Friday, July 30, 2010
The Question
Lauren wanted to know where the Black gay stood in the conversation on the Black family. Are they allowed to have an opinion? I say yes. But my view is that before we can openly discuss the topic, Blacks would first have to admit that there are gays in their families and that gays deserve to have families. So I am guessing, if we are ever going to have this talk, we are going to have to do it as a Black youth, minus our elders, because I can not see them being down.
Too Old For This
Today my Aunt told me I need to get back in the gym because my hips almost knocked over an empty Quicktrip cup in her car. Let me tell you a little story: I am so tired of people telling me what I need to do. I am not a baby. I am not a child. Dare I say, I don't need to do anything other than what my grown self wants to do. Capiche? Man, if only I was as thin as my patience.
Random African Dude
I have to type this quick because I don't want the random African dude beside me to see this but he smells so amazing I am totally intoxicated with a deep, masculine sweetness and it is becoming difficult to control myself and I am salivating and I wish he would move because I am getting his near uncontrollable urge to lick is creamy, beautiful tar-coloredred skin. OK, gotta post.
Something Ghetto
My younger brother Cass is in college. He is going into his sophomore year, and as of right now, my family is dealing with the usual right before school financial aid dramas.
Drama of the week? His financial aid counselor decided to go on a vacation at a time when the rest of the aid counselors were busy...doing their jobs! Anyway, she returned to the office this week, a week before school starts, tanned and ready to go. However, because she has been gone so long, all the work-study slots are filled, and my brother will not be receiving it as part of his aid package...AGAIN!
So as a solution to this, my mother decided to call the office with a major my-son-shouldn't-have-to-pay-ish attitude. Tanned Counselor didn't appreciate her tone and hung up...possibly. And I say possibly because it is very likely in our house that the call dropped.
Either way, it doesn't matter. Mommy is mad, and wants to "see" her when we drive my brother back. Just a little something ghetto I decided to share.
Drama of the week? His financial aid counselor decided to go on a vacation at a time when the rest of the aid counselors were busy...doing their jobs! Anyway, she returned to the office this week, a week before school starts, tanned and ready to go. However, because she has been gone so long, all the work-study slots are filled, and my brother will not be receiving it as part of his aid package...AGAIN!
So as a solution to this, my mother decided to call the office with a major my-son-shouldn't-have-to-pay-ish attitude. Tanned Counselor didn't appreciate her tone and hung up...possibly. And I say possibly because it is very likely in our house that the call dropped.
Either way, it doesn't matter. Mommy is mad, and wants to "see" her when we drive my brother back. Just a little something ghetto I decided to share.
Computer Drama
I blog to you today from my neighborhood library. Having a laptop has spoiled me. I forgot just how annoying and disgusting it was to have people breathing hard and blowing their nose two inches away from you. This random woman has been hacking down my back for the past five minutes, and I have come to terms within the past two hours with the fact that I have probably contracted some random, tropical, deadly airborne disease!
Why am I here? Because my three weeks old Toshiba can't pick up wireless Internet, and the lovely (clenched teeth) techies at the Toshiba call center have no idea what is up. You can only return a laptop to Best Buy before two weeks and, and, since I could not afford a warranty, I am stuck here, blogging beside annoying children, gum smackers, stomach growlers, and losers. I will be sending it in for repair but, until then, I will be sitting at Computer 7 wishing I could take a nap.
Why am I here? Because my three weeks old Toshiba can't pick up wireless Internet, and the lovely (clenched teeth) techies at the Toshiba call center have no idea what is up. You can only return a laptop to Best Buy before two weeks and, and, since I could not afford a warranty, I am stuck here, blogging beside annoying children, gum smackers, stomach growlers, and losers. I will be sending it in for repair but, until then, I will be sitting at Computer 7 wishing I could take a nap.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
No Inception
So, as I told you all yesterday, I was planning on putting up a Craigslist ad to get some dude to take me to go see Inception. However, my brother flipped out when I told him of my plans, and made a pretty convincing argument that I would end up dead in the mall dumpster. And even then I was down, but everyone was so up in arms that I figured it may be a bad idea. So, no date, no Inception.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Inception
Everyone is talking about how good Inception is and I really want to go see it, but as usual, I am broke! I feel like such a lame. The last movie I went to go see was Alice in Wonderland, and that is on DVD now!
So I have decided my wallet being vacant should not have an effect on my social life. Thus I am going to put an ad up on Craigslist soliciting some loser to take me to the movies...and dinner...and out for drinks. I will let you know this goes. I have to say I am excited about it, I have not been out in a really long time.
So I have decided my wallet being vacant should not have an effect on my social life. Thus I am going to put an ad up on Craigslist soliciting some loser to take me to the movies...and dinner...and out for drinks. I will let you know this goes. I have to say I am excited about it, I have not been out in a really long time.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
The Workplace Threat
"Maybe it's just me, but I thought that working would be different than it is," said Juna.
"What do you mean?"
"Like, I don't know. I thought it would be fun and stuff but people are mean."
Simply put by Juna, and 100% accurate.
Ahh, the 20 something-year-old in the workplace. She is fresh out of school, cute, qualified, energetic, and ready to take on the world. So, imagine her shock and dismay when she is welcomed by hating co-workers, usually older and more qualified women, that are totally trying to throw an ax in her climb up the corporate latter. I find that amongst my working gals, I have had this conversation like 1000 times!
Juna works in a lab. I had to laugh. There are scientist haters? My friend Jamaica works in policy, and her co-worker, an older woman, made her cry by trying to pin some bull on her she had nothing to do with. Luckily, she was able to provide her boss with a detailed email stream to prove her innocence. And poor Tasia. She is always being confronted with trash on the job, and of course, she is in publishing.
I don't get it. Why are these women hating on my adorable buddies when they aren't even qualified to take their positions? I mean, if I am entry-level, why is the boss's boss purposely trying to get me fired? As women, particularly Black women in the workplace, shouldn't we have each other's backs? According to another pal of mine, the answer is no.
The gist goes a little like this: the Black women who have been there longer know that the company has a quota. So there is literally not enough room for the both of you. So, from your first day behind your desk, you are fighting not to get the pink slip, because technically, somebody has to go.
