Friday Foolishness

Do people give a thought to what kind of car they have when they’re buying rims? 22 inch rims in steel grey don’t look right on a seafoam green Corolla.

There is a place up the street from our place that allows you to rent to own your rims, and it is always packed in there. It’s a damn shame when there’s a Rent-A-Center version of Pimp My Ride. Ladies, make sure your man is up to date with his payments, you wouldn’t want to be out with him and he gets his rims reposessed.

What happened in LL Cool J’s life that he went from “Rock the Bells” and “Around the Way Girl” to being a wanna be fitness guru?

Is the state of the black man really that jacked up? I’ve had 3 different people ask me if D is black because they’ve never heard of a black man actually wanting to get married.

Some women need to realize that just because it’s made in their size doesn’t mean they should wear it. Not every outfit flatters every body shape. Especially when your body is shaped like Swamp Thing.

I’m ready to melt every pair of those plastic Crocs shoes in existence. They are not cute unless paired with medical scrubs.

My mom told me that she’s going up to the casino on the Reservation about 100 miles from her house this weekend. But not to gamble. She’s going to buy cheap, tax-free cigarettes. Umm. Damn mama.

Is it really okay for strangers to tell me that I remind them of a Kid Sister Doll? I guess it is, because a bunch of people at work, who I don’t even know have said that to me while waiting for food in the cafeteria. What the hell does that mean anyway?

Two of my friends are going to get boob jobs and butt implants together (they didn’t invite me along cuz I have too much, lol). Am I supposed to send a get well card? What should it say??
Congratulations on your new tits and azz! Get well soon. Hope you don’t get scars and strech marks!

I heard Monica and Brandy “The Boy is Mine” this morning and I got almost kinda sad. Brandy could have done so much with her life. But here’s the video anyway:

Have a great weekend!!

Escalator to Hell

I’ve just been informed that I’m on an express escalator to Hell. I guess I’ll stop and get some cute red shoes along the way–gotta match the devil you know. *sigh*, the sarcasm.

I, like most other people, have the set of “that” family. The ones people don’t really mess with because they’re all certifiably crazy and that you can’t really bring to many social functions because you know they’ll embarass themselves and you.

My great aunt, she is one of them. My mom called and told her about the engagement (or pending engagement, however you want to look at it) and she was none too pleased about the news. Auntie Sharlese, who is close to elderly but far far from senile called me last night to vent her feelings about it.

Auntie: “Child. Child. Child. You know you gon’ go to see Satan cuz this, right?”

Me: “Why Auntie?”

Auntie: “You aint posed to let no man axe you to marry him like that.”

Me: “Why? I thought that was tradition.”

Auntie: “A woman don’t lay back and wait for no man to axe her questions like that. You posed to go get what you want. You weak child, you weak. You ain’t gon’ be no good wife. God don’t like Ugly, and He don’t like weak neither.”

Me: “In what Bible does it say this?”

Auntie: “Don’t question me.”

Me: “Auntie, it’s been nice talking to you, I have to go to bed.”

I know there is no reasoning with her. Gotta love the fam!

Overnight Celebrity

Yesterday afternoon, I was at the gas station and some young chick–about 16 years old–ran up to me and said, “Are you really La Bella Noire?” I was taken for a loop, but told her I was and she got all excited. “I hope your toes are better and I hope your job isn’t so ghetto anymore”, she said. I asked her where she knew me from and she said she saw my picture on one of my friend’s Fac.e.book albums, then tracked me down to my blog from there.

I didn’t know if I should be flattered or scared for my life. I know I’ve recognized people that I thought I saw online, but I never went up to them and invaded their personal bubble. And I’ve never staked someone out from a site like Mys.p.ace or F.ac.e.book to their blog and been proud of it. D said I should take down my pics and close my F.ac.ebook account because of this incident, but I’m not about to rearrange my life because of some kid.

