"I move in, and y'all must move on
'Cause I move too strong
And I know what my feet move for
Made it go without a brand new car
Made it fresh without a brand new song
And give a fuck about what brand you are
I'm concerned what type of man you are
What your principles and standards are
You understand me y'all"
- Mos Def "Sunshine"
In addition to being the mother of a lovely and exuberant little girl who will be seven next week, I also have a nine year old son, whom I affectionately refer to as "Finge." Finge is a terrific little guy; a little shy at first glance, but brainy and personable. This morning he looked at me and said, "Did you know the word gymnasium is actually Latin, and it meant 'school for gymnastics'?" He is lanky, awkward, makes straight A's in math and science, collects Pokemon cards, loves music, and plans to attend Johns Hopkins. And yet, I worry.
Despite my worring and potential difficulties, I still have to shape this boy into a man. Of course, there is no sure-fire method. I've seen young men with the best of circumstances get sentenced to life in prison; and those with the worst go on to become prime examples of black manhood. At the end of the day, it depends on us as parents, knowing, educating and loving our sons.
Character
In the March 2008 issue of Essence, Bill Cosby was interviewed regarding the deterioration of his hometown, Philadelphia. He addresses that much of the pitfalls are due to a lack of character in our young men; more specifically, the lack of parenting to develop that character. One of the biggest lessons taught to me by my father is that when character faces off against consequence, with time, character always wins. When your character, and not the consequence, motivates you on a principle, you are far more likely to adhere to that principle. So are we teaching our children not to steal and kill because they will go to jail? Or are we teaching them not to do these things because they are not theives and murderers? I urge you to not dismiss this as simple semantics.
It is said that mothers "raise their daughters and love their sons." It galls me when I see mothers poo poo the absolute antisocial behavior of their sons as them just being boys. That lack of direction spills into every aspect of their lives. I know that some people are against corporal punishment, and that's fine if that works for you. However, I'm a firm believer that, though my son is a good boy (and he is), he will test me by doing some off the chain shit, and I will not hesitate to put my foot in his ass (figuratively of course; not every issue can or should be solved with an ass whupping). How many times have we seen a boy being sent up for armed robbery, rape, or murder, only to hear his mother decry the charges because her son "was really a good boy." Maybe he was, but if you don't correct his character, that will only get you so far.
Respect for Women
I read another article in the above referenced issue of Essence, in which the editor expressed concern for the state of todays music; among her concern was the sexual overtones. Her seven year old was singing that Solja Boy "Superman" song. Of course, as any mother worth her salt would, she told him that he shouldn't sing that song. Conversely, as any seven year old worth his salt would, he asked her why. This is where things get tricky. She read him the "because I said so" act, because she couldn't "explain to him why it was inappropriate to sing about ejaculating on young girls." She's right, to a point. He wasn't ready for the raw dog explanation. However, it is never too soon to teach our young boys that girls are to be respected, and that song referenced a disrespectful act. The lyrics in the song say "then Superman that ho." He was too young to be told that ho is a disrespectful term? You can't entirely blame the music when you are shirking your teaching responsibilities.
Sexual Education
Answer your children's questions about sex. I mentioned in an earlier post that Finge recently asked me what it meant to masturbate, and I told him. After I explained what it was (in a manner appropriate for his age, it's not like I was sharing technicques), he said, "Oh, because my friend said it was [insert absurd explanation here]." Two things happened here: (1) I gave him an honest answer to a potentially tough question (I'm sure he didn't want to talk about choking his chicken with his mother any more than I did) without freaking the hell out; (2) I established that I know more than his friends, making it more likely for him to ask me questions later.
We need to be more cognizant of teaching our sons that their sexuality is not what defines them. The going message is that black males are little more than sexual beings, meant to conquer as many "females" (a term that goes through me, but I'll explain that when I discuss our young girls) as possible, as early as possible. The number of men that I know who lost their virginity before the age of 12 is staggering. And more often than not, it was to someone much older than themeselves. If you are a man and this has happened to you, you were sexually molested. You're not "lucky;" it's quite possible that you need counseling. We ignore these travesties, then wonder why so many of our boys are sexually immature, with multiple baby mamas.
Individuality
The other night, my son was griped to me and asked, "Mama, why did you teach me to speak this way? I speak TOO proper." Knowing that he was regurgitating what some other idiot told him, I asked where he got that idea. Surprise, surprise, it was his idiot father. It took me a moment to reply. I first had to conquer the overwhelming urge to say, "First of all, tell that dumb muthafucka that you don't 'speak proper', you 'speak properLY'." I instead told him that there was nothing wrong with the way he spoke, and just because some people don't like it, that really means little, because at the end of the day, if you like yourself, that's what matters. He then said, "Well, I think something might be wrong, because half the time, I don't understand what [idiot father's name] and the rest of them are saying." So then, of course, I had to again go to battle with my inner self, so as not to say, "That's because your soul has not been possessed by the spirit of powerful niggardry." Again, I was victorious.
Isn't it high time we stopped buying into the slave mentality that certain things are "for white people?" (Well, except for boxes of wine. Y'all can have that one white folks.) Can we just be glad that we have a kid who just MIGHT decide to be his own individual?
A lack of standing up for our boys explains why so many of them never quite make it to becoming men. I will not pretend to have all, or even most, of the answers. But I do know that if we don't change our tactics on a macro level, we are doing our boys a grave injustice.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
My body is my temple; pie is the sacrament
So, I've been cutting back on the foodage lately, and I'm feeling the results. Last night, I even went to McDonald's because I promised the kids, and I did NOT get an apple pie. What was my dessert? LOWFAT YOGURT BITCHES! Yogurt has been my standby from the way back. I remember being seven, and on the phone with one of my friends (what the hell did we have to talk about at seven?) and when I told her I was eating yogurt, she acted as though I descended from Neptune.
Where was I when wheat became the devil incarnate? All of a sudden, people are up in arms about wheat. And um, I'll be damned if I'm giving up my peanut butter and jelly, 'kay dude? Chill out with all that. Plus, don't whole grains clean out your insides? Isn't the roughage a good thing? (Does whole grain count as "roughage," or is that a term specifically for fruits and veggies?)
I'm registering my kids for some activities. Finge wants to play baseball and Lil Bit wants to dance. I'm not the most sociable of people, nor am I the "I've got the Gatorade and apple slices next week!" sort, but it seems I will have to get over it.
There are lots of sites out there geared toward weight loss. I tend to steer clear of those that endorse "diets." Instead, I refer to tips on improving my health and eating habits. I find that diets almost invariably exclude stuff I like. Who's going to give a damn that I'm skinny if I'm a 360 degree bitch? That's right up there with those Alli pills making oil leak out of your ass. I laugh at that every time I see the commercial.
Believe it or not, completely avoiding the Lifetime network is good for your health. Have you ever watched those movies? Two hours full of hypertension, "Oh HELL no," and "BITCH is you smokin' reefer?" I can't take it.
I just really don't want to be 35 riding a rascal y'all.
Where was I when wheat became the devil incarnate? All of a sudden, people are up in arms about wheat. And um, I'll be damned if I'm giving up my peanut butter and jelly, 'kay dude? Chill out with all that. Plus, don't whole grains clean out your insides? Isn't the roughage a good thing? (Does whole grain count as "roughage," or is that a term specifically for fruits and veggies?)
I'm registering my kids for some activities. Finge wants to play baseball and Lil Bit wants to dance. I'm not the most sociable of people, nor am I the "I've got the Gatorade and apple slices next week!" sort, but it seems I will have to get over it.
There are lots of sites out there geared toward weight loss. I tend to steer clear of those that endorse "diets." Instead, I refer to tips on improving my health and eating habits. I find that diets almost invariably exclude stuff I like. Who's going to give a damn that I'm skinny if I'm a 360 degree bitch? That's right up there with those Alli pills making oil leak out of your ass. I laugh at that every time I see the commercial.
Believe it or not, completely avoiding the Lifetime network is good for your health. Have you ever watched those movies? Two hours full of hypertension, "Oh HELL no," and "BITCH is you smokin' reefer?" I can't take it.
I just really don't want to be 35 riding a rascal y'all.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Bored
My grandfather passed away this weekend. His story is a post of its own, but my family is acting like some coons right now, so I'm going to hold off for a couple of days on that. I'm placing a 72 hour moratorium on coonery in all of it's forms and leaving it at that.
I like to say the words "ginko biloba." Actually, when I say it, I really enunciate - "ginKO biLOOOOObah!" It's fun, and a stress reliever. Try it. I'll wait. *whistling* Feeling delightfully silly aren't you? Don't be afraid. It's good for the bowels.
My son is nine. He loves wrestling. This disturbs me, but I allowed him to watch Monday Night Raw. Um...really? Are we saying that it's okay for the little person dressed like a leprechaun to be beaten unconscious? Really? So...I'm the only person who sees this as the gayest shit ever? Okay.
I always think it's funny when I offer up my seat to a woman and she gives me that, "Did this bitch just call me old?" look.
I'm cleaning out my desk. There's a lot of crap that they hand out that I have never even given so much as a glance. So, File 13 it is.
Why are chicken wings so damned great. Can you think of ONE occasion where chicken wings would be inappropriate? If there is, I don't want to be there. I mean, yeah you can't have chicken wings in the middle of Bible study or court and stuff like that; but where there is food, so should there be wings.
I read something yesterday that has inspired a blog post, but since I've been freestyling it for a minute now, I want to make sure I do the post justice. Be on the lookout.
The other night, Finge asked me what masturbate means. So, I told him. He's been playing with that thing since he was three; now he knows what it's called.
