Man, Easter just kind of creeped up out of nowhere, right?
When I was a kid, my grandma made a big deal out of Easter. Not only did she cook, but she would take me to Lane Bryant to get a dress! I may just get dressed and get pretty just to sit around the house.
I guess I will take some chicken breasts out of the freezer, maybe go the pool later.
Happy Easter Y'all!
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Open House
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Cleaning Lady
It is 8 am on a Sunday morning. I should not be awake but hey, I am!
Question: am I the only one that gets all periody and has to clean? As I type, I am making a mental plan of what parts of the house I am going to clean and how.
The feeling is overwhelming!
I have to go.
Question: am I the only one that gets all periody and has to clean? As I type, I am making a mental plan of what parts of the house I am going to clean and how.
The feeling is overwhelming!
I have to go.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
The Case of the Ratchets
Damn this Pan-African mindframe from preventing me from being the ratchet girl that I feel I am truly destined to be.
This is the problem with being educated: it makes you aware. Understanding the struggles of Black women throughout the ages, I can not, with good conscience, twerk to a song IN PUBLIC where I am being referred to as a bitch! But man, do I want to. Don't you think I don't want to watch all the houswife type shows where Black women jump each other and throw drinks in each other's faces? It's all I have ever wanted! But this pride in my ancestors and this pesky Black Nationalist attitude won't allow me to!
Oh the ratchets. I see them everyday, living their carefree lives with their bright orange weaves and long fake nails. Animal print leggings as pants? Sure! Ass photos on Instagram? Why not? Tatoos, half shirts to highlight their belly rings (or stretch marks), cursing out their boyfriend on a Metro phone while pushing a stoler down the street- there is just so much fun to be had when you have no shame or a healthy sense of self. And what has that gotten me anyway? No man? A job where I often feel unappreciated? I want to have some fun!
And not the socially acceptable fun that I am accustomed to having either. I have been having Rated G fun since I was in pre-K. I want ratchet rap video girl fun that starts with me dancing for dollars on a bar table and ends in a Molly induced blur. Fuck being a student of Garvey! Screw one day returning to Africa! The furthest I am going from my house is the club!
I want to feel elation from being degraded. I want to be overwhelmed with joy from having no class. I want a taste of what it is like to have no taste.
See, I know there is ratchet deep inside of me. If it wasn't there, I wouldn't be such a fan of Uncle Luke and know most of the words to Player's Club.
But sadly, I feel that the ratchet me will never see the light of day. Not even on a vacation. And as a proud member of the low income branch of the Talented Tenth, I will have to accept this. If only I could be more like Evelyn Lozada and less like Betty Shabazz...
This is the problem with being educated: it makes you aware. Understanding the struggles of Black women throughout the ages, I can not, with good conscience, twerk to a song IN PUBLIC where I am being referred to as a bitch! But man, do I want to. Don't you think I don't want to watch all the houswife type shows where Black women jump each other and throw drinks in each other's faces? It's all I have ever wanted! But this pride in my ancestors and this pesky Black Nationalist attitude won't allow me to!
Oh the ratchets. I see them everyday, living their carefree lives with their bright orange weaves and long fake nails. Animal print leggings as pants? Sure! Ass photos on Instagram? Why not? Tatoos, half shirts to highlight their belly rings (or stretch marks), cursing out their boyfriend on a Metro phone while pushing a stoler down the street- there is just so much fun to be had when you have no shame or a healthy sense of self. And what has that gotten me anyway? No man? A job where I often feel unappreciated? I want to have some fun!
And not the socially acceptable fun that I am accustomed to having either. I have been having Rated G fun since I was in pre-K. I want ratchet rap video girl fun that starts with me dancing for dollars on a bar table and ends in a Molly induced blur. Fuck being a student of Garvey! Screw one day returning to Africa! The furthest I am going from my house is the club!
I want to feel elation from being degraded. I want to be overwhelmed with joy from having no class. I want a taste of what it is like to have no taste.
See, I know there is ratchet deep inside of me. If it wasn't there, I wouldn't be such a fan of Uncle Luke and know most of the words to Player's Club.
But sadly, I feel that the ratchet me will never see the light of day. Not even on a vacation. And as a proud member of the low income branch of the Talented Tenth, I will have to accept this. If only I could be more like Evelyn Lozada and less like Betty Shabazz...
Friday, March 22, 2013
High School Reunion
My high school reunion is coming up and I have NO desire to go. I felt like everyone hated me in high school. I had the same three friends the whole time, and I connect with them on Facebook. So I kind of see no reason to go. Plus, I am generally failing at life. What if a former classmate asks me how it's going and I just burst into tears? Not only will I be that fat girl from high school but also that fat girl from high school that had a breakdown at the reunion!
Luckily, I was able to ask my high school friend Felisha if I should go. She always has colorful advice to offer me. Below are her thoughts:
Luckily, I was able to ask my high school friend Felisha if I should go. She always has colorful advice to offer me. Below are her thoughts:
"Come!!!! You must, everyone is older now, and if people are still tripping on the same bs from high school then that is just sad."
