it’s official-all of my long-term relationships have been with albums and the nba.
it’s 2016 and maxwell thanked us tonight for 20 years of making his dreams come true.
1996 was a good year.
when i first moved here in 2009, i took myself to the maxwell show at the acc–chrisette michelle and common opened, and it was an incredible show. that night, and tonight-i was full of gratitude and inspiration for the staying power of an incredible artist with amazing songs. i may be as confused with his recent trilogy as i have been with margaret atwood‘s, but that doesn’t change the fact that urban hang suite was a pivotal album in my life. and that it was exactly on time tonight. though come on-who can deny that ’til the cops come knocking was a glaring omission…..?
the other bookend was an ego-blow sandwiched in ice creams, and i even happened to be wearing the same dress. no accidents. and all gratitude for inching closer to something real. or at least inching further away from all that old bullshit. no ragrets, nope.
i took myself to see the nice guys, where i cried in the dark for a few hours and once again mixed up those white boy ryans (reynolds and gosling), and then had a stunningly first-world problem moment of crying into noodles on yonge street because i wasn’t completely adored by someone for whom i felt 50/50 odds that the worst thing that could happen to us is if we were either not together, or we were.
i decided to bubble up by going to sephora and asking them to do my eyes so that i couldn’t cry because i would blind myself, and shit-i had to be on point in case i ran into my crooning idol, you know.
shoutout to those lovelies who did a bang-up job, not only with my makeup but with my spirit. life is all about knowing what to ask for, and whom to ask.
unlike beyonce‘s warmup dj-this one threw up bangerz (no miley) and i got my life in the singalong, especially with dru hill.
since they asked, “it ain’t good enough for me, baby”.