Tall Tales?

I was out with some friends recently and we got to talking about the “advice” we got growing up–most of which were old wives’ tales. It was kind of fun reminiscing about the stuff our grandparents and parents would tell us. Some of the “advice” was straight up ridiculous, some may have had some truth. I always heard some mess like:

-Black women don’t shave their legs. My mom told me this and she refused to let me shave. I was an adolescent walking around with hairy legs like whoa. Got teased like a mugg. I went to a sleepover one weekend and came home armed with smooth legs and a new razor, and I’ve been Gillette’s best friend ever since. I’ve never bothered to check her situation and she’s always wearing capris so she could be walking around looking like Cousin It for all I know.

-Black people don’t shower every day. One of my aunts tried to run this game on me. She told me that I should only take a bath on Sundays and do bird baths during the rest of the week. I managed to sneak a shower every night I had to stay with her. High water bills be damned.

-A cat will steal a baby’s breath if you leave it near a newborn. I babysat a lot of babies whose parents owned cats. Those kids are still alive and doing well. I don’t believe this one, but best believe none of my pets are going to be drooling all over my babies.

-Drinking coffee will make you darker. If this were true, I’d be a vortex by now. I’d be so dark that light would cease to exist around me–I drink about 2 cups a day most every day.

-Hold an asprin between your legs and you won’t get pregnant. Ummmmm. Hmmmm. I’m here, right? You’re here, right? Apparently that doesn’t work. If it were true, I could save some money on BC.

-If you get a fresh relaxer then go out in the rain, you’ll turn ‘dumb’. That happened during my relaxed days unfortunately. A sista didn’t have an umbrella leaving the salon. I didn’t turn ‘dumb’; I got pissed cuz I had to do my hair all over again.

-Turn off the electricity, stay off the phone, and be quiet during a thunderstorm or lightening will strike. I went down south and we had to do this in a thunderstorm and lightning still struck the tree outside, so I dunno.

-If you have pink eye, use pee to clear it up. NERP. Not going to try that one. We’re going to the doc to get some antibiotics. Nasty!

-Never buy your man a pair of shoes, if you do he will walk out of your life. D’s still here and I bought him a pair of boots for Christmas. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

That’s all I can think of right now. Were any of you taught any of these or other “tales”? Do you believe in them?

Texting T

I’m not big on being on the phone anymore. I guess I used up all my phone energy when I was in high school. Or maybe it was the job I had in a call center during summer break one year. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t enjoy the 3 hour phone convo like I used to. Call me, make your point, and get off. Unless you’re going through some serious ish, just text me. I’d prefer it.

But as much as I like to text, there are some ground rules that need to be established. I thought this stuff was common damn sense.

-Don’t skip out in the middle of our text convo.

Texter: What you doin?

Me: Chillin, getting ready to go to the mall. Whatchu doin?

***three hours go by***

Texter: Nothin, chillin.

-Don’t try the cyber-sex-text thing with me. An ex tried this mess all the time and it wasn’t cute.

Texter: What are you wearing right now? I’m wearing a wife beater and my Marvin the Maritan silk boxers

Me: Da hell?

Texter: If you were here we could make a Marvin sandwich

Me: Negro, call me later

-Don’t tell me all your damn business. Just cuz I can’t see or hear you, doesn’t mean that I can’t get the visual

Texter: Wow, I’m in the bathroom taking a serious dump right now. Ugggh! My stoooomach!

Me: Nasty fugger. Handle your business and wash your handz.

-Don’t text me long ass messages. You know we can only see 160 characters at a time. Just cuz we have QWERTY-type keyboards doesn’t mean your text message screen doubles as M.icrosoft Word

Texter: And then he called me and you wouldn’t believe what he said. Girl, he was going on and on about something *continued*

Texter: blah blah blah and this and that and this and that blah blah blah

Me: Just call me dammit. You taking up too much of my phone memory

-Please avoid the drunk text.

Texter: I’m so smashed . But I miss you I shuldnt hve left u. I love u still. Take me back

Me: You know I’m married right? Go to bed.

-Don’t send me the silly chain texts

Texter: …send this to 7 people, including myself or you’ll have a lifetime of bad luck

Me: **deletes message**

*sigh* Are there any text habits that you hate?

Generational Babymaking?

I have a lot of friends who are teachers, and over the weekend I was talking to one of them who has a 15-year old student in one of her classes.  This student had a baby at 13 years old and is currently pregnant. My friend wasn’t shocked to hear the girl’s news. Apparently this is all too common in her line of work. She’s taught in several different schools, in different areas, across socio-economic lines, across racial lines, and the problem is still the same. That particular girl was born to a 14-year old mother, and she (the girl) has 4 sisters who have had similar life experiences. All of them had children before the age of 16, and only one of them managed to graduate from high school.

