On December 18, I had my birthday party. It was at this amazing hotel downtown with a perfect view of the city. Sadly, everyone RSVPed and hardly anyone came. However, I was not saddened by this. The people I loved most came, my friend Felisha came from out of town and brought this awesome natural girl along, and I had food left over. Some people called out, others didn't. I just have the feeling that many didn't want to pay for parking. Which is sad but understandable. Downtown Atlanta parking on a Friday is a mess.
Yesterday, on my actual bday, I went to the mall, had lunch with my Atlanta Felisha, and went to go see The Princess and the Frog. I was excited to see a black princess, although the last Disney movie I saw in the theatre was The Lion King, so sadly, I kind of dozed off for five minutes during the movie. That night, I bought a marble cake and some vanilla ice cream, stuck two huge number candles in it and made a wish. Can't tell you what the wish was silly. That's against the rules.
I kept myself busy for my birthday as to not start feeling down. I always have a birthday shindig, but very rarely am I happy for my bday. I do believe that I will be that post-menopausal woman that cries on her birthday, because I am damn near in tears when my bday rolls by now in my twenties! My positive friends see each year that passes as a blessing. As a positively negative person, I see each year that passes as a reminder of all the things I have yet to do and all the things I need to do.
At the gym the other day I told a sistah, who is maybe in her mid-40s, that I am turning 25. She told me that I am in the prime of my life. I am hunched over my computer surrounded by boxes, loose pieces of paper, and clothes. I know that I am in my heart, but forgive me if I don't feel like it.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Movin' On Out
Ugghh, the stresses of moving.
For about two weeks, I have literally been wading through all my belongings in my compact room, packing things in between naps and tossing things over my shoulder that I don't know where to put. Seriously, the only thing I can think of more stressful than moving out is moving in.
My fam is leaving our current abode to move into a smaller yet more chic house not too far from this one. But doing so has proven to be a MAJOR headache. For one, everyone is packing at different speeds and seemingly nothing is getting done. Two, it is truly exasperating looking at all of the things that I have accumulated in nearly three years since graduation.
For the most part, mostly everything I brought from college was in a trunk that was literally on its last wheel. I replaced it with an x-large storage tote and was saddened to see all the things I'd stuffed in the trunk: old stories and grad school applications, books that I was supposed to read in school, didn't, but that now look oddly interesting. Man, how time flys.
I don't know about you, but procrastination has been biting me in the rear since I was a toddler. Getting a look at all of the things I was supposed to do made me want to crawl into the storage container myself! There is so much I need to get done but now, so many years later and it being during the holidays and me being on my period, I really don't have the energy to do anything. Yet the New Year is on its way, and although I usually suck at resolutions, I have decided to kick the procrastination demon to the curb. I have got to pack, study for the GRE, study my driving manual, start my grad apps, and do a whole lot more that I can't think of right now. But the point is, I am mentally determined, if not physically so, to get some stuff done. And I shall, I shall...after I finish blogging and lay down for a minute.
For about two weeks, I have literally been wading through all my belongings in my compact room, packing things in between naps and tossing things over my shoulder that I don't know where to put. Seriously, the only thing I can think of more stressful than moving out is moving in.
My fam is leaving our current abode to move into a smaller yet more chic house not too far from this one. But doing so has proven to be a MAJOR headache. For one, everyone is packing at different speeds and seemingly nothing is getting done. Two, it is truly exasperating looking at all of the things that I have accumulated in nearly three years since graduation.
For the most part, mostly everything I brought from college was in a trunk that was literally on its last wheel. I replaced it with an x-large storage tote and was saddened to see all the things I'd stuffed in the trunk: old stories and grad school applications, books that I was supposed to read in school, didn't, but that now look oddly interesting. Man, how time flys.
