Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Friday, December 23, 2011
I'm finally writing a blog post, like to read it? Here it go...
Happy Holidays, Happy New Year and all that jazz.... I can't believe it's been two months since I've written a blog post... I had so many thoughts that I started and just didn't post.... Like I planned to write about Heavy D's death went down in my workplace, and it was pretty much similar to how my coworkers have responded to other black deaths.... But I didn't write it up, and now it's old news, shame on me .... I'm having a good Christmas this year, and it'll be fantastic if I could get through this family meal that I'm sort of dreading at the moment .... I'm desperate to see Girl With the Dragon Tattoo and The Artist, but something tells me I'll have to wait for one of those bad boys to come out on dvd .... Aside from a few tragedies, I'd say 2011 has turned out better for me than 2010..... And even though the world is supposed to end, I'm looking forward to 2012
Thursday, April 28, 2011
4 o’clock in the morning, where you gonna be?
I know where I’ll be.
Awake, but still in my pj’s, scarf and glasses, with my eyes glued to the screen. Yep, I’m going to watch THAT WEDDNG, a portion of it anyway. My first alarm clock is usually set for 4:30 a.m. for the gym, so I figured there was nothing wrong with getting up a half hour earlier so I can watch Billy and Kate walk down the aisle. But since I have to be at my spin class by 6:15 (coverage starts at 4, wedding starts at 6), I’ll likely only see images of Matt, Meredith, Al and Ann prancing around London in their weddng finery.
Why would I subject myself to this, you may ask? Why am I attending a wedding with bleary eyes and morning breath? One reason is simple. THE DRESS. I.want.to.see.the.dress!!!! And the other is because I’m intrigued by the drama of it all. Diana’s first born is marrying a commoner, and that means the royals are going to have to endure a variety of things, like Kate’s sister who wants to hang disco balls at the ceremony, her drug dealing uncle who is going to the wedding and her exotic dancing second cousin who is not. How will The Queen hande this madness?
Like Her Majesty, I’ve been subjected to joinings of Royals and Commoners. When Cousin Tina married Tyrone From Down Da Street, I was front and center. I wish I had popcorn for a variety of scenes, like when the caterer (his sister) got drunk and peed herself, or when his dad demonstrated how he could carry on long conversations with a mouth full of chicken. When Second Cousin Annettte married Yo, Yo, Yo, James In The House!, I was there. How was I to know that the dance floor would become a battleground for his sisters who wanted to do the electric slide vs his cousins who wanted to do the booty call, all while Frankie Beverly sang ‘Before I Let You Go’? But I was grateful to be there, with my camera in tow. If these heffas ever make me mad, I shall post this evidence right on Facebook and I will tag EVERYBODY.
So as you can see, this royal wedding has potential to be a royal mess. Unfortunately, us viewers won’t be able to see how the blue bloods handle it when Kate’s crew starts droppin it like it’s hot. But we can only imagine. And boy, will I imagine.
Why would I subject myself to this, you may ask? Why am I attending a wedding with bleary eyes and morning breath? One reason is simple. THE DRESS. I.want.to.see.the.dress!!!! And the other is because I’m intrigued by the drama of it all. Diana’s first born is marrying a commoner, and that means the royals are going to have to endure a variety of things, like Kate’s sister who wants to hang disco balls at the ceremony, her drug dealing uncle who is going to the wedding and her exotic dancing second cousin who is not. How will The Queen hande this madness?
Like Her Majesty, I’ve been subjected to joinings of Royals and Commoners. When Cousin Tina married Tyrone From Down Da Street, I was front and center. I wish I had popcorn for a variety of scenes, like when the caterer (his sister) got drunk and peed herself, or when his dad demonstrated how he could carry on long conversations with a mouth full of chicken. When Second Cousin Annettte married Yo, Yo, Yo, James In The House!, I was there. How was I to know that the dance floor would become a battleground for his sisters who wanted to do the electric slide vs his cousins who wanted to do the booty call, all while Frankie Beverly sang ‘Before I Let You Go’? But I was grateful to be there, with my camera in tow. If these heffas ever make me mad, I shall post this evidence right on Facebook and I will tag EVERYBODY.
So as you can see, this royal wedding has potential to be a royal mess. Unfortunately, us viewers won’t be able to see how the blue bloods handle it when Kate’s crew starts droppin it like it’s hot. But we can only imagine. And boy, will I imagine.
Photo from
http://www.royalweddinglive.com/wp-content/uploads/prince-william-and-kate-middleton-pic-reuters-134052115.jpg
Friday, January 21, 2011
Don't Ask My Neighbor
I was going to the gym in the cover of darkness when I hear this whisper, “Strength, can I talk to you for a minute?” It was my buddy Jen, my exercise partner in crime. We talk all the time, but this time I was concerned about the cryptic nature of our conversation. Did she want to sell me drugs? If so, was she giving me a good deal? But then she pulled me aside and asked me if I was seeing anyone. Then she told me that someone at the gym is interested in me.
And this where I get into what is becoming a pet peeve of mine. If you are interested in me, could you let me know? Don’t leave notes on my desk and don’t send a third party. That was good and fine in high school, but that is a time I put behind me long ago. When I’m approached this way it makes me uncomfortable for a number of reasons, including the fact that I now have this third party involved in aspects of my life that I’d rather not put him/her.
At first, I thought Jen was sent just to test the waters, to see if I was in a relationship, and then this guy would approach me himself. But no. Jen identifed the guy to me, then asked for my number to pass it to him. Odd. And the guy in question is someone I’ve seen quite often at the gym and we’ve had several face to face conversations, so he is not a complete stranger. But no, I’m not interested. So now I have to find a polite way to tell Jen that I’m in a deep sleep having my little dreams, this guy's face is not the one that hovers above me even in my most absurd fantasies. And trust, dude is MUCH too old to be playing the he say/she say phone number game. The fact that he reminds me of my uncle doesn't help, especially since there's a possibility that he could even be a distant relative. I hemmed and I hawed, then I just told Jen something about how I'm just taking a break from men and therefore I'm not going to give him my phone number.
She said she understood and planned to pass that message on to him. And who do I see as I'm leaving the gym? Dude. We spoke and that was it. I told some folks about the situation and they said dude did that because I'm intimidating. Seriously? Interesting. Anyway, it made me think of this old school song. I hope you enjoy it!
And this where I get into what is becoming a pet peeve of mine. If you are interested in me, could you let me know? Don’t leave notes on my desk and don’t send a third party. That was good and fine in high school, but that is a time I put behind me long ago. When I’m approached this way it makes me uncomfortable for a number of reasons, including the fact that I now have this third party involved in aspects of my life that I’d rather not put him/her.
At first, I thought Jen was sent just to test the waters, to see if I was in a relationship, and then this guy would approach me himself. But no. Jen identifed the guy to me, then asked for my number to pass it to him. Odd. And the guy in question is someone I’ve seen quite often at the gym and we’ve had several face to face conversations, so he is not a complete stranger. But no, I’m not interested. So now I have to find a polite way to tell Jen that I’m in a deep sleep having my little dreams, this guy's face is not the one that hovers above me even in my most absurd fantasies. And trust, dude is MUCH too old to be playing the he say/she say phone number game. The fact that he reminds me of my uncle doesn't help, especially since there's a possibility that he could even be a distant relative. I hemmed and I hawed, then I just told Jen something about how I'm just taking a break from men and therefore I'm not going to give him my phone number.