But now I wonder, have any of yall ever run into someone from the internet? I don’t mean someone you met on a dating site either–I mean you read their website or something and see them in person. Hmmm….?

They Call Me Mrs. Military

So this weekend was lots of fun, and that’s probably why I’m left with some kind of head cold. Ehh, well I left work early to rest, so I can’t complain too much. Friday I went to my stepsister’s house for my stepnephew’s going away party. He’s leaving for a college summer program, and won’t be back for any real length of time before he starts his freshman year. Do the damn thing boy!! I’m so proud of him, it seems like only a few years ago he was graduating from 4th grade. I’m starting to feel old cuz all of my stepnieces and nephews are either graduating or getting married (a few of them are my age, since most of my step siblings are old enough to be my parents, but I digress). A few of his friends actually tried to holla at me. I guess I’m kinda flattered that a whole rack of 17- and 18-year olds think I’ve got it. One of them even went the “I can treat you better than your man” route. He was like, “I gotta car and I stay in the basement so it’s like my own apartment”. I had to take a drink just so I wouldn’t laugh. Awww, cute but boo you need to step up your game. Then another one tried, “I’mma buy you a drank!!”. Aww, poor thing, you aren’t old enough to buy alcohol yet…and we’re at a HS graduation party for your friend, so everyone knows how old you are. No dranks for you!

Saturday I went to brunch downtown with the girls, and it was nice for all of us to get out without someone’s boyfriend in tow. It seems like when we go out, somebody’s man feels the need to tag along. As Sister Toldja would say, that’s poor design. We likened ourselves to a better version of “Girlfriends”, cuz none of us really have issues like that, lol.

Saturday night, D and I had dinner as usual and he said he was going to work late since he wanted to spend some time with me. It’s hard for us since we work opposite shifts–he works overnights and I work a regular 9-5 so some days I only get to see him for about 2 hours before he leaves for work. Anyhoo, we got comfy and started watching a movie, and I fell asleep as usual. For some reason, if I try to watch a movie with him on the sofa I always fall asleep without fail. I guess this was all in his plan.

He went to work and left me sleeping on the couch. When I woke up, I felt something cold around my neck. I sat up quick and saw it was a dog tag on a chain. Now, if you don’t know, dog tags are important to military people. It kind of serves as their identification, since it has their name, religion, birthdate, etc stamped on them. They wear them while at combat so just in case they get killed, people know who that body is. I have one of D’s dog tags from Afghanistan on my set of keys for my mom’s house. I keep them there because my mom’s house will always be home, and home is where your heart is. D is my heart, so he’s on my home keys. Sounds silly, I know, but it makes sense to me. Anyway, I woke up and saw a dog tag on this chain, and I thought it was his, but when I looked closer I saw it was stamped with:

Mrs. Military,
Will You Marry Me?

His nickname with his people is Military, so I’m Mrs. Military by default. His friends call me that sometimes, so it’s cute. I went to the bedroom to get the phone to call him and I saw an envelope on the bed. I read the note, and it said…

“This is just the beginning. Not official yet.”

I was all confused, so I forgot the phone and ran in the bathroom to get kleenex to wipe my eyes, but there was another note taped to the mirror. It said:

“You are cordially invited to a celebration of us next Saturday, time and location are classified information. Remember, not official yet”

I finally managed to get him on the phone and ask him what’s going on and all he would say was “you’ll see…you’ll see”. When he got home from work Sunday morning, I grilled him, but he only gave a little bit of information. He said the dog tag was the unoffical proposal, and to just be patient. So I guess I’m engaged now. Unofficially anyway, but that works for me. I know the ring is coming, but the dog tag means just as much because I know that to an ex-military person, those things mean so much. So now, that dog tag is on my every day keys cuz they go everywhere I do, and so does my love.

The rest of Sunday went by in a blur, but I did manage to catch a cold. Fun. *rolls eyes* I hope you all had a wonderful weekend too!

How come…?

