"Excuse me ma'am. . . may I please roll on your booty?" (REPOST)

My club experience this past weekend, has prompted me to repost (and slightly amend) an old favorite of mine. (Well, that and I'm having blog block.)

I love the occasional jaunts to the club. Some weeks, you just need to watch cuties, have a few drinks and dance your cares away. It's an opportunity to forget that you are overworked, underpaid and occasionally under appreciated. You can be as fun, glitzy or 'hood as you want, and feel secure that at least half of the people won't remember your alter ego because they were probably as drunk as you possibly were, or like you, just looking to let their hair down. However, drunk or sober, the club does not excuse barnyard behavior. Let's explore some recurring club scenarios, where the parties went wrong, and what the polite course of action should be.

1. The Free Drink Scenario s/k/a "Uh uh...I bought that bitch a drink!"

It's not at all uncommon for a man to purchase a drink for a woman, and sometimes her friends (I LOVE that type of guy), to catch her attention. A harmless, good-natured gesture. However, this can be tricky. In Bad Situation #1, the man feels that the woman is now indebted to him and should focus all of her attention on him FOR THE REST OF THE EVENING. In Bad Situation #2, the woman feels that the man who purchased her beverage is somehow beneath her and, though accepting the free drink, is rude and dismissive. This can lead to the occasional Bad Situation #3, which is a combination of the aforementioned situations and all hell subsequently breaks loose. However, the Free Drink scenario does not have to be chaotic.

Men - Once you have purchased the drink, I would definitely recommend that you introduce yourself to the lady. (The guy that buys and lurks is a little creepy.) Be friendly, but not imposing. Don't overstay your welcome. If for some reason, there is no chemistry, or the conversation seems forced, then wish her a nice evening, take your leave and continue to have a good time. YOU CLUBBIN' MAN!! Enjoy yo'self! However, if the two of you are enjoying one another's company, then go with that feeling. Have a good time. However, as a caveat, if after a polite conversation, the woman mentions that she has to catch up with her girlfriends, etc., she's probably not interested. But that is an indication that she appreciated your gesture (and evidently was raised with some manners). It would be unfair of me to not mention that there are times where a brother will buy a drink for a woman and discover that she is ignant or dumb as a box of rocks. Keep hope alive. Don't feel the need to be nasty or combative just because she isn't what you expected. You're more than entitled to use the, "I've gotta check on my people" maneuver and keep it moving.

Ladies - If a man purchases a drink and introduces himself, even if he does not meet your "standards", please be polite. Seriously - who are you eyeballing? All of the rest of the men in the club that did NOT buy you a drink? It won't hurt to have a conversation with a potentially nice guy. If you're not feeling him, after a five to ten minute conversation, excuse yourself. Luckily with all of the extra baggage we are saddled with as women, we have one all encompassing savior - THE LADIES ROOM. Excuse yourself, bid him a good evening and once you leave the ladies room, pick a new spot. You may also use the old "let me check on my girlfriend(s)" routine if you came out with a group. One of those two should derail even the most ardent pursuers, without necessarily making him feel slighted.

Fact to business, as women, we are not entitled to drinks. It is a nice gesture, but using that as some measure of manhood is flawed in my opinion. (Plus my mama always taught me that you don't accept drinks from strange folks all willy nilly.) He also is not obligated to buy drinks for your guzzling ass friends either. I don't know what part of the game that is, but yall need to chill out with that. Again, it's a nice gesture, but not a requirement...and making it a requirement ain't cute. Nothing wrong with being easy going without being easy.

2. The Club Date Scenario s/k/a "Oh HELL NAW! I know she ain't all up on my man like that!"

Simply put, serious couples typically don't go on dates to the entity know as "The Club". I'm sure it's done occasionally, like for birthday parties or other celebrations, but as a rule, a "date" for involved couples, usually doesn't involve the club. That being said, more often than not, if you're on a date at the club, you're not with your man/woman. This is an issue, primarily among women. If the man that you are with begins to dance with another woman, sista, LET IT GO. In a worst case scenario, you have the option of leaving the club. The most baffling aspect of this scenario is that the woman, almost invariably, becomes upset, not with her date, but with the other woman. As though that little succubus had nothing more on her agenda than seducing your man with her mind powers.
This situation can also come about if you happen to see an old flame in the club. Maybe you are sharing a moment, but that will not stop him from sharing his moments with other people as well. This is definitely when confronting the other woman is over the top because, who's to say that YOU are not the other woman? Just a little mental grub for ya.

In either case, take it on the chin. That the situation is not necessarily as serious as you thought, or would have liked it to be. As I mentioned before, you always have the option of leaving. However, there is a saying pertaining to what one monkey can stop - NOTHING! You're already dressed and looking good. Get on the floor and do your "fuck 'em" dance girl! By the way, if the dude brings you out, only to pay attention to everyone else, that's usually an indication that he's probably not what's best for you anyway. Just be glad you found it out sooner rather than later. For those of you who may experience this in a committed relationship, girl, go home and get your shit. If he's rolling on asses while he's in your presence, then please believe he's diving in them when you aren't around.

And while we're on the subject of asses in the club. . .

3. The Stop and Roll a/k/a "Excuse me ma'am. . . may I please roll on your booty?"

I love dancing at the club. Just feeling the music can make me high. However, sometimes, dancing at the club can bring out the animal in folks. Now, I will not speak out against dirty dancing. I've done it myself when the music and company has been right. However, there is a behavior that is becoming more and more common, which I call the "Stop and Roll". This is when the man basically admires a booty so much, he MUST roll on it. . .usually this is not preceded by an introduction. Fellas, THIS IS NOT SEXY. It's creepy and rude and any woman that would allow such a thing is quite possibly not a stranger to the free clinic.

There is nothing wrong with asking a lady to dance. There is nothing wrong with dancing closely. However, there is something wrong with impregnating a woman from behind on the dance floor. If after you've danced with the woman, you think that some close contact would be okay, fabulous. Just, please, go through some type of motion to gain permission.

4. You are not on the pole

For the sisters, close dancing and a little grinding is one thing. Acting as though you're waiting for someone to cram dollar bills up your ass is something totally different. You don't look cute, you don't look sexy - you look like a ho. This is not just my own personal opinion. Whenever I see a woman dry humping some dude while he is standing behind her smacking her on the ass, someone invariably exclaims, not, "Do you see what that lady is doing?" but, "Damn, look at that ho!" If you're cool with that, do you I guess. But do the rest of us a favor and take that shit to Magic City or the Roxbury or something like that.

5. You Only Need One Bath

By this I mean, once you have bathed or showered, please do not "redo" the job by baptizing yourself in cologne/perfume. If I can smell you before I see you, what's going through my mind is not "Wow, who smells so great?" I'm thinking, "Holy crap! Somebody open a damn window PLEASE!" Do the community a favor, hit only a couple of your pulse points, and you're good. If, for some reason, you are not aware of what your pulse points are, then you should be at home reading rather than going to the club.

6. Dumb Bar Conversation - The Scourge of Humanity

We live in the age of information. Therefore, inane conversation about how great you are is really blah. I would rather watch a Brady Bunch marathon than listen to vodka induced dialogue regarding how there are no good men/women left. Conversations about how many men/women you've sexed after meeting them at the club should also be excluded. You're just nasty. (And considering that every bus in the area has the ad stating that the DC area has one of the highest HIV/AIDS rates of any major US city, that makes you stupid as well.)

*This has been a public service announcement courtesy of the "Make America's Club Experience Beautiful" campaign.

THE POWER IS YOURS!

Thank you for your support.

This could be home

Last week was tough. I mean really tough. I mean had to let go of some serious tears tough. I was still sort of on a high my first week here, but reality set in that second week. Everything that I shed a tear or two for since August 28, I outright bawled about last week. I still miss everyone, and I still can't wait to get my wonderful babies up here. But I can see myself living here.

I'm just beginning to make contact with the other people that I know in the area. I know I really feel at home because I took an actually sit down and relax bath rather than just a shower. (It's a "thing" I have. If I don't feel comfy, it's all showers.) I'm in the process of picking out a sofa and I'm planning on cooking a big dinner this weekend.

I can live here. Even though it's cold, I look forward to huddling in my house and whipping up a batch of homemade soup. I'm sort of wound up about seeing my kids play in the snow. I look forward to my family coming to visit me.

Yesterday my very good friend told me that she was proud of me and that means so much to me. I'm sure I'm going to make it.

Mind ya bizness

That's what I consistently tell myself. "Breez, I doesn't involve you, so let it go." This is particularly hard to do when blog surfing. I make it a point to ignore blogs that bother me. If someone says something that I find dumb, short-sighted or bitter, rather post a ranting comment, I let it go. That's their space and place to voice whatever they want. However, this is mine.

Today I read a blog where someone spoke of others flaunting and boasting about their happiness. Huh? WTF? If the only thing another person's happiness does is aggravate my own shortcomings, I've got an issue.

Things you should know before coming to my door

People of earth: Don't send ya bad ass kids to my house for Halloween. I'll be damned if I'm buying candy for a bunch of random kids I don't know. You may also want to warn them that there is a crazy ass brawd in Glenmont that will not hesitate to fuck a kid up for trying any shit on my castle, then call the police on their monkey asses. It baffles me that we spend all this time telling our kids not to accept things from strangers, then we send them to the strangers' houses? Buy your own damn kids candy and then get them to read a book. Halloween falls on a school night if you haven't heard.