My mother, a former Labor & Delivery nurse, told me countless stories of 9-year olds and teenagers giving birth. Usually the girls would be accompanied by their families. Occasionally she’d see the fathers who were typically much older than the girls. And of course the girls’ mothers would be there, usually around 30 years old herself. Grandma was never older than 45 or 50. Once the baby was born, there’d be 4 generations of women all under the age of 50. Sad indeed.

All of this gets me thinking about what some call the generational curse. Are girls born to very young parents doomed to repeat the same? I’ve read a lot that seems to indicate the difficulties in breaking that kind of cycle. Very young girl impregnanted by much older man (sometimes her father unfortunately), has several children who also become very young parents. Is it because that’s all the kids know, despite people around them doing different? Or is it a conscious choice to put themselves in a precarious parenting position?

There is a lot that can be said about this issue, and a lot of research has been done. I’d go into it, but I’m curious as to what some of you think and I’d like to open up some discussion. I have my own opinions and I’ve made my own observations, but I’d like to read/hear what some of you have to say. Do you believe in the generational curse? Have you witnessed it? Are you living it? Have your say in the comment box. I’m hoping to turn this into a larger discussion topic, so I really appreciate your feedback.

Here & Now

I’m back, trying to recuperate and all of that. I’ve had an interesting few days trying to recuperate and have a lot of things running around my mind. I’ll be getting to those things in the next few days. I’m just stopping through for the moment to catch up on my blog reading.

I found out that I have to have another surgery on March 12  to fix my deviated septum and shave down some other bones in there and remove a cyst growing in my maxillary sinus cavity (more than you wanted to know, I’m sure). Apparently there’s a whole lot of ish wrong in there that they couldn’t repair on the first try. What a great birthday present…another trip to the O.R. and  a surgically broken nose (my b-day is on the 7th). Super.

Anyhoo, being stuck in the house recovering has given me a chance to do a lot of reading, thinking, and observing (via TV and the interwebs of course–you won’t catch me outside looking the way I do right now lol). Outside of feeling like a truck hit my face, I’m enjoying my time at home.

I decided, after a lot of discussion back and forth with the boss about my situation that it was time for me to leave the company. We’re still in close contact because of the surgeries, etc. but I knew that it was time to go. I’ll be using this time at home to get ready for nursing school and to find a new position in a different field to work in while I’m in school (ideally I’ll find a position with a company that employs nurses, so I won’t have to leave after graduation). I’m lucky to live in an area that the recession hasn’t hit too hard, and I’ve already been in touch with a few recruiters and things are looking favorable (crossing fingers and toes).  I’m looking at heading back to work sometime around April.

Seriously, I’m just taking things as they come and trying to make the best decisions for D and I. It feels so good to know that D isn’t pressuring me to go back into a field that I’ve come to hate and is more focused on me healing well. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt this type of security and happiness…even growing up. Even though I feel a little beat physically, life is good and I’m loving it.

Off…

I’m headed on a mini-vacation with D and then for surgery later this week, so I’ll be back around this time next week provided all goes well.

Damn Damn Damn

I know everyone’s heard about the drama last night with Chris Br.own (and Rih.anna) but I had to toss in my $.02. They’re waaay too young for all that mess (not that anyone is ever old enough), but stuff like this is happening to people younger and younger and it’s nothing short of disturbing.

If you’ve been a regular reader of this blog, you’d know I had the stuffing whooped out of me more than once by a boyfriend when I was about 15-16 years old. Dude was much older than me though (not that it makes it any better), and he thought I was older than I was. Thankfully I had the sense to press charges the second time, but being a sophomore in high school with restraining order papers in my bookbag wasn’t the business at all.

I’m seeing, by way of my high school aged nieces and nephews, that this ish goes on around them all the time. A lot of the girls think it’s cute when their dude hits them cuz it means he cares enough about her to put his hands on her. In their eyes I guess any attention is good attention. When you start telling them that dude’s a punk for hitting women, they get all defensive. By the time you get through to some of them, the self-worth is already down the drain. Unfortunate in every way.

I don’t know this kid’s situation–how he grew up and what would push him to that point, but it’s a sobering reminder that everyone is still human regardless of fame.

*sigh*

Friday Randoms

-Is the recession affecting people in transient jobs? Like women of the night I mean…prostihoes and all that. Are they giving recession specials to their clients? Like “I’ll add a teabagging session for an extra $5.00; that’s $8.00 off the list price”?

-Kids are so honest, but they don’t realize how mean they are. I was in the grocery store and heard some kid say to his mom “Why does that man’s stomach look like it swallowed daddy’s army tank?”. Damn.