It's sad that this is the case. But with drive and motivation, my young friends press forward. However, I think that the worst part about this situation is that they will eventually have to mutate into the mega bitches that they are now working for to keep the job that they were once so enthusiastic about getting.
"What do you mean?"
"Like, I don't know. I thought it would be fun and stuff but people are mean."
Simply put by Juna, and 100% accurate.
Ahh, the 20 something-year-old in the workplace. She is fresh out of school, cute, qualified, energetic, and ready to take on the world. So, imagine her shock and dismay when she is welcomed by hating co-workers, usually older and more qualified women, that are totally trying to throw an ax in her climb up the corporate latter. I find that amongst my working gals, I have had this conversation like 1000 times!
Juna works in a lab. I had to laugh. There are scientist haters? My friend Jamaica works in policy, and her co-worker, an older woman, made her cry by trying to pin some bull on her she had nothing to do with. Luckily, she was able to provide her boss with a detailed email stream to prove her innocence. And poor Tasia. She is always being confronted with trash on the job, and of course, she is in publishing.
I don't get it. Why are these women hating on my adorable buddies when they aren't even qualified to take their positions? I mean, if I am entry-level, why is the boss's boss purposely trying to get me fired? As women, particularly Black women in the workplace, shouldn't we have each other's backs? According to another pal of mine, the answer is no.
The gist goes a little like this: the Black women who have been there longer know that the company has a quota. So there is literally not enough room for the both of you. So, from your first day behind your desk, you are fighting not to get the pink slip, because technically, somebody has to go.
It's sad that this is the case. But with drive and motivation, my young friends press forward. However, I think that the worst part about this situation is that they will eventually have to mutate into the mega bitches that they are now working for to keep the job that they were once so enthusiastic about getting.
Heart Skip
I was checking my email and saw that P was available on my Yahoo chat and it made my heart skip a beat. I miss him. I was thinking about him just yesterday, and not about what a MAJOR asshole he is, but about how he is doing. What he is doing. So afraid that I may chat him and not ready to deal with a new wave of sadness when he didn't' chat me back or chatted me something rude, I decided to blog about it. Smiles, what would I do without this outlet? The old question: how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop? The new question: how long does it take you to get over someone that was never into you? Hopefully, there is some sweet treat on a stick at the end of my rainbow when I come to the answer.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Make-Up Pick Me Up
Make-Up makes me so happy, lipgloss in particular.
I have a hugh NY and Co. clutch bag in my closet stuffed with lip gloss, many of them still unopened. And at random times, I find myself shuffling through its contents, as if I am not more than familiar with all the brands and colors mixed in it.
It's just something about it. The soft clank that the tubes make against each other as I pick through them- the subtle smell of newness and oil. I love it!
Recently, I had to give some of my gloss away, because it was just getting crazy. But that didn't help my addiction, because I am already working on replenishing my collection. If I could completely transfer my food addiction to my addiction to lip gloss, I could be 120 by the end of the year with 9 clutches full of gloss on my shelf. Ahh...what a sweet dream, 9 bags of gloss.
I have a hugh NY and Co. clutch bag in my closet stuffed with lip gloss, many of them still unopened. And at random times, I find myself shuffling through its contents, as if I am not more than familiar with all the brands and colors mixed in it.
It's just something about it. The soft clank that the tubes make against each other as I pick through them- the subtle smell of newness and oil. I love it!
Recently, I had to give some of my gloss away, because it was just getting crazy. But that didn't help my addiction, because I am already working on replenishing my collection. If I could completely transfer my food addiction to my addiction to lip gloss, I could be 120 by the end of the year with 9 clutches full of gloss on my shelf. Ahh...what a sweet dream, 9 bags of gloss.
Stuck on Chill
I am so relaxed right now, like I don't have HELLA stuff I need to be working on.
I am going to be honest. Ever since I got back from Miami, it has been hard for me to focus. I close my eyes and see the beach and palm trees and designer shopping bags. I get put in such a relaxed place that I just want to roll over and chill.
On top of that is this knee thing. Granted, it feels like 90% better, but I have gotten used to not moving because I was in pain.
But the kicker is my beautiful Aunt Flo that came to visit. She has worn me out. Right now, as I type with my index finger, I lie on my side nibbling on a cookie. Every time I inhale too deeply my knee pops, and every time I roll over on my stomach, I fall asleep. I promise you, besides doing a couple of interviews and research for work, I have done nothing, and I feel like I have just run the track a few times.
So I guess that I will savor the rest of the day, for tomorrow, I will be so not chilling. I will be chin deep in work, wishing I was still in Miami.
I am going to be honest. Ever since I got back from Miami, it has been hard for me to focus. I close my eyes and see the beach and palm trees and designer shopping bags. I get put in such a relaxed place that I just want to roll over and chill.
On top of that is this knee thing. Granted, it feels like 90% better, but I have gotten used to not moving because I was in pain.
But the kicker is my beautiful Aunt Flo that came to visit. She has worn me out. Right now, as I type with my index finger, I lie on my side nibbling on a cookie. Every time I inhale too deeply my knee pops, and every time I roll over on my stomach, I fall asleep. I promise you, besides doing a couple of interviews and research for work, I have done nothing, and I feel like I have just run the track a few times.
So I guess that I will savor the rest of the day, for tomorrow, I will be so not chilling. I will be chin deep in work, wishing I was still in Miami.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
A Bit of Bush
It's funny what a boy can see in a split second.
So, I told ya'll about the tall young woman that Brownie went out with. Well, besides her being Amazonian, they hit it off. After their lunch, they went outside to chat. Apparently, she was sitting on her car, moved back to adjust herself, and Brownie saw her underwear because she had on a dress.
"It happens," I said. "At least her underwear was clean."
"Yeah, but I think she has a bush."
In a millisecond, Brown was able to assess that this girl had a bush.
And I have to ask, what is wrong with having a bush? I mean, the girl is grown! I blame this on these spa junkie women that have made the newborn vagina the "in" thing.
I get nervous about men that are too in to that, just like I get nervous about men that like women who look like kids, but I can't lie and say that I have not thought about getting a Brazilian just like, when I get mad at my 'fro, I have thought of getting perm. Naturally, I went to Haynes about the situation a while back.
"No I do not get Brazilians just like Ruth (my grandmother) would never get a Brazilian."
And that was that.