DirecTV, Comcast and anyone else that sends representatives to my home: Tell your people not to come to my house looking like thug life. Two of your folks almost got straight stabbed Saturday afternoon. I'm not going to pretend like I'm a toughie and dudes wouldn't have "got" me. But CSI would have had a field day collecing the massive amounts of DNA that they would have left behind. These dudes looked like they were going on a drug run. Then, the bastards couldn't even provide me with servies because of a big ass tree that's in front of my place. Technology, schmecnology. So now I've got to wait yet ANOTHER week before I get real TV in my house. Can anybody recommend some good books?

Is this what the news has come to?

Cam'ron was shot this weekend. Does anybody really give a shit? Now, I value human life as much as the next man, but I'm really hoping that this will not be another episode of a sub-par rapper using this to boost his so-called street credibility. Coincidentally, he was shot near one of the clubs I considered visiting. (I nursed a sinus headache the greater part of this weekend.) To be frank...I just don't like dude. I don't mean the person, because I don't know him, but rather his persona. So when he swaggered to his press conference like ghetto Superman, I couldn't stop my self from screaming, "YOU GOT SHOT IN THE ARMS DRIVING AWAY BITCH!" Dude was lucky, plain and simple. Just like he got popped on the arms, it could have been through the skull. And behind what? A Lamborghini that he probably doesn't fully own yet. I'm thinking the police should look at his grandmother first. I mean, she's got to be tired of him wearing her church earrings. (WTF are those things? Clip-ons?!)

Janet Jackson's secret daughter has been revealed. I remember back in the day asking folks, "Whatever happened to Janet's daughter," only to receive the WTF look. So, her older sister Rebbie has been raising her. I'm thinking the kid got a good deal. Don't get me wrong, I like Janet as an entertainer. No, she doesn't have the most spectacular voice (or even a good one), but I think she puts on a great show and looks DAMN good for 40. But she's always come off to me as the type of person that needs help tying her shoes. Letting gay ass Justin Timberlake flash her boob during family time didn't say much for her judgment either. A lot of folks are saying "How could she deny her own kid?" However, I'm visualizing the kid at age 9 holding the Jackson clan at gunpoint saying, "Don't you tell anybody that crazy bitch is my mama." She's a Jackson AND a DeBarge. That's just fucked up.

Both of these stories get the big WHO CARES?? I heard about Grandma Earrings and Daughter of Rain Woman no less than four times since yesterday. Sheesh...give it a rest already.

One day at a time

I've gotten past my first week of homesickness. I've gotten past the fact that Maryland is ridiculously expensive. I've also gotten it in my head that I'm going to utilize the gym downstairs. What I don't have is patience.

I've been sort of snappy lately. I should go out this weekend because it's homecoming, but I don't want to take up space with the "mean mug" if I'm not feeling it. Pinot and a movie is sounding pretty good right now. I just might go out tomorrow and have fun. I'm so used to not hitting the streets, I don't know what to do with my free time.

No news is...no news

I haven't had any great misadventures to speak of since I've been here, and that's a great thing. I'm not in the mood to borrow trouble. However, I've got the homesick blues. I was talking to my dad the other night and I had to fight the urge to break into tears during the entire conversation.

I really have nothing to complain about. My job is nice, my apartment is beautiful and I've got good friends here that are looking out for me. But I miss my family and I miss my friends. I was talking to one of my best homegirls last night about how both of us would love to just go out and have a drink and an appetizer at Outback or somewhere like that. The ironic twist is that I can walk to an Outback. There's also a restaurant called "The Magic of New Orleans" in the same area, but I haven't had the heart to go.

I turn 29 in a little over a month. I'm admittedly slightly weirded out by being a stone's throw from 30, but overall I'm okay with it. It definitely beats the alternative. I've been told that I look younger than 28 and for the last couple of months, my younger sister (26) has been mistaken for the older. I'm not sure why because she looks like a baby herself.

I mentioned this on my other blog, but I don't think it can be overstated: Combat multiple seasonal fashion personality disorder!!! Donning a large bulky sweatshirt automatically precludes you from even briefly entertaining the idea of wearing cut off shorts. Any person that does not see the folly in stepping outside, saying, "Ooh, it's a little nippy - I'd better put on my cap, sweater and flip flops," should be immediately sedated, institutionalized and studied extensively. If you want to wear spring clothes in the fall, or hell even winter, be my guest. All I ask is that you be consistent.

This weekend, DirecTV is coming and not a moment too soon. Regular TV is the pits. Evidently, it's been decided that broke ass people don't deserve to watch television, so if you are unable to afford cable, you're fresh out of luck. My interim sans cable has been more than a little annoying, but what's more annoying is how they're basically forcing people to get cable if they want to watch TV at all. Greedy bastards.

Fortunately though, my "issues" don't extend too far beyond that, so I can't complain. So far, Jae is doing well in school and Ty is pulling in all A's. I miss them so much. I can't wait until they come home with me. That might help the homesickness a little bit.

"Symptomatic" by Danzy Senna

Senna's sophmore novel, Symptomatic, again addresses the plight of the post-modern tragic mulatto. Though I did not find it as complex as her debut novel, Caucasia (evidently also released as From Caucasia, With Love), it was gripping in its own right.

While the unnamed protagonist does not actively deny her black heritage, she does pass for white by omission of fact. When her undeclared race causes relationship problems with her live in lover, and older co-worker, Greta Hicks comes to her aid. As an act of gratitude, she develops a superficial alliance with the biracial and emotionally unstable Greta. Greta sees "she-who-must-not-be-named" as the soul mate that she's longed for, though the devotion is obviously not mutual. The only thing more unnerving than Greta's preoccupation with "her", is "her" developing preoccupation with Vera, the mystery woman whose apartment she is subletting.

Senna does a superb job of making the main character perceivable. I was well into the book before I realized that I didn't know her name. She also succeeded in making Greta realistically crazy.

I must say that I enjoyed the novel. If you're looking for a breakthrough novel, this ain't it. But if you're just in search of a basic study in human emotions, Symptomatic is as good a book as any...probably better than most.

Un-freakin-believable

To have a personal belief that someone is a dog is one thing. To have documented proof is a horse of a completely different color. Have you ever known someone to commit an act so deplorable, that you are embarrassed for them? I thought that I was really at a point in my life where this person couldn't shock me. I was wrong. Right now, all I can feel is disappointment and disbelief. The action that I am required to take is most undeniably going to place me in the roll of the bad guy, but I can't even worry about that right now.

I guess I'm growing up because at one point, I would have been a raving lunatic, shooting off at the mouth to anyone that would listen. But right now, I'm just seething at the nerve some folks seem to have. I'd had suspicions about this person's actions, but I kept my feelings under wraps until I had proof. Beneath the surface, I'm mad as Orrin Hatch at a Farrakhan speech.

What pisses me off more than anything is that I'm not the one that was stabbed in the back: my children were. So the gloves are officially off ladies and gentlemen.

Ramblings

First and foremost, I love my new apartment. It's newly renovated and everyone will have their own space. Things are coming together.

I have noticed that recently, a lot of folks have posts on their various blogs related to love, soul mates and the like. I truly believe that we can spend so much time talking about it, that it prevents us from being about it. We spend so much crafting this "soul mate" that before we know it, we've created this mythical being with psychic, sexual and emotional super powers. Both men and women are guilty of this. Not only can it prevent folks from happiness in dating and relationships, but it can also cause them to feel pain because they have not come across this person. That's bananas to me.

Today we were having a discussion about the "roles" of men and women. A friend of mine was once told by a man that doing something in the way of home maintenance was not a woman's "place." WTF? I must admit that my father handled home repairs, maintenance, assembling ish and whatnot. I don't remember my mother ever having, or expressing the desire, to do any of that. However, I always wanted to know how to do for myself. So, for as long as I can remember, when he was fixing things around the house, putting together furniture, etc., I was right there. The same goes for my car. When I was married, I was right over my ex's shoulder trying to find out what was going on. As a result of that, I've never had to sit around and wait for a guy to do that type of thing for me. It's no slight against brothers, but I rest a little easier knowing that if need be, I can step in and handle business. When I got my enormously cumbersome computer desk, I put it together with some help from my little sister. I've done some of my own minor car repairs and have, on more than one occasion looked a mechanic dead in the eye and said, "Dude, seriously, don't try to dick me over" and all he could do was laugh. So far, the men in my life haven't seen that as an affront to their manhood. I also think that my dad is sort of proud that he gets the call AFTER I've already taken care of the issue.

I think I'm starting to grow up. I've stopped apologizing for myself so much. You're going to love me, hate me or feel indifferent about me, but I am who I am. I'm still willing to improve and change, but some things are undeniably Breez and I'm not going to try and convince folks to be with it. I was getting a little restless recently but I'm getting even more comfortable in my own skin. I've still got a ways to go, but I'm getting there. As human beings, we're all works of evolution in progress.

I missed my baby girl's first day of school since she's living with her father's parents for the moment, but from what I understand, it went EXACTLY the way I thought it would have. She lives about 10 minutes away from her school and it starts for 9:00 a.m. She was at the door with her backpack at 7:50. Ty is also doing well in school and I think that my new discipline tact is working. I do know that having a man (my brother in law in Shreveport, his grandfather in Algiers) in the home has had an impact on my kids, but all I can do is play the hand that I'm dealt and be thankful that I have family that looks out for the well being of my kids.

Things I'll miss

My sister said I'm not acting like a person that's moving roughly a thousand miles away from home. She said that because I leave Saturday and I have packed exactly two things: Jack and Shit. There are a lot of things that I'm bringing with me. But there are some things that will forever be left behind (save for the occasional visit). So, ladies and gentlemen, I present you with the things I'll miss about home.

