I went to Staples the other day and ran into a girl that I used to work at Popeye's with in high school.
I hated that job so much that when I usually see someone from that chapter in my life, I go in the opposite direction. But this girl, we will call her "Candi," was nice. She never gave me any problems. I just remember her being very loud and ghetto.
She looked about the same. However, she had kicked the elaborate weave ponytails and huge earrings to the curb, so she looked a bit older. And she was sitting down as she rang people up, which indicated to me that she was pregnant.
I asked her where she was living, and she told me the projects. That made me sad. I don't know how the projects are in other cities, but the ones that have managed to remain open in Atlanta SUCK!
Then I went on to ask her how many kids she had and she had to count on her fingers. I was thinking, "Tell me she hasn't had so many babies that she has lost count!"
Not the case at all. She was trying to refresh her memory to add how many abortions she has had and how many babies she actually kept to tell me how many times she'd been pregnant and no, that is not what I asked her.
"I have one and then I'm pregnant now, but I have been pregnant (counting on fingers) maybe five or six times."
I stared at her blankly as to not say anything offensive such as, "What?!"
But I guess my face said something because she went on to say, "Girl, I couldn't have five kids runnin' around!"
Living in the projects and working at Staples I had to agree. Yet the whole situation made me sad. Why was she offering this information up so easily? I know girls who have found themselves at the abortion clinic that have not even told their parents, nevertheless a person they have not seen in six years!
She seemed happy to be pregnant this time though, rubbing her long acrylic nails over her little baby bump as she helped me find the packing envelops. I can only pray that next time around, she can find some cost-effective birth control.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Holiday Hopeless
Christmas is around the corner and it is about that time that I receive my gift. No, not some perfectly wrapped present under the tree silly. I am referring to the deep, dark depression that takes me over until a few week s after the new year when everyone takes down their Christmas lights and the sales are over.
Aw, holiday depression. It greets me like an old friend every December with its arms open wide, waiting to strangle me with its cloak of sadness and warm me with its ratty robe of misery. This year I thought I had dodged him, seeing that Christmas is about two weeks away. Usually I can feel him slipping in as I have my second helping of mac and cheese on Thanksgiving. But this year, my turkey day was so good and drama free that he decided to be a gentleman and wait a minute until I had the most stuff to accomplish, my bank account was low, and my period was on its way. What a friend!
I am very offended by those holiday depression commercials where one day some white lady is in an over sized sweatshirt with her lip poked out, undoubtedly staring blankly out of a window, until she takes a pill and and two seconds later is wrapping a six foot tree in tensile. See, I know the real story. My grandma, before she lost her mind, was a holiday sadness sufferer. The month was just bad for her. Her husband and mother died in December. How many times had a caught her crying for seemingly no reason as she made dressing? And Ruth didn't have a little pill. All she did was pray her way to January with her fingers crossed.
I chose to just wallow in my pain, the old fashioned way. I find praying over dumb shit while children are starving across the world to be selfish. Not to mention it must be annoying to God.
So if you do not here from me for about a month, fret not. Me and my old friend will probably be gettin' busy until the second week of January. Man, I LOVE this season!
Aw, holiday depression. It greets me like an old friend every December with its arms open wide, waiting to strangle me with its cloak of sadness and warm me with its ratty robe of misery. This year I thought I had dodged him, seeing that Christmas is about two weeks away. Usually I can feel him slipping in as I have my second helping of mac and cheese on Thanksgiving. But this year, my turkey day was so good and drama free that he decided to be a gentleman and wait a minute until I had the most stuff to accomplish, my bank account was low, and my period was on its way. What a friend!
I am very offended by those holiday depression commercials where one day some white lady is in an over sized sweatshirt with her lip poked out, undoubtedly staring blankly out of a window, until she takes a pill and and two seconds later is wrapping a six foot tree in tensile. See, I know the real story. My grandma, before she lost her mind, was a holiday sadness sufferer. The month was just bad for her. Her husband and mother died in December. How many times had a caught her crying for seemingly no reason as she made dressing? And Ruth didn't have a little pill. All she did was pray her way to January with her fingers crossed.
I chose to just wallow in my pain, the old fashioned way. I find praying over dumb shit while children are starving across the world to be selfish. Not to mention it must be annoying to God.