It's so complicated a woman. When they don't want your hair straight and your boobs fake, they want your vagina bald. I hate to think of what scary thing men will think of next that is painful but alluring in their eyes.
So, I told ya'll about the tall young woman that Brownie went out with. Well, besides her being Amazonian, they hit it off. After their lunch, they went outside to chat. Apparently, she was sitting on her car, moved back to adjust herself, and Brownie saw her underwear because she had on a dress.
"It happens," I said. "At least her underwear was clean."
"Yeah, but I think she has a bush."
In a millisecond, Brown was able to assess that this girl had a bush.
And I have to ask, what is wrong with having a bush? I mean, the girl is grown! I blame this on these spa junkie women that have made the newborn vagina the "in" thing.
I get nervous about men that are too in to that, just like I get nervous about men that like women who look like kids, but I can't lie and say that I have not thought about getting a Brazilian just like, when I get mad at my 'fro, I have thought of getting perm. Naturally, I went to Haynes about the situation a while back.
"No I do not get Brazilians just like Ruth (my grandmother) would never get a Brazilian."
And that was that.
It's so complicated a woman. When they don't want your hair straight and your boobs fake, they want your vagina bald. I hate to think of what scary thing men will think of next that is painful but alluring in their eyes.
A Tall Tale
One of Brownie's managers attempted to make a love connection with him and another young woman that he knows.
I was immediately wary. When older people make love connections, they are usually half-baked. All they take into account is that two young people they know are single, the end, so let's hook them up! They don't look at personality, body type, nada, just whether they are available. The person they think you would look perfect with could be a complete quack!
However, after doing Facebook research on Brownie's behalf on the girl, I was pleasantly surprised! The girl was apart of every club and group imaginable in school. She was even cute. However, I got the feeling that she was a bit tall...seeing that she was always last in line in all of her sorority pics.
This is only a problem because Brownie is a shrimp, for a boy anyway. He claims to be 5'7, but I put him at 5'5. So imagine his shock when he showed up and the girl was 6 feet even!
It never once occurred to me that a guy would even care if a girl was taller than him. I mean, look at Tom Cruise. I just assumed their love of jay-jay overruled everything else. Not for Brownie anyway.
Although this girl is cute and smart and wants to be a beauty queen and all of that, he had a Rolodex of reasons why it wouldn't work.
"She would have to bend down to kiss me."
"She felt like a foot taller than me."
"The man is supposed to be the protector and shit and make the girl feel safe. How can I do that if she is that much damn taller than me?"
Any other time I would agree. But I'm here to tell ya'll, loneliness is an eye-opener. This time just two months ago I would yell from the highest mountain that I would never date a short guy. But when you are by yourself and don't want to be, I find that you stop sweating the small things...like how small a guy is compared to you.
I was immediately wary. When older people make love connections, they are usually half-baked. All they take into account is that two young people they know are single, the end, so let's hook them up! They don't look at personality, body type, nada, just whether they are available. The person they think you would look perfect with could be a complete quack!
However, after doing Facebook research on Brownie's behalf on the girl, I was pleasantly surprised! The girl was apart of every club and group imaginable in school. She was even cute. However, I got the feeling that she was a bit tall...seeing that she was always last in line in all of her sorority pics.
This is only a problem because Brownie is a shrimp, for a boy anyway. He claims to be 5'7, but I put him at 5'5. So imagine his shock when he showed up and the girl was 6 feet even!
It never once occurred to me that a guy would even care if a girl was taller than him. I mean, look at Tom Cruise. I just assumed their love of jay-jay overruled everything else. Not for Brownie anyway.
Although this girl is cute and smart and wants to be a beauty queen and all of that, he had a Rolodex of reasons why it wouldn't work.
"She would have to bend down to kiss me."
"She felt like a foot taller than me."
"The man is supposed to be the protector and shit and make the girl feel safe. How can I do that if she is that much damn taller than me?"
Any other time I would agree. But I'm here to tell ya'll, loneliness is an eye-opener. This time just two months ago I would yell from the highest mountain that I would never date a short guy. But when you are by yourself and don't want to be, I find that you stop sweating the small things...like how small a guy is compared to you.
Monday, July 19, 2010
A Curious REappearance
Last night I got a text from Curious I asked him what happened to him. I haven't heard from him in days! His response: he was asleep. So here I sit, feeling dumb that I freaked out over nothing.
Yet I don't know about that girlfriend/ boyfriend thing. With a clear head, free of images that he is dead, I stand by my original idea: that we cross that bridge after we actually hang out together. So let's keep hat gf/bf thing under our hats, shall we?
Yet I don't know about that girlfriend/ boyfriend thing. With a clear head, free of images that he is dead, I stand by my original idea: that we cross that bridge after we actually hang out together. So let's keep hat gf/bf thing under our hats, shall we?
Mother Dearest
My mom throws adult tantrums.
Seriously. She is throwing one right now.
I can feel her slamming things, but I can't hear what she is saying. I'm pretty sure I don't want to.
This is not a new thing. She has been throwing them forever. As of late, the topic of her tantrums has been dishes. I am guessing that right now there are a lot of dishes in the sink, she is about to cook, and their are tons of dishes to do before she starts. But here is the thing: she cooked last night. When I cooked this weekend, swollen leg and all, I did the dishes. She cooked last night, left the dishes, now she's pissed.
Just another happy day at happiness house.
Seriously. She is throwing one right now.
I can feel her slamming things, but I can't hear what she is saying. I'm pretty sure I don't want to.
This is not a new thing. She has been throwing them forever. As of late, the topic of her tantrums has been dishes. I am guessing that right now there are a lot of dishes in the sink, she is about to cook, and their are tons of dishes to do before she starts. But here is the thing: she cooked last night. When I cooked this weekend, swollen leg and all, I did the dishes. She cooked last night, left the dishes, now she's pissed.
Just another happy day at happiness house.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Rejecting the Rejection
Maybe three months ago I shared with Fran and Waddles a story that I heard from Dr. Schuller on The Glass Cathedral. Hey! Don't judge me. He talks some real stuff and I like his voice. Anywho, he told a story about this boy who applied to his dream college and got denied admission. So he sent the college a letter, told them that he rejected their rejection, and that he was coming for Freshman Orientation. We thought that was funny, primarily because that would never fly.