1. We Never Close - If you have EVER lived in New Orleans, visited New Orleans, or passed through New Orleans on your way to ANYWHERE and did not get a po'boy from them, you should immediately stop what you are doing and slap the life out of whoever cheated you out of the little slice of ghetto heaven known as We Never Close. When they say never, they mean never. Not for MLK Day, Yom Kippur, Christmas, Kwanzaa. You can get your seafood jones worked out any time of the day or night. Plus the food is the bomb. Yeah sometimes it smelled like grease and mop water, but you know what? Don't be such a pussy. The food is delicious.

2. New Orleans Original/Chef Daiquiri - Getting a daiquiri from a drive thru? Please believe me! That is the shit! Gone are the days of having to look presentable to go out and get a drink. Hop your ass in your car at 2:00 a.m., grab your drink and drive your ass home. Screw that "don't drink and drive" mumbo jumbo. What could be better?

3. Canal Place Theater - Strict parents, a bunch of indie films that no one would go to see and raging teenage hormones turned this place into a haven of filth for me and my S/O at the time. As a grown up, I parked my car at the upstairs lot and I would still get a "twitch" when I would pass the third floor.

4. Vincent's City Club - I'm not adverse to getting dolled up and going to a club to cutie watch on occasion. However, sometimes, I just want to get my dance/sweat on and not have to worry about looking cute. This is the place for that. I swear that there's a sign there that says "Boogabats Get In Free". A friend of mine called it "Ugly Folks' Paradise" because it's big, dark and the drinks can make Jon Heder look like Djimon Honsou. But whatever the case, if you're in the mood to hear some serious throwback jams, that's the spot.

5. True Brew on Fridays - Pozazz Entertainment would host open mic night every Friday. Of course, there were a lot of posers, wanna bes and the like, but that didn't overshadow the talented poets that would get up on the mic and do their thing either. And if you ain't know, Dynamite Dave Soul ain't to be fucked with while he's spinning. Dude is the TRUF!

6. NOMA - I personally feel that the New Orleans Museum of Art could have improved on showcasing African Americans. However, that does not mean that they were the total pits. Actually, I've seen some of the most beautiful exhibits there. Plus it sat in the middle of City Park - a stately building in the midst of oak trees that were hundreds of years old. It was a nice date spot, but it was also a great place to go when you wanted to be alone and get your mind right.

7. The Aquarium of the Americas - I was mesmerized the first time I visited the Aquarium. As soon as you walk in, you're in a tunnel surrounded by some of the most exotic sea creatures you could ever imagine. My joy of my first visit was only surpassed by observing my son (then 2) during his first visit. He was so excited, petting the baby nurse shark, being virtually hypnotized by the sea horses and saying that the jelly fish looked "na-ty".

8. Belladonna Day Spa - When I began going to spas, everyone steered me away from Belladonna because they were less expensive, blah, blah. I could slap them. They have the best staff and give the best facials and massages ever. The ambiance is to die for. It's actually one of the top rated spas in the country and has received rave reviews by Cosmo. It's worth the extra 10 or 20 bucks. Live a little.

9. The Praline Connection - Any place that can provide you with some of the best pork chops, cabbage, rice and cornbread on the face of the planet for $7.95 should go into life's hall of fame. It'll make you tell ya mama "Yeah, that whole Christmas dinner thing...uh, I'll get back to you aiight?" Well, maybe I'm exaggerating a little, but it's the shit.

10. Speckled Trout - (Yeah, I eat alot, so what sucka!) Once you leave the southeast, you don't really find this fish too much. It's delicious (even though I'm a catfish girl myself), but more important than the taste is what it represents to me. Friday nights, Blockbuster and Monopoly. Until I was almost 18, my family was together on any given Friday night, eating fish and just being silly. Speckled trout means family to me. Corny, yes, but so what?

11. Crawfish - If you don't know, you'd BETTER ask somebody. Crawfish is to friendship what speckled trout is to family. We would send whoever was of drinking age to get us ton MD 20/20, Boones, Corona and daiquiris, and head to Lake Pontchartrain. Then, once we were all tow up, we would try and guess whose parents were already asleep so that we could sneak our drunk asses in without getting in trouble. I'm still tight with the Crawfish Crew.

12. Thursday Nights at the House of Blues - Though this spot admittedly catered to a younger crowd (it was on a Thursday, duh), if you're feening for a true party vibe, this was the place to be. Every Thursday, you could count on it being packed with wall to wall bodies that wanted nothing more than to have a good time to some blazin hip hop. Most definitely a spot to satisfy the need for eye candy. The yummy college guys were in full effect. Prior to being a mom, I was a Thursday night staple. My homeboy from work would always be there as well and we would both look like shit on Friday morning. It was well worth it though. On top of that, I can't recall one fight breaking out.

13. Bounce music - Okay, here's my dirty little secret: I'm an undercover hood rat. I love good hip hop, preferable underground. HOWEVER, there is this seedy part of me that can not resist the occasional New Orleans bounce song. Just about every rapper that came out of New Orleans started by doing bounce. It's admittedly ghetto and cheesy, but hell, nobody's perfect.

I could go on and on, and I won't promise that I'll have a whole new set of things that I miss "the most" in another month or two. It's just weird that I keep thinking about a place that, at one point in my life, I didn't think I could leave fast enough.

To boldly go where no Williams has gone before...

Stuff has been off the meter lately. My life went from being in the proverbial dumps to being uplifted at breakneck speed. Besides the outpouring of help I've received from some beautiful strangers, I managed to land a great job in Washington, DC on the first interview. Let me not front, I was BLESSED with that job. If that weren't enough, I found a place exactly where I wanted to live and it's gorgeous. The school district is quite nice and I'm beginning to realize that I know more people in the area than I thought.

I've shamefully neglected my blog, but I think I get a pass on that. On a funny note, my kids' father asked for full custody. My response was the colloquial "NIGGA WHAT?!?!" Let's review:

My kids have seen him a total of three times in the past year;
He's only called them about six times since July of '04;
As far as his kids are concerned, he has been about as generous with his dime as he has with his time; and,
I can't remember the last time he exhibited any characteristics that are remotely related to stability.

His ass should consider even getting visitation a gift. He placed my kids, on more than one occasion, in a position where they could have been turned over to CPS because he decided not to pick them up on his weekend and not call me to tell me of his sudden change in plans. Right when I was about to click out and get angry, I remembered who I was talking to and was not about to show out and give him a reaction. My children will be in a stable home with their grandparents while I get our home ready for them and he has been told that he may visit the kids there. Afterward, he'll see them during Thanksgiving break if he makes the arrangements.

BUT besides all of that, everything's coming up roses. I'm so thankful for all of the blessings I have received. My kids are excited, my family has come around and they are supportive. Who could ask for more?

The first in my fam to leave the South. Whodda thunk it?

The Next Level

So it's time to start again. I'm here in Maryland, scared out of my wits. Scared that I'm not making the right decision. Scared that if I don't make this decision, then the decision that I actually make will be equally flawed, if not moreso. I've got about seven interviews scheduled this week, three tomorrow alone. When my plane landed at 12:05 p.m. and the flight attendant said, "Welcome to the City of Baltimore," my stomach dropped. I felt this sickening mixture of excitement and fear and I sort of had to fight the urge to cry. I think the fact that I will be so far from everyone and everything that I've always known is sinking in. My family has become quite supportive, so it's not that pressure.

I know that there is nothing for me in the South. This morning, in the course of bringing me to the airport, my sister was stopped for not signaling a turn and we were basically accused of being prostitutes. My 20 year old sister and I were asked to get out of our car and questioned at 4:15 a.m. by three white police officers. A third car sat and waited while the other officers questioned us. An older policeman spoke with my sister privately and told her that he received a complaint that she was soliciting. What pisses me of the most about this is that my sister is a very spiritual young lady and, in fact, still a virgin. What's silly is the fact that my sister was wearing her dress for her job as a teller at AmSouth. I'm guessing that the wardrobe of a whore varies greatly from that of a bank teller. The youngest officer was left with me and attempted to make conversation with me, I suppose to feel like the good guy. He got no such absolution from me. I did not make any eye contact with him and as much as I wanted to cry, I refused to give any of them the satisfaction. I'm in the process of drafting a letter to the police department in that area. Bitches. That being said, I'm officially done with the South. I'm not saying that white police are much better in other areas, but it is so ridiculously blatant in the South, it's beyond comprehension.

I'm praying that what I'm doing is the right thing. I have faith that things will work out for the best.

Untitled

I'm in this purgatory between sadness and elation and I'm not sure which way I should go. New Orleans is the platonic friend that you would never commit to, but when they're taken away all you can do is think, "Maybe I should have..." I always looked at relocating from the perspective of one that could always return home if this didn't work out. Now the question will become, where is home? My father isn't going back, my grandmother isn't going back, my friends aren't going back.

I'm really excited about the potential that a new city holds. I have some very solid job leads in the Maryland/DC area and that has me psyched, but there's this homesick part of me that doesn't want to be anywhere but at my home. I had a dream that my cousin and I were at The Loft just vibing and having a blast and this morning I woke up jonesed out for an overstuffed shrimp po'boy from We Never Close.

I'm hoping that at some point, wherever I am feels like home, a real home, to me. For right now though, I just feel sort of torn.

It Starts...

So begins the drama. I am going to smother at least two of my sisters in their sleep...I promise. On the one hand, my youngest sister is living by this odd code of diva-dom. However, she is the most flatulent diva I have ever encountered and she never stops talking. I love her to death, but she's campaigning for a few days in traction.

On the other hand, my second oldest sister is a mother hen who has decided that I should not leave this one horse town ASAP. Her thoughts are that I should establish things here, THEN move to my desired destination. This means that I will have roots here that I will have to pull up, as well as the unfinished business in New Orleans.