Because it’s Friday and I’m lazy, here are some of the (stupid) questions on my mind…

-How come tourists forget that not all of us are on vacation? We live and work here dammit, get out of the way. NO I don’t want to take your picture in front of the Metro sign.

-How come management gets all tight lipped when they have to fire someone on your team, but the next week they’re talkin all kinds of shit about that person. Unprofessional maybe?

-How come I saw a lady wearing a suit pushing a stroller this morning but there was no baby inside–just a case of Heineken? And she was smoking a Black n’ Mild. Hmmmm

-How come one of my credit cards expired on May 31 and I still haven’t received the new one. And every time I call, the people say “it’s on it’s way”. I just called, and they’re deactivating the one that was on it’s way and sending me a new one overnight with delivery confirmation. It’s a shame I had to get almost ign’ant to get some decent service

-How come I keep hearing Mo’nique on the radio?

-How come when I go to buy shoes, my size is always sold out?

-How come it seems like certain races of people weren’t meant to be drivers and shouldn’t be allowed on the road? I’m not being hateful or racist, I’m just going on pure observation.

-How come people get offended when people can’t pronounce their name properly the first time they see it. Yesterday, some woman got mad when I called and asked for her and screwed her name up…it’s spelled Aphiysiza. WTF is that?

-How come traffic can be moving at a good clip, but the moment you realize that you have to pee, it comes to a grinding halt?

-How come some women tell me that I should just let myself go completely since I have a man? Damn, is it okay for me to want to look good for ME??

-How come so many people lie about being in a Greek organization? Everyone knows you’re lying, so stop the games.

-How come so many people think it’s okay to say to me and other New Yorkers, “Yall are some loud people. Within 5 minutes of talkin to you, we know you’re from NY. Yall are so daggone RUDE”? Damn, we aren’t all like that (all the time anyway).

-How come I saw a beaver in front of my apt. complex yesterday? I think it was a beaver anyway. I wasn’t trying to stick around to find out.

-How come it’s not time for me to leave work yet!? I’m can taste my margarita now. Happy hour is not coming quick enough!

What are your plans for the weekend? I’ll be enjoying some fun times with the girls tonight and tomorrow and house hunting with D on Sunday. Whatever you get into, have fun and be safe!

Similac on your breath…

This morning on my way to work I had a few extra minutes, so I stopped to get a smoothie and a muffin. Normally I wouldn’t stop at this place because a lot of construction workers tend to congregate there, and their trucks take up too much of the pitifully small parking lot. But whatever–I had time, so I took the chance.

I couldn’t even get in the door before I heard, “Yeah baby! You look good, probably still drinking from your mama’s bosom!”

So I looked behind me and of course it was Willie. You all know Willie…the type of man who just looks like he has a closet full of Member’s Only jackets and a few leisure suits. He looks like he can fry the hell out of some catfish and make a mean pulled pork BBQ sandwich. He wears shorts with dress socks and sandals and has a random assortment of gold chains. He might even have a part cut into his high top fade. Yeah…that guy.

I tried like hell to ignore him, and kept going toward the counter. He found some way to get all behind me and I could just feel his hot azz Colt 45-laden breath on the back of my neck. That mess made me so nauseous, and I guess in trying to focus on ordering my stuff and keep my stomach settled, I blacked out just a bit and I didn’t hear him order. Apparently he said to the person taking his order that he would pay for mine cuz when I got to the register to pay, they said it was already taken care of.

I took a quick look back and saw him staring at me all crazy. He gave me a wink and opened his mouth enough to show me his gold tooth. I swear I saw a diamond chip in it just gleaming. I mumbled a thank you and tried to get out as fast as I could. My gotdamned sandals and my still jacked-up toe were slowing me down terrible though, so of course he caught up with me.