I'm finally set up my home computer in the new place, but I've become so accustomed to not having the computer on, I think I've only used it once. It was to check my MySpace page. Yeah. I still feel like a loser every time I go to it.
My father has always had a good job, we've always had a nice home and we've always had a nice car. From that, once, long ago, I had a cousin that opined that my father "had millions and millions of dollars." My sister Shaun and I dismissed that as complete lunacy the other night. If my father had millions and millions of dollars, we would have lived in the Millenium Falcon. No, not a home version, not a "scale model;" the Millenium fucking Falcon. And instead of that station wagon, our car would have been Dr. Who's ship.
Grizzly now has a partner in crime. He has not committed any offenses worthy of garnering himself a name, but he has been placed on notice.
I like to say the words "ginko biloba." Actually, when I say it, I really enunciate - "ginKO biLOOOOObah!" It's fun, and a stress reliever. Try it. I'll wait. *whistling* Feeling delightfully silly aren't you? Don't be afraid. It's good for the bowels.
My son is nine. He loves wrestling. This disturbs me, but I allowed him to watch Monday Night Raw. Um...really? Are we saying that it's okay for the little person dressed like a leprechaun to be beaten unconscious? Really? So...I'm the only person who sees this as the gayest shit ever? Okay.
I always think it's funny when I offer up my seat to a woman and she gives me that, "Did this bitch just call me old?" look.
I'm cleaning out my desk. There's a lot of crap that they hand out that I have never even given so much as a glance. So, File 13 it is.
Why are chicken wings so damned great. Can you think of ONE occasion where chicken wings would be inappropriate? If there is, I don't want to be there. I mean, yeah you can't have chicken wings in the middle of Bible study or court and stuff like that; but where there is food, so should there be wings.
I read something yesterday that has inspired a blog post, but since I've been freestyling it for a minute now, I want to make sure I do the post justice. Be on the lookout.
The other night, Finge asked me what masturbate means. So, I told him. He's been playing with that thing since he was three; now he knows what it's called.
I'm finally set up my home computer in the new place, but I've become so accustomed to not having the computer on, I think I've only used it once. It was to check my MySpace page. Yeah. I still feel like a loser every time I go to it.
My father has always had a good job, we've always had a nice home and we've always had a nice car. From that, once, long ago, I had a cousin that opined that my father "had millions and millions of dollars." My sister Shaun and I dismissed that as complete lunacy the other night. If my father had millions and millions of dollars, we would have lived in the Millenium Falcon. No, not a home version, not a "scale model;" the Millenium fucking Falcon. And instead of that station wagon, our car would have been Dr. Who's ship.
Grizzly now has a partner in crime. He has not committed any offenses worthy of garnering himself a name, but he has been placed on notice.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
An Amalgamation of Hodge Podgery
So today I was reading this hilarious piece of journalism. (I particularly loved the "OH SHIT! RUN!" sections.) Reading the comments, reminded me of the time this happened to me. I find it amazing how wound up one person can get by another's opinion, which combined with fifty cents can barely get you a bag of potato chips. I mean, I get heated over things, but I take it to my own forum. Then again, I guess all is fair, because sometimes, the opportunity to hand out a verbal evisceration is good for the soul.
Kwame Kilpatrick...*sigh*. I didn't really pay attention to this dude, but evidently, he is no stranger to trouble. I would love to do a synopsis, but I really don't have the time. Go to Wikipedia and do a search on this dude. Point of interest: He threw a party where a stripper named "Strawberry" was included as part of the "entertainment." Oh yeah, rumor is, she was killed in an effort to keep her quiet about said event. Strawberry. Nigga, you are the mayor. You do not get lapdances in city owned property by strippers named Strawberry. Where I'm from, that's what we call crack whores. I won't even get into him cheating on his wife and documenting the evidence on city owned communication devices. I'm going to walk away from this one.
Okay, I can't completely walk away from it. The chick he cheated with was his chief of "staff," Christine Beatty. While in discussion with a comrade, he questioned why Kilpatrick's wife was present when he made that disingenuous apology, yet we have not even seen a whisper of Beatty's husband. And as I explained to him: women deal with foolishness all the time, particularly when they have an employed man with a functioning penis. Does it set feminism back a million years? Yep, but it's a damned fact. Her employed functioning penis happens to be attached to a mayor, and I'm sure that she has come to enjoy certain luxuries that come with that. (Luxuries that come despite the fact that the city is apparently in debt. The median price of a home in Michigan, according to a news report a few weeks ago, is in the $40k range.) Christine Beatty, does not have these things going for her. She's a woman. Women have vaginas. I know we women like to believe that Cristal and fireworks issue forth from our vaginas, but at the end of the day, pussy is a dime a dozen. I'm willing to wager that the strippers that were busting it open at Magoonian Mansion could teach her a thing or two. I'm sorry, but a woman that texts "Did you miss me sexually" sounds a bit too Jane Hathaway to hold a candle to Lexus and Shardonnay (yes, that's with an "S"). That being said, who wants to be the man with the manure munching grin standing next to the dime a dozen pussy bitch on national television? That dude is at this very moment, getting plastic surgery and changing his Social Security number.
I have a new toy. Get your mind out the gutter. It's a Palm Centro. I haven't completely mastered how to use it as of yet. I'm wack.
What part of the game is this? The only thing that baffles me more than a person having the nerve to espouse their hatred in a place that SHOULD be founded on love, is the wonder at why a gay individual would WANT to support such an establishment. I'm sorry, I have enough on my hands dealing with my own orifices. As long as your sexual preference does not involve children, and especially MY children, I could really give less than a damn what you do. And even more pathetic is the fact that I'll bet at least HALF of those "real men" that stepped up are fucking around on their wives, as "uber Christian" men are wont to do. (See where Kilpatrick offered his shitty apology.)
I think I ran out of words, so until next time.
(Actually, I'm just being lazy, it's time to go home, and I can't think of a clever way to close this. So...Smooches, love, luck and lollipops!)
Kwame Kilpatrick...*sigh*. I didn't really pay attention to this dude, but evidently, he is no stranger to trouble. I would love to do a synopsis, but I really don't have the time. Go to Wikipedia and do a search on this dude. Point of interest: He threw a party where a stripper named "Strawberry" was included as part of the "entertainment." Oh yeah, rumor is, she was killed in an effort to keep her quiet about said event. Strawberry. Nigga, you are the mayor. You do not get lapdances in city owned property by strippers named Strawberry. Where I'm from, that's what we call crack whores. I won't even get into him cheating on his wife and documenting the evidence on city owned communication devices. I'm going to walk away from this one.
Okay, I can't completely walk away from it. The chick he cheated with was his chief of "staff," Christine Beatty. While in discussion with a comrade, he questioned why Kilpatrick's wife was present when he made that disingenuous apology, yet we have not even seen a whisper of Beatty's husband. And as I explained to him: women deal with foolishness all the time, particularly when they have an employed man with a functioning penis. Does it set feminism back a million years? Yep, but it's a damned fact. Her employed functioning penis happens to be attached to a mayor, and I'm sure that she has come to enjoy certain luxuries that come with that. (Luxuries that come despite the fact that the city is apparently in debt. The median price of a home in Michigan, according to a news report a few weeks ago, is in the $40k range.) Christine Beatty, does not have these things going for her. She's a woman. Women have vaginas. I know we women like to believe that Cristal and fireworks issue forth from our vaginas, but at the end of the day, pussy is a dime a dozen. I'm willing to wager that the strippers that were busting it open at Magoonian Mansion could teach her a thing or two. I'm sorry, but a woman that texts "Did you miss me sexually" sounds a bit too Jane Hathaway to hold a candle to Lexus and Shardonnay (yes, that's with an "S"). That being said, who wants to be the man with the manure munching grin standing next to the dime a dozen pussy bitch on national television? That dude is at this very moment, getting plastic surgery and changing his Social Security number.
I have a new toy. Get your mind out the gutter. It's a Palm Centro. I haven't completely mastered how to use it as of yet. I'm wack.
What part of the game is this? The only thing that baffles me more than a person having the nerve to espouse their hatred in a place that SHOULD be founded on love, is the wonder at why a gay individual would WANT to support such an establishment. I'm sorry, I have enough on my hands dealing with my own orifices. As long as your sexual preference does not involve children, and especially MY children, I could really give less than a damn what you do. And even more pathetic is the fact that I'll bet at least HALF of those "real men" that stepped up are fucking around on their wives, as "uber Christian" men are wont to do. (See where Kilpatrick offered his shitty apology.)
I think I ran out of words, so until next time.
(Actually, I'm just being lazy, it's time to go home, and I can't think of a clever way to close this. So...Smooches, love, luck and lollipops!)
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Not the one
I recently made a difficult decision. When my kids' father calls, he gets sent directly to voice mail. I'm sure some may dismiss me as bitter baby mama, but that matters not to me.
I've grown weary of the Wack-a-Mole style of fathering he seems to have adopted. Whenever he decided he didn't want to contribute financially, or didn't want to be a parent during that time, he would be ghost. And for a long time, I tolerated it. When he would reappear, it would be as though nothing happened. It's been like this for almost seven years. And for almost seven years, I've tolerated it. He has not sent a dime to them since March of 2007. He's never sent them a pair of long underwear, boots, pencils for school, or done anything that shows he gives a damn.
Saturday, he called for the first time in two weeks. Now, one could argue that he's been busy. Well, if that were so, that means he's working, so he could send them provisions. One could argue that he has not been working. Well, if that were so, that means he has time, so he can call more regularly. Either way, it doesn't add up, so his ass went to voice mail.