The thing is, my family sees me as this incompetent moron that can't function without my family peeping over my shoulder 24/7. I understand the concern, but it makes me wonder if they think I'm at home putting pennies in light sockets or what, but I'm more than a little annoyed by it. I've never been of the cut off my nose to spite my face sort, but situations like this make me see why an irrational person would.

The problem with staying with family so that they can "help" is this: help quickly turns into them running your life. I won't say that my life has been a bowl of cherries, but it hasn't been the pits either.

Oh well, blah for that. On with the job search. The Mayberry life is NOT for me.

In true Plantation Tradition

"Tell Marse Linkum fo to take his freedom back." That's pretty much what I'm waiting for the next boot licking, Bush loving negro to say. It's good to know that there are some folks in this world that still love them some massa! I'll bet at this very moment there's some Uncle Tom ass cat reading a Thomas Nelson Page poem and saying, "Nah dats how iss s'pose ta bes." I'm a firm believer in everyone being allowed to have their opinion, but I am also allowed to think that said believer is ill informed and possibly mentally deficient.

I'm not so unreasonable to say that this is all Bush's fault, but to not see that this is this administration's most blatant display of a lack of regard for black folks is utterly ridiculous.

Kanye West's Comments

[Kanye West]Appearing two-thirds through the program, he claimed “George Bush doesn’t care about black people” and said America is set up “to help the poor, the black people, the less well-off as slow as possible.”

“I hate the way they portray us in the media. If you see a black family, it says they’re looting. See a white family, it says they’re looking for food.”

Click here for full article

These were snippets from comments made by West at last night's fundraising event for Hurricane Katrina victims. There are those who could argue that West was unwise in choosing his forum for voicing this opinion. Honestly, it was nothing but the truth and it needed to be said. If they had issued the response that they'd given to the tsunami victims, the victims of EVERY other hurricane that hit Florida, 9/11, the earthquake victims in California, etc. (I could go on forever) there wouldn't have been a need for him to say that at ANY event. Poor folks (mostly black) have been living amongst the dead for going on a week now. They've been living amongst their own sewerage for going on a week now. People that need insulin, oxygen, dialysis, etc. have been without their medication and treatments for going on a week now. My stepbrother, as a cop, is still there. He said that the death toll, not from the storm or the flooding, but the waiting is in the HUNDREDS. They didn't get food or water. If any of you have ever been in New Orleans in August, you will know that the heat is no punk. From what I understand, the temps were up to 94, which probably made the heat index rise to 100+.

The only reason they received ANYTHING yesterday, was because Ted Koppel totally EMBARRASSED Michael Brown (I believe a FEMA representative) on Nightline Thursday night. Michael Brown actually said that he did not know that there were people without food and water. That is what they were crying out on EVERY news station. They said that help needed to be requested. Did the tsunami victims request help? Or folks from 9/11? Don't get me wrong, I am in NO way undermining those tragedies, but they are hallmarks of what CAN be done when the government wants to give a damn. If the government wanted to invade New Orleans, they could do it in two days TOPS.

The fact is, the government does NOT give a damn about what happens to a bunch of niggers. I have friends that are STILL missing. My son and daughter's family, I realized the other day, are still unaccounted for. On Yahoo's news site, there are two pictures: one of a young white couple that "finds" food in a local grocery store in New Orleans, the other of a young black man who "loots" food from a local grocery store in New Orleans. This man wasn't taking Nikes, computers or anything else. He was taking food because NOBODY saw the need to provide for almost 100,000 people stranded in one of America's most popular and culturally rich places. Because nothing was left but a bunch of niggers. It's not a pretty thing to say, it's not a nice thing to say, but it's the truth. In Mississippi and Alabama, the people were allowed to walk around the city. The people were allowed to take...scratch that, were GIVEN food, by the people of those states. In New Orleans, they were caged in like a bunch of animals. The National Guard that WAS there stood outside of the Convention Center with shotguns and would not allow the people to get out. What does that sound like a recipe for? Creating a bunch of "wild ass niggas" to parade in front of America so that the federal government can show their lack of action as justified.

There were reports of shots being "heard" and it was assumed that they were being fired at the rescue vehicles. No one gave thought to the possibility that the shots were being fired to get attention because it was someone who was desperate or, in fact, dying. And THAT, my friends, is how the media and the government twists things and in turn, it twists our minds because it is in our nature (mine too) to take what we hear and see and never give thought to the fact that the facts could be twisted. If you really think about what you see, yes, there are a bunch of wild, ignorant muthafuckas that are looting. But they're looping the same tape over and over and over again. There were two white boys looting too. I only saw each of them ONCE. There are THOUSANDS of people at the Dome and the Convention Center, and they're just sitting there. Not fighting, not doing anything but wanting help and dying in the process and it sickens me that the government is letting it happen.

So, could West have chosen a "better" forum for voicing his opinion? Maybe. But tell me when there is EVER the proper forum for saying the harsh things that need to be said.

Adventures in Shreveport

Now that I've become resigned to the fact that my home is a wasteland, I live in a place that REALLY makes me appreciate home. First of all I ain't NEVER lived in a place where the white folks wasn't in check. By that I mean, white folks don't NEEEEEEEEEVAH wreckless eyeball us around my block. In the mall, it was WWEE (white wreckless eyeball extravaganza). Nawwwwwwww cuzzin. Evidently, one gentleman of the flaming homosexual persuasion decided that I amused him so he went back and forth whispering to his friends and staring at me. So I asked him, "Are you from New Orleans?" and he responded that he wasn't. I responded, "I see. Because you're looking at me like you know me." Then gave him a look indicating that he obviously didn't. He's watched the news. He knows what a 9th Warder is capable of. That brought an end to the Breez Comedy Minute. Another brawd was eyeballing my sister. She's become accustomed to it. Not me cuzzin. So I stopped where I was and eyeballed her. I just want to know what the hell they are looking at? All I can say is that there are about 1,000 New Orleanians up here, so somebody is bound to get hurt with that foolishness. So I'll release this public service announcement: WHITE PEOPLE OF SHREVEPORT, KEEP YOUR EYES TO YOURSELF.

New Orleanians...Shreveport is not ready for you. Yall are coming out strong, but yall are coming out wrong. This is a time of need...a time of crisis. So, to the brother that I saw in the food stamp office wearing the pink hat, striped pink shirt, pink pants and pink gators, I appeal to the deepest regions of your soul - just stop it. You and your sister wearing the ten mile high hairdo with rhinestones in her hair and finished off with metallic Daniel Greene slippers and gold teeth. Please, just stop.

I live amongst wildlife. Not the squirrels, nutrias and occasional racoons tha tI'm accustomed to seeing. There are deer and wildcats around up in this piece. There is an animal that the locals have dubbed a "cacoon." It's some sort of wildcat witha big ass tail like a racoon. My sister said she saw a bobcat out here. All I know is that if I get accosted by one of those things, all HELL is gonna break loose as far as my scary ass is concerned.

Next to every interstate exit in Shreveport, there exists what I have dubbed "the valley of death." There is just this tremendous crater next to the interstate and oddly enough, there are no guard rails. Usually this is not a problem, but my sister (whom I love dearly and has been as sweet as can be throughout this entire situation) is more than a little spastic, so the fact that she rounds the curve next to the valley of death going 40 is more than a little disturbing.

My hair looks like Louisiana Goddamn! My hairdresser of course is no longer at my disposal. She's lasted longer than any of my relationships and NO ONE else was allowed to cut my hair. I'm praying that I can find someone that recognizes the difference between a request for a trim and a cut.

I'm saying all of that to say this...A SISTER NEEDS A JOB! I'm about to start combing the Agriculture and Forestry section of monster to get some income man. I don't see how the welfare queens do it. I have been home for a week and I'm about to lose my ever loving mind. I am accustomed to working, and as much as a job can be a pain in the ass, ain't nothing like having your own. I am looking at this as the opportunity to basically point at a map and decide, "I wanna go there." I can go wherever I want and start a new life. Soooooo, I'm taking all relocation suggestions. Holla at a sister. I am looking to get out of the south, so any input and job leads are appreciated. I'm an experienced legal secretary and my resume is at the ready. HOLLA AT ME! (That wasn't very professional was it?)

With all of that being said, the people hosting my family have been stellar. They've all pulled together to make sure that we're comfortable and well fed. My sister's sister-in-law makes a sweet potato pie that I'm pretty sure has crack in it, and she's making me one this weekend. My dad and I have decided that it's a plot for us to stay. We won't leave because we won't be able to move. She can keep playing - in a little bit we're gonna be snatching chains and standing outside of her door scratching asking when she's gonna make another pie. For that, I can forgive the wreckless white folks and the cacoon. Last week there was a fish fry sunday and a bbq monday. This weekend they've also got something planned. It's just beautiful man.

Displaced

I've never been one to focus on material, tangible things. As a mother, I've come to appreciate pictures a little more, but not much. I've always felt that as long as I carried people in my heart, I would never really feel the sting of loss. Nothing prepared me for this. Nothing prepared me for the fact that in a matter of hours, I would be without everything. Nothing prepared me for the fact that a ghetto trick named Katrina would run through three states like she caught somebody with her man and her money.

This wouldn't be the first time I've rebuilt my life. It wouldn't be the second. Actually, it would be the fourth time. I don't know if the difference is that all of those other times, I was still able to rebuild in my hometown, among my family and friends; or if it's because each of those times, I walked away with the distinct knowledge that I would have to rebuild, but something inside of me broke this time. To watch every single one of my memories be buried was overwhelming. My home is gone. My father's home is gone. Our home where we grew up is gone. My grandmother's home is gone. The hospitals where I had my children are damaged. My entire city is in ruins. Everytime I watched the news I cried. Then cried even more when I would turn it off.

