joke, I was quoting the blond bitch. WTF? Classic!)


Albino chick and Will in the remake of Glitter.

Yo could you imagine pining away for your signif other...then watching them making out with some clown in a effing hot tub? No mas.

Yeah, still love Will even tho he hates strippers evn tho I dont hate strippers. Remember?

I actually don't hate the pretty dude. He's socially inept, and I have a feeling he's an islander. My guess start with a T and ends in rini. lol


"You're scary." Who ARE these judgy juvy broads??

Clearly I hate Will and the Arizona broad.

Wicked chill.

I'm in! (It really doesn't help that I'm going to LA (where I'll hang my jersey in the rafters ;) ) for the first time this summer!)

Thursday, April 03, 2008


"Wise, write me something."


The thing about birthdays is that they're all about the gifts.

There was the time you told me to keep my schedule clear. You sent me a text that morning with explicit instructions...

"Here are the directions. Be there at 12. I know you. Don't be late! Text me when you get there."

I find myself downtown, my heels clicking on cobblestone, the high noon sun guiding my steps. Even standing under the awning I wasnt sure what to expect.

"Go in and ask for Lisa. She's waiting for you. Take some time and relax and allow someone to pamper you for once."

...Or something to that effect (you know you're recall is laser and mine is aging.) After the most rejuvenating, fantastic facial ever, I walked around for a bit before calling to thank you. It was literally months since I had made the off comment about my skin feeling like shit. You listen. It was easily the most thoughtful gift I had ever received.

What about last week, when I was too weak to lift my head for juice and meds, but not too weak to text you. Sick, jet lagged, chest on fire, hung over. You used your resources and found the one place that delivered to my crib and had lunch sent over within the hour.

Or the time I had a long, stressful week. Long, hectic Friday. Long, turbulent flight. We sat at the bar staring down shots #2. Your hand playfully resting on my thigh. Like it belonged there. Sharing food and laughter. And afterward, exhausted, collapsing on fluffy sheets, legs and lips locked, anticipating a shower.

"Me first." I watched you disappear, disappointed that you left me out. Drifted off while you were away. Nudged awake by anxious hands in my hair.

"Take off your clothes."

How off guard was I, naked and surprised, at the soft crackle of the carefully lined and lit candles that accented the warm bathroom? The bubble bath with water that matched me perfectly, not too hot, not too cold. Or maybe too much of each equally. You left me with a card to read, and to relax, knowing that I hadnt all week.

After all, I knew then...

I knew that every day would seem like my birthday.

It's the little things...

Every day that I wake up laughing at a sweet or frisky or ridiculous or blue or encouraging message.

Going to bed frustrated that I can't be closer.

Busting out laughing at how much we bust out laughing.

Our sweat dripping onto a dance floor.

When I called you first, crying with bad news.

Exploring a new city.

When I lose track of time (and ask you how many days).

Laying in your lap showing you how to twist my hair.

Dancing all hard, and singing all loud, even though you're the Talented One.

Pouring you a drink that I know will get you talking.

Making each other CDs.

When you let me pass out in a cab.

Eating til we're out of breath (not to be confused with being out of breath after running to food).

Each hour you keep me company while I'm in class.

Plotting on travel vouchers.

Every time you ask me to write you something...I know the best gift is you.

(Hmmm...is it YOUR bday yet?!)

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  • So...Wise??

    My photo
    Our Nation's (HIV) Capital...by way of Harlem, NY and Upsteezy NY
    I'm older than I look, and stupider than you think. But I'm quite proud of my sharp eye for The Ridiculous, and by Ridiculous, of course I mean Me.