Daydreamin'

I would say that I spend a good 30% of my day daydreaming.
And anything can trigger me to zap into my little fantasy land- songs, sleepiness, some random noise.
In my fantasy land, oddly enough, I am a thin lady with Rihanna hair that does PR work for rappers; a woman that makes so much money that she has one of those bank money counters on her kitchen table in her downtown Atlanta loft apartment. I have dinner parties where Jill Scott does spoken word while Lauren Hill does backup vocals. I make all the food for these lavish parties, of course, draped in head-to-toe Chanel. I have a lap dog that I dress up like a baby. My "man" is just quiet eye candy that always stands at my side, and I have a really cool black car with butterfly doors that open when I clap my hands.
Sometimes I fantasize that I was not a complete dweeb/nerd in high school. I fantasize that I had actually had the balls to audition for the dance team. I dream that I dated some fine, nameless guy and everyone liked me.
I don't know how normal it is for folks to daydream. And I am no shrink, but I am guessing that I am daydreaming because I am not where I want to be in life. I am just concerned with the frequency in which I do it. I better get my life together before I completely lose touch with reality.

What A Dud

So Curious actually did come to Atlanta, but of course, nothing went as planned.
The way I remember it, when he called me, he told me that he was not coming. He tells me that he told me he was coming, but that he would not be able to take me to the movies because he was not driving down, he was driving with someone.
OK. So he calls me early yesterday to tell me that he is here. I was caught completely off guard. I looked like crap. I was broke, and I really had no intention of leaving the house. However, I told him I would come visit him that night and spend the night, which was a big step for me that I was questioning all day. Either way, I was happy to be getting some male attention...FINALLY.
Here is where it goes wrong: I call him on my way to the gym to confirm our plans. He tells me that he is in Decatur, which is quite far from his downtown Atlanta hotel room. Very far for a guy that is not driving. Apparently, he has "people" in Decatur who came and scooped him up. They went to the aquarium and such and were still hanging out. Ok. But ten minutes before I am to go visit, dressed adorably I may add, he tells me that he is still in Decatur, waiting on a ride into the city. Right...so I tell him I am not coming downtown and he not be there. He says we can meet up tomorrow...for like an hour before he takes the bus home.
So it didn't work out. But I have been thinking about how short of a trip he was taking down here to see me. Only a day? Granted he has a job he may have had to get back to, but it is Memorial Day Weekend! So he was essentially going to smash me and go home? Maybe I am wrong, but that is what it feels like. Sigh of relief. God has again saved my hymen from near breakage.

My family is a shit show. That is all.

Sour Grapes

OK, immediate update: I just got off the phone with Curious and he is not coming down here as predicted, thus no NC-17 action and no all-expense paid trip to the movies. I am annoyed. Now I will have to go by myself or worse, with my girlfriends that I see like all of the time, to see Sex In the City 2, the first movie that I have really wanted to see in a long time and yes, I am sour grapes about it.I mean, is it so hard to come through and do what you say that you are going to do? This is not just about the movie or even getting to see him, which I really wanted to do by the way. It's about getting my hopes up then giving me the shaft. Every man I have ever met has had a horrible case of Goingbackonmyworditis or The Imfullofshits and I have to say, it is making me angry. Not mad and not annoyed. Angry.
A wise woman once told me that men will treat you how they feel you will let them treat you. There is a woman in Atlanta that is going to see Sex in the City 2 this weekend with a man that said he would take her and is actually going to do it. I need to figure out the difference between me and that woman so I can fix whatever glitch attracts sorry men to me. Until I can rectify this problem, I guess I better go on Fandango and try to purchase my ticket. I am sure the theaters will be crowded.

The Look

I went to the gym yesterday to, you know, hang out. At the gym, they have these individual rooms where classes take place. Well, in one of the vacant rooms, this chick was practicing for her fitness competition...in those clear stiletto stripper shoes, some boy shorts, and a "bra." I was hatin' on her at like a level 10. While pretending to work on one of the machines, I watched the men at the gym crowd around the window to watch her practice her routine, which included standing like a beauty queen, flexing her amazing legs, while smiling like an idiot.
So what's the problem? I want men to look at me like that, like they want to have sex with me and touch on me and stuff. And not just any men, but buff, sexy men like the ones at the gym.
But can I achieve this without being super in shape? Can I do it without somehow objectifying myself like this girl?
I want to say yes, but I don't think so. Because I am the opposite of this lady and attract the opposite type of man. And I am a bit tired of having to entertain men I am not at all attracted to or interested in because they are the type of man typically attracted to girls like me!
Unfortunately, I am not willing to change myself for such an obnoxious reason, thus depleting my self-respect and dignity, so as the old saying goes, "You always want you can't have."

