On December 18, I had my birthday party. It was at this amazing hotel downtown with a perfect view of the city. Sadly, everyone RSVPed and hardly anyone came. However, I was not saddened by this. The people I loved most came, my friend Felisha came from out of town and brought this awesome natural girl along, and I had food left over. Some people called out, others didn't. I just have the feeling that many didn't want to pay for parking. Which is sad but understandable. Downtown Atlanta parking on a Friday is a mess.
Yesterday, on my actual bday, I went to the mall, had lunch with my Atlanta Felisha, and went to go see The Princess and the Frog. I was excited to see a black princess, although the last Disney movie I saw in the theatre was The Lion King, so sadly, I kind of dozed off for five minutes during the movie. That night, I bought a marble cake and some vanilla ice cream, stuck two huge number candles in it and made a wish. Can't tell you what the wish was silly. That's against the rules.
I kept myself busy for my birthday as to not start feeling down. I always have a birthday shindig, but very rarely am I happy for my bday. I do believe that I will be that post-menopausal woman that cries on her birthday, because I am damn near in tears when my bday rolls by now in my twenties! My positive friends see each year that passes as a blessing. As a positively negative person, I see each year that passes as a reminder of all the things I have yet to do and all the things I need to do.
At the gym the other day I told a sistah, who is maybe in her mid-40s, that I am turning 25. She told me that I am in the prime of my life. I am hunched over my computer surrounded by boxes, loose pieces of paper, and clothes. I know that I am in my heart, but forgive me if I don't feel like it.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Movin' On Out
Ugghh, the stresses of moving.
For about two weeks, I have literally been wading through all my belongings in my compact room, packing things in between naps and tossing things over my shoulder that I don't know where to put. Seriously, the only thing I can think of more stressful than moving out is moving in.
My fam is leaving our current abode to move into a smaller yet more chic house not too far from this one. But doing so has proven to be a MAJOR headache. For one, everyone is packing at different speeds and seemingly nothing is getting done. Two, it is truly exasperating looking at all of the things that I have accumulated in nearly three years since graduation.
For the most part, mostly everything I brought from college was in a trunk that was literally on its last wheel. I replaced it with an x-large storage tote and was saddened to see all the things I'd stuffed in the trunk: old stories and grad school applications, books that I was supposed to read in school, didn't, but that now look oddly interesting. Man, how time flys.
I don't know about you, but procrastination has been biting me in the rear since I was a toddler. Getting a look at all of the things I was supposed to do made me want to crawl into the storage container myself! There is so much I need to get done but now, so many years later and it being during the holidays and me being on my period, I really don't have the energy to do anything. Yet the New Year is on its way, and although I usually suck at resolutions, I have decided to kick the procrastination demon to the curb. I have got to pack, study for the GRE, study my driving manual, start my grad apps, and do a whole lot more that I can't think of right now. But the point is, I am mentally determined, if not physically so, to get some stuff done. And I shall, I shall...after I finish blogging and lay down for a minute.
For about two weeks, I have literally been wading through all my belongings in my compact room, packing things in between naps and tossing things over my shoulder that I don't know where to put. Seriously, the only thing I can think of more stressful than moving out is moving in.
My fam is leaving our current abode to move into a smaller yet more chic house not too far from this one. But doing so has proven to be a MAJOR headache. For one, everyone is packing at different speeds and seemingly nothing is getting done. Two, it is truly exasperating looking at all of the things that I have accumulated in nearly three years since graduation.
For the most part, mostly everything I brought from college was in a trunk that was literally on its last wheel. I replaced it with an x-large storage tote and was saddened to see all the things I'd stuffed in the trunk: old stories and grad school applications, books that I was supposed to read in school, didn't, but that now look oddly interesting. Man, how time flys.