So if you do not here from me for about a month, fret not. Me and my old friend will probably be gettin' busy until the second week of January. Man, I LOVE this season!
Sunday, December 13, 2009
The Elaina Effect
The other day I was at home, munching on junk and feeling sorry for myself, as I talked to an undersexed homeboy who also had nothing better to do with his day. I was trying to snack my way out of a slight depression stemming from the fact that I had gotten too fat to fit into my bday dresses. I know, this makes no sense.
So we were looking on Myspace and he directed me to look at his friend Elaina's page. She went to Xavier, but I did not know her personally. I did know that she was a cheerleader that dressed really cute and loves to update her statuses on Facebook. I was scrolling down the page, nibbling on nibbles and skimming over some blurbs when there I saw it: a full length picture.
But not just any full page picture. The mother of full length pictures. She had on like this short sweater dress and a pair of heels that accented her long, brown, flawless legs and tight ass.
I felt hurt.
Not hurt like pain hurt but hurt like I used to feel when I watched Moesha and understood that I would never be able to afford any of the clothes she wore. Hurt like I felt when the Spice Girls broke up. Hurt like I felt when they canceled "My So-Called Life." Why? Because this is what I am competing with, fat or potentially skinny- the Elaina's of the world who are gorgeous and will maintain their gorgeous-ness well into their old age. I just felt hopeless.
So I logged out of Myspace and moped on my bedroom floor. But I will say this: once I finished my family bag of chips I made my way to the gym.
So we were looking on Myspace and he directed me to look at his friend Elaina's page. She went to Xavier, but I did not know her personally. I did know that she was a cheerleader that dressed really cute and loves to update her statuses on Facebook. I was scrolling down the page, nibbling on nibbles and skimming over some blurbs when there I saw it: a full length picture.
But not just any full page picture. The mother of full length pictures. She had on like this short sweater dress and a pair of heels that accented her long, brown, flawless legs and tight ass.
I felt hurt.
Not hurt like pain hurt but hurt like I used to feel when I watched Moesha and understood that I would never be able to afford any of the clothes she wore. Hurt like I felt when the Spice Girls broke up. Hurt like I felt when they canceled "My So-Called Life." Why? Because this is what I am competing with, fat or potentially skinny- the Elaina's of the world who are gorgeous and will maintain their gorgeous-ness well into their old age. I just felt hopeless.
So I logged out of Myspace and moped on my bedroom floor. But I will say this: once I finished my family bag of chips I made my way to the gym.
The Daddy List
Any one who knows me knows that I am not really down with the idea of a man being in the household when I have a kid. Call it being the product of a single-parent home with the in and out mommy boyfriend, but I find the whole "daddy figure" to be mean, rude, cruel, annoying, bossy, and generally un-needed when it comes to rearing a child. He'll just expose the baby to maucho bullhoodle and it will take society years to pluck it off. Nevertheless, there are a few qualities that I am looking for in my potential sperm doner.
- Black
- Tall
- Handsome
- Educated
- Well-spoken
- Good dancer
- Nice teeth
- No history of male pattern baldness
- Average Weight
If you know this man, please send him my way. Must get this baby making business off the ground.
Divorce, Dismorsh
I wrote earlier about how I was sad that Alicia Keys is dating a married man, producer Swiss Beats, and has made no apologies about it. Although there have been more and more postings about K.Swiss fiasco ( I dubbed this name first!), my love of her music is forcing me to try to overlook her, as Big Tiger would say, indiscretions. But when I heard about Fantasia Barrino, I just had to kick the can!
Yes, Fantasia ya'll. Our favorite homegirl American Idol winner that has gone on to put out two albums and a Lifetime movie. Fantasia- Celie of Oprah's The Color Purple stage play. Young Dro's old beau. The woman who's teen life was shaped by being done wrong by a man. That Fantasia. Well, she is now dating a married man too that she...wait for it...MET AT THE SPRINT STORE!
Ugghhh...You know, people go on and on about Gay marriage and atheism but I feel like pulling what Fantasia is pulling is what is really eating away at the fabric of this country. What the Hell happened to the girlfriend's code of conduct?
