Pink Musings

The Oversharer

2012-02-05T13:26:00.005-05:00

I talk. A lot. About 80% of my day is spent talking. It's my job, and unless you can figure out a way for me to explain graduate programs through interpretive dance, I'll keep talking.

That being said, I'm not shy or reserved and I'm pretty open. To an extent. Gotta know when to throw the breaks on.

In the work environment, you are with these people for over 40 hours a week in most cases. You probably don't want to hate everyone, or else those could be over 40 miserable hours. People buddy up, cliques are formed and folks naturally gravitate to others. That's pretty normal.

So allow me to share with you some shit that's NOT normal -- The OVERSHARER. The oversharer is that outlier in the office. This person doesn't know people like that, but tries to create friendships by spilling all of their business.

I have been burdened with an oversharer. *sigh* When I come into the office, I speak to everyone I encounter because I'm simply not a jerk. I pass by the oversharer, and instead of her returning the salutation, its, "You have to hear about my date this weekend! Giiiiiiiiiiiiiirllllllllllllllllllllllll, you would not believe it!" Ummm, can I put my coat and purse down and get my morning java before I have to hear about someone knocking the dust off your nether regions?

Because of interactions like the above, my whole approach with this person is "Don't Ask, Don't Tell." If I don't ask her how her weekend was, she won't tell me, right? Wrong. Even saying a simple "Hello" to an oversharer is an invitation for them to lay out every damn detail of anything they decide to talk about. The conversation went something like this:

Me (walking fast past people's cubes to my cube): Hey ya'll! Good morning!
Her (running after me): Hey girl! Oooooh, I gotta tell you something!
Me (feeling defeated and thinking "FML": Oh. Ok.
Her (all excited and shit): So there's this new guy and I met him at whomp whomp whomp whomp
Me (I've stopped listening and am feigning a problem with my stapler, banging it around and such. Then, I feel bad for not listening, so I try to participate): Oh, but what happened to the old guy?
Her (really eager that I have asked her a question and allowed her to go on): Ok, so let me tell you whomp whomp whomp whomp
Me (Shit! I tuned out again. And if I don't stop banging the stapler, I won't have one. Move on to other office supplies with possible issues): Ummhmm, girl you have to do what you have to do. *turning over keyboard and banging* I can't stand a dirty keyboard. *bang bang bang* Oh ummm, it's time for me to get my coffee (relieved I found an excuse to escape).
Her: Are we going to Starbucks?!?
Me (SHIT! I really did want a soy caramel macchiato): No, I'm just going to the break room. Free coffee is good coffee. Catch you later.

A few consistent days of that, and you'll go crazy. Trust me.

I find myself going out my way to limit my interactions with the office oversharer, darting behind corners, putting headphones on if I know she is approaching, wearing sunglasses so she can't see me rolling my eyes at the things she says, etc.

The oversharer knows nothing about those around her. We do, however, know everything about her, right down to her weight, how much her triflin' ex husband is paying in alimony, and how this new guy of hers is about to make her feel good. And all this stemmed from a simple "Hello."

A few MORE reasons to remain childless right now . . .

2011-10-19T22:46:00.003-04:00

I don't get to listen to, read, or watch the news as much as I would like to. I catch major headlines and go about my day. Social media does help me to stay pretty well-informed though.

Anyway, the big news is about Amber Cole. Do you know who that is? She was the 14 year old girl who was videotaped at school giving oral sex to another student. Someone posted it all to the internet for all the world to see.

I have a few questions:

How the hell was she raised that she would do this in broad daylight?
Has she no sense?
Has she no friends?
Has she no parents?
Does she, somehow, think this mess is cute?
Who would record such a thing?
Why is no one angry with the boys involved?

So many questions swirl through my head. Knowing what I know about that generation, all I have to say is this: Ya'll nasty! All of you!

What were you doing at 14? Think back. I bet, even if you WERE sexually active, you weren't doing things in the open air for any and all to see. To be fair, Amber didn't know she was being recorded, but she WAS outside. In public.

I don't think kids today have any shame at all. Why else would this be done? In fact, through mentoring and my little brother, I have learned about some pretty insane things. Things I'd never do. Girls, at one time, would wear various colored bracelets to tell others what sexual acts they had done. Wait -- so not only are you going to do them, but the world needs to know?!? Right. Something that I'll never get is the whole "running a train" on a girl. So guys, you and your boys are just chillin' one evening and you decide to invite a girl over who obviously has been around the block more than a few times. She walks in. She sees a room full of men. At what point does she take leave of her senses and say, "I'm going to have sex with all of them." ?!? Come on now! And men, you're no better here! Sloppy seconds, thirds, fourths, etc. Ewwwww!

Anyone that behaves that way, I'd ask: Do you not have anything else to be proud of? Any other accomplishments in life? Surely your life has to amount to more than being deep-throated and deep-throating.

And this, folks, is why I don't know if kids would be the best idea for me. I'll be a crazy cat lady before I have a kid who is into all this. How do you prevent it? I mean, sure, you can do your best to raise kids with common sense and a sense of pride and discretion, but that's no guarantee. Some kind of way there is some little Filthy McNasty on your block who is more than happy to explain "The Birds and The Bees: The Uncut Edition." I don't even know that kid and I hate that kid already.

My reaction if an offspring of mine did any of this: Shame them. Ignore them. Don't look at them. Don't speak to them. Don't be in the same room as them. To begin the ignoring, I'd simply say, "I don't keep company with those that are publicly and proudly indiscriminant with the usage of their genitals." Hopefully the shame factor would kick in.

I'm not saying kids won't do things. I'm realistic. But when did doing them become such a badge (or bracelet) of honor? I don't want to lock my future offspring away and make them weird or anti-social, but damn! Finding the balance of exposure and innocence is really a parenting dilemma these days.

Green

2011-07-17T20:00:00.003-04:00

Happens to be a color I hate. On clothing, in design and on people. No, I won't freak out if you wear a kelly green fedora or have a chartreuse couch. That's your business.

But what IS my business is when I encounter green people. No, not aliens (though just as weird), but envious people.

I never thought I had a lot that anyone else couldn't get. I never tried to make things look inaccessible. In fact, I'll be honest, I've never thought twice about what I have and compared it to what you have. That's not really my style.

Jealousy always throws me way off, because I never identify a person's ill attitude and behavior as being that. I can come up with 1000 excuses as to why this person is a supreme asshole. I'll even resort to blaming myself for things. It always takes an outside source to say, "Hey, homegirl is jealous of you." And I'm always like, "Of me?!? For what? Does she know how hard I work? Am I making this look too easy?!? It's not!"

So there's a chick I work with. I don't like her. Anymore. At one time, I genuinely thought she was an ok person. Now, maybe she wasn't my cup of tea as far as outside of work friends go, but I would gladly have lunch with her during a typical work day.

Background: The past year has been a blessing for me. I have really become confident in myself and comfortable being me. I have a great boyfriend who loves and encourages me. I have found out who my true friends are and pulled them closer. I'm happy. Life is good. I was down in 2009. Since moving here, I've been picking myself back up, and it feels great.

Ok, so you got a little background. *eye roll* This skank has done everything to make my life hellish. Remember, I told you that she isn't quite my cup of tea, so I tend not to buddy up to her too much. My choice. But I am never rude. In fact, very nice. She has done nothing but try to embarrass me and take me down. WHY?!? I'll tell you why -- because she's green with envy.

The final straw was this incident here:

We have birthday celebrations once a month at work. Everyone who had a birthday that month gets their name on a cake. One day, I get an IM from Evileen (what we'll call her). She asks what kind of cake I want. I tell her anything but chocolate. The day comes to serve cake and celebrate. I decide to help cut and serve. I'm taking the lid off the grocery store cake and she says, "I hope it's not chocolate. The guy at the store told me it was vanilla." PAUSE - why do you have to HOPE it isn't chocolate? Anyway, so I proceed to cut the cake. GoddammmmmmmmitthecakeisCHOCOLATE! Like I said, this was the last straw. I wipe my name out of the icing, throw the spatula in someone's general direction and I storm out. I come back later to look at lid of the cake. Sure enough, it reads "Chocolate sheet cake w/white icing" So either she's illiterate or pitiful.

I just don't understand the motives or actions of a grown ass woman doing that to someone or what feelings she had to compel her to do that. Of course there isn't anything I can do back to her. I want to keep my job, and more importantly, I just don't care. My grandmother told me something one time that really dug itself up from the pit of my mind the day this occurred: The best revenge is living well. I'm happy. I should continue being that way. Sure, I could sit here and catalog all the reasons why Evileen sucks and it would make a hilarious list. But I won't. What I will do is hope that she finds peace within herself, the will to do better, and the good sense to leave me the hell alone.

"When I grow up and get married . . .

2011-03-09T23:03:00.006-05:00

I'm living ALONE!" -- Kevin, Home Alone

The kid was onto something . . .

I have been in love with someone other than myself (!!!). Its been good love. Its that, "I can be happy just knowing that you love me" kind of love. He says what I'm thinking. We love gelato. He helped me to make creme brulee. He kisses me in public. I always feel safe with him. I could marry him. We could set our toothbrushes side by side one day. I'll share closet space with him. I'd change my monogram for him. He's magnificent.

So why then, does the thought of living with another person scare the hell out of me?

As an only child, when I didn't want to be near someone, I retreated back to my abode. Whatever went on at the playground or school really didn't matter, because I could always look forward to the solitude of my own space.

I carried that into adulthood. I had roommates during college, because I was forced to. As soon as I got the chance to live on my own, I did! I really completely, totally enjoy being alone. As social as I am, I also really enjoy going places by myself. Anywhere but the movies.

So a few months ago, we examined why I shouldn't have kids. Now we'll look at why my marriage home should be for a party of one:

1. Shoes. Mine are everywhere. I get really offended when someone suggests they should be anywhere but scattered about. They serve as a defense against burglary. Someone breaking in would make all kinds of noise tripping on my shoes. You keep your ADT. I have stilettos, flats, boots, and flip flops.

2. I cook for me. If I go on some crazed healthy kick and decide to consume water and lettuce for dinner, its fine. Or if I decide a cup of ice cream is enough sustenance for the night, that's cool too. Living with another person might mean that my meal plans aren't ok and that I'd have to occasionally yield to theirs. Damn you and your nutrition!

3. I have to put up with their friends sitting on my furniture. I grew up in a house where it was NOT ok to sit on my mother's couch. This never seemed odd to me. What is odd is when some unknown flops their ass on MY sofa. I can just imagine my blood boiling as I saw someone throwing their sloppy cheeks upon my furniture and relaxing as if everything is cool. I'd probably immediately run to the kitchen and prepare a French Onion Dip with rat poison in it. Don't. Sit. On. My. Damned. Couch.

4. Laundry. I have a fear of doing anyone's laundry. I do my own and have been doing so since I was like 8. I have NEVER done anyone else's. That episode of Sex and the City -- YOU know the one -- is why I will never ever ever do anyone else's laundry. I don't think I can be anymore clear about this. Don't tell me it saves money. Don't tell me its convenient. No. No. Hell no. I'm not doing it!

5. I love routines. I have a very peculiar way of going about my day. I only seem to lack organization and to go about things haphazardly. It all really makes sense though. What won't make sense is if we throw someone else in the mix. My morning routine will be disturbed because someone else wants to shower. Even if I'm asleep while they do it, I still have to walk into a "used" bathroom. I really don't want to know that someone else is there. At all.

6. If I don't have to dress up, I look like hell. I'm wearing my retainer. My hair is tied up. I have on an outfit that shouldn't ever see the light of day. And I have copious amounts of Vaseline on my face because I have it in my mind that it wards off wrinkles. Sure, dude has seen me first thing in the AM, but then he can tell himself, "She'll shower and things will get better." With my "look", it doesn't really get better because it doesn't have to.

7. Talking. I don't like a lot of noise in my house. When I lost my voice once, I had no idea that it was gone until I got to work. Why? Because I don't talk in my house unless I'm on the phone. For the most part, it is dead silent except for the clicking of me typing. I don't expect that other people have taken this vow of silence when crossing my threshold, which is why i can't live with them.

8. Decorating. I don't care that wolves or unicorns are your favorite animal. I love squirrels, but unless I decorate with them without my living room looking like some nut-loving menagerie of bullshit, I'll pass. I like HGTV and get ideas from there. More people should. They have yet to come up with a "Southern Flea Market/The Last Shit Left Over At a Yard Sale" Chic look. Also, if something is ugly, its not going in my house. I don't care how old it is or which relative gave it to you, it will NOT be going in my house.

So you see, I have very little tolerance for anything and everything. I'm aware I'll need to work on some things. But he'll have to understand that not all of this goes away. For now, I'd tell him, "Watch out for the shoes, cook for yourself, manage your friends, do your own laundry, stay out of my way, I AM gorgeous, shut the hell up and get rid of all your stuff because mine is better." Ummm, yeah, so I have some things I'll be over here working on til then.

You Have Too Many Issues

2011-01-16T18:51:00.003-05:00

"You have too many issues." There, I said it. I feel better.

For years, I played the role of "supportive friend." You know, the character in the dark comedy about your life who is always there with tissues and a joke. But I don't want to be the comic foil anymore.

You see, when we're not starring in your movie with the tumultuous relationships and constant disappointment, I have my own movie. I'm quite the leading lady, you know. Compared to yours though, my movie is pretty mundane. It features me going to work, doing homework, spending time with my boyfriend and maintaining friendships. Not exactly worthy of the Oscar your life could earn.

Day in and day out, you have issues. Your job. Your friends. Your relationship. Anything is up for grabs. Well, did you ever stop to think that the rest of us have jobs, friends and relationships too? Do you always think they're running smoothly? They're not.

I've grown tired of hearing how life just sucks. Bring me something good occasionally. Stating a problem with no solution to follow it is called complaining.

I'm aware this seems less than supportive, but shouldn't support go both ways? I'm the crutch. You're the broken leg. Please stop leaning on me.

This isn't aimed at one particular person. Its more food for thought for anyone whose life seems like a downward spiral. Maybe this'll encourage you to have a more positive outlook or get it together otherwise. I'm just sayin' . . .

Dropping the Soap and Making It Rain: Prison > College

2010-11-07T10:26:00.003-05:00

This week, I think I experienced the biggest slap in the face. It wasn't even delivered by anyone I knew, loved, or really cared about. It was more than just a slap. It was a "bitch better have my money" backhand pimp slap.