I don't know about you, but procrastination has been biting me in the rear since I was a toddler. Getting a look at all of the things I was supposed to do made me want to crawl into the storage container myself! There is so much I need to get done but now, so many years later and it being during the holidays and me being on my period, I really don't have the energy to do anything. Yet the New Year is on its way, and although I usually suck at resolutions, I have decided to kick the procrastination demon to the curb. I have got to pack, study for the GRE, study my driving manual, start my grad apps, and do a whole lot more that I can't think of right now. But the point is, I am mentally determined, if not physically so, to get some stuff done. And I shall, I shall...after I finish blogging and lay down for a minute.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Dodging George
Curious George just texted me, asking if I could talk...It's 8:45 a.m. and he is texting me to ask if I can talk.
When I decided to call this guy, I thought that it would be good to have a dude to talk to as I sorted through Sorta, but I was turned off by our last convo. Wanting me to come see him? We have not spoken in two years!
Yet, since then, he has been calling me non-stop; even using that little paging option from your voicemail that no one uses. He texts me to see if I'm busy. I'm not. But I don't want to talk to this guy. And I feel bad. I'm thinking maybe he didn't mean to come off as oversexed and weird, but I don't know. I feel bad for not being into him.
Last night he left me a sappy message. He was like, "What's up? I've been calling you for like two weeks."
See! This is why I feel bad. How many times have I left that very message on a guy's phone, wondering why he was not calling me back after a seemingly amazing conversation? I feel like an asshole. He seems really interested. Why can't I be interested back?
This is a clear instance of me trying to fight against my gut feeling again. The night we spoke, my gut feeling was telling me that this guy was just lonely and wanted some ass, at the least from someone vaguely familiar. But I have to say, I'm not down of that nonsense. But I am not used to being the denyer in these situations.
So I guess I will just follow my heart and continue to ignore this guy. Maybe, like I had to on many on occasion since the 6th grade, he will get a clue.
When I decided to call this guy, I thought that it would be good to have a dude to talk to as I sorted through Sorta, but I was turned off by our last convo. Wanting me to come see him? We have not spoken in two years!
Yet, since then, he has been calling me non-stop; even using that little paging option from your voicemail that no one uses. He texts me to see if I'm busy. I'm not. But I don't want to talk to this guy. And I feel bad. I'm thinking maybe he didn't mean to come off as oversexed and weird, but I don't know. I feel bad for not being into him.
Last night he left me a sappy message. He was like, "What's up? I've been calling you for like two weeks."
See! This is why I feel bad. How many times have I left that very message on a guy's phone, wondering why he was not calling me back after a seemingly amazing conversation? I feel like an asshole. He seems really interested. Why can't I be interested back?
This is a clear instance of me trying to fight against my gut feeling again. The night we spoke, my gut feeling was telling me that this guy was just lonely and wanted some ass, at the least from someone vaguely familiar. But I have to say, I'm not down of that nonsense. But I am not used to being the denyer in these situations.
So I guess I will just follow my heart and continue to ignore this guy. Maybe, like I had to on many on occasion since the 6th grade, he will get a clue.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Babies Go Bye-Bye
I went to Staples the other day and ran into a girl that I used to work at Popeye's with in high school.
I hated that job so much that when I usually see someone from that chapter in my life, I go in the opposite direction. But this girl, we will call her "Candi," was nice. She never gave me any problems. I just remember her being very loud and ghetto.
She looked about the same. However, she had kicked the elaborate weave ponytails and huge earrings to the curb, so she looked a bit older. And she was sitting down as she rang people up, which indicated to me that she was pregnant.
I asked her where she was living, and she told me the projects. That made me sad. I don't know how the projects are in other cities, but the ones that have managed to remain open in Atlanta SUCK!
Then I went on to ask her how many kids she had and she had to count on her fingers. I was thinking, "Tell me she hasn't had so many babies that she has lost count!"
Not the case at all. She was trying to refresh her memory to add how many abortions she has had and how many babies she actually kept to tell me how many times she'd been pregnant and no, that is not what I asked her.
"I have one and then I'm pregnant now, but I have been pregnant (counting on fingers) maybe five or six times."
