Um...no thank you.

OK, so today I was in the mall food court. I decided to get a Chic-Fil-A milkshake before heading downstairs to utilize my Lane Bryant coupons. Well, to get to The Chick I have to pass this Chinese food restaurant, you know, the kind that has the specials for like three or four meats with a side?
So anywho, I'm walking, looking fab in an adorable summer dress, when the kid working at the Chinese spot offers me a sample. I shake my head 'no' with an Oreo milkshake on the mind. Well, of course, that can't be right, a fat girl declining a sample. So he goes, "Try a sample?"and I am like, "Um...no thank you." He is like, "No, a sample," just in case I misunderstood. It was clear he had trouble believing that a gal my size would be declining free sweet meat on a toothpick. I shake my head no, and get in line at The Chic, only to turn around and see this kid right next to me, a tray of cocktail chicken strapped to his waist. "Sample," he says flatly, pointing the chicken square in my face. I snatch it out of his hand and eat it to avoid a scene, thinking that would satisfy his need for me to try is food, when he then starts rattling off the menu in The Chick line! "You can get three meats. Why are you over here? You can get three meats."
Luckily, his manager shouted for him to go back to his post. I calmly ordered my milkshake then continued my mission to The Lane. I went in the opposite direction, just in case he was thinking about chasing me down.

Tired of the BS: A Tribute To Cindy

I am tired of the BS.
It flows from your mouth
and falls limp at my feet,
tired and useless.
Climbing up my ankles and past
my knees, thick like clay
until I have to shovel it
over my shoulders
to see the real you.
I am so tired of the BS.
It is so familiar to me
that it feels like I wear it,
laid out for dressin'
with my bra and shoes,
yet it has no functional purpose.
It is like I hear it so
much-
same tone, same man,
that everyday feels like
Deja Vu.
Haven't I been here before?
Wrapped up in someone
else assumptions and
supposed sweet talk?
I have tried everything.
I roll my eyes at it.
Laugh at it.
Turn my back to it.
Ignore it.
But it just lies there
feeling obligated -
like I should care!
Meaningless and empty,
just as sorry as him.

Playing Games

The other night Brownie and I decided catch up on our beau dramas. I told him about the Curious Clusterfuck and he schooled me to some game...about games.
I will not attempt to quote him, for his wording was too genius. But basically, he evaluated my timeline. I was really into Curious once upon a time, and he vanished. Years later, I run into Sorta Beau and I am super smitten. Curious is furthest from my mind and pops back up, riding me hella tough. I ignore him because I am sooo into Sorta. Sorta then starts to back up. I then turn to Curious, and the less I call him the more he is buggin'. Return his "interest" and he starts acting funny. The moral of the story: the more interested I am the less they are, even if they initiated the feelings. The solution: act like I don't like them when I do so they can stay on my jock.
Here is the thing: I do not like games...of any kind. Checkers, Uno, nothing! I have always wanted my game to be the anti-game. I like you, I tell you, and if you like me, we move forward. Why should I have to waist the rest of my precious 20s playing double dutch with these clowns?! What ever happened to just being honest and upfront?
Apparently, according to Brownie, those are two qualities that games don't have. However, I always have the option to not play, and just be left out, like in middle school softball. So do I want to be stupid and play or have my integrity intact and sit out, again, like in middle school? I'm not sure. I feel like I am too old to be involved in this rig-a-maroo. However, I do know that in middle school, I always felt lonely reading my Christopher Pike novel while everyone else was having so much fun, even those that got hit in the head with the ball.

Daydreamin'

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

What A Dud

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

My family is a shit show. That is all.

Sour Grapes

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