Lil Wayne got released from jail. Fine. But the party planned for his home-coming will be nothing short of a monsoon on the Make-It-Rain-O-Meter.

Now I'm not hating or throwing salt, but I graduated from COLLEGE and didn't get a party that big! And its not even about the money. Its about someone being congratulated (me) and someone being treated like a damned Messiah for doing some wrong, ill, profane shit. I went to college because I was supposed to. It was to improve my life. Weezie went to jail because he was forced to. So I made a conscious decision to do something good for myself. He made the conscious decision to screw up. And he gets a party?

Typically, I don't give a damn what entertainers do in their every day lives. Honestly, I couldn't care less, normally. I figure their job is to entertain me, and all outside of that, I don't give a damn what goes on in their personal lives. Tabloids make no money from me. So what makes me care now? The fact that once a week, I'm hearing statistics about more black men being in jail than college. Now that hurts me to my core. I'll say it again a different way: College-age sistas, if you're looking for a man, skip Penn State and go to the State Pen. According to stats, that's where you'll find him.

I'm just so mad! Are we really a society that rewards the bullshittery and wrong-doing with parties? I don't believe anyone obtaining a degree should get a Weezie-like party. You should want to increase knowledge. Beyond a reception with family and friends, celebration is too much. Now, that being said, when I finish grad school, I'm sending myself somewhere for a week to decompress. But I will NOT have a blowout complete with ice, bling, stripper dust, obscene amounts of expensive liquor and booty-bass music.

Sadly, we live in a society where, in pop culture, my getting a Master's degree means so much less than Weezie going to and being released from prison. Makes you want to ask what the incentive is for going to college. I mean, obviously the rewards are so much greater if you go to prison. The party is bigger!

So here's how we stop the bullshit. Listen to me: Ladies, stop giving the goodies to deadbeats. Yup. Use sex as a weapon because it is powerful. Demand more of the men with whom you share your cookie. I bet you if we stop giving gratuitous amounts of ass to thugs, derelicts and knuckleheads and make it apparent that we prefer the man who loves his books more than guns and drugs, we'd see a change. Street cred =/= bed cred. Hell and no.

I know I'm not alone in my anger. I encourage all those that made the choice to be bound by books and not a cell to keep pressing on. One day, things will change and you will get all the respect you deserve. Until then, keep doing what you do.

Whipping My Hair

2010-10-22T08:33:00.004-04:00

I'm sorry I damn near caused an accident when Willow Smith's 'Whip My Hair' came on. In fact, every time it comes on, I'm a hair-whipping fool. You know what? I'm NOT really sorry. Let me tell you why.

This song inspires confidence. Yes, a 9 year old girl has taken the world by storm with this song. But I believe its much more than a song. Its about confidence and loving what one has. She says, "Don't matter if its long, short -- whip your hair!" That's powerful. Maybe I'm reading too much into it (and maybe I'm just intelligent enough to get the meaning), but I think Willow Smith is what we need. If I had a daughter, she and I would be fans of Willow together.

At a time where women have such a hard time standing tall and accepting who they are, I think its important to hear that its ok to be who you are -- whoever or whatever that is! The fact of the matter is that there are things that we don't like about ourselves. Everyone has at least one thing that they'd change if they could. What we have to learn is that, unless we are actively engaging in some sort of healthy process to change it, its not going anywhere.

I can honestly say that I am turned off by people who pick on themselves. When you pick on yourself, it opens the door to others doing the same. People think this deflects attention from whatever they want to hide. It doesn't. It draws negative attention to it. I may not be anyone's ideal, but I'm MY ideal. Sure, there are days when I feel like I'm a mess and my confidence takes a hit. What gets me back on track is to remember that we have highs and lows. A high wouldn't be a high without a low. The world's most photographed, considered the most beautiful people, have off days. And I don't have a team of stylists, publicists, make up artists, etc. So if someone with all that is able to have an off day, then, dammit, so can I.

So I don't care what's going on in your life, whip it! I feel like if you woke up this morning, you're in good hair-whipping shape. Whip it because you're alive. Whip it because the sun is shining. Whip it because its raining. Whip it because you're having a bad day. Whip it because you're having a good day. Whip it with two strands of hair. Whip it with more hair than you can handle. Whip it with a weave (not too hard - because if your Yakki 1B goes flying, I have no choice but to die laughing). Just whip it!

So I support Willow Smith. I saw a little girl with her little pigtails (like the ones my mom used to give me) singing the song and whipping her hair. She seemed so happy and so content with her life. Can't we all be that way? I think there would be less bitter bitchiness in the world if we could all learn to confidently whip it.

De-Blinging the Ramen Connoisseur

2010-09-20T19:44:00.006-04:00

In light of the health care "crisis", there's an email/photo message/chain letter going around Facebook. I have a few thoughts on the chain taking conservative hearts by storm. Its only fair to share it with you before I go off on my rant. So here it is on someone's blog: http://blogotrick.blogspot.com/2010/09/short-two-paragraph-letter-to-white.html

Ok, so you read that mess, right? Let me first state that the letter was originally written awhile ago and NOT addressed to the President. But, folks are using this in their attacks on the President's healthcare plan.

I'll admit, we do have a culture problem. I will be the first one to admit that poor decisions in lifestyle do contribute to poor health. Smoking a pack a day will kill you, plain and simple. We know that. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that there's a lot of things that we educated people know that the subject of the chain letter may not:

1. Fruits and vegetables in their most natural state are best

2. If Kool Aid can mess up your favorite white shirt, imagine what its doing to your insides.

3. Ramen is just salt. Various flavors of salt, but JUST salt.

4. Nothing that comes out of a box or can is particularly healthy.

5. Too much red meat isn't good for you.

6. Removing oneself from the sofa to enjoy fresh air improves lot of things.

7. Regular visits to the doctor can prevent more issues than they cause.

8. There are a plethora of things you can do now to slow cancer.

I'm no healthcare expert and don't claim to be super healthy, but I think the above is pretty basic knowledge. If you're educated. That's right. If you were privileged enough to live in a home where people knew that deep frying everything would kill you, chances are that you have a cleaner bill of health than someone that doesn't.

The chain letter suggests that the problem lies in culture and not in health. I agree. There is a whole culture of people out there that aren't privy to the above knowledge, and its killing them. But here's my question: Who is going to teach them? Who is going to put down their steak dinner one evening and go and teach these people about making healthy choices with their lives? Who is going to de-bling the Ramen connoisseur? Not those that were passing this chain letter. You see, those that were passing this chain letter were also passing judgement.

I personally know a few of the people that posted this. Sure, I think they're nice people. But do I actually see them going and helping the people this letter is obviously referencing? Those whose socio-economic status is completely unfathomable to these people? No, they're not going over to Benning Road in Southeast DC. Let me put it like this, if one of these people they're trying to "help" gets on an elevator with them and they clutch their Coach bags, chances are they're going to have a very hard time doing them any good. Are they really going to tell someone that buying enough gold and diamonds to make even Cleopatra jealous is not as beneficial as buying fresh fruit and veggies, or paying for a visit to the doctor? Impress me. Go stand outside of the jewelry store frequented by most of the "element" in town and beg of them to buy fewer diamonds and instead put the funds toward healthier food for their respective families. Go ahead.

So here's an idea or two about how to get my respect after passing around this email as if it is the gospel truth (when it, indeed, isn't):

1. The next time you're in a grocery line and you see a woman buying her weight in Ramen, tap her on the shoulder and offer to buy her some real soup. Ramen may be all she can afford.

2. Volunteer to go into schools and teach underprivileged kids about healthy choices.

3. Donate to charities that support such a mission. The Junior League has a great program called Home Run for Healthy Kids. I personally participated in this and it was lots of fun. You teach kids about making good choices in life when it comes to food, safety and being active. The kids really enjoyed themselves and they learned a lot!

4. Advocate for real supermarkets to replace corner stores, bodegas, liquor stores and carry-outs.

5. Shut up. If you can't or won't do any of the above, just. shut. up.

Like I said, I agree with this chain letter, but I'll actually do something about it. I won't just pass it on and point fingers. But what I will do is pass a child an apple instead of a candy bar and talk to them about why we made that choice. When you know better, you do better.

A Few Reasons I Should Remain Childless for Right Now

2010-08-25T00:08:00.007-04:00

I think we as humans are taught that we are so great that we must immortalize ourselves by throwing the world an offspring of ours. I'll drink to that. Hell, if I can't live forever, take Tierra, Jr (yeah, I so WOULD name a little girl after me. Little boy? Tierro.)

But there are a few reasons one should panic if I announce an offspring now.

1. The toy in the cereal box is MINE. I worked. I paid for it. I'm tall enough to reach the counter. So unless someone meets all three of the above criteria, they need to kiss the scratch n' sniff stickers from the Apple Jacks box goodbye.

2. What's mine is mine; what's yours is mine. Sharing is overrated. Sharing stifles a child's creativity. If little Tierro wants to build Lego stairs all the way up to Jesus, who am I to stop him? But you know what? If he has to share with every snotty nosed Tom, Dick, and Caleb (because I swear every other little boy is named that -- which is why I'm forced to go to with Tierro), he can't very well reach the heavens. And if he happens to get the idea to build a full sized Hilton out of Lincoln Logs, I don't want to be the person who stands in his way. However, if one finds themselves on the short end of the stick on the playground . . .well, sharing is caring.

3. Kids can't have wine and cheese for snack. How can I bond with someone who can't very well understand the complexity of a good merlot and brie? And let's face it -- I don't drink wine out of boxes, so I can't very well converse with someone who is drinking some clothes-staining cocktail out of a box.

4. Toy stores are what nightmares are made of. Driving by a toystore or just being near the toy aisle has the power to break me out in a fit of hives. The sounds. The sights. The smells. I really thought I was in the jungles of Vietnam, circa 1970. I barely made it out of the toy aisle of Target with my life. Between the landmines of children laid out having fits, the grenades that were flying balls, the mustard gas-like funk that was peanut butter and jelly and the shrill screams of glee/pissed-offness, I'd like a purple heart, please.

5. Danielle Steele books are way less depressing than fairy tales. Damsels in distress get on my nerves. Which one of our fair maidens has chutzpah?!? None. They all suck. At least in Danielle's novels, the women would weave themselves in and out of steamy romances, where they cultivated a devil-may-care attitude and threw caution to the wind to make themselves happy. I don't really see kleptomaniac/narcoleptic Goldilocks being able to perform in the same way. I'd have to re-write the stories for Tierra, jr. None of these tales of unhappy-to-happy weak women.

6. Kids' problems are annoying. Conflict resolution isn't my strong point. At the height of an argument, I'm gonna talk about your mama, possibly ending it all with, "Your mama's name is Bertha!" I have no idea what that means, but it always seems to end things. I fight dirty. How could I teach a child to use their words and effectively express their feelings when I express mine using sign language? The kind that involves extending my third finger from my automobile's window . . .

7. School kinda does suck. I can't even paint a pretty picture of it. School does suck. Boring lessons, homework, having to share, school lunch, etc. It all sucked. I don't think I can present the idea of studying multiplication tables with much zeal because I remember how much I hated them. I cried and was generally upset at having to do so. My mother made a deal with me: If I studied and learned my multiplication tables, I could watch "In Living Color" when it came on at 8. Thanks to that, I know all of my multiplication tables all the way up to the 13s. And I have a dirty mouth.

8. My happy meal involves a medium filet mignon, creamy mashed potatoes, veggies and red wine. That's more than I can say of that boxed mess pushed by the Golden Arches.

So yeah, if I pop out a kid any time soon, please run for the hills. And grab my child on your way.

Ladies, We Messed Up

2010-07-23T20:52:00.003-04:00

Recently, I landed myself in a relationship. I'm happy. He appears to be happy. We enjoy each other's company. We're a month in. Congratulate me.

I have a good guy. My mission now is to not fcuk it all up. Not that I've had to worry about this in the past, because my history is rooted in assholes and basic screwups of society (the mama's boy, the ex-con, the mooch, etc.). Listening to Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance," I realize that I don't want one. In fact, I'd like this to work out. I haven't had a good guy before, so now I need to learn how to treat one. Time to get introspective.

Somewhere along the way, women's liberation efforts have repeatedly bent over and fcucked the entire courtship process. Now I'm not saying that I want to whisk myself back to the days of sitting by the phone waiting for Boy of the Moment to call because if I call first, I'll seem eager. I mean, yeah, I'm eager to talk to BOTM. Why should I not be? But I do want men to be men so that I can be more lady-like. We'll play our respective roles and theoretically, it should all work out. Women have taken on different roles in dating though. Some of this is great. Its empowering and I love it! But some shit's gotta give. Ladies, we are KILLING these men! Freakishly high expectations, cursing them out, emasculating them, playing games -- we are guilty as charged.

While its true that we ought to think of ourselves as prizes, one doesn't need to get carried away thinking she is THE prize. Do you know how many other women there are out there? Do you know that there was more than one copy of the Kama Sutra printed, so that thing that you do that makes him damn near promise you the world? Yeah somebody else can do it too.

Don't get me wrong -- I'm a confident bitch. Sure, my confidence has taken a nose-dive in the past year, but work with me as I re-swagger. Anyway, I'm not going to assert myself enough to say that my man is lucky to be with me. We women say that. Why? You know, if you say that, it sounds as if your man isn't good enough for you. Like you got some pants-sagging, lives-in-his-mama's-house, no job, baby mama drama lovin' scrub. I dated that dude. I said shit like, "He ought to be glad I date him." ?!?!?? Really?!?? If you can say that about a guy, you're with the wrong one. Set him free.

Having that attitude brings about a sense of entitlement. Ok, so you got the dude. What are you doing to keep him? Remember the Destiny's Child song "Cater 2 U"? Well, in it the woman is letting her man know that she is there for him, cooking for him, running his bathwater, pampering him, taking care of him after a long day at work. When I first heard the song, at age 21, I thought, "Any woman who does that is a damn fool." Now, at 27, I get it. The guys I was dating back then didn't deserve to be catered to. They weren't doing shit for me. But I'm older, more selective and have more confidence. All this leads me to pick a man I want to do things for because he treats me well and with respect. I know a girl that proudly boasts that she does nothing for men, no matter what they do for her. Let me be the first to say that I'm not feeding her 80 cats when she's on that vacation of self-discovery half way around the world only find out that she set herself up to be an evil spinster early in life.