I stared at her blankly as to not say anything offensive such as, "What?!"
But I guess my face said something because she went on to say, "Girl, I couldn't have five kids runnin' around!"
Living in the projects and working at Staples I had to agree. Yet the whole situation made me sad. Why was she offering this information up so easily? I know girls who have found themselves at the abortion clinic that have not even told their parents, nevertheless a person they have not seen in six years!
She seemed happy to be pregnant this time though, rubbing her long acrylic nails over her little baby bump as she helped me find the packing envelops. I can only pray that next time around, she can find some cost-effective birth control.
I hated that job so much that when I usually see someone from that chapter in my life, I go in the opposite direction. But this girl, we will call her "Candi," was nice. She never gave me any problems. I just remember her being very loud and ghetto.
She looked about the same. However, she had kicked the elaborate weave ponytails and huge earrings to the curb, so she looked a bit older. And she was sitting down as she rang people up, which indicated to me that she was pregnant.
I asked her where she was living, and she told me the projects. That made me sad. I don't know how the projects are in other cities, but the ones that have managed to remain open in Atlanta SUCK!
Then I went on to ask her how many kids she had and she had to count on her fingers. I was thinking, "Tell me she hasn't had so many babies that she has lost count!"
Not the case at all. She was trying to refresh her memory to add how many abortions she has had and how many babies she actually kept to tell me how many times she'd been pregnant and no, that is not what I asked her.
"I have one and then I'm pregnant now, but I have been pregnant (counting on fingers) maybe five or six times."
I stared at her blankly as to not say anything offensive such as, "What?!"
But I guess my face said something because she went on to say, "Girl, I couldn't have five kids runnin' around!"
Living in the projects and working at Staples I had to agree. Yet the whole situation made me sad. Why was she offering this information up so easily? I know girls who have found themselves at the abortion clinic that have not even told their parents, nevertheless a person they have not seen in six years!
She seemed happy to be pregnant this time though, rubbing her long acrylic nails over her little baby bump as she helped me find the packing envelops. I can only pray that next time around, she can find some cost-effective birth control.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Holiday Hopeless
Christmas is around the corner and it is about that time that I receive my gift. No, not some perfectly wrapped present under the tree silly. I am referring to the deep, dark depression that takes me over until a few week s after the new year when everyone takes down their Christmas lights and the sales are over.
Aw, holiday depression. It greets me like an old friend every December with its arms open wide, waiting to strangle me with its cloak of sadness and warm me with its ratty robe of misery. This year I thought I had dodged him, seeing that Christmas is about two weeks away. Usually I can feel him slipping in as I have my second helping of mac and cheese on Thanksgiving. But this year, my turkey day was so good and drama free that he decided to be a gentleman and wait a minute until I had the most stuff to accomplish, my bank account was low, and my period was on its way. What a friend!
I am very offended by those holiday depression commercials where one day some white lady is in an over sized sweatshirt with her lip poked out, undoubtedly staring blankly out of a window, until she takes a pill and and two seconds later is wrapping a six foot tree in tensile. See, I know the real story. My grandma, before she lost her mind, was a holiday sadness sufferer. The month was just bad for her. Her husband and mother died in December. How many times had a caught her crying for seemingly no reason as she made dressing? And Ruth didn't have a little pill. All she did was pray her way to January with her fingers crossed.
I chose to just wallow in my pain, the old fashioned way. I find praying over dumb shit while children are starving across the world to be selfish. Not to mention it must be annoying to God.
So if you do not here from me for about a month, fret not. Me and my old friend will probably be gettin' busy until the second week of January. Man, I LOVE this season!
Aw, holiday depression. It greets me like an old friend every December with its arms open wide, waiting to strangle me with its cloak of sadness and warm me with its ratty robe of misery. This year I thought I had dodged him, seeing that Christmas is about two weeks away. Usually I can feel him slipping in as I have my second helping of mac and cheese on Thanksgiving. But this year, my turkey day was so good and drama free that he decided to be a gentleman and wait a minute until I had the most stuff to accomplish, my bank account was low, and my period was on its way. What a friend!