Oh Felisha. I find that people that were popular in high school always say SILLY things like this. That so called "bs" from high school sticks with you forever. And newsflash: high school is never over. Your friendships are high school, your job is high school. Then we are expected to actually go back to high school every ten years?! I pass! I prefer to keep the few fond memories I have of high school unsoiled, like getting laughed at on the school bus and being generally ignored. Ah, those were the days.
Pendulous Breasts
During my Planned Parenthood Breasts Exam, I asked the nurse if there is anything I can do for my saggy boobs.
She said, "Nope. You just have Pendulous Breasts."
"Oh."
I had no idea what she was talking about. Then on the train ride home it hit me: pendulous like pendulum, the hanging, long thing on an old clock?
Sigh. Instant depression.
She said, "Nope. You just have Pendulous Breasts."
"Oh."
I had no idea what she was talking about. Then on the train ride home it hit me: pendulous like pendulum, the hanging, long thing on an old clock?
Sigh. Instant depression.
Text Perplexed
I met a guy the other day and he seemed nice and very interested in me. He parked his car to run after me while I was walking down the street. He was cute and tall and dark and employed and, I'm just guessing here, but I think he may have loved the Lord.
So he gives me his number and we text. Boring texts. My girlfriends entertain me with stories about their long, engaging text romances. Mine never go anywhere. At this point, Sickles, which is what I have nicknamed this man, is unresponsive. This saddens me. I wanted a date to go see Admission.
I am not quite sure what I am doing wrong. I mean, should I just open up with a photo of my breasts?
Will that give the convo some amo? I mean, how many ways can you ask a person how they are doing and how their day went?
My text results are either crash and burn or when can we get naked, neither outcome I appreciate.
Old guy keeps texting me the same text over and over again: "When can we make love?"
Ewwww! You have to be in love to make love pal. Am I the only one who learned that in Sunday School? Get off my phone with this crazy! I know I started it by asking him to make out with me, but still.
I just texted Sickles. "His was your day?"
Ugh autocorrect and my fat fingers! This is why I couldn't play the violin in middle school and was stuck with the 100lbs base that I had to walk to school because it wouldn't fit on the school bus.
If anyone has a solution to my vexing texting problems, text me.
So he gives me his number and we text. Boring texts. My girlfriends entertain me with stories about their long, engaging text romances. Mine never go anywhere. At this point, Sickles, which is what I have nicknamed this man, is unresponsive. This saddens me. I wanted a date to go see Admission.
I am not quite sure what I am doing wrong. I mean, should I just open up with a photo of my breasts?
Will that give the convo some amo? I mean, how many ways can you ask a person how they are doing and how their day went?
My text results are either crash and burn or when can we get naked, neither outcome I appreciate.
Old guy keeps texting me the same text over and over again: "When can we make love?"
Ewwww! You have to be in love to make love pal. Am I the only one who learned that in Sunday School? Get off my phone with this crazy! I know I started it by asking him to make out with me, but still.
I just texted Sickles. "His was your day?"
Ugh autocorrect and my fat fingers! This is why I couldn't play the violin in middle school and was stuck with the 100lbs base that I had to walk to school because it wouldn't fit on the school bus.
If anyone has a solution to my vexing texting problems, text me.
The Crying Black Boy Post
The other day I was at the bus stop, waiting on the bus to go to the store. I was sitting next to a Black woman and her 4-year-old son. He was being scolded. Apparently, he lost his scull cap in daycare. You know, the little knit winter caps that come 100 for a dollar at Wal-Mart?
Man, this mother ripped this kid a new one. It was painful to witness but I was flat out staring. She was going in on this kid and he was crying and embarrassed. She was humiliating him and knew it over a cap that cost a buck! I wanted to pick him up and run down the street screaming!
"This is the fifth damn hat you've lost! What do you be doing with them? Once you take it off, put it in your bookbag!"
Sure, what she was saying doesn't sound that bad, but it was the delivery guys.
"I'm going to tell your daddy you lost another one!"
"No! He's gonna hit me!" the little boy cried.
Yikes. I almost started crying. The little boy started pleading with her not to tell like he was pleading for his life! He was so happy to see the bus coming that I thought that he was going to jump in front of it!
I have been thinking about that boy for days. I felt like I knew him, and I am realizing now that I do. He is going to grow up to be the guy I see everyday that only blasts offensive 2 Chainz songs when Black women are in earshot. He is the guy in college that I couldn't stand that decided to go to an HBCU even though he CLEARLY hated Black women.
I don't have kids. I don't know if I want any for sure, but I have always fanticized about having a son. Dear God, if you do bless me with a son, please, first off, give me the wisdom not to name his something stupid. Also, let me be gentle and caring and let him feel wanted so he doesn't become either a wimpy or unproductive Black male with sagging pants and a Wiz Khalifa inspired hair do. Don't let me be that lady on the bus that picks her baby up out of the stroller by his armpit and please, let me be nurturing. Don't let me be the skull cap curse out mom. Amen.