She said she understood and planned to pass that message on to him. And who do I see as I'm leaving the gym? Dude. We spoke and that was it. I told some folks about the situation and they said dude did that because I'm intimidating. Seriously? Interesting. Anyway, it made me think of this old school song. I hope you enjoy it!
Thursday, November 11, 2010
For Colored Girls Who Considered Janet's Cough When The Credits Started To Roll
I mentioned previously that I saw For Colored Girls. And rather than join into the neverending debate about all things Tyler Perry, I thought I’d talk about one of the parts that stuck with me. Janet Jackson plays a woman with a … dare I say it??? ….. FOINE as all get out husband. Her character is a cold, wealthy careerwoman. Her husband also has a successful career, but it pales in comparison to the prestige and money of his wife’s. Oh, and by the way, her husband is on the Down Low, or gay, has sex with men, etc. This is later addressed by a cough, a low point in the movie.
The scenario had me thinking back to the past. There was a dude I was once involved in that I believe si gay. When our paths first crossed, we were volunteering for a similar organization. My immediate thoughts of him were -- “He’s cute. It’s a shame he’s gay.” I don’t know what it was … maybe the vibe he emitted or the slightly high tilt in his voice …. But something knocked at my conscience’s door. I didn’t listen.
Fast forward some time and that initial thought was erased. He asked me out, and I was on the moon. He held my hand and I had to tame my heartbeat. He kissed me and I danced a jig. (I did it later and privately, of course) Then he kissed me again. And again. And again. And again. And soon, I began to think: Well hell, is kissing all we’re gonna do?
I addressed all of this with him, and he said he was just waiting for the right time. He wanted things to happen naturally. I said I understood, but still I wondered. What’s more natural than the fact that I’ve slept beside you? But whatever, I put it out of my mind. For awhile, it was nice to be with someone who only wanted one thing. My nose was wide open. He could do no wrong.
We went out pretty regularly – dinners, plays, outdoor festivals, etc. There was a time I was at his parents’ house for a cookout and his childhood friend, D, showed up. I was eager to meet D, because I heard so much about him. But when dude introudced me to D, he did so rather reluctantly. I remember thinking – “awww, that’s sweet, he doesn’t want D to interrupt our time together.” Looking back, I think I may have been the interrupter.
Things ended and I was pretty broken up about it. But I moved on, cause ain’t nobody gonna walk away with all my stuff. (Again, a For Colored Girls reference) Once, after he became a distant memory, I had lunch with a friend who started a new job, the same place Dude worked. Without knowing much of our history, she told me she suspected he was gay. I changed the subject.
After I saw For Colored Girls, I wondered about Dude. I wondered if everything was alright in his world, and if he had gotten comfortable enough to live his life as a gay man. I found him online, and saw that he is still identifying himself as a heterosexual. Well, maybe he is. But the truth is for him to know, and for some other woman to find out.
The scenario had me thinking back to the past. There was a dude I was once involved in that I believe si gay. When our paths first crossed, we were volunteering for a similar organization. My immediate thoughts of him were -- “He’s cute. It’s a shame he’s gay.” I don’t know what it was … maybe the vibe he emitted or the slightly high tilt in his voice …. But something knocked at my conscience’s door. I didn’t listen.
Fast forward some time and that initial thought was erased. He asked me out, and I was on the moon. He held my hand and I had to tame my heartbeat. He kissed me and I danced a jig. (I did it later and privately, of course) Then he kissed me again. And again. And again. And again. And soon, I began to think: Well hell, is kissing all we’re gonna do?
I addressed all of this with him, and he said he was just waiting for the right time. He wanted things to happen naturally. I said I understood, but still I wondered. What’s more natural than the fact that I’ve slept beside you? But whatever, I put it out of my mind. For awhile, it was nice to be with someone who only wanted one thing. My nose was wide open. He could do no wrong.
We went out pretty regularly – dinners, plays, outdoor festivals, etc. There was a time I was at his parents’ house for a cookout and his childhood friend, D, showed up. I was eager to meet D, because I heard so much about him. But when dude introudced me to D, he did so rather reluctantly. I remember thinking – “awww, that’s sweet, he doesn’t want D to interrupt our time together.” Looking back, I think I may have been the interrupter.
Things ended and I was pretty broken up about it. But I moved on, cause ain’t nobody gonna walk away with all my stuff. (Again, a For Colored Girls reference) Once, after he became a distant memory, I had lunch with a friend who started a new job, the same place Dude worked. Without knowing much of our history, she told me she suspected he was gay. I changed the subject.
After I saw For Colored Girls, I wondered about Dude. I wondered if everything was alright in his world, and if he had gotten comfortable enough to live his life as a gay man. I found him online, and saw that he is still identifying himself as a heterosexual. Well, maybe he is. But the truth is for him to know, and for some other woman to find out.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
MatchMaking
I mentioned here previously that I’m trying to sprinkle some love dust between my cousin and a girl in my spin class. This is an idea that came to me gradually. The girl – I’ll call her L, since I can’t pronounce her name – is someone I see every Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings when we hop on bikes and pedal our woes away. We talk a bit -- we went to the same college as me, much later than I did -- and she’s genuinely cool people. She’s pretty too. She’s the type of girl that makes you say “Awwww, she’s sweet.” She told me previously that she’s 23, and I tried to think of other people that I know in her age range. My cousin V was the only person I could think of, even though he’s about three years older. Then it hit me. These two would look cute together!
I got to see Cousin V briefly a few weeks ago under sad circumstances. He is in the Peace Corps and has been in Africa for a couple of years. He’ll be done his time there this fall, but came home briefly because his father is seriously ill. Despite the sad circumstances, it was good to see him again. He picked up an accent and had started wearing the local garb. So me, being the adoring older cousin that I am, I called him Toby and asked him why he was wearing a dress. It was all in love though, and it was amazing to see that the little boy who once followed me EVERYWHERE (seriously, ya’ll … for many years, he thought I was his sister) is now a man. I kept my cool as he drank beer after beer. I didn’t say anything when he lit a cigarrette. I didn’t flip out when he cursed. After all, we’re both adults. I have to get used to seeing him as my contemporary. (insider)
It won’t be long before he comes home for good, and then I can set my plan into motion. In the meantime, I will continue to exercise with ol’ girl and learn all I can. I already know what I’ll say to him: “Cousin V, have I got the girl for you! She’s smart, beautiful, sweet and athletic – everything you’re looking for!” But what in the world would I say to her? “Umm, hey L. I was wondering if you had a thing for borderline alcoholics? How ‘bout crossdressers? ‘Cuz I have the man for you!” Sigh. I guess I’ll give him a while to get himself together before I start pulling my puppet strings.