-I wear my hair natural, so it looks shorter than it actually is. I straightened it out for a night out with a few friends. The “ss that a weave? No? I can’t believe it, your real hair is really that long?” comments got to me more than I expected them to.

-My birthday is in 29 days and I’m excited that I’ll be having my first real birthday party since I was about 11.

-I watched some lady bust her ass on the ice in front of me and I was choking down my laugh so hard I started crying. She turned around and said “Don’t worry honey, I’m okay! Don’t cry”

-My niece called me up angry cuz she got an overdraft fee at the bank. This poor girl said “Well I still had checks in my checkbook, that must have meant that I still had money”. Le sigh. This might be part of the reason we’re in a recession and why people can’t seem to get this bill paying thing under control.

-People who are meeting me for the first time tend to call me “Tashie”. That name makes my teeth itch. I thought most people shorten Natasha to Tasha. Only makes sense to me. Tashie…pfffft, sounds like a candy bar or something to me.  Call me what you will, just please don’t call me Tashie.

-I got invited to a swingers club this Friday. I don’t roll that way, but I’m curious as hell so I might just go and observe. Apparently this place is a real nightclub too so I won’t just be watching booty bumpin.

-I’m bout tired of hearing the republicans on the news trying to barely cover up the fact that they want Prez. O to fail at his new job.

-Speaking of Prez O, I’m tired of the 100 days countdown that most news ops are doing to measure how good he’s doing.

-My sisters-in-law keep sending me diaper coupons. Either they’re trying to throw hints that they want a niece or nephew or one of them needs help buying diapers for her tribe.

-I think I’m enjoying my freedom from work a little too much. Even with surgery in a few days. I know I’m gonna look beat from having surgery on my face essentially. The doc said black eyes are not uncommon. Not cute, but I’ll do whatever I gotta do to breathe again. Knowing I have fungi growing in there is nasty. Damn work environment.

-It’s tax time and I’m tired of seeing the ghetto ass tax prep commercials on TV. You know they don’t market those kinds of services to YT. “Come get yo’ money yall, so you can get some rims”. Nerp, don’t think so.

Reason to Quit

As much as I dislike cigarettes and smoking now, I felt the need to have a dalliance with the smokers lifestyle back in college. Well, it was more of a peer pressure thing since I was the only one on the dance team who didn’t smoke. They said they did it to stay skinny, but I picked up the habit so I wouldn’t be the only one left in the studio during breaks at practice.

I really wasn’t a good smoker to begin with; I was sort of messy with the ashes. I got it together after a while and could pull off smoker steez successfully. People would see me with a cigarette and talk about “You don’t look like you smoke”. It was funny and sad to me all at the same time.

Honestly, I really didn’t enjoy it all that much but it brought me closer to my other dance team girls. I guess that’s the definition of taking one for the team.  I thought about quitting since I wasn’t getting anything out of it other than cold azz Syracuse air and smoke in my lungs. So I quit, but only after the “incident”.

I was on my way to visit the guy I was dating at the time. He went to school about an hour and a half away from Syracuse, and I always made the effort to visit him…because well I like driving alone on road trips, and also because I was the one with the car.

So there I was on the road; it was pretty much empty since that area is really rural. Of course since it was a nice day I had music blasting and the window open. I pulled out a cigarette and settled in for a nice ride. I went to toss the cigarette (bad I know) and rather than it fall out of the car onto the road, the wind blew it back in to the car. I knew it fell behind me but I didn’t realize where right away. Lo and behold, the cig had flown back in the same window it went out of, and managed to fall right between me and the back of my seat. It fell down my back and into my pants. It got wedged between my bare ass and my pants/car seat.

Lemme tell you, that ish was HOT! I felt my poor ass skin frying and sizzling, but I couldn’t pull over because of course someone decided to get on the road with me. No one else had been on that road for at least 15 miles and all of a sudden there they were cruising on my left side. I was in the car screaming bloody murder trying not to run off the road, trying to stay straight. Apparently the people next to me thought I was singing and were all like “Go Girl!” pointing at me and smiling and nodding their heads to their own music and ish. It was a good 2 minutes before they moved enough so I could pull over–all the while my ass was frying like a piece of Sizzlean bacon.

By the time I was able to pull over, my jeans had a burn hole in them, my draws were toast, but thankfully my car seat hadn’t caught fire. I shook my leg and the cigarette fell out. It had finally gone out. I got it together enough to make it to a rest area. I went in the private handicapped stall and saw that there were really bad burns all across my behind. So I got some neosporin and some little round bandaids from the little store in the place. Yep, the rest of my trip I had round bandaids all over my ass. The scabs that formed were the worst. Nope, no kinda nookie for me that weekend. My pride–and my ass–were too burnt.

As for the cigarettes, they got left on the side of the road and I haven’t smoked another one since. That was my quit day.