I also think women are guilty of bringing past baggage into relationships. What the mama's boy, the ex-con, and the mooch did to me is in the past. They are my exes for a reason. I let them go, so I have to let go of what they did to me. Bringing baggage into a current relationship does nothing good for it. It makes you paranoid and defensive. We're all guilty of it. Like right now. I'm guilty. I texted him an hour ago. No text back. Well, ex-con did this and it turns out he was screwing his ex-girlfriend. That doesn't mean that current guy is doing that. I need to calm down. But I'm going to do my damnedest not to show him that I've gone into my room 5 times in the past hour to see if he's returned my text. When he calls, I'll be cool. Why? Because he called.

So while we run around talking about how men aren't shit and blah, blah, blah, we might need to step back and ask ourselves if we're with the right man. If so, what have we done to keep him? Do we feel lucky to have him? I feel like you can't move forward until you look back, so deal with the baggage and turn back to your current relationship, more confident than ever. Like I said, ladies, we messed up. We may still be messing up. Let's find a way to stop. Because, really, who can think of 80 names for cats?

Hated it!

2010-07-22T23:32:00.002-04:00

I hate a lot of shit. I do. Plain and simple. I don't vehemently dislike it. Or disapprove. Or not like it. I hate it. Let's be clear on that.

Folks never forget to remind me that "hate" is a strong word. I know that! I'm fully aware of what hating something means. For me, it goes a little something like this.

If I hate a person, they don't exist. I would take their birth certificate, rip it in two, tie it to my shoes, and moonwalk on it through muddy grass. Boom! Their existence never was. Fortunately, even-keeled me, I don't hate anyone. But if I did, I wouldn't waste time skipping around singing little hate anthems about them and telling them to die. In my mind, they never lived.

If I hate a concept (white shoes after labor day, eating things that look like leaves, scrunchies, Keds, etc.), I reserve the right to side-eye anyone condoning said behavior or -- even worse -- doing it. I believe in gay marriage. I will wave a flag for gay rights all day every day. But if you're wearing white shoes after Labor day and before Easter, well, you can go to hell. And you probably will.

So I know what "hate" means. I know that right down to my core, I abhor, detest and would like to virtually annihilate a few things/concepts on this earth. The next time we're at McDonald's together and I throw a hissy fit because they have put egg on my sandwich, don't look at me like I'm crazy when I flip out and tell them I hate eggs. Don't question whether my dislike of a chicken embryo is really that serious. I think these things out and, yup, I'm pretty damn sure I hate it. Keep questioning me and I'll hate you too.

Nine Sixty Something

2010-07-16T00:03:00.000-04:00

960something. That's the number of Facebook friends I have.

These are the folks that so graciously tune into me and allow me to tune into them. I like having a large list of friends. Friends = followers. However, there are some people that I don't want to follow me. In fact, I need them to go the hell away.

Facebook and all its infinite wisdom likes to suggest friends based on who we know in common. If half the world didn't suck, this would be a great idea. So far, all its done is reinforce my friend-picking skills. If you sucked in high school, I think you suck now.

Daily, I am reminded of why I am more than happy that I moved far, far away from these people. Reminded of why I'm glad I have the freedom not to see these folks again. Until Facebook reminds me that they are alive and kickin'.

While others may be excited to jam-pack their virtual friend space with the likes of the stinky kid from Algebra II and the bitch that stole their fruit snacks in 3rd grade, I'm good on that.

The stinky kid is probably a stinky adult. He's probably that odd ass on public transportation that you curse everything holy for him standing next to you with his arm raised. You didn't talk to him back then because it was uncool to be friends with someone who made your stomach turn. Guess what? Its still rather uncool. Back then, there was no chance that I was going to be a martyr or some star in an afterschool special about befriending the unpopular. Same goes for now. I don't care what your lot is in life -- you don't have to smell bad. You have access to water in public buildings. They usually have some soap as well. So, lather, rinse, repeat. Do this until you no longer make me throw up. Anyway, I digress. Just because Facebook thinks we should start some kind of friendship, rest assured that we won't.

And then there was the chick that was so gung ho on killing herself and/or everyone. She worshipped Marilyn Manson (no surprise there). Facebook wants me to check on her. Look, I'm fine knowing she's still alive. She still looks scary as hell and like she hates the world. The less contact I have with her, the less likely I am to be in her line of fire when she REALLY goes apeshit.

Oh, and I love how Facebook adds to the, "I may very well never get married" feeling. Growing up, we all knew folks we thought of as undesireable. Un-marryable. Un-fukcable. Well, apparently, either they all turned to one another and fukced or ugly ducklings turned to swans. Ok, so maybe not swans, but well-groomed ugly ducks. Folks that I presumed were just destined to never marry, move to New England and write poems on their 97 cats are married and living in the 'burbs with like 1 cat and 2.5 kids driving mid-sized sedans with bumper stickers that say, "Honk if you love Jesus!" Who knew? Facebook never fails to remind me that the un-marryable got married and that I may have a snow ball's chance in hell at nuptuals. Thanks!

So I'll keep my 960something. They don't make my stomach turn, scare me or depress me. Most of the time, that is.

Dear College Grads,

2010-06-06T14:24:00.001-04:00

I sincerely apologize.

Why? I'm apologizing for the fact that you have been bamboozled, hoodwinked and led astray.

You see, all your life, you have been told that attending college was what you needed to do in order to get the job you wanted to maintain or improve your lifestyle. You were told to maintain a high GPA, play as many sports as possible, win leadership positions and do all that you could to present yourself in the best light possible when it came to that college application.

So away you went to school. Maybe it was your first pick, maybe it was your 10th. But you got there. You saw people you'd never seen before from all walks of life -- there for various reasons. No matter how well-bred you were before college, you became ok with drinking mystery juice from garbage cans in red Solo cups. You became adept at shoving as many people in a car as possible in order to get as many of your new-found BFFs to an event that could not be missed. Most of all, you studied hard. You were very skilled at drinking everything but bleach and still somehow making it to class enough to satisfy the attendance policy.

Congrats! But I am sorry. Why? Because it doesn't mean a damn thing. You see, you killed yourself for all those years in order to come out and not get the job you want. TV has you all messed up and confused. Maybe you thought you'd graduate and come out making at least $60k and you'd have a posh apartment in Georgetown and your days would be filled with making major decisions at work, clad in your J. Crew outfit. And you'd end your day with a trip to Whole Foods where you'd pick up the ingredients for a gourmet meal. You'd lounge around on your Ikea furniture, gabbing with your friends about how your boss is such a tool, inexplicably dotting your conversation with jargon so you seemed like more of an expert at your chosen field.

That's cute. Really it is. But no. Not how it's gonna work. You're graduating college in the middle of a recession. As someone who was unemployed for over a year, let me help you out and ease you into reality.

So let's get real, ok? You're going to graduate and you'll move out on your own. You'll land an entry level job that you'll be lucky to get in light of the current economy. You'll probably want to live with roommates, because you'll only be making around $35k a year. Your job will not appreciate you. Unless someone needs coffee. Then they'll love you to pieces. One cream, half a Splenda, please. Anyway, you'll live with people who, are also struggling young professionals. Your J. Crew clothes are going to be strictly off the sale rack, if you even make it in there. You see, you're part of the working poor. You are being pimped. The name of your pimp is Sallie Mae, and every month, she lets you know, "Bitch better have my money!" The harsh reality is that you won't be shopping at Whole Foods. Nope. You'll learn to clip coupons and take yourself to the local discount grocery and hope that you can figure out a good meal from what you bought. And the Ikea furniture? No way! Sure, Ikea isn't expensive, but you won't be getting what you'd like. Your house won't resemble the well-thought-out designs they display in the stores. You'll be dealing with the bare essentials. A bed, a dresser and whatever couch someone gave to you.

Again, I'm sorry. Your situation is akin to someone going to the gym daily and subsisting on alfalfa sprouts and wheat germ, only to gain 50 pounds. Yeah, I'd be pissed too. And I was pissed. Just like you, I searched high and low for that job that would make me a Carrie Bradshaw or Samantha Jones. Many of my friends thought they were evading the low-paying job by going to law school. A few years later, they got various jobs in law firms and what have you -- only to be laid off as well.

So what does this all mean? Well, personally, I am going to encourage you to have fun in life. Party it up. My same friends who were gradating with Latin Honors with more ropes and cords than I ever knew existed were facing the same fate as me -- a happy C student who worked way too much and wasn't too keen on studying. But I enjoyed myself. No matter what the difference in GPA between me and some others, they were just as jobless as I was.

College grads, I'm sorry some of you studied so hard and lost your social lives in the process. I'm sorry that you skipped parties and outings to write papers. Because in the end, you and that C student are working side by side as baristas at Starbucks, waiting out the recession.

Good luck. You're going to need it.

Love,

A former Recessionista

Thirsty Old Men

2010-06-03T01:25:00.002-04:00

Apparently, I need to be very specific in who I date. I used to have a somewhat comical list of must-haves and non-negotiables. The list was hilarious because of course no man is going to come out wearing a netted shirt, right? Well . . . . .

Recently, my boyfriend and I broke up for a weekend. Being the young go-getter that I am, I put myself on match.com. I was determined to bounce back before any hurt could set in.

My previous profile was good, but I felt like this one needed a boost. Something witty, yet straightforward about the man I would one day force to wear ties that matched my sundresses.

The profile was complete Saturday night around 11. I woke up to three messages. How nice! Ok, no, it wasn’t all that nice. I’m lying, clearly. The first message was from someone with the worst broken English ever. From what I got, he wanted to be my friend because I have nice teeth. His profile pictures all screamed “sweaty soccer player that may or may not wear an antiperspirant.” I left him alone and had to damn near break my fingers so that I wouldn’t suggest that he camp outside a dentist’s office shooting off those cheesy lines in broken English so he could get himself a beauty with impressive pearly whites. But I was nice.

The next guy was nothing memorable. He was cute, but no one I think I would have clicked on first. I liked his profile though. Nice, professional guy. Could string two words together. You can’t ask for much more in a profile, really. Asking for more would mean that you had high expectations. If you have high expectations, online dating isn’t for you. Lower them to a painfully low point. Right above dating and marrying a corpse or your first cousin. Anyway, I wrote the guy back. He was very complimentary and I liked that. I was witty, charming and real in my response. . . . . .and the crickets chirped. No response.

Instead of lamenting over why he didn’t write back, I continued on to the next message. Hmmmm, 38 year old white gentleman about 5’7. Chubby. Seemed to be a decent dresser from his photos (he had on a nicely tailored suit in one). I should have thrown on the brakes. This should have been a “no thank you”. But I was determined to re-swagger after my breakup.

The guy writes me a message. Its decent. He references things that I had in my profile. So he can read. That’s nice. I write him a nice, witty message back. I turn on the charm. His response was that of a thirsty man. He TOTALLY ignored anything I said except for where I mentioned firing up my grill that evening. To that he offered to come over and cook me dinner.

Now, I need unattractive people to know their damn limits. Inviting yourself to someone’s abode on a first date is something you need to be adorable to do. He was no Brad, Denzel, or Bob Saget. He was Porky Pig. Porky Pig needs to stay in his lane and quit swerving. Even after that, I brushed it off. He and I ended up talking later on that evening. I was charming, and shockingly, he was too. I declined his invitations for drinks that night. He just kept asking and I chalked it up to him being persistent and not wanting to play games. No, he was just thirsty as hell.

I told him I’d meet him the next night. I was mildly excited. He seemed nice and I wanted to talk to him a bit more about his career, which sounded fascinating. I had honest intentions.

We were meeting at 8 at a place he picked out in Old Town called Chart House. I looked it up online and asked around. Folks told me it was really nice. It looked like my kind of spot. Good food. On the water. In a happening spot. I took all that to mean that dude had some kind of panache.

I used GPS to find the place since I had never really been to Old Town, except for a previous bad date. Old Town may be the place where romance goes to die. *sigh*

I wore a brown jersey dress that gathered in the front and resulted in a low neckline. Tasteful, but sexy. I had on 4 inch gold stilettos and had gold handbag to coordinate. I was definitely cute. I called to tell him that I was arriving and he said he’d be standing outside. I looked at his picture once again so I could pick him out. I rounded the corner and saw him.

WHAT THE FCUK?!?!? He was definitely shorter than 5’7. And those pictures were fifty-’leven times better than what stood before me! I quickly looked to the heavens to see if God was pointing down at me and laughing. All that and dude smelled like Spaghetti-o’s. Dude, invest in some drugstore cologne. The smell of watered-down tomato sauce is NOT what’s hot! And his clothes didn’t match. He had on a geometric design black and white shirt with black and white striped suit pants. FASHION FAIL. Too much going on there. I was dizzy.

I was there and he saw me. Unlike him, I DO look like my pictures. So we went inside. Yup, it was a nice place. So the host asks us where we’d like to sit -- inside or on the water? Porky pipes up with ‘Oh, we’ll just sit at the bar.” BAR?!?!? I peered down at him -- I was taller. I don’t sit at bars. I think they are for drunks who don’t have friends and folks that favor those mystery bowls of peanuts and pretzels. I can drink just fine in a booth elsewhere, thank you very much!

The bar area was actually not horrible. But he was like, “Oh, did you want something to eat?” Ummmmm, its 8 pm. I got off at 6 and came out looking cute. Was I supposed to shove a Hot Pocket in my adorable face before coming out? Dude, if you can’t feed me, you can’t fcuk me. Plain and simple. That’s the rule. So the waiter comes over. He’s sexy. I was so relieved that I’d have someone to look at. So Porky orders 2 appetizers. He orders himself a captain and coke. EWWW! Seriously?!? I did my requisite dirty martini with extra olives. I could tell this was going to be a long night.

With every sip of my drink, those fabulous juniper berries marrying the olive juice, I began to enjoy myself more. Rather, I was less annoyed. He kept encouraging me to get another one. Uh, no! One more and he would have looked like George Clooney. No thank you. The conversation is good though. We get up to leave and he wants to know if there is something else I’d like to do. It was 9, so it wasn’t late enough to pull the whole “Its too late to be out” card. He wanted to take a water taxi to the National Harbor. Thank god one wasn’t available! That would have meant I was going to be stuck in the water with him for at least 15 minutes. It would have been a “Bitch overboard” situation for sure.