And we all know what that is whether we choose to live buy it or not ladies. Don't date your bff's ex, return things in better condition than you borrowed them and oh yeah...DON'T ENTERTAIN A MARRIED MAN! Women just don't care anymore. Blame it on a lack of available straight men. Blame it on the income gap between men and women. Hell, blame it on the alcohol. But celebs and everyday broads alike are sporting the married man like the latest Coach bag and in my o-pin-ion, it just isn't cool.
Dating a married man is not new. But I yearn for a time when the other woman stayed in the shadows and just enjoyed expensive gifts and vacations. Then if there was a divorce (very rarely) she would run off into the sunset with her beau...until he found someone else to replace her with.
Why am I irritated if I am not in the situation? Newsflash: all single women are in the situation. Each of us has to deal with what the last girl let the man get away with. Sad but true fact.
On the other hand, I guess it just boils down to that pesky need to be happy, even if it ultimately resorts in unhappiness on someone's end.
Yes, Fantasia ya'll. Our favorite homegirl American Idol winner that has gone on to put out two albums and a Lifetime movie. Fantasia- Celie of Oprah's The Color Purple stage play. Young Dro's old beau. The woman who's teen life was shaped by being done wrong by a man. That Fantasia. Well, she is now dating a married man too that she...wait for it...MET AT THE SPRINT STORE!
Ugghhh...You know, people go on and on about Gay marriage and atheism but I feel like pulling what Fantasia is pulling is what is really eating away at the fabric of this country. What the Hell happened to the girlfriend's code of conduct?
And we all know what that is whether we choose to live buy it or not ladies. Don't date your bff's ex, return things in better condition than you borrowed them and oh yeah...DON'T ENTERTAIN A MARRIED MAN! Women just don't care anymore. Blame it on a lack of available straight men. Blame it on the income gap between men and women. Hell, blame it on the alcohol. But celebs and everyday broads alike are sporting the married man like the latest Coach bag and in my o-pin-ion, it just isn't cool.
Dating a married man is not new. But I yearn for a time when the other woman stayed in the shadows and just enjoyed expensive gifts and vacations. Then if there was a divorce (very rarely) she would run off into the sunset with her beau...until he found someone else to replace her with.
Why am I irritated if I am not in the situation? Newsflash: all single women are in the situation. Each of us has to deal with what the last girl let the man get away with. Sad but true fact.
On the other hand, I guess it just boils down to that pesky need to be happy, even if it ultimately resorts in unhappiness on someone's end.
Eye of the Tiger: You have to be kidding!
If you are anything like me, you have been following the drama that is the unraveling of Tiger Woods' career. What a mess, right? I have literally been glued to the TV. Every day, another chick comes out of the woodwork to admit that she has boned the golf icon, accompanied by 20 pages of text messages, pics, and a voicemail. The only thing this story is missing is a stained dress!
I have to be honest: I have never been the biggest fan of Tiger. Something about his visible detachment with his black half has always made me uncomfortable. Yet, there is still no denial that he is good at what he does. He brings excitement to an otherwise BORING sport, and was in every other commercial I saw on prime time. The man was so squeaky clean, with his buck teeth and big head, that he reminded you of that awkward third grader that sat in the back of the class. I mean, you felt like you could eat out of his hand!
But not anymore. He has been using his hand for other things, and it has put him in some deep do-do! His wife moved back to Sweden, he has lost endorsements, his mistresses are making money off of the story, and after watching the news a while ago, I heard he has gone into hiding.
Let's be real here: men cheat. Not excusing it, but it is true. What pisses me off is that he is whack; a nerd, a lame-o. Yet somehow, he ends up with a smokin' hot wife that he, in my opinion, would never have gotten if he wasn't making Arab money. You would think he would count his blessings, right? WRONG! He then goes out and gets mistresses and cheats on them. And these chics aren't even high class- they are club girls and reality TV stars. I mean really, what did he think was going to happen?
Why am I mad? It's not because he cheated because that is none of my beeswax. I am pissed that he isn't even cool and had the gumption to play somebody! I remember a time when the corky guy was a safe bet. Now a little bit of money and some Ambian is a recipe to make the squarest boy the belle of the ball and I don't like it.