The thing is, NOBODY took this seriously. Last year we were threated with Hurricane Ivan, so we packed up everything but the kitchen sink and evacuated. The city didn't even lose power. This time, since we were threatened with such a powerful storm, we thought that it would be unwise not to evacuate, but didn't see the need in packing nearly as much stuff. I packed a few clothes, some family pictures, vital documents and that was it. I don't think I would have minded losing the things as much if I could start over at home. As much as I complain about New Orleans, it's my home. It's like the dysfunctional family member. You know he's going to screw you over, but good times are had in between that, so you've gotta love him. Now I don't know when I can go home...or if I ever will in that way again.

I told my son last night about what the storm meant and how our home was affected, and though he was upset, he took it in stride. Of course, once he got the preliminary stuff out of the way, he asked the all important question: "So are we gonna go to Toys R Us?" All I could do was laugh and explain to him that it would be a while before any of that is going down. He just shrugged his shoulders and went back to terrorize the rest of my family. That night he got in the bed with me and said, "Tonight, I'm gonna sleep next to you, okay mom? That way, you won't be scared and I won't be scared." I'm thankful for my family. All of the immediate members are accounted for.

When I talked to my dad this morning, I thought of the man who was about the same age as him who was on the news because he had literally lost his wife. The waters split his home and he could not hold on to her. She told him that he had to let go to take care of the children and the grandchildren. Everytime I replay that in my mind, I get a chill. It breaks my heart because this man really lost everything that really mattered: his family. Eventually, I'm going to find a new home and my family and I will build new memories. I'm thankful to God that we can still build them.

Today is a good day because I haven't cried as much. Sometimes I cry for my home. Sometimes I cry because I know, if it weren't for my children, I probably wouldn't have evacuated. Sometimes I cry because out of all the things that I've lost, there are people that have lost WAY more and it makes me feel a little selfish and superficial. But since yesterday, I've cried most because there are so many people who are willing to help ME and my children. Not just the general cause, but to have so many people who feel that I have touched their lives in some way, or allowed God to move their heart in some way, that my family and I were first on their minds is overwhelming.

It's beautiful and it's humbling and to anyone sending anything, prayers, kind words, money or even clothing, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

The return of blog biting

Michelle bit this from Michele's blog, so now I'm jacking it...AND WHAT?

I saw this on Chele's blog and was like, fuck it, I'm home today why not.

LAST...
Movie you watched: The Bourne Identity
Movie you bought : Harold and Kumar go to White Castle
Song you listened to: Liberian Girl by Michael Jackson
CD you bought : Songs in the Key of Life by Stevie Wonder
CD you listened to : A mix that I burned
Person you've called : My sister in law
Person that's called you : My babysitter
TV show you watched : Good Times

DO...
You have a crush on someone : Yes
You wish you could live somewhere else : Yes
You believe in online dating : It's okay, but folks have to be really careful.
You want more piercings : No
You like roller coasters : No.
You write in cursive or print : I don't do one any more than the other.

FOR OR AGAINST...
Long distance relationships : They can work. I'm the product of one and my folks were married 18 years. My sister did it and she's been married for three. Everything isn't for everybody, but I believe that people do what they want to do and if they want something to work, they can make it happen.

Gay/lesbian relationships : Don't care.

HAVE YOU...
Ever cried over a boy: Yes.
Ever cried over a girl : No.
Ever lied to someone : Yes
Ever been in a fist fight : Yes

WHAT...
Shampoo do you use : Pantene
Shoes do you wear : I like strappy heels
Are you scared of : Getting hurt

NUMBER...
of times I have been in love? : Once. Would like to change that one day.
of times I have had my heart broken? : Too many
of hearts I have broken? : I don't know
of times my name has appeared in the paper? : Once
of things in my past that I regret? : No regrets. Every lesson is a blessing.

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE...
Pretty : Yep
Funny : Sometimes
Hot : I clean up nice
Friendly : Yes
Amusing : Yes
Ugly : Nope
Loveable : Every other week
Caring : Yes
Sweet : and Spicy
Dorky : Definitely

FAVORITE...
4 letter word : Cute
Actor/actress : Will Smith/ Angela Basset
Cartoon : Family Guy
Cereal : Kaboom
Chewing gum : Eclipse
Color(s) : Purple
Day of the week : Friday
Least fave day : Monday
Flower : Stargazer lillies
Jelly flavor : Grape
Jewelry : Don't really wear jewelry
Summer/Winter: Summer

WHO LAST
Slept in your bed : I hardly even sleep in it.
Saw you cry : My sister
Made you cry : That dude (he didn't know it though)
Yelled at you : Some punk ass brawd in traffic that got flipped off
Sent you an email: Amber

HAVE YOU EVER...
Said "I love you" and meant it? : Yes. I only say it when I mean it.
Kept a secret from everyone : Definitely
Cried during a movie : All the time
Planned your week based on the TV : No
Been backstage : No
Been to New York : Yes
Been to California : No
Hawaii : No
China : No
Canada : Yes
Europe : No
Asia : No
South America : No
Africa : No
What time is it now? : 2:32 p.m.
This or That? Uh, this
Apples or bananas? : Apples
Blue or red? : Red
Walmart or Target? : Walmart
Spring or Fall? : Fall
What are you gonna do after you finish this? : Some more work
Was the last meal you ate? : A sandwich
Are you bored? : Yes
Last noise you heard? : The phone ringing
Last smell you sniffed? : A bag of Doritos

Friendship/Love...
Do you believe in love at first sight? : I believe you can feel a connection to a person immediately. Love comes later.
Do you want children one day & if so, how many? : I already have 2. If I get remarried of course I'd have a couple of more if my hypothetical hubby wants them.
Most important thing to you in a friendship is : Honesty

Other Info ...
Do you speak any other languages? : Spanish
Last book you read? : Reading Love by Toni Morrison
Thing in your bedroom you like? : My t-shirt sheets
How old do you act? : The hell?
Glasses/Contacts : squinting
Braces : no
Do you have any pets? : do children count?
You get embarrassed : yes
What makes you happy? : living another day
What upsets you? : willful ignorance

Finish the sentence...
I Love to...laugh
I Miss...that "this is what's really up" feeling
I Am Annoyed by...feeling disregarded
I Want to be...complete

Ain't that the truth

Ok, so your heart is broken
You're sitting around mopin', mopin', mopin', cryin', cryin'
You say you're even thinking about dying
Well, before you do anything rash, baby, listen to this

Everybody plays the fool, sometime
There's no exception to the rule, listen baby
It may be factual, it may be cruel, i ain't lying
Everybody plays the fool

Those are the breaks. When your number is up in the "fool for love" category, that's just it. You can try to dodge it, but it's gonna happen to you. It's gonna happen to you more than once.

Di...did he just tweak my nose?

Recently, The Champ enlightened the world about the danger of the Three Pat Hug (TPH). Light skinned joke aside, he was basically right on the money. Once you've been three pat hugged, you're three steps away from being invited to a slumber party, and NOT the good kind. Of course men being natural born straight shooters would NEVER do anything like this, right?

Ladies and gentlemen, I have been Nose Tweaked! The Nose Tweak (hereinafter sometimes referred to as "NT") is akin to the TPH with one difference: though closing a door, it opens a window. Where the TPH is Morse Code, the NT loosely carries the attributes of a Chinese character. One tweak says, "You're cute, datable and even doable, but I'm knee deep in hos so Imma put you in the reserves. Standby." What kinda shit? If that isn't bad enough, it's usually surrounded with ambiguous gestures like prolonged hugs or "friendly" kisses that are just "this" side of friendly.

When I was younger, I didn't really mind being the recipient of the occasional tweaking. Partially because I had quite a few hotties as "buds", in my naivete, I thought that it would pay off at some point. Once I hit 18, that shit ceased being cute. I diva-fied myself and got out of the tweaking zone. It was cool, and I got play (MUCH PLAY), but it amounted to me being someone that I was not. So I relaxed the divatude a bit, got into my own groove and all went well. Until the day that I was tweaked. Part of me stepped outside of myself and watched it happen with the following commentary:

No, he's not about to perform the ritualistic Nose Tweak. Something's in my hair. Maybe it's in the way and he wants to kiss me. Wait, his hand is too close to the middle of my face. Maybe it's an eyelash. Yeah that's it. He's not even around the nose, he's headed straight for the ey...muthafucka tweaked my damn nose.

And with that, my fate was sealed. I was the victim of one other drive by tweaking subsequent to that, but re-induction to Tweaksville was the most disturbing. It's like walking into a room with all eyes on you because you KNOW you look good, only to find out that they're looking at you because your skirt is tucked into your panty hose.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not like the typical turning 30 sista that's trying to marry every man she dates...tomorrow. I just don't want my nose tweaked. Is that too much to ask? That shit is really distressing.

Hmmmm

When something reveals itself as too good to be true, our gut reaction is to just use the old addage and imply that some type of deception took place. For some reason, we refuse to face the fact that we didn't look at it properly in the first place. We take things and people and events and places and we put them in these guilded cages and tell ourselves how perfect they are. We don't accept responsibility for our own presumption - no one told us these things, people, events or places would be perfect. But once we are let down, we blame everyone imaginable, except for the person most at fault. Ain't that something?

Each Day

I try to live my life in a way that makes me a beautiful person. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail, but each night I sleep with the knowledge that tomorrow is a new opportunity. My chance to adjust yesterday's mistakes and improve on its successes.