We instead walk to the pier to talk. I’m cool with this. I like to talk. Plus, that martini had me a little more tipsy than I wanted to be while driving. He stopped and we’re talking and looking at the water and chatting. I turned to face him for emphasis on something I was saying. And then it happened. THAT MOTHERBASTARD STUCK HIS DAMN TONGUE IN MY MOUTH?!??! There was not a DAMN thing that said “Kiss Me” about my mannerisms. I pushed him back. Perhaps I wasn’t forceful enough because he then starts playing with my hair and rubbing my hips. I push him off telling him that I don’t do stuff like that in public. I. Am. So. Sickened.

But I was polite. We continue to talk. He wants to walk and talk. I mentioned I’m wearing stilettos. Old Town is cobblestone and gravel. I now hate this man. Between getting my heels caught in the cracks and getting rocks in my shoe, I wanted to push Porky in the water for this mess.

I finally get to the point where I’m ready to go. He had tried like five more times to kiss me. At this time, I have no problem with taking off my heel and piercing his skull. Perhaps he sensed that. So we walk back to my car. Before I could get in, he grabs me with his rough, scaly hands and pushes me against the car and kisses me again. So maybe he didn't sense the imminent piercing . . . This time, I really push him. I think that turned him on. He smacks my ass. I want to throw up on this old man. But my guess is that he probably enjoys shit like that.

I go home. I try to forget that date ever happened. For me, it didn’t. The next day, I get a sext. Yes, folks. Teaching old ass men how to text resulted in nothing good.
Him: Good morning, Beautiful!
Me: Hi, how are you?
Him: I’m just laying in bed thinking about you.
Me: Oh , that’s sweet.
Him: I wish you were laying here with me
Me: Ummmmmmm . . . .ok
Him: What does ummmmmmmm mean?
Me: It certainly wasn’t a moan
Him: Oh yeah. I didn’t think it was.

And then I proceed to get texts and emails inquiring about my weekend plans. I wanted to tell him, “Look, I plan to die this weekend. At least in your mind. Forget you ever knew me.”

Apparently, I need a well thought out list of requirements. I thought age, height, occupation, and education covered a lot. It doesn’t cover nearly enough.

Based on the bullshit my girlfriends and I have encountered, I have now created a list:

Must be taller than 5’10
Must not smoke -- anything
Must not do drugs
Must have a job. A full time one.
Must wear shoes.
Must like dogs. But not so much that your animals gets a vote in house decisions
Must not be an alcoholic. You wouldn’t believe the number of men that are . . .
Must be secure in your masculinity. Kicking puppies and crushing spiders doesn’t make you more of a man
Must have sorted out emotional issues from childhood enough to function
Must not be on house arrest
Must not give compliments by telling me you usually date models, but I’ll do
Must not send more than 2 texts in a day if I'm not texting back
Must own a suit
Must not live with female roommate
Must not be a dirty old man looking to score with someone young
Must smell good. Preferably your scent come from a bottle that was more than $6.99

I could go on -- but you get it. I need more requirements. Old men are bold and thirsty.

Unnormal

2010-04-30T13:40:00.002-04:00

I've never been quite normal. You know that. Hell, if you didn't know that, this blog sure hipped you to that fact.
My daily life is made up of me trying to gain some sort of ultra-controlled normalcy. I sleep on the same side of the bed, spray the same linen spray on my sheets, listen to the same Pandora station, etc. All this to keep some sort of stability, because the real world doesn't seem to have the same goals as me in being consistent.
To continue this trend of normalcy, I suppose that means I'm supposed to grow up and get married and have kids and buy a house and host Tupperware/Jewelry/Candle/Purse parties. Because that's what an amazing number of my girlfriends are doing.
But then I have this other set of girlfriends that decided to pursue academia. They went and got their masters and PhDs and they commiserate about how much they hate the thesis/dissertation process and use huge words that I just don't think are very accessible to the common man.
Being among these two groups of women is a challenge. I'm forced to ask myself, "What have I been doing for the past five years?!?!?" I almost want to say that I have nothing to show for it, but then I stop short and remember that I most certainly do!
The past 5 years has given my life no rhyme or reason. Looking back, it was a slew of bad guys, interesting hair colors and happy hours. I used to spend a lot of time rationalizing my decision to not get serious about finding a mate or my decision to not go back to school. Here's the deal: Youth is wasted on the young. I just kept thinking about my youth fleeting by me, with me never reaching out to grab hold of it and enjoy the magic carpet ride of carelessness that it offered. i am keenly aware that life will never again be this simple.
And this is not even about knocking my married and academically-inclined friends. I believe you have to do things on your own time. I have a sneaking suspicion that some of my friends jumped the gun in either situation before they were really ready. i look at their lives as a cautionary tale.
So while dating and being single isn't always fun, I remember that i can't be this silly or foolish in my 30s and 40s.
So what have I been doing for the past five years? Living it up. Acting like a damn fool. Making friends. Losing friends. Learning the hardest lessons in life. Bouncing back to the arms of a caring mother. Making memories. Trying to forget things as I try to recall others.
I guess I'll try to spread more normalcy around in my 30s. For now, I'll restrict it to the cozy confines of my four walls.

Drag Me to Hell

2010-04-23T14:12:00.002-04:00

Now ya'll know how liberal I am. Ya'll know that no Saturday night is really complete without the fabulosity of a gay man sashaying with me. But I have to speak on something rather disturbing -- Drag Queens. Not just any Drag Queens though. Bad ones.

Living in the DC area, you're liable to see any and every thing. Its not a city for the overly religious or the faint-at-heart. I mean, its no New York (probably because of all the politicos here), but we certainly hold our own when it comes to oddities and things that make you go hmmmm.

The other day, I was driving in my non-eco-friendly SUV, blasting my grown folks music and feeling delightful. And that's when it ran across the street. In broad daylight. I couldn't miss it. It was chocolate brown with piss colored hair (Miss Clairol is sure not to approve of that tomfoolery). That wasn't even the worst part. I got closer. This was clearly a man! It had on some jeans not made for anyone with anything of a bubble as a behind. Honestly, I saw more crack than the law should have allowed. What made the whole damn thing so bad is the makeup. It was somewhere near 4 PM, so it was bright and sunny. Whatever this boy in a girl's clothes was wearing was highly confused about day to evening looks. Ladies, you know when you go to the MAC counter and you see the garish colors and eccentric techniques that can only be done either in a MAC store or on a runway? Well, uhhhh, this was no runway and I certainly wasn't in MAC, but there it was- violet and snake venom green in a box around his eyes. Also, the fact that this boy had on god-awful foundation let me know that there was no damn way he worked for MAC. As I peered at this bullshit from behind my over-sized "I'm judging you" sunglasses, I vacilated between pity and anger at the whole situation.

I was angry because this boy could have picked any Hollywood siren as a muse and been fine. Tyra Banks. Beyonce. Hell, Alek Wek. But no. I'm sure his muse was Wesley Snipes a'la "To Wong Foo . . ." (which, if you haven't seen the movie, Wesley as a woman is NOT a good look and the image will probably haunt you. Think bright miniskirts and metallic eyelashes.). I think of DC as a relatively well-dressed city. With so many up-and-coming designers and places to shop, its really hard to go wrong. This boy must have tried very hard to go wrong though. I wanted to stop and ask, "Is this what you think we look like?!? Is this what you think we WANT to look like?" I always thought of a Drag Queen as a woman in crescendo; wearing and doing the things we wish we could, but cannot because we may be labled as all sorts of slutty things or put down for the confidence.

I pitied this fool. I wanted to take this 6 foot tall stork with pancake makeup and a bubble ass under my protective, pink, feminine wing. I wanted to show him to the Clinique counter. I wanted to show him the Raquel Welch line of wigs, strongly advising against anything blond and/or bouffant. I wanted to introduce him to AppleBottom jeans, because it was apparent that, indeed, his mother was half reindeer. There was so much help I could have offered this boy who was stuck in a bad game of dress-up. I desperately grasped for the reason he thought this was ok. And then it hit me: Gay is NOT equal to fabulous. Style and fabulosity are not a guarantee.

But alas, I drove on, fighting the urge to throw my vehicle in reverse and hit him to put him out of his misery. Or at least end mine.

Ya'll told me to do it . . .

2010-04-14T17:43:00.001-04:00

I'm gonna write a book. I figure between all of my status updates and blogs (this one and others), I could write a book. Your thoughts?

Bad PR

2010-03-30T12:35:00.003-04:00

Recently, I recieved some bad PR, as most famous people do at some point.

At first, I was upset. And reasonably so. Any of you who saw this were probably like, "Damn! Coooooooooold-blooded!" It took me gathering up all of my life lessons and proverbs and maturity to shake it off. First I said, "Consider the source." My grandma always told me to look at the speaker. Do I highly regard this person's opinion? No? Well then.

And then I asked,"Will any of this matter in 5 years?" In 5 minutes it didn't matter. Anyone it still matters to should really find inner peace and a life.

Finally, I told myself that there is always someone who wants to watch you fall from grace and will do anything to aid in that.

I could have come out swinging, guns blazing and ready to fight. Lord knows I have enough dirt on this person to write a juicy novel. But I won't. My mother taught be better than that. Above all, keep it classy.

So my bad PR helped me to reinforce the lessons my mother, grandmother and others have taught me. You always hear that you should never stoop to a certain level and to let things go. Its not until something happens when you have to recall those sayings and, in your heart, you know that they really are the most effective method for dealing with the situation.

I'm not happy I had to go through that, but I'm glad I didn't resort to name-calling and slinging insults.

The Bold and the Un-Beautiful

2010-02-19T18:59:00.003-05:00

I decided that the paid service of date-finding was just not worth it. A friend of mine said she used plentyoffish.com. Its free, so I thought I'd look into it.

Truth be told, I just have no time to go out and really attempt to meet anyone. This is a much easier process of elimination.

In the picture, we have one of the fine gentlemen that has contacted me. I'm just not sure why Lil Payne/Flavorless Flav decided to contact me, but he did. I mean, nothing in my profile says I am a blind crackhead, which I am thinking would likely need to be the case in order to find that endearing. Now I ask, what the hell goes through one's head when they figure the best way to present themselves is that way. I mean, are there an abundance of sensible, attractive, career-minded women running around with men-folk who look to have burnt broccoli atop their heads? I don't think so. Needless to say, there was nothing in the world to make me contact him. Ever.

And then there was the man that looked like Al Roker. First of all, his user name was SingleMortician. Shit, that was enough for me! If I didn't see his picture and read his user name, his message to me would have made me think he was someone I might want to hang with. But that's the thing -- you have to look for the signs. So unless I just need to know that its going to snow for the zillionth time or I need embalming fluid, its likely that I won't be calling on SingleMortician for a damn thing, not even the drinks he offered to take me out for.

I think I did have some success though. I have been talking to a seemingly normal, nice guy for about two weeks now. He's French (so I only understand about a quarter of what he says, but it all sounds sexy). Even if I don't feel that chemistry with him, he'd still make a nice friend. I'll say more about him when I know more. If all goes well, then you'll * meet * him.

And that brings me to a great point. Chemistry. Beyond looks and credentials, there needs to be something else. There have been times where I talked to a guy and the looks were there, he looked great on paper, yet there was nothing to make me keep talking to him. The chemistry simply wasn't there. Its not enough for dude to just not gross me out anymore. I require that thing that makes me answer when he calls. That thing that makes me giggle like a school girl with her skirt up when I think of him. That thing that just makes me generally give a damn about him. Its not love, but chemistry.

So I'm getting ready for my first date with Frenchie (what I've nicknamed him). I'm excited and hopeful. Not too hopeful. Step number one is just hoping he doesn't gross me out. After that, I hope he makes me smile. After that, there could be chemistry and potential for a second date. Wish me luck, people. Good or bad, you'll hear about it.

Reading is Fundamental

2010-01-24T21:56:00.002-05:00

The Quaker Oats Man/Barbara Bush once advocated reading. She even said it was fundamental. Vital. Important. Good shit.

As you know, I took my search for someone who didn't annoy me to Match.com. *sigh*

I received a notification saying that someone was interested in me. After the last time, my expectations weren't too high. So I signed in and clicked around. No picture?!?!?!? WTF?!?!? Ok, so you better be saying something good. Annnnnnnd, that didn't happen. This annoyed me to no end and I'm just going to cancel my membership for now. This is madness. This man is EVERYTHING I didn't want, yet he decided to show me some love. Why?!?!? Had he have actually read my profile, he would have moved on to one of the gazillions of other women his search must have returned to him.

I have decided to share this "piss in the gene pool"'s profile. You know, so we can laugh together. My comments will be the grammatically correct, spell-checked, snarky, bold, italicized words in parentheses. Without further ado, I give you: A Waste of Oxygen!

34-year-old man (I need a date, not a daddy)
Manassas, Virginia, United States
seeking women 24-48 (That's quite a range -- "young and vibrant" to "old and needing a vibrator")
within 25 miles of Manassas, Virginia, United States

Relationships:	Divorced (You have baggage)
Have kids:	Yes, and they sometimes live at home (1) (And your baggage has a name)
Want kids:	Not sure *(Well, you already have one. A little late, isn't it?)*
Ethnicity:	White / Caucasian
Body type:	About average
Height:	5'5" (165cms) (On an average day, I'm taller than you.)
Religion:	Christian / Other *("Satanic" isn't an option on the profile. You could be lying.)*
Smoke:	No Way (This is probably best, as it could stunt any growth that could ever keep you from looking like the Keebler Elf you are.)
Drink:	Social Drinker

In my own words

for fun:

In my spare time I enjoy going to the beach and taking my boat out as often as possible. I enjoy traveling going places I've never been. I like to live my life to the fulliest. (Fulliest? Does living it up make you invent words? If so, you and Jesse Jackson are wild men!)

favorite things:

I also enjoy shopping and and enjoying the day with that special someone as well as staying home a snuggling and watching a movie together. (Shopping? Liar. And everyone says they enjoy an evening in. Its called "sex.")