So I made a judgment call. I am not going to act like his deadbeatism is something that will pass, and I will suffer it for the sake of some mythical benefit to my kids. The rollercoaster fucks them up. Everytime he disappears, my kids act a fool. And almost on schedule, when they're settled into their routine, he pops back up again. That's just not something I'm going to stand for. I can't in good conscience allow it.
If my kids were to come to me about a friend who only had time for them when it was convenient, or they had nothing better to do, I would tell them they need a new friend. Now, as he is their father, I can't exactly tell them that; but I refuse to treat him as though his sperm dontation gives him free reign to mishandle them as he sees fit. So, as far as I'm concerned, my kids call the shots. If they so happen to ask to talk to him, they are free to call. Two weeks and counting and they haven't asked for him yet. Sad.
I've grown weary of the Wack-a-Mole style of fathering he seems to have adopted. Whenever he decided he didn't want to contribute financially, or didn't want to be a parent during that time, he would be ghost. And for a long time, I tolerated it. When he would reappear, it would be as though nothing happened. It's been like this for almost seven years. And for almost seven years, I've tolerated it. He has not sent a dime to them since March of 2007. He's never sent them a pair of long underwear, boots, pencils for school, or done anything that shows he gives a damn.
Saturday, he called for the first time in two weeks. Now, one could argue that he's been busy. Well, if that were so, that means he's working, so he could send them provisions. One could argue that he has not been working. Well, if that were so, that means he has time, so he can call more regularly. Either way, it doesn't add up, so his ass went to voice mail.
So I made a judgment call. I am not going to act like his deadbeatism is something that will pass, and I will suffer it for the sake of some mythical benefit to my kids. The rollercoaster fucks them up. Everytime he disappears, my kids act a fool. And almost on schedule, when they're settled into their routine, he pops back up again. That's just not something I'm going to stand for. I can't in good conscience allow it.
If my kids were to come to me about a friend who only had time for them when it was convenient, or they had nothing better to do, I would tell them they need a new friend. Now, as he is their father, I can't exactly tell them that; but I refuse to treat him as though his sperm dontation gives him free reign to mishandle them as he sees fit. So, as far as I'm concerned, my kids call the shots. If they so happen to ask to talk to him, they are free to call. Two weeks and counting and they haven't asked for him yet. Sad.
Friday, January 18, 2008
"Fi Fie Fo Figga" Part Deux!
I'm STILL fired up ya'll!! But I feel that I owe you an explanation why.
In addition to the inaction of our Black "leaders" and "voices," and piss poor job of spin that others have attempted, a young black woman got on the radio a week or so ago, and fixed her ghetto ass mouth to say that Obama should stop trying to run for President and be Clinton's VP. "BITCH is you smokin reefer?!" (c) Kanye West. When they went on to ask her why, she said, "Iono...he just...I mean...um..." then proceeded to recite some innacurate drivel that shows she was about as politically educated as Jenna Jameson is a virgin.
I am incensed by the fact that we see the biased images in the media day after day, and yet we believe that the media will give Obama a fair shake. I am INCENSED by the fact that Bob Johnson had the absolute gall to try and speak negatively about a brother who is truly trying to effect change. I am incensed by the fact that Al Sharpton seems to have taken a "Well, yall muhfukkas ain't vote for me, I ain't supporting his ass neevah!" THE FIRST BLACK PRESIDENT CAN NOT HAVE A PERM YA SELF SERVING BASTARD! And what incenses me more than anything? In all of this, who agrees with me? FUCKING OPRAH!! Has the world really come to this? Me and Oprah are on the same page? Get the hell outta here!
As I said yesterday, no matter what you think of her (and for the record, I do not dislike Hillary) she KNOWS this politics shit. Go to www.HillaryClinton.com. Notice anything? No? Not even the curiously absent "Rodham?" It doesn't even appear in her bio, except when referencing her father (though I half expected to read "Hugh Father-In-Law-to-Bill-Clinton"). Additionally, where's the lezzie haircut that she had been sporting before? (Personally, I was glad when she got rid of those hairbands, but that's neither here nor there.) Do you find it a mere coincidence that she started with the Obama attacks almost immediately after she got shut down on her national healthcare joint.
I'm not saying that any old Joe who runs for President should be supported by us just because he has a black face. However, I dare one person to highlight how Obama is "any old Joe." Maybe if Arsenio comes back, he can jump on his show and do some niggerish shit. Maybe folks will like him then.
* Also brought to you by Getyoshitryte Productions
In addition to the inaction of our Black "leaders" and "voices," and piss poor job of spin that others have attempted, a young black woman got on the radio a week or so ago, and fixed her ghetto ass mouth to say that Obama should stop trying to run for President and be Clinton's VP. "BITCH is you smokin reefer?!" (c) Kanye West. When they went on to ask her why, she said, "Iono...he just...I mean...um..." then proceeded to recite some innacurate drivel that shows she was about as politically educated as Jenna Jameson is a virgin.
I am incensed by the fact that we see the biased images in the media day after day, and yet we believe that the media will give Obama a fair shake. I am INCENSED by the fact that Bob Johnson had the absolute gall to try and speak negatively about a brother who is truly trying to effect change. I am incensed by the fact that Al Sharpton seems to have taken a "Well, yall muhfukkas ain't vote for me, I ain't supporting his ass neevah!" THE FIRST BLACK PRESIDENT CAN NOT HAVE A PERM YA SELF SERVING BASTARD! And what incenses me more than anything? In all of this, who agrees with me? FUCKING OPRAH!! Has the world really come to this? Me and Oprah are on the same page? Get the hell outta here!
As I said yesterday, no matter what you think of her (and for the record, I do not dislike Hillary) she KNOWS this politics shit. Go to www.HillaryClinton.com. Notice anything? No? Not even the curiously absent "Rodham?" It doesn't even appear in her bio, except when referencing her father (though I half expected to read "Hugh Father-In-Law-to-Bill-Clinton"). Additionally, where's the lezzie haircut that she had been sporting before? (Personally, I was glad when she got rid of those hairbands, but that's neither here nor there.) Do you find it a mere coincidence that she started with the Obama attacks almost immediately after she got shut down on her national healthcare joint.
I'm not saying that any old Joe who runs for President should be supported by us just because he has a black face. However, I dare one person to highlight how Obama is "any old Joe." Maybe if Arsenio comes back, he can jump on his show and do some niggerish shit. Maybe folks will like him then.
* Also brought to you by Getyoshitryte Productions
Thursday, January 17, 2008
"Fi Fie Fo Figga, I Can't Stand a Nigga" (c) Chris Rock
You know what grinds my gears? NIGGAS! Yes, niggas. I am vaguely annoyed with the number of prominent black voices that seem to go out of their way to not endorse Barack Obama. I think voting is a personal thing, and if you want to know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em" when it comes to who garners your support, more power to you. However, it admittedly makes their cries for increases in black progress ring a little hollow. Al Sharpton, Tavis Smiley, Michael Baisden all fall into this category. This doesn't, however, make them niggas. It just makes me believe that I was right to view them as questionable.
That being said: Bob Johnson - YOUSE A SUPANIGGA! I will not bother to further print his original ignorant statement, nor his equally ignorant and lying "retraction." But I will say this: exactly what have YOU done for the black community Mr. Johnson? Let's flip it despite being a product of a single parent family AND making damaging mistakes in his youth, he went on to position himself as the first black man to have a true shot at becoming President. And as he was positioning himself to make this a reality, you were. . .? Oh yeah, perpetuating the glorification of gangster culture, drug abuse, and bringing us BET uncut. I'm also fairly certain you weren't a teenager when you did this. My math may be rusty, but I'm certain you were comfortably in your fifties.
I want to say this to my black folks: It's okay to support Obama. You don't have to apologize for it. For those of you who will say that I like him because he's black, allow me to quote Bernie Mac: "You muthafuckin right." He is black, he is the product of a single parent home, graduated from one of the most respected Universities in the country, IS MARRIED TO A BLACK WOMAN, IS A BLACK FATHER, and I agree with his politics. And I'll keep it real: if it's a contest between a black man and a white woman, I'LL CHOOSE A BLACK MAN EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK AND TWICE ON SUNDAYS. And I'm going to go so far as to say that not enough black people will do that. If it's a beauty contest, and the only contests are Buster Douglas and that light eyed white woman in the Victoria's Secret catalogue, Buster will be a sash wearing so-and-so, and Leon Spinks will be the first runner up. And I'll do it because not enough of us are willing to stand up FOR us.
As far as the Clintons go, I appreciate the fact that black folks came up during the Clinton administration, but let's not be fooled: I don't know of anyone who voted the "Clinton/Clinton" ticket. A friend reminded me of a Chris Rock quote, "If my wife gets up here and starts telling jokes, you're gonna want your money back." I'm not saying that she's automatically UNqualified, but as I said before Bill Clinton sperm does not automatically make you a qualified President.
I've seen a lot of accusations of Obama running the "race" ticket. Where? Despite ALL that has been said, show me ONE INSTANCE where he has displayed "Angry/Paranoid Blackmanism." The Clintons know this politics shit backward and forward. So do their people. Don't think for one moment that the things that have gone on are "slip ups." Don't think for one moment that what Bob Johnson said was him being accidentally overzealous. It's bait. Bait that Obama has YET to take, and yet, far too many people, black and white, have been willing to believe what's been said. We ceaselessly complain about black misrepresentation in the media, and yet, believe that everything about the first black man with a valid shot at the Presidency is going to get a fair shake. We are not that naive. A long time ago, I read the first book in the Left Behind series. In it, the villian shot a man in a room full of people. He then turned to that same room full of people, mentioned the tragedy of that man shooting himself, and they accepted it as gospel.