So as you all know, this P situation had me down all last month. P- the boy who told me he didn't want to "talk to me for a while." I replayed that text over and over in my mind- not just the text but the whole situation- until it didn't make sense; until it felt like a dream. Finally, I went to my friend Dorothy for advice, who told me to put his number on my reject list on my phone.
"When he calls you again, if he calls you again, you don't need to be available for him."
True dat. Maybe putting the number on the reject list would be better, seeing that I had tried to erase it, and that just made me cry.
So the week before last, I took a deep breath and put his number on the rejection list. I instantly felt relieved. I wasn't worried about his calling, because if he did, I wouldn't get the call anyway, and I doubt that he has, and that is OK.
But don't cheer for my minor victory too much...he is still my Facebook friend and I still have his email address and I still know like most of his friends, lol. And, if he called me today, if he wasn't automatically rejected, I would answer on the first ring.
I miss him ya'll. And besides all the romantic feelings I had for him that I talked myself into believing were no more, I just enjoyed him being my buddy, you know? And I was a good friend, not trying to get with him or anything and listening to his issues, because that's what buddies do. But he rejected me over some ish that was on him! Well sorry, I have cried too much then I care to admit. I had to take steps to reject his rejection.
So as you all know, this P situation had me down all last month. P- the boy who told me he didn't want to "talk to me for a while." I replayed that text over and over in my mind- not just the text but the whole situation- until it didn't make sense; until it felt like a dream. Finally, I went to my friend Dorothy for advice, who told me to put his number on my reject list on my phone.
"When he calls you again, if he calls you again, you don't need to be available for him."
True dat. Maybe putting the number on the reject list would be better, seeing that I had tried to erase it, and that just made me cry.
So the week before last, I took a deep breath and put his number on the rejection list. I instantly felt relieved. I wasn't worried about his calling, because if he did, I wouldn't get the call anyway, and I doubt that he has, and that is OK.
But don't cheer for my minor victory too much...he is still my Facebook friend and I still have his email address and I still know like most of his friends, lol. And, if he called me today, if he wasn't automatically rejected, I would answer on the first ring.
I miss him ya'll. And besides all the romantic feelings I had for him that I talked myself into believing were no more, I just enjoyed him being my buddy, you know? And I was a good friend, not trying to get with him or anything and listening to his issues, because that's what buddies do. But he rejected me over some ish that was on him! Well sorry, I have cried too much then I care to admit. I had to take steps to reject his rejection.
A Curious Disappearance
On the 15th at one something in the morning, Curious called me. He said he was on his way home from what I am assuming is work. During the call, the signal dropped. I waited a few minutes for him to call me back, he didn't. So I called him...twice. No answer. The next day I woke-up to no missed calls or unread messages from him, which is unusual. I went into worry mode.
I called him like two other times, no answer. My mind was racing with images of him getting into an accident or being hurt. I mean, the signal just dropped! I went from worried to panicked.
So who else do I text but Brownie, who suggests that he is probably fine, but maybe ignoring me. Me. Me! Maybe he is "flipping the game on me." Me! My mood went from panicked to pissed.
But then I had to step back. We have gone days without calling or texting. Maybe he is busy or something. Whatever the reason is that I have not heard from him, I want to hear from him...desperately.
Staring at my phone before I sent him my trillionth text, I was mad at myself for playing with this boy's emotions. I do like him. Instead of being annoyed by his...at times...tasteless sex talk, I should have just told him it made me feel weird and to stop instead of not answering his texts. And when he told me, well, texted me that he wanted to be thought of sometimes, he was being real with me. Would it have killed me to have called him?
The only thing worse than playing games in the first place is not knowing when to stop. I sit here shaking my head. Why was I trying to get a guy who liked me to like me more? I feel so stupid.
So I texted Brownie that I think that I am in love, and he told me I wasn't. Maybe I'm not. But in the event that I hear from Curious again and that boyfriend offer is still on the table, I'm going to take it.
I called him like two other times, no answer. My mind was racing with images of him getting into an accident or being hurt. I mean, the signal just dropped! I went from worried to panicked.
So who else do I text but Brownie, who suggests that he is probably fine, but maybe ignoring me. Me. Me! Maybe he is "flipping the game on me." Me! My mood went from panicked to pissed.
But then I had to step back. We have gone days without calling or texting. Maybe he is busy or something. Whatever the reason is that I have not heard from him, I want to hear from him...desperately.
Staring at my phone before I sent him my trillionth text, I was mad at myself for playing with this boy's emotions. I do like him. Instead of being annoyed by his...at times...tasteless sex talk, I should have just told him it made me feel weird and to stop instead of not answering his texts. And when he told me, well, texted me that he wanted to be thought of sometimes, he was being real with me. Would it have killed me to have called him?
The only thing worse than playing games in the first place is not knowing when to stop. I sit here shaking my head. Why was I trying to get a guy who liked me to like me more? I feel so stupid.
So I texted Brownie that I think that I am in love, and he told me I wasn't. Maybe I'm not. But in the event that I hear from Curious again and that boyfriend offer is still on the table, I'm going to take it.
The Knee Nightmare
I write to you this morning after what very well may have the been the worst sleep of my life!
Yesterday morning, after innocently aiding my sister in opening a can of ravioli, I slid on a dustpan that someone left in the middle of the floor, thus landing super hard on my right knee. I mean, super hard.
If there was ever a time that I really think I needed a doctor, it was then. I tried to get up, and ended up back on the floor. And as my useless siblings watched me wallow in pain, I did my best not to scream. The next pain that I feel like this will probably be childbirth. Lying on the kitchen floor, I prayed not to get Arthritis from this. My grandma had it and she would cry, rubbing her hip, every time it rained. I had an old P.E. teacher who had to get a knee replacement, and it made her leg fatter than the other one. My aunt had knee surgery when I was in undergrad, and she is just now walking without a limp.
My knee is soooo stiff. I can't bend it. I literally had to stop, drop, and roll to get to the bathroom as Betsy, what I have now named my knee, snapped, crackled, and popped the whole way there. I'm fat, so I can't tell if my knee is swollen, but it hurts like Hell. Like. Hell.