I got to see Cousin V briefly a few weeks ago under sad circumstances. He is in the Peace Corps and has been in Africa for a couple of years. He’ll be done his time there this fall, but came home briefly because his father is seriously ill. Despite the sad circumstances, it was good to see him again. He picked up an accent and had started wearing the local garb. So me, being the adoring older cousin that I am, I called him Toby and asked him why he was wearing a dress. It was all in love though, and it was amazing to see that the little boy who once followed me EVERYWHERE (seriously, ya’ll … for many years, he thought I was his sister) is now a man. I kept my cool as he drank beer after beer. I didn’t say anything when he lit a cigarrette. I didn’t flip out when he cursed. After all, we’re both adults. I have to get used to seeing him as my contemporary. (insider)
It won’t be long before he comes home for good, and then I can set my plan into motion. In the meantime, I will continue to exercise with ol’ girl and learn all I can. I already know what I’ll say to him: “Cousin V, have I got the girl for you! She’s smart, beautiful, sweet and athletic – everything you’re looking for!” But what in the world would I say to her? “Umm, hey L. I was wondering if you had a thing for borderline alcoholics? How ‘bout crossdressers? ‘Cuz I have the man for you!” Sigh. I guess I’ll give him a while to get himself together before I start pulling my puppet strings.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
On being catty. With some Method Man mixed in
There is nothing worse than a catty woman. I try my darndest not to be catty, and not to be bitter, to just live and let live. But if I were to be catty, I might mention a few things like:
-How I ran into my ex at the store the other day, and got my first closeup view of him and his homely wife
-After all I've heard about her, I thought that she'd at least be beautiful on the outside. But hey, she is not.
-How he and I nodded a hello, but he was breaking his neck trying to look at me
-How I couldn't help but feel like I was living that infamous Old Spice commercial: "Look at your wife, now look at me. Look at your wife, now look at me. Now, she is NOT me."
-How I looked at myself in the mirror the next morning and shouted "She's ugly!!!" and then laughed and danced my way through the rest of the day
-How I got a text from him and I thought about all the ways I could blow up his spot, but instead I just blocked his number
-How I thought about his new found girth as I weighed myself at the gym, and realized that I am just four pounds away from my goal
I'd say all those things, if I were a catty broad. Thank goodness I'm not.
Now, about Method Man. He is on my LIST. He's that guy that could point to me in a crowd, shout "COME HERE!" and I would go running. Of course, if he yelled something ignant, like "YO BITCH COME HERE!", I would roll my eyes. Yeah, I'd still run to him, but not real fast. (jokes) I used to love this song back in the day and they played it on the radio recently, so I thought I'd share here. Enjoy!
-How I ran into my ex at the store the other day, and got my first closeup view of him and his homely wife
-After all I've heard about her, I thought that she'd at least be beautiful on the outside. But hey, she is not.
-How he and I nodded a hello, but he was breaking his neck trying to look at me
-How I couldn't help but feel like I was living that infamous Old Spice commercial: "Look at your wife, now look at me. Look at your wife, now look at me. Now, she is NOT me."
-How I looked at myself in the mirror the next morning and shouted "She's ugly!!!" and then laughed and danced my way through the rest of the day
-How I got a text from him and I thought about all the ways I could blow up his spot, but instead I just blocked his number
-How I thought about his new found girth as I weighed myself at the gym, and realized that I am just four pounds away from my goal
I'd say all those things, if I were a catty broad. Thank goodness I'm not.
Now, about Method Man. He is on my LIST. He's that guy that could point to me in a crowd, shout "COME HERE!" and I would go running. Of course, if he yelled something ignant, like "YO BITCH COME HERE!", I would roll my eyes. Yeah, I'd still run to him, but not real fast. (jokes) I used to love this song back in the day and they played it on the radio recently, so I thought I'd share here. Enjoy!
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
Choosing A Road of Passion & Pain (with apologies to Lauryn Hill)
We talk about a lot of interesting things at my job, and most recently the topic turned to passion marks. If I recall correctly, we were talking about the Twilight craze and how there were kids being faux vampires who ran around biting each other to show their love. Kids these days don’t even know how to give a proper passion mark.
Back in the day, I was quite naïve, if you could believe that. I once thought a hickey was a bruise you got after hitting your head really hard. So that caused some confusion when a classmate tried to describe a ‘Who’s The Boss’ episode to me, the one where Samantha’s boyfriend gives her a hickey. I just couldn’t understand why Sam’s boyfriend wanted to beat her up. He seemed like such a nice guy. Duh.
Fast forward a few years and hickeys/passion marks were still a mystery. I’d gotten a few, but I still hadn’t gotten the logistics down of how to give them. I have fond memories of when I first met mother’s boyfriend, now husband, and he ratted on me for having a hickey. (Why does no one ever believe that it’s a bug bite??) Then there was my job at the bagel shop. I was talking to a coworker when a customer loudly referred to “that big ass hickey on her neck” in front of a line filled with customers. Fun times.
The first and only hickey I gave was to an old boyfriend. We were both teenagers, so it took a bit of strategic planning to get us to spend the weekend together, but it was accomplished. I was determined to leave my mark and I guess I did, in the tackiest way possible. That hickey was so huge, it was nasty. It looked like someone beat him in the neck repeatedly with a baseball bat. For weeks, folks were either teasing him about it, or asking if he’d been in a fight.
From then on, I decided to use my mouth for good and not evil.
Monday, August 02, 2010
The Post-Vacay Spin (*"Have a great day everybody. Be the sunshine. Not a cloud.")
1. I just got back from a fabulous three-day trip to the beach
2. It was good lounging with friends and meeting new people
3. The food was also great, forcing me to cheat on my vow of No Sweets Until Aug. 16
4. But I only had one slice of apple pie, so if I can get through the rest of this month with no other desserts, I'll consider that an accomplishment!
5. I'll soon post pictures of the vacation, I promise
6. Yet now I'm busy getting out of vacation mode, which means I have to work on my thesis (UGH) and clean this messy apartment (UGH UGH!)
7. In the meantime, I made an offer on a condo a few days ago. Still waiting on an answer. Sigh.
Have a great week everyone!
(*Tweet from Terry McMillan, 11:51 a.m. July 27)
2. It was good lounging with friends and meeting new people
3. The food was also great, forcing me to cheat on my vow of No Sweets Until Aug. 16
4. But I only had one slice of apple pie, so if I can get through the rest of this month with no other desserts, I'll consider that an accomplishment!
5. I'll soon post pictures of the vacation, I promise
6. Yet now I'm busy getting out of vacation mode, which means I have to work on my thesis (UGH) and clean this messy apartment (UGH UGH!)
7. In the meantime, I made an offer on a condo a few days ago. Still waiting on an answer. Sigh.
Have a great week everyone!
(*Tweet from Terry McMillan, 11:51 a.m. July 27)
Friday, June 11, 2010
A Moment of Poetry
As much as I love Alice Walker, I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't learn about this poem until today, when someone quoted lines from it on Twitter. I thought it was beautiful, so I thought I'd share. Enjoy!
Never Offer Your Heart to Someone Who Eats Hearts
by Alice Walker
Never offer your heart
to someone who eats hearts
who finds heartmeat
delicious
but not rare
who sucks the juices
drop by drop
and bloody-chinned
grins
like a God.
Never offer your heart
to a heart gravy lover.
Your stewed, overseasoned
heart consumed
he will sop up your grief
with bread
and send it shuttling
from side to side
in his mouth
like bubblegum.
If you find yourself
in love
with a person
who eats hearts
these things
you must do.
Freeze your heart
immediately.
Let him—next time
he examines your chest—
find your heart cold
flinty and unappetizing.