And I would like to dispel, once and for all, Clinton as the first black president. Give me a reasonable explanation as to why 800,000 Africans in Rwanda were killed and "our" President did NOTHING (besides the explanation that white people are already running all things financial in Africa), then don't come to me with that shit. Or explain why during his administration, while waging the war on drugs, people of color were disproportionately receiving harsher sentences than their white counterparts (other than prison labor is legalized slavery), I would appreciate that as well. Until then, don't come to me with that weak shit.
I'm sure I have more ranting, but it's quittin time.
*Brought to you by Getyoshitryte Productions
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Blogging to Exhale
I'm posting from my BlackBerry, so excuse the typos. I've been attempting to get back into my more organic writing, so I broke out the old composition notebook and started banging out some work.I had some success yesterday, which made me happy. Today, it was a little harder to "flow." I didn't let it stop me, of course, but it was slightly distressing.
One of my favorite CDs is Amel Larrieux's "Morning." Aside from the fact that I have always found her a wonderful talent, the CD came at a very timely point in my life. It wasn't supposed to be my CD. The guy I was dating at the time mentioned that he wanted it, and I bought it for him for his birthday. He kind of dumped me before I had the chance to give it to him, so the CD was mine.
I have this habit where I inadvertently ignore the last song on a CD, particularly when there are quite a few songs that I love ahead of it. So this week, I really listened to the final song on Amel's CD, "Great Mountain of When."
I'm going through some sort of crisis, where I suddenly feel unfulfilled and empty. I believe "lost" is the correct word. Of all the things in my life that I lacked, direction was never one of them.
I acknowledge that I'm not driven in the traditional sense; I'm not ascending the corporate ladder, and such. But I have always handled my business. I've always excelled at my job and enjoyed what I did. I've always fed my literary hunger and never have up on my writing. So this toilet spiral thing that I'm feeling is scaring me shitless.
I'm beginning to feel that, by not taking my writing more seriously, I've cheated myself. My writing, my art, is my heart. As Erykah Badu said, "I'm an artist, and I'm sensitive about my shit." My reasons for not taking my writing to the next level are tantamount to a commitmentphobe halting a relationship. "What if it doesn't work out?"
Getting back to my point, in her song, Amel says:
"Plotting the course
While I'm stick at the bend
Penchant for rocky terrains and dead ends
Wind myself up just to unravel into
A great mountain of when
Predicting a loss
Before I begin
So it don't cut too deep when I don't win
I hate it when I'm right
I'd rather be wrong
I'd rather be wrong..."
I really have to put on my big girl drawers and deal with it.
One of my favorite CDs is Amel Larrieux's "Morning." Aside from the fact that I have always found her a wonderful talent, the CD came at a very timely point in my life. It wasn't supposed to be my CD. The guy I was dating at the time mentioned that he wanted it, and I bought it for him for his birthday. He kind of dumped me before I had the chance to give it to him, so the CD was mine.
I have this habit where I inadvertently ignore the last song on a CD, particularly when there are quite a few songs that I love ahead of it. So this week, I really listened to the final song on Amel's CD, "Great Mountain of When."
I'm going through some sort of crisis, where I suddenly feel unfulfilled and empty. I believe "lost" is the correct word. Of all the things in my life that I lacked, direction was never one of them.
I acknowledge that I'm not driven in the traditional sense; I'm not ascending the corporate ladder, and such. But I have always handled my business. I've always excelled at my job and enjoyed what I did. I've always fed my literary hunger and never have up on my writing. So this toilet spiral thing that I'm feeling is scaring me shitless.
I'm beginning to feel that, by not taking my writing more seriously, I've cheated myself. My writing, my art, is my heart. As Erykah Badu said, "I'm an artist, and I'm sensitive about my shit." My reasons for not taking my writing to the next level are tantamount to a commitmentphobe halting a relationship. "What if it doesn't work out?"
Getting back to my point, in her song, Amel says:
"Plotting the course
While I'm stick at the bend
Penchant for rocky terrains and dead ends
Wind myself up just to unravel into
A great mountain of when
Predicting a loss
Before I begin
So it don't cut too deep when I don't win
I hate it when I'm right
I'd rather be wrong
I'd rather be wrong..."
I really have to put on my big girl drawers and deal with it.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
This is for your own safety
I'm about to discuss some real personal shit, which may or may not be for the faint of heart. Now, don't get yourself hyped up, because it may not be that exciting. I'm not even completely sure what I'm going to say here. But, at least you can say you've been warned.
A week or two ago, I was talking to my pops. In the past year, I've added roughly 20 pounds to my already overburdened frame. As it is the beginning of the year, there are a host of weight loss programs trying to get you down with their shit, and I was politicking with him over some choices. Somehow, we got into how I just love food -- arguably a trait that I inherited from him. He then said, "Well, that's understandable. What's probably going on is that you're using food as a companion."
*SCREEEEEEEEEEEEECH* Did my pops just say that I'm not getting any dick, so I've made pie my lover? You fanny pack wearing mutha...
In the two years that I've lived here, I haven't dated much. Admittedly, though I lacked quantity, the quality was nice. We're talking late 20s/early 30s, so that's how it should be anyway.
Let me go on record as saying that (partially due to circumstance, dating out of my area code and such) I have more fingers and toes than I have had sexual encounters in the last two years. It's not surprising. I work, I have kids, I write, I spend time plotting and scheming my way to greatness, I don't go out much. At the present time, I'm still dealing with whatever feelings I have for El Chupacabra Hunter. So I haven't always had the time, and more recently, the inclination to be involved with anyone on that level. I simply take matters into my own hands, as it were.
But I think I've lost my mojo.
Make no mistake, extra poundage and all, I still have "it." Men dig me. If I were a lesbian, I'd be backstroking in hoes. I've got swagger because, though I can use improvement, I like what I see in the mirror. I fucks with me. That's not the issue.
Recently, more times than I care to count, while attempting to ascend Mt. St. Mamba, and . . . remember that time in Spiderman 2, when he was sailing through the sky, then suddenly, he couldn't get his web off? Yeeeeeaaaaahhhh . . .
WHAT
THE
FUCK?!
For the record, me, my pieces, parts, and "trusty friend" are like *crossing fingers* THIS son! This is me baby! It's win-win. I don't have to finesse my own ass, I don't need to consult Google maps for directions, I don't have to ask myself if I had a good time. YOU DAMNED RIGHT I HAD A GOOD TIME. Therefore, this new situation is quite disturbing. A couple of times, it has ended with me throwing up my hands in disgust and saying, "This is some old bullshit!"
I've tried switching up the game - porn, "mood lighting," throwing on sandals and capris and reciting bad poetry - yet the only thing missing is the Family Feud buzzer sound.
This is a major issue for me people. And do not think for one moment that this has not been reflected in my disposition. Grizzly came around here talking that dumb shit, and even his socially inept ass looked at my face and realized that he'd better break out. I'm screaming on old folks in traffic, I almost punched a cashier, and I asked a stupid customer service rep if her parents were siblings.
I feel compelled to state for the record that I'm not peddling my ass on the net, nor am I looking for offers. I'm really beyond the random hook-up/maintenance thing. I know that this is the symptom, and not the problem, but getting to the root of this problem is crucial. I considered titling this blog "The Audacity of Busting a Nut," but I don't want no beef with Obama. Therefore, I'll just close with a little of Jill Scott's "Celibacy Blues."
This here celibacy thing
Lawd, just got something over me
Like an addict, I could really use a thing
You know what I'm talking about
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
It's been hard to sleep at night
And ying ying ying ying just ain't
Scratching it right
I get some new batteries almost every night
Lawd,this here celibacy thing
The stresses of this world
You know how they come down on a girl
I'm trying to clear my mind
But all I seem to find
Is this gangsta,gangsta,type of need
People say mind over matter
But,I don't mind what they say
And it don't matter
This here celibacy thing
Is working on me...
Lawd, just got something over me
Like an addict, I could really use a thing
You know what I'm talking about
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
It's been hard to sleep at night
And ying ying ying ying just ain't
Scratching it right
I get some new batteries almost every night
Lawd,this here celibacy thing
The stresses of this world
You know how they come down on a girl
I'm trying to clear my mind
But all I seem to find
Is this gangsta,gangsta,type of need
People say mind over matter
But,I don't mind what they say
And it don't matter
This here celibacy thing
Is working on me...
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Celebrity Hodge Podge and Other Stuff
Beyonce is a beautiful woman. She's got a dynamite body. Her singing voice is that of the angels. So can someone please tell me what the fuck happens when she starts talking? I know I wasn't the only one who thought, "If this girl is the 'leader' of the group, why is Kelly doing all the talking." Uh...we found out. In and of itself, big damn deal. Nobody's perfect. She can't enunciate. But how in the hell does she keep getting gigs as a spokesperson? Right now, she's got L'Oreal, DirecTV, and American Express. I won't count the fragrance, because she's singing, and she can do the hell out of that. I'm taking bets on how many takes she had to run through before she properly pronounced "infallible." Sometimes she talks and I can't help but think, "Is this heffa about to rob me?" I'm not hating the player, but I'm definitely questioning the game.
Maybe if Reggie Bush would have pulled himself from betwixt the rump cheeks of Kim Kardashian, the Saints could have gone to the damned playoffs. That thing is clearly a distraction.
I saw a picture of Sean "Puffy" Combs' (that Negro will ALWAYS be Puffy to me) twin girls. They are quite adorable. However, it would seem they eat other babies. Great day in the morning they're fluffy. Let me say that the sight of them in cheetah print light years beyond country. But what do you expect when they're mother is the Bamma Drag Queen of the Undead. (Say what you will about Puffy, I am hard pressed to believe that he sanctioned country ass cheetah print on toddlers.)