So about my sleep: it sucked. I didn't know what a big part being able to bend your knee played in a good night's rest. A half-baked fetal position and sitting up, those are the only two positions I could muster. I cried, I prayed, I whaled. I wished I had a Midol or some crack or a gun, anything to ease the misery. Finally, God had mercy on me and Betsy, and blessed me with 46 straight minutes or rest, a record for the night.
Here is something you may or may not know about me: I hate being hurt and I hate being sick. I have true disdain for anything that prevents me from doing things at the speed I would usually do them. Last night, it took my brother 20 minutes to prepare me a bag of ice for Betsy. It would have taken me 3!
As I type this post, groggy and annoyed, I try not to resent my siblings for not helping me and for leaving shit just lying around. I have to stop myself from hoping one of them falls. Uh-oh, negative thoughts. Time to turn to my gospel playlist.
Yesterday morning, after innocently aiding my sister in opening a can of ravioli, I slid on a dustpan that someone left in the middle of the floor, thus landing super hard on my right knee. I mean, super hard.
If there was ever a time that I really think I needed a doctor, it was then. I tried to get up, and ended up back on the floor. And as my useless siblings watched me wallow in pain, I did my best not to scream. The next pain that I feel like this will probably be childbirth. Lying on the kitchen floor, I prayed not to get Arthritis from this. My grandma had it and she would cry, rubbing her hip, every time it rained. I had an old P.E. teacher who had to get a knee replacement, and it made her leg fatter than the other one. My aunt had knee surgery when I was in undergrad, and she is just now walking without a limp.
My knee is soooo stiff. I can't bend it. I literally had to stop, drop, and roll to get to the bathroom as Betsy, what I have now named my knee, snapped, crackled, and popped the whole way there. I'm fat, so I can't tell if my knee is swollen, but it hurts like Hell. Like. Hell.
So about my sleep: it sucked. I didn't know what a big part being able to bend your knee played in a good night's rest. A half-baked fetal position and sitting up, those are the only two positions I could muster. I cried, I prayed, I whaled. I wished I had a Midol or some crack or a gun, anything to ease the misery. Finally, God had mercy on me and Betsy, and blessed me with 46 straight minutes or rest, a record for the night.
Here is something you may or may not know about me: I hate being hurt and I hate being sick. I have true disdain for anything that prevents me from doing things at the speed I would usually do them. Last night, it took my brother 20 minutes to prepare me a bag of ice for Betsy. It would have taken me 3!
As I type this post, groggy and annoyed, I try not to resent my siblings for not helping me and for leaving shit just lying around. I have to stop myself from hoping one of them falls. Uh-oh, negative thoughts. Time to turn to my gospel playlist.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Meth Breath and Meth Man
There is this married couple that goes to the gym that I affectionately call Meth Breath and Meth Man. They are the friggin' greatest!
After a couple of years of watching Intervention and Celebrity Rehab, I have diagnosed them as Meth addicts. The woman, a pale redhead that may not be that much older than me, wears this teeny tiny hot pink bikini that is right out of an 80s music video. But she doesn't shave well enough, so when her bikini bottom gets wet and heavy, it sags down her jay-jay and you can see her fire-red pubes! That's a token sign of a Meth addict- just not giving a crap. But even the bad swimwear and hairy bikini line I could forgive if her teeth didn't look like she has been chewing on sharp bark (another Meth symptom). This the one trait she shares with her odd-ball hubby.
At first glance, you would think he is her father. He is old enough to be. But their body language toward each other, which is so hot and sexual that you fear that they will stop and do each other between pool laps, makes it very clear that they are together. Don't get me wrong, they are both socially awkward, but her husband is so on edge with his beady brown eyes that you just sense that at any moment he is going to pop out of the water and yell, "I'm on drugs OK!" He is also QUITE hairy. The whole back of him looks likes a rug, and to see him wet in the pool would make you want to hurl. How can I explain him? His young bride and his crazy facial expressions lead one to think he has done something really, really bad making you convinced upon first glance that he has molested a child or something.
One thing is true though: they are clearly in a beautiful, codependent love. I guess there is no love like Meth love.
After a couple of years of watching Intervention and Celebrity Rehab, I have diagnosed them as Meth addicts. The woman, a pale redhead that may not be that much older than me, wears this teeny tiny hot pink bikini that is right out of an 80s music video. But she doesn't shave well enough, so when her bikini bottom gets wet and heavy, it sags down her jay-jay and you can see her fire-red pubes! That's a token sign of a Meth addict- just not giving a crap. But even the bad swimwear and hairy bikini line I could forgive if her teeth didn't look like she has been chewing on sharp bark (another Meth symptom). This the one trait she shares with her odd-ball hubby.
At first glance, you would think he is her father. He is old enough to be. But their body language toward each other, which is so hot and sexual that you fear that they will stop and do each other between pool laps, makes it very clear that they are together. Don't get me wrong, they are both socially awkward, but her husband is so on edge with his beady brown eyes that you just sense that at any moment he is going to pop out of the water and yell, "I'm on drugs OK!" He is also QUITE hairy. The whole back of him looks likes a rug, and to see him wet in the pool would make you want to hurl. How can I explain him? His young bride and his crazy facial expressions lead one to think he has done something really, really bad making you convinced upon first glance that he has molested a child or something.
One thing is true though: they are clearly in a beautiful, codependent love. I guess there is no love like Meth love.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Introducing Mama Jamaica
There is this woman that attends my Aqua Fit class that I have nickname Mama Jamaica. I don't dislike her, but I would be lying if I said that she didn't annoy that absolute hell out of me.
She is a petite woman with a fat woman's breasts. She has a short little gray afro, and she wears one pieces that show a little bit too much bikini line for a woman of her years.
She always gets to class late which, again, annoys me. I know that it is not school, but she comes late and makes it a point to yell hello to us over the teacher's instructions. She also wears swim shoes. She has a pair for every one piece. Come on! We are doing arm flaps in three feet of water! Must you be so equipped?
Recently, I suppose she has appointed herself gym attendance keeper. She tells me as she jogs past me in the pool, "Haven't seen you in a while." OK. I heard her say it to a couple of other ladies in the locker room. I guess after three absences, we get detention.
I get the feeling that she may have been a teacher, just by the way she has a need to instruct the class, even though we have a CERTIFIED instructor there.
And her accent is so deep, even though I think she has been here for like ever, that I half expect her to break into "Flex" during a conversation!