I don't know about you, but procrastination has been biting me in the rear since I was a toddler. Getting a look at all of the things I was supposed to do made me want to crawl into the storage container myself! There is so much I need to get done but now, so many years later and it being during the holidays and me being on my period, I really don't have the energy to do anything. Yet the New Year is on its way, and although I usually suck at resolutions, I have decided to kick the procrastination demon to the curb. I have got to pack, study for the GRE, study my driving manual, start my grad apps, and do a whole lot more that I can't think of right now. But the point is, I am mentally determined, if not physically so, to get some stuff done. And I shall, I shall...after I finish blogging and lay down for a minute.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Dodging George
Curious George just texted me, asking if I could talk...It's 8:45 a.m. and he is texting me to ask if I can talk.
When I decided to call this guy, I thought that it would be good to have a dude to talk to as I sorted through Sorta, but I was turned off by our last convo. Wanting me to come see him? We have not spoken in two years!
Yet, since then, he has been calling me non-stop; even using that little paging option from your voicemail that no one uses. He texts me to see if I'm busy. I'm not. But I don't want to talk to this guy. And I feel bad. I'm thinking maybe he didn't mean to come off as oversexed and weird, but I don't know. I feel bad for not being into him.
Last night he left me a sappy message. He was like, "What's up? I've been calling you for like two weeks."
See! This is why I feel bad. How many times have I left that very message on a guy's phone, wondering why he was not calling me back after a seemingly amazing conversation? I feel like an asshole. He seems really interested. Why can't I be interested back?
This is a clear instance of me trying to fight against my gut feeling again. The night we spoke, my gut feeling was telling me that this guy was just lonely and wanted some ass, at the least from someone vaguely familiar. But I have to say, I'm not down of that nonsense. But I am not used to being the denyer in these situations.
So I guess I will just follow my heart and continue to ignore this guy. Maybe, like I had to on many on occasion since the 6th grade, he will get a clue.
When I decided to call this guy, I thought that it would be good to have a dude to talk to as I sorted through Sorta, but I was turned off by our last convo. Wanting me to come see him? We have not spoken in two years!
Yet, since then, he has been calling me non-stop; even using that little paging option from your voicemail that no one uses. He texts me to see if I'm busy. I'm not. But I don't want to talk to this guy. And I feel bad. I'm thinking maybe he didn't mean to come off as oversexed and weird, but I don't know. I feel bad for not being into him.
Last night he left me a sappy message. He was like, "What's up? I've been calling you for like two weeks."
See! This is why I feel bad. How many times have I left that very message on a guy's phone, wondering why he was not calling me back after a seemingly amazing conversation? I feel like an asshole. He seems really interested. Why can't I be interested back?
This is a clear instance of me trying to fight against my gut feeling again. The night we spoke, my gut feeling was telling me that this guy was just lonely and wanted some ass, at the least from someone vaguely familiar. But I have to say, I'm not down of that nonsense. But I am not used to being the denyer in these situations.
So I guess I will just follow my heart and continue to ignore this guy. Maybe, like I had to on many on occasion since the 6th grade, he will get a clue.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Babies Go Bye-Bye
I went to Staples the other day and ran into a girl that I used to work at Popeye's with in high school.
I hated that job so much that when I usually see someone from that chapter in my life, I go in the opposite direction. But this girl, we will call her "Candi," was nice. She never gave me any problems. I just remember her being very loud and ghetto.
She looked about the same. However, she had kicked the elaborate weave ponytails and huge earrings to the curb, so she looked a bit older. And she was sitting down as she rang people up, which indicated to me that she was pregnant.
I asked her where she was living, and she told me the projects. That made me sad. I don't know how the projects are in other cities, but the ones that have managed to remain open in Atlanta SUCK!
Then I went on to ask her how many kids she had and she had to count on her fingers. I was thinking, "Tell me she hasn't had so many babies that she has lost count!"
Not the case at all. She was trying to refresh her memory to add how many abortions she has had and how many babies she actually kept to tell me how many times she'd been pregnant and no, that is not what I asked her.
"I have one and then I'm pregnant now, but I have been pregnant (counting on fingers) maybe five or six times."
I stared at her blankly as to not say anything offensive such as, "What?!"
But I guess my face said something because she went on to say, "Girl, I couldn't have five kids runnin' around!"
Living in the projects and working at Staples I had to agree. Yet the whole situation made me sad. Why was she offering this information up so easily? I know girls who have found themselves at the abortion clinic that have not even told their parents, nevertheless a person they have not seen in six years!