“Why you runnin? I’m just trying to get to know you”

“Umm, thanks for paying for my food. That was nice”

“So you got a man? Cuz you and me, we could be good together”

“Yeah, I’m practically married”

“I betcha he can’t take care of you like I could. I have benefits”

“I have benefits too, and I need to get to my job so I can keep them. Have a nice day”

“Damn, them young girls…So much spunk”

I hurried up and got in my car and rolled out. I saw from my side mirror that he got in what else but a Cadillac. *sigh* I guess I’ll stick to the McD’s drive through for breakfast from now on, but it was nice getting my food paid for. Damn, I hope he didn’t write my license plate # down and try to track me down that way.

Gracious

With all the stuff I’ve been trying to deal with the last few weeks concerning my parents, especially the last few days, I’ve been less than enjoyable to be around. I don’t know how D has managed to deal with me, but he’s done a great job…

Hunny,
Thank you so much for being there with me as I go through this hard time. I’m sure there are plenty of other things you’d rather be doing than wiping tears from my eyes and hugging me when I’m shaking like a leaf from crying so hard. Thank you so much for assuring me that I’m still beautiful through tears and snot and kleenex. Thank you for continuing to hold me up when I feel like I can’t take much more. Thank you for being willing to fight through all of this with me, and for allowing some of this to fall on your shoulders because you know mine are getting weak. Thank you for making your arms the safest, most comfortable place in the world.

You could very easily judge me and consider me less than, because you know exactly who’s who in your world. But you don’t, and neither does any of your family. I was afraid if you told your mom that she’d get to thinking I was some low-life ghetto trash, but instead she gave me the biggest hug anyone has ever given me, and she and your dad told me that if I needed a set of parents–a mom and a dad–here in MD cuz my mom and stepdaddy are so far away in NY that they consider me their daughter. That means more to me than I can properly express to you.

You’ve made it so easy for me to share my ups, downs, and indifferences with you and since I made this discovery, you’ve been nothing less than amazing. Thank you for calling my mom and having her mail my Glowworm to me when you saw me curled up in a fetal position crying my eyes out. That toy was like a security blanket for me as I watched my parents fight and what not when I was little, so it means soo much that you listened and knew what would help me smile.

Thanks for being willing to help me figure out how to ask the difficult questions of my family, and being willing to stand beside me as I try to get the words out. I’m not sure when I’ll be ready to do that, but I know the day is coming, and knowing that I don’t have to do it alone means so much.

I could go on and on, but there really is no need. Thank you for being amazing. I love you!

Fathers, Daughters, and Unknowns

Today, the day after the cards and ties and hugs have been exchanged, I’m still left feeling a little empty. Father’s Day is now a difficult holiday for me to be jubilant about because now there are more questions than answers.

When I was born, I had a father. Just one. As shitty as he was to me, he was my father and later on became the representation of what a man isn’t supposed to be. Every Father’s Day, I’d make him a construction paper card with all the love in the world, even though he showed much less than that love back to me. He usually wasn’t around to get the cards, but my mom would take them and promise me that he’d get them. It wasn’t until about 3 years ago that I found her collection of cards that she stashed away. The cards all had “Return to Sender” marked on them. At least she tried.

Then my mom got remarried. My stepfather was and still is everything my father could never be. I understand now the meaning of a daddy’s girl. That’s me. He’s my daddy, and many people don’t realize that he’s not my father. That’s how tight we are. Every Father’s Day he’s there appreciative of whatever gift he receives, even if it’s just a phone call. He’s held my hand as I go from being under the watchful eyes of him and my mom to standing on my own two feet. It’s been hard to experience my loyalty shifting from my father to my daddy. He’s my forever rock, and I’ll always be his little girl. The youngest. The baby. That’s my daddy.