Part of "Project Beautiful" is mastering the art of letting go. There were two male someones who had hurt me very deeply in the past. I had a dream about one of the someones and in the dream, I was being rather hostile. He looked at me and said "You really need to let that go." And his dream self was right. I'd partially gotten past the pain, but not the anger. At the time I had that dream, I was in the process of letting go of a lot.

Today, I saw the other someone walking downtown as I was driving to work. I sort of braced myself for this flood of emotions, but I didn't feel much of anything other than the comfort of seeing an old friend and knowing that he was okay. Getting here was a looooooong road, almost seven years to be exact. But I'm here, and it almost feels liberating. I could get used to this.

Believe only half of what you see

I find that as humans, we are always willing to, not only expect the worst, but believe and be entertained by the worst. We also tend to be fascinated by urban legends with little to no basis whatsoever. What I find amusing is how dogmatically a person will defend something that they not only can't prove, but have virtually no stake in.

The Willie Lynch letter has been circulating for number of years. Supposedly it was a documented speech given by Willie Lynch, a slave owner, who essentially gave the blueprints for keeping black folks enslaved. Simple enough, right? Unfortunately, overwhelming evidence shows that this letter was manufactured MUCH later than this speech was to have taken place. I will say that in reading the letter, it does outline what slavery has done to the black community as a whole, but to attribute this to an individual merely perpetuates the belief that racism is a figment of our imagination. It also makes us seem panicky and uneducated. There are far to many REAL documents, slave journals, blatant acts of racism and xenophobic violence that we can point to, rather than relying on a contrived document that was never really discovered. To me, it is an affront to all individuals who are legitimately involved in the struggle. This document could just as easily have been written by a white man to prove how gullible we as black people are. All I can do is shake my head each time I see it pop up or referenced.

Maya Angelou did not write that shitty FUBU poem and Timberland is not owned and run by the KKK. What's funny is that she has denounced the poem on her website. Funnier still is the fact that Timberland was founded by someone of Hebrew heritage, which would probably exclude him from KKK consideration. However, that has not stopped, or even slowed, the circulation of this "poem." I'm not saying that because of this, folks should go out and make any designer rich. What I am saying is...have an independent thought. Don't patronize or stay away from a certain establishment or brand simply because Maya Angelou (or anyone else) says so. (No disrespect, but I'm not taking fashion advice from a 70+ year old woman.) What I'm also saying is STOP FORWARDING THAT HORRIBLE POEM.

The Wendy Williams gossip list...what can I say about that list that hasn't been said about Afghanistan? (Shameless and gratuitous Chappelle's Show ripoff.) Basically, this is a list of celebrities that are freaks, have stank breath, stank genitalia, homosexual, bisexual, lying about their age, etc. The obsession with celebrity is astounding to me. Celebrities are human beings, so it stands to reason that there are some who will be gay, some will be freaks, some will have breath that smells like 15 pounds of get back and so forth. I don't know anyone for being interested in those things, but that isn't my cup of tea. If Will Smith wants me to know that he's gay, he'll call me and tell me. Wendy recently stated that the list is not affiliated with her...in all fairness though, you can give my saying this as much credence as I gave that over-circulated email.

My love for Jesus is not dependent upon whether or not I forward your email. That 12 year old girl has been in remission for 8 years and is now a dancer at Big Daddy's Gentlemen's Club. If you think that Bill Gates is going to cut you a check for forwarding a stupid ass email rather than actually working, you are out of your damned mind. Sophia Stewart has NOT won her case against the Wachowski Brothers. I could go on forever.

To state it simply, just because your cousin's babysitter's hairdresser's uncle's girlfriend sent you an email, that doesn't make it true and it most definitely does not make it worth of dogmatic defense.

That is all. Go back to your lives citizens.

Just running my mouth

If your email has a name like "num1dyckryder", "cuminside", "likuallover", etc., please do not have "I do all things through Christ who strengthens me" as your sig. I'm not saying I'm as tight with the Lawd as I should be, but I feel safe in saying, he wants no part of that. Chill out.

When you call in to work, your coworkers don't want to hear the details of your GI issues, so please keep the details to a minimum. It will only enhance the ridicule factor.

Those that use their cell phones in public bathrooms, take note: if you use the stall adjacent to mine, you will get embarrassed. Please believe that.

I spent the weekend in Mississippi on the Coast. While passing a couple of white guys in Edgwater mall, I heard one say to the other in reference to me, "That right there is a badunkadunk." I turned my head in partial disbelief only to see Cleatus the Slack Jawed Yokel grinning at me like he had a snoballs chance in hell to even have me fart in his general direction. Verrrrry distressing.

As a woman living alone with two children, I do NOT answer my door if I am not expecting anyone. Yes, I know, the Publisher's Clearing House people will never get me in my home, but neither will the thugs. Far too many sex offenders pop up when I search my zip code. People know this, so why folks insist on popping up at my crib unannounced is beyond me. I have no qualms with listening to unannounced visitors get robbed through my door.

Madden 2006 is out and I will be copping it. However, let me state this for the record: YOU ARE NOT PLAYING REAL FOOTBALL. Let it go.

Why do folks feel that pregnant women are public domain? Her carrying life does not give you the right to touch her, give her unwanted wives' tale advice, or say dumb shit like "Damn you gettin' big!" or "Ooooh you just look miserable." It makes you seem stupid and annoying.

The next man that says to me, "Why you got that look on your face? Smile!" is straight up getting stabbed as I scream, "MAYBE I AIN'T GOT NOTHING TO SMILE ABOUT TODAY BEYOTCH!!" Who made up a rule that I have to smile 24/7? I know I didn't sign off on that. Sometimes I'm just thinking. Can a sister be pensive? Damn!

Whenever I walk into a room full of stuffy folks, I always have to fight the urge to say "Oh my God! What in the world is that smell?!?" Then cast a knowing/accusing stare towards whomever appears the snottiest.

I have discovered that people with the raunchiest breath hardly ever want gum. There is barely one inch between one's mouth and nose, so I refuse to believe folks can't smell the tartness.

For those of you that don't know, let me tell you this: PMS is a motherfucker. If you think it's an imaginary affliction, mess with a sister during one of her "days". . . you'll be telling your story from a hospital bed.

From this moment on, I refuse to get into any group discussions/debates related to child support. I always end up with a headache.

The older I get, the more I realize that things are going to be what they are. This isn't to say that I have no control over my life, but sweating things I can't control is only making me crazy. I'm just going to take it easy.

I'm poor, so when someone finds some gay porn with Bush or Rumsfeld or somebody, help a sister out.

I'm way too emotional for my own good and often feel like a kook afterward.

I'm losing my faith in humanity at a steadily increasing rate.

My children want to go to Disneyworld. Disneyworld is gonna cost about $3500.00 on a budget. There may be some disappointed folks this year.

I've gotta cut back on the java. I have been far too jittery lately.

I'm finding that more and more women are accepting of "man sharing". That is some of the most twisted shit ever to me. I've actually had a dude that was married approach me on some bull and even had his wife (if that's really who she was) call me to tell me that she knew the score and did her own thing so she didn't mind. What kind of shit is that? Heathens I tell ya!!! DIRTY HEATHENS!!!

I don't mind when folks disagree with me. Actually, I love hearing opposing points of view and listening to people explain those views. It doesn't have to necessarily be eloquent or wordy, but to have a solid argument...that's the shit right there. However, to argue with me for the sake of arguing, or because you've got your ass on your shoulders, you don't like the way I express myself or because you simply haven't listened to what I said, well that's just annoying, and maybe a little silly.

*The opinions of this post are solely the opinions of Breez and are not necessarily held by www.blogger.com. If you have any issues with the opinions on this blog:

DON'T READ IT DUMB ASS!!

Muddling through this thing called life

Last night while thumbing through a notebook I had as a senior in high school, I realized how organized I was. A friend of mine expressed a similar sentiment and noted that it was because we had nothing else to do at the time. (I would have loved to regale him of tales of how exciting my life was at the time, but unfortunately, he was right - I was social plankton.) Now that I'm older and have more responsibilities, I know my life should have lost some of it's order. However, my life looks like the organization monster threw up in my life. I'm always late, I can never find anything, I forget everything, I'm slower than molasses, I can't focus and reaching goals seem like impossibilities.

Living in New Orleans makes me want to scream bloody murder. There's a saying related to the difference between New Orleans and purgatory - supposedly God lets people leave purgatory. It's loud, bawdy, country and it stinks. I'm also pretty sure that when the Lord gets in the mood for some smiting, New Orleans will definitely be in the "Top 5". It also does not pay to be a woman with an definitive opinion on anything down here. (Though I'm finding that it doesn't go over too well in other places either, but that's another story for another day.) Long story short, I'm ready to bounce. Call it running, call it escaping, call it whatever the hell you want. I've gotta go.

I have already changed my goal for being published at 27 to 32. I will not allow myself to change that to 37. I've gotta get cracking on this for real. I've been writing lately, and that's most definitely a good thing. One day, maybe folks will say "I knew her when..." I promise not to go on vacation and marry a juvenile gay Jamaican.

I hate doing the dishes. I mean, I despise it. I considered paying my sister $50 a week to do my dishes for me. No joke. I'd rather scrub a million toilets than wash a plate.

I'm fat. I set up an appointment with a trainer at a gym today because I'm tired of being fat. I've started doing Pilates in the morning because I'm tired of being fat. Tonight I'm giving away my red meat because I'm tired of being fat. You get the picture.

My dad was diagnosed with cancer earlier this summer. He's been sort of hush hush about it, which makes me nervous. Between that, my brother leaving his wife, my sister floating through life without direction, my kids growing like weeds and my friends and family thinking that I'm a nut job, I'm somewhat overwhelmed.