I enjoy cooking shows. I really like Paula Deen, even though she scares me sometimes. Adding short ribs to french onion soup was really a bit much for me. I like that she's somewhat off the beaten path, and her meals are doable. Doable and drenched in butter. I believe that simply watching her show raises your cholesterol.
On the opposite end of the spectrum - who in the hell did Rachel Ray blow to get a job? (A friend relayed a funny story about a guy not wanting a BJ from Rachel Ray because she'd probably talk through the whole thing.) I understand the whole "meals for everywoman" mentality, because not every woman is a cook. But is this bitch really getting paid for showing me how to warm up a Hot Pocket?
When I first moved to Maryland, I documented on this very blog my hatred for Ikea. I believe I named it "Satan's Workshop" or something of the sort. Quite frankly, furnishing your house with them can be hellacious. But there is no denying that their annual winter sale commercial is entirely off the chain. The way she "runs" is priceless, and her husband looked like he was was about to shit his pants.
Does consuming "the sacrament" of Bill Clinton make one an experienced politician? If so, shouldn't that fat pasty bitch from back in the day be running for mayor? (For the life of me, I can't remember her name...Monica something? Monica Selles keeps popping up, but I know that's the tennis chick.)
I enjoy cooking shows. I really like Paula Deen, even though she scares me sometimes. Adding short ribs to french onion soup was really a bit much for me. I like that she's somewhat off the beaten path, and her meals are doable. Doable and drenched in butter. I believe that simply watching her show raises your cholesterol.
On the opposite end of the spectrum - who in the hell did Rachel Ray blow to get a job? (A friend relayed a funny story about a guy not wanting a BJ from Rachel Ray because she'd probably talk through the whole thing.) I understand the whole "meals for everywoman" mentality, because not every woman is a cook. But is this bitch really getting paid for showing me how to warm up a Hot Pocket?
When I first moved to Maryland, I documented on this very blog my hatred for Ikea. I believe I named it "Satan's Workshop" or something of the sort. Quite frankly, furnishing your house with them can be hellacious. But there is no denying that their annual winter sale commercial is entirely off the chain. The way she "runs" is priceless, and her husband looked like he was was about to shit his pants.
Does consuming "the sacrament" of Bill Clinton make one an experienced politician? If so, shouldn't that fat pasty bitch from back in the day be running for mayor? (For the life of me, I can't remember her name...Monica something? Monica Selles keeps popping up, but I know that's the tennis chick.)
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Happy New Year Bitches!
The shit really has to stop. Will someone please give me the number to elderly and infirm abuse services or whatever agency applies? Because if I see these New Years Eve folks pimp out Dick Clark's ass one mo' gin, it's gonna be a misunderstanding. It was all good until he got excited and started talking fast. I will quote my aunt from Plaquemines Parish who would say, "Y'all need ta leave him set where he at."
I did find it funny when that Chuck Wagon Stew eating brawd said that her New Year's Resolution waws to not date ugly guys. WTF? I was sitting there asking, "This heffa is getting dates?!"
I guess I believe more in goals that resolutions. So here are a few personal reminders and goals for 2008:
My children are my greatest assets, loves, adventures and reflections.
To try and live my life according to what I believe is true and right.
Love is perfect; people are not. We will be disappointed by the people we love and will will disappoint those who love us. Shortcomings don't make us any less worthy.
Every person has a story. If I can remember that, I will be more inclined towards understanding rather than harsh judgment.
"Seconds" are not a necessary part of a meal, pie is not a food group and pilates is not of the devil.
Continuing to be unabashedly Breez, Black Mamba, Lady Sol and Melanie seems to suit me just fine, so I think I'll stick with that script.
Happy 2008, people!!!
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Rap Beef Nigga!
Okay, so I'm admittedly flip at the mouth. Though I typically think before I say things, there are times where I intentionally use strong words and can be a bit abrasive. But that usually takes place when the topic itself is abrasive and controversial. I do not mince words.
I found myself in a exchange regarding the housing situation in New Orleans. I'm sure that many of you have been aware of the controversy related to the projects and low income housing in New Orleans. They're tearing down "da bricks" to make room for "mixed income housing." Now on the surface, it sounds good. Unfortunately, there is not one monumental task in the city of New Orleans that has been seen to fruition without a load of bullshit. Don't believe I have a cause for concern? How's that levee thing going? The BIGGEST issue in New Orleans history, and the city is still not hurricane ready, almost two-and-a-half years later. So pardon me if I don't believe that poor people will not get the shaft here.
Now, there are an abundance of people that chide project dwellers for "always wanting a handout" and "not wanting to work" and blah blah blah. When you point out the fallacy of their almost robotic regurgitation of "I got mine" rhetoric, offense is automatically taken. And honestly, that's cool. I have the right to my opinion, and everyone else has the right to be offended by my opinion. But at the end of the day, I still hold on to my opinion.
My big question, which has never been answered to any degree of satisfaction is this: who is willing to pay their janitors $30K a year? Who is willing to pay pharmacy technicians $15 an hour? How about hotel maintenance staff? The very backbone of what keeps the New Orleans tourism industry running pays crap. These are all taxing jobs. Yet, many these folks can barely make rent without public assistance, living in the projects, etc.
I remember being newly separated, with a four month old daughter and a two month old son. I worked at Hibernia National Bank FULL TIME, and after four promotions, I made $1300 a month. My rent was $500, my child care was $650 at the time. When all was said and done, I had $150 to pay for groceries, electricity, a telephone, bus fare, doctor's appointments, medicine, you name it. I remember locking myself in my room crying, because my son dropped the last roll of toilet paper in the toilet, and I didn't have enough money to get another roll AND buy the milk that we needed. Me, a woman who worked every day. A woman who kept working hard to get to the next level like she was told to, only to realize that next level came with a salary instead of overtime pay. At the end of the year, I was thanked with a $12 gift certificate to Sav-A-Center to go towards my family's holiday dinner. What made this particularly fucked up was that my landlord gave me a $25.00 gift certificate.
The end result for me, was being homeless. No, not under the bridge homeless, or in my car homeless, but homeless nonetheless. Make no mistake, when you are above the age of majority, and you "live" in a place where your name isn't on anything involved in keeping that place running, and for that matter, you don't even know if someone's bad mood require your moving, your ass is homeless. I lived in a hotel for four months. Me, a woman who worked every day.
Now, eventually, I got another job. But you'd better believe that I was replaced with SOMEONE -- someone who was probably making less than I (since, keep in mind, I attained my beloved salary after a host of promotions and five years on the job). And I had a "good" job. Hmph.
So, until someone answers me with any satisfaction, I will have major beef with this housing demolition. It's not about being pro-black. It's about a moral obligation to people who are doing the best that they can. Are there people sitting on their asses in these places? Yes. However, if we had fewer city EMPLOYEES getting paid to sit on their asses and do nothing, maybe system abuses could be better monitored. Or maybe if NOPD wasn't so damned corrupt, the criminals wouldn't be running the bricks with abandon.
But I guess that's too much like the right damned thing to do.
I could go on, but really, people are going to say what they're going to say and feel what they're going to feel. This just so happens to be my spot, so I'm doing it here.
I found myself in a exchange regarding the housing situation in New Orleans. I'm sure that many of you have been aware of the controversy related to the projects and low income housing in New Orleans. They're tearing down "da bricks" to make room for "mixed income housing." Now on the surface, it sounds good. Unfortunately, there is not one monumental task in the city of New Orleans that has been seen to fruition without a load of bullshit. Don't believe I have a cause for concern? How's that levee thing going? The BIGGEST issue in New Orleans history, and the city is still not hurricane ready, almost two-and-a-half years later. So pardon me if I don't believe that poor people will not get the shaft here.
Now, there are an abundance of people that chide project dwellers for "always wanting a handout" and "not wanting to work" and blah blah blah. When you point out the fallacy of their almost robotic regurgitation of "I got mine" rhetoric, offense is automatically taken. And honestly, that's cool. I have the right to my opinion, and everyone else has the right to be offended by my opinion. But at the end of the day, I still hold on to my opinion.
My big question, which has never been answered to any degree of satisfaction is this: who is willing to pay their janitors $30K a year? Who is willing to pay pharmacy technicians $15 an hour? How about hotel maintenance staff? The very backbone of what keeps the New Orleans tourism industry running pays crap. These are all taxing jobs. Yet, many these folks can barely make rent without public assistance, living in the projects, etc.
I remember being newly separated, with a four month old daughter and a two month old son. I worked at Hibernia National Bank FULL TIME, and after four promotions, I made $1300 a month. My rent was $500, my child care was $650 at the time. When all was said and done, I had $150 to pay for groceries, electricity, a telephone, bus fare, doctor's appointments, medicine, you name it. I remember locking myself in my room crying, because my son dropped the last roll of toilet paper in the toilet, and I didn't have enough money to get another roll AND buy the milk that we needed. Me, a woman who worked every day. A woman who kept working hard to get to the next level like she was told to, only to realize that next level came with a salary instead of overtime pay. At the end of the year, I was thanked with a $12 gift certificate to Sav-A-Center to go towards my family's holiday dinner. What made this particularly fucked up was that my landlord gave me a $25.00 gift certificate.
The end result for me, was being homeless. No, not under the bridge homeless, or in my car homeless, but homeless nonetheless. Make no mistake, when you are above the age of majority, and you "live" in a place where your name isn't on anything involved in keeping that place running, and for that matter, you don't even know if someone's bad mood require your moving, your ass is homeless. I lived in a hotel for four months. Me, a woman who worked every day.
Now, eventually, I got another job. But you'd better believe that I was replaced with SOMEONE -- someone who was probably making less than I (since, keep in mind, I attained my beloved salary after a host of promotions and five years on the job). And I had a "good" job. Hmph.