She seemed happy to be pregnant this time though, rubbing her long acrylic nails over her little baby bump as she helped me find the packing envelops. I can only pray that next time around, she can find some cost-effective birth control.
I hated that job so much that when I usually see someone from that chapter in my life, I go in the opposite direction. But this girl, we will call her "Candi," was nice. She never gave me any problems. I just remember her being very loud and ghetto.
She looked about the same. However, she had kicked the elaborate weave ponytails and huge earrings to the curb, so she looked a bit older. And she was sitting down as she rang people up, which indicated to me that she was pregnant.
I asked her where she was living, and she told me the projects. That made me sad. I don't know how the projects are in other cities, but the ones that have managed to remain open in Atlanta SUCK!
Then I went on to ask her how many kids she had and she had to count on her fingers. I was thinking, "Tell me she hasn't had so many babies that she has lost count!"
Not the case at all. She was trying to refresh her memory to add how many abortions she has had and how many babies she actually kept to tell me how many times she'd been pregnant and no, that is not what I asked her.
"I have one and then I'm pregnant now, but I have been pregnant (counting on fingers) maybe five or six times."
I stared at her blankly as to not say anything offensive such as, "What?!"
But I guess my face said something because she went on to say, "Girl, I couldn't have five kids runnin' around!"
Living in the projects and working at Staples I had to agree. Yet the whole situation made me sad. Why was she offering this information up so easily? I know girls who have found themselves at the abortion clinic that have not even told their parents, nevertheless a person they have not seen in six years!
She seemed happy to be pregnant this time though, rubbing her long acrylic nails over her little baby bump as she helped me find the packing envelops. I can only pray that next time around, she can find some cost-effective birth control.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Holiday Hopeless
Christmas is around the corner and it is about that time that I receive my gift. No, not some perfectly wrapped present under the tree silly. I am referring to the deep, dark depression that takes me over until a few week s after the new year when everyone takes down their Christmas lights and the sales are over.
Aw, holiday depression. It greets me like an old friend every December with its arms open wide, waiting to strangle me with its cloak of sadness and warm me with its ratty robe of misery. This year I thought I had dodged him, seeing that Christmas is about two weeks away. Usually I can feel him slipping in as I have my second helping of mac and cheese on Thanksgiving. But this year, my turkey day was so good and drama free that he decided to be a gentleman and wait a minute until I had the most stuff to accomplish, my bank account was low, and my period was on its way. What a friend!
I am very offended by those holiday depression commercials where one day some white lady is in an over sized sweatshirt with her lip poked out, undoubtedly staring blankly out of a window, until she takes a pill and and two seconds later is wrapping a six foot tree in tensile. See, I know the real story. My grandma, before she lost her mind, was a holiday sadness sufferer. The month was just bad for her. Her husband and mother died in December. How many times had a caught her crying for seemingly no reason as she made dressing? And Ruth didn't have a little pill. All she did was pray her way to January with her fingers crossed.
I chose to just wallow in my pain, the old fashioned way. I find praying over dumb shit while children are starving across the world to be selfish. Not to mention it must be annoying to God.
So if you do not here from me for about a month, fret not. Me and my old friend will probably be gettin' busy until the second week of January. Man, I LOVE this season!
Aw, holiday depression. It greets me like an old friend every December with its arms open wide, waiting to strangle me with its cloak of sadness and warm me with its ratty robe of misery. This year I thought I had dodged him, seeing that Christmas is about two weeks away. Usually I can feel him slipping in as I have my second helping of mac and cheese on Thanksgiving. But this year, my turkey day was so good and drama free that he decided to be a gentleman and wait a minute until I had the most stuff to accomplish, my bank account was low, and my period was on its way. What a friend!
I am very offended by those holiday depression commercials where one day some white lady is in an over sized sweatshirt with her lip poked out, undoubtedly staring blankly out of a window, until she takes a pill and and two seconds later is wrapping a six foot tree in tensile. See, I know the real story. My grandma, before she lost her mind, was a holiday sadness sufferer. The month was just bad for her. Her husband and mother died in December. How many times had a caught her crying for seemingly no reason as she made dressing? And Ruth didn't have a little pill. All she did was pray her way to January with her fingers crossed.