Curious and the City

So Curious is supposed to be popping up for Memorial Day weekend to take me to see Sex and The City 2. I want to be excited, but I am sure that there is like an 80% chance that it won't happen. Why? Because boys lie and if they don't mean to lie, they end up becoming habitual broken promise makers. I don't know what annoys me most, the fact that he may not come so I will miss out on some much needed NC-17 action, or missing out on seeing the most anticipated movie of the summer for free?! I don't know if I can take another weekend of writing my articles and going to the gym, pretending to workout. What a bust!

Raisin' Hell

As part of my quarter-life crisis, I have taken a bigger initiative to strengthen my relationship with God, and can I say that it has been refreshing! I have always wanted to, but after being disappointed by my former church (for reasons best fit for another post) I decided to take a breaky-break from the church scene. But am I glad to be back! I like waking up on Sundays to be in the company of really kind people. But I am also getting better acquainted with God's word through the messages being taught, thus getting reacquainted with the idea of Hell.
Hell. Yikes. The one hot-spot that NO ONE wants to visit. I was talking to my buddy Waddles about it last night, and we both agreed that even though there are descriptions in The Bible and in literature, there is no way that the human mind can possibly fathom how HORRIBLE it must be. I can't stand Atlanta in July, so I think I better get my shit together soon before I spend eternity in a furnace.
Now I don't think that I am a bad person, but I'm no angel. A woman who sings at church asked the congregation what we do when we think that no one is looking. Good thing that was rhetorical! A couple of things I listed mentally I know for a fact is on God's no-no list.
Ugh, that damn no-no list! I have a lot of friends that chucked it long ago. Their thinking is that you only live once, so you might as well do what you want. And I agree...partially. It just seems that all the cool, freaky things I want to get into may not be on the list, but I am sure that JC and his daddy wouldn't think they are cool. Plus, isn't it stated somewhere in The Bible that thinking about sinning is just as bad as doing it? In that case, shouldn't you just do what you want since thinking about it will get you sent to the pits just as quickly?
So many questions and, according to my minister, so little time to get things straight. You are either good or you ain't. I guess the best thing I can do is be the best person I can be at all times and hope that God is impressed. Hopefully, he won't nickel and dime on the specifics.

The End of The Girlfriend- A Theory

I had a really good conversation with my friend Jamaica the other night about what we have dubbed as "The End of the Girlfriend" amongst young, Black, professional women. It seems like only a couple of years ago I could not go out to dinner without seeing us in friend cliques, sharing Calamari and sampling each other's Martini's over fun conversations. But it seems that the older I get, the more I am seeing Black girlfriend circles thinning out; the more I hear friends say things like "they are Spring cleaning" in the friend department or "eliminating drama" from their lives. I assumed that it was because as you get older, naturally friendships fade. But Jamaica offered me a different and perhaps more logical explanation to the extinction of the Black girl friendship.
"We can't be friends! We are all in competition!"
Competition for what? You already know: the Black man.
As I am sure the nation is aware of now after CNN's Black in America, the stats read that most successful sistahs are single- rich, but alone. Black men are either gay, in the slammer, uneducated, dead, or the dreaded possibility: dating outside of the Black community. This is a situation that has 30 something Black women clenching their fists and the 20 something Black women throwing 'bows! After getting our fortunes read, we now understand that we are at prime picking age for good relationships with the few eligible brothas left, and we will fight to the death to get one, cutting the competition at the knees. Unfortunately, that competition is our equally pretty, smart, and available BFFs.
I am not sure how true this is, but it is very plausible, considering how competitive girls can be. Imagine how it is now, seeing that we are in a serious situation! I shook it off. I'm a friends forever type of gal. After we get our husbands or partners, we will gravitate back to those women we love. Women can't live without some female comradery. The competition will be over, right? WRONG!
"We can't be friends after we get the ring, because we have to now keep the man! We can't have competition around, especially if she is single!"
This idea made me sad. But as I am bombarded by Facebook statuses about tossing friends and needing a man, I can not help but wonder if this theory is at least partially true. One thing's for sure, if the dating scene for the single Black woman is about to get dirty going into my 30s, I am definitely going to need my girls there for support, competition or not.