What can you say? God bless the old folks.
She is a petite woman with a fat woman's breasts. She has a short little gray afro, and she wears one pieces that show a little bit too much bikini line for a woman of her years.
She always gets to class late which, again, annoys me. I know that it is not school, but she comes late and makes it a point to yell hello to us over the teacher's instructions. She also wears swim shoes. She has a pair for every one piece. Come on! We are doing arm flaps in three feet of water! Must you be so equipped?
Recently, I suppose she has appointed herself gym attendance keeper. She tells me as she jogs past me in the pool, "Haven't seen you in a while." OK. I heard her say it to a couple of other ladies in the locker room. I guess after three absences, we get detention.
I get the feeling that she may have been a teacher, just by the way she has a need to instruct the class, even though we have a CERTIFIED instructor there.
And her accent is so deep, even though I think she has been here for like ever, that I half expect her to break into "Flex" during a conversation!
What can you say? God bless the old folks.
Spiritual Training
I recently spoke with a friend about how she is on medication to control her emotions. I am so jealous. At about five, I realized that I needed to be one of those kids that got to go to the nurse's office to down pills out of a Dixie cup. Of course, I wasn't. Some people have all the luck.
My emotions are all over the place. Just last week I was crying because I couldn't find my nail polish. That boy incident I mentioned had me hiding under my bed. If anyone needs mood stabilizing dope, it is yours truly. But one can only wish, seeing that I don't have health insurance.
So recently, while crying during Up, a cartoon by the way, I decided to try to train my spirit, a concept I heard about at my old church. Maybe it's not just me. Maybe my spirit is off or something. So I decided to make a gospel playlist on Youtube, and I listen to it maybe three times a day. I think that it is working.
How? Well, it is building some type of shield or something. This morning, after doing all the dishes the night before, I go into the kitchen seeing my mom all worked up about one pan she had to wash. As she spewed her negative energy, I realized I wasn't listening because "Grateful" by Hezekiah Walker was playing in my head. Just as I was about to have one of my token freak outs because one of my bonehead brothers didn't replace the toilet tissue after they used it all, "Livin'" by The Clark Sisters automatically started blaring in my mind.
When I was a kid, the elders used to wear these annoying t-shirts that read "Too Blessed To Be Stressed." Years later, I am seeing that there may just be something to that stupid slogan...just maybe.
My emotions are all over the place. Just last week I was crying because I couldn't find my nail polish. That boy incident I mentioned had me hiding under my bed. If anyone needs mood stabilizing dope, it is yours truly. But one can only wish, seeing that I don't have health insurance.
So recently, while crying during Up, a cartoon by the way, I decided to try to train my spirit, a concept I heard about at my old church. Maybe it's not just me. Maybe my spirit is off or something. So I decided to make a gospel playlist on Youtube, and I listen to it maybe three times a day. I think that it is working.
How? Well, it is building some type of shield or something. This morning, after doing all the dishes the night before, I go into the kitchen seeing my mom all worked up about one pan she had to wash. As she spewed her negative energy, I realized I wasn't listening because "Grateful" by Hezekiah Walker was playing in my head. Just as I was about to have one of my token freak outs because one of my bonehead brothers didn't replace the toilet tissue after they used it all, "Livin'" by The Clark Sisters automatically started blaring in my mind.
When I was a kid, the elders used to wear these annoying t-shirts that read "Too Blessed To Be Stressed." Years later, I am seeing that there may just be something to that stupid slogan...just maybe.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
The Terrible 12s
My sister is 12 and her attitude is so HORRIFIC that I don't know if she or the rest of the family is going to make it to her 13th birthday alive.
What can I say? She is obnoxious. She is rude. She has taken up hanging with the kids next door, these gross little hood rats that think they are better than the neighborhood because they go to private school. She yells. She talks crazy to my mom. She talks crazy to my brothers and I. She stomps around and cries and calls us names when she doesn't get her way, then she has the audacity to turn around and ask for new school clothes. Please, not from me!
Talking to her about her miserable disposition has gotten so draining ad dramatic that we all kind of hide from her, sitting in our rooms with the door closed as she has one of her episodes.
Right now is the worst. She is actually behaving, which, in the past, has proven to be the calm before the storm. Any little twitch, any denial of a third helping of food, any request to use the phone while she is talking to one of her airhead friends, any expectation to actually do a chore, could result in full out war.
Me and my mother were at odds when I was a pre-teen (the jury is still out on whether or not that "phase" is over) so I feel her pain. At that age, EVERYTHING seems so unfair. But I am telling you this: if she comes stomping through this house again for no reason, I am throwing her out the window!
What can I say? She is obnoxious. She is rude. She has taken up hanging with the kids next door, these gross little hood rats that think they are better than the neighborhood because they go to private school. She yells. She talks crazy to my mom. She talks crazy to my brothers and I. She stomps around and cries and calls us names when she doesn't get her way, then she has the audacity to turn around and ask for new school clothes. Please, not from me!
Talking to her about her miserable disposition has gotten so draining ad dramatic that we all kind of hide from her, sitting in our rooms with the door closed as she has one of her episodes.
Right now is the worst. She is actually behaving, which, in the past, has proven to be the calm before the storm. Any little twitch, any denial of a third helping of food, any request to use the phone while she is talking to one of her airhead friends, any expectation to actually do a chore, could result in full out war.
Me and my mother were at odds when I was a pre-teen (the jury is still out on whether or not that "phase" is over) so I feel her pain. At that age, EVERYTHING seems so unfair. But I am telling you this: if she comes stomping through this house again for no reason, I am throwing her out the window!
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Gross! 2
Yet another conversation in texts.
Curious: Wat up sexy are u free to talk
Me: Yes, call me
Curious: It would be nice to be thought of or called sometime
Me: (No response)
Ok, first off, it is sad that I am still communicating with this clown after his little sexting stunt. Apparently, he could not tell by my unresponsiveness to it that that bothered me. But furthermore, why do the few and far between guys that I talk to try to put me in a position to court them? Again, am I not the girl?! Yes, I am a feminist, but there are some rules that are unchangeable. Boys initiate. That's what my grandma told me, and that is the rule that I live by. Point blank: we both can't be the female. If it bugs you to have to show interest, why should I?