I chose to just wallow in my pain, the old fashioned way. I find praying over dumb shit while children are starving across the world to be selfish. Not to mention it must be annoying to God.
So if you do not here from me for about a month, fret not. Me and my old friend will probably be gettin' busy until the second week of January. Man, I LOVE this season!
Sunday, December 13, 2009
The Elaina Effect
The other day I was at home, munching on junk and feeling sorry for myself, as I talked to an undersexed homeboy who also had nothing better to do with his day. I was trying to snack my way out of a slight depression stemming from the fact that I had gotten too fat to fit into my bday dresses. I know, this makes no sense.
So we were looking on Myspace and he directed me to look at his friend Elaina's page. She went to Xavier, but I did not know her personally. I did know that she was a cheerleader that dressed really cute and loves to update her statuses on Facebook. I was scrolling down the page, nibbling on nibbles and skimming over some blurbs when there I saw it: a full length picture.
But not just any full page picture. The mother of full length pictures. She had on like this short sweater dress and a pair of heels that accented her long, brown, flawless legs and tight ass.
I felt hurt.
Not hurt like pain hurt but hurt like I used to feel when I watched Moesha and understood that I would never be able to afford any of the clothes she wore. Hurt like I felt when the Spice Girls broke up. Hurt like I felt when they canceled "My So-Called Life." Why? Because this is what I am competing with, fat or potentially skinny- the Elaina's of the world who are gorgeous and will maintain their gorgeous-ness well into their old age. I just felt hopeless.
So I logged out of Myspace and moped on my bedroom floor. But I will say this: once I finished my family bag of chips I made my way to the gym.
So we were looking on Myspace and he directed me to look at his friend Elaina's page. She went to Xavier, but I did not know her personally. I did know that she was a cheerleader that dressed really cute and loves to update her statuses on Facebook. I was scrolling down the page, nibbling on nibbles and skimming over some blurbs when there I saw it: a full length picture.
But not just any full page picture. The mother of full length pictures. She had on like this short sweater dress and a pair of heels that accented her long, brown, flawless legs and tight ass.
I felt hurt.
Not hurt like pain hurt but hurt like I used to feel when I watched Moesha and understood that I would never be able to afford any of the clothes she wore. Hurt like I felt when the Spice Girls broke up. Hurt like I felt when they canceled "My So-Called Life." Why? Because this is what I am competing with, fat or potentially skinny- the Elaina's of the world who are gorgeous and will maintain their gorgeous-ness well into their old age. I just felt hopeless.
So I logged out of Myspace and moped on my bedroom floor. But I will say this: once I finished my family bag of chips I made my way to the gym.
The Daddy List
Any one who knows me knows that I am not really down with the idea of a man being in the household when I have a kid. Call it being the product of a single-parent home with the in and out mommy boyfriend, but I find the whole "daddy figure" to be mean, rude, cruel, annoying, bossy, and generally un-needed when it comes to rearing a child. He'll just expose the baby to maucho bullhoodle and it will take society years to pluck it off. Nevertheless, there are a few qualities that I am looking for in my potential sperm doner.
- Black
- Tall
- Handsome
- Educated
- Well-spoken
- Good dancer
- Nice teeth
- No history of male pattern baldness
- Average Weight
If you know this man, please send him my way. Must get this baby making business off the ground.
Divorce, Dismorsh
I wrote earlier about how I was sad that Alicia Keys is dating a married man, producer Swiss Beats, and has made no apologies about it. Although there have been more and more postings about K.Swiss fiasco ( I dubbed this name first!), my love of her music is forcing me to try to overlook her, as Big Tiger would say, indiscretions. But when I heard about Fantasia Barrino, I just had to kick the can!
Yes, Fantasia ya'll. Our favorite homegirl American Idol winner that has gone on to put out two albums and a Lifetime movie. Fantasia- Celie of Oprah's The Color Purple stage play. Young Dro's old beau. The woman who's teen life was shaped by being done wrong by a man. That Fantasia. Well, she is now dating a married man too that she...wait for it...MET AT THE SPRINT STORE!