No Phone Zone

The other night I had one of my NOTORIOUS "bladder bouts." That's when I am RIPPED out of my sleep by this almost uncontrollable urge to pee. During my mad dash to the potty, I stepped on my phone, and now I have no use of my screen. So I can get calls, but I can't see who I'm dialing when I make a call. I can hear that I have gotten a text or a voicemail, but I can not see them to read them. It's annoying to say the least. Because I can not see who is calling me, I have also been answering the phone for folks that I have been trying to avoid! I see now that I should have assigned them a special ringtone.
But on the other hand, I feel invigorated. I feel no pressure to keep in contact with folks. I couldn't see that call to return it or read that text to reply. True enough, when I saw I broke my phone, I cried. This is the first phone I have ever had that I really like. But there is something to be said about feeling like you can not be reached. Oddly enough, it's...comforting.

Examining the 90s Baby

Am I the only one that yearns for the good old days when the meanest thing another kid could do to you was talk about your Mama? You yell with your peer, get in a fight, get sent to the office, your Mama spanks you because she had to leave work early to come get you, and life went on.
Well, the 90s babies aren't about keepin' it simple...they are about keeping it gangsta! Beating each other to literal death and posting the videos on Youtube. Setting each other up for jail time and such. I have said it once and I will say it again: they are crazy!
But technology, technology has given them a new medium to be awful to each other. What am I talking about? Well, my sister comes home yesterday and tells me that some girl in her class took a picture of her in class and then took a picture of some other girl at another time, then took the pics home and photoshopped them so that it looked like my sister and this other girl were kissing. Then she posted this pic on her Facebook page.
WTF? Why would it even cross your mind to do something like that and furthermore, why does a 12-year-old have a Facebook page?!
I was bothered by this guys. And not just because it was weird and involved my sister, but because my sister thought that this was OK. Kids do things like this all the time apparently, and it could have been worse. The kids in her classes could have actually believed the obviously doctored pic, which would have been social suicide. This surprised me, seeing that this is the "I Kissed a Girl" generation.
I got made fun of a lot in school, and I can not imagine having to defend my sexuality as a preteen! I guess such things are commonplace for the poor misguided 90s baby.

Brotherly Love

On Friday my mom and I drove to pick my brother Cass up from college. I was all super excited! My brother and I are really close, and I get all geeked up when he comes home for holidays. He is closer to my age than my other two siblings, so we have deep discussions and watch racially charged stand-up comedy. I was not aware that I would miss him so much when he went away to college, and with the drama going on in my house of late, I could not wait for his return.
Sadly to say, he has been home for almost two days and all he has done is sit in his room and sext some chick he met online. He has knocked on my door occasionally, I'm guessing when random sext girl was taking a leak, seen what I was doing, then promptly ran back to his room when his phone jingled, alerted that he just got a message. On the bright side, we did watch that Bill Maher movie with me tonight, but he fell asleep.
My brother has always been a bit of a loner, and I guess I should be happy that he making friends, especially girls, but I feel all left out. Could talking on the phone with a girl really be more fun than watching Betty Davis SNL clips on Hulu with your big sis?
I guess so.
I really hope that his whole summer vacation isn't like this.

Distant Conversation

Last weekend my distant family came into town to celebrate my cousins' graduating from school; one from Vet school and another from undergrad.
As usual, scholars and alcohol are a recipe for deep discussion. The topic: the issue with Black dating. Now mind you when we say "Black dating" we really mean "Black women" because we are always the issue, right? To my surprise, I didn't pass out during the discussion. After my last convo on a similar topic, I told myself that I would die if I had to listen to educated Black men blame me for having to get an education because of their absence to support myself, like I wanted to get almost $100,000 worth of student loans!
Well, we touched on a lot of things, but what stands out in my mind is the idea of the leader. The brothas I spoke with, two of them not being relatives, talked about how they had visited Mississippi and LOVED how the women were submissive. But allow me to define submissive in their eyes: willing to follow them while they "lead." Call me a critical thinker, but that translated to me as "willing to do what they said." Listening to them talk about this rare breed of Southern women who make you grits without being asked and White women who "have your back," I could not help but wonder if my female ancestors knew they were breaking free from the plantation just for me to be expected to play Mammie to our men?!
But it seems that my idea of "Mammiedum" is their idea of being "held down" and of me "playing my position." Out of all that was said, I am sure about one thing: I am way too much of a Feminist for discussions of this magnitude.