I know I'm going to make it...I'm sure of it. I'm just not sure if I'm going to make it with a full head of hair.

the pageant

matters of the heart
make us the most practiced of liars.
we profess to have mended
and grown past our hurts
but rooted within
lies the same
fractured
infantile
soul
aching for warmth and comfort.
so adroit do we become
at putting on this
cavalier charade
that it becomes all at once
effortless -
impelling us to believe
in our own duplicity.
we scoff
at romance and lovers
as foolish and unnecessary
because we are too fearful
to admit
that's what we crave most.
so as our comeuppance
love cuts us
the deepest
and we cry
the hardest.

Today's Nominee for the "Most Deserving of Copious Blows to the Body With a Sack of Nickels" Award

Some people are just gasping for it. I don't want to kill anyone...just give some folks the beating of their lives. Here's today's nominee:

At work we received a fax and the cover sheet indicated that there were two pages. We only recieved that page. So my boss called the office to say, "Hey, we're missing page two. Would you mind re-sending the fax?" The receptionist said, "No problem. I'll give his secretary a note so that she can send the fax." This story should end with us receiving a complete fax on Monday (today). Notice I said "should".

This morning I received a call that went a little something like this:

Good morning. ___ ____'s secretary please.

This is his secretary 'Breez'.

Hello. This is ___ of ___ ___'s office calling regarding the ___ matter. Our office received a call from Mr. ____ stating that he did not receive page two of my fax. Do you know anything about this?

No, I don't, but if you'd give me a moment, I can find out for you.

Well, he said that he didn't receive the entire fax, but I only sent two pages.

(There is a pause as I wait for her to shift into common sense drive. She does not.)

Well, though he's not here, I will assume that means he only got the cover sheet, but I can check on that if you like. (Another pause waiting for the common sense reserve to kick in. Again, nowhere in sight.)

But I only sent two pages.

Ok, please hold while I check the file.

Hi ___? Yes, we only received the cover page, would you please send page two?

*sigh* Okay.

Thank you for calling.

Here is my question: What parallel universe does this woman live in? And did she go on record expressing her inability to count to two? In the effort that it took to make that phone call, she could have filed it under the "shit happens" category and resent the second page of the fax. Her incredulous tone was particularly annoying. As though there was no way in hell that we could be missing the second page. What was even more annoying was that our fax machine prints the number of pages received at the top of the page, and our printout read "Page 1 of 1". So basically, she only sent one page.

If this world were mine, my end of the convo would have gone something like this:

____, stop being a moron. I know where you work and this conversation has me prepared to get into my car, go to your job and beat you within an inch of your life. You were told that page two was not received. That being said, whether you sent two pages, or two thousand, our fax is sans page two. Obviously, actually doing your job is not a strong point, because the fax would either have been sent properly in the first place or you would have sent it again without question. However, do you realize how much extra "work energy" you've expended making this inane phone call? Right now you could be talking to Cindy or Buffy or whoever about your weekend while filing your nails and plotting your next cigarette break. Instead, you're stuck on a phone with me trying to locate the fax that never was. Do us both a favor. Do your job right the first time so that you won't have to "work" twice in the future. But in the meantime, get off your ass and send me my damned fax...and a banana cognac BEYOTCH!!

Ahhhh, if I ruled the world...

PSA

Poetry is one of my favorite artistic expressions. Now I know that art is subjective. One man's trash is another man's treasure and vice versa. However, some shit is better left unwritten. When all you can do is throw a bunch of words that rhyme on a page, recount a detailed sexual experience or tell me how all men are dogs/women are bitches, YOU ARE NOT A POET. Though you have the right to write down whatever you want. What you do NOT have however, is the right to subject others to that madness. Keep that shit on your hard drive, blog, notebook, etc. Please don't mass reproduce that foolishness to everyone you know via email. It's painful and wrong. You put folks in the position where they feel obligated to comment. If they don't want to hurt your feelings they either say nothing, or lie. Unless you have really hard boiled friends (like I do) and tell you, "Say, that shit is wack. Start over."

What's funny is that a true poet wants to know that they've hit you with "the weak-ness." These psuedo-folks are not trying to hear anything that resembles constructive criticism, because they KNOW they've hit you with the bomb. And they have - it's called a stink bomb. So, be a good friend. Unless you plan on publishing your work and are seeking improvement, keep your writings in the private sector.

"Friends don't let friends read wack ass poetry."

This bugged me

This morning I read a "poem" pertaining to male discontent with the "independent woman." In recent months I've heard this repeated ad nauseum and it's got me a little uptight. Believe me, I'm as tired as the brothers of hearing every woman proclaim independence (particularly those living with relatives, married to governmental assistance or damn near prostituting themselves to pay their bills). However, as I said before regarding good men, most independent women are too busy doing the shit that makes them independent to toot their own horns. That being said, the following statement annoyed me: "INDEPENDENT=ALONE". What the hell?

If a sister spouts the ideology that she only has time for an "accomplished" brother, and she has not attained comparable accomplishments, she is enslaved to her own "knight in shining armour" mentality. She has neither pot nor window, but she's knows that "Mr. Right" is going to elevate her. It goes without saying that this woman is not independent.

When a single sister has attained certain accomplishments, and subsequently uses said accomplishments to berate and browbeat men, she also, is NOT independent. She is a ball buster. She is enslaved to her past hurts and the things that she has read which have convinced her that a man can do nothing for her. She is also enslaved to her own ego. So, for a brother to hold her up as a symbol of independence is flawed.

There is also folly in assuming that an independent woman is single and unhappy or, if she is married, her husband's life is a living hell. I've seen quite a few successful marriages where the woman is independent, yet considerate and respectful of her husband. I'm not referring to folks in my age group, but rather, a success that has been charted for ten years or more. A degree of independence is required, in my opinion, to uphold the vows of "in sickeness and in health." In the event that a husband becomes ill, one would think that he can rest easy knowing that his wife will step up and handle business for him. A truly indpendent woman would also recognize that communication is key in interpersonal relationships and therefore, would value the importance of communication in her marriage/committed relationship.

I can't overlook the fact that some independent sisters are busy. Since there's nothing more unattractive than a sister begging for bill money, having to handle business comes with the territory. That being said, if a sister doesn't find you engaging, she probably won't give you too much of her already precious spare time. This is not to say that something is wrong with you or that something is wrong with her. The two of you just aren't compatible. I can attest to the fact that when "it" is there, busy folks will make the time. So take heart and don't just label the sister because it didn't work out between the two of you.

I don't have an issue with folks liking what they like...but to demonize something merely because it is not your preference is very "blah" to me, because what they have done is taken a label and applied it acrossed the board. There are a lot of sisters who are independent and balanced and statements like that often detract from the accomplishments of those sisters.

Life's Massage

While hitching a ride on Sweet Kimmie's Train of Thought I noticed that Neena told her to let life massage her, but she didn't quite define what was involved in that. Here are some things that I think of that qualify as my massages of life.

1. Hanging with my girlfriends

I mean just legitimately hanging, sipping wine, listening to music and reminescing - WITHOUT uttering the words "I hate when men ___." I love my sisters, but some of us really need to let the brothers BREAVE! I really began to enjoy being single when every time I hung with I developed a close circle of friends that didn't turn every gathering into a man gab fest.

2. Dancing with my kids

I LOVE to watch my little shorties dance. Ty tries to do all that ticking shit all the kids are doing these days (I sound like my father) and Jae just kind of struts her prissy self around, lol. It's really a lot of fun.

3. Making lemons out of lemonade

It sounds corny and I often live by the creed "When life gives you lemons, squirt as many people in the eye as humanly possible," but sometimess, lemonade is in order. My car has been out of commission for a couple of weeks now, so every morning and evening, while on public transportation, I give myself mental health time. This society is saturated with distractions: Cable, the internet, the telephone, cell phones, video games and iPods have really taken over. We rarely just take a few minutes to quietly collect our thoughts. So for 20 minutes of my bus trip each way, I tune out everything and just think, plan, scheme, whatever. It's actually quite refreshing.

4. Going on a date

This one I don't do very often, but an enjoyable date is priceless, even if it's just a friendship date. Sometimes being in the company of a man is just fun. I don't mean this bed hopping booty call crap that folks call dating these days. I mean just going to dinner, going to a movie, a concert, walking in the park and saying "Good night, I had a great time. I'll call you later." Folks seem to see that as boring these days.

5. Watching a good action movie

The sight of fictitious ass getting whipped does wonders for my soul. My kids are going to my sister's for a week and the FIRST thing I'm doing when they leave is popping "Fists of Fury" in the DVD player.

6. Talking to my sisters

They are beautiful, hilarious, compassionate and strong. Of course, I occasionally want to crack them over the cabezas, but they are the best. No one can replace them.

7. PJ shopping

Once upon a time I had as much night wear as day wear. There's just something about the right pair of pajamas that gets me giddy.

8. Reading

Pick up a book dammit. You just might learn something. I am a fountain of useless trivia because I read. But I'm also have gained a lot of knowledge for that same reason.

9. Chewing the fat with Michelle

I'm not in the habit of making new friends. The ones I've had for years suit me just fine. However, I'm glad I bent that rule, because she's great. We are exactly alike and completely different all at the same time, and we keep each other (in)sane. DIVAS!!

10. Straying from the beaten path

Being a worker drone, a parent and just getting older has made me quite methodical. I tend to do things according to a routine that I don't deviate from. However, it's good to switch up the game every once in a while. Sometimes, I run across new things that turn out to be something I can incorporate into the routine.