I guess there is nothing left to do but continue to watch this spiral. I definitely don't think his career is over. I mean, look at Coby Bryant. However, Coby didn't have nude photos that had fallen into the hands of Playgirl. I kind of want to see what Tiger is working with. A large winky is the only thing I can think of that had him thinking he could keep this mess under wraps.
I have to be honest: I have never been the biggest fan of Tiger. Something about his visible detachment with his black half has always made me uncomfortable. Yet, there is still no denial that he is good at what he does. He brings excitement to an otherwise BORING sport, and was in every other commercial I saw on prime time. The man was so squeaky clean, with his buck teeth and big head, that he reminded you of that awkward third grader that sat in the back of the class. I mean, you felt like you could eat out of his hand!
But not anymore. He has been using his hand for other things, and it has put him in some deep do-do! His wife moved back to Sweden, he has lost endorsements, his mistresses are making money off of the story, and after watching the news a while ago, I heard he has gone into hiding.
Let's be real here: men cheat. Not excusing it, but it is true. What pisses me off is that he is whack; a nerd, a lame-o. Yet somehow, he ends up with a smokin' hot wife that he, in my opinion, would never have gotten if he wasn't making Arab money. You would think he would count his blessings, right? WRONG! He then goes out and gets mistresses and cheats on them. And these chics aren't even high class- they are club girls and reality TV stars. I mean really, what did he think was going to happen?
Why am I mad? It's not because he cheated because that is none of my beeswax. I am pissed that he isn't even cool and had the gumption to play somebody! I remember a time when the corky guy was a safe bet. Now a little bit of money and some Ambian is a recipe to make the squarest boy the belle of the ball and I don't like it.
I guess there is nothing left to do but continue to watch this spiral. I definitely don't think his career is over. I mean, look at Coby Bryant. However, Coby didn't have nude photos that had fallen into the hands of Playgirl. I kind of want to see what Tiger is working with. A large winky is the only thing I can think of that had him thinking he could keep this mess under wraps.
Baby Bound
It is no secret that I HATE children.
People, particularly my young girlfriends that are strapped down from each limb with babies give me the stink eye when I say this, seeing that they did not like kids either before they were cornered into having them. They are loud and irritating and stinky. Children are not my favorite people.
But lately, I find the urge to have one nearly unbearable.
When I was younger, I remember watching a talk show where a teenage girl testified that she wanted a baby because she wanted something to take care of. I remember laughing at her. How stupid, wanting something to take care when you haven't even graduated high school. But now, two weeks shy of 25, I totally see what she was saying.
From ages 5 to 11 I read stories about love and from 12 to now I have been looking for it. I have seen it in my friends' lives, I have seen it on TV, I have even thought I was in it. But either it wasn't real or wasn't right. The love between a mother and child is unconditional. If I had a baby, I would be the proud owner of unconditional love...even though I would still be living with my aunt and off of pennies.
Whenever I get in this mood where I really want a bambino, I have to step back and evaluate my emotions. Am I on my period? Have I been watching Lifetime? Is it tax time and I am looking for a deduction? Yet lately, it has been neither of these things. Although I do not have a man, my own job or a good paying job, I have to say, I am flirting with the idea...even though it may be a bad one.
People, particularly my young girlfriends that are strapped down from each limb with babies give me the stink eye when I say this, seeing that they did not like kids either before they were cornered into having them. They are loud and irritating and stinky. Children are not my favorite people.
But lately, I find the urge to have one nearly unbearable.
When I was younger, I remember watching a talk show where a teenage girl testified that she wanted a baby because she wanted something to take care of. I remember laughing at her. How stupid, wanting something to take care when you haven't even graduated high school. But now, two weeks shy of 25, I totally see what she was saying.
From ages 5 to 11 I read stories about love and from 12 to now I have been looking for it. I have seen it in my friends' lives, I have seen it on TV, I have even thought I was in it. But either it wasn't real or wasn't right. The love between a mother and child is unconditional. If I had a baby, I would be the proud owner of unconditional love...even though I would still be living with my aunt and off of pennies.
Whenever I get in this mood where I really want a bambino, I have to step back and evaluate my emotions. Am I on my period? Have I been watching Lifetime? Is it tax time and I am looking for a deduction? Yet lately, it has been neither of these things. Although I do not have a man, my own job or a good paying job, I have to say, I am flirting with the idea...even though it may be a bad one.
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