About my life and what I'm looking for

I'am (You invented a contraction?) a very fun loving caring person .I'am known to be very kind and a bit to nice to some people. I beleive (Ummhmmm . . .) in treating people the way you would like to be treated. I am looking for a woman that I click with and someone who we can enjoys each others company. (I would hope we wouldn't hate one another, but you may be into that kind of thing.) I am looking for someone to spend quality time with (Your child). I'am looking for a loving caring woman that knows what she wants out of life and that can be very fun as well as very romantic (What? You don't want a hateful bitch with no goals in life that is as interesting as a cup of water and as passion-filled as an enema?). I also want someone that can be very honest no matter what because honesty means alot (Honestly, you're an idiot)

About me

Hair:	Light brown
Eyes:	Blue
Sports and exercise:	Billiards / Pool *(Nights in smoky pool halls are in the future, right?)* Bowling Cycling Football Golf Swimming VolleyBall (Gay.) Walking / Hiking
Exercise habits:	Exercise 1-2 times per week
Interests:	Cooking *(Nothing containing Manwich is an acceptable meal in my home)* Dining out *(If I have to carry my tray or it comes in a styrofoam box, it doesn't count.)* Movies/Videos *(Porn.)* Travel/Sightseeing Volunteering
Education:	Some college *(Like where? And how much is "some"? I'm thinking you might have stood in the hallway of a college . . . . with a mop. Overhearing a class doesn't mean you took it.)*
Occupation:	Other profession *(Secretive. Duffle Bag Boy)*
Income:	$75,001 to $100,000 *(Liar.)*
Languages:	English
Politics:	Middle of the Road *(Keepin' it safe, huh? I'm thinking you just don't know who's who.)*
Sign:	Cancer
Pets I have:	No Answer
Pets I like:	Cats Dogs

Spinster

2010-01-05T16:23:00.003-05:00

I'm going to go ahead and relegate myself to spinster-hood if Match.com is any indication of what the world has to offer.

So I got this one dude. He wasn't particularly adorable, but he wasn't ugly. I'm not one of those who is all about looks. You needn't make me hurl with fear when I see you, but you sure don't have to be Bob Saget either (he's the sexiest man alive, in case you didn't know). I just require general care for one's appearance, cleanliness, and I'd like it if your clothes matched up. Not too much to ask.

Dude lets me know he's interested. "Nice" I think. I proceed to let him know I'm interested. He e-mails me. I was excited that he had the chutzpah to do so --- until I read the e-mail. *sigh* It read "Hey whats your phone #". Yes, that's exactly how it read, devoid of all punctuation, introduction and charm. I can roll with the punches, so I write back and I say something to the effect of "Wow, aren't you anxious! I like when people get to the point, but perhaps you'd like to know more about me because I'd like to know more about you." I give him a brief synopsis of my fabulosity and then I tell him that even if I were to give him my phone number, I'm far too busy to talk most days and that e-mail would suffice for now.

He shoots an email back 5 minutes later. "Maybe we can meet for coffee or something so we can see if we click". Again *sigh*. Ok, sir, what the hell makes me want to meet with you when I don't know anything about you? You haven't piqued my interest not one bit! There is nothing about you that I want to stand next to, converse with in person, or click with!!!!!! I kindly write back, "I don't know anything about you to click with. Perhaps we should talk a little. Are you on facebook? If so, look me up by email." Five minutes later, I get "I have a facebook but I preffer not to use it so you can talk to me on yahoo messenger my name is ______ if you don't have it you can download it" Wait a minute -- I'm making accommodations to talk to YOU?!?!? And even then, I didn't go for the gusto and curse him out . . . I added him on Yahoo so I could talk to him.

He IMed me and I wasn't near my phone (where I receive my IMs). I finally saw the IMs, 30 minutes later and said, "Hi! Sorry about that." He says, "Ok." Really?!?!?

Basically, dude was an idiot. I asked him what college he attended. he says, "I'm going to attend HVAC school maybe." Dude, you're 28 - get with the program. Then I asked where he worked. He told me that right now he's working for a temp agency while trying to figure out what to do. Directionless bastard . . .

I just shut off my IM and quit talking to him, hoping he would get the hint and GO AWAY. He did, thank God.

Match.com

2009-12-23T00:45:00.003-05:00

Soooooo sorry for the long hiatus!

The update -- I got a great job offer and moved to DC! Life has been quite hectic.

Being back in my city, I figured I should get out more and have fun. Well, what's more fun than dating? I signed myself up on match.com. *sigh* At first glance, there are a bevy of men out there. And then you read their profiles.

Dear men, I have a basic rule: Spell good, Smell good. If dude can't get his spelling in order, he's not ready for a relationship, or even just casual drinks with me. It matters!

And then we have the assholes who contend that they are so very into traveling and being adventurous and outdoorsy. Now, its great to be all physical and keep your body fit. Its something that I intend to get back to as soon as I get done with my procrastinating and excuse-making. But come on now -- you work out every day of the week?!?! Either you're lying or someone is paying you to look good. The most I'm working out is 4 times a week. And you've only got me for an hour each time. When dude proceeds to talk about how he basically hikes the Himalayas in a business suit on his way to work, I'm not impressed. I go to the next profile with the quickness!

I'm aware that the whole point is to attract someone, but a bait-and-switch situation could cause a problem. If I'm under the impression that you're worldly and cultured and have done so much and been so many places and then we go out and you're about as interesting as a dial tone, don't think I won't tell you so.

My profile is simple. Its me. If you have suggestions, let me know. Here it is below. People, this is going to be a collaborative effort. I am auditioning summer hotties. This is SERIOUS!

About me, huh? Well, I'm an Army brat, an only child, a girly-girl, wannabe artsy, social butterfly, a constant smiler, a giggler, a-laugh-so-hard-til-I cry-er, life-loving person.
I'm hard to categorize, so I can't describe the perfect guy except to say that he would be as well. Take my music collection for instance -- within reach I have ABBA, DMX and Britney Spears. And I love it all. Apply this same logic to every other area of life.
I'm open to learn and do new things. My usual weekend activity can be shopping with girlfriends (typical, I know), volunteering, or simply staying in and cooking dinner for a few friends. I'm an only child, so I enjoy my quiet time too.
People always note that I have a really positive outlook on life. I'm a realist, but I realize that life just isn't that bad. In fact, I'd venture to say that if you're living, breathing, bringing in some sort of an income and can smile, life is GOOD.
No one will ever be able to say about me, "She's your typical __________." I'm not a typical anything. I make sure of that.
Any guy I date should be interesting. He should be happy with his life, but see room for improvement. He should have goals. He should be just as comfortable in public as he is in private. He should understand that life is stressful, relationships shouldn't be. They are work, but stress isn't necessary. A guy I date should be, in some way, giving back to his community. Lastly, I want him to be genuine.

I hope there's a camera on you . . . .

2009-11-05T22:06:00.003-05:00

. . . because you're awfully damn dramatic.

*sigh* I'm a little more than slightly annoyed with all the supposedly grown ass women dragging themselves through what seems like continuous drama. First of all, the whole concept of drama is really for the young/poor/uneducated -- those that entertain us so much on Jerry Springer and Maury Povich. The difference between us and them is that we look at Maury (and we call him Maury Povich, not Murray Povish) and Jerry and we laugh and shake our heads. We're thinking, "Who lives like this and where can we find them so we can get a live-action show of this mess?" While THEY watch and think things like, "See, when Bubba/Tonio did that to me, I knocked him and his mama out!" Note the difference. We watch it for entertainment. They watch it because it reflects life.

The worst thing an adult can do is talk about "drama" and mention it by name -- ie -- all the broads that were pumping a fist in the air and feeling Mary J. Blige's "No More Drama." Ok, why? Really? Is that bad in your 'hood? And then there's the "let me deflect drama by telling everyone that I don't do drama" dramatic person. Putting on your Facebook "I don't do drama" pretty much means that you do. Copious amounts of it, too.

Here's what adults do: They rise above it. Sure, someone is always going to be talking about you and blah, blah, blah. I've always told myself, its not what you're called, its what you answer to. Call me a ho? Fine. Will I answer to that? No, because I'm not one. When a person gets hype about being called a ho, slut, skank, etc, its because there's probable cause and now they're pissed because word has gotten out.

Lazy Day

2009-11-04T14:14:00.003-05:00

I'm a slacker. I didn't work out yesterday. Instead, I was in bed til noon. I got up, ran a few errands and then went to get my hair done. While I was there, I got an e-mail from the lovely Ann Marie about doing some pottery later on that evening. By the time my hair was done (it looks amazing! And its growing, finally!), it was time to head on to pottery.

When I got up, I decided to have a cappuccino rat snot. I chugged it. Its not so bad if its ice cold and you chug it. I don't see how people leisurely sip it. Sure enough, an hour later, I start feeling icky. Well, I had things to do, so I had to work through the icky feeling. Amazingly, I was fine in about 15 minutes. I guess that's the trick. My energy was back and I wasn't hungry.

While I didn't exercise one bit, I did manage to paint a really cute bowl at pottery. Its got legs. I think I'll use it as a serving piece. Its zebra on the outside and pink and green on the inside. I'll have to post pictures so you can stop thinking I'm some tacky twit.

Hipster Revolution Spreads to the Gym

2009-11-02T23:42:00.003-05:00

I'm not quite down with this whole hipster revolution thing. At. All. I like manly men, and this whole hipster thing sort of blurs the line between male and female, allowing men to wear girls' hairstyles and clothes.

So its day 1 of my workout plan. I head to the gym. There are only a few machines in my apartment's gym. It was 10:30 at night, so I fully expected to snag a machine. I really didn't expect to have company at all. I get to the door, and the whole gym seems to be full. Both treadmills are taken up. One dude is running his heart out. "Good for him!" I think. But then there's the matter of the other treadmill.

Bopping at a sweat-drying 2 miles per hour is a hipster in skinny jeans, a schmedium red t-shirt and Chuck Taylor tennis shoes. He's not SERIOUSLY on my machine is he?!??! Yes, he is. So I step in and I give him "THE EYE." "THE EYE" says - Get the hell off the machine you lollygagging, gender-undecided, non-sweat-breaking, sashaying freak!

Apparently, the EYE can be ignored. My workout plan advises that I do cardio. Dammit, that's what I was there for! Plus, if I picked up a weight, I was most likely going to hurl it at jerk face on the treadmill.

So I went home. Defeated. Unworked out. Unhappy. I'll just have to do both of the prescribed workouts tomorrow, one in the morning and the other in the evening after dinner.

SlimFast

2009-11-02T16:31:00.003-05:00

Dear makers of SlimFast,

I don't know if you're aware, but your product tastes like rat snot. This is truly the nastiest swill to ever make it down my throat. How thrilling that you've named it and called it different flavors, but its all rat snot.

I get how it makes people loose weight. Not as a meal supplement either. See, what you do is name it these funky names like Strawberries and Cream and Cappuccino. You get someone all jazzed up that they might be able to indulge in something good on their diet. *gulp* Then a grimace comes over the drinker's face. They think: What the hell is this?!??! This is NOTHING like a damn capuccino! I have been lied to!" After that, they feel like they want to hurl. But they don't. SlimNasty is too expensive to be tossing up. So then they feel like shit and stay inside all day, thus shielding themselves from the siren-song of the Golden Arches and the King. So you see, SlimNasty Devils, your product just makes people feel sick, stay inside and avoid food. That's how they loose weight. In the 80s, you had a damn near pregnant-looking Tommy Lasorda hawking your product. "Give us a week, we'll take off the weight" he said. Well, after a week of this shit, I should loose something besides my mind. Thanks, SlimNasty. By any means necessary, I guess. *gulp* I hate you.

Last Meal

2009-10-31T21:11:00.000-04:00

I got my book today. *sigh* That means I start whittling away the pounds on Monday. I needed one last unhealthy meal. So I picked Sticky Fingers. It was sooooo friggin' good! I'm not a rib person, but for Sticky Fingers, I will act a pure fool!

So I'm flipping through this book. I'm gonna die. These exercises are like, whoa! Its not all just cardio, like I usually love to do. I have to deal with weights and all that good stuff. I have to use a part of my gym that I'm scared of. This might mean asking the asshole at the gym for help. You know what, my membership helps to pay his salary. I DEMAND that he treat me with some respect and help me reach whatever goals I may have. At the present time, that goal is just to work out for 6 weeks without dying. Not too lofty.

Beginning Monday, I'm going to get fit! . . . . . or something close to it. I'll post "before" pictures.

6 Week Slimdown

2009-10-26T22:34:00.002-04:00

Earlier this summer, one of my BFFs called me to tell me that her other friend was doing this 6 week Bikini Body Slimdown. Her friend was ranting and raving about the results. She and I both dismissed it. That is, until the "after" pictures were posted. Well damn! So then my friend orders the book and she does what it says and loses something like 20 pounds, increases her activity, becomes healthier, etc. Ok, so now its my turn. I ordered the book. Whenever that arrives, I'll begin the following Monday. For now, I've committed myself to one dessert a day and anything unhealthy every chance I get. That's right. Gotta get it out of my system before I knock it out of my diet. Funny thing is, I'm not a horrible eater. I just feel the need to enjoy naughty food now so maybe I can stay away from it for 6 weeks. The book doesn't specify a diet, but that's ok. I know what I'm supposed to have and not supposed to have.

I want to share this experience with my readers. This will be fun, difficult, and totally worth it.

Skirt Interview

2009-10-26T22:15:00.002-04:00

Greenville has a wonderful free magazine called Skirt. In it, they always interview some awesome woman and ask her the same questions. I like to think that I'm somewhat famous, so I took a crack at the questions. Enjoy!

My work: Recessionista.

My passion: Helping others, whether that be feeding a starving child or whispering words of wisdom to a wayward soul who lights up their life by wearing white after Labor Day.

Whose Diary Would I Like to Read: Michelle Obama. With all the shenanigans in which my state has been involved, I'd love to know Mrs. Obama's thoughts. I've seen her give looks and I can only imagine what's going through her head.

The nickname I wish I had: Actually, I'm fine with T or TT. I'm actually super-fond of TT . I hated to be called that as a kid. Somehow, it popped back up in college. I never told anyone I was called that. They started on their own. And now its there permanently, LOL.

The smartest woman I know: its a group of women, really. The past, current, and future presidents of the Junior League of Greenville. They run an organization with machine-like precision and do it with grace and class. They are running an organization with rich history and traditions, but somehow find a way to keep things fresh and current and appealing to the modern woman.

My favorite body part: I love all my parts equally.

The worst idea I ever had: Blonde highlights. Some things should be left to the pros.

I still can't get the hang of: Effortless entertaining. Before a party, I am a WRECK!

If I could be totally wild: I'd be on a reality TV show. Like The Real World (even though I'm too old, LOL), Dancing with the Stars, or Celebrity Fit Club.

At the end of a long day the first thing I want to do is: Run a bubble bath with sandalwood rose bubble bath and pour a glass of red wine and turn on some Diana Krall. Hell, I do this at the end of a short day!