Ugghhh...You know, people go on and on about Gay marriage and atheism but I feel like pulling what Fantasia is pulling is what is really eating away at the fabric of this country. What the Hell happened to the girlfriend's code of conduct?
And we all know what that is whether we choose to live buy it or not ladies. Don't date your bff's ex, return things in better condition than you borrowed them and oh yeah...DON'T ENTERTAIN A MARRIED MAN! Women just don't care anymore. Blame it on a lack of available straight men. Blame it on the income gap between men and women. Hell, blame it on the alcohol. But celebs and everyday broads alike are sporting the married man like the latest Coach bag and in my o-pin-ion, it just isn't cool.
Dating a married man is not new. But I yearn for a time when the other woman stayed in the shadows and just enjoyed expensive gifts and vacations. Then if there was a divorce (very rarely) she would run off into the sunset with her beau...until he found someone else to replace her with.
Why am I irritated if I am not in the situation? Newsflash: all single women are in the situation. Each of us has to deal with what the last girl let the man get away with. Sad but true fact.
On the other hand, I guess it just boils down to that pesky need to be happy, even if it ultimately resorts in unhappiness on someone's end.
Yes, Fantasia ya'll. Our favorite homegirl American Idol winner that has gone on to put out two albums and a Lifetime movie. Fantasia- Celie of Oprah's The Color Purple stage play. Young Dro's old beau. The woman who's teen life was shaped by being done wrong by a man. That Fantasia. Well, she is now dating a married man too that she...wait for it...MET AT THE SPRINT STORE!
Ugghhh...You know, people go on and on about Gay marriage and atheism but I feel like pulling what Fantasia is pulling is what is really eating away at the fabric of this country. What the Hell happened to the girlfriend's code of conduct?
And we all know what that is whether we choose to live buy it or not ladies. Don't date your bff's ex, return things in better condition than you borrowed them and oh yeah...DON'T ENTERTAIN A MARRIED MAN! Women just don't care anymore. Blame it on a lack of available straight men. Blame it on the income gap between men and women. Hell, blame it on the alcohol. But celebs and everyday broads alike are sporting the married man like the latest Coach bag and in my o-pin-ion, it just isn't cool.
Dating a married man is not new. But I yearn for a time when the other woman stayed in the shadows and just enjoyed expensive gifts and vacations. Then if there was a divorce (very rarely) she would run off into the sunset with her beau...until he found someone else to replace her with.
Why am I irritated if I am not in the situation? Newsflash: all single women are in the situation. Each of us has to deal with what the last girl let the man get away with. Sad but true fact.
On the other hand, I guess it just boils down to that pesky need to be happy, even if it ultimately resorts in unhappiness on someone's end.
Eye of the Tiger: You have to be kidding!
If you are anything like me, you have been following the drama that is the unraveling of Tiger Woods' career. What a mess, right? I have literally been glued to the TV. Every day, another chick comes out of the woodwork to admit that she has boned the golf icon, accompanied by 20 pages of text messages, pics, and a voicemail. The only thing this story is missing is a stained dress!
I have to be honest: I have never been the biggest fan of Tiger. Something about his visible detachment with his black half has always made me uncomfortable. Yet, there is still no denial that he is good at what he does. He brings excitement to an otherwise BORING sport, and was in every other commercial I saw on prime time. The man was so squeaky clean, with his buck teeth and big head, that he reminded you of that awkward third grader that sat in the back of the class. I mean, you felt like you could eat out of his hand!
But not anymore. He has been using his hand for other things, and it has put him in some deep do-do! His wife moved back to Sweden, he has lost endorsements, his mistresses are making money off of the story, and after watching the news a while ago, I heard he has gone into hiding.
Let's be real here: men cheat. Not excusing it, but it is true. What pisses me off is that he is whack; a nerd, a lame-o. Yet somehow, he ends up with a smokin' hot wife that he, in my opinion, would never have gotten if he wasn't making Arab money. You would think he would count his blessings, right? WRONG! He then goes out and gets mistresses and cheats on them. And these chics aren't even high class- they are club girls and reality TV stars. I mean really, what did he think was going to happen?