Refrain from kissing
lest he in revenge
dampen the spark
in your soul.
Now,
sail away to Africa
where holy women
await you
on the shore—
long having practiced the art
of replacing hearts
with God and Song.
(Poem copied via http://people.tribe.net/artemisss/blog/39343320-b036-486c-abdf-293ff2f5a135 )
Never Offer Your Heart to Someone Who Eats Hearts
by Alice Walker
Never offer your heart
to someone who eats hearts
who finds heartmeat
delicious
but not rare
who sucks the juices
drop by drop
and bloody-chinned
grins
like a God.
Never offer your heart
to a heart gravy lover.
Your stewed, overseasoned
heart consumed
he will sop up your grief
with bread
and send it shuttling
from side to side
in his mouth
like bubblegum.
If you find yourself
in love
with a person
who eats hearts
these things
you must do.
Freeze your heart
immediately.
Let him—next time
he examines your chest—
find your heart cold
flinty and unappetizing.
Refrain from kissing
lest he in revenge
dampen the spark
in your soul.
Now,
sail away to Africa
where holy women
await you
on the shore—
long having practiced the art
of replacing hearts
with God and Song.
(Poem copied via http://people.tribe.net/artemisss/blog/39343320-b036-486c-abdf-293ff2f5a135 )
Wednesday, April 07, 2010
Hard Dick vs Soft Bubblegum (Is There Really Any Choice?)
The oversharing award of the week goes to my baby cousin, who kept us all on the edge of our seats as to whether or not she would be staying with her children’s father. (They have three kids, ages 3,2, and 1) She announced that if he wasn’t trying to put a ring on it by the end of the week, she’d be gone. And lo and behold, I open facebook one day to learn that she is single. That was followed up with a status message that said something like “After eight years, I’m tired of a life of hard dick & bubblegum. I need a real man to take care of me and my kids.”
After reading this update, it was clear to me that I needed to provide some guidance to my relative. Clearly, the girl needed me. So I promptly sent her my comment: “Never underestimate the power of good bubblegum.”
Now, you may think it’s amusing, but there is power in those little sticks. I mean, at least they're long lasting. Whenever there was hardship in my life, I turned to gum. Maybe it’s for the simple fact that growing up, my mother was strict and refused to give me any candy. And maybe it’s for the fact that the Neighborhood Candy Lady knew my mother’s rules and did everything she could to corrupt me. Or maybe it’s for the simple fact that I have little self control over some things. Here are a few examples:
*Bubblicious: Yeah, this is an old school treat, but it hits the spot. I was going to a brutal personal trainer sometime in 2003-2004. He developed this great workout plan for me, one that required my meals to consist of nothing more than four smoked turkey slices for breakfast, fat free yogurt for a snack, salad of nothing more than letttuce and tomatoes for lunch, and dinner of chicken and green beans. Eventually, I learned that some people were given treats in their meals, like oatmeal! And apples! I became so angry that I would sit in a little corner and chew my sorrows away on Bubblicious. God help anyone who asked me for a piece.
*Orbitz, Trident: Ever worked at a job that wreaked of misery, but your coworkers were pretty darn cool? That was me a few years ago…. And who am I kidding? It’s me now. The most exciting part of my job was the constant moving around – from a quaint house that once was a children’s store to a small office that shared a wall with a tutoring center and finally to a massive corporate building that had a convenience store attached. We went to the convenience store several times a day, and our prized possessions were gum. Rumors of a hostile takeover? Orbitz! A supervisor quit? Trident! Your project is being dismantled? Dentyne! Someone else is sleeping with a boss and getting promoted? Dentyne on Ice!
These days, my go-to gum has been Stride. It comes with quite a zingy scent that fills up my purse whenever I open it. Here’s how the gum helps me these days:
*Trey Songz: Ever heard him sing ‘You Belong To Me’, ‘I Invented Sex’ or my personal life story ‘Neighbors Know My Name’? Ummm …. Yeah. Ever seen the videos? Schwooo. Do I even need to explain? Everytime he comes on, I turn the station and pop two pieces of orange flavored Stride.
*My Neighbors: Yes, Trey Songz wrote a song about me. I am the neighbor forced to listen to the people above me get down and dirty whenever the moment strikes them. Yes, I know his name. It's actually Mike. Not Ohhh!!! Or Ohhhhhh God!!!, which I thought it was before. Three slices of the red Stride, please. And hurry.
*The Tudors: Jonathan Rhys Meyers wearing next to nothing, speaking old English and screwing any female that moves? Time to cancel HBO and indulge in five packs of the peppermint flavor.
You see? Choosing a life of bubblegum is not that difficult. Unfortunately, Baby Cuz wasn’t interested in my lifestyle choices. She and ole boy are back together again. Next time I see her, she better not even think of asking me for any gum.
After reading this update, it was clear to me that I needed to provide some guidance to my relative. Clearly, the girl needed me. So I promptly sent her my comment: “Never underestimate the power of good bubblegum.”
Now, you may think it’s amusing, but there is power in those little sticks. I mean, at least they're long lasting. Whenever there was hardship in my life, I turned to gum. Maybe it’s for the simple fact that growing up, my mother was strict and refused to give me any candy. And maybe it’s for the fact that the Neighborhood Candy Lady knew my mother’s rules and did everything she could to corrupt me. Or maybe it’s for the simple fact that I have little self control over some things. Here are a few examples:
*Bubblicious: Yeah, this is an old school treat, but it hits the spot. I was going to a brutal personal trainer sometime in 2003-2004. He developed this great workout plan for me, one that required my meals to consist of nothing more than four smoked turkey slices for breakfast, fat free yogurt for a snack, salad of nothing more than letttuce and tomatoes for lunch, and dinner of chicken and green beans. Eventually, I learned that some people were given treats in their meals, like oatmeal! And apples! I became so angry that I would sit in a little corner and chew my sorrows away on Bubblicious. God help anyone who asked me for a piece.
*Orbitz, Trident: Ever worked at a job that wreaked of misery, but your coworkers were pretty darn cool? That was me a few years ago…. And who am I kidding? It’s me now. The most exciting part of my job was the constant moving around – from a quaint house that once was a children’s store to a small office that shared a wall with a tutoring center and finally to a massive corporate building that had a convenience store attached. We went to the convenience store several times a day, and our prized possessions were gum. Rumors of a hostile takeover? Orbitz! A supervisor quit? Trident! Your project is being dismantled? Dentyne! Someone else is sleeping with a boss and getting promoted? Dentyne on Ice!
These days, my go-to gum has been Stride. It comes with quite a zingy scent that fills up my purse whenever I open it. Here’s how the gum helps me these days:
*Trey Songz: Ever heard him sing ‘You Belong To Me’, ‘I Invented Sex’ or my personal life story ‘Neighbors Know My Name’? Ummm …. Yeah. Ever seen the videos? Schwooo. Do I even need to explain? Everytime he comes on, I turn the station and pop two pieces of orange flavored Stride.
*My Neighbors: Yes, Trey Songz wrote a song about me. I am the neighbor forced to listen to the people above me get down and dirty whenever the moment strikes them. Yes, I know his name. It's actually Mike. Not Ohhh!!! Or Ohhhhhh God!!!, which I thought it was before. Three slices of the red Stride, please. And hurry.