Always: Be real. A lot less feelings get hurt that way.

Never: Aim to hurt anyone. Inevitably, it will happen. Never actually set out to do it.

I wish: Stilettos felt like bedroom slippers.

Men -- Pay Attention. No really . . . .

2009-10-20T12:27:00.003-04:00

Fellas, I have a bone to pick with you. When did you all stop trying to impress the ladies? Instead of impressing us, you're depressing us -- forcing lots of us to look into the joys of spinster-hood.

So that I don't grow old, have to move to New England, purchase 30 cats and write novels no one understands, I want to invite you into my head. What makes Tierra tick? You care because you're tired of wondering why I don't return your phone calls or why I now speak to you through gritted teeth. You care because I wasn't quite able to hide my discontent with your last deed and you have no idea why.

I'm not that hard to figure out. Yes, I can be complicated, but what I'm going to share is pretty basic, I think. Feel free to chime in and question it though. I love a good debate.

My idea of the perfect date generally has little to do with place and more to do with how a place makes me feel. I don't feel lovely or like I want to spend any more time with you in Applebees, ok? Isn't that the point of a date? To try to get the person to want to spend more time with you so that you can get to know more about them and, in the long term, decide their potential for the future? So directing me to the "pick and pair" menu doesn't make the future look too bright. It would show so much more creativity if you chose a moderately-priced place with a nice atmosphere and a decent wine list. Those places do exist and if you ever want to see me again, you'll find one.

Perhaps no one's told you, but its the little things that count. Details are really important. This really goes for anything, honestly. Consideration is so very critical. To be considerate, one must pay attention. Like, remembering my favorite flower. All guys go for roses. I don't really like roses. I do, however, adore Easter lilies. Pay attention and you'd know this. Women say a lot in conversation. You don't have to read between any lines to find out what we want. Its pretty simple, most of the time. I'm aware that I just took down the entire self-help/relationship help aisle with my previous statement, but its true.

Do husband-like things and I'll see that you may be good in that capacity one day. Now, I'm not talking about playing house. But I mean that if something around my home needs fixing, fix it. Cook dinner for me. Offer to get my dry cleaning for me. If dating is an audition for the role of husband, I'm going to have to suggest you practice your lines and get it right on the first take.

Don't expect me to watch or care about football. I understand you like it. Most American men do. I'm a woman and I don't. I'm not one of those women who tries desperately to find something that a man may be interested in and learn all about it just for the sake of conversation and looking cool. No man is pouring all over Junior League articles and MAC counters trying to get into my head. Understand that we have different interests. That doesn't mean we can't be friends. It means that we can learn a lot from one another.

I don't want or need to be BFFs with your friends' wives/gf's. First, the concept of a girl or boyfriend is a fluid one. They can be here today and gone tomorrow. Just because your boy can't commit, I have to lose a friend? No need. Plus, this is not Grease. We don't have to quadruple date and pack a malt shop after a movie date in which our posse occupied an entire row. I can do without my dates being everyone's business. The double date thing isn't going to happen. Let it go. Side note: Keep me a safe distance from your mother and sisters. We can be cool, but they won't be my BFFs either.

I think people make dating much harder than it has to be. I'm sure if we learn to speak up and be clear about what we want or need, dating could be fun again. Instead, its complicated and a chore.

You Can't Be MY Friend . . .

2009-10-19T12:49:00.005-04:00

I love Facebook. It connects me to just about virtually everyone I know. If I meet someone new, its sort of automatic that we're going to befriend one another on Facebook in order to quietly delve into each other's lives and decide if we should ever enjoy each other's company again.

That said, my Facebook friendship shouldn't be taken so lightly. In the past few weeks, I have been a de-friending fool! Yes, I have decided that some folks just don't need to know what I'm up to. And then there's my block list. Those folks don't even need to know that I have a face and am still breathing.

You have to greatly offend or bore me to be booted off my ever-growing friends list.

One guy decided to rant and rave about how it was unfair and bogus that Michael Jackson's death was a much bigger deal than Patrick Swayze's death. I, politely, told him that "MJ's career spanned decades and he was an international phenomenon who did great humanitarian work. While no one's life matters more than someone else's, we should remember the huge impact MJ had on humanity." This mother-bastard deleted my comment! So I deleted him. He'd much rather I just delete him than curse him out, trust me.

Then came the girl who just kept talking about her sexual exploits. Now, we're all happy to get some. Fine. But does the whole. damn. world have to know?!?! She was graphic too. I'm an equal opportunity screw-facer. I don't care whether you're black, white, green, gay, straight, male, female, etc -- if you offend me in this way, I'm allowed to contort my face so you're fully aware of my displeasure. This chick was a lesbian and kept talking about the goodness of a strap-on. Are you kidding me?!?!? There's no way I wanted to be associated with her. Now, I could have sent her a gentle reminder that women with class don't discuss such nastiness with the world. But really, if she put it up there in the first place, my reminding her of this wasn't going to do anything. She was bound to be nasty for life and, therefore, no friend of mine.

My favorite had to be the super-Catholic. *smh* He was a friend of a friend and we used to get along. That is, until I saw his online personality. Dude used to post scripture in Latin. Ok, so not only are you projecting this super-religiosity, but you also seem arrogant and like you're trying to be above someone and misunderstood, which I guess is supposed to make people find you interesting. The only people understanding what he posted are those that drink from his sacred chalice of Kool-Aid and me -- whose mother made her take Latin so she'd have a better vocabulary. Then, old boy would post anti-anything-he-wasn't posts. Really dude? You're a Republican. Ok. You're pro-life. Cool. You're a Monday-Saturday homosexual and on Sunday you're "repenting" for your deeds. Not cool at all. This kid was confused on life. And his anti-everything remarks really were making me want to set him on fire so that the focus of his life would turn from him talking crap to extinguishing his flaming extremities.

The saddest one was the chick who was always wanting to end it all. Or it seemed that way. Homegirl would get on Facebook and post these status updates about how she really hated life and how things were so horrible and she just didn't see life getting any better. *sigh* And my life is beautiful right now? Perhaps it was a cry for help. Perhaps she wanted someone to stop and make sure she was alright. Posting all this on Facebook is probably not the answer. No one can give you professional help there. At best, you're getting an underemployed/unemployed former psych major who only payed attention during the sexual disorders chapter. So unless the source of your woes is not being able to get it up, then you may just want to seek professional help that doesn't involve an "LOL, :)".

What kills me most is the non-spellers. Folks, readers are leaders. Facebook is, essentially, a bunch of reading. If you can't read or spell, this isn't the venture for you. And when you call people down about bad spelling, they get defensive, saying, "Well, its only Facebook! I'm not writing an English paper." Well, these are my eyes, brain and sensibilities and you're offending them all! No, this is not English class. But if you learned how to properly form thoughts and spell them, it should be habit and it should be second-nature. The kids that have new spellings for things should be sent back to their remedial English courses and made to correctly spell words like "really" "baby" "you're" etc. Text language is not an acceptable means of communication when you have a whole QWERTY keyboard at your disposal. The king's English has been fine for years without this text short hand. Did the little snots think they were onto some new and fabulous idea by butchering words to the point where I think I'm solving a puzzle reading messages from them?

I think the most annoying to all is the person who does nothing, but must tell you about all of it. Unless something interesting happened on my trip to the mall, I see no need to tell Facebook about it. No one cares that you and your offspring went to the park. Was said park invaded by aliens and your child abducted? Yes? Then share. Other than that, all I'm envisioning is your kid mundanely going down the slide, trying to eat dirt, and stopping for a Cheerio and apple juice break. Sorry. Don't care.

Oh and I love the "I hate my job" updates. Really? Then quit. Find another job. Or just shut up. You're still employed and don't have to be. When I had the good fortune of being employed, if I wasn't happy with something, I worked to change it or just changed jobs. The end. Sharing your discontent with Facebook does nothing than publicly acknowledge that you hate what you're doing and should a co-worker happen to be on your page, this gives them ammo for the boss. Smooth move, fool.

If you've remained on my friends list, congrats. I've chipped and whittled away at it for the past few weeks to be left with good, upstanding citizens whose lives and well-being I generally care about. Thanks!

Put your claws away

2009-09-16T00:42:00.003-04:00

I have heard it said many times, many ways -- Women are catty and not to be trusted. I'm convinced a man started all that. There are actually women out there foolish enough to repeat this though. Shame, I know.

Here's the deal: You use the bathroom with women. If you are so unlucky as to unwittingly walk into that stall without the toilet paper, its going to be one of your sisters to hand you some under the door, not a man. Let's ease up on the softer sex. Men have made a sport out of watching us compete against each other and act like hooligans to get what we want. That is, otherwise, known as reality TV dating shows. I can't watch these shows. Grown women assert themselves and say that they are a better match for a mediocre, semi-attractive man. If this man was so great, why is he hosting this harem of hooligans in his home? Why can't he meet someone the normal way? Because he's usually too much of a bad thing, that's why. But these women don't realize that. They claw at each other, tell lies and backstab in order to get this man's attention and/or 15 minutes of fame. Sadly, this goes on outside of the reality TV world as well.

All of the energy spent tearing someone down could be easily spent building them up. Life is hard enough and has enough struggles without someone scrutinizing your every move and waiting for you to fall from grace. Instead of revelling in someone else's misery, go to her, discreetly, and ask what you can do to help. Genuinely inquire as to how you can be a good friend to her. If you can't do this, just leave the situation alone. Don't gossip or poke fun or talk about this person who has hit a rough patch. If you can't do good, then do no harm.

This brings me to another point: women gossip. I do it. You do it. We shouldn't do it, but we do. Perhaps I should just say that if you're going to do this, keep it to a minimum and only share things with your closest girlfriends. You don't want to be known as THE gossip. I am by no means saying its ok and encouraging it, however, I think you know by now that I am a realist. I realistically realize that women talk about one another. So do men, truthfully. All I'm saying is that if its going to happen, we should try not to ruin each other's lives with the gossip.

Your girlfriends can be your greatest allies! You should make an effort to have a great group of girlfriends with whom you can just be yourself. So often in life, we have have to play various roles at home and work. When you are with your girlfriends, it should be who you really are.

The greatest gift you have to offer someone is your genuine friendship. My closest girlfriends and I share everything with one another. Unfortunately, I live nowhere near them, so it takes an extra effort to make this connection. Building real friendships is nothing to be taken lightly. I think a lot of people don't realize this and that's why they get into the mayhem of cat fights. So, put your claws away, back away from the cat fight and instead extend an olive branch and just be a friend.

Palmetto State, Palmetto Hate

2009-09-10T10:36:00.003-04:00

I can no longer claim South Carolina. I simply don't want to. I can't, for the life of me, figure out why there is still so much hate and prejudice in this beautiful state. We boast a beautiful beach, resorts, golf, and a general love for the state in which we live, so why must this be marred by ignorance?

Last night's disrespect of President Obama was the last straw. Now, I know you're thinking, "Well, of course you're upset. You're black and you campaigned pretty hard for Obama." All true. But, hear me out for a second.

When President Obama was to give a speech about staying in school and encouraging children to study hard, people all across South Carolina were up in arms. They actually kept their kids home from school! Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. The PRESIDENT is telling your kids to stay in school and to do well, but you take issue with that? People have tried to say, "Well, we don't want him getting political with our children." Ok, so when Bush did it and Regan did it, was it political then? People are accusing the president of agenda-pushing. On kids?!?! President Obama has 2 school-age children. He was really just delivering the same message to the nation's children that he probably told his own two little girls. What GOOD parent doesn't tell their kid this?
The opposition in South Carolina is so angry with the President. Why? There have been many presidents that held unpopular opinions and no one acted this way. So you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to "go there. " Yeah -- this is all happening because the president is black. I said it. You can defriend me, never read another word I write again, and generally hate me, but damnit, I am speaking my mind on this one. I realize that recognizing racism is not easy. Typically I try to think of every other excuse in the book, telling myself that there's no way someone could be racist. Sometimes, though, there is no ignoring it.
As a resident of South Carolina, I have seen the most devisive form of racism known to man: keeping people in "their place." God bless my education and the fact that I come from a family that would not let me act like a stereotype. I was always told I could be someone and to strive for the best. My counterparts were, however, living the stereotype. Ignorant, loud, aggressive, ill-mannered and not trying very hard in school. Shockingly, these are the people that my white schoolmates loved! Oh they could not wait to see these kids cut up in class and make fools of themselves! All I could do was shake my head. Now, my friends that were a little more like me, rarely got along with these people - the stereotype and those that loved them. To cavort around with them was almost a slap in the face to all that my family had done to make me successful. Back to my point. Here we have the most powerful man in the country, maybe even the world. Educated. A family man. A bit avant garde in his approach to regular politics. Why don't people love this? I'll tell you why. Its because they don't know how to deal with it. They want to deal with the duffle bag boy with 21 kids and 10 "baby mamas" that has no education, sense of decorum, family or self. They are more comfortable dealing with an ignorant being because they are easily controlled. President Obama is an upstanding man. Plain and simple. We're not even going to argue about this. I guess it's hard to deal with something you fear.
I guess the lid just blew off the boling pot last night during the speech. Joe Wilson's outburst was TOTALLY uncalled for. But he wasn't the only one acting up. There were Republicans with signs around their necks and such foolishness. Never ever ever has that been done. Never ever ever have we had a black president either.
I highly recommend viewing "The Color of Fear." It was a video that we watched in one of my communication classes that really showed me both sides of the spectrum with respect to racism. If you truely want to understand this issue and be able to present a good argument for either side, this video is a must-see. So, you form your own opinions. You can think what you'd like. But I'm here to say that South Carolina needs to wake up. This is such a beautiful place with an ugly pox of hate and prejudice.

More to Hate: Why Fox, as a Network, Should Be Tarred and Feathered

2009-09-01T21:57:00.003-04:00

I had mixed feelings about Fox doing a show about plus-sized women searching for love. So many questions went through my head: What would the guy be like? What would the women be like? What situations would they put themselves in? Would weight be secondary to the attraction?

See, just the presence of a plus-sized woman on TV wasn't going to be enough for me. I needed her to be smart, savvy, sophisticated, sexy, confident, funny -- in a word -- me. Yeah, I said it.

My best friend and I were so excited. We watched it and called to compare notes after. Oh. My. Damn. WTF was Fox thinking?!?!?! So let's talk about this hot mess that Fox is trying to pass off as a real show, as opposed to a media ploy and a waste of my damn time.