Why am I mad? It's not because he cheated because that is none of my beeswax. I am pissed that he isn't even cool and had the gumption to play somebody! I remember a time when the corky guy was a safe bet. Now a little bit of money and some Ambian is a recipe to make the squarest boy the belle of the ball and I don't like it.
I guess there is nothing left to do but continue to watch this spiral. I definitely don't think his career is over. I mean, look at Coby Bryant. However, Coby didn't have nude photos that had fallen into the hands of Playgirl. I kind of want to see what Tiger is working with. A large winky is the only thing I can think of that had him thinking he could keep this mess under wraps.
I have to be honest: I have never been the biggest fan of Tiger. Something about his visible detachment with his black half has always made me uncomfortable. Yet, there is still no denial that he is good at what he does. He brings excitement to an otherwise BORING sport, and was in every other commercial I saw on prime time. The man was so squeaky clean, with his buck teeth and big head, that he reminded you of that awkward third grader that sat in the back of the class. I mean, you felt like you could eat out of his hand!
But not anymore. He has been using his hand for other things, and it has put him in some deep do-do! His wife moved back to Sweden, he has lost endorsements, his mistresses are making money off of the story, and after watching the news a while ago, I heard he has gone into hiding.
Let's be real here: men cheat. Not excusing it, but it is true. What pisses me off is that he is whack; a nerd, a lame-o. Yet somehow, he ends up with a smokin' hot wife that he, in my opinion, would never have gotten if he wasn't making Arab money. You would think he would count his blessings, right? WRONG! He then goes out and gets mistresses and cheats on them. And these chics aren't even high class- they are club girls and reality TV stars. I mean really, what did he think was going to happen?
Why am I mad? It's not because he cheated because that is none of my beeswax. I am pissed that he isn't even cool and had the gumption to play somebody! I remember a time when the corky guy was a safe bet. Now a little bit of money and some Ambian is a recipe to make the squarest boy the belle of the ball and I don't like it.
I guess there is nothing left to do but continue to watch this spiral. I definitely don't think his career is over. I mean, look at Coby Bryant. However, Coby didn't have nude photos that had fallen into the hands of Playgirl. I kind of want to see what Tiger is working with. A large winky is the only thing I can think of that had him thinking he could keep this mess under wraps.
Baby Bound
It is no secret that I HATE children.
People, particularly my young girlfriends that are strapped down from each limb with babies give me the stink eye when I say this, seeing that they did not like kids either before they were cornered into having them. They are loud and irritating and stinky. Children are not my favorite people.
But lately, I find the urge to have one nearly unbearable.
When I was younger, I remember watching a talk show where a teenage girl testified that she wanted a baby because she wanted something to take care of. I remember laughing at her. How stupid, wanting something to take care when you haven't even graduated high school. But now, two weeks shy of 25, I totally see what she was saying.
From ages 5 to 11 I read stories about love and from 12 to now I have been looking for it. I have seen it in my friends' lives, I have seen it on TV, I have even thought I was in it. But either it wasn't real or wasn't right. The love between a mother and child is unconditional. If I had a baby, I would be the proud owner of unconditional love...even though I would still be living with my aunt and off of pennies.
Whenever I get in this mood where I really want a bambino, I have to step back and evaluate my emotions. Am I on my period? Have I been watching Lifetime? Is it tax time and I am looking for a deduction? Yet lately, it has been neither of these things. Although I do not have a man, my own job or a good paying job, I have to say, I am flirting with the idea...even though it may be a bad one.
People, particularly my young girlfriends that are strapped down from each limb with babies give me the stink eye when I say this, seeing that they did not like kids either before they were cornered into having them. They are loud and irritating and stinky. Children are not my favorite people.
But lately, I find the urge to have one nearly unbearable.
When I was younger, I remember watching a talk show where a teenage girl testified that she wanted a baby because she wanted something to take care of. I remember laughing at her. How stupid, wanting something to take care when you haven't even graduated high school. But now, two weeks shy of 25, I totally see what she was saying.