So, until someone answers me with any satisfaction, I will have major beef with this housing demolition. It's not about being pro-black. It's about a moral obligation to people who are doing the best that they can. Are there people sitting on their asses in these places? Yes. However, if we had fewer city EMPLOYEES getting paid to sit on their asses and do nothing, maybe system abuses could be better monitored. Or maybe if NOPD wasn't so damned corrupt, the criminals wouldn't be running the bricks with abandon.
But I guess that's too much like the right damned thing to do.
I could go on, but really, people are going to say what they're going to say and feel what they're going to feel. This just so happens to be my spot, so I'm doing it here.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Happy Belated Festivus!
I grew up not celebrating Christmas. So of course, when I got older, one of the first things I decided to do was to celebrate Christmas...and ultimately felt a little silly. I'm sure if I grew up with a firm tradition, it would be easy-peazy. However, I did not, so going through the motions of something that I don't quite believe in rang a little hollow with me. Plus, I could not bring myself to teach my kids that Santa Claus exists, only to shatter that belief years down the line, forever branding myself as the parent that lies to kids because that's what they want to hear. I'm saying all that to say, Christmas really isn't my thing.
That being said, something about a passing year makes me long for my friends and family. It's hard for me to fathom that an entire year has passed and the memories that I have made with my friends and loved ones are so few and far between. This is the first time I've ever felt truly lonely during the holiday season. I called my sister the other day and she said she was playing Scrabble. I got incredibly sad at the thought of not being able to call a friend, or shit, even a casual acquaintance to do something as simple as play a game of Scrabble.
I'm never one to believe that I'm the only one going through rough times. I'm sure that I've got friends out there who are down as well, so, if you're feeling a little down or lonely or what have you during this holiday season, I hope this song picks you up like it picked me up.
That being said, something about a passing year makes me long for my friends and family. It's hard for me to fathom that an entire year has passed and the memories that I have made with my friends and loved ones are so few and far between. This is the first time I've ever felt truly lonely during the holiday season. I called my sister the other day and she said she was playing Scrabble. I got incredibly sad at the thought of not being able to call a friend, or shit, even a casual acquaintance to do something as simple as play a game of Scrabble.
I'm never one to believe that I'm the only one going through rough times. I'm sure that I've got friends out there who are down as well, so, if you're feeling a little down or lonely or what have you during this holiday season, I hope this song picks you up like it picked me up.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Ignance!
Hey guys, it's your favorite cynic returning from a brief hiatus. It's not that I haven't had anything to say, it's not that I haven't had time, and it's definitely not that I don't love you. My computer desk at home collapsed (yes, collapsed, this is not an exaggeration) and since I have yet to replace it, I have to sit on the floor to use the computer. This makes my butt fall asleep, which hurts people. So, the blog has been lacking.
But fear not, I have some December jewels or you. It's winter, so you want something warm and fuzzy don't you? Well, fortunately for you, I'm a good mama, so I'm going to give you what you NEED: a heaping helping of my caustic mental gumbo. Please note the plethora of tags/labels here.
It would seem that prisons should make "The Shawshank Redemption" required viewing for their employees. Jose Espinoza, recently plead guilty to aggravated manslaughter, and Otis Blunt, was being held on robbery and weapons charges. Blunt dug a hole into Espinoza's cell. Espinoza dug a hole to the outside. I'm sorry; did I mention they were in the "most secure area of the facility?" The most secure area of the facility had one cinderblock separating an admitted killer from the great outdoors. Like Shawshank, they concealed their progress by covering the holes with bikini clad women. It was funny to watch the New Jersey prosecutor poo-poo the similarities. And by similarity, I mean that they did the exact same shit that was done in the movie. . .except it was more difficult for dude to get out in the movie. Two armed and dangerous criminals, who were kind enough to leave a thank you note to the prison, are now running loose in suburban New Jersey. AWESOME!
Meanwhile, in Iowa, John Edwards was involved in an exchange between an older white guy who essentially has no interest in Obama and the rest of his watermelon eating cronies leaving chicken bones on the White House Lawn. And uh, somehow, the O.J. verdict came up? Something about O.J. and Obama being payback for black mistreatment by white society. First of all, black people ain't fuck with O.J. like that since before "Naked Gun." I will have to defer (once again) to another quote from one of my favorite movies to wrap up my feelings on this.
Pamela Anderson Lee Rock Salomon. She was married to Tommy Lee once. Then they separated, and reconciled and divorced. Wash, rinse, repeat with Kid Rock. So she married Rick Salomon in October, filed for divorce this past week, and they are now trying to work it out. Five dollars says what happens next. This proves only one thing: douchebags are unafraid of exposing themselves to sexually transmitted hepatitis. Then again, Kid Rock kind of reminds me of a cross between Pigpen and a petri dish. Who knows what he's had!
This past weekend, I watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Show of hands: who can watch these movies and escape the desire to smite someone's ruins upon a mountainside? Anyone? Anyone at all? That's what the hell I thought. Them shits are the BOMB!!!
As a pre-Christmas gift, I'm saving the best for last. I was caught in, what can best be defined as a nigga moment. I unapologetically offended someone. I firmly believe that every action has a reaction. I also believe that when a person feels you have wronged them, you can't control how they feel and/or respond. Unfortunately, that's not my fucking problem. Maybe I should elaborate.
I was involved in a conversation with two other coworkers, when the topic of hustlin' and slangin' somehow came up. I made the statement that such behavior is ignorant. I did know that one of those parties used to hustle. I did know that he would get a gleam in his eye at the mere mention of the name Rayful Edmond. I did not know that he was going to spontaneously menstruate at my desk. My firm conviction led me to be called "naive," "a slave to the man," "judgmental," "think you're better than people," and ultimately, my problem was diagnosed as "thinking I know every fucking thing." I'm hating on the hustlers for "grabbing the bull by the horns." In addition, since I work in the litigation department, what I do is no better than hustling, because "crime is crime, just because it's white collar crime doesn't make it any different."
Good argument. Crime is crime. And I'll be the first to say that ain't no thug like a corporate thug. I'll second that with saying that this justice system is deplorable. You know and I know that the right people lobbied for THEIR drugs, and they lobbied harder (i.e. paid off more people) to get their shit pushed and make their competitors shit illegal. I'll concede every bit of that.
Unfortunately for his argument, my job is not illegal. Unfortunately for his argument, my job is not the reason people look over their shoulders at the ATM. Unfortunately for his argument, my job is not the crutch that the middle and upper middle class "haves" use to justify why low income "have-nots" in New Orleans should be denied their homes. My job doesn't create chain snatchers, and orphans. My job does not lead people to the legal institutionalized slavery that is the United States Justice system.
Naive? No sir. I learned the rules to this game a LONG time ago. I think son was just pissed that this sheltered East Shore kid schooled his hustling ass to the game. But as Money Mike said, "You can lead a ho to water, but you can't make [him] think."
But fear not, I have some December jewels or you. It's winter, so you want something warm and fuzzy don't you? Well, fortunately for you, I'm a good mama, so I'm going to give you what you NEED: a heaping helping of my caustic mental gumbo. Please note the plethora of tags/labels here.
It would seem that prisons should make "The Shawshank Redemption" required viewing for their employees. Jose Espinoza, recently plead guilty to aggravated manslaughter, and Otis Blunt, was being held on robbery and weapons charges. Blunt dug a hole into Espinoza's cell. Espinoza dug a hole to the outside. I'm sorry; did I mention they were in the "most secure area of the facility?" The most secure area of the facility had one cinderblock separating an admitted killer from the great outdoors. Like Shawshank, they concealed their progress by covering the holes with bikini clad women. It was funny to watch the New Jersey prosecutor poo-poo the similarities. And by similarity, I mean that they did the exact same shit that was done in the movie. . .except it was more difficult for dude to get out in the movie. Two armed and dangerous criminals, who were kind enough to leave a thank you note to the prison, are now running loose in suburban New Jersey. AWESOME!
Meanwhile, in Iowa, John Edwards was involved in an exchange between an older white guy who essentially has no interest in Obama and the rest of his watermelon eating cronies leaving chicken bones on the White House Lawn. And uh, somehow, the O.J. verdict came up? Something about O.J. and Obama being payback for black mistreatment by white society. First of all, black people ain't fuck with O.J. like that since before "Naked Gun." I will have to defer (once again) to another quote from one of my favorite movies to wrap up my feelings on this.
Copperhead: You have every right to want to get even.So don't think for one second payback, if such a thing were desired, would come so easily.
The Bride: No. No. To get even? Even-Steven? I would have to kill you, go up to Nikki's room, kill her, then wait for your husband to come home, and kill him. That would be even, Verntia. That'd be about square.
Pamela Anderson Lee Rock Salomon. She was married to Tommy Lee once. Then they separated, and reconciled and divorced. Wash, rinse, repeat with Kid Rock. So she married Rick Salomon in October, filed for divorce this past week, and they are now trying to work it out. Five dollars says what happens next. This proves only one thing: douchebags are unafraid of exposing themselves to sexually transmitted hepatitis. Then again, Kid Rock kind of reminds me of a cross between Pigpen and a petri dish. Who knows what he's had!
This past weekend, I watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Show of hands: who can watch these movies and escape the desire to smite someone's ruins upon a mountainside? Anyone? Anyone at all? That's what the hell I thought. Them shits are the BOMB!!!
As a pre-Christmas gift, I'm saving the best for last. I was caught in, what can best be defined as a nigga moment. I unapologetically offended someone. I firmly believe that every action has a reaction. I also believe that when a person feels you have wronged them, you can't control how they feel and/or respond. Unfortunately, that's not my fucking problem. Maybe I should elaborate.