The guy, Luke. He's not unattractive. He's just a douchebag. First of all, he talks like a surfer. Second of all, he's a chubby chaser. He went on a bit too long for my taste about how he likes a larger woman. I thought it was very fake. It almost seemed as if he thought he was doing larger women a favor by dating them. Like I said, he's not ugly. But that's it. He's moronic, conceited, and not really about anything special. Personally, if he wanted to date me, I wouldn't be grateful he wanted my number. He should be grateful I even acknowledged his presence long enough to deny him.

The women. *sigh* Who the hell raised them?!?! From day one, they're all talking about how they never had dates because they were fat and how men mistreated them because of their weight. Well, I got news for you -- people mistreat you and generally think you're a bad thing if you're annoyingly down on yourself. I cannot tell you how many people have turned me off of them because they constantly pick on themselves! You have to love yourself before anyone else will, seriously. When you enter a relationship with someone all broken and battered and wounded emotionally, you're vulnerable. Plus-sized women need to stop opening themselves up to that kind of abuse.

And the outfits. Why, oh why, didn't some Plus-Sized retailer pick up on this show as a great advertising opportunity and dress those women? Why didn't Spanx come out and make sure everyone didn't jiggle? I saw more flesh than I think was needed. There is a difference between making a piece of clothing larger and making a Plus-sized garment. In case you don't know, women have shapes. Larger women may have more hip or thigh or waist or bust or arm, etc. Simply taking an ill-made dress and making it larger doesn't make it plus size. It makes it a big ass mess. Luke had those women parading around looking like cupcakes with those JC Penny clearance rack "prom" dresses (though, if you would have worn one to my prom in 2001, you would have been laughed back to your limo). And where were the girdles? Now, I'm not saying to be ashamed of your size. What I am saying is that just about all women need a little hardware to control the software. Booties jiggle. Tummies pooch. Hips do what they want to do. But this can all be comfortably controlled with the proper shape wear. I understand that not everyone is comfortable with shape wear on -- well -- get that way. To some degree, all women need it. Especially in a snug-fitting dress or certain materials around the posterior. And if I, as a layperson, know all this, some stylist at Fox knows it too. Those women looked insane flitting around looking like fat, fluffy fairies in those dresses.

One woman said she had been waiting 26 years for love -- and she was 26 years old! Hello, loser! Honestly, these chicks were too much of a bad thing to share with anyone. They needed mental help before hogtying (no pun intended, really) dumbass Luke into being in a relationship. Not that Luke was a prize, or anything, but no one deserves someone as off-the-rocker as these ladies were. And as for never dating anyone . . . I have had more dates than I care to talk about. Where are these women looking? What do they do in public? Do they know how to flirt?

The show made it look like larger women have no confidence. Ok, no. THOSE women on the show have no confidence. I have enough to share. My philosophy is this: Here I am. I make an effort to look good all day, every day. I am not small. I am not ever going to be. You may not like my size, but weight goes up and down -- personality is for life. I'd rather you hone in on the fact that I'm a decent person rather than think about the size of my jeans. Sure, there are some days where I would like to lose more than my mind. Nothing can change over night. It takes all sorts to run a world, and not everyone will be thin. Love me or step aside so someone else can.

I think that these women need to learn that weight is just ONE aspect of who you are. Its not who you are. You don't have to mention it in every conversation. No one else cares. The women say their weight has stopped them from so much. I disagree. They, themselves, have stopped themselves from so much.

I understand this show makes for good TV and that Fox execs can rest assured that they pleased the plump population, but they have done a poor job of representing a part of the population. To post these women's individual weights was humiliating and served no purpose. I know the point of the show was "big girls can find love too," but we're still human and do it just like anyone else and this show just went about it the wrong way and did more harm than good.

Keep It On The Low . . .

2009-08-29T22:33:00.002-04:00

I just want to start by saying that I'm liberal for the most part and very open. I do, however, realize that there are rules of decorum put in place in order to make everyone happy and keep folks comfortable.

I love a Girls' Night Out. We have cocktails and great conversation. It can range from fashion to . . .well . . . cock talk. Inevitably, if you are among girls that are 20something/thirtysomething and they are young and single, the conversation can turn to sex. That's fine. Its fun to trade war stories! What's not fun, for me at least, is hearing about some random chick's body count.

Finally, I had to put pen to paper . . . er . . . fingers to keyboard on this one. There's a chick I used to work with that had the nastiest mouth this side of the Mississippi. Now, I understand that I was working at a restaurant, so the rules are a little different in terms of professionalism. I wasn't expecting it to be completely devoid of all scandalous conversation. But she just took the cake with it!

First, look at the reactions of the people around you. If everyone has on the stank face, chances are, they are disgusted by your conversation and are wishing you'd stop. Second, if you're the only one divulging information, please believe no one is going to talk TO you, but they'll talk ABOUT you. Lastly, just have some self-respect!

As an adult, you have many intimate situations that should remain just that -- intimate. You and your boo are the only ones that need to know how long 'ol boy's penis is. (As a side note, never tell a woman about your man's sexual prowess. All you're doing is advertising his services. Let the friendship falter and she'll bed your dude. And do that thing she told you he likes.) A relationship should be between two people, not loddy, doddy, and everybody. The more people know, the more they have to say.

I think a lot of this is about attention. I think its sad. If you can't get a guy's attention by any other means than advertising your services, then you need to get real and call yourself a whore. Because that's what you're acting like.

There comes a time in every little girl's life when her mother (or some responsible female) makes her realize her self-worth. This is done through encouraging good grades in school, teaching her how to groom, and teaching her about the birds and the bees. Obviously, there are some females missing that. I say "female" because it takes class to be a lady. Anyone who drones on about sex among uninterested parties is not a lady and does not know how to conduct herself in social situations.

It pains me to think that there are so many women in the world that don't get this. I ask myself how they got to this point. Why has no one stopped them and taught them the right way? Do they hear themselves? Until there's a change, I guess I'll just stand there in awe, clutching my pearls, stankfaced, and shaking my head.

"Stressed" backwards spells "Desserts"

2009-08-20T10:19:00.002-04:00

It occurs to me that the world has to be stressed to some degree in order to function. Stress is the proverbial light under the fanny that galvanizes people into action. Stress makes them uncomfortable enough to take action; to realize the importance of getting it all done; it creates a sense of urgency.

So what happens when stress just seems to consume your very being? You can't very well go around cursing people out. I mean, well, you can. But when you end up with a black eye and a fat lip, you'll probably try to find a new release.

I've never been much on worrying. It does me no good to get all up in arms about something I can't control. I do what I can and then I let it go. Sure, some people have said that I just don't care. That's not really it though. As a highly organized, technologically-driven society, we know when we have used every possible resource to change a situation. When I'm comfortable that I've done everything I could, I move on. "Let go and let God," I say.

I don't stress myself out, but then again, I don't live in this world alone and I'm keenly aware that I have to deal with the stresses of others. Whereas I just have duck feathers and let everything roll off my back, some people internalize everything going on and contend to let it affect everything they do. I worry about these people. Doctors have said that stress can affect one's health, causing all types of issues if it goes unchecked. I believe this to be true. Modern medicine has shown us that our lifestyles have such a great impact on our health. Yes, its the food you eat and the exercise you get and all that. But then there's the matter of just being calm, even-keeled, and laid back.

This past week, I must have allowed something to get to me. Life right now is very stressful. In the past, I've always taken a deep breath, calmed down and wrote down what I was going to do next. Writing things down helps me a lot. If you're ever in my house, please ignore any pieces of paper with senseless scribblings on them, as they mean a lot to me and nothing to you. This is just me sorting things out in my mind -- whether that be finances, job searching, friendships, my next get-together, etc. Anyway, back to this past week. So I found myself all itchy and red and full of hives. Something was definitely wrong with me. I attributed it all to stress. I was waaaaay past the point of a couple of deep breaths, meditation and tea. I needed Benadryl and a full night's rest and THEN needed to scribble something down to put it all in perspective. Luckily, I'm better now.

Things are going to happen in this world. Good and bad. Your outlook on the world depends on how you let the happenings of your surroundings affect you. Its not easy to let things go, but I have a feeling that if more people made more of an effort to do so, we might be a little happier, a lot healthier society.

What's Important

2009-08-11T17:44:00.002-04:00

Over the past year, I've given up a lot. I've also decided what to hold dear. Thinking about it, I've made a list.

Fabric softener -- Had to let it go. I stopped using it and have not noticed a difference. It was just another unnecessary expenditure. I do, however, still keep Tide around. I don't care how poor one is, there is never an excuse to use Purex. I learned that in college.

Bubble baths -- I love them. They are very therapeutic for me. I love my lotions and potions and special bars of soap. Yes, I know I could just squirt some Palmolive in the water and use Dove. Sure, it would be cheaper. But with the daily stresses and let-downs of the world, my treat to myself has been patchouli, sandalwood, cedar and other earthy scented bath stuff. I love it. I never pay a lot for it, but I catch it on sale and I go for it.

Cable -- I don't watch TV that much. I really don't. Everyone talks about True Blood. I have no idea what it is. I bought the TV converter box. I'm good.

Girls Night Out -- How I miss the fabulosity of it all! I really do. However, I now opt for the more intimate setting of my home. Drinks, dinner, a movie, some laughs. All at a fraction of the price of actually getting dressed and going downtown for the evening. I have enough drink recipes to keep things interesting and more than enough wine glasses.

Traveling -- I miss my friends so much! I hate that I can't see them. Though its not the same, I do reach out to them with daily phone calls. I try to keep up with their lives and they keep up with mine. This has become so very important to me that not a day goes by without me talking to at least one of my friends.

Starbucks -- I am my own Starbucks now. I have an espresso machine. I use it to the best of my ability. I invested in good coffee and caramel and other flavorings so that I will not have to fall prey to the yuppie-tastic siren song of a $4 cup of coffee.

Upping the Requirements

2009-08-11T17:12:00.003-04:00

Since my period of unemployment began, I've been through a lot. Its been a test, for sure. I have become a lot stronger though, able to cut through a lot of BS and just deal with things. This whole experience has made me grow up a lot and become a more positive, very centered, and very greatful person. All of it is a really wonderful change bought on by what's been the worst thing to happen to me thus far.

That being said, when I do really begin to date again, I'm going to require a lot more. A whole lot. You see, I've been to hell and back this past year. Not everyone knows everything, trust me. But suffice to say that it has changed me for the better. I am now a person who doesn't take things for granted. I am more responsible with money. I look at the bigger picture and now appreciate where the small things fall inside of that picture. I've grown spiritually and emotionally.

Ahem, so my male counterpart? Its now going to be even HARDER to find someone who makes sense to me. See, dating before was a source of entertainment. Even if it was a bad date, I would have stories to tell and provide myself and my friends with a good laugh. And it was a free meal. But now, its like, why even waste my time? I used to get through bad dates thinking, "This'll be hilarious in my memoirs . . .or just over cocktails with the girls." Now, I don't even want to go there. I now fully believe that you shouldn't park a Ford Pinto in your driveway while waiting on a nice fuel-efficient, cost-effective, sensible, safe Camry to come rolling by. That Camry will keep rolling and all the while you're dealing with the BS from the Pinto. So now the mission is to pinpoint the Pinto and never let him pull into your driveway anyway.

Now, I think I'll be seeing a lot more Pintos than before. And that's ok. Better to know than not know, right? I say that now, but this Pinto-status revelation usually happens after one date and I come home and bitch to a select BFF about how the guy was a weirdo, was stupid, had odd views of the world, had the table manners of a dog, there was no chemistry, etc. But I'd rather waste time and an outfit on just one date rather than several. Dates take energy. Why have my energy sapped by someone who doesn't deserve it? This isn't to say that the guy is bad. He's just not good for me.

At this point, if I end up with a Pinto, I'm more apt to tell him to put his shit in reverse and I'll just wait it out for my Camry. I don't want to draw it out and make it more uncomfortable for myself. I've never been one to have to have a boyfriend/boo/companion. Subsequent bad dates were always the result me being too nice and too understanding. I was thinking, "Maybe he'll change." or "Maybe he'll grow on me." Newsflash: If he's been that way for twenty-something years, he won't change. Also, he's not a fungus -- he shouldn't have to grow on you. So after date one, you'll know very well whether you need to be spending any more time and energy on this person.

I thank unemployment for this bit of clarity. Its allowed me to see that the better I become, the more I have to require of someone else.

Open letter to the Ignant Heffa

2009-08-07T12:31:00.006-04:00

Dear Ignant Heffa,

Stealing my CC# was really the last thing you wanted to do. Why? Well, obviously its wrong and against the law. But here's the real nitty gritty:

I'm technically unemployed. You know that. I work a few odd jobs here and there, but really, I have no real income. By the grace of God, I am able to maintain the fabulousness you see before you. Until a job comes my way, I have to scrimp and save and look after every penny that comes into my possession -- which is why I have no idea why you thought I wouldn't notice an almost $100 charge to walmart.com.

Those that know me know that I hate Wal-mart. I do go there when I need to, but really, I hate it. Something about it being too common, unimaginative, lack of variety, and always forcing me to buy $5 DVDs. So I avoid it. I have 3 surrounding me, the closest one being RIGHT outside my door. Seeing as I hate Wally World with such passion, I would never feel the need to take myself to their website and order any of their inferior products. Its just not that serious.
While I'm sure that folks like yourself wake up and figure out ways to try to bamboozle and hoodwink all you encounter, responsible folks like myself check their e-mail and bank balance. Again, I'm poor. I know about every penny in my account and where it needs to go. If at any time any of those pennies goes missing, I become Nancy Drew and find out what happened.
Whatever the hell you ordered will not be coming to you. I can't think of that much stuff to pull from the website, but somehow you did. Kudos to you on being imaginative, because I just didn't see it.

Now, I've informed my bank and WalMart.com. I think the police will want to know as well. Why should I leave them out of all the fun? I really hope they kick your door down, push you to the floor, put a boot in your neck and use the taser on you. One can only hope though . . .

This is the 2nd time my card has been stolen and someone has tried to use it at WalMart. Why do theives frequent this store? Add this to the list of reasons I don't shop there. Can't be rubbing elbows with and picking out produce alongside the derelicts of society.

So, dummy, I'm sorry you'll have to do without your $100 of cheaply made bullshit, but where you may be going, you may not need it. What you did was really practice. Practice for perhaps pulling the wool over someone's eyes who actually has money.