I am very offended by those holiday depression commercials where one day some white lady is in an over sized sweatshirt with her lip poked out, undoubtedly staring blankly out of a window, until she takes a pill and and two seconds later is wrapping a six foot tree in tensile. See, I know the real story. My grandma, before she lost her mind, was a holiday sadness sufferer. The month was just bad for her. Her husband and mother died in December. How many times had a caught her crying for seemingly no reason as she made dressing? And Ruth didn't have a little pill. All she did was pray her way to January with her fingers crossed.
I chose to just wallow in my pain, the old fashioned way. I find praying over dumb shit while children are starving across the world to be selfish. Not to mention it must be annoying to God.
So if you do not here from me for about a month, fret not. Me and my old friend will probably be gettin' busy until the second week of January. Man, I LOVE this season!
Sunday, December 13, 2009
The Elaina Effect
The other day I was at home, munching on junk and feeling sorry for myself, as I talked to an undersexed homeboy who also had nothing better to do with his day. I was trying to snack my way out of a slight depression stemming from the fact that I had gotten too fat to fit into my bday dresses. I know, this makes no sense.
So we were looking on Myspace and he directed me to look at his friend Elaina's page. She went to Xavier, but I did not know her personally. I did know that she was a cheerleader that dressed really cute and loves to update her statuses on Facebook. I was scrolling down the page, nibbling on nibbles and skimming over some blurbs when there I saw it: a full length picture.
But not just any full page picture. The mother of full length pictures. She had on like this short sweater dress and a pair of heels that accented her long, brown, flawless legs and tight ass.
I felt hurt.
Not hurt like pain hurt but hurt like I used to feel when I watched Moesha and understood that I would never be able to afford any of the clothes she wore. Hurt like I felt when the Spice Girls broke up. Hurt like I felt when they canceled "My So-Called Life." Why? Because this is what I am competing with, fat or potentially skinny- the Elaina's of the world who are gorgeous and will maintain their gorgeous-ness well into their old age. I just felt hopeless.
So I logged out of Myspace and moped on my bedroom floor. But I will say this: once I finished my family bag of chips I made my way to the gym.
So we were looking on Myspace and he directed me to look at his friend Elaina's page. She went to Xavier, but I did not know her personally. I did know that she was a cheerleader that dressed really cute and loves to update her statuses on Facebook. I was scrolling down the page, nibbling on nibbles and skimming over some blurbs when there I saw it: a full length picture.
But not just any full page picture. The mother of full length pictures. She had on like this short sweater dress and a pair of heels that accented her long, brown, flawless legs and tight ass.
I felt hurt.
Not hurt like pain hurt but hurt like I used to feel when I watched Moesha and understood that I would never be able to afford any of the clothes she wore. Hurt like I felt when the Spice Girls broke up. Hurt like I felt when they canceled "My So-Called Life." Why? Because this is what I am competing with, fat or potentially skinny- the Elaina's of the world who are gorgeous and will maintain their gorgeous-ness well into their old age. I just felt hopeless.
So I logged out of Myspace and moped on my bedroom floor. But I will say this: once I finished my family bag of chips I made my way to the gym.
The Daddy List
Any one who knows me knows that I am not really down with the idea of a man being in the household when I have a kid. Call it being the product of a single-parent home with the in and out mommy boyfriend, but I find the whole "daddy figure" to be mean, rude, cruel, annoying, bossy, and generally un-needed when it comes to rearing a child. He'll just expose the baby to maucho bullhoodle and it will take society years to pluck it off. Nevertheless, there are a few qualities that I am looking for in my potential sperm doner.
- Black
- Tall
- Handsome
- Educated
- Well-spoken
- Good dancer
- Nice teeth
- No history of male pattern baldness
- Average Weight
If you know this man, please send him my way. Must get this baby making business off the ground.
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