From ages 5 to 11 I read stories about love and from 12 to now I have been looking for it. I have seen it in my friends' lives, I have seen it on TV, I have even thought I was in it. But either it wasn't real or wasn't right. The love between a mother and child is unconditional. If I had a baby, I would be the proud owner of unconditional love...even though I would still be living with my aunt and off of pennies.
Whenever I get in this mood where I really want a bambino, I have to step back and evaluate my emotions. Am I on my period? Have I been watching Lifetime? Is it tax time and I am looking for a deduction? Yet lately, it has been neither of these things. Although I do not have a man, my own job or a good paying job, I have to say, I am flirting with the idea...even though it may be a bad one.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Introducing Curious George
So just when Sorta Beau wants to show out, I get revisited by T.
Who is T? Well, he's the guy that I was talking to two years ago that expressed his interest through a message on Myspace. If my memory serves me right, which it always does, he left me high and dry, just as we were getting close, by not answering my phone calls and ignoring me online.
Fast forward backwards to last week. I was bored and decided to check my Myspace page, which, in all honesty, I usually go for months without doing. Why? Well, it's deader than the once popular J. Lo sweatsuit, and has basically become a breeding ground for horny pre-teens; a Facebook for club promoters, wannabe rappers, and talent agencies. Yet, I go on there to update every now and again and low and behold, this time when I did it, I was welcomed by a two-month-old message from none other than T.
He says he wants to catch up...blah, blah...misses me...blah, blah. After a year in the Sorta death grip, I recognized his message as an attempt to try to obtain ass. He probably broke up with whoever he stopped talking to me for and needs a rebound. However, I remembered how cool we used to be- how he would call me when he got off work to ask me how my day at my internship had been. How we could talk for hours about the direction of Hip Hop. Call me stupid, but I did want to see how he was, even though, after looking through his pics, I was reacquainted with the fact that he bears a stunning resemblance to Curious George.
So tonight we talked. It was cool, although I have to say that from hello, I was not interested. He curses a lot and I can tell he doesn't know that he is doing it. He also finds the simplest thing I say funny, and uses up-north slang even though he is from North Carolina. I found him to be annoying, yet continued to talk to him, trying to rekindle something, as my mind screamed for me to hang up.
About ten minutes into the convo, he puts on his sexy voice and starts talking about how he had been thinking about me, and just knew I had been thinking of him (NOT) and regretted that we fell out of touch. He regretted it so much, in fact, that he suggested that we skip catching up too much and just schedule travel plans to meet up. Um...hello! Get a clue! Do I look like the jump off? He totally came at me sideways, and figured that since it was in his sexy voice, my panties would drop. Something tells me our reunion will be short-lived.
Who is T? Well, he's the guy that I was talking to two years ago that expressed his interest through a message on Myspace. If my memory serves me right, which it always does, he left me high and dry, just as we were getting close, by not answering my phone calls and ignoring me online.
Fast forward backwards to last week. I was bored and decided to check my Myspace page, which, in all honesty, I usually go for months without doing. Why? Well, it's deader than the once popular J. Lo sweatsuit, and has basically become a breeding ground for horny pre-teens; a Facebook for club promoters, wannabe rappers, and talent agencies. Yet, I go on there to update every now and again and low and behold, this time when I did it, I was welcomed by a two-month-old message from none other than T.
He says he wants to catch up...blah, blah...misses me...blah, blah. After a year in the Sorta death grip, I recognized his message as an attempt to try to obtain ass. He probably broke up with whoever he stopped talking to me for and needs a rebound. However, I remembered how cool we used to be- how he would call me when he got off work to ask me how my day at my internship had been. How we could talk for hours about the direction of Hip Hop. Call me stupid, but I did want to see how he was, even though, after looking through his pics, I was reacquainted with the fact that he bears a stunning resemblance to Curious George.
So tonight we talked. It was cool, although I have to say that from hello, I was not interested. He curses a lot and I can tell he doesn't know that he is doing it. He also finds the simplest thing I say funny, and uses up-north slang even though he is from North Carolina. I found him to be annoying, yet continued to talk to him, trying to rekindle something, as my mind screamed for me to hang up.