*The Tudors: Jonathan Rhys Meyers wearing next to nothing, speaking old English and screwing any female that moves? Time to cancel HBO and indulge in five packs of the peppermint flavor.
You see? Choosing a life of bubblegum is not that difficult. Unfortunately, Baby Cuz wasn’t interested in my lifestyle choices. She and ole boy are back together again. Next time I see her, she better not even think of asking me for any gum.
(Photo from http://halfninja.files.wordpress.com/2007/06/stride.jpg)
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
The Facebook Fast
I am on the 22nd day of my self imposed Facebook fast. That means I have not been logging onto Facebook, at all. That’s right. My Lexulous games have fallen by the wayside. My status update is blank. Chatting has been unavailable. And I haven’t poked anyone in a very long time.
The reason for this change is that as lovely and wonderful as Facebook can be in the beginning, it can be a bit overwhelming. There was a time I was obsessed with it; I couldn’t start my day without logging in, checking folks’ status updates or updating my own. And the games, oh the games! Those were the best part. It was quite beautiful.
But as time went by, I realize that this website is nothing more than a 24-7 high school/family reunion. In the beginning, it seems like a good idea to invite everyone you’ve ever met to your space for a little get together. Yet it doesn’t take long to realize that might not have been a good idea. Do I really need to hear about High School Friend getting her tubes tied? Do I need to be tagged in photos of me playing in the sandbox with Mr. (Suspected) Serial Killer? Does dear Aunt Irene really want to know what Sex and the City character I am?
Yes, it can be that bad. I have just over 200 Facebook friends and quite a few of them are friends in Facebook only. Whenever someone sent me a friend request, I would accept if this was someone I knew. It got a bit dicey when people from high school, folks I didn’t particularly care for, sent me requests. I tried to move past being an immature teenager and holding on to grudges, so I’d accept the request and consider a new day. But the teenybopper inside me would rear her ugly head every so often, forcing me to examine their pages to make sure they were suffering for whatever wrong they may have inflicted on me back in the day.
On my friend list, there are a few types I’ve noticed:
The Oversharers: Status messages about their bathroom habits, arguments with significant others, etc. My particular favorite is an old supervisor who took a quiz that announced that she’d like to have sex at least three times a day and bragged about it in her status update. My brain will never recover from that image.
The Political Causer: I’m glad you feel some kind of way about Michael Vick, President Obama, Michael Jackson, health care reform, animal rights, abortion, etc etc etc, but please don’t try to pull me into your debates. In fact, your constant mentioning of your cause, or sending me invitations to your groups, is leading me closer and closer to eliminating you from my friends list. (See also News Analyst)
The reason for this change is that as lovely and wonderful as Facebook can be in the beginning, it can be a bit overwhelming. There was a time I was obsessed with it; I couldn’t start my day without logging in, checking folks’ status updates or updating my own. And the games, oh the games! Those were the best part. It was quite beautiful.
But as time went by, I realize that this website is nothing more than a 24-7 high school/family reunion. In the beginning, it seems like a good idea to invite everyone you’ve ever met to your space for a little get together. Yet it doesn’t take long to realize that might not have been a good idea. Do I really need to hear about High School Friend getting her tubes tied? Do I need to be tagged in photos of me playing in the sandbox with Mr. (Suspected) Serial Killer? Does dear Aunt Irene really want to know what Sex and the City character I am?
Yes, it can be that bad. I have just over 200 Facebook friends and quite a few of them are friends in Facebook only. Whenever someone sent me a friend request, I would accept if this was someone I knew. It got a bit dicey when people from high school, folks I didn’t particularly care for, sent me requests. I tried to move past being an immature teenager and holding on to grudges, so I’d accept the request and consider a new day. But the teenybopper inside me would rear her ugly head every so often, forcing me to examine their pages to make sure they were suffering for whatever wrong they may have inflicted on me back in the day.
On my friend list, there are a few types I’ve noticed:
The Oversharers: Status messages about their bathroom habits, arguments with significant others, etc. My particular favorite is an old supervisor who took a quiz that announced that she’d like to have sex at least three times a day and bragged about it in her status update. My brain will never recover from that image.
The Political Causer: I’m glad you feel some kind of way about Michael Vick, President Obama, Michael Jackson, health care reform, animal rights, abortion, etc etc etc, but please don’t try to pull me into your debates. In fact, your constant mentioning of your cause, or sending me invitations to your groups, is leading me closer and closer to eliminating you from my friends list. (See also News Analyst)
The News Analyst: I read a newspaper daily, but what’s missing from this consumption is your opinion on whatever article I read. Thanks for providing this missing link in my life! Double thanks for doing it 57485748573 times a day!
The Non Speller: I mentioned before that I can be quite anal about spelling and grammar. That being said, I’d be pretty embarrassed if I told everyone on my friend’s list that I was “trying to help my son deal with his great grandmother’s deaf.” Same thing if I realized “their aren't enough hours in the day.”
The Throwback: “Hi, Strength! Remember me? We were best friends in third grade! What have you been up to since then? Are you still collecting Garbage Pail Kids? I am!”
I could go on and on, but I’ll stop there. These are just a few of the problems I’ve run into with the infamous Facebook. My diet will end on August 27, at which time I’ll see what kind of tomfoolery I may have missed while I was gone. Probably nothing. And if I did miss anything, it is probably for the best.
I’m not saying my entire Facebook experience has been bad, it just can be a bit much. And what can you expect when you have a list that’s a mix of family, friends and past/current coworkers? Drama. From the outside looking in, I’ve seen relationships both start and end on this teeny little site. (At the risk of being even more longwinded, here's a funny video of the site's impact on relationships)
In the end, Facebook has left me with one important lesson: Sometimes, it’s okay to lose touch with folks.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
'Some days you’re the dog. Some days you’re the hydrant.'
I use the above phrase every now and again to deal with the times when I’m having a bad day. Which can happen to me every now and again. Hey, I’m only human.
A true testament of being the hydrant came this week. I should mention that the demographics have started to shift slightly in my department. These changes make me the only one in several categories, especially with the women. At 32, I’m the oldest. I’m the only sistah. And I learned recently that I’m the only one lacking something that every woman in their twenties and thirties tends to desire.
That’s right. I’m the only one without a ‘Dog.’
It was cool for awhile, being without a Dog. A coworker and I, Gabby, would go to the movies and for the occasional drink, while the rest of the chicks would be home tending to their Dogs. We’d laugh at them for their life choices. Surely they’d rather be with us, than with some mangy old beast that does nothing but eat, poop, and watch Sports Center. Surely they envied our independence, the fact that we could go out on a moment’s notice without worrying about what the Dog would eat for dinner or if it would be upset with us. We didn’t have to worry about phone calls in the middle of the day that documented whatever crisis the Dog may have gotten into. Gabby and I knew we had the upper hand. We chatted about Dogs a lot. We had our fair share and for a variety of reasons, we'd been solo for quite awhile.
Well, things started to change. Gabby started dressing nicer. She began laughing more. And her giggle, which is already a bit loud, got about five screeches higher. Then I learned through the rumor mill that it was true – dear Gabby had gotten a Dog. I congratulated her, then I thought about how the tide had shifted. All around me, there are women with Dogs. Some of the Dogs are good, some of the Dogs are bad. Some of the Dogs have officially been made members of the family, some of them (very few) have yet to make that step. Gabby is in the latter category, but things look promising.