I was involved in a conversation with two other coworkers, when the topic of hustlin' and slangin' somehow came up. I made the statement that such behavior is ignorant. I did know that one of those parties used to hustle. I did know that he would get a gleam in his eye at the mere mention of the name Rayful Edmond. I did not know that he was going to spontaneously menstruate at my desk. My firm conviction led me to be called "naive," "a slave to the man," "judgmental," "think you're better than people," and ultimately, my problem was diagnosed as "thinking I know every fucking thing." I'm hating on the hustlers for "grabbing the bull by the horns." In addition, since I work in the litigation department, what I do is no better than hustling, because "crime is crime, just because it's white collar crime doesn't make it any different."
Good argument. Crime is crime. And I'll be the first to say that ain't no thug like a corporate thug. I'll second that with saying that this justice system is deplorable. You know and I know that the right people lobbied for THEIR drugs, and they lobbied harder (i.e. paid off more people) to get their shit pushed and make their competitors shit illegal. I'll concede every bit of that.
Unfortunately for his argument, my job is not illegal. Unfortunately for his argument, my job is not the reason people look over their shoulders at the ATM. Unfortunately for his argument, my job is not the crutch that the middle and upper middle class "haves" use to justify why low income "have-nots" in New Orleans should be denied their homes. My job doesn't create chain snatchers, and orphans. My job does not lead people to the legal institutionalized slavery that is the United States Justice system.
Naive? No sir. I learned the rules to this game a LONG time ago. I think son was just pissed that this sheltered East Shore kid schooled his hustling ass to the game. But as Money Mike said, "You can lead a ho to water, but you can't make [him] think."
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Today's Mental Oasis
Dust of Snow
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
- Robert Frost
Once downstairs, I dust off the bench below my bedroom window and just sit there for a couple of minutes. I watch the powdery snow cover the table in front of me, and I write my name in it; the way I used to when I was 15. I'd curve the final "e" all the way up and over, then draw a smiley face inside of it. Undoubtedly silly, but I wrote my name that way for a solid year. I deliberately came outside without a hat, because I love when snow gets in my hair (plus my hats no longer fit). I try to see how many good things in my life I can list before the snow that touches my lips melts.
Sitting there I realize, even when things are bad, they're not that bad.
And since I couldn't sit on that bench in the snow physically, I think this is the next best thing.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Stop in the name of love!
Fewer things irritate me more than dating based reality TV shows. Watching a group of misguided, love starved souls vie for the attention of another misguided, love starved soul of the desired sex is not my idea of good television. Though I pride myself as the person who doesn't stop and stare at accidents, occasionally, my curiosity gets the better of me and I play looky-loo.
Flavor of Love 1 & 2: The powers-that-be don't think civilization has sunk far enough into the abyss, so we will soon be cursed with a third installment of this travesty. A group of women vie for the affections of Flavor Flav. Did you just vomit in your mouth? Yeah. Me too. Basically, women kick, scream, claw and otherwise degrade their way to the position as Flav's chosen one. He proceeds to rename the women as it suits him; you know, like in slavery. At the end of it all, she's presented with a grill. My heart is all aflutter.
I Love New York 1 & 2: When tallying the sins committed by Flav's show, few are as unforgivable as the unleashing of Tiffany "New York" Pollard upon humanity. After being twice dumped by Flav, her own reality show was launched. She fills her house with a bunch of suspect dudes. At the end of the first season, the "finalists" (because she's the "prize?") were this beefy dude named named Mango or something like that, and another dude who essentially needed subtitles in real life. Currently, it is in the midst of it's second installment, and a bigger group of pussies I've never seen. There's this dude that looks like he lives with his mama, a swole Puerto Rican with a press-n-curl, and a general assortment of douche bags. Now, I must say, there is one dude named Buddha that caused my eyes to linger for a moment...Until I realized "This nigga wears smedium tank tops and evidently pursues women who are obviously no stranger to the free clinic." Next.
Rock of Love: Bret Michaels of the hair band Poison headlines this show. Basically, imagine Flavor of Love, but white trashy. I could elaborate, but I believe Joe McHale of "The Soup" said it best: "It's like a Tupperware party...but with chlamydia." To my dismay, this too shall repeat.
A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila: This one kind of confuses me. I know who Flavor Flav is. I know who Bret Michaels is. I even know who New York is. But, Tila Tequila? No fucking clue. So I'll tell you what I do know. This bisexual midget brings slew of men and women into her house (I love that they refer to it as their houses, I'm sure it's the network's joint). Though uncertain of her gender preference, she just knows that she wants to be fucking - something. I swear that every time my television passes this channel, I feel the need to pop an antibiotic just to be safe. Since there are so many individuals there, she dismisses them two at a time. Soon we shall find who has the greater appreciation for skanks: emotionally damaged lesbians, or douchebag heterosexual males.
And this, my people, is entertainment. It's strangely ironic that my feelings can be summed up best by Public Enemy: "Burn, Hollywood, burn!"
Flavor of Love 1 & 2: The powers-that-be don't think civilization has sunk far enough into the abyss, so we will soon be cursed with a third installment of this travesty. A group of women vie for the affections of Flavor Flav. Did you just vomit in your mouth? Yeah. Me too. Basically, women kick, scream, claw and otherwise degrade their way to the position as Flav's chosen one. He proceeds to rename the women as it suits him; you know, like in slavery. At the end of it all, she's presented with a grill. My heart is all aflutter.
I Love New York 1 & 2: When tallying the sins committed by Flav's show, few are as unforgivable as the unleashing of Tiffany "New York" Pollard upon humanity. After being twice dumped by Flav, her own reality show was launched. She fills her house with a bunch of suspect dudes. At the end of the first season, the "finalists" (because she's the "prize?") were this beefy dude named named Mango or something like that, and another dude who essentially needed subtitles in real life. Currently, it is in the midst of it's second installment, and a bigger group of pussies I've never seen. There's this dude that looks like he lives with his mama, a swole Puerto Rican with a press-n-curl, and a general assortment of douche bags. Now, I must say, there is one dude named Buddha that caused my eyes to linger for a moment...Until I realized "This nigga wears smedium tank tops and evidently pursues women who are obviously no stranger to the free clinic." Next.
Rock of Love: Bret Michaels of the hair band Poison headlines this show. Basically, imagine Flavor of Love, but white trashy. I could elaborate, but I believe Joe McHale of "The Soup" said it best: "It's like a Tupperware party...but with chlamydia." To my dismay, this too shall repeat.
A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila: This one kind of confuses me. I know who Flavor Flav is. I know who Bret Michaels is. I even know who New York is. But, Tila Tequila? No fucking clue. So I'll tell you what I do know. This bisexual midget brings slew of men and women into her house (I love that they refer to it as their houses, I'm sure it's the network's joint). Though uncertain of her gender preference, she just knows that she wants to be fucking - something. I swear that every time my television passes this channel, I feel the need to pop an antibiotic just to be safe. Since there are so many individuals there, she dismisses them two at a time. Soon we shall find who has the greater appreciation for skanks: emotionally damaged lesbians, or douchebag heterosexual males.
And this, my people, is entertainment. It's strangely ironic that my feelings can be summed up best by Public Enemy: "Burn, Hollywood, burn!"
Friday, November 30, 2007
What's Good in My Hood
The Whip: Last week when I won my car, I was on the verge of tears, but I didn't cry. I was really just overwhelmed. However, this morning, when I watched the woman receive her car, I started bawling. Life has been so much easier with the aid of my new baby though. My free $15 gas card gave me 3/4 of a tank, so though the gas station ass raping is certain, it will be more Ryan Seacrest and less Lexington Steele.
Hot Steaming Relations: It's been a while since I've had sex. I'm not saying I qualify as a female eunuch, but seasons have changed and shit. But given my general disinterest in dating at the present time, combined the report that 37.5% of HIV occurrences in DC stem from heterosexual contact, I guess I'll stick to masturbation, chocolate, the gym, shoe shopping and, um, masturbation.
Good Ass Television: For those of you looking for good television, now is the time to reacquaint yourself with "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit." This has been a stellar season. I know that some were getting burned out on Mariska Hargitay, but now that she's finally received her Emmy, they're giving us a break. Additionally, "Life" (Wednesday, 9:00 p.m. EST) is delightful.
The Math Master: Last night, I asked Finge how he was doing in school, and questioned him about math. His reply? "I'm sorry, are you talking to me? Are you asking ME about math? ME? The MATH MASTER?"
Neck Tattoos: Color me judgmental, but I find it hard to believe that one has a serious life plan in place when you have "Sexy Black" tattooed on your neck. Other people's names and Asian symbols are even worse. I'm not taking your seriously. I'm not.
Husband Auditions: My homeboy has opined (and I am inclined to agree) that women past a certain age do not so much date, as they audition husbands. To a certain extent, I have done that. Not that I'm in a hurry to walk down the aisle and such, but I have to honestly weigh out, "Can I tolerate the fact that he always corrects my sentences/scratches his ass in public?" and shit like that. Another homeboy of mine stated that more women would do well to do so. With that, I'm on the fence. When you treat every man like a "prospect" you WILL find a husband. However, this does not guarantee you will find the husband that you want. Caveat emptor.
Being Alive: While in conference with my brother from another mother, I was telling him about my blues. His response was that I've been so busy surviving and I need to start living. And, though that sounds right, I haven't got the first clue where to begin. But I'll be damned of the prospect of beginning that journey in my brand new car doesn't sound positively delicious!