NY: Day 2: Part 2

Not a good block away from Mr. Smith I bump into a relentless guy from Green Peace. He looked like a White, bearded Winnie the Pooh, and his boxers were all in a bunch because of this oil spill in the ocean (as they should be). So as I walk to my appointment, my face stone cold, he does not take the hint that I do not want to be spoken to. He begins rattling off facts about how he wants windmills in New York and how the oil has ruined the fish or something like that. I inform him that I have an appointment, but he insists that he can walk and copy my credit card number at the same time.
"Maybe next time," I mumble.
"Holly, there is no next time! We have run out of next times! Next times are over!"
I rolled my eyes. After the train ride from Hell where I was misdirected by a train official, I was in no mood to be harassed. I went to my appointment, then decided to walk around Grant Park, the home of the fashion week I had always wanted to attend. For some reason, I thought it would be bigger.
Somehow, although my feet were burning, I made my way to the world's chicest Payless where the only shoe they had in my size was a worn, twice returned pair of sneakers.
Irritated and hot, I took a seat in front of the NY Library which, for some reason, had a very depressing art display of angry words in the window like Ugly, Fat, and Weirdo. I guess that the irony is that these words were pretty and sparkly.

Apologize

Today I went to NY and Co. for their 50% off sale. I know that I can not fit the clothes, but they have some of the BEST accessories. As I fished through the faux pearls and diamondoid earrings, I noticed a woman come in with her two small sons. I really didn't pay them any mind. I was way too fixated on the cheap plastic jewelry.
"Ma, look at that big lady!" the smallest kid exclaimed, pointing at me.
I could feel the store freeze for a second, the other shoppers holding their breath to see how I was going to react. I pretended not to hear, trying a fake flower ring on my stubby finger. I am not new to this. Kids say rude stuff to me all the time. Seeing that I was not phased, the rest of the store went on with their lives.
Then, as I am going through a rack of headbands (my eye on this simple patent leather one) I see the little boy who had called me out standing right in front of me. His mother looked furious, he had been crying, and the other little boy looked bored.
"He said something very rude to you," the mom said. She yanked the boy's arm. "Apologize," she demanded in that low, robotic, angry mom voice.
I figured she had taken him out of the store to spank him. I could tell that everyone was staring.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
I looked at his tear-stained face and runny nose and realized that we had one thing in common: his mother had just humiliated the both of us.

NY: Day 2: Part 1

I woke up, rolled over on my side, and smiled. I was in New York! Since graduation, I had been breaking my neck to get there, and there I was, in the middle of Chelsea, moments away from Time Square. I sat up straight in bed and stretched. That day was going to be a good day. I was in the city of dreams! Who cared about yesterday's dramas?
After getting dressed I decided to go get some lunch. I stopped at a Mexican restaurant where the burritos were almost $10. I stood, watching F.I.T. students scarf them down as I opted for the $5 chips and guacamole. I tried to maintain a smile, clutching my doggy bag of ten chips and 1/4 cup of gauc! I then went to Subway for a chicken sub, the meat being bland and dry.
That Monday it had rained, but Tuesday was beautiful. I couldn't help but smile at passersby, as they looked passed me or frowned like I had poop in my mouth. I have to say, after the 20th unreturned smile, my feelings were starting to get hurt! The people who did look my way looked terribly disgusted by my size, making sideways glances at my legs.
I went back to the room, ate the worst lunch of my life, then headed toward Bryant Park. I was given clear directions from the hostess at the hotel, only to be told by the subway worker that I was going the wrong way, only to get on the train and be told I was going in the opposite direction. So I got off the train and asked how to get to the other train just to run into three people who couldn't speak English. I have to say, this kicked me into annoyance mode.
As I climbed the steps of the subway, I was approached by a man who asked me how to get someplace. I let him know that I didn't know. He asked for my number. He didn't look crazy and was clean, so I gave it to him, only for him to begin calling me repeatedly ten minutes later. What can you expect from a man that called himself Mr. Smith because his first name was too hard to pronounce?