There have been times when someone has asked me why I don’t have a Dog and I’ve been able to laugh it off. But with me now being the oldest woman – and the only one without a Dog – it’ll be interesting to see how I cope.
This week was a true testament to that. Another coworker – Phoebe – had a big announcement. Her Dog popped the question, so they are on their way to happyhood. I congratulated her, but I knew this would only be the beginning. I should mention that Phoebe is already unbearable on her birthday, running around every five minutes literally shouting “did you celebrate meeee today???”, so I knew she’d be particularly insane when it came to this. And I was right. She answered the phone several times to talk about how wonderful her dog was, her plans, etc etc. Between that and some other work challenges, I pulled a Ferris Bueller. I told them I wasn’t feeling well and I rushed to the mall and the movies. What’d I see? The Proposal! (But it was very funny, I might add)
I don’t like to compare my life to other women’s lives because that’s an impossible battle. I know we all have our personal struggles, whether our names be Michelle Obama, Oprah Winfrey, Florida Evans or Miranda Bailey. But dang it, I can covet with the best of em! There are times when I want nothing more than a good looking, fun loving Dog. One that won’t run away. One that won’t be impregnating all the other bitches in the neighborhood. One that will lick my face and nobody else’s. Then again, I wonder if I’m so set in my ways that a Dog wouldn’t fit well with my lifestyle. Another thought occurred to me recently: do I really want a Dog, or is it just that everyone’s pressuring me to get one? Deep thoughts.
Either way, I am genuinely happy for Gabby and Phoebe and I’ve told them so. I’ve even gotten used to Phoebe’s constant recounting of her popping the question story. I managed to give kind words with a smile. I can only hope I’ll be able to do the same the next time someone asks me when I’ll get a Dog.
A true testament of being the hydrant came this week. I should mention that the demographics have started to shift slightly in my department. These changes make me the only one in several categories, especially with the women. At 32, I’m the oldest. I’m the only sistah. And I learned recently that I’m the only one lacking something that every woman in their twenties and thirties tends to desire.
That’s right. I’m the only one without a ‘Dog.’
It was cool for awhile, being without a Dog. A coworker and I, Gabby, would go to the movies and for the occasional drink, while the rest of the chicks would be home tending to their Dogs. We’d laugh at them for their life choices. Surely they’d rather be with us, than with some mangy old beast that does nothing but eat, poop, and watch Sports Center. Surely they envied our independence, the fact that we could go out on a moment’s notice without worrying about what the Dog would eat for dinner or if it would be upset with us. We didn’t have to worry about phone calls in the middle of the day that documented whatever crisis the Dog may have gotten into. Gabby and I knew we had the upper hand. We chatted about Dogs a lot. We had our fair share and for a variety of reasons, we'd been solo for quite awhile.
Well, things started to change. Gabby started dressing nicer. She began laughing more. And her giggle, which is already a bit loud, got about five screeches higher. Then I learned through the rumor mill that it was true – dear Gabby had gotten a Dog. I congratulated her, then I thought about how the tide had shifted. All around me, there are women with Dogs. Some of the Dogs are good, some of the Dogs are bad. Some of the Dogs have officially been made members of the family, some of them (very few) have yet to make that step. Gabby is in the latter category, but things look promising.
There have been times when someone has asked me why I don’t have a Dog and I’ve been able to laugh it off. But with me now being the oldest woman – and the only one without a Dog – it’ll be interesting to see how I cope.
This week was a true testament to that. Another coworker – Phoebe – had a big announcement. Her Dog popped the question, so they are on their way to happyhood. I congratulated her, but I knew this would only be the beginning. I should mention that Phoebe is already unbearable on her birthday, running around every five minutes literally shouting “did you celebrate meeee today???”, so I knew she’d be particularly insane when it came to this. And I was right. She answered the phone several times to talk about how wonderful her dog was, her plans, etc etc. Between that and some other work challenges, I pulled a Ferris Bueller. I told them I wasn’t feeling well and I rushed to the mall and the movies. What’d I see? The Proposal! (But it was very funny, I might add)
I don’t like to compare my life to other women’s lives because that’s an impossible battle. I know we all have our personal struggles, whether our names be Michelle Obama, Oprah Winfrey, Florida Evans or Miranda Bailey. But dang it, I can covet with the best of em! There are times when I want nothing more than a good looking, fun loving Dog. One that won’t run away. One that won’t be impregnating all the other bitches in the neighborhood. One that will lick my face and nobody else’s. Then again, I wonder if I’m so set in my ways that a Dog wouldn’t fit well with my lifestyle. Another thought occurred to me recently: do I really want a Dog, or is it just that everyone’s pressuring me to get one? Deep thoughts.
Either way, I am genuinely happy for Gabby and Phoebe and I’ve told them so. I’ve even gotten used to Phoebe’s constant recounting of her popping the question story. I managed to give kind words with a smile. I can only hope I’ll be able to do the same the next time someone asks me when I’ll get a Dog.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Rest In Peace
Gone but not forgotten:
Ed McMahon
Farrah Fawcett
Michael Jackson
And my dad, who died 10 years ago today.
Ed McMahon
Farrah Fawcett
Michael Jackson
And my dad, who died 10 years ago today.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Back in the days when I was young I'm not a kid anymore, but somedays, I wish I was a kid again
Once my relatives started friending me on Facebook, I knew the inevitable would happen. I would somehow be reunited with HP -- the boy next door, my first boyfriend and the very first dude to break my heart.
Now, when I say first boyfriend, I mean FIRST first boyfriend. I'm talking about being 6 years old playing in the sandbox kind of first. As I look back now, it's clear he wasn't good for me. First of all, he was abusive. He always pulled my ponytails or asked me to get on the seasaw with him, only to run away and cause my butt to slam to the bottom. (Luckily, my older cousin was the biggest bully in the neighborhood and he put a stop to all of that.) He was also a clear commitment phobe. I mean, he never properly asked for my hand. The only thing that solidified our relatonship was that time I put my foot down and told him that he needed to give me a commitment or I was gone. The conversation went a bit like this ...
Me: Who's your girlfriend?
HP: Ummmm... you?
Me: Oh. Ok!
HP and I did have our good times. Our dates were spent either playing kickball at my grandma's house or at his grandparents' place, watching Fraggle Rock. We spent the best days of our relationship digging up earthworms and keeping them in jars, thinking of them as our pets. I was fascinated when HP showed me that I could cut a worm in half and it would keep moving in opposite directions. He'd even use those glass jars to capture bees or lightning bugs for me. Then he'd fill the jar with water and we'd watch them drown. He was so romantic.
This was not to say we didn't have our problems. We had severe ideological differences. He loved Hide N Go Seek, while I was more of a Freeze Tag kind of girl. I went to private school; he was public. By the time I got off the bus, he was already running around the neighborhood. By the time I did my homework and changed clothes, he was inside eating dinner. He soon got new friends -- older kids who actually enjoyed Hide N Go Seek -- and I also had a new crew that actually wanted to play Barbies with me. HP and I still had our rendezvous, but things were changing and we both knew it.