To all the boys I've looooooved befoooooooore...

Reading the relationship musings of the legend known as Harlem Slim, has me pondering my own romantic past. If I had a few minutes to talk to each of them, here's what I would say to them today:

MD - First "boyfriend" To date, you are the only guy that ever gave me flowers. And...and...remember that time you gave me your last Capri Sun at our class picnic and cursed out Chris for knocking down my Coke...remember? Yeah...that was cool.

CA - Dude you tortured me for two months. Couldn't you have just told me you liked me? Throwing spitballs and bugs at people is really just gross...and that eyelid thing was creepy. You made up for it by writing that rhyme about me though. It was tight and I still smile when I remember the hook.

OJ - You were such a sweetheart. My mother loved you. Really. I think she liked that fact that you were a little left of center. I'm glad to see that you've made your life beautiful.

JH - Dude, you were a waste of time even for a middle school boyfriend. And what was up with the chickenhead scallywag? There is no way in the world I was giving up ass at 13, but you picked one hell of a route to take. I would have felt better if it was Latonya, or even Shante...but Keisha? Ewwww. Rumor has it you're strung out on "the shit" now and Keisha - she had "crack ho" written all over her in 8th grade. I hope that's not true, but that's the road you were heading down when I knew you. That's messed up.

EV - Didn't I tell your ass to call BEFORE 10? 1:30? WTF? You saw my daddy...you KNEW he was crazy...ONE THIRTY? I was grounded for two weeks after that. Thanks for nothing.

GM - You caught me at my "people are just people" phase and though you were nice, I did realize one thing: black folks and white folks were different. Plus I always got the feeling that your mom was 3 seconds from a nigger joke and I think we both know how that would have turned out. I also see how things turned out with the sister you DID end up with. Glad I figured you out early on.

HJM - I've already blogged about you extensively. You will always be loved by me, but I can't ever love you "that way" again. You always seemed like you were distracted and that sort of got tired. It's not like I didn't try to make it work or BEG you to work with me, but you gave me nothing. Then when I figured it was time to part ways, you were bewildered. I've admitted that I didn't handle it the right way - that I was flat out wrong - but you never admitted your part. Then, the way you invited yourself back into my life and disappeared - that was special. You really could have left me alone. I guess you had to get the last word. Hope that made you feel better.

MR - I could insult you but what's the use? Plus I can't blame you for being, well, you. Everybody told me what you were and I went ahead and tried to build something with you anyway. I'm glad you found a Tina for your Ike, because I wasn't the one for that shit.

CL - You are worse than herpes. Just when I think it's safe to go back in the water, you try to pop up again. When I was ready to go to the next level, you acted like I asked you throw your dick into a wood chipper. Then when I finally went my own way, you acted like the ground I walked on was sanctified and when I took you seriously, you went back to the old you. What is that shit? And did you REALLY think it could happen twice? Ooooh, you just simple.

DA - That massage thing? That is the oldest, most tired trick in the book. I didn't have a damn headache. My "corn" allergy started flaring up and that's why I called a cab.

LS - I don't know what happened. You fell into the "friendship zone" and I stopped looking at you like a "dude". My bad about the giggling, but I really didn't think you were serious. You gotta admit that it came out of the blue. Glad you got over it though. Even if you don't get no bigga...

KA - You didn't think I would tell you no did you? You are one of the prettiest people I've ever laid eyes on, but outside of that...I get nothing. You weren't mean, you weren't nice, you weren't funny, you weren't corny, you were just...there. It was like going to dinner with this really pretty picture and I just couldn't get with that.

RR - You really hurt me man. After my separation I was a bonified love hater and you joked your way into the inner circle. Deep inside, I knew you had a girlfriend, but like you said, I never asked. Since I thought we were friends, I didn't think I would have needed to. I spotted the three of you in Semolina's recently. I'd never seen them before, but she looks like both of you. I'm glad y'all were able to hold it together.

SK - You, sir, are a lepton. (Thanks Amadeo!)

Yeah...that sums it up.

"People don't forget they have kids."

These two round chocolate faces are focused on me, waiting for an answer. It's not that I don't have an answer for them - I just don't want to give it. The ringleader repeats the question:

"Did you hear me? I asked why my daddy doesn't call me."

Previously, I either avoided the question ("It's time for bed"), changed the subject ("Who wants some pizza/to go to Walmart/IHOP?") or flat out lied ("He's gone away to work" when he was in jail). Evidently, my oldest finally saw through my subterfuge and wanted some answers. This was his third time asking me that question within an hour, so I felt like I owed him a response. I tried diplomacy first. I told him that sometimes, people get very tied up with their lives, and they can forget to do things, even contact people that are very important to them. My four year old looked at me with eyes as big as saucers, "My daddy forgot me?" I immediately realized that if ever there was a wrong answer, I gave it. Before I could fix it my son blurted out, "Nuh uh. People don't forget they have kids. All he has to do is call and say hey." Out of the mouths of babes.

The conversation sort of ended there, because it was a Saturday and there were cartoons to be seen, but it was an elephant in the room of my mind, because I knew it would have to be addressed, I just wasn't sure when or how.

Fast forward a couple of weeks. We're fixing lunch. Lil Man is helping me at the stove, Baby Girl is "stirring" the Kool Aid, and we're having a wonderful time. Seemingly out the blue, my son says, "Maybe if we tell my daddy we can cook we can come over." And my daughter starts singing this "I'm gonna go by my daddy" song. He picks up the phone and calls his dad and, surprise surprise, he's not home. Ty is disgusted because he's been getting this same song and dance for a month now. My kids go into an immediate funk and one of them implies that if they promise to be good, maybe they can go to his house "next time." Four years later and this motherfucker is STILL fucking up my program. Not five minutes before, we were having a great time, then virtually at the mention of his name, the whole vibe changed. The fact that my children, who (though they may be pains in the asses) bring me joy, laughter, love and general entertainment, think that his absence is due to some deficiency on their part is enough to make me want to deliver a shotgun blast between his eyes. But I collect my thoughts and give my children the best thing I know how - the God's honest truth:

In this world, you're gonna be surrounded by people. Some will always be there, some you will never see again and some will come and go like the breeze. Some will express love, some will express hate and some won't show anything, but don't let that take away from who you are. You will always be Ty and Jae and you will always be loved by me and even if he doesn't call, by your dad. Plus, if you don't have anyone else, you have God's love. You are both beautiful and helpful and smart and great. Even when you aren't around I think about you and you make me smile and I'll bet your dad thinks about you too. I won't make excuses for why your dad doesn't call, because I don't know, but I can tell you this, when a person is ready to talk, they will. Until that time comes, try not to worry about anybody that doesn't show that they are worried about you because they've got their own issues to work out.

Now, there are folks that will say I'm wrong, but there's no way in hell I'm going to stand there and let my kids think this is their issue. I would have preferred that they put the blame on me. Anything but blaming themselves. I really don't have the time or the energy to harbor hatred for anyone, but if ever I did, he'd be at the top of the list.

Now I know that one day, he's going to look at the people that they become and want to kick himself. I know one day he's going to be confronted to answer questions, questions that will hurt him, make him cry and make him wonder what was that important that he had to miss out on his children. I know that one day he may even wonder how he made room for another man to fill in the role of "Dad" while all he has is a mere title.

What I don't know is why it had to come to this at all.

My first love

I remember him well. His name was Maurice and I met him in the second grade. He was smart, nice and funny. I was seven and he was. . . about 40. He was my guidance counselor and he would visit my class once a week - every Thursday at 2:00 p.m. to be exact. Every Thursday, I would pick out an outfit, make sure that my mom ironed it properly, wear bows in my hair and refused to play so that I wouldn't get scummy looking. He was actually the first person that truly encouraged my writing. As a kid, I had these bushy eyebrows and of course, folks poked fun and I hated them. Mr. Maurice told us that my eyebrows were what made me unique and things that are unique are what makes us beautiful. Looking back and pictures of my younger days, I looked like my forehead was attacked by two wild caterpillars, but Mr. Maurice was forever in my heart for being sweet to a gangly, bushy-browed kd.

A tear for Big Pimpin'

For those of you that don't know, Big Pimpin' is my car. I told myself that I would name my car after the first song I heard on the radio that made me bob my head. Jay-Z came on and the legend was born. My car's previous owner was an extremely militant lesbian and I had a whole bunch of gay pride and gay interest stickers on my car. If I got out of a car and there was a gay chick around, I was getting mad love. As it turns out, the prior owner was evidently well known so I was asked on more than one occasion "Is this Cathy's car?"

The car is old as hell and I think on it's last leg. It's a 1991 and had 220k miles on it when I bought it. The trunk doesn't work, something in the wheel well is bent, it gets boisterous when it goes over 65 and the headlights don't go down anymore...but I love it. However, it gets me and my friends wherever we have to go, and I'm NEVER ashamed to park my shit in the front. Some folks, when they go clubbing, they'll park their car 3 blocks away and walk to the club. Not me and my homies. I will proudly part it smack in the front. To the folks that don't like it and talk shit, fuckem. However my car may look, I promise you that the vision that steps out of it is on point.

Today however, I have no car. My alternator is shot. I bought a new battery Friday and it turns out that the alternator was the issue. DAMMIT!! Two weeks ago, I had to replace my tires. So far, we're at about $250 in car repairs. I'm too broke for this shit. I should have been prepared for this though. EVERY three day weekend brings car issues. It's like my car says, "She ain't got nothin better to do. Let me fuck with her right quick." I'm giving consideration to purchasing something else, I'm just not sure of what right now. Hopefully I can get things in order in the near future because this unexpected crap is really killing my social life.