Then it hit me a few weeks ago. Everything I experienced with my father growing up may have been in vain. I ran across a medical report of his from before the divorce while I was cleaning at my mom’s house. The blood type didn’t match what I’ve been told my whole life. I asked him about it a few days later, and he confirmed what the report said. I’m a biology nerd at heart, so I went back and re-read my genetics notes and my heart sank. His blood type plus my mother’s blood type can’t produce mine. Not possible. That lead me to think about a close “friend” my mom would bring around after her and my father got divorced. He was the closest thing I had to a dad between the ages of 3 and 5. Birthday gifts and hugs, trips to the circus and cotton candy. Later on I found out that he was her high school sweetheart, they had planned on getting married. He was also her “confidant” while she was going through the mire with my father. She would retreat back to NYC and hang out with him for the weekend. And him and I have the same blood type. Her blood type plus his could produce mine.

His daughter and I look so much alike it’s scary. He referred to me as his little one a few times that I can remember. I wish I had a better answer, but I don’t. He died the day before I started 6th grade due to a bad asthma attack. I have a hat of his, and his mother gave me his favorite pair of winter gloves. I’m tempted to do the DNA test, but that might make everything too clear. Answers to my questions would simply beget more questions. I’m not sure if I’m ready to know if my father is really that nice guy I considered an uncle. I’m not sure if I’m ready to consider the idea of my mother lying to save face. I’m not sure I feel like continuing my thoughts about this…

Father’s Day…

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads (and moms who have to be dad).

I have a lot on my mind about fathers and daughters, but I don’t have it in me to let it all out yet, so pardon the short post. I’ll get back to it tomorrow, be blessed.

Somebody’s Watchin Me….

I think I’ve got a cyber stalker, and it’s someone I kinda know. This is uncharacteristic of me, but…

***PLEASE BACK THE FUCK UP!!***

Dear Stalker,

I love that people stop by this here blog and read about the mess that goes on in my life and the stuff I think about. But I don’t like the fact that I’ve had limited real-world contact with you, yet you think you really know me and the stuff that goes on in my life cuz you read this blog. I know you’re watching me like a hawk to see if I say or do something out of line on this blog so you can try to use that ish against me and gain some ground on me. I hope that’s not the case, and I want you to prove me wrong. I have a whole lot I could say about this, but I’mma keep my mouf shut cuz I’m better than that. But I feel your eyes on me. Heh.

Ok, now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, I have been watching you. In your cars that is. I have a pretty long commute every day, and I see people doing the nastiest and stupidest shit in their cars….

-I know you think boogers are a good source of protein, and they very well may be. But if you’re going to eat them, please do so in the privacy of your own home or bathroom or something with thick walls and no windows. You are grown, for the love of God, stop eating your snot. Vomit!!!

-Girl, I know People is a good magazine. I have a subscription myself. But I read it sitting on my sofa at home. You shouldn’t be reading the articles at the stoplight.

-Sudoku is a fun puzzle. It keeps me occupied at work a lot. It shouldn’t keep you occupied on the highway. I know the traffic jams stop traffic sometimes, but it’s easier just to listen to the radio. All that juggling of the newspaper and a pen is really hard and you might avoid smashing your car up.

-Speaking of smashing cars up, accidents happen everyday. Especially in an area like this. You will see them often. It’s the same deal everytime–bent up metal, maybe some injured people, and police cars. There is NO need for you to look at the accident as you drive by. It slows down traffic and might even cause another accident.

-Blackberry + Soda + Driving = Stupid. Stop it.

-I eat in the car all the time. But it’s something I can eat with my hands like fries or fruit. Why are you eating eggs and sausage with a fork? You’d probably be the one to sue McD’s if the food spills and ruins your upholstery.

-Just because it’s dark doesn’t mean we can’t see in your car, especially if you don’t have tints and we’re on a busy street (that means streetlights and such). That is not a good time to give your man “road head”. If you’re going to do some stupid ish like that, wait till you’re on the highway.

-You can’t have a conversation with the people in the car next to you when you’re going 40 mph. It just don’t happen like that, so stop trying. Wait till you get to the light and roll the windows down and shout, or better yet, pull the f**k over.