Hot Steaming Relations: It's been a while since I've had sex. I'm not saying I qualify as a female eunuch, but seasons have changed and shit. But given my general disinterest in dating at the present time, combined the report that 37.5% of HIV occurrences in DC stem from heterosexual contact, I guess I'll stick to masturbation, chocolate, the gym, shoe shopping and, um, masturbation.
Good Ass Television: For those of you looking for good television, now is the time to reacquaint yourself with "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit." This has been a stellar season. I know that some were getting burned out on Mariska Hargitay, but now that she's finally received her Emmy, they're giving us a break. Additionally, "Life" (Wednesday, 9:00 p.m. EST) is delightful.
The Math Master: Last night, I asked Finge how he was doing in school, and questioned him about math. His reply? "I'm sorry, are you talking to me? Are you asking ME about math? ME? The MATH MASTER?"
Neck Tattoos: Color me judgmental, but I find it hard to believe that one has a serious life plan in place when you have "Sexy Black" tattooed on your neck. Other people's names and Asian symbols are even worse. I'm not taking your seriously. I'm not.
Husband Auditions: My homeboy has opined (and I am inclined to agree) that women past a certain age do not so much date, as they audition husbands. To a certain extent, I have done that. Not that I'm in a hurry to walk down the aisle and such, but I have to honestly weigh out, "Can I tolerate the fact that he always corrects my sentences/scratches his ass in public?" and shit like that. Another homeboy of mine stated that more women would do well to do so. With that, I'm on the fence. When you treat every man like a "prospect" you WILL find a husband. However, this does not guarantee you will find the husband that you want. Caveat emptor.
Being Alive: While in conference with my brother from another mother, I was telling him about my blues. His response was that I've been so busy surviving and I need to start living. And, though that sounds right, I haven't got the first clue where to begin. But I'll be damned of the prospect of beginning that journey in my brand new car doesn't sound positively delicious!
Friday, November 23, 2007
Good things come to those who
PRAY!
So, it's no secret that autumn hasn't brought the best of news. I found out some more earth shaking information that makes my other issues pale in comparison, but I'm still scratching and surviving.
So imagine how I felt when this happened to me this morning.
It turns out my homegirl was in on the WHOLE thing. Let me state for the record that old girl was really taking a big chance with the police knock that time of morning, but it's gravy. I've been saying prayers of thanks ALL DAY.
So, it's no secret that autumn hasn't brought the best of news. I found out some more earth shaking information that makes my other issues pale in comparison, but I'm still scratching and surviving.
So imagine how I felt when this happened to me this morning.
It turns out my homegirl was in on the WHOLE thing. Let me state for the record that old girl was really taking a big chance with the police knock that time of morning, but it's gravy. I've been saying prayers of thanks ALL DAY.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Whoa, that was angry...
"I been sayin' that shit for years. And if you ever heard it, it meant your ass. I never really questioned what it meant. I thought it was just a cold-blooded thing to say to a motherfucker before you popped a cap in his ass. But I saw some shit this mornin' made me think twice. Now I'm thinkin': it could mean you're the evil man. And I'm the righteous man. And Mr. 9mm here, he's the shepherd protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or it could be you're the righteous man and I'm the shepherd and it's the world that's evil and selfish. I'd like that. But that shit ain't the truth. The truth is you're the weak. And I'm the tyranny of evil men. But I'm tryin', Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be a shepherd."
- Jules Winnfield [Samuel Jackson] "Pulp Fiction"
So, um, wow, that last post ended on kind of a sour note. I broke my rules and altered the post, for the sake of my own dignity more than anything else. The fact remains I'm still angry. And maybe the anger is unfair, and maybe were one to hear the other side of the story, I would come out looking like a complete bitch. If so, I'll BE that. But I think I have the right to be angry, considering after constant reassurance, I get dumped by email and never hear from dude again.
And maybe he has his reasons, and maybe this is a shitty way to air my dirty laundry. But you know what? That was a shitty and fucked up way to handle me, so for now, I am going to pout and stomp my feet and be angry for a little while.
Admittedly, do I have a million other things going on that are exacerbating my issues? Sure. But this is my blog, and I'm going to say what I want on it.
Part of me is thankful, because if a person can walk away so thoughtlessly, well, good fucking riddance. But it's still hurtful and it's still fucked up and it's still shitty. And SICK. Most of all, THAT SHIT IS SICK AND MEAN. And for the record, I'm trying REALLY hard to be the shepherd. I swear I am. But sometimes, it's necessary to be the tyranny of evil men, just to keep yourself from exploding.
Please note, I'm not posting this for "men ain't shit" commentary (though I don't think my female readers subscribe to that theory anyway) nor do I want sympathy. I really just wanted to purge in my own space and be done with it, because I'll be damned if I'm going to ruin my fucking Sunday sniffling and choking back tears all day...fucking up my pedicure and shit.
- Jules Winnfield [Samuel Jackson] "Pulp Fiction"
So, um, wow, that last post ended on kind of a sour note. I broke my rules and altered the post, for the sake of my own dignity more than anything else. The fact remains I'm still angry. And maybe the anger is unfair, and maybe were one to hear the other side of the story, I would come out looking like a complete bitch. If so, I'll BE that. But I think I have the right to be angry, considering after constant reassurance, I get dumped by email and never hear from dude again.
And maybe he has his reasons, and maybe this is a shitty way to air my dirty laundry. But you know what? That was a shitty and fucked up way to handle me, so for now, I am going to pout and stomp my feet and be angry for a little while.
Admittedly, do I have a million other things going on that are exacerbating my issues? Sure. But this is my blog, and I'm going to say what I want on it.
Part of me is thankful, because if a person can walk away so thoughtlessly, well, good fucking riddance. But it's still hurtful and it's still fucked up and it's still shitty. And SICK. Most of all, THAT SHIT IS SICK AND MEAN. And for the record, I'm trying REALLY hard to be the shepherd. I swear I am. But sometimes, it's necessary to be the tyranny of evil men, just to keep yourself from exploding.
Please note, I'm not posting this for "men ain't shit" commentary (though I don't think my female readers subscribe to that theory anyway) nor do I want sympathy. I really just wanted to purge in my own space and be done with it, because I'll be damned if I'm going to ruin my fucking Sunday sniffling and choking back tears all day...fucking up my pedicure and shit.
You know I got posts!
"It's been a long time, I shouldn'ta left you, without a strong [blog] to step to!"
- Rakim "I Know You Got Soul"
Your favorite blogger (that would be me, you ain't know?) has found herself in some heavy shit these last two weeks, which partially explains my being incognegro. Essentially, I've been engaging in some heavy "scheme, scheme, plot, plot" to handle my situation. Well, I've been doing that and playing Hobo Wars on Facebook. Friggin Amadeo got me hooked. (Usually, I would place a link to his blog here, but he's in my "Must Reads" column to your right, so, I'm going to be lazy.) To him, I can say but one thing for getting me hooked on this legalized crack. KHHHHHHAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNN!!!
So I'll be moving, downsizing actually. I'm not thrilled with the ideas, but I'm short on time and choices, so I'm handling my biz. The icing on the cake is that I lost my wallet Friday night. Fortunately, I rarely keep money in it, so I had my trusty $5 in the zippered portion of my purse. I guess that's good. Of course, now I need to get a new driver's license, wait for my new bank and credit cards to come and put out an alert on my license and credit card. This sucks ASS. Last year this time, I was the shuttle bus headed to my cruise. Happy 31st Birthday? (Well, not yet, next Saturday is actually the day.)
I have decided that next year, I am going on an adventure? Have I blogged about this already? Well, I had tentative plans to go on an exciting vacation this summer, but those plans fell through. SOOOOOOO, next year, I'm planning an excursion of my own. I've always wanted to see Venice.
I've come to terms with happily ever after not being for me, and the whole "domestic" thing really not fitting into the lifestyle of this Maverick, so, fuck it. I've finally got it in my mind that obsessing over a person who couldn't give so much as a fart bubble about me is a fairly stupid and pathetic way to live ones life. Frankly, I was doing just fine before his bullshit.
There. I said it.
- Rakim "I Know You Got Soul"
Your favorite blogger (that would be me, you ain't know?) has found herself in some heavy shit these last two weeks, which partially explains my being incognegro. Essentially, I've been engaging in some heavy "scheme, scheme, plot, plot" to handle my situation. Well, I've been doing that and playing Hobo Wars on Facebook. Friggin Amadeo got me hooked. (Usually, I would place a link to his blog here, but he's in my "Must Reads" column to your right, so, I'm going to be lazy.) To him, I can say but one thing for getting me hooked on this legalized crack. KHHHHHHAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNN!!!
So I'll be moving, downsizing actually. I'm not thrilled with the ideas, but I'm short on time and choices, so I'm handling my biz. The icing on the cake is that I lost my wallet Friday night. Fortunately, I rarely keep money in it, so I had my trusty $5 in the zippered portion of my purse. I guess that's good. Of course, now I need to get a new driver's license, wait for my new bank and credit cards to come and put out an alert on my license and credit card. This sucks ASS. Last year this time, I was the shuttle bus headed to my cruise. Happy 31st Birthday? (Well, not yet, next Saturday is actually the day.)
I have decided that next year, I am going on an adventure? Have I blogged about this already? Well, I had tentative plans to go on an exciting vacation this summer, but those plans fell through. SOOOOOOO, next year, I'm planning an excursion of my own. I've always wanted to see Venice.
I've come to terms with happily ever after not being for me, and the whole "domestic" thing really not fitting into the lifestyle of this Maverick, so, fuck it. I've finally got it in my mind that obsessing over a person who couldn't give so much as a fart bubble about me is a fairly stupid and pathetic way to live ones life. Frankly, I was doing just fine before his bullshit.
There. I said it.
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