Curious: Wat up sexy are u free to talk
Me: Yes, call me
Curious: It would be nice to be thought of or called sometime
Me: (No response)
Ok, first off, it is sad that I am still communicating with this clown after his little sexting stunt. Apparently, he could not tell by my unresponsiveness to it that that bothered me. But furthermore, why do the few and far between guys that I talk to try to put me in a position to court them? Again, am I not the girl?! Yes, I am a feminist, but there are some rules that are unchangeable. Boys initiate. That's what my grandma told me, and that is the rule that I live by. Point blank: we both can't be the female. If it bugs you to have to show interest, why should I?
Good Night and the Pervese Mind
I have an extreme, deep, all-consuming desire to do someone.
It has always been there, but it has gotten worst since I created a very sexually charged Youtube playlist, entitled "Good Night," which was supposed to serve as a lullaby to cradle me to sleep. Unfortunately, after filling it with R. Kelly, H-town, and Jodeci tunes, the only thing it has succeeded in doing is further igniting my extreme, deep, all-consuming desire to do someone.
For the past three days I have been listening to it on autoplay, and instead of making me sleepy, it has become a soundtrack in my mind to my imaginary sex life. Just another day that I am kicking myself for drinking the abstinence Kool-Aid.
It has always been there, but it has gotten worst since I created a very sexually charged Youtube playlist, entitled "Good Night," which was supposed to serve as a lullaby to cradle me to sleep. Unfortunately, after filling it with R. Kelly, H-town, and Jodeci tunes, the only thing it has succeeded in doing is further igniting my extreme, deep, all-consuming desire to do someone.
For the past three days I have been listening to it on autoplay, and instead of making me sleepy, it has become a soundtrack in my mind to my imaginary sex life. Just another day that I am kicking myself for drinking the abstinence Kool-Aid.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Crush
I find that I develop really random crushes on people, especially when I am bored or sad or trying to get over someone else. So this go 'round, I have developed a crush on a boy I went to college with that I never spoke to that I have not seen in three years. He is FLY! I like me some him, and I get the feeling that he may be into conscious hip-hop and fighting for the cause. Ugh, why is it always the one you can't have?
Sad Face
I want to go play with my friends but they live too far away and now I am sad because there is no one on my side of town to go play with:( It's a Friday night and I'm young, I want to get into something:( Tomorrow I may go to the club :) but who wants to go to the club? It's crowded, there aren't any seats...what a bust:( Oh well, here's to another boring night.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Gross!
A conversation in texts (another reason not to text at all)
Curious: Wat up baby are u free to talk
Me: Hey you! I am on my way to the bank, but I will call you back tonight.
Curious: Your phone has been off for a week or so I been tryin to call u
Me: I know, I'm sorry. Not having a phone has been horrible! I can't wait to talk to you and catch u up
Curious: Lol ok baby
Curious: I will be in atlanta soon i wanna give u dis BLEEP
Me: (no response)
Curious: Have you ever thought about givin BLEEP b4
Me: (no response)
Question: Why? Just why?
Curious: Wat up baby are u free to talk
Me: Hey you! I am on my way to the bank, but I will call you back tonight.
Curious: Your phone has been off for a week or so I been tryin to call u
Me: I know, I'm sorry. Not having a phone has been horrible! I can't wait to talk to you and catch u up
Curious: Lol ok baby
Curious: I will be in atlanta soon i wanna give u dis BLEEP
Me: (no response)
Curious: Have you ever thought about givin BLEEP b4
Me: (no response)
Question: Why? Just why?
Trey
After seeing how hot Trey Songz's mom is on the BET Awards, I have formed a crush on him. Weird, huh?
Anyway, I like his little outfits, and I am a sucker for a bony man that can hit high notes. Have you heard him with Ludacris on the "Sex Room" song? When he says, "Head down to the floor..." but the floor is all extended, my toes curl.
For the record, Trey and his incredibly hot mom can get it.
Anyway, I like his little outfits, and I am a sucker for a bony man that can hit high notes. Have you heard him with Ludacris on the "Sex Room" song? When he says, "Head down to the floor..." but the floor is all extended, my toes curl.
For the record, Trey and his incredibly hot mom can get it.
Sincerly, Financially Frantic
Today I bought a new computer.
My last computer, an EMachine I got last year from HHGregg (which for some reason I am quite spiritually connected to) went black on me. Apparently, according to a really cute Geek Squad worker, my backlight went out. So I would need to replace my whole screen, which would be about as much as a cheap computer. Of course, this would happen very close to my payday, so I had to do some SERIOUS juggling just to purchase a $325 Toshiba the size of a dinner table!
$ 325. That doesn't sound like a lot, but it is for a girl who is paid with magic beans, that is paying off student loans, and has financial obligations out the wazoo. It might as well have been $1000!
On top of the computer, I had to buy that anti-virus crap. I couldn't afford a warranty. Couldn't afford the Microsoft Home and Office 2010. I am just beside myself.
It is days like this that I do wish that I was skinny so I could just go to a club, do a couple of lap dances, and come home with a couple of stacks.
I was just telling my girl Dorthy how I used to be a major snob. When I worked in fast food when I was in high school, strippers and hoes and all other types of questionable women would come in late and get chicken, and I used to be like, "Ew gross! Don't they have any dignity?" Now I see that they had dignity, they just had bills. Money is money!
The best bet for a chub like me is a sponsor, some old dude on the verge of death with fat wallets and a fatty fetish. If your father or grandfather fits this description, please send him my way. Nothing nasty, promise, I just need my phone bill paid.
My last computer, an EMachine I got last year from HHGregg (which for some reason I am quite spiritually connected to) went black on me. Apparently, according to a really cute Geek Squad worker, my backlight went out. So I would need to replace my whole screen, which would be about as much as a cheap computer. Of course, this would happen very close to my payday, so I had to do some SERIOUS juggling just to purchase a $325 Toshiba the size of a dinner table!
$ 325. That doesn't sound like a lot, but it is for a girl who is paid with magic beans, that is paying off student loans, and has financial obligations out the wazoo. It might as well have been $1000!
On top of the computer, I had to buy that anti-virus crap. I couldn't afford a warranty. Couldn't afford the Microsoft Home and Office 2010. I am just beside myself.