When I learned I'd be moving to another state, I was disappointed in HP's actions. He didn't jump in front of the moving van, stow away in my luggage or offer to let me live with his family. Nope, he just let me run off to parts unknown without a care in his cold heart. Grrr.
Over the years, my cousins kept me updated on HP's life -- his girlfriends, his marriage, his kid, his divorce, his other marriage, etc. I came upon his Facebook profile recently when he left a comment on my cousin's page. I must say, he doesn't look at all like I remember. I mean, he's got hair on his face and everything! Imagine that! I'll bet he's still a Hide N Seek aficionado.
Photo from http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/thumb_155/11815712275B8dG6.jpg
Sunday, February 15, 2009
!!!! Happy Valentine's Day!!!!!
I hope everyone enjoys their special day. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I LOVE THIS SONG!! I've seen the video 7458475487 times, but I finally found a version on youtube that I can post. It's not the best quality, though. I'm a bit disturbed that the singers never appear together, but whatever. It's still my jam!
Monday, December 15, 2008
And while we're on that subject ....
I think I'll link to the video of Maxwell's performance on BET. I am distressed that my man cut his hair, but whatever, I still love him. Check out the video here and see if you notice the other thing that pissed me off.
Did you figure it out? Well, I'll just divulge. !!!!!IS THAT A WEDDING BAND I SEE ON YOUR FINGER, MAX???!!!! What about us, huh? I thought we had something? And who is this heffa who seems to think she has the right to be your wife? I'm not above eliminating her from the equation. Hmph!!!
Did you figure it out? Well, I'll just divulge. !!!!!IS THAT A WEDDING BAND I SEE ON YOUR FINGER, MAX???!!!! What about us, huh? I thought we had something? And who is this heffa who seems to think she has the right to be your wife? I'm not above eliminating her from the equation. Hmph!!!
Sunday, December 14, 2008
The Return of Mighty Max
A few weeks ago, a friend came to me with the best proposition I could imagine. Would I like to go to the upcoming Maxwell concert? The answer was YES YES 1,000 times YES!! Ya'll know I love him, right? A few other friends had asked me to go to the concert in various cities. But by the time I was able to give a response, tickets were sold out. * Groan *
I was surprised at the invitation, given the fact that this is a friend (I’ve mentioned her before) who has caused me a great deal of stress in the past. In fact, she even caused me to form my own guerrilla squad. But whatever, let’s let bygones be bygones. This is Maxwell we’re talking about!
But Denise gives me the catch: She wants to buy the $150 tickets. Now, I love Maxwell, but I love groceries more. In fact, I love not being homeless more than I love Mighty Max. Clearly, friend and I have different economic goals. It would be different if these $150 tix came with a chance to see Maxwell backstage, an opportunity to touch his hand or even a small sliver of time where I could fit myself in the trunk of his limo. No, none of that.
I mentioned to Denise that this was a little on the pricey side and could she please consider the cheaper seats. After all, she is the divorced one with the two kids. Wouldn’t the money be better served elsewhere? She wouldn’t listen to reason. So I was forced to decline her invitation and she took one of her raggedy friends. (Yes, I was quite bitter)
I strolled into work the day after the concert, only to get a frantic call from Denise. Apparently, Mighty Max gave a lukewarm performance, certainly not $150 worth. I heard a similar report from another friend. I’m sad my man isn’t meeting folks’ expectations. Perhaps he’s saving all of his energy for a show that I can attend.
I was surprised at the invitation, given the fact that this is a friend (I’ve mentioned her before) who has caused me a great deal of stress in the past. In fact, she even caused me to form my own guerrilla squad. But whatever, let’s let bygones be bygones. This is Maxwell we’re talking about!
But Denise gives me the catch: She wants to buy the $150 tickets. Now, I love Maxwell, but I love groceries more. In fact, I love not being homeless more than I love Mighty Max. Clearly, friend and I have different economic goals. It would be different if these $150 tix came with a chance to see Maxwell backstage, an opportunity to touch his hand or even a small sliver of time where I could fit myself in the trunk of his limo. No, none of that.
I mentioned to Denise that this was a little on the pricey side and could she please consider the cheaper seats. After all, she is the divorced one with the two kids. Wouldn’t the money be better served elsewhere? She wouldn’t listen to reason. So I was forced to decline her invitation and she took one of her raggedy friends. (Yes, I was quite bitter)
I strolled into work the day after the concert, only to get a frantic call from Denise. Apparently, Mighty Max gave a lukewarm performance, certainly not $150 worth. I heard a similar report from another friend. I’m sad my man isn’t meeting folks’ expectations. Perhaps he’s saving all of his energy for a show that I can attend.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
What's Going On Pt II
· So, I think I have The Blues · Not the kind where everyone is like, ‘what’s wrong with you, what’s wrong with you?’ · No, more like the kind where everyone is like, ‘boy, you’ve been in such a good mood lately’ ‘you seem so upbeat’ · Well, folks, it’s all an act · I call this faking my way to a good day · If anyone could look inside my head, best believe they wouldn’t see the sunshine & cotton candy that they expect to find · No sir, they’ll find big, dark cumulus clouds, thunder, lightning and the bad witch from the Wizard of Oz · Ok, that’s quite an exaggeration, but I’m for real when I say I have The Blues ·
Clearly, the obvious question is, ‘why do you have The Blues, Strength?’ · Without putting all my business out there, I’ll just say that sometimes the obvious decisions are often the most difficult to make · I mean, I always knew 2 + 2 = 4 · But sometimes, I get it in my head that it could easily equal 5 or 6, or maybe even 11 · You’ll have to forgive me if this makes no sense · After all, I did tell you I have The Blues · I’m getting good at this swimming thing, btw · The class is mainly adults, with the exception of about three kids · One of the kids includes a mentally challenged boy who has been running around and wreaking havoc, but that’s another story · My swim teacher – ‘Charles’ -- has one leg, not that that has anything to do with anything · The fact that Charles is missing a limb doesn’t bother me in the slightest, but it’s all I can think about · Whenever people ask me how my lessons are going, I’ll say the same thing · ‘My teacher has one leg’ · Does that make me prejudiced? · Scratches head ·
I have this raging desire to do a bunch of art projects as an outlet for The Blues · Lately, collages have been my vice · Yet suddenly, I have a deep, intense, HUNGER to do some fingerpainting · I want to dip my hands deep into some paint, then flail them wildly across a white wall until I’m out of breath · Does that make me strange? · I must be sure to call my mother more often · Whenever I do call, she’s like ‘what’s wrong? what happened?’ · Apparently, I don’t call ‘just to say hi’ often enough · I’m obsessed with TLC, particularly What Not To Wear · For years, I’ve been fighting the fact that a friend needs a What Not To Wear intervention · Obviously, I wouldn’t embarrass her on TV in front of millions · But I’m not above holding her down while my hairstylist does her hair · Or shredding some of her clothes · Or applying some lipstick · Or oiling up the ashy spots · Sigh · I can be quite cruel when I want to be ·
I want to see Maxwell in the WORSE way · Tickets are sold out here, but I’m considering traveling to Idaho to see him perform · Seven has become my favorite number lately · What I mean, is that lately I’ve been grooving off of the seventh songs from my favorite CDs for The Blues · Mary J. Blige’s Real Love got me this · Heather Headley’s first CD gave me this · And the Waiting to Exhale soundtrack gave me this · Hey, I didn’t say they were happy songs · Each gave me what I wanted/needed at a given time ·