NY: Day 1

I am so happy to be writing you today, for on the plane to NY, I thought I was going to die! I could literally feel every gust of air that brushed against the plane. The lights were blinking on and off, and at one point, the plane felt like it had stopped midair! I would have kissed the ground when we landed...if it wasn't gross!
Upon arrival at Laguardia, I stood in line to use the two stall bathroom. Apparently, one woman had to go so bad that she felt it appropriate to unzip her paints in the line. Just my luck, I get to use the bathroom after The Incredible Shedding Woman. After thoroughly wiping the toilet, I could not help but to wonder if she had bothered to leave one pubic hair on her vag.
While trying to trek it to the hotel shuttle, some airport employee, whose job it is to direct people to the shuttles, stops me to say, "I'm not tryin' to be funny, but I don't think you should lose a damn ounce!" This guy is typical of men who find me attractive: African, short, and underweight. Eye roll. Then he goes on to quote his favorite comedian's line about "skinny bitches."
My ride on the shuttle from the airport was smooth until a fellow passenger and the driver got into a shouting match. Something about being afraid of getting charged twice.
While they yelled at each other, I found myself taken aback by the flashing lights of the city. How could something be so beautiful, while looking like it needed a thorough rinse? There was so much trash! And not litter, I mean huge bags!
Later that day, my homegirl invites me to go eat at her house. The catch: I have to take the subway. YUCK! The people who didn't look sick looked mean! With every cough and grunt, I could feel myself getting a temperature. The NY train system, although efficient, makes Marta, the Atlanta transit system, look like limo service.
On my way to the train, a street man told me I needed to lose weight...very loudly. He was selling belts out of a tattered luggage. I dodged into a Subway restaurant to avoid him and buy a tea, just to exit and run right into him face-to-face, yelling about how cute I was, but needed to "come down." He was willing to work out with me, he yelled in so many words. I ignored him, taking a sip of my tea, only to find that it was diet. Irony.
Today, I shall wonder the city. I shall let you know how that goes; what excitement I run into.

New York Nonsense

I went to CNN.com this morning and was informed that there was a car bomb in New York. A vendor spotted it, called the po-pos, and it was detonated at some other location. This contradicts the eye-witness report that it went off before the cops got there and people started fleeing the scene. But that is neither here nor there.
I will be traveling to NY in the near future. And I am pissed not only that years after 911 the New York people still have to worry about this crap, but that something has to be going down not long before I plan to visit! Cazillions of money spent on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and cars are being blown up on our soil? I thought we went to war to prevent this! There is something quite wrong with this picture.
So again, I solicit my readers to pray for me. I know I have asked you for your prayers like every day the past couple of weeks. Soon, I promise I will put you all on payroll. But I need you to pray that I not only can squeeze my sweet, obese ass in the plane seat, but also that there is not terrorist drama at all in the city, especially during my short stay. Or on the plane for that matter. I just want to go, take a bite out of The Big Apple, then return to the comfortable, safe south, too ignorant to even warrant the attention of terrorists, where I can eat grits and listen to Soulja Boy in the privacy of my own home.
Thanks guys!

School House Rock

I have been wanting to go to graduate school for like three years. At this point I am annoyed because, if I would have gone when I was supposed to, I would be done by now! Yeah, yeah, it's never too late. Tell that to the 30-year-old that is scheduling her Internet grad courses around breastfeeding.
Here is the thing: I know that having a graduate degree will make me more competitive in our poo-poo job market. I get it. But I can not decide if I really want to go to grad school or if I just want to go...for fun?
OK, $30, 000+ in adjustable interest rate loans is a pretty expensive good time. But I am realizing, after talking to a lot of my friends that are just now graduating, that the last time I was truly happy was when I was in school. Since then, I have been on a pretty exhausting emotional and professional roller coaster, documented on this here blog.
Then there is the age factor. Yes, I know that I am young. They tell me I am. But I feel too old to be getting back into the swing of things, even though deep down I know that that is ridiculous. Even thinking about moving and coming up with money and going to classes again is tiring at best.
I guess time will tell, but time needs to start now. I don't want to be the breastfeeding 30-year-old.