It is days like this that I do wish that I was skinny so I could just go to a club, do a couple of lap dances, and come home with a couple of stacks.
I was just telling my girl Dorthy how I used to be a major snob. When I worked in fast food when I was in high school, strippers and hoes and all other types of questionable women would come in late and get chicken, and I used to be like, "Ew gross! Don't they have any dignity?" Now I see that they had dignity, they just had bills. Money is money!
The best bet for a chub like me is a sponsor, some old dude on the verge of death with fat wallets and a fatty fetish. If your father or grandfather fits this description, please send him my way. Nothing nasty, promise, I just need my phone bill paid.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Text Mess
Texting is ruining the fabric of America. I just want to make that clear.
OK, maybe not America, but relationships.
Like four of my friends have complained to me about man text convos in like the past week. The problem? They are left to figure out the severity of words from a text without hearing their beau's voice. Was he being funny, or was he getting an attitude? Was he serious, or was this a joke? Or even worse, they are left to try to figure out what he meant by not responding at all!
As if men were not hard enough to understand, we have to try to interpret their misspellings and lack of appropriate grammar to figure out what is going on! I don't know about you, but I don't understand the men in my life when they are talking to me. Now I have to try to figure out the true meaning of the five words that they typed, attention split between me and their XBox.
New rule: no man text convos...ever. Not even family. It leaves too many questions unanswered: too many things up in the air. Texting has become their new way of avoiding us and conflict. Conflict is healthy. Plus, I miss conversations. Anyway, how can you base a relationship off of pre-meditated typing? How can you really get to know someone like that? If doing so has really worked for you, shoot me a text.
OK, maybe not America, but relationships.
Like four of my friends have complained to me about man text convos in like the past week. The problem? They are left to figure out the severity of words from a text without hearing their beau's voice. Was he being funny, or was he getting an attitude? Was he serious, or was this a joke? Or even worse, they are left to try to figure out what he meant by not responding at all!
As if men were not hard enough to understand, we have to try to interpret their misspellings and lack of appropriate grammar to figure out what is going on! I don't know about you, but I don't understand the men in my life when they are talking to me. Now I have to try to figure out the true meaning of the five words that they typed, attention split between me and their XBox.
New rule: no man text convos...ever. Not even family. It leaves too many questions unanswered: too many things up in the air. Texting has become their new way of avoiding us and conflict. Conflict is healthy. Plus, I miss conversations. Anyway, how can you base a relationship off of pre-meditated typing? How can you really get to know someone like that? If doing so has really worked for you, shoot me a text.
The Rebuild
I am not sure if I told you this or not, but shortly, after a guy "friend" disrespected me, he texted, not told me but texted me that he didn't think we should talk anymore and it hurt my feelings. Funny, he has said some out of line ish to me but what hurt most is that he may never offend me again. Pathetic.
The tip of the iceberg was in Miami, when, while trying to express my emotions to my bestie Haynes, I broke down in tears on Lexington in front of a very busy Victoria's Secret. That was two weeks ago.
So, what have I been doing since then? Trying to put myself back together. The whole thing has been an adventure. It's not like when my gay boyfriend dumped me in high school, when I got cornrolls and spent my days and nights listening to Lauren Hill. This go 'round, I can not stop the poetry from flowing as Bush and Nirvana are on replay.
Am I all better? No. But I don't feel like trash anymore, and I can go for hours without replaying the situation and texts and conversations and the expressions of people wondering why an obese Black woman was crying in public. The goal is to heal without letting this take me over, further tainting my view of men. It's going better than expected, but give me a month, assuming that is all I will need. Give me a month.
The tip of the iceberg was in Miami, when, while trying to express my emotions to my bestie Haynes, I broke down in tears on Lexington in front of a very busy Victoria's Secret. That was two weeks ago.
So, what have I been doing since then? Trying to put myself back together. The whole thing has been an adventure. It's not like when my gay boyfriend dumped me in high school, when I got cornrolls and spent my days and nights listening to Lauren Hill. This go 'round, I can not stop the poetry from flowing as Bush and Nirvana are on replay.
Am I all better? No. But I don't feel like trash anymore, and I can go for hours without replaying the situation and texts and conversations and the expressions of people wondering why an obese Black woman was crying in public. The goal is to heal without letting this take me over, further tainting my view of men. It's going better than expected, but give me a month, assuming that is all I will need. Give me a month.
A Jazzy Affair
Last weekend I went to my friend Jazzy's engagement party here in the A. It was nice, food and drink and conversation. I was happy that I went, seeing that I usually try not to engage in anything regarding engagements, partially because I am not sure how I feel about marriage and, of course, because I am a hater.
But my friend Jazzy is adorable. She is one of those people that is so nice and so sweet that you couldn't find a reason not to like her if you tried! I am not surprised that she is one of the first of my college friends to be tying the knot.
Her fiance is really cool, which was a surprise to me, seeing that it has been my experience that nice girls attract complete dill holes. But they are just so cute together. They compliment each other. Watching them talk on the living room couch I wondered, can a marriage work? Can there really be pure, sweet, true love in the world? Can nice girls find nice guys and have nice kids and a nice life?
Seeing all the huge gift bags that people brought Jazzy and the sense of love in the air, I tried not to drink the Kool-Aid on the ever-after fairytale, at least not for myself. For the really awesome girls in the world, like Jazzy, I hope that it is real and wonderful and fantastic...and sweet. Until this is proven to me personally, I am keeping my Kool-Aid in the pack in the cabinet.
But my friend Jazzy is adorable. She is one of those people that is so nice and so sweet that you couldn't find a reason not to like her if you tried! I am not surprised that she is one of the first of my college friends to be tying the knot.
Her fiance is really cool, which was a surprise to me, seeing that it has been my experience that nice girls attract complete dill holes. But they are just so cute together. They compliment each other. Watching them talk on the living room couch I wondered, can a marriage work? Can there really be pure, sweet, true love in the world? Can nice girls find nice guys and have nice kids and a nice life?
Seeing all the huge gift bags that people brought Jazzy and the sense of love in the air, I tried not to drink the Kool-Aid on the ever-after fairytale, at least not for myself. For the really awesome girls in the world, like Jazzy, I hope that it is real and wonderful and fantastic...and sweet. Until this is proven to me personally, I am keeping my Kool-Aid in the pack in the cabinet.
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