About ten minutes into the convo, he puts on his sexy voice and starts talking about how he had been thinking about me, and just knew I had been thinking of him (NOT) and regretted that we fell out of touch. He regretted it so much, in fact, that he suggested that we skip catching up too much and just schedule travel plans to meet up. Um...hello! Get a clue! Do I look like the jump off? He totally came at me sideways, and figured that since it was in his sexy voice, my panties would drop. Something tells me our reunion will be short-lived.
100 POSTS AND WRITING!
100 posts ago you, my faithful few followers, embarked with me on the literary chronicle of my 24th year of life. Now, almost a year later, you have stuck around through the uncomfortable stories of hymen retention, man let-downs, a seemingly un-mendable broken heart, and the simple post-to-post happenings in the life of a BG living in the City. Thanks bunches, and I hope that you will continue to follow me through this beautiful nightmare I call my life!
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Boys Don't Cry, Right?
I have always had a hard time believing that men can feel any emotions, especially over women, largely due to the fact that they are such large shit heads.
Whenever one of my girlfriends went through a break-up, they went through the whole spectrum of emotions. They were sad. They were angry. They were irritated. It is almost always a nightmare. And they do all of this, no doubt, while their ex-boytoys are single again, back on the prowl. Never once had I witnessed a boy truly broken up over a girl...until recently.
My buddy Brownie just got out of a relationship that he put a lot of elbow grease into, let me tell you. He spent a year buttering her up and a year with her, yet somehow, it did not work out. What shocked me about the whole deal is that he is actually sad about it. Sometimes he's angry. I even detect a hint of irritation.
My buddy's brake-up has me rethinking what I have previously thought about males. If they are capable of feeling, then they are capable of thinking and reasoning and the whole thing. Which means they aren't as dumb as they want us to believe- which means that they really are human! Does this mean they now deserve my respect and compassion?
Man, I am truly lost on this one. I liked it better when I was under the impression that boys were just...boys: simple and heartless.
Whenever one of my girlfriends went through a break-up, they went through the whole spectrum of emotions. They were sad. They were angry. They were irritated. It is almost always a nightmare. And they do all of this, no doubt, while their ex-boytoys are single again, back on the prowl. Never once had I witnessed a boy truly broken up over a girl...until recently.
My buddy Brownie just got out of a relationship that he put a lot of elbow grease into, let me tell you. He spent a year buttering her up and a year with her, yet somehow, it did not work out. What shocked me about the whole deal is that he is actually sad about it. Sometimes he's angry. I even detect a hint of irritation.
My buddy's brake-up has me rethinking what I have previously thought about males. If they are capable of feeling, then they are capable of thinking and reasoning and the whole thing. Which means they aren't as dumb as they want us to believe- which means that they really are human! Does this mean they now deserve my respect and compassion?
Man, I am truly lost on this one. I liked it better when I was under the impression that boys were just...boys: simple and heartless.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Dress Stress
I have gained weight, it's official.
A couple of weeks ago I ordered a dress from Torrid and sat in nearly unbarable anticipation, weighting for the dress to be delivered. It got here and it fit me like a wife beater. So I ordered another one, and this one fit me like a glove and not in a good way.
I can see how I gained weight. I pretty much quit going to the gym and resorted to snacking on cookies in my room while watching hours of TV. I guess I just thought that since I was already fat, there was some invisible cap on how fat I could get. Today, I was proven wrong.
So now, I fear that I will have to wear one of the boring dresses in my closet. Needless to say, I will be going to they gym in the moring, even though I will be cranky.
A couple of weeks ago I ordered a dress from Torrid and sat in nearly unbarable anticipation, weighting for the dress to be delivered. It got here and it fit me like a wife beater. So I ordered another one, and this one fit me like a glove and not in a good way.
I can see how I gained weight. I pretty much quit going to the gym and resorted to snacking on cookies in my room while watching hours of TV. I guess I just thought that since I was already fat, there was some invisible cap on how fat I could get. Today, I was proven wrong.
So now, I fear that I will have to wear one of the boring dresses in my closet. Needless to say, I will be going to they gym in the moring, even though I will be cranky.
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