What I need right now is to stop reconsidering my decisions · Stand firm, woman · If That Man is elected, I’m moving to Canada · I’m rambling like an idiot · But I think that was the point of this post · I’ve become obsessed with Twitter · Which is yet another way of Big Brother to monitor us · Yet I can’t stop · Ok, signing off now · The Blues will be cured in no time · Out ·
Clearly, the obvious question is, ‘why do you have The Blues, Strength?’ · Without putting all my business out there, I’ll just say that sometimes the obvious decisions are often the most difficult to make · I mean, I always knew 2 + 2 = 4 · But sometimes, I get it in my head that it could easily equal 5 or 6, or maybe even 11 · You’ll have to forgive me if this makes no sense · After all, I did tell you I have The Blues · I’m getting good at this swimming thing, btw · The class is mainly adults, with the exception of about three kids · One of the kids includes a mentally challenged boy who has been running around and wreaking havoc, but that’s another story · My swim teacher – ‘Charles’ -- has one leg, not that that has anything to do with anything · The fact that Charles is missing a limb doesn’t bother me in the slightest, but it’s all I can think about · Whenever people ask me how my lessons are going, I’ll say the same thing · ‘My teacher has one leg’ · Does that make me prejudiced? · Scratches head ·
I have this raging desire to do a bunch of art projects as an outlet for The Blues · Lately, collages have been my vice · Yet suddenly, I have a deep, intense, HUNGER to do some fingerpainting · I want to dip my hands deep into some paint, then flail them wildly across a white wall until I’m out of breath · Does that make me strange? · I must be sure to call my mother more often · Whenever I do call, she’s like ‘what’s wrong? what happened?’ · Apparently, I don’t call ‘just to say hi’ often enough · I’m obsessed with TLC, particularly What Not To Wear · For years, I’ve been fighting the fact that a friend needs a What Not To Wear intervention · Obviously, I wouldn’t embarrass her on TV in front of millions · But I’m not above holding her down while my hairstylist does her hair · Or shredding some of her clothes · Or applying some lipstick · Or oiling up the ashy spots · Sigh · I can be quite cruel when I want to be ·
I want to see Maxwell in the WORSE way · Tickets are sold out here, but I’m considering traveling to Idaho to see him perform · Seven has become my favorite number lately · What I mean, is that lately I’ve been grooving off of the seventh songs from my favorite CDs for The Blues · Mary J. Blige’s Real Love got me this · Heather Headley’s first CD gave me this · And the Waiting to Exhale soundtrack gave me this · Hey, I didn’t say they were happy songs · Each gave me what I wanted/needed at a given time ·
What I need right now is to stop reconsidering my decisions · Stand firm, woman · If That Man is elected, I’m moving to Canada · I’m rambling like an idiot · But I think that was the point of this post · I’ve become obsessed with Twitter · Which is yet another way of Big Brother to monitor us · Yet I can’t stop · Ok, signing off now · The Blues will be cured in no time · Out ·
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Doing It, Doing It & Doing It .... Well (?)
Recently, I decided to be a man.
No, I didn’t start to pee standing up. I didn’t scratch myself in unsightly places, or make obnoxious bodily noises. But I did do the infamous Fade Away that they are so famous for.
Anyone familiar with the Fade Away? I’m sure you are. It refers to that period when a guy loses interest in the woman he’s seeing. Instead of calling things off with her, he does the Fade Away – stops calling, stops making plans, etc. His goal is to fade away from the females mind until she reaches the point where she wonders if he was ever there in the first place. I have yet to see this work, but you never know.
I instituted my own version of the Fade Away not too long ago. It caused me to delete a certain telephone number from my cell log and I’d avoid the phone altogether when that number appeared on my incoming call list. I ignored the emails and declined the facebook friend requests. This Fade Away thing was easy.
But then I got his email with the tragic news. A mutual friend had been killed in a motorcycle accident, so that was, in part what some of the phone calls were about. Of course, I called him and shared my condolences. The conversation eventually turned into things I wished I’d forgotten – how we once went on a double date with the accident victim & his wife, my sucky bowling scores, how much his mother likes me.
He ended our chat with a somber ‘keep in touch’, but he must’ve known that I wouldn’t. I hung up and tried my damndest not to remember the good ole days, not to get emotional. I failed. Sighness. I guess being a man is just as tough as being a woman. Perhaps this Fade Away thing isn’t such a good idea after all.
No, I didn’t start to pee standing up. I didn’t scratch myself in unsightly places, or make obnoxious bodily noises. But I did do the infamous Fade Away that they are so famous for.
Anyone familiar with the Fade Away? I’m sure you are. It refers to that period when a guy loses interest in the woman he’s seeing. Instead of calling things off with her, he does the Fade Away – stops calling, stops making plans, etc. His goal is to fade away from the females mind until she reaches the point where she wonders if he was ever there in the first place. I have yet to see this work, but you never know.
I instituted my own version of the Fade Away not too long ago. It caused me to delete a certain telephone number from my cell log and I’d avoid the phone altogether when that number appeared on my incoming call list. I ignored the emails and declined the facebook friend requests. This Fade Away thing was easy.
But then I got his email with the tragic news. A mutual friend had been killed in a motorcycle accident, so that was, in part what some of the phone calls were about. Of course, I called him and shared my condolences. The conversation eventually turned into things I wished I’d forgotten – how we once went on a double date with the accident victim & his wife, my sucky bowling scores, how much his mother likes me.
He ended our chat with a somber ‘keep in touch’, but he must’ve known that I wouldn’t. I hung up and tried my damndest not to remember the good ole days, not to get emotional. I failed. Sighness. I guess being a man is just as tough as being a woman. Perhaps this Fade Away thing isn’t such a good idea after all.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Today ....
I am pissed off. Frustrated. Annoyed. Aggravated. Sad. I'm trying so hard not to be bitter, but I am losing that battle. And today was definitely not a good day to listen to Phyllis Hyman on pandora.com, but I did it anyway.
Today ...
I wonder why I even bothered to do the "right" things in my life -- get a degree, good job, wait until I'm married to have kids -- while it seems like everyone who does the opposite gets everything I want.
I am tired of being described as "sweet" and "the girl next door", by men who are screwing the chick around the way, the one they don't even like, just because she's ready, willing and able.
I want the folks from Trojan, Durex, LifeStyles, etc. to do a national demonstration on how not to make a condom break. But would anyone show up?
I wish I could direct my anger at the right target.
I wish there was no such thing as too good to be true.
I wish I could say I never felt this bad before.
Tonight, I will ...
Sit around in my pajamas and use up every tissue packet in sight.
Watch Grey's online and lust after McSteamy. (McDreamy's played out).
Drown my sorrows in burnt popcorn and cherry flavored Kool-Aid.
Cheer on "Dexter" as he chops people into bits and tosses them into the ocean.
And tomorrow, I will put on my fake smile and go about my business. I know things will get better. They have to.
(Photo from http://erkansaka.net/blog/archive/Metallica-StAnger-thumb.jpg)
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