Signed,

Not your source of income

If that's what it takes for you to wake up in the morning . . .

2009-07-30T08:12:00.002-04:00

Often, I have to bite my tongue when people talk. If something ignorant is going on, I can't just let it go on.

The other day, two people were having a conversation in my office, in my presence, about how you really don't need a college degree. Their reasoning was that there were people with degrees that were going to come out of school making just as much as they were with no school. Ummmmmm, no!

If a person goes through the hell that is 4 years of undergrad, if they ACCEPT a low-paying job and are ok with making the same money as someone who didn't go to school, then that's essentially their fault. I would never be ok being paid the same as someone who had no degree in a field in which I had some experience. Call it pompous if you want, but that's the way it is and you'll find that a lot of people agree with me.

A college degree isn't everything, but dammit, if I slaved away for 4 years, writing papers, sitting through lectures, and dealing with all the drama college brings, you're damn right I should make more than someone who didn't!

So if you don't have a degree and this is your daily mantra, to that I say, "Whatever it takes for you to wake up in the morning . . . "

Seriously?

2009-07-27T09:12:00.003-04:00

You know, its fine to analyze things and think on a deeper level. Some things need to be thought out. I don't however, think contemplating the value of broccoli to one's life, makes you an interesting being. Its just not that serious.

People that try to cultivate an eccentricity by acting foolish really bewilder the hell out of me. Don't they know that folks would find them so much more interesting if they could actually be understood? Oddballs scare people. No one wants to talk to them. Then they walk around fuming that no one knows how they feel or no one "gets" them, but are they trying to be "gotten?"

Here's the thing: No one cares. While you're in a deep, brooding mood, the world still turns. Expressing yourself is great, but know that it can fall on deaf ears. One should express themselves as a form of release and not necessarily for attention. You have to have a way to make people care. Scaring the hell out of them is just not that way.

Basic communication would teach you that if you are trying to tell someone something, you want to tell them in a way they can understand or your message will be lost. For instance, if you tell me some vital message in Chinese, your message will be lost. Why? Because I don't speak Chinese. Pretty simple concept.

As simple as this concept is though, there are people that are so entrenched in their messages, wrapped up in their own minds that they fail to realize that there is a whole world outside of them.

Being different is great. If we were all the same, how boring life would be! However, society, as a whole, has some social rules and regulations. When you violate those rules, be prepared to have an eyebrow raised at you and have your motives questioned. To get all offended at the questioning is pointless. I have a feeling you know damn well that what you're doing is out of the norm.

American society likes for people to bathe and be generally clean and pleasant-smelling. When you stink, you could be saying something as deep as the sea, and I just won't give a damn. If you have offended my nose, I have a feeling you're going to offend my mind too. Anything you have to say falls on deaf ears, as I wish your smell would fall on a stuffy nose.

Weird people attract attention, sure. Dressed in all black, long stringy hair, and a general disdain for life. You stand out. But you've weirded me out and I'm not paying too much attention to anything you have to say at this point.

So I'm not saying to sell out or to just be like everyone else, but know a few things: The world doesn't care, Stinking never gets you anywhere, There are social norms in place for a reason, and Its not that serious.

You Hurt My Eyes

2009-07-21T10:42:00.003-04:00

I'm aware that not everyone is going to believe in the same standard of beauty that I do. Those standards aren't universal. But, there are some things that I think we can agree upon.

Mullets -- I'm not sure why people haven't caught on that these aren't cool anymore. Billy Ray Cyrus got rid of his. You can too. Nothing else so clearly affirms to the world that you drive a pickup and have a personalized spit cup like a mullet.

Jorts -- Jean shorts for men. And the worst are cutoffs. Fellows, its bad enough that you wear jean shorts, but to make some of your own is really too much and I can't stress enough how redneck this looks. You probably have a spit cup, mullet and pickup too.

Facial hair on women -- Why am I even having to address this? Women aren't supposed to have beards. I witnessed a woman with a full on Barry White beard. My eyes hurt. And then she had the nerve to have her damn nails done . . . There are just too many hair removal options out there for one to look like this.

Club clothes not at the club -- We all have outfits that are best worn under the guise of black light while we're dropping it like its hot. These clothes never need to make it to the light of day. Not even on your walk of shame the next morning. Nothing lets the world know that you like to "party all the time" like the stench of cheap alcohol, cigarettes and wearing metallic clothing.

Tanktops on men -- Men, please don't. Not since "Do The Right Thing" has this been appropriate. And that was 1980s Bed Stuy. So in 2009 South Carolina (or anywhere), you look ridiculous. It has nothing to do with how buff you are or how nicely you shaved your back. NO MAN SHOULD WEAR THEM. I'm just going to put that out there. We could be in the fiery pits of hell and it will never be hot enough for you to wear a tanktop. Not even at the beach.

Yes, my clothes are boring (classic and conservative, for the most part) and I'm intolerant of what a lot of people call "Fashion". I seem to be getting more intolerant the older I get. Deal with it.

The Un-Preppy Sunday, but that's ok

2009-07-21T09:23:00.004-04:00

Sunday is my preppy day. I get up, have a preppy breakfast of coffee and a muffin top (I only eat muffin tops. Its the best part!) Then I get dressed for church in something preppy and top it off with pearls. I head to church listening to Brazilian jazz music and observing the world from behind my not-dark-enough-Benny-and-the-Jets Diesel sunglasses. After leaving church, I head home and revel in my preppy surroundings of downtown Greenville.

This past Sunday, I did all that and then headed to my part time job at Talbots until 6. Normally, I would head home and make dinner and read, but I had been invited to a poetry reading. An open mic night.

Let me just interject and say that I have been invited to these things before and I have never gone. From what I always saw, it was primarily the crunchy granola crowd rhyming about every injustice there was -- from getting the wrong latte at their independently, locally owned coffee shop to the economic conditions in a country I can't pronounce, never heard of, or don't care about.

But I decided to go. A friend of mine had invited me. He wrote a book. I bought the book. I needed him to sign it and this proved to be a good opportunity to do that.

I arrive at the coffee shop (cliche' . . .) and was deciding what to drink. A hot latte would fill me up and spoil my dinner. I was starving, so an alcoholic drink may not have been the best bet. But would I need a drink to get through this? At least a glass of wine? I tried this whole positivity thing and settled on a coconut frappuccino.

Of course, I arrived late. I got there and found there was nowhere to sit. A man and his son had taken seats just before I got into the room. Had they have been gentlemen, someone would have offered me a seat. Oh well. I stood with my coconut goodness, annoyed I was standing, yet relieved I didn't wear stilettos and opted for a cute, comfy sandal.

I survey the crowd. It looks like a Bennetton ad. A nice mix of folks. No one annoyingly dirty or overly crunchy looking. A few folks have their kids there. People are taking the stage and reading. I'm not paying attention. A girl reads a poem. I have no idea what she said, but a woman next to me leans in and says, "Wow, that poem gave me chills." What chills?!?!? The only ones I'm getting are from this frosty coconut goodness that I'm trying not to inhale so as to prevent brain freeze.

A few more people get up. I start to pay attention. One guy, seemingly a jock, USC fan (says his hat) gets up to read what he calls a rant. Its GOOD! He reems out America on our pretentiousness, our technology, our news sources, etc. I like him. He makes me think and laugh. I like that.

Then another guy gets up. The MC mistakenly calls him Mutt instead of Matt. I like Mutt better. He reads his poems in various voices and accents. He's hilarious. (I'm now sitting, as the two un-gentlemen have left). I think I'm now enjoying myself.

After a few more poems, my friend is up. He's the main event. Keep in mind that I have not seen him in person since the beginning of the 9th grade. I've known him since the 6th grade. He's changed. A whole lot! He's really tall now. His voice is deep. His hair is long. Quite a change. But from reading his book and reading up on him, I knew he was not the same person I'd left in 1998.

I was pleasantly surprised by my poetry-reading experience. What started out as a light, preppy Sunday, free from all serious thought, ended up as a pretty introspective one in which I had a great time.

So if Justin invites me out again, I'll go. I'm getting his new book. You should too.

This proves that, at least once a week, I should do something that makes me feel a little uncomfortable. It might be fun . . .

I hope you bought your clear heels

2009-06-24T20:00:00.004-04:00

Dammit, I am so tired of seeing unprofessionally dressed people in professional places! Did I walk into a bank or Body Tap? If you are so blessed to work in a place of business, can you please not look like you're selling your "business"?

Tanktops are not appropriate. Especially if you choose to pull a Paula Cole and not shave under your arms and have deodorant caked up underneath them. Also, it deserves to be mentioned that wearing your club clothes with a cardigan over top doesn't constitute professional dress. I'd also encourage you to stay away from anything metallic, as it is disruptive to the TYPICAL work environment, unless yours allows you to wear clear heels and pasties . . .
I also urge you to get those talons you call fingernails chopped down to a reasonable length. Nothing says, "I'm not typing a damn thing" like claws.
Haircolor should be of a NATURAL color. It doesn't have to be your color -- just not pink, blue, purple, or any other color that reminds me of easter eggs. It also shouldn't have you looking like a cockatoo. Anything that stands directly up in the hair with the use of hair gel, rods and/or a lot of prayers, probably isn't too professional.
Unless your job involves clear heels, the makeup demonstrations that you see in MAC are not for you. "Snake Venom" isn't a suitable color, face it. Speaking of shoes, heels and the like, if you opt to wear stilettoes, fine. But please, know how to work them. No one wants to see your crusty ass feet by noon all because you can't stand the pain.
Neatness counts. Before you slip into your too-small, unreasonably tight-fitting frock, know that just because its tightly pressed against your person, that doesn't ensure that wrinkles won't be visible. Most acrylic frocks from Rainbow and the like can't stand the heat of a good iron, so I'd ask that you purchase something of the cotton fiber.

Men, its not that hard to present yourselves professionally. There isn't too much you can do to mess it up, right? WRONG! If you want to be taken seriously, I need for a wifebeater never to make it into your ensemble selection for the day. Its not sexy. You're not a circa '93 member of Jodeci. Even if you do have a rock-hard body and a lot of confidence, wifebeaters aren't the answer. And neither are schmedium muscle shirts paired with suit pants. I don't know where you got this idea from, but kindly put it back. Also, your suits need not be any color other than brown, black, grey or blue. Anything else looks too pimpish for me. If you are wearing a green suit and green Stacy Adams gators to match, die slow. Its ridiculous. This isn't your church Easter parade.

I wonder how the hell these people got past the interview. I know there are Affirmative Action rules and such and fair hiring practices, but nowhere in any fine print does it say "Hire skanks and giggolos".

Erica made me do it!

2009-06-22T21:33:00.000-04:00

So I've been told I should write a book. Face it, I'm lazy. Books have pages and pages have a lot of thoughts. Perhaps if I blog enough, I'd have enough material for a book. It worked for "Stuff White People Like" -- one of my favorite blogs and books.

I have a lot of thoughts that sometimes skeet out of my brain as one-liners. Apparently, they make sense to other people. Thoughts, criticisms, musings, insight into my world -- welcome!

I feel like I should dedicate my blog. Yes, there are people and things that I should recognize.

Unemployment -- Without you, I'd have no time to do this. So thanks for the free time and forcing me to find a free way to amuse myself.

Erica -- She told me to write, so I did. Thanks for pushing me!

FBBDA -- Some of the smartest, funniest people I know. Faraji, thank you for coming up with this group.

The Color Pink -- Without it, I just don't know that life would be as fabulous to talk about. So thank you for being my kitten heels, my favorite sweater, my Christmas tree (shut up!) and many other fabulous things!

I think that covers it.

Bob Barker was onto something

2009-06-22T18:51:00.003-04:00

At the end of The Price is Right, Bob Barker would always remind us to spay and neuter our pets. I think this is generally good advice because one cat or dog is cute. 99 isn't so much. Population control is the name of the game. We like cute puppies and want them to live a good life, complete with chew toys, all the Alpo they can eat, and a loving family in which to grow up.

Why, then, can we not apply that same principle to humans? As humans, we are the only animals who make a conscious decision to have children. We are the only ones who use sexual intercourse for reasons of fun. So why do we continue to see people doing it like bunnies?

I want to believe that humans are smarter than animals. After all, we don't lick our bathing suit areas. (well . . . .most of us, anyway). It bewilders the hell out of me that someone would knowingly do the act of baby-making and not expect or be prepared for a baby!

Thanks to the opening credits of "Look Who's Talking" and very uncomfortable middle school sex ed classes, I know and understand how babies are made. When a man and a woman love each other so much . . . . blah blah blah. Right.

I'm not advocating abortion. I'm advocating taking care of the problem before it even gets to that point. Seriously. Trojan had a lovely campaign and I'll bet you just about everyone you know can hum that annoying Trojan Man song. So the knowledge is out there. Health clinics offer a myriad of ways to NOT get pregnant.

I get tired of hearing how its sooooooo hard to be a mother and this, that and the fourth. Yes, being a mother is a hard job. It looks hard. Its hard with one. child. Its harder with more than one. So I'm not really sure why people continue to pop out kids like they're free to raise. In order to be a good parent, it takes time and money. Love doesn't pay the bills or feed your child. If you can hardly make it on your own, simple math could tell you that bringing someone else into the equation is not going to yield a greater return.

There are government programs out there in case you find yourself in a pickle, so to speak, and you have a child which you cannot afford. Why? You knowingly did it. The government doesn't support my shopping hobby/habit, so why should they support someone's do-it-like-a-bunny hobby/habit? Uncle Sam doesn't owe me a pair of Loubitans and he doesn't owe you a can of Similac.

A biology teacher of mine once said that the most intelligent people are the ones who actually PLAN families. She went on to say that there are trailer parks full of women with five and six kids that couldn't really afford to have one, let alone all the others. People with more education and a better grip on reality are more inclined to pump their brakes and consider what they are getting themselves into. I found this to be interesting when I heard it at age 15. Throughout life, I found it to be true. What stops me from having a kid? FINANCES and TIME! I can't afford, nor do I have time for one.

Unfortunately, its somehow unethical to spay and neuter people against their will. But have you ever thought that some people just shouldn't reproduce? There should be a series of qualifying factors. Income could be one. IQ. Common Sense. People could be sterile until about age 21. Then, they should apply to have a baby. If all the tests are passed, then the baby ban can be lifted and all is well. If not, well, get over it. I know, it sounds barbaric, a little too New World Order, The Giver, etc -- just an idea.