Man, this mother ripped this kid a new one. It was painful to witness but I was flat out staring. She was going in on this kid and he was crying and embarrassed. She was humiliating him and knew it over a cap that cost a buck! I wanted to pick him up and run down the street screaming!
"This is the fifth damn hat you've lost! What do you be doing with them? Once you take it off, put it in your bookbag!"
Sure, what she was saying doesn't sound that bad, but it was the delivery guys.
"I'm going to tell your daddy you lost another one!"
"No! He's gonna hit me!" the little boy cried.
Yikes. I almost started crying. The little boy started pleading with her not to tell like he was pleading for his life! He was so happy to see the bus coming that I thought that he was going to jump in front of it!
I have been thinking about that boy for days. I felt like I knew him, and I am realizing now that I do. He is going to grow up to be the guy I see everyday that only blasts offensive 2 Chainz songs when Black women are in earshot. He is the guy in college that I couldn't stand that decided to go to an HBCU even though he CLEARLY hated Black women.
I don't have kids. I don't know if I want any for sure, but I have always fanticized about having a son. Dear God, if you do bless me with a son, please, first off, give me the wisdom not to name his something stupid. Also, let me be gentle and caring and let him feel wanted so he doesn't become either a wimpy or unproductive Black male with sagging pants and a Wiz Khalifa inspired hair do. Don't let me be that lady on the bus that picks her baby up out of the stroller by his armpit and please, let me be nurturing. Don't let me be the skull cap curse out mom. Amen.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Failing the Pap Test
Deciding to go get the Pap Test that I am 5 years late for at Planned Parenthood was...an adventure.
I woke up at the crack of dawn to get there early so I could beat the slutty GA State girls there who go for birth control refills. I chose the coldest day in Atlanta to go and had on dress, so on arrival, I was already in a weird mood. Especially after my Muslim cab driver acted like taking me there was was going to automatically send us both to Hell.
So I get there, sign in, and fill out the paper work. I am hella nervous, of course, because everyone I had told that I was going, finally, was alarmed at how long it had taken me. I had worked myself up to tears by the time the nurse at the window decided to keep us all entertained by turning on a horrifying documentary about HIV/AIDS in America.
"This is so sad," a woman told the nurse at the window.
"I know. That is why I close the window, so I can't hear it."
Pause.
I was eventually called back and seen by the nurse practitioner. She was very nice. She let me cry for no reason and allowed me to have a full on breakdown as I gave her unasked for explanations about my fears of sex and disease.
One thing the trip showed me is how uncomfortable I am with my lady parts. All the vag pics on the wall gave me radiating heart burn down to my toes.
All and all, I am glad that I went. Although UNCOMFORTABLE, and I do mean UNCOMFORTABLE, it was something that had to be done. I even got a breast exam because, as the nurse told me with a smile, "Women in their 20s do die of Breast Cancer."
An intense day, but again, glad I went.
I woke up at the crack of dawn to get there early so I could beat the slutty GA State girls there who go for birth control refills. I chose the coldest day in Atlanta to go and had on dress, so on arrival, I was already in a weird mood. Especially after my Muslim cab driver acted like taking me there was was going to automatically send us both to Hell.
So I get there, sign in, and fill out the paper work. I am hella nervous, of course, because everyone I had told that I was going, finally, was alarmed at how long it had taken me. I had worked myself up to tears by the time the nurse at the window decided to keep us all entertained by turning on a horrifying documentary about HIV/AIDS in America.
"This is so sad," a woman told the nurse at the window.
"I know. That is why I close the window, so I can't hear it."
Pause.
I was eventually called back and seen by the nurse practitioner. She was very nice. She let me cry for no reason and allowed me to have a full on breakdown as I gave her unasked for explanations about my fears of sex and disease.
One thing the trip showed me is how uncomfortable I am with my lady parts. All the vag pics on the wall gave me radiating heart burn down to my toes.
All and all, I am glad that I went. Although UNCOMFORTABLE, and I do mean UNCOMFORTABLE, it was something that had to be done. I even got a breast exam because, as the nurse told me with a smile, "Women in their 20s do die of Breast Cancer."
An intense day, but again, glad I went.
STACEY DASH IS NORMAL: The Dip from Stacey Dash
So no one that I have told about Stacey Dash's web series is excited about it. I do believe that Lauren said it was sad. But I am in love! I check every day to see if there is a new show posted. I mean, I heard that she has a major tude, but how can you not LOVE Stacey Dash??
So no one that I have told about Stacey Dash's web series is excited about it. I do believe that Lauren said it was sad. But I am in love! I check every day to see if there is a new show posted. I mean, I heard that she has a major tude, but how can you not LOVE Stacey Dash??
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